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the day; the Pleiades just above the horizon shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south; the steady pointers far beneath the pole looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign.

Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight become more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state.

From "Address at the Inauguration of the Dudley Observatory," 1856.

THE DUTIES OF THE HISTORIAN.

MITCHELL KING.

THE first duty of the man, who contemplates the arduous task of writing a history, would seem to be, to estimate his own strength, and ascertain how far he is, or can make himself, competent for the undertaking. To know one's self, is perhaps the most difficult part of human knowledge. Few, very few, have attained that pælt σeavτóv-Know thyself-which the satirist says, E cælo descendit-came down from heaven, and was inscribed in golden letters on the portals of the temple of Delphos. It is necessary for the historian, as well as the poet, to ascertain

quid ferre recusent,

Quid valeant humeri;

and not to take up a load which he is unable to carry. If he err greatly in this estimate, he may look in vain for success.

An accurate and comprehensive acquaintance with the events of the times of which he undertakes to write, and with the characters of the

men who acted in them, is indispensable to the historian. No pains can be too great, no research too persevering, to acquire this information. Without it, correct history cannot be written. It must be sought in every quarter in which it can be obtained; in the public archives of a people-in the repositories of individuals-in the ephemeral, in the enduring literature of the day-in the private letters-in the monuments of the age. Herodotus visited himself the places which he describes; and examined the records of the people of whom he writes, whenever they were accessible to him; and when he relates anything which he had not himself seen, or learned, from what he considered sufficient authority, he generally qualifies his narrative with an "it is said," or "they say," and leaves the reader to form his own conclusion. Thucydides lived, we know, in the midst of the interesting events which he so admirably commemorates-mingled largely in them-heard, perhaps, the very speeches which he puts in the mouths of Pericles, and of others of his contemporaries; and possessed ample means-of which he has well availed himself-for obtaining the information which he required. Polybius travelled through Gaul and Spain-followed Scipio into Africa-was present with him at the taking of Carthage-by his assistance had access to all the archives of Rome; and was indefatigable in collecting materials for the composition of that history, which, mutilated as it is, deserves to be more read and studied. Examples similar to these might be accumulated almost without end; but these may serve to show the care and industry required in collecting the information necessary for the historian.

From "A Discourse before the Georgia Historical Society."

POPULAR GOVERNMENT IN AMERICA.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

WHEN the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, the existence of South America was scarcely felt in the civilized world. The thirteen little colonies of North America habitually called themselves the "Continent." Borne down by colonial subjugation, monopoly, and bigotry, those vast regions of the south were hardly visible above the horizon. But, in our day, there hath been, as it were, a new creation. The southern hemisphere emerges from the sea. Its lofty mountains begin to lift themselves into the light of heaven; its broad and fertile plains stretch out in beauty to the eye of civilized man, and, at the mighty being of the voice of political liberty, the waters of darkness retire.

We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems are preferred, either as being thought better in themselves, or as better suited to existing condition, we leave the preference to be enjoyed. Our history

hitherto proves, however, that the popular form is practicable, and that, with wisdom and knowledge, men may govern themselves; and the duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of this cheering example, and take care that nothing may weaken its authority with the world. If, in our case, the representative system ultimately fail, popular governments must be pronounced impossible. No combination of circumstances more favorable to the experiment can ever be expected to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore, rest with us; and if it should be proclaimed, that our example had become an argument against the experiment, the knell of popular liberty would be sounded throughout the earth.

These are excitements to duty; but they are not suggestions of doubt. Our history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and all that surrounds us, authorize the belief, that popular governments, though subject to occasional variations, perhaps not always for the better, in form, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and permanent as other systems. We know, indeed, that, in our country, any other is impossible. The principle of free governments adheres to the American soil. It is bedded in it-immovable as its mountains.

From "Oration at the Laying of the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill Monument."

LANGUAGE AND POETRY.

J. R. INGERSOLL.

WHAT has so much adorned and characterized an age as its poetic fame? Look back through the annals of every nation that has been distinguished by the various properties of greatness, and the eye will rest with its intensest interest on those periods which the historian has been delighted to describe as the days when language was pure, and when poets were honored and renowned-the days of Pericles, of Augustus, of Elizabeth, of Louis XIV. You are familiar with the observation of Kennett, that it was a common saying, that if all arts and sciences were lost, they might be found in Virgil. His knowledge and his verse were not the less amiable for the absence of rhyme, which marked not his writings only, but those of all the classic poets. The classic language of Rome was coeval with Roman glory, which faded with the pollution of its vigorous and expressive dialect. Rome ceased to be the Mistress of the world only when she forgot to speak the Latin tongue.

"Obliti sunt Romæ loqui lingua Latina."

History is not wanting in other proofs, equally authentic and memorable, of the association between the inspired efforts of poetry and national greatness, or even the essential spirit of liberty. Edward the

First ordered the Welsh Bards to be murdered, and braved the penalty of

"Cambria's curse and Cambria's tears;"

as the most effectual method of extinguishing the national spirit. From "An Address delivered at Athens, Ga.," 1847.

THE GLORY OF ATHENS.

J. R. INGERSOLL.

Ir is with unfeigned pleasure that I exchange congratulations with yourselves, gentlemen, and with all this assembly, upon our being in the midst of Athens. Not personally in that Athens which was the light of Greece, but in another classic residence, adopting for wise purposes of emulation and resemblance a name which was once a signal for everything brilliant in arts, glorious in arms, successful in commerce, accomplished in manners, and distinguished in wit, wisdom, and elegant literature. Egypt yielded her supremacy to this, the bright inheritrix of her learning. Imperial Rome, awaking from the rugged sway of military habit and authority, sent to the schools of Athenian philosophy her favorite sons, who brought back the elements of an Augustan age. All the world did homage to the light which shone from the temple of Minerva on the top of the Acropolis. The source of it has been long since extinguished; but the influences of it have not ceased to radiate during the interval of two thousand years. An example sufficiently obvious for distinct examination, connected with much that might be unbecoming, or ill adapted to the uses of modern times, affords an interesting study for the scholar, who, without the evils, may profit by many advantages in the history of the ancient metropolis. Works of art remain in imperishable grandeur for the instruction and admiration of mankind. Pagan religion and false philosophy have passed away. Objects which served in their proud supremacy to adorn them, still present in venerable ruin monuments of exploded error, and models of taste and elegance. A people, among whom deities were to be found scarcely less readily than men-who, having exhausted the fabulous calendar of the skies, erected an altar to the unknown God-have given to a remote posterity the mutilated but beautiful memorials of a delusive worship for the uses of a better faith.

From "An Address delivered at Athens, Ga.," 1847.

THE TRUE INSPIRATION OF THE ORATOR.

ABBE BAUTAIN.

HE who feels the importance and the danger of speaking, who has any notion of what the orator ought to be, any notion of all that he

needs to accomplish his task, the obstacles he must surmount, the diffi culties he must overcome, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter suffices to overthrow or paralyze him, he who understands all this, can well conceive also that he requires to be breathed upon from on high in order to receive the inspiration, the light, fire, which shall make his discourse living and efficacious. For all life comes from Him who is life itself, life infinite, life eternal, inexhaustible, and the life of minds more still than of bodies, since God is spirit. It is but just, therefore, to pay Him homage for what He has vouchsafed to give us, and to refer to Him at the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what we have received. This is the more fitting, because there is nothing more intoxicating than the successes of eloquence; and in the elation which its power gives, owing to a consciousness of strength, and the visible influence which one is exercising over one's fellow-creatures, one is naturally prone to exalt oneself in one's own conceit, and to ascribe to oneself, directly or indirectly, wholly or partially, the effect produced. One should beware of these temptations of pride, these illusions of vanity, which are invariably fatal to true talent.

From "The Art of Extempore Speaking."

THE STATESMAN'S PANOPLY.

J. Q. ADAMS.

WOULD it be an unlicensed trespass of the imagination to conceive, that on the night preceding the day of which you now commemorate the fiftieth anniversary-on the night preceding that thirtieth of April, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, when from the balcony of your city hall, the chancellor of the state of New York administered to George Washington the solemn oath, faithfully to execute the office of President of the United States, and to the best of his ability, to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United Statesthat in the visions of the night, the guardian angel of the Father of our country had appeared before him, in the venerated form of his mother, and, to cheer and encourage him in the performance of the momentous and solemn duties that he was about to assume, had delivered to him a suit of celestial armor-a helmet, consisting of the principles of piety, of justice, of honor, of benevolence, with which from his earliest infancy he had hitherto walked through life, in the presence of all his brethren -a spear, studded with the self-evident truths of the Declaration of Independence-a sword, the same with which he had led the armies of his country through the war of freedom, to the summit of the triumphal arch of independence—a corselet and cuishes of long experience and habitual intercourse in peace and war with the world of mankind,

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