262 XENOPHON'S SPEECH TO THE GREEKS IN THE ARMY OF CYRUS.

that dress to meet his end. He proceeded | Again, when Xerxes, having collected that to speak thus: "Of the perjury and perfidy innumerable army of his, came down upon of the Barbarians Cleanor has just spoken, Greece a second time, our ancestors on that and you, I am sure, are well aware of it. If, occasion too, defeated the ancestors of these then, we think of coming again to terms of Barbarians, both by land and sea; of which friendship with them, we must of necessity exploits the trophies are still to be seen as feel much distrust on that head, when we memorials; the greatest of all memorials, see what our generals have suffered, who, in however, is the liberty of the states in which reliance on their faith, put themselves into you were born and bred, for you worship no their hands; but if we propose to inflict on man as master, but the gods alone. Of them vengeance with our swords for what such ancestors are you sprung. they have done, and for the future, to be at Nor am I going to say that you dishonour war with them at all points, we have, with them. It is not yet many days since you arthe help of the gods, many fair hopes of rayed yourselves in the field against the desafety." As he was uttering these words, scendants of those Barbarians, and defeated, somebody sneezed, and the soldiers, hearing with the help of the gods, a force many it, with one impulse made their adoration to times more numerous than yourselves. On the god; and Xenophon continued, "Since, that occasion you showed yourselves brave soldiers, while we were speaking of safety, men to procure a throne for Cyrus; and an omen from Jupiter the Preserver has ap- now, when the struggle is for your own lives, peared, it seems to me that we should vow to it becomes you to be more valiant and resothat god to offer sacrifices for our preserva- lute. At present too, you may justly feel tion on the spot where we first reach a friend-greater confidence against your adversaries; ly country; and that we should vow, at the for even then, when you had made no trial same time, to sacrifice to the other gods ac- of them, and saw them in countless numcording to our ability. And to whomsoever bers before you, you yet dared, with the this seems reasonable, let him hold up his spirit of your fathers, to advance upon them, hand." All held up their hands; and they and now, when you have learned from expethen made their vows, and sang the pæan.rience of them, that, though many times When the ceremonies to the gods were duly your number, they shrink from receiving performed, he recommenced thus: "I was your charge, what reason have you any saying that we had many fair hopes of safety. In the first place, we have observed our oaths made to the gods; but the enemy have perjured themselves, and broken the truce and their oaths. Such being the case, it is natural that the gods should be unfavourable to our enemies, and should fight on our side; the gods, who are able, whenever they will, to make the mighty soon weak, and to save the weak with ease, though they may be in grievous perils. In the next place, I will remind you of the dangers in which our ancestors were, that you may feel conscious how much it becomes you to be brave, and how the brave are preserved even from the greatest troubles, by the aid of the gods. For when the Persians, and those united with them, came with a numerous host, as if to sweep Athens from the face of the earth, the Athenians, by daring to oppose them, gave them a defeat, and having made a vow to Diana, that whatever number they should kill of the enemy, they would sacrifice to her divinity the same number of goats, and not being able to find enough, they resolved to sacrifice five hundred every year; and to this day they still continue to sacrifice them.

longer to fear them? And do not consider it any disadvantage, that the troops of Cyrus, who were formerly arrayed on our side, have now left us; for they are far more cowardly than those who were defeated by you; at least they deserted us to flee to them. and those who are so ready to commence flight it is better to see posted on the side or the enemy than in our own ranks.

If again, any of you are disheartened be cause we have no cavalry, and the enemy have a great number, consider that ten thousand cavalry are nothing more than ten thousand men; for no one ever perished in battle of being bitten or kicked by a horse; it is the men that do whatever is done in the encounter. Doubtless, we, too, rest upon a surer support than cavalry have, for they are raised upon horses, and are afraid, not only of us, but also of falling, while we, taking our steps upon the ground, shall strike such as approach us with far greater force, and hit much more surely the mark at which we may aim. In one point alone, indeed, have the cavalry the advantage, that it is safer for them to flee than for us.

consequence of bad, and no one to counsel me to good behaviour. I felt proud. The distinctions of rank, birth, and wealth all became nothing in my eyes; and from that moment-less than a month after my arrival in England-I resolved never to bend before them.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MR.
BURKE AND THE DUKE OF
BEDFORD.*

I was not, like his Grace of Bedford, swaddled, and rocked, and dandled into a legislator-Nitor in adversum is the motto for a man like me. I possessed not one of the qualities, nor cultivated one of the arts, that recommend men to the favour and protection of the great. I was not made for a minion or a tool. As little did I follow the trade of winning the hearts by imposing on the understandings of the people. At every

country parts of it, of sixteen years, the trees, the hedges, even the parks and woods, seemed so small! It made me laugh to hear little gutters that I could jump over called rivers! The Thames was but a "creek!" But when, in about a month after my arrival in London, I went to Farnham, the place of my birth, what was my surprise! Everything was become so pitifully small! I had to cross, in my postchaise, the long and dreary heath of Bag. shot; then, at the end of it, to mount a hill called Hungry Hill; and from that hill I knew that I should look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of Farnham. My heart fluttered with impatience, mixed with a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of my childhood; for I had learned before the death of my father and mother. There is a hill not far from the town, called Crooksbury Hill, which rises up out of a flat in the form of a cone, and is planted with Scotch firtrees. Here I used to take the eggs and young ones of crows and magpies. This hill was a famous object in the neighbour-step of my progress in life-for in every hood. It served as the superlative degree step was I traversed and opposed-and at of height. "As high as Crooksbury Hill," every turnpike I met, I was obliged to shew meant, with us, the utmost degree of height. my passport, and again and again to prove Therefore the first object that my eyes my sole title to the honour of being useful sought was this hill. I could not believe to my country, by a proof that I was not my eyes! Literally speaking, I for a mo- wholly unacquainted with its laws, and the ment thought the famous hill removed, and whole system of its interests both abroad a little heap put in its stead; for I had seen and at home. Otherwise, no rank, no tolein New Brunswick a single rock, or hill of ration even for me. I had no arts but manly solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five arts. On them I have stood, and, please times as high! The post-boy going down- God, in spite of the Duke of Bedford and hill, and not a bad road, whisked me in a the Earl of Lauderdale, to the last gasp will few minutes to the Bush Inn, from the gar- I stand. den of which I could see the prodigious sand-hill where I had begun my gardening works. What a nothing! But now came rushing into my mind all at once my pretty little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons that I used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words and tears of my gentle and tenderhearted and affectionate mother! I has tened back into the room. If I had looked a moment longer I should have dropped. When I came to reflect, what a changel I looked down at my dress. What a change! What scenes I had gone through! How altered my state! I had dined the day before at a secretary of state's in company with Mr. Pitt, and had been waited upon by men in gaudy liveries! I had had nobody to assist me in the world. No teachers of any sort. Nobody to shelter me from the

....

I know not how it has happened, but it really seems that, whilst his Grace was meditating his well-considered censure upon me, he fell into a sort of sleep. Homer nods, and the Duke of Bedford may dream; and as dreams--even his golden dreams-are apt to be ill-pieced and incongruously put together, his Grace preserved his idea of reproach to me, but took the subject-matter from the crown-grants to his own family. This is the stuff of which his dreams are made.' In the way of putting things together, his Grace is perfectly in the right. The grants to the house of Russell were so

* The Duke of Bedford and the Earl of Lauderdale

attacked Mr Burke and his pension in their place in the House of Lords, and Burke replied in his Letter to a Noble Lord (1796), one of the most sarcastic and most able of all his productions

ISAAC BARROW, D.D.

doth import? To which question I might humour, not apt to damp those sportful reply as Democritus did to him that asked flashes of imagination. Whence in Aris the definition of a man: 'Tis that which totle such persons are termed epidexioi, we all see and know.' Any one better ap- dexterous men; and eutropoi, men of facile prehends what it is by acquaintance than I or versatile manners, who can easily turn can inform him by description. It is indeed themselves to all things, or turn all things a thing so versatile and multiform, appear- to themselves. It also procureth delight, by ing in so many shapes, so many postures, so gratifying curiosity with its rareness or many garbs, so variously apprehended by semblance of difficulty; as monsters, not several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth for their beauty, but their rarity; as jugno less hard to settle a clear and certain no-gling tricks, not for their use, but their ab tion thereof, than to make a portrait of Pro- struseness, are beheld with pleasure, by diteus, or to define the figure of the fleeting verting the mind from its road of serious air. Sometimes it lieth in pat allusion to a thoughts; by instilling gaiety and airiness of known story, or in seasonable application of spirit; by provoking to such dispositions of a trivial saying, or in forging an apposite spirit in way of emulation or complaisance; tale: sometimes it playeth in words and and by seasoning matters, otherwise disphrases, taking advantage from the ambigui- tasteful or insipid, with an unusual and thence ty of their sense, or the affinity of their grateful tang. sound. Sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of humorous expression: sometimes it lurketh under an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly diverting or cleverly retorting an objection: sometimes it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradictions, or in acute nonsense: sometimes a scenical representation of persons or things, a counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture passeth for it: sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a presumptuous bluntness, giveth it being sometimes it riseth only from a lucky hitting upon what is strange; sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter to the purpose; often it consists in one knows not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are unaccountable and inexplicable, being answerable to the numberless rovings of fancy and windings of language. It is, in short, a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain way-such as reason teacheth and proveth things by-which by a pretty surprising uncouthness in conceit or expression doth affect and amuse the fancy, stirring it in some wonder, and breeding some delight therein. It raiseth admiration, as signifying a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felicity of invention, a vivacity of spirit and reach of wit more than vulgar. It seemeth to argue a rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in remote conceits applicable; a notable skill, that he can dexter ously accommodate them to the purpose before him; together with a lively briskness of

WISE SELECTION OF PLEASURE. Wisdom is exceedingly pleasant and peaceable; in general, by disposing us to acquire and enjoy all the good delight and happiness we are capable of; and by freeing us from all the inconveniences, mischiefs, and infelicities our condition is subject to. For whatever good from clear understanding, deliberate advice, sagacious foresight, stable resolution, dexterous address, right intention, and orderly proceeding, doth natu rally result, wisdom confers: whatever evil blind ignorance, false presumption, unwary credulity, precipitate rashness, unsteady purpose, ill contrivance, backwardness, inability, unwieldiness and confusion of thought beget, wisdom prevents. From a thousand snares and treacherous allurements, from innumerable rocks and dangerous surprises, from exceedingly many needless incumbrances and vexatious toils of fruitless endeavours, she redeems and secures us.

Wisdom instructs us to examine, compare, and rightly to value the objects that court our affections and challenge our care; and thereby regulates our passions and moderates our endeavours, which begets a pleasant serenity and peaceable tranquillity of mind. For when, being deluded with false shows, and relying upon ill grounded presumptions, we highly esteem, passionately affect, and eagerly pursue things of little worth in themselves or concernment to us; as we unhandsomely prostitute our affec tions, and prodigally misspend our time, and vainly lose our labour, so the event not an