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but in its bosom this man has contrived to deposit the materials which, with the slightest touch of his match, produce an explosion to shake the continent. All this his restless ambition has contrived; and, in the autumn of 1806, he goes forth for the last time to apply this match. On this occasion he meets with Blannerhasset.
Who is Blannerhasset ? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. His history shows that war is not the natural element of his mind; if it had been, he never would have exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from furnishing the society natural and proper to Mr. Blannerhasset's character, that, on his arrival in America, he retired even from the population of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our Western forests. But he carried with him taste and science and wealth ; and, lo! the desert smiled. Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery that Shenstone might have envied blooms around him. Music that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their mingled delights around him. And, to crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love and made him the father of several children. The evidence would convince you that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocent simplicity and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, the destroyer comes; he comes to change this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach. No monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way
to their hearts by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blannerhasset, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart and the objects of its affection, By degrees he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage,-a daring and desperate thirst for glory, an ardor panting for great enterprises, for all the storm and bustle and hurricane of life. In a short time the whole man is changed, and every object of his former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene: it has become fat and insipid to his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain : he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music: it longs for the trumpet's clangor and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him; and the angelsmile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, of stars and garters and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilderness; and in a few months we find the beautiful and tender partner of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds of” summer “to visit too roughly," we find her shivering at midnight on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, thus confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another, this man, thus ruined and undone and made to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason, this man is to be called the principal offender, while he by whom he was thus plunged in misery is comparatively innocent, -a mere accessory! Is this reason? Is it law? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither the human heart nor the human understanding will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the soul! so revolting to reason! Let Aaron Burr, then, not shrink from the high destination which he has courted; and, having already ruined Blannerhasset in fortune, character, and happiness forever, let him not attempt to finish the tragedy by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and punishment.
EVERY ONE THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNE.
Allow me, young gentlemen, to impress upon your minds this truth :the education, moral and intellectual, of every individual, must be chiefly his own work. You must be awakened to the important truth that, if you aspire to excellence, you must be. come active and vigorous co-operators with your teachers, and work out your own distinction with an ardor that cannot be quenched, a perseverance that considers nothing done while any thing yet remains to be done. Rely upon it that the ancients were right, - Quisque suæ fortunæ faber: both in morals and intellect we give their final shape to our own characters, and thus become emphatically the architects of our fortunes. How else should it happen that young men, who have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually presenting us with such different results, and rushing to such opposite destinies? Difference of talent will not solve it, because that difference is very often in favor of the disappointed candidate. You shall see issuing from the walls of the same school—nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family-two young men, of whom the one shall be admitted to be a genius of high order, the other scarcely above the point of mediocrity; yet you shall see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, obscurity, and wretchedness; while, on the other hand, you shall observe the meiliocre plodding his slow but sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, and mounting at length to eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family and a blessing to his country. Now, whose work is this? Manifestly, their own. They are the architects of their respective fortunes. And of this be assured,—I speak from observation a certain truth,—There is no excellence without great labor. It is the fiat of Fate, from which no power of genius can absolve you. Genius unexerted is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle till it scorches itself to death. It is the capacity for high and long-continued exertion, the vigorous power of profound and searching investigation, the careering and wide-sweeping comprehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought that
pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon,
This is the prowess and these the hardy achievements which are to enroll your names among the great men of the earth.
But how are you to gain the nerve and the courage for enterprises of this pith and moment? I will tell you. As Milo gained that strength which astounded Greece, -by your own selfdiscipline. You have it in your power, indeed, to make yourselves just what you please; and of the truth of this hypothesis, to an extent quite incredible to yourselves at this time, observation and experience leave no doubt in my own mind. You may, if you please, become literary fops and dandies, and acquire the affected lisp and drawling nonchalance of the London cockney, or you may learn to wield the Herculean club of Dr. Johnson. You may skim the surface of science, or fathom its depths. You may become florid declaimers or cloud-compelling reasoners. You may dwindle into political ephemera, or plume your wings for immortality with Franklin, Hamilton, Jay, Jefferson, the Adamses, and a host of living worthies. You may become dissolute voluptuaries and debauchees, and perish in disgrace, or you may climb the steeps of glory, and have your names given, by the trumpet of Fame, to the four quarters of the globe. In short, you may become a disgrace and a reproach to this institution, or her proudest boast and honor; you may make yourselves the shame or the ornament of your families, and a curse or a blessing to your country.'
Address at Rutgers College, 1830.
ROBERT TREAT PAINE, 1773–1811.
ROBERT TREAT Paise, son of the IIon. R. Treat Paine, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was born in Taunton, Massachusetts, December 9, 1773. Ho entered Harvard College in 1788, and graduated with high honor in 1792, delivering an English poem on The Nature and Progress of Liberty. For some years after, he had no fixed employment, but sustained himself chiefly by bis pen, writing prologues for the theatre, and poems and editorials for the newspapers. In June, 1798, at the request of the “Massachusetts Charitable Firo Society," soon to celebrate its anniversary, he wrote his celebrated political song of Adams and Liberty. Political excitement ran very high at the time; for, as the French, whom the anti-Federalists of the day much favored, had bebaved towards us in a very insulting manner, it was thought by many that a war would result. But bappily this was avorted by the firmness of President Adams, whose course Washington himself so much approved, that he consented, if it should become necessary, once more to take the command of the
army. In 1799, Paine entered the law-office of Judge Parsons, at Newburyport, and in 1802 was admitted to the bar; but, though for a short time he gave promise of
I“We have remarked of Wirt that his life is peculiarly fraught with materials for the edification of youth. His career is full of wholesome teaching to the young votary who strives for the renown of an honorable ambition. Its difficulties and impediments, its temptations and trials, its triumphs over many obstacles, its rewards, both in the self-approving judgment of bis own heart and in the success won by patient labor and well-directed study, and the final consummation of his hopes, in an old age not less adorned by the applause of good men than by the serene and cheerful temper inspired by a devout Christian faith,-all these present a type of human progress worthy of the imitation of the young and gifted, in which they may find the most powerful incentives towards the accomplishment of the noblest ends of a generous love of fame."-- kennedy's Lije.
great eminence in his profession, he soon relaxed into his former indolent habits, living from year to year on a very precarious support, and died on the 11th of November, 1811, leaving a wife and two children entirely destitute. His father, however, took them to his house, and made liberal provision for them. His works in prose and verse were collected, two years after his death, in one octavo volume of 464 pages, and were highly lauded at the time. Of all his writings, however, nono are now read but his celebrated political song of
ADAMS AND LIBERTY.
Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought
For those rights which unstain'd from your sires had descended,
'Mid the reign of mild Peace,
May your nation increase,
And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion,
But should pirates invade,
Though in thunder array'd,
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,
But let traitors be told,
Who their country have sold,
That ne'er will the sons, &c.
And Society's base threats with wide dissolution,
For though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision,
While with patriot pride,
To our laws we're allied,
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.