Concluding, in those hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.

But when the hour of trial came,
When sickness shook this trembling frame,
When folly's gay pursuits were o'er,
And I could sing and dance no more,
It then occurred, how sad 'twould be
Were this world only made for me.

The poor soul quitted it--and ere yet she was dead the agonized father was
in such a state, that the officers round about him were obliged to set
watchers over him, and from November, 1810, George III ceased to reign.
All the world knows the story of his malady: all history presents no
sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived of reason,
wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary
Parliaments, reviewing fancied troops, holding ghostly Courts. I have seen
his picture as it was taken at this time, hanging in the apartment of his
daughter, the Landgravine of Hesse-Hombourg--amidst books and Windsor
furniture, and a hundred fond reminiscences of her English home. The poor
old father is represented in a purple gown, his snowy beard falling over
his breast--the star of his famous Order still idly shining on it. He was
not only sightless: he became utterly deaf. All light, all reason, all
sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this world of God, were taken
from him. Some slight lucid moments he had; in one of which, the queen,
desiring to see him, entered the room, and found him singing a hymn, and
accompanying himself at the harpsichord. When he had finished, he knelt
down and prayed aloud for her, and then for his family, and then for the
nation, concluding with a prayer for himself, that it might please God to
avert his heavy calamity from him, but if not, to give him resignation to
submit. He then burst into tears, and his reason again fled.

What preacher need moralize on this story; what words save the simplest
are requisite to tell it? It is too terrible for tears. The thought of
such a misery smites me down in submission before the Ruler of kings and
men, the Monarch Supreme over empires and republics, the inscrutable
Dispenser of life, death, happiness, victory. "O brothers," I said to
those who heard me first in America--"O brothers! speaking the same dear
mother tongue--O comrades! enemies no more, let us take a mournful hand
together as we stand by this royal corpse, and call a truce to battle! Low
he lies to whom the proudest used to kneel once, a