5. The Law of the Land.
In the evening a brilliant exhibition of fireworks was played off, under the direction of signior Pietro; during which the populace were regaled with a proper distribution of liquor. The day concluded with a ball, at which were present near three hundred gentlemen and ladies. The late duchess of Devonshire, surrounded by the bloom of the Derbyshire hills, presented a picture scarcely to be portrayed. Nearly two hundred and fifty ball-tickets were received at the door.
The warm expression of gratitude and affection sparkling in every eye must have excited in the breasts of those noble personages, whose ancestors were the source of this felicity, a sensation which monarchs in all their glory might envy. The utmost harmony and felicity prevailed throughout the whole meeting. A hogshead of ale was distributed to the populace at Whittington, and three hogsheads at Chesterfield; where the duke of Devonshire gave also three guineas to each of the eight clubs.
At this meeting party distinctions were forgotten. Persons of all ranks and denominations wore orange and blue in memory of the great event; and the most respectable Roman Catholic families vied in their endeavours to show how just a sense they had of the value of civil liberty.[396]
The Rev. P. Cunningham, of Eyam, a place which readers of the [last sheet] can scarcely have forgotten, addressed some stanzas to the Rev. Samuel Pegge, the rector of Whittington, on occasion of the festivity, together with the following
Ode
For the Revolution Jubilee, 1788.
When lawless power his iron hand,
When blinded zeal her flaming brand
O’er Albion’s island wav’d;
Indignant freedom veil’d the sight;
Eclips’d her son of glory’s light;
Her fav’rite realm enslav’d.
Distrest she wander’d:—when afar
She saw her Nassau’s friendly star
Stream through the stormy air:
She call’d around a patriot band;
She bade them save a sinking land;
And deathless glory share.
Her cause their dauntless hearts inspir’d,
With ancient Roman virtue fir’d,
They plough’d the surging main;
With fav’ring gales from Belgia’s shore
Her heaven-directed hero bore,
And freedom crown’d his reign.
With equal warmth her spirit glows,
Though hoary Time’s centennial snows
New silver o’er her fame.
For hark, what songs of triumph tell,
Still grateful Britons love to dwell
On William’s glorious name.