France had no religion.

The guillotine.

without a guide, without support," says Napoleon, "my mother was obliged to take the direction of affairs upon herself. But the task was not above her strength. She managed every thing, provided for every thing, with a prudence which could neither have been expected from her sex nor from her age. Ah, what a woman! Where shall we look for her equal? She watched over us with a solicitude unexampled. Every low sentiment, every ungenerous affection, was discouraged and discarded. She suffered nothing but that which was grand and elevated to take root in our youthful understandings. She abhorred falsehood, and would not tolerate the slightest acts of disobedience. None of our faults were overlooked. Losses, privations, fatigue, had no effect upon her. She had the energy of a man combined with the gentleness and delicacy of a woman." During the time that he was at the military schools, France had no religion. The French people worshiped at the shrine of base Indulgence under the name of Liberty. The Sabbath was abolished and the Bible burned, and every tenth day was appointed by the government as a day of rest. The guillotine was in active operation, and the blood of her best patriots flowed unceasingly from it. The king was sent to the block. Anarchy was rampant. Disorder reigned supreme. Amid all this confusion, Napoleon

Saying of Demosthenes.

Napoleon successful.

remained steady at his tasks, and did not suffer this frenzy to disturb the equanimity of his mind or bate one tittle of his devotion to his studies; and amid the corruptions of that corrupt age he escaped unstained. His mother's instructions in his youth were the guiding principles of his manhood. He had an intuitive sense of honor and justice, upon which he acted.

It is good to trace the life of one who has been successful. It is instructive to go back to boyhood, and examine the education and habits which serve as the foundation stones on which the superstructure is built. Demosthenes has very pointedly observed, "that in common life success is the greatest good, and that the next is conduct, without which the first must be of short continuance." It is certainly the best fortune for which we can hope, to be successful in our efforts. Often, as the world goes, the good is left to obscurity and the undeserving triumphs. But it is still a source of satisfaction to have the assurance in one's own breast that he has deserved success. It serves to cultivate a good companionship with self. It enables us to merit our own esteem and confidence. But he who never makes one honest effort, and feels no enkindling aspiration that can inspire a hope, who is satisfied to live without success and without deserving it, is of all men the most

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Conclusion.

brutish and miserable. He neither enjoys the applause of his fellow-men nor of himself. Few men have been so successful as Napoleon. His was indeed a brilliant career. His triumphs in the cabinet and in the field, are among the most remarkable examples of the sublime in action. The iron will of that one man aroused all Europe in arms to oppose him, and in the terrible struggles which he inspired is seen the "compacted might of genius." But there are other fields for triumphs than those of war; and whenever we would encourage the youthful mind to put forth effort in preparation for triumphs, we can point with pride and confidence to the Boyhood of the humble Corsican

LECTURE III.

THE POWER OF SPOKEN THOUGHT.

MANY

ANY years ago, the streets of London were filled with people, wending their way to Kensington Common. The gathering multitudes were composed of a motley throng from every class in that crowded city. The rich and the poor, the philosopher and the sweating mechanic, the poet and the street singer, proud lords and gay ladies, peers of the realm and ministers of state,-all eager and anxious, were there. The trees and fences, and stages built for the purpose, and chariot wheels, and the backs of gaily caparisoned horses, were crowded with the living throng. The eager countenances of these waiting thousands betokened some great occasion. The pride of dress and the beauty of countenance added gayety to the scene. Yet there was no sound of martial music or rolling drum. There were no soldiers with gay plumes and epaulets, and red coats and glistening bayonets. There were no "white-winged" tents; no amphitheater as at ancient Rome, where the wretched captive chiefs were bru

Preaching of Whitefield.

Effect of his eloquence.

tally murdered in gladiatorial contests for the sport of a Roman holiday. This throng were attracted by no motives like these. They had come to hear a plain man preach. They had come to hear Whitefield preach.

Patiently they stand in the open field, in God's first temple, whose only canopy is the blue vault above, whose inlaid floor is the bright green earth, and encounter the press and the crowd, to hear the accents from the lips of him who was thought unworthy of gorgeous churches, where the worshipers recline upon velvet cushions, and where the mellow light streams through richly stained windows. They had come to hear a very common subject, but from the lips of no ordinary man. The words from his tongue reach every ear, touch every heart. What is in his countenance is reflected in theirs. Now indignation burns on every lip. Anon their streaming eyes attest the violence of their emotions. And now hope smiles through their tears. Thus he sways that vast assembly to and fro upon the stormy waves of his eloquence. It is not alone the tender-hearted girl that weeps, but the stout heart shares unrestrained the feeling which moves prince and peasant alike. That emotion that comes unbidden, that susceptibility which nature has given all her children, responds to the touch of that master spirit. And