of such a length of time. We know/ that/* by far the most acute of those/ wh'o (in la^tter d'ays) 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 go'vernor) 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 issue. 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 Enéglish/ joined battle ; an'd, after a long and desperate engʻagement, Count Vie’nne/ was taken pris'oner, and the citi'zens (who survived the slau'ghter) retired within their ga'tes. The comm'and/ dev'olving upon Eustace St. Pi’erre (a man of mean bi'rth, but of exalted virtue), he offered to capitulate with E'dward, provided he permitted them to depart with li'fe and lisberty. E'dward (to avoid the imputation of cr’uelty) consented to spare the bu'lk of the pleb’eians, provi`ded/ they delivered up to him six of their principal citizens/ with halters about their neʼcks (as victims of due ato^nement 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 e'minence) th'us addressed the asse'mbly: My fri'ends, we are brought to great straits this da'y. We must either yield/ 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 tho'se 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 e'xcellent, a god-li'ke 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 people! 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 virtue and magnani'mity/ which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted the resol'ution. At length St. Pierre resu'med—“I doubt not/ but there are many h'ere/ as rea'dy, 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 cheerfully. Who comes ne'xt ?”

6. 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 n'o ; I have rather given thee being a second-time. Thy years are fe'w, but full, my so'n. The victim of vi’rtue/ has reached the utmost purpose and go'al of morta'lity. Who ne'xt, my friends ? Th'is/ is the hour of heroes." - Your ki'nsman,' cried John de Aï're." Your ki'nsman,” cried James Wis'sant. “ Your ki'nsman,” cried Peter Wissant.—“ A'h !" (exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tesars,) “why was not l'a citizen of Calais !” The sixth vi’ctim was still wa'nting, but was quickly supplied by lot, from nu'mbers/ who were now emulous of so ennobling an exa'mple. The keys of the ci'ty were then delivered to Sir Walter. He took the six pri’soners/ into his cu'stody; then ordered the gates to be opened, and gave charge to his atte'ndants/ to conduct the remaining c'itizens (with their families) through the camp of the English. Before they departed, however, they desired permission to take the last adi'er of their deliv'erers. What a pa'rting ! what a sce'ne ! They cro'wded (with their wives and ch'ildren) about St. Pi'erre 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 English (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 loaded them/ with as much as their present weakness was able to besar, in order/ to supply them with suʼstenance by the way. At length St. Pierre and his fellow-victims 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 parts, and arranged themselves on each si'de, to beho'ld, to conte'mplate, to admiîre, this little band of p’atriots/ 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 eînemies; and they regarded those roʻpes (which they had vo'luntarily 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 presence—“ Mauny,” (says the mo'narch,) " are the se the principal inhabitants of Ca'lais ?" “ They are," (says Ma'uny :) “they are not only the principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of France, my Loʻrd, if viỉrtue/ 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 le'ast, my Lo'rd; the people would all have pe'rished, rather than have delivered the least of these to your Ma'jesty. They are self-deli'vered, self-devoîted, 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 le^nity/ only serves to invite people to new cr’imes. Seve'rity (at times) is indispensably necessary/ to compel s'ubjects to submission by pu

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

At this instant/ a sound of tri’umph was heard throughout the camp. 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 Edward and his coʻurt, she desired a private au'dience.—“My Lo'rd,” 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 Eng. lish na'tion; it respects the glory of my E'dward, my h’usband, my kiîng. You think/ you have sentenced six of

your enemies to d'eath. No, my Lor'd, they have sentenced themse'lves ; and their execution/ 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 honour, but a stage of sha'me to E'dward ; a reproach to his co'nquests ; an indelible disgrace/ to his na'me. Let us rather disappoint these haughty b'urghers, who wish to invest themselves with glory/ at o'ur-expense. We cannot whoʻlly deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice so nobly intended, 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 came ; when the Que'en (with an aspect and accents diffusing sw'eetness) thus bespo'ke them :-“ Natives of Fraʼnce, and inhabitants of Cal'ais, you have put us to a vast expense of blood 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 cistizens ! (though you were te^nfold 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 you for that lesson of humilia'tion which you tea'ch us,

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 those/ whom the Almiỉghty/ informs with sentiments like yo’urs, are ju'stly and e'minently raised/ above all huîman disti'nctions. You are now. free to depart to your ki'nsfolk, your coʻuntrymen, to all tho'se/ 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 oblig'ation; and/ for this pu'rpose, we offer to you/ your choice of the gi'fts and honours/ that Edward/ has to besto'w.–Rivals for fame, but always friends to virtue, we wish that England/ were entitled to call you he'r so'ns !"“ Ah ! my cou’ntry!" (exclaimed Pie’rre) * it is now that I tre'mble-for-you. E'dward/ only wins our cisties ; but a Philippa/ conquers heʻarts."

Cuncluding tone.


DR. BROWN. 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 gran'deur/ 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 ro'cks indeed of Do'vedale/ are finely wi'ld, pointed, and irregular; but the hills/ are both li’ttle and una'nimated ; and the margin of the bro'ok/ is poorly edged with wee'ds, 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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