" Then he ventures to
predict that America, now thrown open to British colonists, will
be peopled in a century and a half with sixty million souls: a
prophecy likely to be more than fulfilled.
"God has given us to sing this day the downfall of New
France, the North American Babylon, New England's rival,"
cries Eli Forbes to his congregation of sober farmers and
staid matrons at the rustic village of Brookfield. Like many of
his flock, he had been to the war, having served two years
as chaplain of Ruggles's Massachusetts regiment; and something
of a martial spirit breathes through his discourse. He passes in
review the events of each campaign down to their triumphant close.
"Thus God was our salvation and our strength; yet he who directs
the great events of war suffered not our joy to be uninterrupted,
for we had to lament the fall of the valiant and good General Wolfe,
whose death demands a tear from every British eye, a sigh from every
Protestant heart. Is he dead? I recall myself. Such heroes are immortal;
he lives on every loyal tongue; he lives in every grateful
breast; and charity bids me give him a place among the princes
of heaven." Nor does he forget the praises of Amherst, "the
renowned general, worthy of that most honorable of all titles,
the Christian hero; for he loves his enemies, and while he
subdues them he makes them happy. He transplants British
liberty to where till now it was unknown.
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