XXX.

Death of Sheridan.—BYRON.

THE flash of wit-the bright intelligence,
The beam of song-the blaze of eloquence,
Set with their sun, but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal mind-
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous whole,
These sparkling segments of that circling soul,
Which all embraced, and lightened over all,
To cheer-to pierce-to please-or to appal:
From the charmed council to the festive board,
Of human feelings the unbounded lord;

In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

The praised-the proud-who made his praise their pride.

When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan
Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,
His was the thunder-his the avenging rod,
The wrath-the delegated voice of God!
Which shook the nations through his lips-and blazed,
Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.

Ye orators! whom yet our councils yield,
Mourn for the veteran hero of your field!
The worthy rival of the wondrous three!*
Whose words were sparks of immortality!
Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear,
He was your master-emulate him here!
Ye men of wit and social eloquence!

He was your brother-bear his ashes hence!
While powers of mind almost of boundless range,
Complete in kind—as various in their change;
While eloquence-wit-poesy-and mirth
(That humbler harmonist of care on earth)
Survive within our souls-while lives our sense
Of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence,

*Pitt, Fox and Burke.

Long shall we seek his likeness-long in vain,
And turn to all of him which may remain,
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,
And broke the die-in moulding SHERIDAN!

XXXI.

America.-PHILLIPS.

I APPEAL to History! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of a universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful heroism, or all the establishments of this world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its possessions? Alas! Troy thought so once; yet the land of Priam lives only in song! Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are but as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate! So thought Palmyra-where is she? So thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan; yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless and enervate Ottoman! In his hurried march, time has but looked at their imagined immortality; and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps! The days of their glory are as if they had never been; and the island that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards! Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, may not, one day, be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was! Who shall say, that, when the European column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon to rule, for its time, sovereign of the ascendant!

XXXII.

The Political Demagogue, and the Real American Statesman contrasted.*-N. BIDdle.

THE POLITICAL DEMAGOGUE.

IN our country, too many young men rush into the arena of public life without adequate preparation. They go abroad because their home is cheerless. They fill their minds with the vulgar excitement of what they call politics, for the want of more genial stimulants within. Unable to sustain the rivalry of more disciplined intellects, they soon retire in disgust and mortification, or what is far worse, persevere after distinctions which they can now obtain only by artifice. They accordingly take refuge in leagues and factions-they rejoice in stratagems-they glory in combinations, weapons all these, by which mediocrity revenges itself on the uncalculating manliness of genius-and mines its way to power. Their knowledge of themselves inspires a low estimate of others. They distrust the judgment and the intelligence of the community, on whose passions alone they rely for advancement and their only study is to watch the shifting currents of popular prejudice, and be ready at a moment's warning to follow them. For this purpose, their theory is, to have no principles and to give no opinions, never to do any thing so marked as to be inconsistent with doing the direct reverse-and never to say any thing not capable of contradictory explanations. They are thus disencumbered for the race-and as the ancient mathematician could have moved the world if he had a place to stand on, they are sure of success, if they have only room to turn. Accordingly, they worship cunning, which is only the counterfeit of wisdom, and deem themselves sagacious only because they are selfish. They believe that all generous sentiments of love of country, for which they feel no sympathy in their own breasts, are hollow pretences in others-that public life is a game in which success depends on dexterity-and that all govern

* From his Address before the Alumni Association of Nassau Hall, Princeton, September 30, 1835.

ment is a mere struggle for place. They thus disarm ambition of its only fascination, the desire of authority in order to benefit the country; since they do not seek places to obtain power, but power to obtain places. Such persons may rise to great official stations-for high offices are like the tops of pyramids, which reptiles can reach as well as eagles. But though they may gain places, they never can gain honours-they may be politiciansthey never can become statesmen. The mystery of their success lies in their adroit management of our own weakness-just as the credulity of his audience makes half the juggler's skill. Personally and singly, objects of indifference, our collected merits are devoutly adored when we acquire the name of "the people." Our sovereignty, our virtues, our talents, are the daily themes of eulogy: they assure us that we are the best and wisest of the human race-that their highest glory is to be the instruments of our pleasure, and that they will never act, nor think, nor speak but as we direct them. If we name them to executive stations, they promise to execute only what we desire-if we send them to deliberative bodies, they engage never to deliberate, but be guided solely by the light of our intuitive wisdom. Startled at first by language, which, when addressed to other sovereigns, we are accustomed to ridicule for its abject sycophancy, constant repetition makes it less incredible. By degrees, although we may not believe all the praise, we cannot doubt the praiser, till at last we become so spoiled by adulation, that truth is unwelcome. If it comes from a stranger, it must be prejudice-if from a native, scarce less than treason; and when some unhappy traveller ventures to smile at follies which we will not see or not acknowledge, instead of disregarding it, or being amused by it, or profiting by it, we resent it as an indignity to our sovereign perfections. This childish sensitiveness would be merely ludicrous if it did not expose us to the seduction of those who flatter us only till they are able to betray us-as men praise what they mean to sell,treating us like pagan idols, caressed till we have granted away our power-and then scourged for our impotence. Their pursuit of place has alienated them from the walks of honest industry-their anxiety for the public fortunes has dissipated their own. With nothing left

either in their minds or means to retreat upon; having no self-esteem, and losing that of others when they cease to possess authority, they acquire a servile love of sunshine -a dread of being what is called unpopular, that makes them the ready instruments of any chief who promises to be the strongest. No matter with what bitterness they yesterday denounced and calumniated and scorned him. They will be ready to-morrow with equal bitterness to denounce and calumniate and scorn him. But while his short day actually lasts-from positive sunrise to undeniable sunset-so long as he commands a majority, their first duty is to rush to the assistance of the conquerortheir first impulse to seek forgiveness and place. They degenerate at last into mere demagogues, wandering about the political common, without a principle or a dollar, and anxious to dispose to the highest bidder of their only remaining possession, their popularity. If success ful, they grow giddy with the frequent turns by which they rose, and wither into obscurity. If they miscalcu late-if they fall into that fatal error-a minority-retirement, which is synonymous with disgrace, awaits them, while their more fortunate rivals, after flourishing for a season in gaudy and feverish notoriety, are eclipsed by some fresher demagogue, some more popular man of the people. Such is the melancholy history of many persons, victims of an abortive ambition, whom more cultivation might have rendered useful and honourable citi

zens.

THE REAL AMERICAN STATESMAN.

Above this crowd and beyond them all stands that character which I trust many of you will become a real American statesman. For the high and holy duty of serving his country, he begins by deep and solitary stu dies of its constitution and laws, and all its great interests. These studies are extended over the whole circumference of knowledge-all the depths and shoals of human passions are sounded to acquire the mastery over them. The solid structure is then strengthened and embellished by familiarity with ancient and modern languages with history, which supplies the treasures of old experience with eloquence, which gives them attrac tion-and with the whole of that wide miscellaneous