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their first expedition they may be able to overcome. May God, who is blessed forever, preserve you. Amen.

ST. BERNARD.

BUT

99. BOSSUET AS AN ORATOR.

OUT what shall we say of Bossuet as an orator? To whom shall we compare him? And which of the harangues of Cicero and Demosthenes are not eclipsed by his Funeral Orations? The Christian orator seems to be indicated in those words of a King:-"There is gold and a multitude of jewels; but the lips of knowledge are a precious vessel."

2. Looking always upon the grave, and bending as it were over the gulf of futurity, Bossuet is incessantly dropping the awful words of time and death, which are re-echoed in the silent abyss of eternity. He gathers around him an inde scribable sadness; he becomes merged in sorrows inconceiv able. The heart, after an interval of more than a century, is yet struck with that celebrated exclamation:-"The Princess is dying-the Princess is dead!"

3. Did monarchs ever receive such lessons? Did philosophy ever express itself with greater independence? The diadem is as nothing in the eyes of the preacher; by him the poor are raised to an equality with the monarch, and the most absolute potentate in the world must submit to be told, before thousands of witnesses, that all his grandeur is but vanity; that his power is but a dream, and himself is but dust.

4. There are three things continually succeeding one another in Bossuet's discourses:-the stroke of genius or of eloquence; the quotation so admirably blended with the text, as to form but one piece with it; lastly, the reflection, on the survey taken with eagle eye, of the causes of the event of which he treats.

5. Often, too, does this star of the Church throw a light upon discussions in the most abstruse metaphysics, or the most sublime theology. To him nothing is obscure. He has cre

ated a language employed by himself alone, in which frequently the simplest term and the loftiest idea, the most common expression and the most tremendous image, serve, as in Scripture, to produce the most striking effect.

6. Thus, when pointing to the coffin of the Duchess of Orleans, he exclaims:-" There you see, notwithstanding her great heart, that Princess so admired, so beloved! There you behold her, such as death has made her! Why do we shudder at the simple expression, such as death has made her? 'Tis on account of the opposition between that great heart-that Princess so admired, and the inevitable stroke of death, which laid her low as the meanest of mankind."

7. 'Tis because the verb, make, applied to death, which unmakes all, produces a contradiction in the words, and a clashing of the ideas which agitate the whole soul, as if, to describe an event so sudden and so afflicting, the terms had changed their signification, and the language itself were thrown into confusion as well as the heart.

CHATEAUBRIAND.

100. THE GREAT CONDE.

[Never was BossUET more eloquent; never did he excite so deep an enthusiasm among his audience, than in the funeral oration of the "Prince of Condé." The orator identified himself with the greatness of his hero; we might say that he did not relate, but conceived the plans himself; he is on the field of battle sees allprepares for all commands the movement-he unites and paints at the same time the past, the present, and the future.

The last part is the most wonderful mingling of the sublime and pathetic. In the touching peroration we see the orator himself appear upon the scene. The imposing idea of the venerable orator, who mourns the great man; those white hairs-that wonderful voice, now trembling and growing weak-the retrospect of the past-the firm, sad glance into the future-and, finally, the death of the orator, make an impression never to be effaced.]

YOME, then, inhabitants of the earth!

CON

say, come princes and lords!

Come, rather should

You who rule the

earth, and you who open to man the gates of heaven; and you, more than all the rest, princes and princesses, noble scions of

so many kings-lights of France-but to-day obscured and covered with sorrow, as with a cloud.

2. Come and see the little that remains to us of so august a birth, of so much grandeur, of so much glory. Cast your eyes on all sides; behold all that magnificence and piety can give to honor a hero! Titles, inscriptions, vain marks of that which no longer exists, figures which seem to weep around a tomb, and the frail images of a grief which time carries away with all the rest.

3. These columns, which seem to wish to elevate even to the heavens-the magnificent evidence of our nothingness; nothing is wanted in all these honors, except him to whom they are rendered.

4. Weep, then, over these feeble remains of human life, weep over this sad immortality which we give to heroes; approach, in particular, O ye who run with so much ardor in the career of glory-warlike and intrepid souls, who was more worthy to command you? Where have you found so noble a chief? Weep, then, for this great captain, and say, in sighing: Behold him who led us through perils; under whom so many renowned captains were formed; so many renowned captains who have been elevated, by his example, to the first honors of the camp-his shadow might yet have gained some battles.

5. Behold his silence-his name even animates us, and warns us that if in death we wish to find some repose after our labors, and hope to reach happily our eternal residence, we must, while serving the kings of the earth, also serve the King of Heaven. Serve, then, this Immortal King, so full of mercy, who will reward you for even a cup of cold water given in His name, more than all the others for all the blood you shed for them, and commence to count your services as useful from the day you give yourselves to so generous a Master.

6. And you—will you not come to this sad monument; you, I say, whom he loved to rank among his friends? All together, in whatever degree of confidence he has received you-sur

round this tomb; give him your tears and your prayers, and, admiring in this prince a friendship so generous, an intercourse so sweet, preserve the memory of a hero whose goodness equalled his courage. May he ever be to you a dear remembrance, and may you profit by his virtues; and may his death, which you deplore, serve, at the same time, as a consoation and an example.

7. For myself, if I am permitted, after all the others, to come and render my last tribute at his tomb, O Prince, the worthy object of our praises and our regrets, you will live eternally in my memory; your image will there be impressed, not with that air of triumph which promises victory-no; I wish to see nothing which death can efface-you will have in that image only those traits which are immortal. I shall see you such as you were on that last day, under the hand of God, when his glory commenced to appear in you.

8. There I shall see you more triumphant than at Fribourg, or at Rocroy, and, ravished at so beautiful a triumph, I shall exclaim in thanksgiving with the beloved apostle: "The true victory is that which places under our feet the entire world," -in this is faith.

9. Enjoy, then, O Prince, this glory; enjoy it eternally, by the immortal virtue of this sacrifice. Accept these last efforts of a voice which was well known to you; you have put an end to all its words, instead of deploring the death of others. O great Prince, I shall learn from you to make mine holy; happy, if warned by these white hairs of the account I must soon render of my administration. I reserve for the flock that I must nourish with the words of life the remainder of my failing voice and weakened strength.

BOSSUET.

101. CHRIST OUR LIGHT.

"Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened."-ISA., XXXV., 5.

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Thy deed of love repeated
On all who come to Thee:
As he who sat benighted,

Afflicted, poor and blind,
So now thy word is plighted,—

Say, light and peace I find.
2. Dark gloom my spirit filling,
Beside the way I sat;
Desire my heart was thrilling,
But anguish more than that.
To me no ray was granted,
Although I heard the psalms
The faithful sweetly chanted,
And felt the waving palms.

3. With grief my heart was aching,
O'erwhelming were my woes,
Till Heaven-born courage taking,

To Thee my cry arose :
O David's Son, relieve me,
My bitter anguish quell,
Thy promised succor give me,
And this dark night dispel!

4. With tears that fast were flowing,

I sought Thee through the crowd, My heart more tender growing, Until I wept aloud:

O then my grief diminished,

For then they cried to me, "Blind man, thy woe is finished; Arise! He calleth thee !"

5. I came with steps that faltered,
Thy course I felt the check;

Then straight my mind was altered,
And bowed my stubborn neck.

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