THE VACANT PLACES. How much soever, in this life's mutations, Each has his own, the smallest and most humble, If the fair race of violets should perish Before another spring-time had its birth, Could ever make the world so fair again. And so with souls we love, they pass and leave us,— Yet all the new loves which the years may give us A HUNDRED YEARS AGO; OR, A PEEP AT THE YEAR 1779. {BY THE REV. W. J. BUCKLAND, M.A., VICAR of Hankerton. A HUNDRED years ago! how many changes have come and gone since then in this busy world! Why the period of a hundred years makes so strong an impression on the imagination we need not seek to explain. We are all attracted by contrast, especially if it be keen and striking. And when we glance back at the past and compare what we see with the present, the interval of a hundred years is long enough to present us with such a contrast, without being so long as to make us feel altogether cut off from familiar interest in the scenes and the memories which we have conjured up. "Look upon this picture, and on this." There are many things of which the real importance and significance cannot be correctly estimated till we have receded a certain distance from them. It is when the traveller turns round and gazes over the plain which he has traversed that he becomes aware of the progress he has made. When, like such a traveller, we glance back at some definite period of our past history, we are able to gauge correctly the combined and permanent result of what was then taking place in a way which was impossible to the men of that day. Distance has cleared instead of obscuring the view; and the voice which was indistinct to them sounds clearly enough in our ears. Many a phenomenon of thought and opinion the student of history delights to trace through hints and tendencies to its obscure and unsuspected source, as the explorer follows the windings of some great river, till he reaches the distant spot where its spring bubbles from the earth. It will not then, we think, be devoid of instruction or of interest if, as we enter upon the new year, we roll back the panorama of events, and present before the eyes of our audience a picture of what the year of grace 1779 was in this England of ours. It is surely a cloudy and dark day which looms upon our sight. In 1779 England was engaged in one of the most disastrous and disheartening wars which this country has ever undertaken. We were in the thick of the miserable war with our revolted American colonies. The fortunes of Great Britain were just now at a very low ebb, and our star was all but eclipsed. France, then considering herself, and considered by the rest of the civilized world, to be the natural enemy of England, had, unwisely for her exhausted treasury and her growing debt, struck into the quarrel, and joined the Americans. The French Admiral D'Estaing had found plenty of employment for Lord Howe and the English fleet along the coast-line of what is now the territory of the States. Louis XVI., whatever sympathy his unhappy fate may have subsequently elicited for him on this side of the Channel, was certainly no friend to England. He had a keen sense of the humiliation to which France had been reduced at the close of the last war, when so much lustre and triumph were shed upon the arms of England by the genius and vigour of Chatham. Like every other Frenchman, he knew pretty well that the degradation of France must have been deeper yet but for the peace, so unpopular on this side the Channel, which abruptly terminated the war. He was personally glad of the opportunity of striking a blow at England. The year opened with an event in the natural world which aptly typified the state of affairs in the political world-a great storm. The Annual Register records, "The new year was ushered in with the most violent gale of wind that has been experienced since the remarkable one that happened at the beginning of the present century. The danger was universal, and every public and private building in and near the metropolis, as well as the shipping in the river, sustained some damage from its tempestuous violence. A stack of chimneys was blown down at the Queen's palace, which broke through the roof into the apartments of three of the young princes. Their Majesties got up and went into all the apartments to see if any of the children or family were hurt, but no disaster had happened to them, though it is next to a miracle that the three princes above mentioned were not killed in their beds." Upwards of 300 vessels were lost in this tempest; and the narratives of the time contain an instance of a calamity with which we are now but too sadly familiar-a collision of vessels. An eye-witness writes from Spithead, "We sailed from hence on Saturday last, the 26th ult., with one of the finest fleets ever seen, but, alas! we met with our usual ill luck. On Monday last, off Berry Head, it blowing a fresh breeze, and under closereefed topsails, the wind at south-west, being near the London, East Indiaman, finding we could not weather her, she on one tack and we on the other, we bore away; during which she clapped her helm a-weather, and we ran right on board, which stove in her bow; in half an hour she sunk, and the greater part of her crew perished. It was a most dismal scene to behold the men standing on the gunnel as she went down. What rendered the scene still more melancholy, a man-of-war's boat with several hands, who very humanely, at the risque (sic) of their own lives, had picked up ten or eleven of the London's crew, and were endeavouring to save more, got directly over the place where she went down, the suction of which was so great that it drew the boat under, and they all perished." This presage of calamity and confusion which ushered in the year was not belied by its course. Parliament had been called together in the November of the preceding year. The address to the Throne was not carried without strong opposition in both Houses. Mutual recrimination was the order of the day. A royal proclamation addressed to the Americans had been lately issued. The Opposition urged that whatever colour might be put upon the language of this proclamation, the Americans could only gather from it that the war was henceforth to be carried on with extreme barbarity. At the beginning of the year England had her hands full enough in contending with the American colonies and with France, but during the summer another enemy was added to the list. Spain joined her forces to those of France in the war against England. The combined fleets of France and Spain outnumbered our own. As usual at such a crisis, an invasion of England was planned, and a large army was spread along the French coast, ready to be carried over to the shores of Britain. Altogether the state of things was grave enough to justify the language of a contemporary writer, "Friends and allies were no more with respect to us. On the contrary, whether it proceeded from our fault, or whether it was merely our misfortune, mankind seemed to wait, with an aspect which at best bespoke indifference, for the event of that ruin which was expected to burst upon us." Happily, however, for England, things began to mend before the end of the year. The assistance rendered to the American colonies by France did not produce all the effects which were justly anticipated from it; and the dissensions and mutual jealousy which arose between the French and Spanish admirals hindered the operations of their combined forces. Events sometimes occupy a share of public attention quite out of proportion to their real importance. An instance of this is connected with the names of Admiral Keppel and Sir Hugh Palliser. On the evening of the 11th February all London was astir with the wildest excitement, and great was the rejoicing notwithstanding the general gloom which the dismal prospects of the country might be reasonably supposed to inspire. At night the streets were bright with an illumination more general than had been remembered for years. Three hundred lamps lit up the portico of the Mansion House; the bells rang gaily in the steeples of the churches; the noise of guns reverberated through the streets, and every demonstration of popular joy prevailed. And the cause of all this, what was it? Was it some great victory? or, better still, the prospect of peace? Nothing of the kind. News had arrived that day from Portsmouth that Admiral Keppel had been acquitted by the court-martial before which he had been tried in consequence of the accusations made against him by his vice-admiral, Sir Hugh Palliser. In the July of the past year, a naval battle had been fought between the fleets of France and England off Ushant. Admiral Keppel commanded the English fleet, which was inferior in numbers to that of the French. Sir Hugh Palliser was second in command. The action was indecisive, and the two fleets drew off. The French claimed the victory, and considerable pride was felt on the occasion at the Court of Versailles. Admiral Keppel had signalled to Sir Hugh Palliser to come up with his squadron, and to try once more the fortunes of the day; but the Vice-Admiral's vessel was in so crippled a state that he was unable to obey the command of his superior officer. Hence sprung up a deadly animosity between the two admirals. It happened that they both had a seat in Parliament, and thus it came to pass that the House of Commons was made the arena of their mutual recriminations. The whole nation, but especially the metropolis, was interested in the quarrel. Keppel was the popular favourite. The trial lasted for thirtytwo days, and at last Keppel was honourably acquitted. The news was received in London with equal delight at his triumph, and indignation against those who had been the means of bringing him to trial. The fury of the mob was directed against |