Dr. M'Call, like many other men of exalted intellectual endowments, had received from nature a very feeble and delicate frame. From his father, whom he resembled both in constitution and in the exquisite texture of his mind, he inherited a predisposition to pulmonary consumption. These were two physical evils over which he had no control, and in subjecting himself to which he had no agency. But unfortunately they were associated with a third, no less operative and injurious, and this was entirely of his own creation. For, while prosecuting his professional studies in the University of Pennsylvania, the intensity of his application had been greatly disproportioned to the strength of his system. In preparing himself to become the protector and restorer of the health of others, he had been highly, perhaps I might say culpably, regardless of his own. The ruthless disease, which had been long and watchfully lying in ambush, selected these unguarded moments to make its insidious and too successful attack. By slow and gradual approaches it fastened itself unnoticed on the vitals of its victim, never again to relinquish its hold. To physicians of observation it is well known, that when a pulmonary affection has once actually invaded the system, a sudden transition from a sedentary to an active life, is a very precarious, not to say, a hazardous expedient. If the change be not successful in removing the disease, it seldom fails to accelerate its progress, and to render the issue more certainly fatal. Such was the melancholy case with the much-lamented subject of this memoir. An affection of the lungs, which had scarcely even whispered its treacherous intentions, during the sedentary term of his pupilage, spoke its dreadful purposes in a voice of thunder, as soon as he had commenced the practice of his profession. It forced him, in a short time, to relinquish his benevolent labours in Savannah for the good of others, and to go in quest of his own health to a less sultry and more salubrious sky. But, alas! the inestimable object of his research was nowhere to be found. For him no Hygean fount existed, nor did breezes salute him with healing on their wings. Wherever he directed his languid footsteps, Disease pursued and harassed him with unrelenting rage. Like the hind tranxfixt by the arrow of the huntsman, he carried with him in his bosom the shaft of certain death. In vain, did he fly to the air of different situations, and fruitless were the ablest efforts of art for his relief. Even that precocious skill, which in the course of a short life, he had himself so often and so successfully exerted for the benefit of others, was of no avail in his own case. Though it retarded the progress, it was unable completely to arrest the arm đ the disease. It afforded temporary ease from sufferings, and added somewhat to the buoyancy of hope, but was never productive of any permanent good. son. Thus, for nearly two years, did our unfortunate sufferer shift from place to place, and from remedy to remedy, in pursuit of that health which he had once enjoyed, but which it was now his destiny to experience no more. At length, wearied with a succession of unavailing efforts, and, resigned to the solemn issue that was fast approaching, he took up his residence at Wynnsborough, a place which had been the scene of his earliest pleasures, and which was still a source of the most grateful recollections. Here, as the virtues, worth, and amiable deportment of his father continued to be held in the most lively remembrance, they procured a very cordial and affectionate reception to his afflicted Not a bosom in the place refused to sympathise with him in his sufferings, nor was there a hand reluctant to minister to his comforts. Thus, though unable to snatch him from the grasp of impending fate, did the kind inhabitants of this abode of his childhood, endeavour to strew flowers in his path as he descended to the tomb. Nor did he linger long amid these tender solaces of friendship and affection. A few fleeting months now filled up the measure of his earthly existence. He expired on the of 23d December, 1808, a firm believer in the truths of Christianity, and experiencing those cheering hopes and beatific prospects, which that holy religion is calculated to impart. When we call to mind the morality, the piety, and the social worth, which met in the character of this inestimable young man, we believe him to have been as pure and as amiable a spirit as ever left the earth. RHETORIC FOR THE PORT FOLIO. INTRODUCTORY LECTURE ON THE ARTS OF READING AND PUBLIC SPEAKING, DELIVERED IN THE PHILADELPHIA ACADEMY, NOV. 17, 1806, AND IN THE HALL OF THE UNIVERSITY, NOv. 16, 1807. (Concluded from page 211.) WITH regard to action, the great rule is the same as in pronunciation; to follow nature, and to avoid affectation. The action of the body and the several parts of it, must correspond with the pronunciation, as that does with the style, and the style with the subject ; a perfect harmony of all which constitutes the complete orator. There is a peculiar style of action, adapted severally to the pulpit, the bar, and the stage. The action and gestures which, in the pulpit, would be sufficiently animated and expressive, would be cold and inanimate on the stage, which frequently calls not only for the most violent contorsions of face, but the most extravagant gesticulations, according to the incidents and characters there represented. So that an actor, in order to acquire celebrity, must be a perfect Proteus, and always appear to be himself the character he represents. The general character of the action proper for the pulpit is, that it should always be accommodated to the solemnity and importance of the subjects there discussed, and to the dignity and sanctity of the place. The speaker's pronunciation should be perfectly distinct and harmonious, and his deportment and gesture impressive and graceful. No man, therefore, should embrace the clerical profession, unless he is endowed by nature with talents for that profession; and, among other essential qualifications, with a voice possessed of considerable strength, and such a conformation of the organs of speech, as will enable him to acquire a clear and distinct articulation. He should carefully guard against a monotonous delivery: the tones and inflexions of his voice should be exactly accommodated to his subject; he should sometimes persuade and allure in the mild accents of gospel love, and sometimes threaten and alarm by boldly declaring the terrors of the law, and thundering out the denunciations of the Almighty against impenitence and vice. In general, an air of complacency and benevolence, as well as of devotion, should be visible in his countenance: every appearance of affectation, and of its opposite error, coldness, should be sedulously guarded against. The attitude of the body should be erect, with an easy and majestic air, neither indulging unnatural and extravagant gestures, nor remaining constantly straight and motionless, like a speaking statue. The motions of his hands and arms should be slow and graceful, and never raised above his head, except in the attitude of prayer, or of directing the attention to heaven. The preacher who is incessantly in action, clasping or throwing out his hands, and twisting his body, may justly be called a clerical mountebank. As the object of a sermon is to convince, to affect, to persuade; the voice, the countenance, and the action should be studiously calculated to produce those important and happy effects. The celebrated poet, Cowper, thus finely contrasts the correct and dignified, with the finical and affected preacher: I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life Coincident, exhibit lucid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause. Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse, To make God's work a sinecure; a slave Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, Paul should himself direct me. I would trace His master strokes, and draw from his design. I would express him simple, grave, sincere; In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain; And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture. Much impress'd Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too. Affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men. Behold the picture!-Is it like?-Like whom? The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, And then skip down again. Pronounce a text, Cry, hem; and reading what they never wrote Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene. In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. "Tis my perfect scorn ; Object of my implacable disgust. What! will a man play tricks, will he indulge And just proportion, fashionable mein He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames Who handles things divine; and all beside, Though learn'd with labor, and though much admir'd At conventicle heard, where worthy men And rustic coarseness would. An heavenly mind And slight the hovel as beneath her care; But how a body so fantastic, trim, And quaint in its deportment and attire, Can lodge a heavenly mind-demands a doubt. He that negociates between God and man, When sent with God's commission to the heart. And understood too well the weighty terms To conquer those by jocular exploits, Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. |