dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia, o he was still the same military despot! contemplating defeat--at the gallows of Leipsig In this wonderful combination, his affectations of literature must not be omitted. The jailerof the press, he affected the patronage of letters; the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning! the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A royalist-a republican, and an emperor-a Mohammedan--a catholic and a patron of the synagogue-a subaltern and a sovereign-a traitor and a tyrant-a christian and an infidel-he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, incomprehensible self-the man-without a model, and without a shadow.-Phillips. 715. CHARACTER OF Bonaparte. He is fallen! We may now pause--before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us, like some ancient ruin, whose frown-terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar, he sat upon the throne a sceptred hermit, wrapt-in the solitude of his own originality. A mind, bold, independent, and decisIve-a will, despotic in its dictates-an energy, that distanced expedition, and a conscience-pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character,-the most extraordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in the midst of a revolution, that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity! With no friend, but his sword, and no fortune, but his talents, he rushed in the list-where rank, and wealth, and genius--had arrayed themselves, and competition-fled from him, as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive, but interest-he acknowledged no criterion, but success--he wor716. THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Pause, shiped no God, but ambition, and, with an eastern devotion, he knelt-at the shrine of his idolatry. for a while, ye travelers on the earth, to conSubsidiary to this, there was no creed, that he template the universe, in which you dwell, did not profess, there was no opinion, that he did and the glory of him, who created it. What not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he up- a scene of wonders-is here presented to held the crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he your view! If beheld with a religious eye, bowed before the cross: the orphan of St. Louis, what a temple-for the worship of the Alhe became the adopted child of the republic: and mighty! The earth is spread out before you, with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins-both reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or of the throne, and tribune, he reared the throne clad in the verdure of spring-smiling in of his despotism. A professed catholic, he im- the beauty of summer, or loaded with autumprisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impov-nal fruit;--opening to an endless variety of erished the country; and in the name of Brutus, beings-the treasures of their Maker's goodhe grasped, without remorse, and wore, without shame, the diadem of the Cesars! Through this ness, and ministering subsistence, and compantomime of policy, fortune played the clown to fort to every creature that lives. The heav his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beg- ens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The gars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theo- sun cometh forth from his chambers-to scatries took the color of his whim, and all that was ter the shades of night-inviting you to the venerable, and all that was novel, changed pla- renewal of your labors-adorning the face ces with the rapidity of a drama. Even appa- of nature-and, as he advances to his merirent defeat-assumed the appearance of victory-dian brightness, cherishing every herb, and his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin itself-only elevated him to empire. But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision-flashed upon his councils; and it was the same to decide-and to perform. To inferior intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but, in his hands simplicity-marked their develop ment, and success- vindicated their adoption. His person-partook of the character of his mind; if the one-never yielded in the cabinet, the other-never bent in the field. Nature-had no obstacle, that he did not surmount, space-no opposition, that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent-trembled-at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism-bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romanceassumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful--for expectation, when the world-saw a subaltern of Corsica-waving his imperial flag-over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquitybecame commonplaces in his contemplation; kings were his people-nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were titular dignitaries of the chess-board! Amid all these changes, he stood-iummutable every flower, that springeth from the bosom of the earth. Nor, when he retires again from your view, doth he leave the Creator without a witness. He only hides his own splendor, for a while, to disclose to you a more glorious scene-to show you the immensity of space, filled with worlds unnumbered, that your imaginations may wander, without a limit, in the vast creation of God." What a field is here opened, for the exer cise of every pious emotion! and how irresistibly do such contemplations as these, awaken the sensibility of the soul! Here, is infinite power-to impress you with awehere is infinite wisdom-to fill you with admiration-here is infinite goodness-to call forth your gratitude, and love. The correspondence between these great objects, and the affections of the human heart, is estab lished by nature itself; and they need only to be placed before us, that every religious feeling may be excited.-Moodie. There is so great a fever in goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make It mattered little, whether in the field, or in the fellowships accursed; much upon this riddrawing-room-with the mob, or the levee — dle runs the wisdom of the world. This wearing the jacobin bonnet, or the iron crown- news is old enough, yet it is every day's banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburg-news.-Shakspeare. as adamant. 718. THUNDER STORM ON THE ALPS. It is the hush of night; and all between [clear, Of flowers-yet fresh with childhood; on the The sky is changed! and such a change! O night, [strong! And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud: But every mountain-now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night: Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be A sharer in thy fierce, and far delight, A portion of the tempest, and of thee! How the lit lake shines! a phosphoric sea! And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again-'tis black, and now, the glee Of the loud hills-shakes with its mountainmirth, [birth. departed! his way, Itself expired, but leaving them an age [wage! Of years, all winters! war-within themselves to Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft [stand: The mightiest of the storms hath taken his For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around! of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath His lightnings, as if he did understand, [forked That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked.-Byron. Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, And Heaven-beholds its image-in his breast. 719. MATERNAL AFFECTION. Woman's charms are certainly many and powerful. The expanding rose, just bursting into beauty, has an irresistible bewitchingness; the blooming bride, led triumphantly to the hymeneal altar, awakens admiration and interest, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight ;--but the charm of maternity, is more sublime than all these. Heaven has imprinted, in the mother's face, which claims kindred with the skies,--the something beyond this world, something angelic smile, the tender look, the waking, watchful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe. nor the chisel, can touch, which poetry fails These are objects, which neither the pencil to exalt, which the most eloquent tongue, in vain, would eulogize, and on which all description becomes ineffective. In the heart of man lies this lovely picture; it lives in his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for such another object on earth. Maternity, extatic sound! so twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb, ere we forget it! 'tis our first love; 'tis part of our religion. Nature has set the mother upon such a pinnacle, that our infant eyes, and arms, are first uplifted to it; we cling to it in manhood; we almost worship it in old age. He, who can enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its mother's beauty--nourished by the tide of life, which flows through the generous veins, without a panting bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a monster. 720. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again, thou usher'st in the day, My Mary, from my soul was torn. O, Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover, lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans, that rend his breast? That sacred hour-can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where, by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity-will not efface Those records dear, of transports past; Thy image, at our last embrace ! Ah little thought we, 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods' thick'ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. As streams-their channels deeper wear. My Mary dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid } Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? Ill-doers-are ill-thinkers. Our bruised arms-hung up for monuments: And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds, I, that am curtail'd-of this fair proportion, Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I Remember you've worn them; and just can it be I don't mean my gifts-but you will break my Not bank notes-no, truly, I had none to send! But, madam, you are not worth fighting about; He comes not-I have watched the moon go down, His madness,-and should sickness come, and [lay I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, Until the penitent should weep, and say, And talked about poison, in accents so wild, How injured, and how faithful I had been! So very like torture, you started-and smiled. DISCOVERIES. From time to time, a Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I chosen hand, sometimes directed by chance, All natural nourishment did I not shun ?[ done? but more commonly guided by reflection, exMy figure is wasted; my spirits are lost; [ghost.periment and research, touches a spring, till And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a Remember, remember-ay, madam, you must-I once was exceedingly stout, and robust; I rode by your palfrey, I came at your call, And nightly, went with you, to banquet and ball. Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused! Sure, never was lover so strangely ill-used! Consider my presents-I don't mean to boastBut, madam, consider the money they cost! then unperceived; and through what seemed a blank and impenetrable wall,--the barrier to all further progress,--a door is thrown open into some before unexplored hall in the sacred temple of truth. The multitude rushes in, and wonders that the portals could have remained concealed so long. When a brilliant discovery or invention is proclaimed, men are astonished to think how long they had lived on its confines, without penetrating its nature. 722. No EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOR. The education, moral, and intellectual, of every individual, must be, chiefly, his own work. Rely upon it, that the ancients were right-Quisque suæ fortunæ faber-both in morals, and intellect, we give their final shape to our own characters, and thus become, emphatically, the architects of our own fortunes. How else could it happen, that young men, who have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually presenting us, with such different results, and rushing to such opposite destinies? Difference of talent will not solve it, because that difference very often is in favor of the disappointed candidate. You shall see, issuing from the walls of the same college-nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family-two young men, of whom the one-shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the other, scarcely above the point of mediocrity; yet you shall see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity, and wretchedness: while, on the other hand, you shall observe the mediocre, plodding his slow, but sure way-up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, to eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a blessing to his country. Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own. They are the architects of their respective fortunes. The best seminary of learning, that can open its portals to you, can do no more than to afford you the opportunity of instruction: but it must depend, at last, on yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to what point you will push your instruction. And of this be assured I speak, from observation, a certain truth: there is no excellence without great labor. It is the fiat of fate, from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle, till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnanimous kind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches from the summit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, and sustains itself, at pleasure, in that empyreal region, with an energy-rather invigorated, than weakened, by the effort. It is this capacity for high and long-continued exertion-this vigorous power of profound and searching investigation-this careering and wide-spreading comprehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought, that "-Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, This is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements, which are to enroll your names among the great men of the earth.-Wirt. But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther-than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Funeral marches-to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Heart-within, and God--o'er head. We can make our lives sublime, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, With a heart for any fate; Learn to labor, and to wait.-Longfellow. 724. DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. In forming our notions of human nature, we are very apt to make a comparison betwixt men, and animals, which are the only creatures, endowed with thought, that fall under our senses. Certainly, this comparison is very favorable to mankind! On the one hand, we see a creature, whose thoughts-are not limited, by the narrow bounds, either of place, or time, who carries his researches-into the most distant regions of this globe, and beyond this globe, to the planets, and heavenly bodies; looks backward-to consider the first origin of the human race; casts his eyes forward-to see the influence of his actions upon posterity, and the judgments which will be formed of his character-a thousand years hence: a creature, who traces causes and effects-to great lengths and intricacy; extracts general principles from particular appearances; improves upon his discoveries, corrects his mistakes, and makes his very errors profitable. On the other hand, we are presented with a creature-the very reverse of ings-to a few sensible objects which surthis; limited in its observations and reasonround it; without curiosity, without foresight, blindly conducted by instinct, and arriving, beyond which-it is never able to advance a in a very short time, at its utmost perfection, single step. What a difference is there be twixt these creatures! and how exalted a notion must we entertain of the former in comparison of the latter.-Hume. SURE REWARDS FOR VIRTUE. There is a morning to the tomb's long night, A dawn of glory, a reward in heaven, He shall not gain, who never merited. If thou didst know the worth of one good deed In life's last hour, thou wouldst not bid me lose The power to benefit. If I but save A drowning fly, I shall not live in vain. I had rather see some women praised extraordinarily, than to see any of them suffer by detraction. 725. EMMET'S VINDICATION-IN FULL. My Lords-What have I to say, why sentence of death should not be be pronounced on me, according to law? I have nothing to say, that can alter your predetermination, nor that it will become me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sentence, which you are here to pronounce, and I must abide by. But I have that to say, which interests me more than life, and which you have labored, (as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country,) to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued-from the load of false accusation and calumny, which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity, as to receive the least impression-from what I am going to utter-I have no hopes, that I can anchor my character-in the breast of a court, constituted and trammeled as this is-I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your lordships-may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of preju dice, until it finds some more hospitable harbor-to shelter it from the storm, by which it is at present buffeted. Was I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal-I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me, without a murmurbut the sentence of the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy--for there must be guilt somewhere: whether in the sentence of the court, or in the catastrophy, posterity must determine. A man, in my situation, my lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds, which it has corrupted, or subjugated, but, the difficulties of established prejudice.-The man dies, but his memory lives: that mine may not perish, that it may live, in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity-to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port; when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes, who have shed their blood on the scaffold, and in the field, in defence of their country, and of virtue, this is my hope; I wish that my memory and name-may animate those, who survive me, while I look down, with complacency, on the destruction of that perfidious government, which upholds its domination by blasphemy of the Most High-which displays its power over man, as over the beasts of the forest-which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the throat of his fellow, who believes, or doubts, a little more, or a little less, than the government standard-a government, which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans, and the tears of the widows which it has made. [Here, Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet, saying, that the mean and wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did, were not equal to the accomplishment of their wild designs. I appeal to the immaculate God-I swear by the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear-by the blood of the murdered patriots, who have gone before me--that my conduct has been, through all this peril, and all my purposes, governed on. ly, by the convictions which I have uttered, and by no other view, than that of their cure, and the emancipation of my country-from the superinhuman oppression, under which she has so long, and too patiently travailed; and that I confidently and assuredly hope, that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noblest enterprise. Of this, I speak with the confidence of intimate knowledge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. Think not, my lord, I say this for the petty gratification of giving you a transitory uneasiness; a man, who never yet raised his voice to assert a lie, will not hazard his character with posterity, by asserting a falsehood on a subject, so important to his country, and on an occasion like this. Yes, my lords, a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written, until his country is liberated, will not leave a weapon in the power of envy; nor a pretence to impeach the probity, which he means to preserve, even in the grave-to which tyranny consigns him. [Here, he was again interrupted, by the court.] Again, I say, that what I have spoken, was not intended for your lordship, whose situation I commiserate-rather than envy-my expressions were for my countrymen: if there is a true Irishman present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his afflic tion (Here, he was again interrupted. Lord Norbury said he did not sit there to hear treason.] I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law; I have, also, understood that judges, sometimes, think it their duty to hear, with patience, and to speak with humanity; to ehxort the victim of the laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, his opinions of the motives, by which he was actuated in the crime, of which he had been adjudged guilty; that a judge has thought it his duty so to have done, I have no doubt-but where is the boast ed freedom of your institutions, where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and mildness of your courts of justice? if an unfortunate prisoner, whom your policy, and not pure justice, is about to deliv er into the hands of the executioner, is not suffered to explain his motives, sincerely and truly, and to vindicate the principles, by which he was actuated. My lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice, to bow a man's mind by humiliation-to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than the purposed shame, or the scaf fold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded in putations-as have been laid against me in this court: you, my lord, are a judge, I am the supposed culprit; I am a man, you are a man, also; by a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters; if I stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice? If I stand at this bar and dare not vindicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence, but while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character, and motives-from your aspersions; and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life, in doing justice to that reputation, which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my lord, we must appear on the great day, at one common tribual, and it will then remain-for the searcher of all hearts-to show a collective universe, who wa engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives-my country's oppressors or [Hore, he was interrupted, and told to listen to the sentence of the law.] My lord, will a dying man be denied the legal privilege of exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved reproach, thrown upon him during his trial, by charging him with ambition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the liberties of his country? Why did your lordship insult me? or rather why insult justice, in demanding of me, why sentence of death should not be pronounced? I know, my lord, that form prescribes that you should ask the question; the form also presumes a right of answering. This, no doubt, may be dispensed with— and so might the whole ceremony of the trial, since sentence was pronounced at the castle, before your jury was empanelled; your lordships are but the priests of the oracle, and I submit; but I insist on the whole of the forms. [Here the court desired him to proceed.] I am charged with being an emissary of France: An emissary of France! And for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country! And for what end? Was this the object of my ambition! And is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No, I am no emissary, and my ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country; not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement! Sell my country's independence to France! And for what? Was it for a change of masters? No! But for ambition! O, my country, was it personal ambition that could influence me! Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of my oppressors? My country was my idol; to it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment; and for it, I now offer up my life. O God! No, my lord; I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country-from the yoke of a foreign, and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, which is its joint partner and perpe trator, in the parricide, for the ignominy of existing with an exte rior of splendor, and of conscious depravity. It was the wish cổ my heart to extricate my country, from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any pow. er on earth; I wished to exalt you to that proud station in the world. Connection with France was indeed intended, but only as far as mutual interest would sanction, or require. Were they to assume any authority, inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal for their destruction; we sought aid, and we sought it |