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wars of Europe, when we pass in review the battles of Hohenlinden, Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena, Borodino, Leipsic, and Waterloo, and then turn to our own revolutionary history, and the battle-fields of Trenton, Monmouth, Princeton, Yorktown, and other places memorable for the birth-struggles of freedom, and celebrated over the world, we are instantly struck with the vast disparity in the latter instances, in the forces employed, the desperation of their conflict, and the total of their losses or triumphs. The armies of the revolution dwindle into guerilla bands, and their modest chief would scarcely have been seen amid the blaze of a soirée of European lieutenants. The grandeur and glory of the American contest, the ever-fresh and fragrant fame of the Father of his country, must be measured by some other principle of computation than the number in the battle, or the dead upon the field. We must find the moral element of the strife, before we understand why the eyes of civilized mankind rest with more interest upon the plain of Monmouth than upon the field of Austerlitz, and why Napoleon himself reverently bows at the name of Washington.

The greatness of Washington did not consist in his superior mental activity, or comprehensiveness of view, or earnestness of application to the duties of his situation. He was distinguished in all these respects. His office as commander-in-chief of the army of the revolution was no sinecure. The whole soul of Washington was given to its responsibilities. With a wakeful vigilance that knew no relaxation, and sought no repose till his mission was accomplished, he studied all the difficulties of his situation, and seized every opportunity and advantage with a zeal which the intenseness of his patriotism forbade to be less, and the limits of the human mind forbade to be greater. From the day this great and good man received his commission, till the day when he resigned it into the hands of Congress, every faculty of that noble mind was strained to its utmost tension in its labors of patriotism, in its toil for freedom. Yet we can easily find parallels to Washington's mental activity, comprehensiveness, and application. In these respects, Napoleon was a greater man. His activity appeared superhuman, and seemed to render him ubiquitous. He knew everybody and everything. The lowest officer, if guilty of a fault, felt that the emperor knew it. All the complicated concerns of the army and the empire seemed to be under his immediate inspection. Many of his most important internal improvements, as roads, bridges, schools,

were planned and ordered in camp, amid two hundred thousand troops, or in the heat of a campaign. No detail of business was too minute to engage his attention, and no number of objects of care distracted his mind. The more we reflect upon the prodigious amount of distinct, clear thought bestowed by Napoleon upon the thousandfold interests of his empire, and the minute, exact, and wise direction which he personally gave to them all, the more we are filled with astonishment. Great as were his exertions in the field, rapid and startling as were his military combinations and movements, they were as nothing compared with his labors in the cabinet. Yet all this did not make Napoleon a Washington.

Wherein, then, consisted that peculiar and commanding greatness which is the acknowledged character of Washington? It did not consist in his genius, his military science, his enterprise, his skill, or his successes in the field. All this he might have been and done, and yet not have been that Washington whose name is now a household word, and whose memory reposes, a sacred trust, in the bosoms of all civilized men, to be guarded and handed down from father to son, till the end of time.

The great Roman master has remarked, that no man can be a truly great orator without integrity. We go farther, and say that no man can be truly great in any line of exertion, without integrity, without controlling virtuous principle. Without this, or at least the well-counterfeited appearance of it, the world, corrupt as it is, withholds its admiration. Oliver Cromwell was one of the ablest soldiers and statesmen in English history. But the suspicion that rests on his integrity has blasted his fame. Napoleon's memory is to a considerable extent loved and venerated by his countrymen. But that love and veneration are based on the belief that Napoleon did really, as he professed, live for the glory of France and not for his own aggrandisement; that his ambition, however wild and wasteful of human blood, was not selfish but patriotic. Napoleon had evidently persuaded himself that, as he declared at St. Helena with evident sincerity, he was aiming at great and beneficent designs towards France and the world, when his career was arrested by the allied arms.

In regard to the character and designs of Washington there is and there can be no doubt and no mistake. He was upright, a man of integrity, of undissembled goodness, of piety, and prayer, and his principles sanctified his counsels

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and his arms, and were the basis of his success and of his enduring fame. The impression always made by Washington, when living, upon the minds of those with whom he had intercourse was, that he was a man of extraordinary purity of purpose, and of surprising practical wisdom. The writer of this had frequent opportunity, a few years ago, of conversing with a number of persons who had been neighbors and close observers of Washington while his winter quarters were at Morristown, N. J. They all felt that he was a good man, and they remembered numerous incidents illustrative of this.

They recalled his solitary, meditative walks, his seasons of retirement, his cheering intercourse with the sick and distressed soldiery, his stern rebuke of profanity and irreverence, and they pointed to the orchard in the rear of the pastor's dwelling, as the spot on which the sacramental table was spread, and where the Father of his country modestly seated himself among the pious villagers, to commemorate with them the Saviour's dying love, and to express his humble reliance upon the Friend of Sinners. This goodness of character, this uprightness of moral principle, was the presiding influence in Washington's career. Where it went, he went; where it stayed, he stayed. Amid the darkest adversity it supported him, and amid prosperity and applause that would have intoxicated and ruined common men, it kept him true to himself and to his country. If ever ambition whispered in his ear the idea of power and regal sway, it whispered in vain. Before he subdued British power he had conquered himself, and when, at the close of a long and toilsome war, he laid the sword of the public foe upon the altar of his country, he laid his own sword by its side, and retired a private, powerless man to the shades of Mount Vernon, and from that retreat looked out upon his free, happy, and rejoicing country,

"And more true joy the virtuous patriot feels,
Than Cæsar, with a Senate at his heels."

In estimating the public services of Gen. Washington in the field and the cabinet, there is very little discrepancy of opinion in our day, though there was considerable in his own. His generalship was sometimes severely criticised, and his views as a statesinan were often assailed with great asperity. Now, no serious error, even unintentional, and of the judgment, is laid to his charge. All dissension is hushed. No man rails at Washington, none esteem him lightly. A despiser of that name would excite

universal surprise. In Great Britain, where he was once denounced as a rebel and an outlaw, he is universally regarded with the profoundest admiration and reverence. Indeed, as an orator of their own has said, "no people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if Nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies, preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances, no doubt there were, splendid exemplifications of some single excellence. Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient, but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage, and to the character of the soldier and the statesman added that of the sage."

Such is the fame of Washington—a fame to which nothing base can adhere, from which even envy and the force of national prejudice can take nothing away, and which shines as brightly in the firmament of Europe, as in the hemisphere he redeemed.

The great lesson which this subject illustrates and enforces is, the superiority of moral excellence and power over every other. This we have seen is the peculiar charm in the character of Washington, and the peculiar and enduring basis of his fame. Such a fame can never perish while the moral constitution of man remains unchanged. It is a truth that, bad as the world is, and prone as men are to be led temporarily astray by false lights and deceitful shows of greatness, real worth and goodness, true integrity of character, will, other things being equal, exert the greatest influence on men's minds. The world must and does acknowledge the beauty and supremacy of virtue. We wish our public men understood this. There is not a statesman in the land who would not have far greater influence and a loftier fame, if he were known to be a truly good man. Let an eminently virtuous and pious man, whose talents and qualifications in other respects are undoubted, be nominated for some high office in the

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MY FIRST SABBATH IN PARIS.

BY PROF. C. A. GOODRICH.

THERE are moments in the life of every one, to which the heart will always go back with deep and tender emotions. One of these, to me, is the first Sabbath I spent in Paris. I had left my native country, under the exhaustion of long-protracted disease. Medical skill had done its utmost, and the last experiment was now to be made. I went abroad, to live,—if such were the will of God-or to die alone in a

land of strangers Wife-child-an aged parent-I had left them all with God; and they had given me up as one they might never see more on earth.

The voyage was long and tedious. Between twenty and thirty days, I suffered more from sea-sickness than the Captain who had spent forty years on the ocean, had ever witnessed in any other individual. As I lay in my berth, or occasionally on the deck, during the long and wearisome nights and days, every pitch and roll of the vessel sent a thrill of anguish through my whole frame. My strength, at last, was entirely gone; and I then felt, for the first time, the full import of what we do, when we ask the blessing of God on our daily meals. It was for Him to decide, whether the food I took into my system, should remain there long enough to impart any of its nutriment. This could not be, unless a change took place; and though I forced myself to eat, at regular intervals, it continued to be doubtful, whether I should not, after all, die of hunger and exhaustion. It pleased Him just to spare me; and the Captain afterwards told a friend that he never felt more relieved, than when he set me on shore at Havre, at the expiration of thirty days, and had no more responsibility for my health and safety. Through the mercy of God, my strength was so rapidly restored on reaching land, that I was able to go up, during the week, by easy stages to Paris; and here it was I spent my first Sabbath in France.

A friend conducted me to the chapel of the Rev. LEWIS WAY. Mr. Way was an English clergyman, whose life had been full of remarkable incidents, on which I cannot now dwell. Suffice it to say, that he was a poor Scottish boy, born of pious parents, who went up to London at the age of sixteen, to seek his for

tune. Passing a splendid mansion, soon after his arrival, he saw on the door-plate the name Lewis Way; and was led by a singular and almost irresistible impulse, to ring and inquire whether the person who thus bore his name, was a native of Scotland, or had any knowledge of his parents The servant reported the strange inquiry to his master; and the gentleman, though from another part of the kingdom, struck with the simplicity of the youth, and the coincidence of their names, directed him to be called in. The house he entered had a richness of furniture and decoration, far beyond his largest conceptions of splendor and magnificence. It was the dwelling of a gentleman of princely fortune, already advanced in years, and possessing every means of enjoyment but one,--he had no family, no near relatives; he was alone in the world. This made him curious to inquire into the character of his young name-sake. He held him in conversation for some hours, and drew out from him the history of his parents, of his early education, tastes, and habits, his object in coming to London, the persons to whom he was introduced, and the lodging place where he lived. Toward the close of these inquiries, he rang for a servant, and after giving him a message in a low tone, resumed the conversation with young Way, and held him some time longer in discourse on various topics, till the servant returned, and in a suppressed voice, made some report to his master, which was received with a nod of approbation.

The gentleman, after a few moments, asked young Way, whether he had any taste for paintings; and proposed to show him some rare productions of the most celebrated Italian masters, which adorned the ample stair-case and the halls above. He led him from one piece to another, taking an evident and strong delight in laying open to the young mind before him, which was one of uncommon sensibility and natural taste, the refined beauties of composition and coloring, in these admirable specimens of art. He thus led him forward till at length he threw open the door of a richly furnished lodging room on the second floor, and invited him to enter. Here young Way saw with great surprise, his own little, worn, rusty valise

lying on the table; while the gentleman, to whom he turned, addressed him, "This is your apartment while you remain unemployed. I will endeavor, if you deserve it, to provide you some useful and honorable occupation in life." I need not dwell on the gratitude of the young man, or the care and penetration with which his sagacious benefactor watched his habits and the pointings of his intellect, as he held him back from time to time, in respect to any immediate entrance upon business. At length, when he was satisfied that it might safely be done, he offered young Way to carry him through the University with a view to putting him into the ministry, to which the wishes of both pointed, as his employment for life.

The proposal was joyfully accepted; and Mr. Way, after the requisite course of preparatory study, became a member of the University of Cambridge; where he was distinguished for the activity of his mind, his diligent application and unaffected piety. Just at the close of his collegiate course he was sent for, in great haste, to come up to London : his benefactor had been suddenly taken ill, and was already in the agonies of death. He arrived too late; he came only to look on the venerable countenance now fixed in death, of one who had always met him with a smile of joy, and to whom he owed almost everything he was, or hoped to be, in this life. When the funeral was over, and the will was read, he found himself, to his astonishment, heir of his benefactor's estate. He had never been promised anything beyond a country-living; and the intelligence now burst upon him, that he was owner of that splendid mansion, with a property of about seven hundred thousand pounds sterling! Fifteen or twenty servants now appeared before him, to offer their congratulations, and acknowledge him as their master. The groom conducted him to a stud of sixteen chosen horses, with carriages of every kind and fashion, which stood ready at his call. The confidential agent of his benefactor laid before him a schedule of his numerous stocks and other securities; and then took him in an open carriage, through one part and another of the metropolis, pointing out to him long rows of dwelling-houses, or stores, and telling him, "These, sir, are all your own!”

Mr. Way was naturally a man of a very excitable temperament, and the shock of that day was too much for him. The next thing of which he was conscious, as he toid a friend who related to me his story, was of finding himself at a small neat cottage in a retired

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village of Kent, under the care of keepers; where, as he afterwards learned, he had been confined for some months in a state of high but pleasurable derangement His reason gradually returned to him, and with it the distinct consciousness of the scenes through which he had passed, and which had, at first, appeared to him as a long bewildering dream. The wealth which had fallen to him, did not diminish, in the least, his desire of entering into the ministry. He took orders a few months after, and proved to be a preacher of uncommon power and tenderness He was married to an accomplished and beautiful woman of similar tastes and principles to his own, and in common with her, devoted himself with unwearied assiduity to works of benevolence.

Mr. Way's benefactor had always felt a peculiar anxiety for the conversion of the Jews; and he made it a provision of his will, that a part of the income of his estate should be expended for the benefit of this unhappy people. This led Mr. Way to visit Jerusalem, and to extend his efforts for the good of this persecuted race, into most of the countries of Europe. With this view, he went to the council of Vienna, after the fall of Buonaparte, and endeavored to procure from the allied sovereigns, through the intervention of the British Ministry, a removal of some of the burdens and disabilities, under which the Jews everywhere labor. He then returned to Paris, and resolved to make it the centre of numerous plans of benevolence on the Continent, upon which his heart was fixed. Accordingly, he purchased for about six hundred thousand francs, a splendid establishment, once a place of public amusement, fronting on the Champs Elysées; which, I need not say, is the most frequented and beautiful place of resort in that capital, adjoining the palace of the king. A building connected with the establishment, and used as a dancing saloon, he resolved to convert into a chapel for services in the English tongue Accordingly, he had it beautifully fitted up with pulpit and seats of English Oak, brought for the purpose across the Channel; and either supplied the pulpit himself, or provided a chaplain, who officiated in his room. It was truly the most delightful place of worship I ever entered; especially when taken in connection with the knowledge I had of the man, and the associations which clustered round the place. Such, then, was LEWIS WAY, and such the chapel he had opened for the English and Americans; to which I was conducted by a

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