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begin to assail our liberties, then should Britain, with unanimous voice, thunder, "Hands off! Tempt us not too far, lest ye rouse the spirit of our Covenanting fathers; and amid the execrations of an indignant people ye be ignominiously driven from the land which ye seek to curse !”

Happily, our fathers not only bequeathed to us our liberties--they taught us how to defend them. And I am glad to see that in these times there is a disposition so to do. I have seen not the gathering of the clans for mutual and exterminating warfare, but a nobler gathering fara gathering which meant the protection alike of the cottage and the throne. I have seen highland chief and lowland laird mingling in amicable rivalry--their one thought the defence of their common country. I have seen the kilted Celt march on Saxon ground, cheered by his Saxon brother, their ancient animosities forgotten in the loyal and patriotic determination which fired their breasts, to guard with their mingling blood, if need be, and to hand down intact to their children and children's children the rights and liberties which their fathers bequeathed. I have seen peer and peasant meet-I have seen the artist from his studio, and the lawyer from his chamber, and the scholar from academical halls, the tiller of the soil and the salesman from the shop, the operative from the factory, and the mechanic from his bench,—all ranks and classes meet to testify to the best of Scotland's or England's Queens, their loyalty to her person and her throne. And as I looked on that noble gathering in Hyde Park, when the roads were lined, and the house-tops crowded, and “the very trees bore men”—and as I looked on what you will excuse me for calling that still nobler gathering in the Queen's Park, Edinburgh-as I looked on that hillside, covered with its living mass in holiday attire and temper, gazing with honest pride, and with glistening eyes on the fathers, Brothers, sons, marshalled on the plain below,-as I looked on that army, composed of the flower of Scotland's youth, which, without compulsion, had sprung into existence at the mere whispers of invasion,-as I looked on their stalwart forms, giving assurance of bodily strength, and their strongly-marked countenances, no less expressive of strength of will, -as I saw the precision of their movements, and the flashing of their arms, and heard that cheer which rent the air, and almost shook the surrounding hills, when they marched up in a mass to pay homage to the virtues which grace the British throne ;-as I saw that, Scotland's flag meanwhile waving over the summit of the hill, the Firth of Forth gleaming in the distance, the city beautiful for situation, reposing on her rocky seat, while the sun poured down upon her a flood of splendour, and the very air around kept holiday ;-when I saw that, the blood tingled in my veins, and—I am not ashamed to


it-tears moistened the eye and trickled down the cheek-tears of gratitude and pride, for I went back to the olden timesthe times of our Covenanting fathers--the times of Cromwell and bis Ironsides; and I said, “No fear for my country. In the death-grapple of the nations, should it come, she will play her part right nobly. The sons will prove themselves worthy of their sires.

66. The ancient spirit is not dead ;

Old times, methinks, are breathing still." And such a spirit makes men invincible. The nation that breathes it is possessed of a charmed life-it drives death into the ranks of the foe. Britain, animated by such a spirit, might defy the world in arms. Come the wave of invasion whence it may, she'll drive it back; and if perchance invader's foot should touch her soil, it will only be that be may find in her soil a grave.

“Oh! warriors of Old England,

You'll hurry to the call;
And her good ships shall brave the storm,

With their merry mariners, all.
In words she wasteth not her breath,

But, be the trumpet blown ;
And in the battle's dance of death,

She'll dance the bravest down.

God strike with our dear England,

And long may the old land be The guiding glory of the world,

The home of the fair and free! Old Ocean on his silver shield

Shall lift our little isle, Unvanquished still by flood or field,

While the heavens in blessing smile.
Let Despot, Death, or Devil come,

United here we stand;
We'll safely guard our island home,

Or die for the dear old land !"





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