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Ten days and nights, she lay upon the carpet, leaning on cushions which her maids brought her; and her physicians could not persuade her to allow herself to be put to bed, much less to make trial of any remedies which they prescribed to her. Her anxious mind, at last, had so long preyed upon her frail body, that her end was visibly approaching; and the council being assembled, sent the keeper, admiral, and secretary, to know her will with regard to her successor. She answered, with a faint voice, that, as she had held a regal scepter, she desired no other than a royal successor. Cecil requesting her to explain herself more particularly, she subjoined, that she would have a king to succeed her; and who should that be, but her nearest kinsman, the King of Scots ?

Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied, that she did so, nor did her mind, in the least, wander from Him. Her voice, soon after, left her; her senses failed; she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued some hours; and she expired gently, without further struggle or convulsion, in the seventieth year of her age, and forty-fifth of her reign. So dark a cloud overcast the evening of that day, which had shone out with a mighty luster, in the eyes of all Europe!

HUME.

LESSON CXXXVII.

DEATH OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

WITHOUT the slightest warning, without the opportunity of a moment's immediate preparation, in the midst of the deepest tranquillity, at midnight, a voice was heard in the palace, not of singing men and singing women, not of revelry and mirth, but the cry, "Behold the bridegroom cometh!" The mother, in the bloom of youth, spared just long enough to hear the tidings of her infant's death, almost immediately, as if summoned by his spirit, follows him into eternity. "It is a night much to be remembered." Who foretold this event, who conjectured it, who detected, at a distance, the faintest presage of its approach, which, when it arrived, mocked the efforts of human

skill, as much by their incapacity to prevent, as their inability to foresee it?

Unmoved by the tears of conjugal affection, unawed by the presence of grandeur, and the prerogatives of power, inexorable death hastened to execute his stern commission, leaving nothing to royalty itself, but to retire and weep. Who can fail to discern, on this awful occasion, the hand of Him who "bringeth the princes to nothing, who maketh the judges of the earth as vanity;" who says, "they shall not be planted; yea, they shall not be sown; yea, their stock shall not take root in the earth;" and he "shall blow upon them, and they shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take them away as stubble."

But is it now any subject of regret, think you, to this amiable Princess, so suddenly removed, "that her sun went down while it was yet day," or that, prematurely snatched from prospects the most brilliant and enchanting, she was compelled to close her eyes so soon on a world, of whose grandeur she formed so conspicuous a part? No. In the full fruition of eternal joys, for which we humbly hope Religion prepared her, she is so far from looking back with lingering regret on what she has quitted, that she is surprised, that it had the power of affecting her so much; that she took so deep an interest in the scenes of this shadowy state of being, while so near to an "eternal weight of glory." Memory may be supposed to contribute to her happiness, not by the recollection that she was of illustrious birth, with the most elevated prospects before her, but that she visited the abodes of the poor, and learned to weep with those that weep; that, surrounded with the fascinations of pleasure, she was not inebriated by its charms; that she resisted the strongest temptations to pride, preserved her ears open to truth, was impatient of the voice of flattery; in a word, that she sought and cherished the inspira tions of piety, and walked humbly with her God.

The nation has certainly not been wanting in the proper expression of poignant regret, at the sudden removal of this most lamented Princess, nor of sympathy with the royal family, deprived, by this visitation, of its brightest ornament. Sorrow is painted in every countenance, the pursuits of business and of pleasure have been suspended, and the kingdom is covered with the signals of distress. But what, my friends,

(if it were lawful to indulge such a thought,) what would be the funeral obsequies of a lost soul? Where shall we find tears fit to be wept at such a spectacle; or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent, what tokens of commiseration and concern would be deemed equal to the occasion? Would it suffice for the sun to vail his light, and the moon her brightness; to cover the ocean with mourning, and the heavens with sackcloth; or, were the whole fabric of nature to become animated and vocal, would it be possible for her to utter a groan too deep, or a cry too piercing, to express the magnitude and extent of such a catastrophe?

ROBERT HALL,

LESSON CXXXVIII.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

Day is for mortal care,

Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer;
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears; but all are thine!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee; but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain;
But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?
They have one season; all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam;

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home;
And the world calls us forth, and thou art there.

Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

LESSON CXXXIX.

THE DEPARTED.

THE departed! the departed!

They visit us in dreams,

And they glide above our memories
Like shadows over streams;

But where the cheerful lights of home
In constant luster burn,

The departed, the departed,
Can never more return!

The good, the brave, the beautiful,
How dreamless is their sleep,

Where rolls the dirge-like music
Of the ever-tossing deep!

MRS. HEMANS.

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