it though he work in chains for six days out of the seven, or without it he will die, and thus escape the lash of his cruel taskmaster. Some change of a pleasurable character, to relieve the monotony of a life of labor, is necessary for all; but, what is most to the purpose, we can withhold it from none, we can merely choose the form it shall assume.

This is, then, the real question at issue, whether we shall leave the people, while in a low moral state, to choose their own sources of gratification (although we may know that while in that state, they will choose such as will be of a low and debasing character) or shall we first enable them to appreciate, and then place within their reach rational and intellectual enjoyments. In short, will you have prizefighting, bull-baiting, gambling, Tom and Jerry amusements, a taste encouraged for witnessing executions and reading of murders; will you have intemperance as a means of excitement, rendered all but universal, or will you allow an art like that of Music to be cultivated in their place, and teach society to obey the laws of harmony both in a moral and scientific sense?

I am aware there are many objections which might be urged, and which are continually urged against the theory I have advanced. It is true that music is sometimes made a ruling passion too strong for human guidance. To prevent such a result, we ought not to confine our instruction to Music. The more we can multiply the means of enjoyment, and increase the resources of an individual, the more do we diminish the power of any one passion, which might otherwise gain exclusive possession of the mind; and this is more especially the case with regard to the gratifications of sense.

For example, the man who gives way to the vice of intoxication does so, because in drinking he has one source of enjoyment ;-render him a musician, of however humble a grade, and you then give him two sources of enjoyment: better still if you can give him three or four others; and what then is more certain than that just in proportion as you increase his love for the more intellectual source of pleasure, do you diminish his fondness for that which is merely a vice productive of misery in the end to himself and connexions?

I shall not have time to notice in detail a host of objections belonging to the class of those which may be urged generally against every thing good and useful, liable to abuse. We may at once admit, that a love of Music, ill regulated and mis-directed, may become an evil; but what is the object of education if it be not to teach us how to regulate our pursuits whether of business or pleasure,—to teach us how to distinguish between the use and abuse of that which is good, and to impress upon the mind the lesson that what is useful in moderation, may be hurtful in excess ? Why, even religion itself may become an evil;-when its holiest truths are mixed up with, and made to strengthen, the falsehoods of superstition; or when stimulating an overexcited imagination or preying upon a morbid temperament, it gives to insanity its most frightful form; or when taking exclusive possession of a mind under the influence of zeal without knowledge, it produces a blind fanaticism; but this would not be an argument for banishing from our schools the doctrine of a superintending Providence, or for withholding a knowledge of the facts upon which is founded the hope of futurity.

RELIGION.

In the depth of the dim wood, in some grey cave, on the wild sea-shore, or on the balmy mountain-top, in some sweet solitude, beautiful as the passed Life, peaceful as that life's rest, would Love lay the ashes of the Loved. With his own hands would he fashion her last couch. Unannoyed by the obtrusiveness of strangers, by the heedlessness of hirelings; unaided save by the loving and lamenting, the Widowed would perform the last office for the dust that needeth no service. There would his grief seek comfort, communing in silence and tranquility with that loveliness wherein the Most Beautiful yet might seem to linger: sure that no unholy tread should profane the hallowed earth; that no unmoistened eye should laugh to scorn the heart's fidelity; that no rude hand should rend the flowers drooping o'er that purest breast, wherefrom their gentle being drew light, and fragrance, and an echoing of melodious beauty.

Why is the trampling of hirelings in the house of mourning? Why do not the hands that smoothed the pillow of sickness, bear the outworn to the couch of rest? Why should the utterance of the most solemn partings be the bought and formal words of cold-hearted or careless strangers and hirelings? If the awed silence of grief must be broken, when earth receives back her own, and the spirit returns to God, and the place of the lovely is vacant-who should speak the words of consolation but those whose affections have been already ministrant; who should say Farewell! but the One most wittful for the traveller's welfare? What hindereth this? what unpitying hate mocketh the thrall of grief, trampling on the sorrow broken? It is the World's Religion. It is the world's command that human thoughts and human passions shall bow down before accustomed forms, the world's irreligious forms! RELIGION is not custom; it is no legal ordinance; it is not line upon line, or precept upon precept; it is not a changeful thing of Time, a habit of Yesterday. True Religion is the melody that dwelleth in all things, omnipresent and eternal, whose manifestations and ministerings are the echoings of that BEAUTY which is the soul of the Universe. What have forms and ceremonies, arbitrarily established, and to be bought and sold, and forced or counterfeited, to do with Religion? Shall we be content with wearing the form of a heart? Alas that the services from humanity to humanity, which should be rendered freely and lovingly, should be shut up in a den of thieves, in the poor storehouses of Commerce, only to be bought when spoiled and worthless! There is no religion in a hired and prescribed service. It is not religious to buy a few hypocritical phrases to throw into the grave of the Beloved. The pompous hearse, the feathers and the mutes, the pall, the passing under an arched roof, where unconcerned officials prate by rote, the crowding of sorrow and curiosity, of pity and trade, around the grave, the reading of appointed words, the indecent and businesslike lowering of the coffin, the trampling over the dead to disentangle ropes, the after refreshment at some hostelry, and the distribution of gloves and hatbands—these are not religious forms, but formal insults cast at the religion of humanity, at the poetry of the human heart.

The law-ordained mummery is over. Priests and bearers are laughing over the wages of their trouble. The grass is growing over the grave. In some confined corner where

the dead are thrust, as if the living would forget them : amid the many monuments of ostentation and hypocrisy, which make burial-grounds like masons' show-rooms; there is one record that lieth not. It needs no epitaph. Enough, that the Loved was there laid to rest. There is no marble monument exquisitely and elaborately sculptured, but living things are drooping over that grave; and the Religion of Sorrow is there. The little children, carelessly sporting among the tombs, gay as the flowers upon the green hillocks -seem they with their lightheartedness to profane this worship? Theirs too is a religious service: the thanksgiving laugh of healthful childhood on the very lap of Death. Doth the flower-bearing and buoyant Spring insult the bygone Winter? Do not the fair Wind-flowers bloom amid the dead leaves of last Autumn's scattering? Not in the carelessness of inexperienced childhood, but in the heedlessness of observant manhood (or manhood which ought to be observant), is the insult to religion. The children have approached the grave. Their merriment is hushed at the sight of tears. Wondering, yet in simplicity and faith they pay the Religious homage of Pity. O, thou strict religionist! which is the better form-the pious earnestness of the paid priest, or the promise of the little child that she will tend the flowers upon the grave, and keep her playmates from injuring them? Dry thine eyes, dear Child! Resume thy truthful laugh! It is the solemnity of the unpitying stranger that is offensive.

Why linger we in the place of graves? Away, over the sunny fields, to the forest glades! Is there not religion there? Listen to the sky-piercing lark!

"Like a star of heaven,

In the broad day-light Thou art unseen,

:

but yet I hear thy shrill delight."

Hear and heed! for the bird's song is a holier hymn than the organ-aided Te Deum. The air is filled with the words of innumerable thanksgivings. Not alone the lovemusic of the birds, the melodious humming of the bees, which greet the ears even of those who listen not; from the busy ant world ariseth the multitudinous echoings of the myriad footfalls, the rustling as of far voices, the warm winds are whispering in the tree-tops. There is enjoyment everywhere and Enjoyment is thankfulness, is Religion. There is music everywhere: and Harmony is Religion. Follow the gurgling brook that dances over the pebbles to the sound of its own mirth; and if thou hast Poetry—which is Religion-in thy soul, learn from that how holy is melody! If thou hast poetry!-Who can be destitute of the Spirit of God? Were we not all made in God's image in the likeness of the Spiritual? Then are the Poets God's Prophets, they alone the Redeemers of mankind, they the most devout worshippers of Nature's Spirit; whose earnest contemplations find

"Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."

See the stream gushing over yon ledge of mossy rock; the wayfarer halteth there to slake his thirst. Tired with his day's march, yet more worn with his life's journeying, is the traveller. He is a man of trade-of craft and guile; but, as he drinks the clear water from the hollow of his hand, a smile of gratitude leapeth from his grey eyes, through the veil of the accustomed caution; and he passeth on his way, a better man for that momentary devotion. Let him sell his wares as honestly as the despotic Rules of Commerce will allow!-What beareth he? Linen for priest's vest

ments; fine linen for the altars' covering. What! are even the things dedicated to God matters of dishonest speculation? In the purchased garment (perhaps the very money which purchased it having been stolen-why not violence as well as the fraud of traffic ?) God's minister stands between God's altar and God's children. They may not utter the feelings which demand expression: he must speak not the meaning of their thoughts, but a monotonous form of words, which, perhaps, suits not the feelings of any. He stands between the people and the altar. Alas! even the altar is covered with an unclean altar-cloth; and the inscription thereon is hidden from the worshippers. "God is a spirit: and they, who worship him, must worship him in spirit and in truth." Thou, who callest thyself the Priest of the Holy One! why liest thou to the people? why hidest thou the inscription of the altar? Is the senseless jargon of an antiquated ritual, a worship of the spirit? Can there be truth in the worship of the multitude, when the same inexpressive words are put into the mouths of all, their circumstances so widely differing? (Thanksgiving for the oppressed and sorehunted, calm looking to God for the oppressor: contrition, bewailing of enormities, confession of intolerable misery, from the innocent and happy; and promises of blessing for the selfish and unrelenting.) Is it religion to enact laws, that only upon certain days the Supreme Beneficence shall be worshipped, that only in certain forms he shall be permitted to receive worship? Though their words were of divinest eloquence, yet marvel not that this word-religion rules not the lives of those from whose hearts it proceeded not. Marvel not, that those, who are compelled hypocrites before God, should be liars to their fellow men; that the curse of their blasphemy against the Holy Spirit pursueth them to their homes; that they live without faith, without hope, saying with the fool-There is no God; all men are liars; all things are a mockery!

Back again to the forest haunts! Out of the world's war sometimes, lest thy heart be possessed by hypocrisy, and the worship of Nature and Truth become an undesired thing!

"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;

The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration."

Are not these God's worshippers? Are not they too, religious-yon love-stricken youth and maiden, in whose hearts is the burden of a hymn of sweet accord, more musical than the moonlight or that thrilling melody. He is one whose brows have been sealed with the kiss of Love, one chosen to bear Love's name through the battle of Life; and shelook into those deep blue eyes, that meet the moon's gaze with answering beauty! What need is there of words? Beauty communeth with Beauty! the Beautiful is never silent. Spirit of Love! this is thy holiest worship; this thine own religion. Priest and Devotee! be silent. Here is a better creed than ye have ever taught or learned! BEST RELIGION IS LOVE: THE BEST WORSHIP IS HAPPINESS!

THE

In the heart-thrill that echoes that impassioned embrace, there is a melody more grateful to the Universal Harmony; in that intense gaze, which seeth a home in the far world, is the expression of the holiest faith that ever passed o'er mortal lips. These are God's appointed priests; these have entered the Holy of Holies: ever, in the truthfulness of their heart's religion, are they devoted to the service of the Eternal: these are the Ministers of Good to Humanity— equally with the Apostle of the Beautiful, the Messenger of LOVE, to prepare His way before Him, who, from grey youth to dim age, beareth the Good Tidings over the fearful earth; unarmoured for his heart is bare; homeless, save when he resteth him from his long travail in the far-spreading shadow of the Accomplished; and unaccompanied, save by the Spirit of his own Destiny, whose severe eyes look lovingly upon him, who guideth him through the untracked wilderness, upstaying his feebleness, cheering him with words of Hidden Melody, and leading him equally and gently to the mooned night of Death-the portal of the Morrow's Life.

RELIGION IS NOT FORM, BUT HEART WORSHIP.

TO A MOURNER.

Oh, weep not o'er the quiet grave,
Altho' the spirit lost be near;
Weep not, for well those phantoms know
How vain their grief above their bier.

Weep not, oh no, 'tis best to die,
E'er all of bloom from life is fled;
Why live, when feelings, friends, and faith,
Have long been numbered with the dead.
They know no rainbow hope that weeps
Itself away to deepest shade;
Nor love, whose very happiness
Should make the trusting heart afraid.

Ah! human tears, are tears of fire,
That scorch and wither as they flow:
Then let them fall for those who live,
And not for those who sleep below.
Yes, weep for those, whose silver chain
Has long been loosed, and yet live on;
Their doom to drink from life's dark spring,
Whose golden bowl has long been gone.
Oh, weep for those the weary worn,
Tho' bound to earth by some vain tie;
Some lingering love, some fond regret,
Who loathe to live, yet fear to die.

R.

THE REBEL.

BY JAMES WHITTLE.

Il etoit comme un beau cheval, qui n'a point de bouche; son courage le pouissoit au hazard, la sagesse ne moderoit pas sa valeur.

TELEMAQUE.

In a period of the last century ever to be remembered in Ireland, Philip Mahon, the representative of a respectable family, and the inheritor of an ample patrimony, held a distinguished rank among the country gentlemen of the champagne county of The independence of his sentiments, no less than of his fortunes, left him nothing to desire from the favor of the court; his disinterested and useful ambition was fully gratified by the honour of representing his Majesty on the bench of justices, and by the deference which was paid to his opinion by his brethren of the quorum; a deference to which his early habits of attention to business, and his long practice in its details had fully entitled him; though he chose rather to refer it to his having, while his father's life interfered between the expectancy and possession of his ample fortunes, assumed the honours of the gown, and opened more than one case at the assizes of his native county. Since his brother justices did not inquire how much of the learning of the law he retained, when he laid aside its symbols, we need not; he at least had not forgotten the convivial humour and anecdote of the bar; and when, to these qualifications, and to those we have before described, we add the easy confidence of a man early trained to the world, the frank and unaffected courtesy of manner, the liberal hospitality with which he did the honours of his house,-and what is not to be overlooked, his skill in the mysteries of draining land, and breeding cattle; and above all, a proficiency, in which he yielded to none of his compeers, in the science of the chase, we may estimate the consideration in which he was held among them. But he was even less respected by his equals in rank than he was beloved and reverenced by the people. A judicious, as well as generous landlord, he entered into the interests of his tenantry, he encouraged their industry, promoted and assisted their improvements, and was always ready to lighten the burden of casualties by taking a part of the load on his own shoulders. As a magistrate, he never sought to wrest the law to his authority, except in cases where its severity bore hard upon the humble, and where humanity dictated that mercy should temper justice. In matters of local dispute, the equity of his decisions was proverbial; he became the general arbiter of all the jarring interests of his vicinage, and seldom indeed was there an appeal from his judgment.

In any other country, the respect which the people entertained for him, would have ripened into an attachment, which nothing could have shaken; but there was that in the political constitution of Ireland which forbad this to be; and events soon proved how vainly the claims of individual character seek to reunite the links of society, when they are severed by the circumstances of a political relation, which places every member of one class inevitably, however involuntarily, in the position of a wrong doer to, every member of another.

The early events of the French Revolution, which seemed to open an æra auspicious to the happiness of mankind, which dissolved the chains of feudal tyranny in the breath of popular opinion, and promised the peaceful improvement and reconstruction of the most ancient monarchy of Europe,

darted new light into the minds of the people of all the surrounding nations, once more appealed to them as the source of power and authority, and fermenting in the thoughts of men, appeared to threaten the whole fabric of European society with a resolution into new and untried forms.

As there was no country in which power had been more abused than in Ireland, so there was none in which the doctrines of popular right, when preached for the first time, were devoured with greedier ears. The hostilities of dif ferent classes of the people, the views of different discontented parties were then, for the first time, mingled in a general, though secret determination for a struggle for national independence and a free republic. Such were the objects of the heads of the confederacy; the people, too generally in circumstances and in a disposition which left them little to fear from change, easily caught the hopes that were held out to them; the weaker voice of those who were still anxious to stay revolution by timely concession, was drowned in the clamours of parties now ranged in deadly hostility to each other, and precipitated to extremities by interests, prejudices, and passions, that would not admit a compromise. The contagion crept silently through the people. It influenced last those whose present circumstances gave them the most to abandon for the chances of change; but it still gradually pervaded all the lower ranks, till the county and the tenantry of Philip Mahon were involved in the designs and the fortunes of the United Irishmen.

His habits of thought, his principles, his predilections, no less than his interests, ranged their landlord, without a moment's hesitation, on the side of the government. His known loyalty placed him beyond impeachment or suspicion, his integrity and humanity preserved his influence among the people; and his weight with both parties fixed him in the happy situation of a moderator, and enabled him to prevent those furious ebullitions of mingled fear, suspicion, and wrath, into which the local and military commanders of other districts were hurried; and which, extinguishing the charities of nature, taught the minds of the people to gloat on the thoughts of a future and dreadful retribution.

Using, for the laws' defence, the powers with which they invested him, he neither sought nor exercised a new authority; active and energetic in suppressing all commotion, he performed the part of a faithful magistrate, but disdained to foment by treachery or hired espionage, the plots which were gathering round him. Calm and collected, he watched the coming storm, determined that whatever it might sweep before it, his own integrity should survive the wreck. What blood and tears had been spared the country had Ireland been then ruled in such a spirit!

It was on the 27th of May, in the memorable year 1798, that he was assembled with his brother magistrates, to determine on the steps which the portentious appearance of the country rendered necessary to counteract an immediate movement, when a messenger arrived with the news of the first success of the insurgents in Wicklow under Priest Murphy of Balavogue. It could not be doubted that the peasantry were already in possession of intelligence which would be so welcome to them, and that it would precipitate them into some act of open hostility to the government. Arrangements were made for the most effectual disposition of the military force for the purpose of controlling it; and

Mahon, as a last effort, to prevent the effusion of blood, determined to take upon himself the charge of a personal interview with the head of the government, in order to provide for the most prompt and effective movements, in case of their being driven to the last resort; and to obtain in the meantime, renewed assurances of indemnity for all who would return in time to their allegiance. His carriage was at the door of the county court-house, where the meeting had been held; the horses' heads were turned towards Dublin, and he set out with the determination of arriving there that night, and returning to his post in the morning, to meet the events of the coming day.

On reaching town, he left his carriage at his own house, to afford the men and horses as much time as possible for refreshment, and proceeded at once to the castle. Though it was eleven o'clock, he found the yard still crowded with equipages and servants, and military messengers. The council were sitting in conference on the news of hostile movements received from all parts of the country, giving occasional audience to many who arrived on errands similar to his own, and despatching orders and instructions in all directions. After a delay which seemed to his impatience immeasurably tedious, and every moment of which was, to his imagination, crowded with many dangers, he was admitted to an audience. He briefly pointed out the necessity of an immediate increase and concentration of the military force in the quarter from which he came, and was dismissed, with assurances of support, and with ample powers to include whomsover he might think proper in the general amnesty. When he returned to his house, he found his lady standing in the hall, impatiently waiting his arrival, and prepared, at all risks, to accompany him on, his departure. He so little apprehended personal danger that he offered no opposition, and in a few minutes, he was again upon the road.

The sun was just rising as he repassed the borders of his own county. He had, the day before, observed the fields, usually so busy at this season of the year, abandoned by the husbandmen, the preparation for the future neglected, and men, women, and children, scattered in listless groups, as if in the determination not to toil on the crop which they might never gather. The indications were now even more formidable. The hills were here and there occupied by numerous bodies, without much of military splendour, or military order; but which the reflection of the morning beams from their steel-headed pikes proclaimed prepared to try their strength with the forces of the king. The road was crowded with the carriages of many travellers, who seemed flying to a place of safety; while the foot passengers, avoiding the open road, and all in arms, were proceeding across the fields, singly, or in small groups, to their places of general rendezvous.

Mahon half repented of his brief absence; he looked anxiously forward for some indication that the authorities and the troops were also in motion; and was occupied, now in urging the postilion to his utmost speed, and now in soothing the rising alarms of the companion of his journey, when, at a sudden turn in the road, where it was contracted between two hills, he found the way completely filled by an armed body, who were advancing in good order; the first ranks filled with familiar faces, and the whole under the command of Kennedy, the most trusted and valued of his farm servants.

As they exchanged the glance of mutual recognition,

both parties stopped involuntarily. The rebels neither obstructed the carriage, nor opened the way to let it pass. Mr. Mahon instantly threw open the door, and alighted; his lady, half re-assured by the countenances of those on whom she had lsvished a thousand acts of kindness, half distrusting their now hostile appearance, hesitated whether to withhold or to accompany him, and with one foot upon the steps, hung in the deepest agitation on his shoulder. Supporting her, and at the same time, re-seating her with a gentle violence in the carriage, he encouraged her only by pressing her hand in his own, as Kennedy advanced tovanced towards him-his pike in his left hand, his hat in his right, with a demeanour full of confidence, but more than usually respectful. The manly open countenance of the rustic was raised, and his full, steady eye was brightened with that enthusiasm which the boldness of his enterprise, and the expectation of the coming fight might be expected to breathe into minds of coarser mould than Kennedy's; his motions were marked by the untaught grace which nature sometimes confers upon a perfect form: and while reverence for his recent master checked the exultation of his heart, and tempered the triumph of his looks, he appeared with an air of as "dignified submission" as ever graced a votary of chivalry.

"Good God! Kennedy!" exclaimed the magistrate, "what madness possesses you, and whither do you lead these people ?"

“Our madness, sir,” replied he, "is the love of Ireland; and we go to fight for our religion and equal laws, to drive out the stranger, and to make our country what she ought to be-free and happy.

"Foolish men!" cried Mr. Mahon earnestly, "you go to ruin, you are dragging destruction on your own heads. What do you complain of, or what can you accomplish? Hear me, good countrymen, return, while you are yet safe, to your homes and to your duty. I know there are brave men amongst you, but what can you effect with arms like these against the King's forces, and against a train of artillery that will sweep you into dust? They are already in the field; your friends will be dispersed before you can join them; you only go to share their flight, to spill your blood in vain, and to bring misery upon your helpless families. It was but this morning that I left the Lord Lieutenant; I hold here in my hand a written assurance of pardon for every man whom I choose to include in the gracious promise. Turn back with me while it is yet time; and, on the word of a man and the honour of a gentleman, not a hair of your heads shall be injured !”

Kennedy, who had stood aside whilst Mr. Mahon thus addressed the people, now turned himself towards them. "My friends, you hear the words of a man, who never gave you bad counsel, who never broke a promise made to you. Let no man say that Kennedy stood between him and safety; if you choose to return, no harm will reach you. You may sit in safety under the shelter of the roofs that others are fighting to make your own. If you choose to return-" He was here interrupted by a voice from the more distant crowd, "What traitor talks of turning? Will the coward sell us to his master? Down with the Sassenach !"

Some pikes were brandished, and while those who knew him stood irresolute, a threatening movement was made towards the carriage by some strangers of the party. Kennedy, advancing his pike, leaped in their way, and shouted

aloud, "Would you draw the wrath of God, and the curse of innocent blood, on yourselves and on your cause? What villain would raise his hand against the poor man's friend? Who dares call Kennedy a traitor? March against the troops who are in arms to meet you, and the last drop of my blood shall be poured out by your side. But will you murder in cold blood the best landlord in Ireland? The man that lays a hand upon Mr. Mahon must step across my body!"

The assassins shrank abashed from the encounter of his spear and eye. He took advantage of the moment, turned, and assisted Mr. Mahon into his carriage, who seeing remonstrance vain, submitted in silence; as Kennedy closed the door, he fervently ejaculated, "You are safe, thank God! Go; and may the blessing of Heaven attend you. We cannot turn back from the business we have in hand; but, come what will, we have not forgot the kind friend and generous landlord." The ranks opened in silence; the cariage passed rapidly on, and by another turn in the defile was hidden from the rebels, as with a unanimous shout they again set forward on their march.

Mr. Mahon soon arrived at his mansion, which he found in the occupation, and under the protection of a detachment of soldiers. He had the satisfaction of learning, that the designs of the insurgents had been anticipated, that the troops were afoot, and so disposed as to intercept the different bodies on their march and prevent their junction in formidable numbers; and at the same time so as to admit, if necessary, of prompt concentration. In this county the rebellion was controlled rather than suppressed; the detached bodies of the peasantry were in general dispersed, almost without the effusion of blood, and finding their plans counteracted, frequently separated on the mere appearance of the military.

Most of the tenants of Mr. Mahon had, before the next evening, quietly and separately regained their homes. Many, however, were missing, and among these Kennedy. It soon transpired that they had joined the main body of the insurgents; which alone had made a serious stand; and at the foot of a hill, where they had taken up their position, for a while resisted the King's forces. Kennedy was seen in the foremost ranks, fighting with a desperate courage; and when the cavalry, after renewed charges, had found a passage through their lines in the dreadful gaps that were opened by the grape shot of the artillery, and they again attempted to rally on the summit of the hill, he was every where conspicuous in his efforts to cheer the courage and to reanimate the hopes of his comrades; to stop the flying, and to induce them, by every appeal that example or entreaty could urge, to turn once more against the foe. When it was found that all was lost; and when the scattered remnant who had gathered together in disorder and trepidation on the brow of that fatal hill, were silently and rapidly dispersing, to escape the renewed attack that was about to be made upon them, and which was only suspended until the cavalry had breathed their horses and restored their ranks, he was seen the last and alone, still turned in dogged and stupified resolution towards the enemy, shaking his pike with the fury of a disappointed lion.

Whether he subsequently retreated, or whether the troops, pursuing the more collected fugitives, disdained to turn aside and follow a single man, or that being alone he escaped their observation, was not known. He did not, however, perish in the fight. He retired alone from