Moliere, or Piron, which of you can refuse to these authors a perfect knowledge of the human heart, a brilliancy of genius, beauty of style, and a taste purified and correct?
Of the power of eloquence among the ancients we are not ignorant. We remember Demosthenes by his oratory arming a pusillanimous and enervated people, extorting admiration from a rival while he drove him into exile: Cicero governing a turbulent and wavering multitude, and melting to compassion and forgiveness the obdurate purpose of Cæsar himself. At so considerable a distance of time, under circumstances so different, the speeches of these immortal orators still produce impressions which preserve their fame unrivalled in the estimation of those whose imaginations can transport them to the assemblies of Greece and Rome. Can any one fancy himself living before the battle of Cheronæa, and peruse the Oration of Demosthenes against Philip, without forming an ardent wish to behold Athens declare war against the Macedonian Conqueror? Who, in reading Tully, is not the partizan of Marcellus?
With less frequent and less considerable opportunities for exertion, modern eloquence often displays striking proofs of its efficacy. So deeply affected were the auditors of Bossuet at his Discourse on the Death of the Duchess of Orleans, that after pronouncing the words, "the Princess is no more," he was obliged to pause for some time, to allow to the tears and sighs of the assembly an undisturbed utterance. The
melancholy
