ministers to execute his purposes, was too simple, or too vast, for their understandings; and they sought relief, as usual, in a plurality of deities, who presided over the elements, the changes of the seasons, and the various occu5 pations of man. Of these, there were thirteen principal deities, and more than two hundred inferior; to each of whom some special day, or appropriate festival, was consecrated. At the head of all stood the terrible Mexican Mars;* 10 although it is doing injustice to the heroic war-god of antiquity, to identify him with this sanguinary monster. This was the patron deity of the nation. His fantastic image was loaded with costly ornaments. His temples were the most stately and august of the public edifices; 15 and his altars reeked with the blood of human hecatombs, in every city of the empire. Disastrous, indeed, must have been the influence of such a superstition on the character of the people. A far more interesting personage in their mythology 20 was the godt of the air, a divinity who, during his residence on earth, instructed the natives in the use of metals, in agriculture, and in the arts of government. He was one of those benefactors of their species, doubtless, who have been deified by the gratitude of posterity. Under 25 him, the earth teemed with fruits and flowers, without the pains of culture. An ear of Indian corn was as much as a single man could carry. The cotton, as it grew, took, of its own accord, the rich dyes of human art. The air was filled with intoxicating perfumes, and the sweet 30 melody of birds. In short, these were the halcyon days, which find a place in the mythic systems of so many nations of the Old World. It was the golden age of Anahuac. From some cause, not explained, this god incurred the 35 wrath of one of the principal gods, and was compelled to abandon the country. On his way, he stopped at the city of Cholula, where a temple was dedicated to his worship, the massy ruins of which still form one of the most interesting relics of antiquity in Mexico. When he reached 40 the shores of the Mexican Gulf, he took leave of his followers, promising, that he and his descendants would revisit them hereafter, and then, entering his wizard skiff, A made of serpents' skins, embarked on the great ocean for the fabled land of Tlapallan. He was said to have been tall in stature, with a white skin, long, dark hair, and a flowing beard. The Mexicans looked confidently to the 5 return of the benevolent deity; and this remarkable tradition, deeply cherished in their hearts, prepared the way for the future success of the Spaniards. 5 LESSON LXXI.-ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.- It is not an unprofitable question to ask, what was the origin and progress of language? And the answer must be, that it is the gradual work of the human race, carried on through long ages, and not yet finished and perfected. There is no good reason to suppose, that God made any departure, in the case of language, from that course by which He governs the universe, and which we call the laws of nature; He never gives us anything outright; He endows us with capacities, powers, and desires, and then 10 placing certain desirable objects before us, bids us work to obtain them. To say, as some divines do, that it would have been impossible for man to commence and perfect language, is to say, that God could not have endowed him with capaci15 ties for doing so. God has so endowed the human race; He has given them both the desire and capacity of forming language: the result of their neglecting these capacities would have been, and is still, in some cases, that they tarry long in a 20 state of barbarism; the result of their exercising and improving them in other cases, has been advancement in every thing which improves and elevates humanity. If it be said, we are positively told, in the second chapter of Genesis, that, in the very beginning, Adam used 25 language, and named the beasts of the field, I answer, we must consider the second chapter metaphorical, as we do the first, where we are told that light, and day and night, were established on the first day, while the sun and moon were not brought into existence until the fourth day; or, 30 if people will insist on rendering some parts literally and others metaphorically, just as suits them, then I say the first language was probably very imperfect and merely elementary; and that one may prove, even from Scripture, that man was obliged to work for his language, as he is obliged to work for every other good thing. The confusion of tongues must have amounted virtually to annihilation of speech; the sounds which each uttered, 5 were incomprehensible jargon to all the others; each knew what he would say, but could make no other understand him; they probably shouted, as we do to deaf people, thinking to be better understood, but this only made the others stop their ears, until at last, losing all patience, 10 they scattered in small groups, or in pairs. After this, the process of building up language must have been similar to that which we see infants and children going through every day. Suppose two or more to have separated from the rest; 15 they would cling together; they would, at first, by rude sounds and gestures, begin to form a system of signs, by which they could understand each other; one, looking to a fruit, would utter a sound once, perhaps twice, and the next time the sound was repeated, it would recall the 20 thought of the fruit, and become its name to those two; but to other two it would have no meaning, for they had perhaps in the mean time fixed upon some other sound, as the sign for the fruit. One, feeling a pain, or a desire, thirst for instance, would utter a certain sound; this re25 peated, would become the sign of that feeling. After establishing signs for all manner of external things, by gradual and easy analogy, they would go on to mental emotions; they would establish signs for time past, time present, time to come; all these at first would 30 have to be made clear by the expression of the features. by gestures, &c.; but gradually these gestures would be dropped, as the conventional meaning of the sounds became established, until at last a purely arbitrary sign,—a vocal sound, a word,-would recall the thought of the 35 object. LESSON LXXII.-ZENOBIA'S AMBITION.-WILLIAM WARE. I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge is true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved any thing great in letters, arts, or arms, who was not ambitious? Cæsar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It 5 was but in another way. All greatness is born of ambition. Let the ambition be a noble one, and who shall blame it? I confess I did once aspire to be queen, not only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. I now aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorable ambition? Does it not become a descendant of the Ptolemies and of Cleopatra? I am applauded by you all for what I have 5 already done. You would not it should have been less. But why pause here? Is so much ambition praiseworthy, and more criminal? Is it fixed in nature that the limits of this empire should be Egypt, on the one hand, the Hellespont and the Euxine, on the other? Were not 10 Suez and Armenia more natural limits? Or hath empire no natural limit, but is broad as the genius that can devise, and the power that can win. Rome has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that nature prescribes this and no more. The gods prospering, and I swear not 15 that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the west, or Persia on the east. Longinus is right,—Î would that the world were mine. I feel, within, the will and the power to bless it, were it so. Are not my people happy? I look upon the past and 20 the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and ask nor fear the answer. Whom have I wronged ?—what province have I oppressed?-what city pillaged ?-what region drained with taxes ?-whose life have I unjustly taken, or estates coveted or robbed ?-whose honor have I 25 wantonly assailed ?—whose rights, though of the weakest and poorest, have I trenched upon ?—I dwell, where I would ever dwell, in the hearts of my people. It is written in your faces, that I reign not more over you than within you. The foundation of my throne is not more 30 power, than love. Suppose now, my ambition add another province to our realm. Is it an evil? The kingdoms already bound to us by the joint acts of ourself and the late royal Odenatus, we found discordant and at war. They are now united 35 and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out of hostile and sundered parts. At my hands they receive a common justice and equal benefits. The channels of their commerce have I opened, and dug them deep and sure. Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets 40 of our capital bear testimony to the distant and various industry which here seeks its market. This is no vain boasting:-receive it not so, good friends. It is but truth. He who traduces himself, sins with him who traduces another. He who is unjust to himself, or less than just, breaks a law, as well as he who hurts his neighbor. I tell you what I am, and what I have done, that your trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant grounds. If I am more than just to myself, rebuke_me. 5 If I have overstepped the modesty that became me, I am open to your censure, and will bear it. But I have spoken, that you may know your queen,not only by her acts, but by her admitted principles. I tell you then that I am ambitious,-that I crave dominion, 10 and while I live will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, a throne is my natural seat. I love it. But I strive, too, -you can bear me witness that I do,-that it shall be, while I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted seat. If I can, I will hang a yet brighter glory around it. LESSON LXXIII.-TRIALS OF THE POET AND THE SCHOLAR. In a highly civilized age, the poet finds himself perplexed with contradictions which he cannot reconcile, and anomalies which he cannot comprehend. Coming out from the soft ideal world, in which he has dreamed away 5 his youth, he is constantly repelled by some iron reality. The aspect of life to him seems cold, hard and prosaic. It renews the legend of Edipus and the Sphinx. With a face of stone, it propounds to him a riddle, which he must guess or be devoured. It is an age of frightful ex10 tremes of social condition; of colossal wealth and heartcrushing poverty; of courts and custom-houses; of cornlaws and game-laws; of man-traps and spring-guns. The smoke from the almshouse and the jail, blots the pure sky. The race of life is not to the swift, nor its bat15 tle to the strong. A sensitive conscience, a delicate taste, the gift of genius, and the ornament of learning, are rather obstacles, than helps, in the way of what is called success. Men are turned into petrifactions by the slow-dropping influences of artificial life. The heroic virtues of the elder age, have vanished with its free speech, and its simple manners. There seems to be no pulse of hearty life in any thing, whether it be good or bad. Virtue is timid, and vice is cunning. Love is cold and calculating, and hatred masks its dagger with a smile. 20 25 In this world of hollow forms and gilded seeming, the claims of the poet are unheeded, and his voice unheard. |