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By a series of criminal enterprises, by the success of guilty ambition, the liberties of Europe have been gradually extinguished: the subjugation of Holland, Switzerland, and the free towns of Germany, has completed that catastrophe: and we are the only people in the eastern hemisphere who are in possession of equal laws, and a free constitution. Freedom, driven from every spot on the Continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always chose for her favourite abode : but she is pursued even here, and threatened with destruction. The inundation of lawless power, after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here; and we are most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture where it can be successfully repelled, in the Thermopyla of the universe. As far as the interests of freedom are concerned, (the most important by far of sublunary interests!) you, my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the foederal representatives of the human race; for with you it is to determine (under God) in what condition the latest posterity shall be born; their fortunes are entrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this moment depends the colour and complexion of their destiny. If liberty, after being extinguished on the Continent, is suffered to expire here, whence is it ever to emerge in the midst of that thick night that will invest it? It remains with you then to decide, whether that freedom, at whose voice the kingdoms of Europe awoke from the sleep of ages, to run a career of virtuous emulation in every thing great and good; that freedom which dispelled the mists of superstition, and invited the nations to behold their God; whose magic torch kindled the rays of genius, the enthusiasm of poetry, and the flame of eloquence; that freedom which poured into our lap opulence and arts, and

* This selection formed the peroration of a Sermon preached October 19, 1803, when this country was threatened with an invasion from France; Napoleon Buonaparte having collected a large flotilla of flat-bottomed boats, and encamped 200,000 troops in the neighbourhood of Boulogne.

+ This extraordinary man, the greatest pulpit orator of his time (whom Dr. Parr has so justly eulogized), died in 1831, aged 67. His acuteness and learning were surpassed only by his piety and patriotism!


embellished life with innumerable institutions and improvements, till it became a theatre of wonders; it is for you to decide whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered with a funeral pall, and wrapt in eternal gloom. It is not necessary to await your determination. In the solicitude feel to approve yourselves worthy of such a trust, every thought of what is afflicting in warfare, every apprehension of danger must vanish, and you are impatient to mingle in the battle of the civilized world. Go then, ye defenders of your country, accompanied with every auspicious omen; advance with alacrity into the field, where God himself musters the host to war. Religion is too much interested in your success, not to lend you her aid; she will shed over this enterprise her selectest influence. While you are engaged in the field, many will repair to the closet, many to the sanctuary; the faithful of every name will employ that prayer which has power with God; the feeble hands which are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of the Spirit; and from myriads of humble, contrite hearts, the voice of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle in its ascent to heaven with the shouts of battle and the shock of arms. The extent of your resources, under God, is equal to the justice of your cause. But should Providence determine otherwise, should you fall in this struggle, should the nation fall, you will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man!) of having performed your part; your names will be enrolled with the most illustrious dead; while posterity to the end of time, as often as they revolve the events of this period (and they will incessantly revolve them) will turn to you a reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which is entombed in your sepulchre. I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and patriots of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable issue, of enjoying their eternal repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious immortals! Your mantle fell when you ascended; and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear by Him that sitteth upon the throne and liveth for ever and ever, that they will protect FREEDOM in her last asylum, and never desert that cause which you sustained by your labours, and cemented with your blood. And Thou, sole Ruler among the children of men, to whom the shields of the earth belong, gird on thy

sword, thou Most Mighty: go forth with our hosts in the day of battle! Impart, in addition to their hereditary valour, that confidence of success which springs from thy presence! Pour into their hearts the spirits of departed heroes! Inspire them with their own; and, while led by thy hand, and fighting under thy banners, open thou their eyes to behold in every valley and in every plain, what the prophet beheld by the same illumination-chariots of fire and horses of fire! Then shall the strong man be as tow, and the maker of it as a spark; and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them.


THAT such an event should affect us in a manner very superior to similar calamities which occur in private life, is agreeable to the order of nature, and the will of God; nor is the profound sensation it has produced to be considered as the symbol of courtly adulation. The catastrophe itself, it is true, apart from its peculiar circumstances, is not a rare occurrence. Mothers

often expire in the ineffectual effort to give birth to their offspring: both are consigned to the same tomb, and the survivor, after witnessing the wreck of so many hopes and joys, is left to mourn alone," refusing to be comforted, because they are not.”

There is no sorrow which the imagination can picture, no sign of anguish which nature, agonised and oppressed, can exhibit, no accent of woe, but what is already familiar to the ear of fallen, afflicted humanity; and the roll which Ezekiel beheld

* Pronounced ad-ju-la-shun: D like T, to which it is so nearly related, when it comes after the accent, either primary or secondary, and is followed by the diphthong ia, ie, io, eu, or u long, slides into the sound of the consonant j; thus soldier is universally and justly pronounced as if written solejur; grandeur, gran-jur; and verdure (where it must be remembered that u is a diphthong) ver-jure; and, for the same reason, education is elegantly pronounced ed-jucation.

But where the accent is upon the vowel, the preceding D or T is not aspirated-hence it is improper to pronounce Duke and reduce, as if juke and rejuce: and in satiate, where the accent precedes the consonant, it takes the sound of she, and is pronounced sa-she-ate; but in the noun satiety, where the accent is upon the vowel, the preceding consonant is not aspirated, and the word is pronounced sa-ti'-e-te.

flying through the heavens, inscribed within and without, "with sorrow, lamentation, and woe," enters, sooner or later, into every house, and discharges its contents in every bosom. But, in the private departments of life, the distressing incidents which occur, are confined to a narrow circle. The hope of an individual is crushed; the happiness of a family is destroyed; but the social system is unimpaired, and its movements experience no impediment, and sustain no sensible injury. (The arrow passes through the air, which soon closes upon it, and all again is tranquil.) But when the great lights and ornaments of the world, placed aloft to conduct its inferior movements, are extinguished, such an event resembles the apocalyptic vial poured into that element which changes its whole temperature, and is the presage of fearful* commotions, of thunders, and lightnings, and tempests.

Born to inherit the most illustrious monarchy in the world, and united at an early period to the object of her choice, whose virtues amply justified her preference, the Princess enjoyed the highest connubial felicity, and had the prospect of combining all the tranquil enjoyments of private life, with the splendour of a royal station. Placed on the summit of society, to her every eye was turned, in her every hope was centred, and nothing was wanting to complete her felicity, excepting perpetuity. To a grandeur of mind suited to her illustrious birth and lofty destination, she joined an exquisite taste for the beauties of nature and the charms of retirement; where, far from the gaze of the multitude, and the frivolous agitations of fashionable life, she employed her hours in visiting, with her illustrious consort,† the

* When this adjective means awful, as it does here, it is pronounced as if written ferful; when the being afraid, fereful.

† A clever writer in "Bentley" for the present month (April, 1845), speaking of the admirable picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence of this incomparable Princess, says,—“ I visited Claremont‡ during the first burst of

Claremont !-the once superlatively-happy, brilliant, envied Claremont-What an assemblage of reminiscences, and associations, does the writing of thy name conjure up! But to go into the subject here were alike impracticable and absurd! The adored mistress of this delightful mansion-the never-to-be-forgotten Princess Charlotte Augusta-was married on the 2nd of May, 1816, to the worthy object of her choice, Prince Leopold of Saxe Cobourg (uncle to our beloved, noble-spirited Queen, and, since 1831, King of Belgium,) and died at Claremont having been "spared just long enough to hear the tidings of her infant's death”on the 6th of Nov., 1817.-ED.

cottages of the poor, in improving her virtues, in perfecting her reason, and acquiring the knowledge best adapted to qualify her for the possession of power, and the cares of empire.

One thing only was wanting to render our satisfaction complete, in the prospect of the accession of such a Princess; it was that she might become the living mother of children.

The long wished for moment at length arrived; but, alas ! the event, anticipated with so much eagerness, will form the most melancholy page in our history. It is no reflection on this amiable Princess to suppose, that in her early dawn, with the "dew of her youth" so fresh upon her, she anticipated a long series of years, and expected to be led through successive scenes of enchantment, rising above each other in fascination and beauty. It is natural to suppose she identified herself with this great nation, which she was born to govern; and that while she contemplated its pre-eminent lustre in arts and in arms, its commerce encircling the globe, its colonies diffused through both hemispheres, and the beneficial effects of its institutions, extending over the whole earth; she considered them as so many component parts of her own grandeur. Her heart, we may well conceive, would often be ruffled with emotions of trembling

that universal lament which rung throughout England, which clothed our very churches in black, and called forth, (on the night when the cold remains of that lovely and royal creature were deposited in St. George's Chapel,) responsive services, and tolling bells, and the funeral chant in most of the parish churches in England,-I then visited Claremont. There I saw that exquisite effort of Lawrence's art. The face is delicacy itself, and has, indeed, a look of ill-health, perhaps to be accounted for merely on the score of the young ill-fated Princess's situation; perhaps, it might be an indication of a doom already sealed. A black mantle is held over the form, which seems enfeebled, and bears no longer the majestic air of the usual portraits. No coronet of roses decks her brow; but her hair, in careless curls, falls upon the fair, but scarcely tinted cheek. The attributes of the Princess are lost in the lovelier, though homelier characteristics of the woman. With what mournful interest must her royal husband (once her's alone) look upon that, the last portrait of that matchless being, when he visits Claremont. I have heard that he desires to be alone-and is sometimes long alone-in that chamber in which imagination can paint the agony,-the young mother's hopes, their blight, the heroic submission, the look of fond affection, the first love of that warm heart, the whispered tenderness on either side,-the hands clasped in each other; then the chill,-the pain,—the ominous faintness,-the consternation around,-the suffering of a few short moments,-the farewell, looked, not uttered,-the death!"

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