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cherish a spirit of devotion—a simple-hearted, fervent, and
а affectionate piety. Accustom yourselves to conceive of God, as a merciful and gracious parent-continually looking down upon you with the tenderest concern, and inviting you to be good, only that you may become everlasting-y happy. Consider yourselves as placed upon earth, for the express purpose of doing the will of God; and remember, if this be your constant object—whatever trials, disappointments, and sorrows, you may be doomed to experience--you will be sustained under them all by the nollest consolations. With the view of keeping up a perpetual sense of your dependence on God, never omit to seek him habitually in prayer, and to connect the thought of Him with all that is affecting and impressive in the events of your lives—with all that is stupendous and vast and beautiful in the productions of his creative power and skill. Whatever excites you—whatever interests you —whatever in the world of nature, or the world of man, strikes you as new and extraordinary-refer it all to God; discover in it some token of his providence, some proof of his goodness; convert it into some fresh occasion of praising and blessing his holy and venerable name. Do not regard the exercises of devotion as a bare duty, which have a merit in themselves, however they are performed; but recur to them, as a privilege and a happiness, which ennobles and purifies your nature, and binds you by the holiest of ties to the greatest and best of all beings.
When you consider what God is, and what he has done —when you cast your eyes over the broad field of creation, which he has replenished with so many curious and beautiful objects; or raise them to the brilliant canopy of heaven, where other worlds and systems of worlds beam upon the wondering view—when day and night, and summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest—when the things nearest to you and most familiar to you, the very structure of your own bodily frame, and that principle of conscious life and intelligence which glows within you—all speak to you of God, and call upon your awakened hearts to tremble and adore:—when to a Being thus vast—thus awful-you are permitted to approach in prayer,--when you are encouraged to address him by the endearing appellation of a father in heaven; and, with all the conGidence and ingenuousness of affectionate children, to tell him your wants and your fears, to implore his forgiveness,
and earnestly to beseech him for a continuance of his mercies:—you cannot, my young friends, if you have any
, feeling-any seriousness about you, regard the exercises of devotion as a task; but must rejoice in it, as an unspeakable privilege, to hold direct intercourse with that great and good Being—that unseen, but universal Spirit, to whose presence all things in heaven and on earth bear wit. ness, and in whom we all live and move and have our being. Thus excite and cherish the spirit of devotion: whenever any thing touches your hearts, or powerfully appeals to your moral feelings--give way to the religious impulse of the occasion, and send up a silent prayer to the Power who heareth in secret. And, in your daily addresses to God, do not confine yourselves to any stated form of words, which may be repeated mechanically, without any concurrence either of the heart or of the head; but, after having reviewed the mercies of your particular condition-after having collected your thoughts, and endeavoured to ascertain the wants and weaknesses of your character-give utterance, in the simple and unstudied language which comes spontaneously to the lips, to all those emotions of gratitude and holy fear, of submission and trust, which cannot fail to arise in your hearts, when you have previously reflected what you are, and find yourselves alone in the presence of an Almighty God.
Beloved friends, yours is the time to cultivate this pure, this heavenly frame of mind. You have as yet known God only in his countenance of love; you have felt his presence only in the communications of his loving-kindness and tender mercy. Your hearts are as yet strangers to the fear of habitual guilt; but swell, with a holy, trembling joy, to think, that He who made heaven and earth is your God and Father,—that He who controls the course of nature, and rules the destinies of nations, is not unmindful even of you. Seize, then, oh seize this precious, this golden period of existence! improve it, while it is yours; for, believe me, it will never return again. When the heart has once been alienated from God—when guilt has once polluted it—though repentance and reformation may at length bind up its broken peace, it will never more experience that warmth and fulness of affectionate confidence—that entire and unhesitating trust in the Father of mercies, which belong only to pure and innocent minds.
ANCIENT AND MODERN ORATORY.
Hannibal to his Soldiers. I KNOW not, soldiers, whether you' or your prisoners'* be encompassed by fortune' with the stricter bonds' and necessities'. Two seas' enclose' you on the right and left";—not a ship' to flee to for escaping: Before' you is the Po', a river' broader' and more rapid' than the Rhone'; behind' you are the Alps', over which', even when your numbers were undiminished', you were hardly able to force a passage'.--Here', then, soldiers, you must either conquer or die', the very first' hour' you meet the enemy'. But the same fortune which has laid you under the necessity' of fighting, has set before your eyes' those rewards of victory', than which'no' men are ever wont to wish for greater' from the immortal gods'. Should we, by our valour, recover only Sicily' and Sardinia', which were ravished from our fathers', those would be no inconsiderable' prizes. Yet, what' are these ? The wealth of Rome', whatever riches she has heaped together in the spoils of nations', all these', with the masters' of them, will be yours. You have been long enough employed in driving the cattle upon the vast mountains of Lusitania' and Celtiberia'; you have hitherto met with no reward worthy' the labours' and dangers' you have undergone. The time is now come to reap the full recompense
toilsome marches over so many mountains and rivers,' and through so many nations', all' of them in arms'. This' is the place, which fortune has appointed to be the limits' of your labours; it is here that you will finish' your glorious warfare, and receive an ample' recompense of your completed' service. For I would not have you imagine, that victory will be as difficult as the name of a Roman war is great and sounding'. It has often happened, that a despised' enemy has given a bloody'
* Relative emphasis. In his contempt for the Romans, he treats them as if they were already conquered.
battle', and the most renowned' kings' and nations' have by a small' force been overthrown. And if you but take away the glitter of the Roman name', what is there, wherein they may stand in competition with you'? For'—to say nothing of your service in war for twenty years together, with so much valour and success'—from the very piltars of Hercules', from the ocean', from the utmost bounds of the earth', through so many warlike nations of Spain and Gaul, are you not come hither victorious'? And with whom are you now' to fight? With raw soldiers, an undisciplined' arıny, beaten', vanquished', besieged by the Gauls the very last summer', an army unknown' to their leader, and unacquainted with him.
Or shall I', who was—born', I might almost say—but certainly brought up', in the tent of my father, that most excellent general'; shall I', the conqueror of Spain' and Gaul', and not only of the Alpine' nations', but, which is greater yet, of the Alps themselves"; shall I'compare myself with this half-year' captain'?-A captain'! before whom, should one place the two armies without their ensigns', I am persuaded he would not know to which of them he is consul! I esteem it no small advantage, soldiers, that there is not one' among you', who has not often been an eye-witness of my' exploits in war; not one', of whose valour I myself have not been a spectator', so as to be able to name the times' and places of his noble achievements; that with soldiers, whom I have a thousand times praised' and rewarded', and whose pupil' I was before I became their general', I shall march against an army of men', strangers' to one another.
On what side soever I'turn my eyes', I behold all full of courage' and strength'; a veteran' infantry'! a most gallant' cavalry'! you, my allies, most faithful' and valiant', you, Carthaginians', whom not only your country's' cause, but the justest anger', impels' to battle. The hope', the courage' of assailants', is always greater than of those who
the defensive'. With hostile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy'; you bring the war. "Grief, injuries', indignities', fire your minds, and spur you forward to revenge':- First, they demanded me'; that I', your general', should be delivered up to them; next, all of you', who had fought at the siege of Saguntum'; and we were to be put to death by the extremest' tortures'. Proud' and cruel' nation! Every' thing must be yours', and at your
disposal'! You are to prescribe to us with whom we shall make war', with whom we shall make peace'! You are to set us bounds"; to shut us up within hills' and rivers'; but you'—yoù are not to observe the limits which yourselves have fixed! Pass not the Iberus'.” What next'? Touch not the Saguntines”;” Saguntum is upon the Iberus. 'Move not a step towards that city.” Is it a small' matter, then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia'; you would have Spain' too? Well, we shall yield' Spain; and then'—you will pass into Africa'! Will' pass, did I say? This' very' year they ordered one of their consuls into Africa'; the other', into Spain'. No', soldiers, there is nothing left for us but what we can vindicate with our swords'. Come on' then! Be' men'! The Romans' may with more' safety' be cowards'. They have their own country behind them', have places of refuge to flee' to, and are secure from danger' in the roads' thither; but for you' there is no'middle' fortune' between death' and victory. Let this be but well' fixed' in your minds', and once again', I say'—you are conquerors'! Livy.
Speech of Lord Chatham, in the House of Peers, against
the American War, and against employing the Indians in it.
I CANNOT, my Lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelope it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation ?
Can parliament be so dead to their dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced
them? Measures, my Lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt! “But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world: now, none so poor as to do her reverence.”—The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknow. ledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with