conscious importance, not as a favorite of fortune, not as the lordling of an extensive domain who exercises the reign of caprice over a tribe of dependents, not as the child of hereditary grandeur who can appeal to the honors of a remote and illustrious ancestry-he rejoices in his importance as a man-as a man whose rights are revered by the laws of his country, and whose virtues will be hailed by the voice of an applauding public. In a country such as this we have nothing to fear from the insolence of power; for it must submit to the severity of an impartial justice. In a country such as this we have nothing to fear from the corruption of our tribunals; for they feel that they are under the control of public opinion, and that all the splendor of official importance is unable to protect their injustice from the frown of a generous and enlightened people. In a country such as this we have nothing to fear from the efforts of sedition; for our common interests engage us to oppose it, and to control the violence of its deluded votaries. In a country such as this we have nothing to fear from the frenzy of revolutionary violence; for in the experience of our present blessings the unanimous sense of the people would rise to resist it. In a country such as this we have nothing to fear from the oppressions of an arbitrary government; for our rulers have learned to respect the energy of the public voice, and feel that their best security is in the hearts of their subjects. And shall such a country turn pale at the approach of an invader? Shall its patriotism wither and die in the hour of danger? Will it surrender that venerable system of law that has been created by the wisdom of ages? Will it surrender that throne which has been adorned by the private virtues of him who holds it? Will it surrender that Christianity which has been transmitted to us from our ancestors, and which we have been taught from our infancy to cherish and revere? Will it surrender those fields which the industry of its inhabitants has enriched with the fairest stores of cultivation? Will it surrender its towns and villages to destruction? Will it surrender its inhabitants to massacre? Will it surrender its homes to the insolence of

a brutal and unfeeling soldiery? No. Let the invader attempt it when he may, he will attempt it to his destruction. The pride of an indignant country will rise to overthrow the purposes of his ambition, and the splendor of his past victories will be tarnished in the disgrace that awaits him.

If true to ourselves we have nothing to fear from the insulting menaces of France. And can I for a moment cherish the disgraceful supposition-can I for a moment suppose that there is a man among us who would suffer his mind to be enfeebled by the cowardly apprehensions of danger? Can I for a moment suppose that there is a man among us who, in the present alarming circumstances, would prove false to the cause of his country? I would sooner open my door to the savage and murderous banditti of France than admit such a man into my confidence. Against an open enemy I can guard myself; he warns me of my danger; he throws me into a posture of defense, and I bid defiance to his rage. But the case is different with these insidious and designing men who lurk in the bosom of the country. They are snakes in the grass. They are asps of malignity whom we cherish in our bosoms. They-are capable of violating the most sacred oaths, and betraying the best of friendships. Under the mask of patriotism they meditate their designs of treachery; and that country which, if firm and united, would bid defiance to the combined hostility of Europe, is delivered up a prey to all the horrors of insurrection. But I am satisfied that no such spirit exists in our neighborhood. I am satisfied that the breast of every man who now hears me is animated by a feeling of the purest patriotism that the breast of every man who now hears me feels the proudest disdain that France or any power under heaven should insult our independence, and threaten to invade the peace of our dwellings.

May that day in which Bonaparte ascends the throne of Britain be the last of my existence; may I be the first to ascend the scaffold he erects to extinguish the worth and spirit of the country; may my blood mingle with the blood.

of patriots; and may I die at the foot of that altar on which British independence is to be the victim. The future year is big with wonders. It may involve us in all the horrors of a desolating war. It may decide the complexion of the civilized world. It may decide the future tranquillity of ages. It may give an awful lesson to ambition; and teach the nations of Europe what it is to invade the shores of a great and a high-spirited country.

SERMON VI.

[DURING the two years which elapsed from the time at which the following discourse was written (July 2, 1808) till the period of that great revolu tion in his religious sentiments which took place in the years 1810 and 1811, this sermon was very frequently preached by, and was a special favorite of, its author. He retained, indeed, a strong partiality for it to the last, and delighted to tell of the incident to which it owed its birth. Walking on one of the public roads in Kilmany, he had come in sight of a family, the members of which were thus distributed. A few paces in advance-unburdened, his hands thrust lazily into his pockets, in his slouching gait hav ing all the air of a man very much at his ease-strode on the husband. Behind-bent down, “a bairn in the one hand, and a bundle in the other"the wearied wife and mother was struggling to keep pace with him. A perfect hurricane of indignation was awakened in the breast of Dr. Chalmers, when, on overtaking the group, he heard the man vehemently curse back at his wife as he ordered her to "come along." Dr. Chalmers never told how that hurricane discharged itself, or in what terms he administered the wellmerited rebuke. Thought, however, as well as emotion, was excited: in contrast with the scene of rude barbarity he had witnessed, the pleasures and benefits of courteousness arose in vivid coloring before his eye. He went home sat down to write. The fruit of that forenoon's incident and that evening's study is given in the discourse which follows.]

I. PETER III. 8.

"Be courteous."

COURTEOUSNESS is the same with what in common language would be called civility of manners; but as the mind is often a slave to the imposition of words, it is necessary to distinguish it from something else, which, though very like it in sound, is very different from it in sense and in significancy. Let it be distinctly understood, then, that to be courteous is one thing, and to be courtly is another. The one refers to the disposition-the other to the external behavior. The one is a virtue-the other is an accomplishment. The one is grace of character: it resides in the soul, and consists in the benevolence of an amiable temper.

The other is grace of manner: it may be seen in the outward appearance, and consists in the elegance of a fashionable exterior. A man may be courteous without being courtly. To learn the virtue of the text, it is not necessary to go to court, or be practiced in the ceremonials of fine and polished society. Courteousness is the virtue of all ranks it may be seen in the cottage as well as in the palace; in the artificer's shop as well as in the gay and fashionable assembly; in the awkwardness of a homely and untutored peasant, as well as in the refined condescension of a prince who wakens rapture in every heart, and spreads fascination and joy around his circle of delighted visitors. It is of importance not to confound what is so essentially different. A man may have civility without a particle of elegance, and a man may have elegance without a particle of civility. There is a set of people whom I can not bear --the pinks of fashionable propriety-whose every word is precise, and whose every movement is unexceptionable; but who, though versed in all the categories of polite behavior, have not a particle of soul or of cordiality about them. We allow that their manners may be abundantly correct. There may be elegance in every gesture, and gracefulness in every position; not a smile out of place, and not a step that would not bear the measurement of the severest scrutiny. This is all very fine; but what I want is the heart and the gayety of social intecourse-the frankness that spreads ease and animation around it-the eye that speaks affability to all, that chases timidity from every bosom, and tells every man in the company to be confident and happy. This is what I conceive to be the virtue of the text, and not the sickening formality of those who walk by rule, and would reduce the whole of human life to a wire-bound system of misery and constraint.

Civility has been called one of the lesser virtues of the social character. It does not stand so high in the order of social duty as virtue or humanity. It may be the same in principle, but it is different in the display. It may not be so essential to the constitution of society, but it comprises a