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ing her merit, is to lay aside all these considerations, and to consider her merely as a rational being, placed in authority, and trusted with the government of mankind. We may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her, as 2 wife or a mistress; but her qualities as a sovereign, though with some considerable exceptions, are the objects of indisputed applause and approbation.

V.-Charles V's Resignation of his Dominions.

ROBERTSON.

CHARLES resolved to resign his dominions to his son, with a solemnity suitable to the importance of the transaction; and to perform this last act of sovereignty with such formal pomp, as might leave an indelible impression on the minds, not only of his subjects, but of his successor. With this view, he called Philip out of England, where the peevish temper of his queen, which increased with the despair of having issue, rendered him extremely unhappy, and the jealousy of the English left him no hopes of obtaining the direction of their affairs. Having assembled the states of the Low Countries at Brussels, on the twentyfifth of October, one thousand five hundred and fiftyfive, Charles seated himself, for the last time, in the chair of state, on one side of which was placed his son, and on the other, his sister, the Queen of Hungary, regent of the Netherlands; with a splendid retinue, of the grandees of Spain, and princes of the empire, standing behind him. The president of the council of Flanders, by his command, explained, in a few words, his intention in calling this extraordinary meeting of the states. He then read the instrument of resignation, by which Charles'surrendered to his son Philip all his territories, jurisdiction and authority in the Low Countries, absolving his subjects there, from their oath of allegiance to him, which he required them to transfer to Philip, his lawful heir; and to serve him, with the same loyalty and zeal which they had manifested, during so long a course of years, in support of his government.

Charles then rose from his seat, and leaning on the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, because he was unable to stand without support, he addressed the audience; and from a paper which he held in his hand, in order to assist

his memory, he recounted with dignity, but without ostenlation, all the great things which he had undertaken and performed, since the commencement of his administration. He observed, that from the seventeenth year of his age, be had dedicated all his thoughts and attention to public objects, reserving no portion of his time for the indulgence of his ease, and very little for the enjoyment of private leasure; that either in a pacific or hostile manner, be ad visited Germany nine times, Spain six times, France our times, Italy seven times, the Low Countries ten times, England twice. Africa as often, and had made eleven oyages by sea; that, while his health permitted him to lischarge his duty, and the vigour of his constitution was qual, in any degree, to the arduous office of governing uch extensive dominions, he had never shunned labour, for repined under fatigue; that now, when his health was roken and his vigour exhausted, by the rage of an incurble distemper, his growing infirmities admonished him to etire; nor was he so fond of reigning, as to retain the ceptre in an impotent hand, which was no longer able to rotect his subjects, or to render them happy; that, intead of a sovereign worn out with disease, and scarcely alf alive, he gave them one in the prime of life, accusomed already to govern, and who added to the vigour of youth all the attention and sagacity of maturer years; hat if, during the course of a long administration, he had committed any material errour in government, or if, under he pressure of so many, and great affairs, and amidst the attention which he had been obliged to give them, he had either neglected or injured any of his subjects, he now mplored their forgiveness; that, for his part, he should ever retain a grateful sense of their fidelity and attachnent, and would carry the remembrance of it along with him to the place of his retreat, as the sweetest consolation, as well as the best reward for all his services; and, In his last prayers to Almighty God would pour forth his ardent wishes for their welfare.

Then, turning towards Philip, who fell upon his knees, and kissed his father's hand, "If," said he, "I had left zou, by my death, this rich inheritance, to which I have made such large additions, some regard would have been ustly due to my memory on that account; but now, when

I voluntarily resign to you what I might have still retain ed, I may well expect the warmest expressions of thank: on your part. With these, however, I dispense; and shall consider your concern for the welfare of your sub jects, and your love of them, as the best and most accep table testimony of your gratitude to me. It is in your power, by a wise and virtuous administration, to justify the extraordinary proof, which I this day give, of my pa ternal affection, and to demonstrate that you are worthy o the confidence which I repose in you. Preserve an invio lable regard for religion; maintain the Catholic faith in its purity; let the laws of your country be sacred to your eyes; encroach not on the rights and privileges o your people; and, if the time shall ever come, when you shall wish to enjoy the tranquility of a private life, may you have a son endowed with such qualities, that you car resign your sceptre to him, with as much satisfaction as give up mine to you."

As soon as Charles had finished this long address to his subjects, and to their new sovereign, he sunk into the chair, exhausted and ready to faint with the fatigue of such an extraordinary effort. During this discourse, the whole audience melted into tears; some, from admiration of his magnanimity; others softened by the expressions of tenderness towards his son, and of love to his people and all were affected with the deepest sorrow, at losing sovereign, who had distinguished the Netherlands, his na tive country, with particular marks of his regard and attachment.

A few weeks thereafter, Charles in an assembly no less splendid, and with a ceremonial equally as pompous, re signed to his son the crown of Spain, with all the territories depending on them, both in the old, and in the new world. Of all these vast possessions, he reserved nothing for himself, but an annual pension of an hundred thousand crowns, to defray the charges of his family, and to afford him a small sum for acts of benficence and charity.

The place he had chosen, for his retreat, was the monastary of St. Justus, in the province of Estremadura.It was seated in a vale of no great extent, watered by a small brook,and surrounded by rising grounds, covered with lofty trees. From the nature of the soil, and, as well as

the temperature of the climate, it was esteemed the most healthful and delicious situation in Spain. Some months before his resignation, he had sent an architect thither, to add a new apartment to the monastery, for his accommodation; but he gave strict orders, that the style of the building should be such as suited his present situation, rather than his former dignity. It consisted only of six rooms; four of them in the form offriar's cells, with naked walls; the other two each twenty feet square, were hung with brown cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner. They were all on a level with the ground; with a door on one side into a garden, of which Charles himself had given the plan, and which he had filled with va rious plants, intending to cultivate them with his own hands. On the other side, they communicated with the chapel of the monastery, in which he was to perform his devotions. Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the comfortable accommodation of a private gentleman, did Charles enter, with twelve domestics only. He buried there, in solitude and silence, his grandeur, and his ambition, together with those vast projects, which during half a century, had alarmed and agitated Europe, filling every kingdom in it, by turns, with the terror of his arms, and the dread of being subjected to his power.

VI.-Importance of Virtue-PRICE.

VIRTUE is of intrinsic value, and good desert, and of indispensable obligation; not the creature of will, but necessary and immutable; not local or temporary, but of equal extent and antiquity with the divine mind; not a mode of sensation, but everlasting truth; not dependent on power, but the guide of all power. Virtue is the foundation of honour and esteem, and the source of all beauty, order and happiness, in nature. It is what confers value on all the other endowments and qualities of a reasonable being, to which they ought to be obsolutely subservient; and without which, the more eminent they are, the more hideous deformities, and the greater cuses they be

come.

The use of it is not confined to any one stage of our existence, or to any particular situation we can be in, but reaches through all the periods and circumstances of our

beings. Many of the endowments and talents we now possess, and of which we are too apt to be proud, will cease entirely with the present state; but this will be our ornament and dignity, in every future state, to which we may be removed. Beauty and wit will die, learning will vanish away, and all the arts of life be soon forgot; but virtue will remain forever. This unites us to the whole rational creation; and fits us for conversing with any order of superiour natures, and for a place in any part of God's works. It procures us the approbation and love of all wise and good beings, and renders them our alles and friends. But what is of unspeakably greater consequence, is, that it makes God our friend, assimilates and unites our minds to his, and engages his Almighty power in our defence. Superiour beings of all ranks are bound by it, no less than ourselves. It has the same authority in all worlds that it has in this. The further any being is advanced in excellence and perfection, the greater is his attachment to it, and the more he is under its influTo say no more, it is the law of the whole universe, it stands first in the estimation of the Deity; its original is his nature, and it is the very object that makes him lovely.

ence.

One

Such is the importance of virtue.-Of what consequence, therefore, is it that we practice it? There is no argument or motive, in any respect fitted to influence a reasonable mind, which does not call us to this. virtuous disposition of soul, is preferable to the greatest natural accomplishments and abilities, and of more value than all the treasures of the world.-If you are wise, then study virtue, and contemn every thing that can come in competition with it. Remember that nothing else deserves one anxious thought or wish. Remember that this alone is honour, glory, wealth and happiness. Secure this and you secure every thing. Lose this, and all is lost.

VII.-Address to Art.-HARRIS.

O ART! Thou distinguishing attribute and honour of human kind! Who art not only able to imitate nature in her graces, but even to adorn her with graces of thine own! Possessed of thee, the meanest genius grows de

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