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London, England, 1854-01-23 00:00:00

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' II dides represent the intense interest with which the Gre-
cian intellect was accustomed to view the action and
strife, the sorrow and triumph, of the human beings, from
whom it never stood superciliously aloof. Though the
father of philosophical history. Thucydides knows no-
thing of that cynical irony which is common to the mo-
dern spirit of historical philosophy iu its cold survey of
the follies and errors of mankind. He cover neglects to
place full before you whatever ennobles our species, whe-
ther it be the lofty sentiment of Pericles or the hardy
valour of Brasidas. It is his candid sympathy with what-
ever in itself is g loci and great which vivifies his sombre
chronicle, and rend, vs him at once earliest yet impartial.
Each little bay or creek, each defile or pass, e here gallant
deeds have been done, ho describes with the conviction that
the deeds have hallowed the place to all posterity, and
have become a part of that Kriiitia nr, dot which he pro-
posed to bequeath. This is the spirit which returns to
life in your own day and in your own historians, which
gives a classic charm to the military details of Napier,
and lights with a patriot's fire the large intelligence and pro-
found research that immortalise the page of Alison. (Loud
applause.) Pass from history to oratory. All men in
modern times, famous for their eloquence, have recognised
Demosthenes as their model. Many speakers in our own
country have literally translated passages from his orations,
and produced electrical effects upon sober English senators
by thoughts first uttered to passionate Athenian crowds.
Why is this ? . Not from the style—the style vanishes in
translation—it is because thoughts the noblest appeal to
emotions the most masculine and popular. You see in
Demosthenes the man accustomed to deal with the prac-
tical business of men—to generalise details, to render com-
plicated affairs clear to the ordinary understanding—
and, at the same time, to connect the material interests
of life with the sentiments that warm the breast and
exalt the soul. It is the brain of an accomplished states-
man in unison with a generous heart, thoroughly in earn-
est, beating loud and high with the passionate desire to
convince breathless thousands—how to baffle a danger,
and to save their country. (Applause.) A little time
longer, and Athens is free no more. The iron force of
Macedon has banished liberty from the silenced Agora.
But liberty had already secured to herself a gentle re-
fuge in the groves of the Academe—there, still to the
last, the Grecian intellect maintains the same social,
humanising, practical aspect. The immense mind of
Aristotle gathers together as in a treasure-house for
future ages, all that was valuable in the knowledge that
informs us of the earth on which we dwell - the political
constitutions of States, and their results on the character
of nations, the science of ethics, the analysis of ideas, natu-
ral history, physical science, critical investigation, mane
ins ensunz peragravit ; and all that he collects - from
wisdom he applies to the earthly uses of man. (Hear,
hear.) Yet it is not by the tutor of Alexander, but by
the pupil of Socrates, that our vast debt to the Grecian
mind is completed. When we remount from Aristotle to
his great master, Plato—it is as if we looked from nature
up to nature's God. There, amidst the decline of free-
dom, the corruption of manners—just before the date
when, with the fall of Athens, the beautiful ideal of sen-
suous life faded mournfully away—there, on that verge of
time stands the consoling Plato, preparing philosophy to
receive the Christian dispensation, by opening the gates of
the Infinite, and proclaiming the immortality of the
soul. (Applause.) Thus the Grecian genius, ever kindly
and benignant, first appears to awaken man from the
sloth of the senses, to enlarge the boundaries of self,
to connect the desire of glory with the sanctity of
household ties, to raise up in luminous contrast with
the inert despotism of the old Eastern world—the ener-
gies of freemen, the duties of citizens ; and, finally,
accomplishing its mission as the visible Iris, to States
and heroes, melts into the rainbow, announcing a more
sacred covenant, and spans the streams of the Heathen
Orcus with an arch lost in the Christian's Heaven.
(Applause.) I have so exhausted your patience in what I
have thus said of the Grecian literature that I must limit
closely my remarks upon the Roman. And here, in-
deed, the subject does not require the same space. In
the Greek literature all is fresh and original ; its v-ry
art is but the happiest selection from natural objects
knit together with the zone of the careless Graces.'
But the Latin literature is borrowed and adopted ; and,
like all imitations, we perceive at once that it is arti-
ficial—but in this imitation it has much exquisite taste,
in this artificiality there is so much refinement of polish,
so much stateliness of pomp—that it assumes an origin-
ality of its own. It has not found, its jewels in native
mines, but it takes them, with a conqueror's hand,
and weaves them into regal diadems. Dignity and
polish are the especial attributes of Latin literature
in its happiest age ; it betrays the habitual influence
of an aristocracy, wealthy, magnificent, and learned.
To borrow a phrase from Persists—its words sweep along
as if clothed with the toga. Whether we take the sonorous
lines of Virgil or the swelling periods of Cicero, the easier
dignity of Sallust, or the patrician simplicity of Caesar, we
are sensible that we see with a race accustomed to a mea-
sured decorum, a majestic self-control, unfamiliar to the
more lively impulse of small Greek communities. There
is a greater demarcation between the intellect of the
writer and the homely sense of the multitude. The Latin
writers seek to link themselves to posterity rather through
a succession of select and well-bred admirers than by cor-
dial identification with the passions and interests of the
profane vulgar. Even Horace himself, so brilliant an d
easy, and so conscious of his monuntentuni sere perennius,
affects disdain of popular applause, and informs us with
a kind of pride that his satires had no vogue in the haunts
of the common people. Every bold schoolboy takes at
once to Homer, but it is only the fine taste of the scholar
that thoroughly appreciates Virgil ; and only the experi-
enced man of the world who discovers all the delicate wit,
all the exquisite urbanity of sentiment, that win our affec-
tion to Horace in proportion as we advance in life.
In short, the Greek writers warm and elevate
our emotions as men the Latin writers temper
emotions to the stately reserve of highborn gentle-
men. The Greeks fire us more to the inspirations of
poetry, (or as in Plato and parts of Demosthenes) to that
sublimer prose to which poetry is akin, but the Latin
writers are perhaps on the whole, though I say it with
hesitation, safer models for that accurate construction and
decorous elegance by which classical prose divides itself
from the forms of verse. Nor is this elegance effeminate,
but, on the contrary, nervous and robust, though, lik3 the
statue of Apollo, the strength of the muscle is concealed
by the undulation of the curves. (Applause.) But there
is this, as a general result from the study of ancient letters,
whether Greek or Roman. Both are the literature of
grand races, of free men and brave hearts. Both abound
iu generous thoughts and high examples ; both, whatever
their occasional license, inculcate upon the whole the ha-
bitual practice of manly virtues ; both glowing with the
love of country ; both are animated by the desire of fame
and honour. Therefore, whatever may be our future pro-
fession and pursuit, however they may take us from the
scholastic closet, and forbid any frequent return to the clas-
sic studies of our youth, still he whose early steps have been
led into that land of demi-gods and heroes will find that
its very air has enriched through life the blood of his
thoughts, that he quits the soil with a front which the
Greek has directed towards the stars, and a step which
imperial Rome has disciplined to the march that carried
her eagles round the world. (Loud applause.) Not in
vain do these lessons appeal to the youth of Scotland.
From this capital, still as from the elder Athens, stream
the lights of philosophy and learning. But your country-
men are not less renowned for the qualities of action than
for those of thought. And you whom I address will carry
with you, in your several paths to fortune, your national
attributes of reflective judgment and dauntless courage.
(Great applause.) I see an eventful and stirring age ex-
pand before the rising generation. In that grand contest
between new ideas and ancient forms, whioh may be still
more keenly urged before this century expires, whatever
your differences of political opinion, I adjure you to
hold fast the vital principle of civilisation. What is
that principle? It is tho union of liberty with
order. The art to preserve this union has often
baffled the wisest statesman in stormy times ; but
the task becomes easy at once, if the people whom
they seek to guide will but carry into public
affairs the same prudent consideration which com-
mands
prosperity in private business. You have already
derived from your ancestors an immense capital of political
freedom ; increase it if you will—but by solid investments,
not by hazardous speculations. You will hear much of
the necessity of progress, and truly : for where progress
ends decline invariably begins ; but remember that the
healthful progress of society is like the natural life of man
—it consists in the gradual and harmonious development
of all its constitutional powers, all its component parts,
and you introduce weakness and disease into the whole
system, whether you attempt to stint or to force the growth.
The old homely rule you prescribe to the individual is ap-
plicable to a State—Keep the limbs warm by exercise, and
keep the head cool by temperance. But new ideas do not
invade only our political systems ; you will find them
wherever you turn. Philosophy has altered the direc-
tiona it favoured in the last century—it enters less into
metaphysical inquiry, it questions less the relationships
between man and his Maker, it assumes its practical
character as the investigator of external nature, and
seeks to adapt agencies before partially concealed to the
positive uses of man. Hero I leave you to your own
bold researches ; you cannot be much mislead, if you re-
member the maxim, to observe with vigilance, and in-
quire with conscientious care. Nor is it necessary that
1
I should admonish the sons of religious Scotland that the
most daring speculations as to Nature may be accom-
panied with the humblest faith in those sublime doctrines
that open heaven alike to the wisest philosopher and the
siwpigst Nrtiant, Mori and lowl Applaudol Ido not

//t

to arrogate the dace of the preacher ; but, be
Here me, as a man of books, and a man of the world, that
you inherit a religion which, in its most familiar form, in
the lowly prayer that you learned from your mother's
lips, will save you from the temptations to which life is
exposed, more surely than all which the pride of philo-
sephy can teach. (Loud applause.) Nor can I believe
that the man will ever go very far or very obstinately
wrong who, by the mere habit of thanksgiving and
prayer, will be forced to examine his conscience, even but
once a day, and remember that the eye of the Almighty
is upon him. One word further. Nothing, to my mind,
preserves a brave people true and firm to its hereditary
vifues more than a devout though liberal spirit of
nationality. (Applause.) And it is not because Scot-
land is united with England that the Scotchman should
forget the glories of his annals, the tombs of his an-
cestors, or relax one jot of his love for his native soil.
(Applause.) I say not this to flatter you—l say it not for
Scotland alone. 1 say it for the sake of the empire. For
sure I am that, if ever the step of the invader sheuld laud
upon these kindred shores—there, wherever the national
spirit is the most strongly felt—there, where the local af-
fectiuus most animate the breast--there will our defenders
be the bravest. (Applause.) It would ill become me to
eater into the special grounds of debate now at issue ; but,
permit use to remind you that, while pressing with your
accustomed spirit for whatever you may deem to be equal
rights, you would be untrue to your own fame if you did.
not feel that the true Majesty of Scotland needs neither
the pomp of courts nor the blazonry of heralds. What
though Holyrood be desolate—what though no king holds
revels in its halls—the empire of Scotland has but extended
its range ; and, blended with England, under the daughter
of your ancient kings, peoples the Australian wilds that
lay beyond the chart of Columbus, and rules over the In-
dian realms that eluded the grasp of Alexander. (Loud
applause.) That empire does not suffice for you. It may
decay—it may perish. More grand is the domain you have
won over human thought, and identified with the eternal
progress of intellect and freedom. (Renewed applause.)
From the charter of that domain no ceremonial can dis-
place the impression of your seal. In the van of that pro-
gress no blazon can flaunt before that old Lion of Scotland
(pointing to the flag suspended opposite.) (Great cheering.)
This is the empire that you will adorn in peace ; this is the
empire that, if need be, you will defend in war. It is not
here that I would provoke one difference in political opinion
—but surely you, the sons of SOotland, who hold both
fame and power upon the same tenure as that which
secures civilisation from lawless force—surely you are not
the men who could contemplate with folded arms the re-
turn of the dark ages, and quietly render up the haven
that commands Asia on the one side and threatens Europe
on the other, to the barbaric ambition of some new Alaric
of the north. (Loud applause.) But, whether in reluc-
tant war or in happier peace, I can but bid you be mindful
of your fathers—learn from them how duties fulfilled in
the world become honours after death ; and in your va-
rious callings continue to maintain for Scotland her su-
blime affiance with every power of mind that can defend or
instruct, soothe or exalt humanity. (Sir Edward resumed
his seat amidst loud and continued applause, the audience
rising to their feet eat masse.)
Lord ROBERTSON said—l am sure there sno one pre-
sent who could go home with anything like peace of mind,
if the sentiment which must pervade the whole of this
meeting were not somehow or other expressed—the senti-
ment of gratitude to the distinguished Baronet for the un-
rivalled harangue which has just concluded. (Cheers.) It
is unnecessary for me to say anything more than to con-
vey, in your name, to him our most sincere thanks for the
instruction which we have now received from his eloquent
lips. (Cheers.) Ido not know intimately the constitution
of the associated societies ; but this I know, that they
could not have chosen a more admirable president, nor
done anything more likely to promote the designs of that
classical union which they constitute in our University,
than to select him who has, in the brilliant speech which
we have now heard, given us so much instruction and en-
tertainment. (Cheers.) The presence of that distinguished
individual prevents me from saying more; and all I will
add is, that if you will permit me, as a Scotchman, to re-
turn thanks for the way in which he has spoken of my
native country, I would say of him that he is as great an
honour to England as Sir Walter Scott was to Scotland.
(Cheers.)
Sir E. B. LYTTON—I am at a loss for words to express
to you the gratitude which I feel for the attention with
which you have listened to a long and, perhaps,
from its very nature, a somewhat formal and dry
discourse. (Cries of "No, no," and cheers.) lam still
less able to thank you for the sympathy you have expressed
in the too flattering compliment paid me by the distin-
guished personage who has brought me again before you.
Amongst the many causes which have combined to render
this inauguration so gratifying to me, is the feeling that
my election has not been attended with the bitterness of
contest—that it was rendered unanimous by the courtesy
of the eminent nobleman who, though bearing one of the
most illustrious names in Scotland (the Duke of Argyll),
worthily supported in his own person, deferred his claims
on your favour to those which your kindness ascribed
to me. (Cheers.) In this, it seems to me that he was
desirous to establish your old reputation for hospitality,
by giving you the occasion to prove how well you can
receive a stranger. (Cheers.) I must own that I have
been somewhat embarrassed this day, not only by my re-
spect for the judgment, necessarily fastidious, of an audi-
ence comprising men so eminent for scholarship and science,
but also by the unexpected effect of a display of such charms
and attractions, in the gentler part of this assembly, as
might well bewilder the most practised orator, and turn
the head of the coldest sage. (Laughter.) On my return
to the sister metropolis, if I hear conceited gentlemen de-
clare that they ate quite biases with the beauties of Lon-
don ball-rooms, I shall tell them that, in order to regain
the freshness of the faculty of admiration, they must come
here and take a glance at the beauties of Edinburgh.
(Laughter and cheers.) It remains for me only to assure
you of the deep interest I shall always take in your Col-
lege, your capital, your country. By birth lam an Eng-
lishman, it is true ; but it seems to me that, from this day,
lam almost a Scotchman by adoption. (Loud cheers.)
The proceedings then terminated.

MURDER OF A BRITISH OFFICER.—The Volcano
steam-vessel, Commander Robert Coote, has brought
home intelligence of the murder of Acting Second Master
Carr, a fine young officer, who was turned over front
the Prometheus steam-sloop to the Myrmidon steam-
vessel, still serving on the west coast of Africa, as she
has six months of her time to serve on that unhealthy
station. The murder was brutally effected on the 28th
of November, at an island called Kanzabac, one of the
Bijonga group. Mr. Carr had landed on some rocks, in-
tending to spear fish. He had not been on the rocks ten
minutes when he was fired at from the bush, and he either
tumbled or jumped into the sea. The savages instantly
made their appearance, and one of them ran down and stood
on the rocks, where he watched till Carr rose, the impres-
sion on board the steamer being that he had dived, and
the African then shot him through the head. The whole
transaction was done in so short a time, that as a gun
was fired from the ship the murderers retreated into the
bush again. A boat was instantly sent to the rocks,
but the tide had flowed so rapidly that no traces of Mr.
Carr's body could be seen. On the following day the
body was found in the water quite dead. The first shot
had hit him the abdomen, and was an awful wound,
which would of itself have caused death. The second
shot passed in alongside the nose, destroying the upper
jaw, and lodging in or close to the brain. The officers
and crew of the Myrmidon were burning for revenge for
the foul and uncalled for murder, but they could do
nothing, as there are no towns near the sea, and to ad-
vance into a country thickly inhabited with armed men,
was not warranted with the small disposable force serv-
ing in the Myrmidon.
THE CONVICT Cummnia.—ln the case of William
Cumming, capitally convicted before the High Court of
Justiciary in Edinburgh, for the murder of his wife, and
who was left for execution on Monday, the 9th inst., we
stated that a respite had been sent from the Home-office
on the evening before (Saturday). This respite was
granted for a fortnight, in order to give time for inquiry
into allegations put forward on behalf of the culprit,
and emanated from a request of the law authorities in
Edinburgh to that effect. The execution was thereby
respited to the 23d inst. (to-morrow). The High Court
of Justiciary in Edinburgh simultaneously—by virtue of
an authority vested in them—respited the execution
until the 25th—Wednesday next. Lord Palmerston,
however, has yesterday written, in reply to the applica-
tions in favour of the unhappy man, to express his regret
that no case had been made upon which he could advise
a reversal of the judgment of the court and the jury by
which he was condemned, and that, therefore, the law
must take its course.—Observer.

RESPITE OF THE CONVICT TAPNEB.—On Tuesday
last a communication was received by the Lieutenant-
Governor of Guernsey, Lieutenant-General Sir John
Bell, through the Home-office, and returning a petition
which had been presented for a commutation of sentence,
for the purpose of it being referred to the Royal Court
of Guernsey, before whom the prisoner was tried, for
their report and observations thereon. The petition
having been taken into consideration, the observations
of the court were transmitted by the mail, and were re-
ceived at the Home-office on Saturday last. Pending
the answer of the appeal to the clemency of the Crown,
the execution of the prisoner, which had been fixed for
Friday, the 27th inst., is postponed ; and the unfortu-
nate man had been respited until the 3d of February.
THE PAVEUENTS OP THE METROPOLTS.—We are sorry
to find that the collection of snow is still suffered to re-
main on the pavement outside the railing of Hyde-park,
from the Marble Arch to the corner of the Edgware-
road, effectually preventing all use of the pavement by
the public, and otherwise causing vast annoyance and
inconvenience. Surely, it must be somebody's business
to see that this public nuisance is at once removed ; and
if, being on the footpath instead of in the road, it is not
actually the duty of the parish contractor to remove it,
the authorities of the Woods and Forests' Department
ought to see that the lodge-keeper removes the obstruc-
tion, or employs a sufficient number of men for a short
time for the purpose. At principal
present, one of the
sites in the metropolis is a scandal and an eyesore, and
a disgrace to all concerned.
FRIGHTFUL ACCIDENT.—On Thursday last an opera-
tive in the Belfast Iron Works, whilst sucking with his
mouth the air out of a pipe through which molten iron
was to pass—a usual custom in the process—he swallowed
a portion of the melted mares, Ticeiring terrible internal
ippariev, A bOPO gZilits of Ilia nliiwatita ietnery.