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DURING the first years of Buonaparte's career, as General in Chief, and First Consul, it is well known that his proclamations to the army, his addresses to the conquered nations, and his bulletins to the Directory and Senate, excited the admiration of all who heard or read them.
One of his greatest admirers was Mr. Fox, who, one day speaking of him, said, “If we even shut our eyes on the martial deeds of this great man, we must allow that his eloquence alone has elevated the French people to a higher degree of civilization than any other nation in Europe-they have advanced a century during the last five years. Buonaparte combines the declamation of a Cicero with the soul-stirring philippics of a Demosthenes : he appeals to the head and the heart—to honour and to self-interest, at the same time. Had this wonderful man turned his attention to poetry instead of war, he would have beaten Homer out of the field. Whatever his manner of delivery may be, and I understand it is impressive, he is certainly the greatest orator that the world ever produced: the soaring grandeur of his conceptions is admirable, and his adaptation of the deeds and sayings of
the heroes and statesmen of ancient times, to present circumstances, not only shows the extent of his reading and the correctness of his taste in their application; but also serves to assure the French people that he is as capable of governing, as he has proved himself to be in leading them forth to conquest. But it is in his power of simplification that he shines most: although as romantic as Ossian, he disdains all rhodomontade and circumlocution; and, by stripping his subject of all extraneous matter, he reduces the most complex proposition down to the laconic simplicity of a selfevident axiom."
Mr. Fox's auditors assented to the above opinions, and several gentlemen quoted portions of such of the First Consul's speeches as bad appeared in the newspapers. One gentleman, however, contended that their construction was the work of art; and that true eloquence consisted in the unsophisticated effusions of native genius, which, disdaining metaphor and all meretricious ornament, found its way to the heart, merely by the simple force of truth. Such was the oratory of savages-of persons who, though living in a state of nature, spoke with a pathos unattainable by men of education and civilized habits. “For example," said he, “who ever made so touching an appeal to the human heart as the American Indian, Logan, when, after describing the desolation which the English Colonists had made in his family and kindred, he concludes with these words, Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one! _?"*
• For the benefit of those readers who may not have read this celebrated speech, it is here subjoined.
“ I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's VOL. I.
“I grant, Sir," said Mr. Fox, “that the speech to which you allude, is replete with pathos and simplicity ; as was the answer of the chief of another tribe, who, being attached to the soil of his ancestors, thus replied to the solicitations of some European commissioners who invited them to emigrate into their towns and cities : How,' said he, can we say to the bones of our fathers, Arise! and go with us?” But sava
cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last, long, and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was his love for the Whites, that his countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is the friend of white men.' I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last Spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan ;-not even sparing his women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge-I have sought it, I have killed many I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace; but, do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life.-Who is there to mourn for Logan -Not one!"
It ought to be observed, that the authenticity of the above speech was called in question, many years ago, by an inhabitant of Phila. delphia, who addressed a letter to some of the American newspa. pers on the subject, and acknowledged himself to be a relative (son-in-law) to Colonel Cresap. It was natural that this man should be desirous to rescue the memory of his wife's father from the damning immortality which Logan's speech conferred upon it; but, in addition to the high authority of Mr. Jefferson, the late President, in whose History of Virginia, and other Southern States, the narrative of Cresap's inhuman massacre is to be found, it unfortu. nately happened for this defender of rapine and murder, that many persons throughout the United States, and particularly in the South, perfectly remembered the whole transaction.-It is singular, - disgraceful,-that Cresap should have escaped punishment for a crime so dreadful and so notorious.
ges, like the inhabitants of civilized countries, make use of such imagery as the beauties, the sublimities, or the phenomena and awful convulsions of nature, afford them. Of this, we have many instances on record ; but one I particularly remember as delightfully expressive of the paternal feelings of a forlorn old Indian who had lost his only son in the field of battle. Seeing an English captive, whom he had previously adopted and fostered as his own child, look wistfully at the tents of his countrymen, on the commencement of a campaign, he granted his manumission in these words :--Go, return to thy father, that he may still have pleasure when he sees the sun rise in the morning, and the tree blossom in the Spring.'"*
* The story to which Mr. Fox alluded, as connected with the above quotation, may be thus briefly related :-The old Indian, in a skirmish during our French war in America, had drawn his bow against a young English officer, and was about to transfix him with an arTOW ; when he became so struck by his resemblance to his own son, that he suddenly dropped the weapon, and saved him from being destroyed by his countrymen—hy making him his own prisoner. Having taken him to his hut, he adopted him according to the Indian manner, and treated him with the greatest kindness; he likewise taught him the language and rude arts of his countrymen. This fondness increased to such a degree, that often, when gazing on him, he would burst into tears.
On the return of Spring, the campaign recommenced, and the old man, who was still vigorous, took the field at the head of a party of Indians. Having, after a long march across the forests, arrived within sight of the British encampment, he pointed out to his prisoner, by the grey light of the morning, the tents of bis countrymen at a distance. “There,” said he, “is the enemy who wait to give us battle. Remember, that I have saved thy life; that I have taught thee to conduct a canoe ; to arm thyself with the bow and the arrow; and to surprise the beaver in the forest. What wast thou, when I first took thee to my hut? Thy bands were those of
“But," continued Mr. Fox, “the most eloquent appeal to the softer passions which I recollect ever to
an infant: they could neither procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thy soul was in utter darkness! Thou wast in want of every thing; thou owest all things to me. I perceive it is thy wish to go over to thy nation ; but wilt thou take up the hatchet against us?”—The captive of course replied that he would rather die than take up arms against his benefactor : on hearing which, the Indian, covering his face with his hands, remained silent for some time; and then, in a voice choked by grief and tenderness, said, -" Hast thou a father?" “My father,” replied the
young Officer, was alive when I left my native country." "Alas!" returned the Indian, “how wretched must he be !" then pausing for a few moments, he continued: “Dost thou know that I have been a father? I am a father no more! I saw my son fall in battle. He fought by my side. I saw him expire: but he died like a man! He was covered with wounds when he fell dead at my feet. But I have avenged him!”
These words were pronounced with the utmost vehemence, for. the old man would not suffer a sigh to escape him: there was a keen restlessness in his eye, however, and his body shook with an universal tremor; but no tear flowed to his relief. At length, bea coming calm by degrees, he turned towards the East, where the sun was just rising, and said : “Behold! young man, the beauty of that sky which sparkles with the beams of day! the glorious sun, just arisen from his bed, and, arrayed in unclouded splendour, has just commenced his daily journey. Hast thou pleasure in the sight?”
“I have great pleasure,” replied the officer, “in beholding so beautiful a sunrise."
“I have none !” exclaimed the agitated Indian, as tears found their way and ran copiously down his aged cheeks. A few minutes afterwards, he pointed to a fine Magnolia, in full bloom, and said, “Behold, my son, that beautiful tree! dost thou look upon it witla pleasure ?"
“Yes," replied the young man, “it is impossible not to look with pleasure on so fine an object.”_"I have pleasure to look on it no more !” replied the Indian, in agony. “ Go! return back to the tents of thy father, that he may still feel delight when he sees the sun rise in the morning, and the tree blossom in the Spring!"