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of such a length of time. We know that/* by far the most acute of tho'se/ wh'o (in laîtter days) have adopted the unf 'avourable view of Mary's ch'aracter, lo'nged (like the executioner before his dreadful task was perfoʻrmed) to kiss the fair hand of h'er/ on whom he was about to perfoʻrm/ so horrible a du'ty.

Concluding tone.


BROOKE. EDWARD III'. (after the battle of Cre'ssy) laid siege to Cala'is. He had fortified his ca'mp/t in so impregnable a m'anner, that all the efforts of France/ proved ineffe ctual/ to raise the siege, or throw su'ccours/ into the city. The c'itizens (under Count Vienne, their gallant goʻvernor) made an admirable defe'nce. Fraʼnce/ had now put the sickle into her second ha'rvest, since E'dward (with his victorious a'rmy) sat down before the tow'n. The eyes of all E'urope/ were intent on the is'sue. At le'ngth, fa'mine/ did more for Edward/ than a'rms. After suffering unheard-of calamities, they resolved to attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly sallied for th ; the En'glish/joined battle ; an'd, after a long and desperate eng'agement, Count Vie’nne/ was taken pris'oner, and the citi'zens (who survived the slau'ghter) retired within their ga'tes. The comm'and/ devolving upon Eustace St. Pierre (a man of mean birth, but of exalted v’irtue), he offered to capitulate with E'dward, provided he permitted them to depart with li'fe and liberty. E'dward (to avoid the imputation of cr’uelty) consented to spare the bu'lk of the pleb’eians, provided/ they delivered up to him six of their principal cit'izens/ with halters about their ne'cks (as victims of due atoʻnement for that spirit of rebe'llion, with which they had inflamed the v'ulgar.I) When

* It will be observed, that when “that” is a conjunction, it requires a pause both before and after it.

† Whilst “of” in general must be pronounced as a component part of the word which precedes it, as “approbation-of,” “ sensible-of,” &c. every other preposition, without exception, requires a pause before it.

It will be obvious to the general reader, in the absence of antithesis (which is, either when expressed or understood, the parent of all emphasis) that some words naturally require more accentual force than others ;among these," the verb” stands prominently forward as claiming our first attention ; next the noun, adjective, &c.; thus easily and gradually diminishing in force, down to the particles.


his m'essenger (Sir Walter Ma'uny) deli'vered the te'rms, consterna'tion and pale dism'ay were impressed on every cou'nte

To a long and dead si'lence, deep sighs and groans succe'eded, till Eustace St. Pie’rre (getting up to a little eʼminence) th'us addressed the asse'mbly:

:-“ My fri’ends, we are brought to great straits this da'y. We must either yi’eld/ to the terms of our cruel and ensna'ring-conqueror, or give u'p/ our tender in 'fants, our wiv'es, and da’ughters, to the bloody and brutal lu'sts of the violating so'ldiers. Is there any expedient l'eft, whereby' we may avoid the guilt and infamy of delivering up those who have suffered every misery wi'th you, on the o'ne-hand, or the desolation and horror of a sacked city, on the oʻther ? There is', my friends, there is o‘ne expedient left; a gra'cious, an excellent, a god-like expedient le'ft. Is there any here to whom vir'tue/ is dearer than life? Let him offer himself an oblation for the s'afety of his peoʻple! He shall not fail of a blessed approba'tion/ from that po'wer who/ offered

up his only Son/ for the salvation of manki'nd.” He spoke ;—but a universal s'ilence ensu'ed. Each m'an/ looked aro'und/ for the example of that vir'tue and magnani’mity/ which all wished to approve in themse'lves, though they wanted the resol'ution. At length St. Pierre resu'med—“I doubt not/ but there are many h'ere/ as ready, n'ay, m'ore-zealous of this martyrdom than I can b'e ; though the station, to which I am raised by the captivity of Lord Vi'enne, imparts a right to be the fi’rst/ in giving my life for your sa'kes. I give it fre’ely; I give it chee'rfully. Who comes ne'xt ?” “ Your so'n, (exclaimed a youth not yet come to matu'rity.) "Ah! my ch'ild !" (cried St. Pier're) “I am then twi'ce sa crificed. But no; I have rather given thee being a se'cond-time. Thy years are fe'w, but fu'll, my so'n. The victim of vi’rtue/ has reached the utmost pu`rpose and goal of morta'lity.

Who ne'xt, my frie'nds ? Th'is/ is the hour of heroes.”—“ Your ki'nsman,” cried John de Ai're.— Your ki'nsman,” cried James Wis'sant. “ Your ki'nsman,” cried Pe^ter Wissant.—" A'h !" (exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into te'ars,) “why was not l' a citizen of C'alais !". The sixth vi'ctim was still wa'nting, but was quickly supplied by lo't, from nuʼmbers/ who were now emulous of so ennobling an example. The keys of the city, were then delivered to Sir Walter.' He took the six pri’soners/ into his custody; then ordered the gates to be oʻpened, and gave charge to his atte'ndants to conduct the remaining c'itizens (with their families) through the camp of the En'glish. Before they departed, how'ever, they desired permission to take the last adi'eu of their deliv'erers. What a pa'rting ! what a sce'ne ! They cro'wded (with their wives and ch'ildren) about St. Pierre and his fellow-pri'soners. They embraced'; they clung around; they fell pro'strate before them. They groa'ned ; they wept alo‘ud ; and the joint cla'mour of their mo'urning/ passed the gates of the c'ity, and was he’ard/throughout the English camp.-The E'nglish (by this ti'me) were apprised of what passed within Ca'lais. They heard the voice of lamentation, and their soʻuls/ were tou'ched with compa'ssion. Each of the soldiers/ prepared a portion of his own vic'tuals to w'elcome and enterta'in the half-famished inh'abitants; and they loa'ded them with as much as their present weakness was able to besar, in order/ to supply them with suʼstenance/ by the w'ay. At length St. Pierre and his fellow-vi'ctims/ appeared under the conduct of Sir W'alter and a gua'rd. All the tents of the En'glish/ were instantly em'ptied. The soldiers poured from all pa'rts, and arranged themselves on each si’de, to beho'ld, to conteʼmplate, to admiîre, this little band of patriots/ as they pas'sed. They bowed down to them on all si`des.' They murmured their applause of that vir'tue/ which they could not but rev'ere/ even in enemies;

and they regarded those roʻpes (which they had voluntarily assumed about their n'ecks) as ensigns of greater di'gnity/ than that of the British ga’rter. As soon as they had reached the pre

-“ Mauny,” (says the mo'narch,) are these the principal inhabitants of Calais ?" “ They ar'e," (says Ma'uny :) “they are not only the principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of Fraînce, my Loʻrd, if viďrtue/ has any share in the act of enn'obling.” “Were they delivered p'eaceably?” (says. E'dward) “ was there no resi’stance, no comm'otion/ among the pe'ople ?" "Not in the least, my Lo'rd; the people would all have pe'rished, rather than have delivered the leʻast of these to your Ma'jesty. They are self-delivered, self-devoted, and co'me/ to offer up their inestimable h’eads/ as an ample eq'uivalent/ for the ra’nsom of tho'usands.” Edward was secretly piqued at this reply of Sir Walter ; but he knew the privilege of a British s'ubject, and suppressed his resen'tment. p'erience” (says h’e) “has ever show'n, that leʻnity/ only serves to invite people to new cr’imes. Seve'rity (at times) is indispensably necessary/ to compel s'ubjects to submission by pu


« Ex

n'ishment and exam'ple. G'o,” (he cried to an o'fficer) “ lead these men to execution.”

At this i’nstant/ a sound of tri'umph was heard throughout the ca'mp. The qu'een/ had just arrived with a powerful reinforcement of gallant troops. Sir Walter Mauny flew to receive her m'ajesty, and briefly informed her of the parti'culars/ respecting the six victims.

As soon as she had been welcomed by E'dward and his coʻurt, she desired a private audience.—“My Loʻrd,” (said she) “ the question I am to enter up'on, is not touching the lives of a few mech'anics—it respects the h'onour of the English na'tion; it respects the glory of my Edward, my h'usband, my king. You think/ yoʻu have sentenced six of enemies to d'eath. No, my Lor'd, they have sentenced themse'lves ; and their execu'tion/ would be the execution/ of their ow'n orders, no't the orders of E'dward. The stage on which they would s'uffer, would be to th’em a stage of hon'our, but a stage of shame to E'dward ; a reproa'ch to his coʻnquests ; an indelible disgrace/ to his na'me. Let us rather disappoint these haughty b'urghers, who wish to invest themselves with glo‘ry/ at oʻur-expense. We cannot whoʻlly deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice so nobly inte'nded, but we may cut them sho'rt of their des'ires ; in the place of that dea'th/ by which their glory would be consu'mmate, let us bury them under gi'fts ; let us put them to confuʼsion with appla'uses. We shall thereby defeat them of that popular opin'ion, which never fails to attend tho'sel who suffer in the cause of vi'rtue.”—“I am convi'nced : you have preva'iled. Be it so," replied E’dward : “ prevent the exec'ution; have them instantly befo're us. They ca'me ; when the Que'en (with an aspect and accents diffusing sw'eetness) thus bespoke them :-“ Natives of Fra'nce, and inhabitants of Cal'ais, you have put us to a vast expense of blo'od and tr'easure/ in the recovery of our just and natural inh'eritance : but/ you have acted up to the be'st of an erroneous ju'dgment; and we admire and ho'nour in you that va'lour and v’irtue/ by which we are so long kept o’ut of our rightful posse'ssions. You noble bu'rghers ! you excellent ci'tizens ! (though you were teînfold the enemies of our person and our thr'one,) we can feel nothing, on our part, save resp'ect and affec'tion-for-you. You have been sufficiently te sted. We loose your cha'ins : we snatch you from the sca'ffold ; and we thank

for that lesson of humilia'tion which




when you

sho'w us, that exce'llence is not of blo'od, of tit'le, of station ; that vi’rtue gives a dignity supe'rior to that of ki'ngs ; and that tho'se/ whom the Almi“ghty/ informs with sentiments like yo’urs, are ju'stly and eminently raised/ above all human disti’nctions. You are now. free to depart to your ki'nsfolk, your coʻuntrymen, to all those whose lives and liberties you have so nobly red'eemed, provi'ded/ you refuse not the to'kens of our este'em. Yet/ we would rather bind you to ours'elves, by every endearing obligation ; and/ for this pu'rpose, we o'ffer to you/ your choice of the gi'fts and honours/ that Edward/ has to besto'w.—Rivals for fame, but always friends to vi’rtue, we wish that England/ were entitled to call you he'r so'ns !”. “ Ah ! my cou'ntry!" (exclaimed Pieʼrre) - it is now that I tre'mble-for-you. "Edward/ only wins our ci'ties; but a Philippa/ conquers heʻarts.”

Cuncluding tone.



In my way to the North from H'agley, I passed through Dov'edale ; 'an'd/ to say the truth, was disappo'inted-in-it. When I came to Bu'xton, I visited another or two of their romantic sc'enes ; but the’se/ are inferior to Do'vedale. They are all but poor min‘iatures of Ke'swick ; which/ exceeds them more in grandeur/ than you can ima'gine; and moʻre (if p'ossible) in bea'uty/ than in gra'ndeur.

Instead of the narrow slip of a va'lley/ which is seen at Do'vedale, you have at Keswick/ a vast amphith'eatre, in circu'mference about twenty mi'les. Instead of a meagre ri'vulet, a noble living lake (ten miles round, of an oblong fo'rm) adorned with a var'iety of wooded is'lands. The rocks indeed of Do'vedale are finely wi'ld, poin'ted, and irregular; but the hills/ are both li'ttle and una'nimated ; and the margin of the broʻok/ is poorly edged with weeds, mora'ss, and br’ush-wood. But/ at Ke'swick, you w'ill (on one side of the lak'e) see a rich and beautiful lan'dscape of cultivated fie'lds, rising to the eye in fine inequ’alities, with noble groves of oʻak (happily disp'ersed) and climbing the adjacent h'ills (sha'de above sha'de) in the most va'rious and picture'sque-forms. On the opposite sh'ore, you will find rocks and cliffs of stupendous

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