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SEASON, 1817–18.

EAST INDIA SHIPs,

With their Managing Owners, Commanders, Principal Officers, Surgeons, Pursers, Time of coming afloat, &c.

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HE Princess Charlotte is no More 1–" How many sorrows crowd

* into these few brief words!”—How many dearly-cherished hopes and expectations do they annihilate for ever!—Torn from the world in the bloom of life, of enjoyment, and of prosperity, Her awful bereavement has affected us like the tremendous convulsion of an earthquake, or the sudden visitation of an overwhelming darkness.-It is with feelings of acute sorrow, to which our remembrance furnishes no parallel, that we enter upon the melancholy and unexpected duty of recording its particulars, and of announcing an event, which has absorbed every other solicitude, and rendered light every other grief—An event which has removed from us a Princess who was truly the “expectancy and rose of our fair state,”—but of whom, alas! nothing now remains but a sad reminiscence, and a bitter regret.—It is our painful task to narrate an occurrence, as afflictive as is recorded in the annals of hereditary Monarchies,—the deaths of the only two presumptive heirs to the Crown in direct succession, the Mother and her child: The circumstances of whose dissolution are as affecting to private feelings, as the event itself may be esteemed publicly calamitous; for if there is an occasion on which the infliction of the universal doom excites peculiar sorrow, it is that wherein the more tender sex is alone exposed to pain and hazard; and if there is a station to which man might wish to be born, for the purpose of promoting the happiness of his fellow-creatures, it is that of the constitutional Sovereign of the British Empire. Under these circumstances we have lost a Prince, just before he saw the light, and a Princess in the prime of youth, and at the height of happiness.-A Princess, who was indeed beloved for every estimable virtue which could endear her to the British People, and who, now the grave has closed over her remains, is deplored with grief as unaffected as it is general. The blow has fallen too, at a moment when we were least prepared to meet its vengeance, and when she was about to add a new, and a more endearing claim to our attachment.—Her Royal Highness has been snatched from us, at an hour when the fond and eager anticipations of anxious loyalty were hailing her, the Mother of “a line of Kings,” were picturing her the future Sovereign of a people who loved, admired, and reverenced her. Those prospects, the inscrutable decrees of Heaven have rendered vain, and the ardency of disappointed hope serves now but to embitter present calamity. It has brought to us one other awful lesson of the insecurity of all human bliss, and the instability of all earthly greatness; it has proclaimed, that in the grave the Sovereign and the subject are alike undistinguished, and that rank, wealth, and happiness, are equally defenceless against the dire advances of Life's last foe. Like a blossom which expands but to give promise of its future loveliness, the lone bud has been severed from its native stem, and while the Parent root yet flourishes in strength and vigour, its opening leaves are withered by the passing blast, and every fond anticipation lies buried in the grave that hides its beauty. We have not only to mourn the loss of Her Royal Highness as our future Queen, as the depositary of a Nation's hopes, and prayers, and affections,—as the presumptive heiress of a Realm in which she should sustain all the glory of her departed ancestors, but we have also to lament the wreck of all those fondly cherished expectations, with which we were prepared to congratulate her fulfilment of a Nation's dearest wishes, in becoming the living mother of a living child. —How dreadful now is the reverse!—

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“All things which we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary 1"

On Her Royal Highness the hopes of the Nation had for many years fondly rested, and the shock has come upon us like one of those awful convulsions of Nature, where no warning voice is heard, until all around is ruin, and desolation, and death. Even yet, the flatttering thought of its impossibility will sometimes start upon our listless moments, as if it were a dream too horrible for memory, but again the sad reality returns, in all its distressing certainty of waking truth, and forces our conviction. The Princess was indeed an Englishwoman 1 and posses; a mind influenced by more than feminine firmness, and an heart whi

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