a love of one's country, which is one of the noblest passions that can warm and animate the human breast. It includes all the limited and particular affections to our parents, children, friends, neighbours, fellow citizens, and countrymen. It ought to direct and limit their more confined and partial actions within their proper and natural bounds, and never let them encroach on those sacred and first regards we owe to the great public to which we belong. Were we solitary creatures, detached from the rest of mankind, and without any capacity of comprehending a public interest, or without affections leading us to desire and pursue it, it would not be our duty to mind it, nor criminal to neglect it. But as we are parts of the public system, and are not only capable of taking in large views of its interests, but by the strongest affections connected with it, and prompted to take a share of its concerns, we are under the most sacred ties to prosecute its security and welfare with the utmost ardour, especially in times of public trial.

"Zeal for the public good (says Mr Addison) is the characteristic of a man of honour and a gentleman, and must take place of pleasures, profits, and all other private gratifications: that whosoever wants this motive, is an open enemy, or an inglorious neuter to mankind, in proportion to the misapplied advantages with which nature and fortune have blessed him." This love of our country does not import an attachment to any particular soil, climate, or spot of earth, where perhaps we first drew our breath, though those natural ideas are often associated with the moral ones; and, like external signs or symbols, help to ascertain and bind them; but it imports an affection to that moral system or community, which is governed by the same laws and magistrates, and whose several parts are variously connected one with the other, and all united upon the bottom of a common interest. Wherever this love of our country prevails in its genuine vigour and extent, it swallows up all sordid and selfish regards; it conquers the love of ease, power, pleasure, and wealth; nay, when the amiable partialities of friendship, gratitude, private affection, or regards to a family, come in competition with it, it will teach us to sacrifice all, in order to maintain the rights, and promote and defend the honour and happiness of our country. To pursue, therefore, our private interests in subordination to the good of our country; to be examples in it of virtue, and obedient to the laws; to choose such representatives as we apprehend to be the best friends to its constitution and liberties; and if we have the power, to promote such laws as may improve and perfect it; readily to embrace every opportunity for advancing its prosperity; cheerfully to contribute to its defence and support; and, if need be, to die for it:—these are among the duties which every man, who has the happiness to be a member of our free and Protestant constitution, owes to his country.

The constitution of man is such, that the most selfish passions, if kept within their proper bounds, have a tendency to promote the public good. There is no passion of more general utility than patriotism; but its origin may unquestionably be termed selfish. The love of one's relations and friends is the most natural expansion of self-love: this affection connects itself too with local circumstances, and sometimes cannot easily be separated from them. It often varies, as relationship or place varies; but acquires new power when the whole community becomes its object. It was therefore with singular propriety that the poet said, "Self love and social are the same." Under the article CALAIS we have already given the outlines of the transactions of its siege by Edward III., during which the inhabitants displayed a degree of patriotism truly wonderful. History scarcely affords a more distinguished instance of true patriotic virtue than on this occasion. We shall therefore give a fuller account of this remarkable affair, as one of the best examples that can possibly be selected of the virtue we have been explaining. The inhabitants, under Count Vienne their gallant governor, made an admirable defence against a well disciplined and powerful army. Day after day the English effected many breaches, which they repeatedly expected to storm by morning; but, when morning appeared, they wondered to behold new ramparts raised nightly, erected out of the ruins which the day had made. France had now put the sickle into her second harvest since Edward with his victorious army sat down before the town. The eyes of all Europe were intent on the issue. The English made their approaches and attacks without remission; but the citizens were as obstinate in repelling all their efforts. At length, famine did more for Edward than arms. After the citizens had devoured the lean carcases of their half-starved cattle, they tore up old foundations and rubbish in search of vermin: they fed on boiled leather, and the weeds of exhausted gardens; and a morsel of damaged corn was accounted matter of luxury. In this extremity they resolved to attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly fell forth; the English joined battle; and, after a long and desperate engagement, Count Vienne was taken prisoner; and the citizens, who survived the slaughter, retired within their gates. On the captivity of their governor, the command devolved upon Euface Saint Pierre, the mayor of the town, a man of mean birth, but of exalted virtue. Euface soon found himself under the necessity of capitulating, and offered to deliver to Edward the city, with all the possessions and wealth of the inhabitants, provided he permitted them to depart with life and liberty. As Edward had long since expected to ascend the throne of France, he was exasperated to the last degree against these people, whose sole valor had defeated his warmest hopes; he therefore determined to take an exemplary revenge, though he wished to avoid the imputation of cruelty. He answered by Sir Walter Mauny, that they all deserved capital punishment, as obstinate traitors to him, their true and notable sovereign; that, however, in his wonted clemency, he consented to pardon the bulk of the plebeians, provided they would deliver up to him six of their principal citizens with halters about their necks, as victims of due atonement for that spirit of rebellion with which they had inflamed the common people. All the remains of this defoliate city were convened in the great square; and like men arraigned at a tribunal from whence there was no appeal, expected with throbbing hearts the sentence of their conqueror. When Sir Walter had declared his message, consternation and pale dismay was impressed on every face: each looked upon death as his own inevitable lot; for how should they desire to be saved at the price proposed? Whom had they to deliver up, save parents, brothers, kindred, or valiant neighbors, who had so often exposed their lives in their defense? To a long and dead silence, deep sighs and groans succeeded, till Euface Saint Pierre ascending a little eminence, thus addressed the assembly: "My friends and fellow-citizens, you see the condition to which we are reduced; we must either submit to the terms of our cruel and enshrining conqueror, or yield up our tender infants, our wives, and chaste daughters, to the bloody and brutal lusts of the violating soldiery. We well know what the tyrant intends by his specious offers of mercy. It does not fatigate his vengeance to make us merely miserable, he would also make us criminal: he would make us contemptible: he will grant us life on no condition, save that of our being unworthy of it. Look about you, my friends, and fix your eyes on the persons whom you wish to deliver up as the victims of your own safety. Which of these would you appoint to the rack, the axe, or the halter? Is there any here who has not watched for you, who has not fought for you, who has not bled for you? Who, through the length of this inveterate siege, has not suffered fatigues and miseries a thousand times worse than death, that you and yours might survive to days of peace and prosperity? Is it your preferers, then, whom you would define to destruction? You will not, you cannot, do it. Justice, honour, humanity, make such a treason impossible. Where then is our resource? Is there any expedient left, whereby we may avoid guilt and infamy on one hand, or the defoliation and horrors of a sacked city on the other? There is, my friends, there is one expedient left; a gracious, an excellent, a god-like expedient! Is there any here to whom virtue is dearer than life? Let him offer himself an oblation for the safety of his people! he shall not fail of a blest approbation from that power, who offered up his only Son for the salvation of mankind." He spoke—but an universal silence ensued. Each man looked round for the example of that virtue and magnanimity in others, which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted the resolution. At length Saint Pierre resumed: "It had been base in me, my fellow-citizens, to promote any matter of damage to others, which I myself had not been willing to undergo in my own person. But I held it ungenerous to deprive any man of that preference and estimation, which might attend a first offer on so signal an occasion: for I doubt not but there are many here as ready, nay, more zealous for this martyrdom than I can be; however modesty and the fear of imputed ostentation may withhold them from being foremost in exhibiting their merits. Indeed the situation to which the captivity of Count Vienne has unhappily raised me, imports a right to be the first in giving my life for your sakes. I give it freely, I give it cheerfully. Who comes next? Your son! exclaimed a youth, not yet come to maturity.—Ah, my child! cried St Pierre; I am then twice sacrificed.—But no—I have rather begotten thee a second time.—Thy years are few, but full, my son; the victim of virtue has reached the utmost purpose and goal of mortality. Who next, my friends? This is the hour of heroes.—Your kinman, cried John de Aire! Your kinman, cried James Wiffant! Your kinman, cried Peter Wiffant!—"Ah!" (exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears), why was I not a citizen of Calais?" The fifth victim was still wanting, but was quickly supplied by lot, from numbers who were now emulous of so ennobling an example. The keys of the city were then delivered to Sir Walter. He took the six prisoners into his custody. He ordered the gates to be opened, and gave charge to his attendants to conduct the remaining citizens with their families through the camp of the English. Before they departed, however, they desired permission to take their last adieu of their deliverers.—What a parting! what a scene! they crowded with their wives and children about St Pierre and his fellow-prisoners. They embraced, they clung around, they fell prostrate before them. They groaned; they wept aloud; and the joint clamour of their mourning palled the gates of the city, and was heard throughout the camp. At length Saint Pierre and his fellow victims appeared under the conduct of Sir Walter and his guard. All the tents of the English were instantly emptied. The soldiers poured from all parts, and arranged themselves on each side to behold, to contemplate, to admire this little band of patriots as they passed. They murmured their applause of that virtue which they could not but revere even in enemies; and they regarded those ropes which they had voluntarily assumed about their necks as ensigns of greater dignity than that of the British Garter. As soon as they had reached the royal presence, "Mauny (says the king), are these the principal inhabitants of Calais?" "They are (says Mauny); they are not only the principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of France, my lord," if virtue has any share in the act of ennobling."

"Were they delivered peaceably, (says Edward)? Was there no resistance, no commotion among the people?" "Not in the least, my lord. They are self-delivered, self-devoted, and come to offer up their inefficiable heads as an ample equivalent for the ransom of thousands."

The king, who was highly incensed at the length and difficulty of the siege, ordered them to be carried away to immediate execution; nor could all the remonstrances and intrigues of his courtiers divert him from his cruel purpose. But what neither a regard to his own interest and honour, what neither the dictates of justice, nor the feelings of humanity, could effect, was happily accomplished by the more powerful influence of conjugal affection. The queen, who was then big with child, being informed of the particulars respecting the six victims, flew into her husband's presence, threw herself on her knees before him, and, with tears in her eyes, besought him not to stain his character with an indelible mark of infamy, by committing such a horrid and barbarous deed. Edward could refuse nothing to a wife whom he so tenderly loved, and especially in her condition; and the queen, not satisfied with having saved the lives of the six burghers, conducted them to her tent, where she applauded their virtue, regaled them with a plentiful repast, and having made them a present of money and clothes, sent them back to their fellow citizens.

The love of their country, and of the public good, seems to have been the predominant passion of the Spartans. Pedaretus having missed the honour of being chosen one of the three hundred who had a certain rank of distinction in the city, went home extremely pleased and satisfied, saying, "He was overjoyed there were three hundred men in Sparta more honourable than himself."

The patriotism of the Romans is well known, and has been justly admired. We shall content ourselves at present with the following example; a zeal and patriotic devotion similar to which is perhaps scarcely equalled, and certainly is not exceeded, in history.

Rome, under the consuls Caeso Fabius and T. Virginius, had several wars to sustain, less dangerous than troublesome, against the Aequi, Volsci, and Veientes. To put a stop to the incursions of the last, it would have been necessary to have established a good garrison upon their frontiers to keep them in awe. But the commonwealth, exhausted of money, and menaced by abundance of other enemies, was not in a condition to provide for so many different cares and expenses. The family of the Fabii showed a generosity and love of their country that has been the admiration of all ages. They applied to the senate, and by the mouth of the consul demanded as a favour that they would be pleased to transfer the care and expenses of the garrison necessary to oppose the enterprises of the Veientes to their house, which required an affluence rather than a numerous body, promising to support with dignity the honour of the Roman name in that post. Every body was charmed with so noble and unheard of an offer; and it was accepted with great acknowledgment. The news spread over the whole city, and nothing was talked of but the Fabii. Every body praised, every body admired and extolled them to the skies. "If there were two more such families in Rome," said they, "the Patriotic one might take upon them the war against the Volsci, and the other against the Aequi, whilst the commonwealth remained quiet, and the forces of particulars subdued the neighbouring states."

Early the next day the Fabii set out, with the consul at their head, robed, and with his insignia. Never was there so small, and at the same time so illustrious, an army seen; for which we have the authority of Livy. Three hundred and six soldiers, all patricians, and of the same family, of whom not one but might be judged worthy of commanding an army, marched against the Veii full of courage and alacrity, under a captain of their own name, Fabius. They were followed by a body of their friends and clients, animated by the same spirit and zeal, and actuated only by great and noble views. The whole city flocked to see so fine a sight; praised those generous soldiers in the highest terms; and promised them crowns, triumphs, and the most glorious rewards. As they passed before the capitol and the other temples, every body implored the gods to take them into their protection; to favour their departure and undertaking, and to afford them a speedy and happy return. But those prayers were not heard. When they arrived near the river Crimera, which is not far from Veii, they built a fort upon a very rough and steep mountain for the security of the troops, which they surrounded with a double fence, and flanked with several towers. This settlement, which prevented the enemy from cultivating their ground and ruined their commerce with strangers, incommode them extremely. The Veientes not finding themselves strong enough to ruin the fort which the Romans had erected, applied to the Hetrurians, who sent them very considerable aid. In the mean time the Fabii, encouraged by the great success of their incursions into the enemy's country, made farther progress every day. Their excessive boldness made the Hetrurians conceive thoughts of laying ambuscades for them in several places. During the night they seized all the eminences that commanded the plains, and found means to conceal a great number of troops upon them. The next day they dispersed more cattle about the country than they had done before. The Fabii being apprised that the plains were covered with flocks and herds, and defended by only a very small number of troops, they quitted their fort, leaving in it only a sufficient number to guard it. The hopes of a great booty quickened their march. They arrived at the place in order of battle; and were preparing to attack the advanced guard of the enemy, when the latter, who had their orders, fled without staying till they were charged. The Fabii, believing themselves secure, seized the shepherds, and were preparing to drive away the cattle. The Hetrurians then quitted their lurking places, and fell upon the Romans from all sides, who were most of them dispersed in pursuit of their prey. All they could do was to rally immediately; and that they could not effect without great difficulty. They soon saw themselves surrounded on all sides, and fought like lions, selling their lives very dear. But finding that they could not sustain this kind of combat long, they drew up in a wedge, and advancing with the utmost fury and impetuosity, opened themselves a passage through the enemy that led to the side of the mountain. When they came thither, they halted, and fought... Patriotism fought with fresh courage, the enemy leaving them no time to respire. As they were upon the higher ground, they defended themselves with advantage, notwithstanding their small number; and beating down the enemy, who spared no pains in the attack, they made a great slaughter of them. But the Veientes having gained the top of the mountain by taking a compass, fell suddenly upon them, and galled them exceedingly from above with a continual shower of darts. The Fabii defended themselves to their last breath, and were all killed to a man. The Roman people were highly affected with the loss of this illustrious band of patriots. The day of their defeat was ranked amongst the unfortunate days, called nefasti, on which the tribunals were shut up, and no public affair could be negociated, or at least concluded. The memory of these public-spirited patricians, who had so generously sacrificed their lives and fortunes for the service of the state, could not be too much honoured.