member of the community, be he high or low, rich or poor, has a right equal and unquestionable, to think, speak, and act upon every measure or iginating among and interesting us as a people. And, still further, the full development of these institutions demands the fair and unshackled exer tion of this right. Take this single fact in connexion with the history of man. What is the history of man, we mean political man, as he is a mem ber of the community and the subject of government? It is but a history of parties, of this side and that side of some undefinable line, the direction of which no earthly philosophy can trace. Yes; strange as may seem, and inconsistent with that rank in creation tc which man has laid claim, ever since the time when Abraham and Lot went one to the right hand and the other to the left, men have divided themselves intc parties, at the name of which the human tongue falters, and the human understanding shrinks aghast. And this has been the case, while, instead of a general freedom of speech and action, a few only of men, a very few, have been acknowledged to be human beings, and all the rest have been left to make themselves out So. What is to be the consequence now, when all are admitted to be so? Jarring and confusion, and consequent destruction, have made up the story of mankind, while tyranny bridled their tongues, and despotism hung like a dead weight upon their spirits. What is to be the result now, when tyranny and despotism have been hurled "to the moles and the bats," and the tongue and the spirit of every man are admitted, required to be free? The history of our race, we perceive, reads us but a sorry lesson upon the subject. And the history of our own country forms by no means a perfect exception to the rule; for an old Spanish author, not a hundred years ago, declared, "that the air of that country ycleped America, was marvellously infectious, and inclined men's minds to wrangling and contention."

But the spirit which, if any can, must put an end to this hitherto close alliance between freedom and contention, the spirit which, like our liber ties, is nowhere to be found in history but which must spring up with and protect them, is a spirit of national moderation, that generous, Christian spirit, which is cool while it thinks, and charitable while it speaks and acts, that spirit which, if experience does not sanction, reason does, and which, if to be found in no other record, is yet found and enforced in that of the pattern of all institutions Christianity. Yes; the single consider ation, and we need no other, the single consideration of the broad extent of our liberties, is in itself the most eloquent advocate of moderation. Perfect freedom must take her for its handmaid, for wherever it has started without her, it has failed. That which, if any thing can, must distinguish the history of the present from that of all past time, is the operation of the true republican principle, that the full enjoyment of liberty by all depends upon the moderate use of it by each.

But why argue an abstract principle? Who are they that oppose What is it that impedes its progress? We are not decrying, — God forbid that we ever should, -a spirit of free, open discussion. On the contrary, we advocate it as the life-blood of our institutions, the very promoter of mcderation. It is an abandonment of this fair discussion that we condemn us fatal to it,- - a willingness to act in obedience to other than our own un biassed judgment. It is they who would surrender their personal independence for the bondage of patizans, who would sacrifice their sacred birthright of free thought and action, to become the meanest, because the voluntary slaves of another, who must answer for the discord and confusion that result. Who is he that talks of freedom and equality and rights, and yet thinks as another man thinks, acts as he acts, and simply because that other bids him so think and act? If this be liberty, that liberty of which we have heard so much, give us back again the dark ages, for then, at least, we shall not see the chain that binds us to the earth.

Opposed also to this spirit of moderation, is that desire of controversial distinction in the younger members of the community, which, when it has

well spiced their tongue and embittered their pen, produces what is calles a young politician. I know not a more amusing, were it not so dangerous a specimen of our race, as this class of inexperienced yet fiery combatants. They come into the world, and the first cry you hear is, "We must fight. Our fathers and our grandfathers fought, and why should not we? True, we have nothing very special to fight about, but still we must fight. The old party fires have been burning only half a century; why put them out so soon? And the questions that kindled them, though a little out of date, have still two sides left and what need we more?" And so the battle begins, would that it might end where it began, - in simple, unattained, and unattainable nothing. We admire their zeal, applaud their ingenuity are astonished at their more than Quixotic valor; but we laugh at their simplicity, we wonder at their folly, we deprecate their effects. We would trust our institutions to cooler heads and safer hands. Experience,— that grey headed old gentleman, who followed time into the world, and who was cotemporary with wisdom, ere the foundations of the earth were laid, is altogether the safest guardian of such precious treasures. True, he may not harangue with quite so much rapidity and fierceness as these fluent usurp ers of his place; but the words which drop slowly from his honored lips are full as wise and full as worthy of preservation as theirs. And though he stand leaning upon his staff, and looking with straining eyes, we would trust to his vision quite as implicitly, as to that of the stately, elastic youth, who, with younger and brighter eyes, does not always see. We would calí back this venerable seer from his obscurity. He is growing old fashioned. We would array him in a modern costume, and set him in our high places. The free air of our country will renew his youth, and he, in return, will build up our institutions in the spirit of wisdom and moderation.

We would banish from amongst us, then, these and all other dispositions which stand in the way of that national moderation which we deem so essential. And then, behold a contrast! Place yourself upon the highest elevation that overlooks your country. Banish moderation from the mul titude beneath you. You may have heard the roar of the thunder, and the lashing of the ocean, but you have heard music, literal music, compared with the roar and lashing of an immoderate, uncharitable, angry, free people. But look again,- she has returned. Behold the sublimest sight which the earth can afford,- ten millions of freemen, different each from the other, yet with a common country, a common interest, and a common hope, meeting, discussing, differing indeed in opinion about common measures, but the time for action has come, they have gone up like Christian men to discharge their duty to their country, it is over,— they have gone, like Christian men, to discharge their duty to themselves. Be the latter picture ours, and freedom will indeed be a goddess; be it ours, and we could almost say that a little vanity would be excusable.

From speaking of the spirit which should animate us as members of our great republic, the occasion naturally brings us for a moment to the spirit with which we meet as members of that smaller republic of letters, whose anniversary has this day brought us together. To those of us who here meet again, where a short time since we parted, the occasion is one of mingled feelings. We have gathered again in this great congregation, and around this sacred altar; but not all. In the little time that has elapsed ince our separation, three of our number, and among them one who, in the event which has placed him whom you hear before you, would have sc much more ably filled the spot where I am standing, have joined that greater congregation, arcund a holier altar. The thought is a solemn and melancholy one. But as, in the wisdom of Providence, they were not permitted to enter upon the public stage, the feelings at their loss belong rot to the public. It is not here that we should speak of their virtues, which we loved, —or of their talents, which we respected. These feelings belong to us as individuals, and as members of that little circle, the connexion with which we shall always hold in pleasing recollection.

But we look round again and behold another wide breach has been made within this short period, in which all of us have a common interest. The venerable head of our institution, *—the guardian, instructor, friend, the father of his pupils, -he under whose benignant auspices we commenced and completed our collegiate career, and who dismissed us from these hos pitable walls with a parental blessing, no longer occupies that seat which he filled so long, so honorably, and so usefully. We would mingle our regret with the general feeling that has gone with him to his retirement. We would send to him the grateful remembrance and filial affection of those who will ever be proud to remember their connexion with him. We would bid him farewell on this spot, consecrated by associations which will ever oring him to our remembrance. In the name of that education which he advanced, of that literature which he encouraged, of that religion which he adorned, we would bid him an affectionate farewell. We pray that the old age of that man may be serene and cheerful, whose youth has been so briltiant, and whose manhood so useful. The smiles of a kind Providence be ever with him. The conscience of a faithful steward is his reward here, his reward hereafter he has learned from higher authority.

With these feelings of regret to sadden this otherwise joyous occasion, may it not have been well for us to have occupied it in dwelling upon the spirit that should accompany those institutions, into the midst of which we are hastening. It is to the young men of our times that the call of our in stitutions on this subject is the loudest. Be it theirs, then, to cultivate and diffuse this spirit. And then, what if no trumpet-tongued orator shall rise up to proclaim their praises,—what if eloquence be dumb,—the tongue of nan silent? They have a heaven-born eloquence, sweeter than music, yet louder than thunder, the eloquence of truth. They have an argument which, though it speak not, is heard through the universe, -the argument of a good cause, on a sound bottom. Let the spirit that should accompany them be abroad, -let national modesty, moderation, charity, independence, and, above all, the spirit of Christianity, be their guard, and then, like Christianity, the powers of nature may strive against them, but they will stand, for they are founded upon a rock. Man cannot overthrow them, and the Almighty will not.

Example

OF A VALEDICTORY ORATION IN LATIN.

Omnibus nunc rite et feliciter peractis, restat, auditores spectatissimi, ut robis pro hac benevolentia gratias agamus, omnia fausta precemur, et pace decedere et valere vos jubeamus. Si spectandi et audiendi vos tædet, ut citissime abeatis præstabimus.

Sed primum, omnibus qui adestis, quod tam frequentes convenistis, tam attente audistis, tam benigne plausistis, gratias bene meritas agimus ;vobis præcipue, virgines dilectæ, matronesque honoratæ, juvenibus virisque spes et solatium. Quid nostra comitia sine vobis? Quid nos disertos, elcquentes denique efficeret, si non ut aribus oculisque vestris nos commenderemus? Etsi nonnullæ

"Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsæ,"

et ignoscimus et probamus. Cur venimus nos javenes, nos viri, nisi ut spectemur, audiamur et ipsi? Sed plures, nimirum, ut audiatis, ut oculis, inguis, votis fave atis. Igitur grates, sed

cient and modern history, it is difficult, if not impossible, to point out a single individual, in whom was discoverable so various a combination of literary accomplishments. It may also be safely affirmed, that he seemed to possess a mind which actually contained a greater and more variegated mass of knowledge than any other person has been known to possess. It will not, however, be surprising, that his productions excited the wonder and astonishment of mankind, when we reflect, that he had a memory which at any moment could furnish him with all that he had ever read, and a judg ment which could exactly combine and compare, analyze and aggregate, the most subtle reasoning, and a love of learning never satiated by indul gence. A clear head and nice discrimination, a logical method and mathe matical precision, rendered him one of the most powerful reasoners of his age. A character so eminent, it is not likely could pass his own times without much animadversion and much praise. As he was the most con spicuous literary man of his nation, it is not matter of suprise, that we find written of him more than it would be safe implicitly to credit, and presump tion universally to disbelieve. Soon after his death, he was very justly compared to the sick lion in the fable, whom, while living, few had the temerity to attack, but against whom, when in the defenceless state of a corse, all in whom the malignancy of envy, or the voice of prejudice, or the excitement of resentment existed, united their assaults with rancor and bitterness. In many, the gratification of these feelings was like the fury of canine madness. They bit with the mordacity of the viper; but the impassive metal rendered retributive justice to their efforts, and the good sense of mankind reprobated their folly.

It is a delightful employment to trace through the stages of infantine im becility, the growth of a genius, which, in the progressive gradations of its maturity, expands like the majestic branches of "the Pride of the Forest," by slow degrees, and native hardihood, acquiring strength and enlargement, and becoming at last a sublime emblem of independence, of fortitude, and durability. The development of Dr. Johnson's mind, is a subject, from the contemplation of which, we may derive much pleasure and improvement. It was not like a sickly and tender plant, to be nursed with the most anxious solicitude. It possessed a native vigor and energy, which neither the disadvantages of an unpropitious culture could retard, nor the blasts of adverse fortune could depress. The tempestuous storms, to which a nature ess hardy would have yielded, it bore with inflexible firmness; and, like a rock in the midst of the ocean, just protending above the waves, by which it is sometimes overflowed, and at the refluence of the billows, with haughty pride becomes again visible, it withstood the conflict of contending elements. Undaunted by difficulties, from which a mind not underserving of respect would involuntarily have recoiled, we observe it, in the progress of his life, stemming the current of adversity, rather in the pride of triumph, than in the humiliation of despondence. In following him through the dangers and hardships which he too frequently had to encounter, we may observe how wonderfully his mind gained efficiency by resistance; and like an impetuous torrent, overleaping the barriers of its course, with renovated strength he overwhelmed opposition.

The ninth year of the eighteenth century gave birth to the man, who was afterwards to become the glory of his country, the champion of his language, and the honor and ornament of the literature of his age. Among some of the biographers of Dr. Johnson, we discover a disposition to indulge in tales of absurdity; ascribing to him a jingle of boyish rhymes at the age of three years, and leading readers to suppose him to have mounteċ his Pegasus before he was entirely out of the cradle. Little appears to have been known respecting his early childhood, and much less with re gard to the progress he made in learning under his earliest teachers, both of which were perhaps of no consequence; stories of such strange precocity usually carry with themselves their own refutation. The earliest intel

gence apon which we may rely, informs us, that Johnson, while at the Litchfield school, had a standing scarcely respectable. The only talent by which he was then in any wise distinguished, was a remarkable tenacity of memory. This, it will be seen, was of the utmost importance to him. Af ter a preparatory course in classical literature, we find him, at the age of nineteen, entered as a commoner in Pembroke College, Oxford, assisting the studies of a young gentleman, by whose aid he was maintained. The performance which first brought him into notice, was the translation of Pope's "Messiah " into Latin, which possessed no other poetical merit than purity of diction. Circumstances occurred, which deprived him of the only support upon which he relied; the gentleman under his charge changing his plan of education. After various discouragements, and embarrassments in his pecuniary resources, he was compelled to quit the university, where his residence, with little interruption, had been continued nearly three years. Having endeavored to obtain the means of living by assisting at a public school, in a short time he relinquished an employment, which yield ed him little pleasure, and which became the more irksome from a disgust he had taken with the person by whom it was patronized. It was at this period, that a resort to his pen became necessary for the support of his life. A translation of a voyage to Abyssinia, by Jerome Lobo, a Portuguese missionary, it is believed, was the first literary effort by which he attempted to raise a revenue. In this production, Johnson discovers much of that purity and energy of diction, by which he was afterwards distinguished. An easy flow of language, with a strength of expression, gave a dignity to the translated author he did not naturally possess. The flexibility and harmony of the English tongue added an importance and interest to the performance, to which, for its subsequent reputation, it was much indebted. In March, 1737, Johnson, in company with David Garrick, made his entry into London, each to try his fortune on the extensive theatre of the me tropolis. The former, hitherto the child of disaster and disappontment. determined to enlarge the sphere in which to crowd his way; and both were equally undaunted by the failure of their schemes.

The biographers of Johnson are unable to fix with certainty the period at which the Tragedy of "Irene" was finished. Though there appears some evidence of its completion prior to his arrival in London, it was doomed, if written at that time, to slumber in obscurity, until the fortune and friend ship of Garrick, who, in 1747, became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre, enabled him to produce it on the stage. With respect to the merits of this production, an observation which was judiciously applied to Addison's "Cato," may, with equal justice, be made: "It wants much of that contrivance and effect, which is best understood by those who are skilled in writing for the stage." It is, in a great measure, destitute of that style, and those incidents, which would render it interesting to an audience; and will much better delight a reader in the retirement of the closet, than the confused assemblage of the theatre. The language is dignified and forci ble, and the sentiments worthy of its author. Literary men, who are pleased with "chill philosophy," and "unaffecting elegance," will admire it; readers of taste will be delighted with the beauty of some of its sentiments, and many elegant passages which it contains, which will long preserve it from oblivion. Garrick, upon being asked why he did not produce another tragedy from his Litchfield friend, replied, "when Johnson writes tragedy, passion sleeps, and declamation roars." Johnson himself appears to have been in some degree sensible of the truth of such a remark, as this was his first and only attempt. Having had a run of thirteen nights, Irene never after revived.

About the year 1738, we find him again invoking his muse, in an tion of Juvenal's Third Satire, to which he gave the name of "Londo has been thought, that, under the name of Thales, he addresses his Savage, whose life he subseqently wrote, and with whom he had previo