ORATION.'

THE Traveler, who stands at the well-spring of some mighty river, illustrious alike in the verse of the Poet, and the roll of the Historian, looks in imagination down its "monarchy of waters," to contemplate all the variety of its fortunes, amid the wilderness of nature, and the habitations of man. He beholds it sweeping with graceful line, through the verdant meadow, or the maze of emerald isles; hereexpanding into the mirror of the lake, there-rushing downward in the rapid, or leaping in cataracts from the precipice; here with ever-moving, ever-living waters, piercing the dark recesses of the forest, there-rolling in majestic curve, around the base of the mountain. He beholds in its course, the humble cottage of the peasant, and the splendid palace of opulence and rank; the rural scenery of field, and orchard, and meadow, or the garden of fashion, glittering with its "wilderness of lamps;" the hamlet or the village, "when unadorned, adorned the most," and the ancient city, enriched by the treasures of every clime, embellished with the creations of every art, and glorious in power, magnificence and wealth. The Astronomer lifts his eye from the narrow boundary of the visible horizon, and the diminutive forms, which decorate the surface of the Earth, to the heavens above, and gazes, with the intelligence of philosophy and the enthusiasm of poetry, on the serenity of its azure depths, on its wandering orbs, on the bickering flame of its comets, or the pure light of its host of stars. His soul expands and rises in its conceptions of the grandeur, wisdom, benevolence of God, and worships, in aspirations of praise and gratitude, at the mercy-seat of the invisible Creator. As he contemplates the miracles of worlds innumerable and of a boundless universe, his thoughts are exalted and purified, and he is filled with amazement, at the marvellous system of the visible Universe, and with joy and gratitude at the eternal destiny and still more glorious attributes of the human soul.

The Traveler, when he looks on the river, arrayed in the sublime, the wonderful, the fair, in the works of nature and

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of art, beholds the image of Classic Literature. The Astronomer, who views the heavens, with the science that comprehends, and the taste which admires, contemplates in that glorious personification of the unseen God, the sublimity, beauty and variety of Sacred Literature. Classic Literature stands, like the statue of Prometheus, graceful in its beauty, majestic in its power. But Sacred Literature is the ever-living fire, that descends from heaven, instinct with life, immortal, universal. That is the mausoleum of departed nations, splendid yet desolate; and bearing an inscription, written indeed, in the kingly language of the mighty dead." This is none other than the house of God, this is the gate of heaven; its record is the book of life, spotless and eternal; its penmen are Prophets, Apostles and Martyrs; its ministering servants are Cherubim and Seraphim, the Angel and the Archangel.

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Doubtless there are many, who will be disposed to regard this estimate of the comparative merit of the Classics and the Scriptures, in a literary point of view, as extravagant. Such persons, we feel assured, have never meditated, with the profound attention which it deserves, on the universal character, all-pervading energy, and glorious destinies of Literature-co-extensive with the world, commensurate with time, and consecrated to the noblest duties. If, indeed we take our standard of the usefulness of Letters, from Classic Antiquity, we may well regard the comparison as unjust. For when we turn to the Classics, with a view to the progress and improvement of Society, are we not constrained to acknowledge, that they exercised very little of that elevating, pure and harmonizing influence, which is the essential attribute of genuine Literature? What, indeed, are the Classic authors, with all their marvellous achievments in Art and Science, but the gilded horn, and the flowery chaplet of victim-nations, offered up in living sacrifice to the Idols of Passion and Pleasure, of War and Ambition? Theirs was not that PROVIDENT, PROPHETIC Literature, which studies the past and the present for the improvement of the future, which labors now upon Man as he is, to make him in years to come, Man as he should be. Their Literature was modeled almost exclusively on their own mythology and states of Society. These were at once its fountains and its standard. But we undervalue Literature exceedingly, if we measure its capacities and usefulness, by any other standard than the

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Scriptures: if we exclude from our view, the momentous relations between God and Man, between Time and Eternity; if we banish from our estimate, the pure thoughts and holy affections, the profound emotions and lofty hopes, the energy of purpose, the sublime duties, and eternal felicity, which spring from Religion. Rightly considered, Literature is but a sensible manifestation of the admirable workmanship, displayed by the Creator in the structure of the human mind. The foliage that robes the woodlands, and the blossoms that spangle the orchard, are emblems of genuine Literature. They are indeed equally frail and beautiful; but are they not the spontaneous efflorescence of the forest-tree and of the fruit-tree, inseparable from their growth, durability and usefulness?

The two cardinal principles, which fix the character and decide the worth of all literature, in any age or country, are DUTY and USEFULNESS, duty-in all its various relations to God, usefulness-through all the endless diversity of its connexions with Man. Apart from these considerations, Literature is of little value, and the farther it recedes from this standard, the less does it merit our praise or imitation. If we would estimate rightly the worth of Literature, at any given period of time, we have only to apply these tests, how far has it honored God, how far has it improved mankind? If it has dishonored God, if it has debased and corrupted the human mind, let it perish-however various and profound its learning, however beautiful its taste and magnificent its genius. We at least, are prepared to say of it, in the inexorable spirit of Burley of Balfour, and in the very language of Minerva's allusion to Ajax in the Odyssey,

“ Ως ἀπόλοιτο καὶ ἄλλος ὅτις τοιᾶυτά γε ῥέζοι.”

*

Such a Literature cannot live either in its own forms, or in those which spring from it. They contain no principle of perpetuity. But the Literature, which is ever mindful of its duty to God and of its obligations to Man, has within itself the seeds of life, and lives from age to age, transmitted in its original forms, or in endless successions of modifications and improvements. The Christian at least, and to a

* Note A.