"murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so *ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding men's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle, at the slightest circumstance, into a blaze of discovery. 7. Meantime, the guilty soul can not keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or rather it feels an irresistible timpulse to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy nor assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding +disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession. Wolsey. FAREWELL, a long farewell to all my greatness; And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost, But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Enter CROMWELL amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? At Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What! tamaz'd my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder, A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep, Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly +dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy,-too much honor: Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, To endure more miseries, and greater far, Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, *Here used for disgrace. Wol. God bless him! Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden: But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness' favor, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have lost forever: No sun shall ever tusher forth mine honors, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor, fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Crom. O, my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, And,-pr'ythee, lead me in. There, take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell, The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. CLXVIII. OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. FROM DR. SPRING. 1. THE Sabbath lies at the foundation of all true morality. +Morality flows from principle. Let the principles of moral +obligation become relaxed, and the practice of morality will not long survive the overthrow. No man can preserve his own morals, no parent can preserve the morals of his children, without the impressions of religious obligation. 2. If you can induce a community to doubt the genuineness and authenticity of the Scriptures; to question the reality and obligations of religion; to hesitate, undeciding, whether there be any such thing as virtue or vice; whether there be an eternal state of retribution beyond the grave; or whether there exists any such being as God, you have broken down the barriers of moral virtue, and hoisted the floodgates of immorality and crime. I need not say, that when a people have once done this, they can no longer exist as a tranquil and happy people. Every bond that holds society together would be ruptured; fraud and treachery would take the place of confidence between man and man; the tribunals of justice would be scenes of bribery and injustice; *avarice, *perjury, ambition, and revenge would walk through the land, and render it more like the dwelling of savage beasts, than the tranquil abode of civilized and christianized men. 3. If there is an institution which opposes itself to this progress of human +degeneracy, and throws a shield before the interests of moral virtue in our thoughtless and wayward world, it is the Sabbath. In the fearful struggle between virtue and vice, notwithstanding the powerful auxiliaries which wickedness finds in the bosoms of men, and in the tseductions and influence of popular example, wherever the Sabbath has been suffered to live, the trembling interests of moral virtue have always been revered and sustained. One of the principal occupations of this day, is to illustrate and enforce the great principles of sound morality. Where this sacred trust is preserved +inviolate, you behold a nation +convened one day in seven, for the purpose of acquainting themselves with the best moral principles and precepts. And it can not be otherwise, than that the authority of moral virtue, under such auspices, should be acknowledged and felt. 4. We may not, at once, perceive the effects which this weekly observance produces. Like most moral causes, it operates slowly; but it operates surely, and gradually weakens the power, and breaks the yoke of profligacy and sin. No villain regards the Sabbath. No vicious family regards the Sabbath. No immoral community regard the Sabbath. The holy rest of this ever-memorable day, is a barrier which is always broken down, before men become giants in sin. Blackstone, in his Commentaries on the Laws of England, remarks, that "a curruption of morals usually follows a profanation of the Sabbath." It is an observation of Lord Chief |