with all this there must have been an indescribable force in the action, the attitude, the tone, the looks; which now expressed sorrow, friendlessness, compassion, welcome; and at last gilded this whole scene of mixed disappointment and hope, misery and joy, abandonment and return, with the rays of a divine mercy; as, sometimes in the summer, after a day of fearful darkness and tempest, while the heavy clouds are lingering upon the horizon, and the big drops are falling fast, the bow of promise spans the heavens, and the clear sun goes down in a flood of splendor.

Language is the next branch of eloquence of which I proposed to speak. By language I intend not only the choice of fit and proper words, and their just arrangements, but the various embellishments of speech, and the force it may derive from similes, metaphors, allegories and other figures and ornaments. The first aim of every speaker should be to be understood; and, in order to do this, he must himself understand. Much of the obscurity, which prevails both in writing and speaking, arises from the fact that the writer or speaker has no clear conception of what he means to say. This applies especially to extemporaneous speakers, whose great effort must be to say something and to occupy a certain time; but whose talk is too often only a sort of muddy current, poured out with great profusion, and where possibly, by settling and sifting and washing, you might in a large quantity pick out a few stray grains of gold, but the produce will seldom pay for the labor; besides that, we have not time to do it ;we get out of br eath in trying to keep up with the stream; much less can we venture to dive into it, to gee what may be found in its whirling eddies and boiling foam. If a man would say something, it is indispensable that he should have something to say. When he has a perfectly clear conception of what he means to express, he will generally be at no loss to find words to express it.

The language of true eloquence is in general simple and direct. I mean by simple, the use of common words, freedom from all superfluous epithets, and the avoiding of every thing, which may come under the name of verbiage. This does not forbid the use of some of the highest embellishments of speech. The orator may seek to please as well as to instruct or persuade his audience, and by pleasing he may better obtain the power both of persuading and instructing them. Similitudes, analogies, metaphors, when fitly chosen and occasionally introduced, not only charm the imagination, as the sparkling eye and dazzling scales of the serpent enchant the hovering bird; but by the power of association they deepen the impression of sentiments, which are uttered, and fix them immoveably in the affections. The too abundant use of figurative language, however, especially in argumentative or narrative discourses, though it may be all in itself proper, tends to distract the attention and defeat that singleness and strength of impression, which we desire to make. Elegant simplicity is always admired. This is as true of eloquence as of every thing else. I hope I shall be pardoned my bad taste if I presume to say that, in female dress, when youth and beauty appear arrayed in simple white, with perhaps some single diamond sparkling among the auburn curls that nature herself has entwined, or some simple bouquet reposing on the bosom of innocence, how infinitely does such a celestial vision outshine the mere earthen image, tricked out in all the puffs and papillotes, all the dangling bows and tresses, all the glittering ribands and sparkling paste, which wealth or luxury or vanity or folly can string together. The clover field in full flower, exhibiting a gaiety and splendor, which the magnificence of no kaleidoscope can rival, is not so striking as the wild lilies and roses scattered here and there among the tangled bushes and along the winding paths. The glorious heavens themselves studded with a countless and crowded host of stars and constellations, in a clear winter's night, do not impress us so deeply as when, at the change of the moon, on the bosom of a clear twilight, around the edge of which the gilding rays of the departed sun still faintly linger, we see the beautiful crescent and the evening star in new conjunction, as it were holding bright converse with each other on the glory of God.

All inflated and bombastical expressions are in bad taste. Sentences, constructed with too much attention to harmony of sound, especially where they abound and succeed each other so often as to give a sort of musical cadence to the whole discourse, become extremely wearisome. Illustrations drawn from the abstruse sciences are entirely misplaced, excepting where those sciences are familiar; and allusions to mean and low objects are liable to offend by their grossness. To return again to the subject of figurative language, it ought to be remarked, that, to some men, this style of speech is much more natural than to

others. In some minds the invention, or imagination, or what the Phrenologists would call the organ of ideality, is predominant. In cases where it prevails, as Hudibras expresses it, "their mouth they hardly ope, but out there flies a trope;" we soon perceive that it is in a degree the natural mode of speech, their vernacular tongue; it is evidently not forced; we regard it therefore with more indulgence; and, in the hands of those bright genuises, whose minds are tempered by soundness of judgement, their speech is like turning out a casket of gems of every hue and form and splendor. Illustrations, gathered from every source, crowd upon them; and yet so naturally and appositely, that the audience are now thrilled with delight; now melted by tenderness; now transported by rapture; now impelled by deep passion; the gay, or the sombre picture rises at the pleasure of the speaker, before the rapt imagination of his audience; and all its brilliant scintillations and all its gloomy shades are reflected in the deep emotions of their bosoms. Ames was an orator of this description. The lamented Buckminster belonged to the same school. But the master spirit, who remains at a height as yet scarcely approached by any other, was Edmund Burke, that bold genius, which saw the flashes of its own light, reflected from every object on which it fell in an infinite variety of coloring and beauty; and whose glowing speech, like the setting sun of summer, was often seen wrapping itself in clouds of every hue and form, and of matchless gorgeousness and splendor.

The time which I dare to occupy allows me only to glance at topics, each of which might properly engross the whole of an evening's lecture. This must be my apology for many of the imperfections of this service; of which imperfections I am not less sensible than my respectable audience.

The next great attribute of Eloquence is sentiment. By sentiment I mean the subject matter; the conceptions, the idea, the thing expressed. We attribute much to tones, to action, to language, to embellishment; but the foundations of all true eloquence must be laid in the sentiment. Tones, actions, language, derive all their force from the sentiment, which they indicate or express. The skillful use of them may give increased force and interest to the highest conceptions; but exerted under all the circumstances of effect and advantage, with which they are capable of being associated, they can never elevate nor render eloquent a mean or trivial or low thought. On the other hand, noble conceptions and sentiments, though unaided by the powers of rhetorical embellishment, and presented in a form the most unadorned, will often force their way to the deep places of the soul by their own intrinsic weight and moment.

In this matter, as in every thing else, we cannot go against nature. Her laws are inviolable. If we mean to interest others, there must be an inherent interest in the subject presented. In order to impress them deeply, the subject itself must be momentous. If we would elevate their views, there must be a grandeur in the conceptions, which we seek to kindle in their minds. If we would stir their pas sions, the subject must be of a nature to make them feel. It is in vain to think of exciting alarm and terror, where it would be impossible to produce a sense of insecurity or danger. The lightning's flash and the deep thunder would create no fear, were it not for the consciousness that instant destruction and death are often borne upon their blast. There can be no eloquence, therefore, unless there is eloquence, -if the expression be allowable,-in the thought or subject itself; or in the associations and thoughts connected with the action, or tones, or expressions employed. I proceed to the last and highest attribute of Eloquence, which is passion. No man can be eloquent, who does not himself feel deeply; and even in argumentative discourses of the most logical character, and where the reasoning approaches almost to mathematical demonstration, an audience will not be impressed, they will scarcely listen with patience, if they are not persuaded that the conclusions to which the orator would force them are the deliberate and solemn convictions of his own mind.

He who would persuade others must be himself persuaded. He must be sincere. He must be in earnest. In all serious cases, and no man can be eloquent in any other, the slightest suspicion that the orator is merely acting a part, that he is not himself true to what he utters, will defeat his success. It may be said that the effect of theatrical representations contradicts these positions, for persons feel as much at the performance of a tragedy, where the acting is good, as they would if the scenes before them were real. But is it not the case that we do not feel on such occasions until we forget that it is fiction, and surrender ourselves to the illusion of its reality, which the scenery, the circumstances, and the natural, powerful acting are adapted to create ?

To be eloquent, a man must be true to nature. This is, perhaps, saying all that can be said. His whole soul must enter into the subject which he would have enter into the souls of others. It is for this reason that every thing, which appears like mannerism, all affectation, all prettinesses, all exquisite attention to motion, attitude, tones, pronunciation, injure or destroy the effect and purpose of the orator. A decent personal appearance is, on the part of every gentleman, a matter of proper respect to his audience; slovenliness, or an affectation of indifference or negligence on this subject, is always disgusting, and much oftener springs from vanity than from absence of mind; on the other hand, all dandyism, -excuse a word for which I hardly know how to find a substitute,-all nice adjusting of the hair, all simpering with the mouth, all solicitude about the collar of the shirt or the tie of the cravat, and all flourishes of the hand, that we may display the whiteness of its complexion or the brilliancy of the diamond, which sparkles on the finger, are as offensive as they are contemptible. Such things are beneath the dignity of true eloquence. The triumphs of true eloquence, pathetic, magnificent, sublime, awful as they sometimes are, are seen only when the orator stands before you in the simple majesty of truth, and, overpowered with the strength of his own convictions, he forgets himself, and forgets every thing but his great subject; you think no longer of who speaks, or how he speaks, but of what is spoken; subdued by the gushes of his tenderness, your tears mingle with his; determined by the power of his reasoning, you are prompt to admit if you are not prepared to yield to the force of arguments, which bring with them this pledge of their power; entering with his whole mind and soul into the subject of his address, you sympathize in those strong emotions which you see are, in his bosom, burning and struggling for utterance; and soon find yourself moving onwards with him on the same impetuous and resistless current of feeling and passion.

These are among the highest efforts of eloquence. Those only are capable of producing such effects, who are themselves susceptible of these deep emotions; who themselves at the time actually feel them, and have within their own hearts the fire, which they would kindle in the bosoms of others. I should be happy on this occasion to have adduced examples of this eloquence, and to have illustrated by various references the remarks which I have made; but I would not willingly trespass upon your kindness. The forbearance even of the greatest kindness can only reach to a certain point; and it is both folly and waste in the pensioner upon your bounty, after his cup is filled, to insist upon your making it

run over.

Of the eloquent writers in the English language Shakspeare still bears off the palm from all others. He was a miracle of genius. To the most wonderful powers of conception, and the most extraordinary vivacity, loftiness and brilliancy of imagination, he added a knowledge of human nature and a thorough insight of the workings of human passion, with a power of expressing them, which have never been surpassed. There is, it must be admitted, much trash and nonsense and grossness and objectionable matter in his plays. Passages in abundance may be selected from the writings of other men equal in eloquence to any thing which he has written; but no writer, in proportion to what he has written, presents so much that is truly eloquent; no writer understood so perfectly the language of deep passion; and no writer is, perhaps, capable of keeping up the feelings of his readers for such a length of time, or of wringing their hearts almost to breaking, as he appeared to do at his pleasure. Take for an example the interview of Hamlet with the Ghost of his murdered father, in which that imaginary personage exhorts him to revenge his father's death, and discloses to him the iniquity of his mother and uncle. What, indeed, must be the effect of such scenes in the representations of men like Garrick or Talma!

It might be expected that I should go on now to speak of the different kinds of eloquence, narrative, argumentative, deliberative, passionate, or, of that which combines the whole. But it would be unjust to you and to my subject on such an occasion as this to attempt it. My object in reference to this subject has been only in a humble skiff to skirt along its shores, and to point out to you its grand outlines, as they are marked upon the horizon, but to explore the country, to advance into the interior, to visit its beautiful, its grand, and its magnificent scenery, to penetrate its deep forests, to trace its mighty streams, to traverse its boundless plains, to ascend its lofty mountains, and, above all, to think to touch those rocks from which the waters of inspiration gush forth, would demand a lengthened voyage and a guide far different from one, who has seen it only in the distant prospect and under a hazy sky.

Of the state of eloquence in our own country I shall scarcely speak. As far as eloquence belongs to art, it would be unjust to compare the eloquence of our country with that of Europe,-the greenness of youth with the vigor of manhood. As far as it belongs to nature, there are examples in the history of the aborigines of this country of a grand and touching eloquence, which will live in the story of this abused race as long as, in their own expressive allusions, the trees wave in their forests, the winds, responsive to their just complaints, echo among their mountains, and the waters, like the tide of their mighty griefs, continue to flow. We have not been without our eloquent men. We are not now without them; stars in our western hemisphere of the first magnitude, shining with their own native light. Men of true eloquence will always be rare. Many qualities must combine to form an orator in the highest sense of that great name; and genius itself is an infrequent gift. At the bar we have had eloquent pleaders, who, by the power of argument, were able to force conviction. We have had eloquent men in our deliberative assemblies. The great occasions in our history have called them out; men, who came forth uncovered and almost alone in the hour of darkness and storms to proclaim a nation's wrongs and to demand a nation's rights; men, whom patriotism and philanthropy made eloquent; who sealed their devotion with their blood, and who, in the convulsive throes of expiring nature, shouted Liberty forever! in tones, which shook the throne of despotism to its foundations. Other great men, competent to meet the emergencies of the country, have succeeded them; and, in a time of menace and peril, have thrown the shield of their powerful eloquence over the constitution of our country, the great palladium of our liberties and rights, the last and best hope of the friends of liberty throughout

the world.

The pulpit among us has not been without its eloquent men; men, not less eloquent in their own deep impressions of religious truth, in the purity of their lives, in their self-devotion, and the disinterestedness of their zeal, in their fervent piety and their solicitude for the eternal well-being of those whom they addressed, than in the power of their reasonings to enforce the principles of God's everlasting truth, and in their array of the high and holy motives which should lead men to provide for their everlasting welfare.

The eloquence of the pulpit, in my humble opinion, differs from every other. It should deal less,-nay, rather it should not deal at all,-in any tricks of art. To enforce convictions of what is true; to persuade men to what is good; to rouse the indolent; to alarm the profligate; to animate the desponding; to console the broken-hearted; to excite men to virtue; to kindle and cherish within them benevolent and pious affections; to direct their attention to a future life; to impress them with the conviction of their own moral responsibility; in a word, instead of mere worldly to make them religious beings, to raise them from the death of sin to a life of righteousness, and to aid in forming their characters for a world of unmixed and ineffable purity and glory-these are the great ends of the Christian ministry; and to do all this, and to urge all this under the teachings of divine inspiration and the immediate and oracular revelations of the Deity himself, is the business of the eloquence of the pulpit. In such a case, a man may well put forth all his power. How, if he be what he would seem to be, can he do otherwise? He may summon to his aid all the helps of the imagination, of learning, of genius, in a word, of eloquence. But eloquence here is only feeling what we say, and speaking to those who should also feel it. I submit to the judgement even of a child, is there any thing so offensive in the oratory of the pulpit, as that of a man's acting his part, and "playing such tricks before high heaven as would make even angels weep." But here the people are as much to blame, where blame applies, as the minister. They flatter the man; they too often make a fool of him. They speak of his performance as they would speak of a player on the stage; they boast to him of his person, his voice, his genius, his success. Human nature can hardly bear this; men are either chagrined and mortified and distressed by the fear of public censure and criticism, or they become inflated with the passion for display; they drink in the intoxicating nectar of flattery until they cannot live without it; our churches become mere theatres, and the true spirit of Christian zeal and piety is extinguished by a low and worldly ambition.

Poor human nature! Would to God that it were not so! It is indeed humiliating, when you have striven to pour out your whole soul to persuade, to reclaim, to comfort, to rescue, to save those who hear you, to be told by some heartless flatterer, perhaps some man who thinks to do you a kindness, "Well, this is fine.”

The only way to be eloquent in the pulpit, most surely, is not to think of one's self; but to forget every thing but God and your duty. Why should we think of ourselves? We are poor, frail, ignorant, imperfect, sinful beings, like those whom we address. We can claim no exemption from any of the ills or any of the imperfections, "which flesh is heir to." We are fellow pilgrims on the same

road. We are candidates for the same eternal life or death. We must stand without distinction at the same tribunal. Let us feel this; this will abate all conceit and pride, all ambition and vain glory, and make us trample them in the dust; and when, feeling this, we come before our fellow beings to speak to them from the fulness of our own hearts, of God, of judgement, and of immortality, the subjects themselves, by their own native and inherent grandeur, solemnity and everlasting moment, will need little extrinsic aid, and few of the embellishments of artificial eloquence to impress the hearts of those to whom they are addressed. I have thrown out these imperfect hints for your reflection. Accept them in your kindness, simply as a testimony of my good will towards the institution, in whose behalf I have appeared.

What a delightful spectacle is presented in your association for mutual improvement in all that is intellectual and moral. Go on!-and may your institution be continually advancing. You come here for the high purposes of education. You turn aside from the ordinary and distracting pursuits of life, where, amidst its whirls and eddies, its corroding anxieties and noisy pleasures, you are ministering to the body only, that you may engage in the higher purpose of providing food for the mind, and stimulating and expanding its celestial attributes. It is a privilege and a noble duty. The human mind is the emanation of the divine intelligence; the image of the divine glory; the most brilliant gift of the Creator in his exuberant bounty. How subtle yet how wonderful in its operations! how diversified in its talents! how bold in its conceptions! how mighty in its effects! Surveying places far beyond the reach of human sense; controling events over which physical force is impotent; erecting monuments upon which the revolutions of time effect no change; measuring the material universe in its bold calculations; penetrating even into the presence-chamber of the divine glory, and presuming to scan the perfections of that great Being, who occupies all space, lives through all time, and reigns in his own glory, undivided and supreme throughout the universe. More than this; higher than all this; clothed with the attributes of divine immortality; destined to live, to think, to feel, to act, to go onwards and upwards, when every thing earthly and sensible shall perish; and now, while yet on earth, by the dictates of reason, by the power of conscience, and by all the eloquence of religious faith, exhorted to fix its eye heavenward, to expand its powers, and to plume itself for an eternal flight. Men! reasonable beings! offspring of God! children of light! heirs of immortality! be just to yourselves and true to the nature, which God has given, and the destiny, which he sets before you.

SONNET.

TO MY SISTER.

SISTER, dear Sister, I am getting old;
My hair is thinner, and the cheerful light
That glistened in my eye is not so bright,
Though, when on thee I gaze, 't is never cold.
My hand is not so steady while I pen

These simple words, to tell how warm and clear
Flow my heart's fountains for thee, Sister dear.

I've been for years among my fellow men,

Shared their high passions, felt their griefs and joys;
I've found Pride, Power and Fame but gilded toys;

And, riding far upon Ambition's waves,

Beheld lost mariners on a troubled sea

Find,-what they sought not,-shipwreck and their graves;
My spirit seeks her ark of rest in thee!

SENEL.