and even independence of the nation, is an indispens able duty.

3. It must not be permitted to be doubted, whether the people of the United States will support the government, established by their voluntary consent, and appointed by their free choice; or whether, by surrendering 'themselves to the direction of foreign or domestic factions, in opposition to their own government, they will forfeit the honourable station, they have hitherto main*tained.

4. For myself, having never been indifferent to what concerned the interests of my country; devoted the best part of my life to obtain and support its independence, and-constantly witnessed the patriotism, fidelity, and per~severance of my fellow citizens on the most trying occasions, it is not for me to hesitate, or cabandon a cause in which my heart has been so long engaged.

5. Convinced that the conduct of the government has been just and impartial to foreign nations, that those internal regulations which have been established by laws for the preservation of peace, are in their nature proper, and that they have been fairly executed; nothing will ever be done by me, to impair the national engagement, to innovate upon principles which have been so deliberately and uprightly established; or to surrender, in any manner the rights of the government. To enable me to maintain this declaration, I rely with entire confidence, under God, on the firm and enlightened support of the national legislature, and upon the virtue and patriotism of my fellow citizens.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.

1. THE secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original, and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His august mind overawed majesty; and one of his sovereigns thought majesty so impaired in his presence, that he conspired to remove him, in order to berelieved from his superiority. No state chicanery-no narrow system of vicious politics-no idle contest for ministerial victories, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great but overbearing, persuasive, and impracti cable, his object was England, his ambition was fame

2. Without dividing, he destroyed party; without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the House of Bourbon, and wielded in the other, the democracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite, and his schemes were to affect, not England-not the present age only-but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished-always seasonable-always adequate→ the suggestions of an understanding animated by are dour, and enlightened by prophecy.

3. The ordinary feelings which made life amiable and indolent-these sensations which soften, allure, and vulgarize, were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties no domestic weakness reached him-but aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our system to counsel and to decide.

4. A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the Treasury trembled at the name of Pitt, through all her classes of verality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this Statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories-but the history of his country, and the ca lamities of the enemy, answered, and refuted her.

5. Nor were his political abilities his only talents. His eloquence was an era in the Senate peculiar and spontaneous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instructive wisdom; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully, it resembled sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of spheres. Like Murray, he did not conduct t' standing through the painful subtlety of e underNor was he, like Townsend, for argumentation. ever on the rack of exertion, but rather lightene upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of his mind, which, likę those of his eye, were felt but could not be followed.

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6. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could create, subvert, or reform-an understandinga spirit and an eloquence to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the

wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority.; something that could establish or overwhelm empires, and strike a blow in the world that should resound through its universe.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE AFFECTIONATE DOG.

1. A FEW days before theoverthrow of Robespierre, a Revolutionary Tribunal in one of the departments of the north of France, condemned to death M. des R****, an ancient magistrate, and a most estimable man, guilty, at a hundred and fifty miles from Paris, of a conspiracy, which had not existed at St. Lazare, He had a water spaniel, ten or twelve years old, of the small breed, which had been brought up by him, and had never quitted him.

2. Des R**** in prison saw his family dispersed by a system of terror. Some had taken flight; others, themselves arrested, were carried into distant gaols; his domestics were dismissed; his house was buried in the solitary of the seals; his friends either abandoned him, or concealed themselves; every thing in the world was silent to him, except his dog.

3. This faithful animal had been refused admittance into the prison. He had returned to his master's house, and found it shut. He took refuge with a neighbour, who received him; but that posterity may judge rightly of the times, in which we have existed, it must be added, that this man received him trembling, in secret, and dreaded leat his humanity for an animal should conduct him to the scaffold.

4. Every day, at the same hour, the dog left the house, and went to the door of the prison. He was refused admittance; but he constantly passed an hour before and then returned. His fidelity, at length, gained upon the porter, and he was one day allowed to enter. The dog saw his master. It was difficult to separate them; but the gaoler carried him away, and the dog returned to his retreat. He came back the next morning, and every day; and once each day he was admitted. He licked the hand of his friend, looked at him, licked his hand again, and went away of himself. 5 When the day of sentence arrived, notwithstanding the crowd, and the guard, he penetrated into the

hall, and crouched himself between the legs of the unhappy man, whom he was about to lose for ever. The judges condemned the man; and, may my tears be pardoned the expression, which escapes from them, they condemned him in the presence of his Dog!

6. They reconducted him to the prison, and the dog for that time did not quit the door. The fatal hour arrives; the prison opens; the unfortunate man passes out; it is the dog that receives him at the threshold. He clings upon his hand. Alas! that hand will never be spread upon thy caressing head! he follows him. The axe falls, the master dies; but the tenderness of the dog cannot cease. The body is carried away, he walks by its side; the earth receives it; he lays himself upon the grave.

7. There he passed the first night, the next day, and the second night. The neighbour, in the mean time, unhappy at not seeing him, risks himself, searching for the dog, guesses by the extent of his fidelity the asylum he has chosen, finds him, caresses him, brings him back, and makes him eat. An hour afterwards, the dog escaped, and regained his favourite place. Three months passed away; each morning he came to seek his food; and then returned to the ashes of his master; but each day he was more sad, more meagre, more languishing, and it was plain that he was gradually reaching his end.

8. They endeavoured, by chaining him up, to wean him; but you cannot triumph over nature! He broke, or bit through his bonds; escaped; returned to the grave, and never quitted it more! It was in vain t'wy endeavoured to bring him back. They carried him food, but he ate no longer! For four and twenty hours he was seen employing his weakened limbs in digging up the earth that separated him from the remains of the man he had so much loved. Passion gave him strength, and he graduaily approached the body; his labour of affection then vehemently increased; his efforts became convulsive! be shrieked in his struggle; his faithful heart gave way, and he breathed out his last gasp, as if he knew he had found his master.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON THE SABBATH,

1. THE sabbath and its ordinances, have ever been

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the great means of all moral good to mankind. The faithful observation of the sabbath is, therefore, one of the chief duties and interests of men; but the present time furnishes reasons, peculiar, at least in some degree, for exemplary regard to this divine institution. The enemies of God have by private argument, ridicule and inflence, and by public decrees, pointed their especial malignity against the sabbath; and have expected, and not without reason, that, if they could annihilate it, they should overthrow Christianity.

2 From them we cannot but learn its importance. Enemies usually discern, with more sagacity, the most probable points of attack, than those who are to be attacked. In this point are they to be peculiarly opposed. Here in particular are their designs to be baffled. If they fail here, they will finally fail. Christianity cannot fail, but by the neglect of the sabbath,

3. A French directory cannot govern, a nation cannot be made slaves, nor villains, nor atheists, nor beasts. To destroy us, therefore, in this dreadful scene, our enemies must first destroy our sabbath, and seduce us from the house of God. Religion and liberty are the two great objects of defensive war. Conjoined, they unite all the feelings, and call forth all the energies of man. 4. In defence of them, nations contend with the spirit of the Maccabees; "one will chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight" Religion and liberty are the meat and the drink of the body politic. Withdraw one of them, and it languishes, consumes, and dies. If difference to either, at any time, becomes the prevailing character of a people, one half of their motives to vigorous defence is lost, and the hopes of their enemies are proportionably increased; here eminently, they are inseparable. Without religion, we may possibly. retain the freedom of savages, bears, and wolves; but not the freedom of America,

5. If our religion were gone, our states of society would perish with it; and nothing would be left, which would be worth defending. Our children, of course, if not ourselves, would be prepared, as the ox forthe slaughter, to become the victims of conquest, tyrany and atheism. The sabbath, with its ordinances, constitutes the bond of