settle the account with thy conscience'. . for every past benefit unrequited' every past endearment unregarded', of that departed being who can never'. . never' . . . never return to be soothed by thy contrition'! If thou art a child', and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul', or a furrow to the silvered brow', of an affectionate parent'—if thou art a husband', and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms', to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth' -if thou art a friend', and hast ever wronged', in thought', or word', or deed', the spirit that generously confided in thee'-if thou art a lover', and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet'; then be sure that every unkind look', every ungracious word', every ungentle action', will come thronging back upon thy memory', and knocking dolefully at thy soul'-then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave', and utter the unheard groan', and pour the unavailing tear', .. more deep', more bitter', because'.... unheard'.. and unavailing'.

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers', and strewa the beauties of nature about the grave'; console thy broken spirit', if thou canst', with these tender', yet futile', tributes of regret';—but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead', and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living'.

SECTION VIII.

Character of Bonaparte, written after his second Abdication. PHILLIPS.

THE bloody drama of Europe is concluded'; and the great tragedian', who', for twenty years', has made the earth his theatre', and set the world in tears', has left the stage forever'. He lifted the curtain with his sword', and filled the scenes with slaughter'. His part was invented by himself', and was terribly unique'. Never was there so ambitious', so restless a spirit'-never so DARING', so fortunate a soldier'. His aim'.. was universal dominion', and he gazed at it steadfastly', with the eye'.. of the eagle', and the appetite'. . of the vulture'. He combined within himself', all the elements of terrour',

Strò. Fa'til. Trib'åtes-not, trib'its.

U-neke'.

nerve', malice', and intellect';-a heart' . . that never melted'— a hand'.. that never trembled'-a mind'.. that never wavered from its purpose'. The greatness of his plans', defied speculation'; and the rapidity of their EXECUTION', outstripped prophecy'. Civilized nations were the victims of his arts'; and the savage could not withstand his warfare'. Sceptres'. . crumbled in his grasp', and liberty' . . withered in his presence'. The Almighty appeared to have entrusted to him the destinies of the globe, and he used them to destroy'. He shrouded the sun with the cloud of battle'; and unveiled the night with its fires'. His march'.. reversed the course of nature'-the flowers of the Spring'.. perished'; the fruits of Autumn'. . fell', for his track was cold', and cheerless', and desolate', like the withering', wintry blast'. Amid all the physical', political', and moral changes which he produced', he was still the same'. Always ambitious', always inexorable-no conquests satisfied', no compassion assuaged', no remorse deterred', no dangers alarmed him'. Like the barbarians, he conquered Italy'; and, rolling back to its source the deluge that overwhelmed Rome', he proved himself the Attila of the South. With Hannibal', he crossed the Alps in triumph'. Africa beheld him a second Scipio'; and', standing on the pyramids of Egypt', he looked down on the fame of Alexander'. He fought the Scythian in his cave'; and the unconquered Arab fled before him'. He won', divided', and ruled'. . nearly all of modern Europe'. It became a large French province', where foreign kings still reigned by courtesy', or mourned in chains'. The Roman Pontiff f was his prisoner'; and he claimed dominion over the altar with the God of Hosts'. Even his NAME'.. inspired universal terrour'; and the obscurity of his designs', rendered him awfully mysterious'. The navy of Great Britain'.. watched him with the eyes of ARGUS'; and her coast was lined with soldiers who slept on their arms'. He made war'.. be. fore he declared it'; and peace'.. was, with him, a signal for hostilities'. His FRIENDS were the first whom he assailed'; and his ALLIES he selected to plunder'.

There was a singular opposition between his alleged motives and his conduct'. He would have enslaved the land to make the ocean free', and he wanted only power to enslave both'. If he was arrogant', his unparalleled successes must excuse him'. Who could endure the giddiness of such a mountain elevation'? Who', that amid the slaughter of millions had escaped unhurt', would not suppose', like Achilles', that a deity had lent him "Prôf'è'sê. In-êks'ò'rá-bl. Kůr'tè'sẻ. ¿Dé-sines'. Al'lize. 'A-kil'lèze.

armour'? Who that had risen from such obscurity', overcome such mighty obstacles', vanquished so many monarchs', won such extensive empires', and enjoyed so absolute sway'-who', in the fullness of unequalled power', and in the pride of exulting ambition', would not believe himself the favourite of heaven'? He received the tribute of fear', and love', and admiration'. The weight of the chains which he imposed on France', was forgotten in their splendour':—it was glorious to follow him', even as a conscript. The arts became servile in his praise'; and genius divided with him her immortal honours': for it is mind alone that can triumph over time'-letters only yield per

manent renown'.

The blood-stained soldier adorned his throne with the trophies of art', and made Paris the seat of taste', as well as of power'. There'.. the old and the new world met and conversed'; there'.. time was then robbed of his scythe', lingering among beauties which he could not destroy'; there the heroes and sages of every age', mingled in splendid alliance', and joined in the march of fame'. They will appeal to posterity to mitigate the sentence which humanity claims against the tyrant Bonaparte'. Awful indeed will be that sentence'; but when will posterity be a disinterested tribunal'? When will the time arrive that Europe shall have put off mourning for his'.. crimes'? In what distant recess of futurity'. . will the memory of Moscow'.. sleep'? When will Jena', Gerona', and Austerlitz'—when will Jaffa', Corunna', and Waterloo', be named'.. without tears of anguish', and vows of retribution'? Earth can never forget'-man can never forget'. . them'.

Let him live', if he can endure life', divested of his crown'without an army'-and', almost', without a follower'. Let him live' he who never spared his friends', if he can bear the humiliation of owing his life to an enemy'. Let him live', and listen to the voice of conscience'. He can no longer drown it in "the clamorous report of war'." No cuirass guards his bosom from the arrows of remorse'. Now that the cares of state have ceased to distract his thoughts', let him reflect on his miserable self'; and with the map before him', retrace his bloody career'. Alas! his life is a picture of RUIN', and the light that displays it', is the funeral torch of nations'. It exhibits one mighty sepulchre', crowded with the MANGLed victims of MURDEROUS ambition'. Let him reflect on his enormous abuse of power', on his violated faith', and shameless disregard of all law and justice'. Let him live and REPENT'-let him Sêr'vil. Tro'fiz. Diz-in'têr'êst-êd. Kwè-rás'. Egz-hibits.

seek to atone, in humility and solitude', for the sins of his political life—an example'.. of the CATASTROPHE' . . of wicked', and the VANITY'.. of false', greatness'. Great'.. he unquestionably was'-great in the resources of a misguided spirit'— great in the conception and execution of evil-great in mischief', like the pestilence'-great in desolation', like the whirlwind'.

SECTION IX.

Bunker-Hill Monument.-WEBSTER

Extract from a Speech delivered at the laying of the corner-stone.

WE know', indeed', that the record of illustrious actions', is most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind'. We know', that', if we could cause this structure to ascend', not only till it reached the skies', but till it pierced them', its broad surfaces could still contain but a part of that which', in an age of knowledge', has already been spread over the earth', and which history charges itself with making known to all future times'. We know that no inscription', on entablatures less broad than the earth itself', can carry information of the events we commemorate where it has not already gone'; and that no structure which shall not outlive the duration of letters and of knowledge among men', can prolong the memorial. But our object is', by this edifice', to show our deep sense of the value and importance of the achievements of our ancestors'; and', by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye', to keep alive similar sentiments', and to foster a constant regard for the principles of the Revolution'. Human beings are composed', not of reason only', but of imagination', also', and sentiment'; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the purpose of giving right direction to sentiments', and of opening proper springs of feeling in the heart'.

Let it not be supposed', that our object is to perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit'. It is higher', purer', nobler'. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national INDEPENDENCE'; and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon it forever'. We rear a memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit which has been conferred on our land', and of the happy influences which have

At-tsheve'ments-not, -munts.

been produced', by the same events', on the general interests of mankind'. We come', as Americans', to mark a spot which must forever be dear to us and to our posterity'. We wish that whosoever', in all coming time', shall turn his eye hither', may behold that the place is not undistinguished where the first great battle of the Revolution was fought'. We wish that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that event', to every class and every age'. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips'; and that wearied and withered age may behold it and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests'. We wish that labour may look up here and be proud in the midst of its toil'. We wish that', in those days of disaster which', as they come on all nations', may be expected to come on us also', desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward', and be assured that the foundations of our national power still stand strong'. We wish', that this column', rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God', may contribute also to produce', in all minds', a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude'. We wish', finally', that the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore', and the first to gladden his heart who revisits it', may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country'. Let it rise', till it meets the sun in his coming': let the earliest light of the morning gild it', and parting day linger and play on its summit'.

SECTION X.

Hezekiah, King of Judah.-GLeig.

SAMARIA fell, and Israel ceased to be an independent state in the year 719, B. C. In the mean while, Ahaz, the impious king of Judah, had been succeeded by his son Hezekiah, a prince in every respect worthy to sit upon the throne of David. He no sooner grasped the reins of government, than he applied himself sedulously to the task of reforming the many abuses which the wickedness of his predecessors had introduced. Ahaz's idolatrous altar he withdrew from the temple, and restored the original, that of Solomon, to its place; and after cleansing the building itself from the pollutions which had been

Strük'tshare. Pa'tré-it-izm.