ONE hundred years ago, the British empire had a wide and peaceful sovereignty. Its metropolitan and colonial authority was secure and undisputed. The promises of a revolution, which had changed the tenure of the sovereign if not ascertained the rights of the subject, were realized in new limits to prerogative, new security to parliament, new impulse to industry, and new protection to the people. The sober reason of the British nation approved the administration of the government. But between this sober judgment, with all the strength which gratitude for these blessings gave it, and the affections of the people, there was still a struggle; and the naturalized princes of the house of Brunswick, whom the revolution had placed upon the throne, from time to time were made to feel that sympathy for a family of exiled native princes was lurking in the bosoms of their subjects. In Scotland, bound to England by what was then thought an unnatural union, these sympathies were most active; and the memory of her native princes, loyalty to the name of Stuart -- the sight of deserted palaces -- a buried crown and sceptre, were cherished in the Scottish heart with devotion that burned not the less intensely because it burned in secret. There was scarcely a Highland dell or Lowland castle, which had not secret worshippers kneeling in proud devotion at an empty shrine.
On the 19th July, 1745, a small armed vessel appeared off the coast of Moidart. It came to anchor, and there landed on the Scottish shores a young and gallant prince. He came to claim what he proudly called his own, and he claimed it through the affections of loyal Scotland. The