READING AND ELOCUTION. 



>u hand or foot. No one had evur dreamt of scaling it ; and 

 .u eagles k n i n i huir iuntinot, as, lx i 



their uyrio, they bud bmh. .1 u with their wing*. But all 



MiouuUiu-M.l.', though scarred, and seamed, aud 



Accessible; aud more than one person in the pariah 



the Qlead's Cliff. Many were now ttiiptiuf 



is in..: i,. i- had followed her dumb guides a huudrud 



aiuoiig dangers that, although enough to terrify tho 



traversed by her without a shudder, the head of 



: appeared, and then the head of au<ith<-r , mnl nho knew that 



i.r .11. 1 hi-r child in safety into tho core of their 



fellow-creatures. 



,-. .n-.l was spoken eyes said enough; she hushed her friends 

 with her limds, and unii uplifted eyes, pointed to the guides sent to 

 i. Small green plats, whero those creatures nibble the 

 wild il'.v, . : , become now more frequent; trodden lines, almost as 

 easy as ahoop-paths, showed that tho dam had not led her young into 

 danger ; aud now tho brushwood dwindled away into straggling shrubs, 

 and the party stood on a little eminence above the stream, and form- 

 ing part of the strath. 



There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing, and many 

 tears, among the multitude, while the mother was scaling the cliffs : 

 sublime was the shout that echoed afar the moment she reached 

 the eyrie ; theu had succeeded a silence deep as death. lu a little 

 wliile arose the hymning prayer, succeeded by mute supplication ; 

 the wildness of thankful aud congratulatory joy had next its sway ; 

 and now that her salvation wus sure, the great crowd rustled like 

 tho wiud-swept wood. And for whose sake was all this alterna- 

 tion of agony ? A poor humble creature, unknown to many even by 

 n-une one who had but few friends, nor wished for more, contented 

 to work all day here, there, anywhere that she might be able to 

 support her aged mother and her little child ; and who on Sabbath 

 took her seat in an obscure pew, set apart for paupers, in tho kirk. 

 Wilton. 



XVII. THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 



O sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 

 And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 

 When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars 

 Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars, 

 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 

 Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; 

 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 

 Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man ! 



Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, 

 Wide o'er tho fields a waste of ruin laid : 

 O Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! 

 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 

 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 

 Else, fellow- men! our country yet remains ! 

 By that dread name, we wave the sword ou high! 

 And swear for her to live ! with her to die ! 



He said, and on tho rampart-heights arrayed 

 His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; 

 Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 

 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm : 

 Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 

 " Eevenge, or death," the watchword and reply ; 

 Then pealed the notes omnipotent to charm, 

 And the loud tocsin told their lust alarm ! 



In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few, 

 From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : 

 Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 

 Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 

 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 

 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ; 

 Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 

 Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career : 

 Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 

 And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell. 



The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there ; 

 Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air, 

 On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 

 His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; 

 The storm pre\ ailc, the rampart yields away, 

 Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 

 Hark ! as the mouldering piles with thunder fall, 

 A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 

 Earth shook, red meteors flashed along the sky, 

 And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry ! 



O righteous Heaven ! cro Freedom found a grave, 

 "Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 

 "Where \vas thine arm, O Vengeance ! where thy rod, 

 That smote the foes of Sion and of God; ' 



That crushed proud Amman, when hi* iron our 

 Was yoked in wrath, and thundered f row rfor ? 



re was the storm that lumbered till tb host 

 Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their UwnbUaf court f 



u bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 

 Aud heaved an ocean on their march below ? 



Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 

 Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bleu I 



ads of the world t restore your swords to man. 

 Fight in hi* sacred cause, and lead the van I 

 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 

 And make her arm puuutaut u* your own ! 

 Oh ! once again to freedom's cause return 

 The patriot Tell, the Bruce of Banuockburn I 



Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 

 That man hath yet a soul, and dare be free 1 

 A little while, along thy saddening plains, 

 The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 

 Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, 

 And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven I 

 Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled, 

 Her name, her nature, withered from the world. 



Thomat CampbefL 



XVIII. EDMUND BURKE. 



A SAGACIOUS critic has advanced the opinion, that the merit of Burke 

 was almost wholly literary; but I confess I see little ground for this 

 assertion, if literary excellence is here understood in any other sense. 

 than as an immediate result of the highest intellectual and moral 

 endowments. Such compositions as the writings of Burke suppose, 

 no doubt, the fine taste, the command of language, and the finished 

 education, which are all supposed by every description of literary 

 success. But in the present state of society, these qualities are far 

 from being uncommon; and are possessed by thousands, who make 

 no pretensions to the eminence of Burke, in the same degree in which 

 they were by him. Such a writer as Cumberland, for example, who 

 stands infinitely below Burke in the scale of intellect, may yet be re- 

 garded as his equal or superior in purely literary accomplishment* 

 taken in this exclusive sense. 



The style of Burke is undoubtedly one of the most splendid forms 

 in which the English language has ever been exhibited. It displays 

 the happy and difficult union of all the richness and magnificence that 

 good taste admits, with a perfectly easy construction. In Burke we 

 see the manly movement of a well-bred gentleman ; in Johnson, an 

 equally profound and vigorous thinker, the measured march of a 

 grenadier. We forgive the great moralist his stiff and cumbrous 

 phrases, in return for the rich stores of thought and poetry which 

 they conceal ; but we admire in Burke, as in a fine antique statue, the 

 grace with which the large flowing robe adapts itself to the majestic 

 dignity of the person. 



But with all his literary excellence, the peculiar merits of this great 

 man were, perhaps, the faculty of profound and philosophical thought, 

 and the moral courage which led him to disregard personal incon- 

 venience in the expression of his sentiment. Deep thought is the 

 informing soul, that everywhere sustains and inspires the imposing 

 grandeur of his eloquence. Even in the Essay on the Sublime and 

 Beautiful, the only work of pure literature which he attempted that 

 is, the only one which was not an immediate expression of hi* views 

 on public affairs there is still the same richness of thought, the same 

 basis of " divine philosophy," to support the harmonious superstruc- 

 ture of the language. And the moral courage which formed so re- 

 markable a feature in his character, contributed not less essentially to 

 his literary success. 



It seems to be a law of nature, that tho highest degree of eloquei 

 demands the union of the noblest qualities of character, a* well as 

 intellect. To think, is the highest exercise of the mind ; to say what 

 ycu think, the boldest effort of moral courage; and both these things 

 are required for a really powerful writer. Eloquence without tl 

 is a mere parade of words ; and no man can express with spirit mnu . 

 vigour any thoughts but his own. This was the secret of the eloquence 

 of Rousseau, which is not without a certain analogy in ite forms to 

 that of Burke The principal of the Jesuits' college one day inquired 

 of him by what art he had been able to write =o well. " I said *>a 

 thought," replied the unceremonious Genevan.; conveying in i these to 

 words the bitterest satire on the system of the Jesuits, and the best 

 explanation of his own. A. H. Jtiwrstt, 



In the " Downfall of Poland," by Thomas Campbell, and the 

 spirited word-painting by Professor Wilson of the recovery of 

 a child by its mother from an eagle's eyrie, to which even a 

 sailor had not dared to climb, the reader will find admirable 

 exercises, in the first-named for his elocutional powers, and in 

 the latter foi his ability to render a well- described scene even 

 still more graphic by the manner in which he reads ft. 



