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advanced briskly. The English stood still, and received them with a dreadful fire. A fierce engagement followed, and after a long struggle the French were defeated. Montcalm and Wolfe were both mortally wounded.

The latter died on the field of battle. He had received a bullet in his wrist, and another in his leg, but he concealed these wounds, and pressed into the thickest of the fight; but by and by he was shot in the body, and carried off the field. When he was dying, he heard some one say, "They fly, they fly!" "Who fly?" said he. "The French," was the answer. "Then I die contented," said the hero ; and expired.

Five days after this battle, Quebec surrendered to the English, and has ever since remained in their possession. It is the capital of the British possessions in America, and the governor, appointed by the king, lives there.

I have frequently met with old men who were soldiers in this famous French war; and some of your great grandfathers, as I have already said, may have been. One of my great grandfathers was there; so he says. And so it may have been, for he will be 102 years old, next month, and must have been at that time over 20 years of age.

On the first page of this number, you see the picture of a monument erected to the memory of the two distinguished generals of the two armies who fell on

RELIGION OF THE DOG.

THE Rev. Henry Duncan, in his Philosophy of the Seasons, relates the following original anecdote of Burns:

"I well remember with what delight I listened to an interesting conversation, which, while yet a schoolboy, I enjoyed an opportunity of hearing in my father's manse, between the poet Burns and another poet, my near relation the amiable Blacklock. The subject was the fidelity of the dog.

It

Burns took up the question with all the ardor and kindly feeling with which the conversation of that extraordinary man was so remarkably imbued. was a subject well suited to call forth his powers; and, when handled by such a man, not less suited to interest the youthful fancy. The anecdotes by which it was illustrated have long escaped my memory; but there was one sentiment expressed by Burns with his own characteristic enthusiasm, which, as it threw a new light into my mind, I shall never forget.

'Man,' said he, is the God of the He knows no other; he can understand no other; and see how he wor

dog.

ships him! With what reverence he crouches at his feet; with what love he fawns upon him; with what dependence he looks up to him, and with what

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safety.

DISASTER AT WALPOLE, N. H.

In the town of Walpole, in New Hampshire, on the stage road from Brattleborough in Vermont to Windsor, over Cold Water river, a small stream running into the Connecticut, and not far from its mouth, is a bridge about 150 feet long.

As the mail stage with a number of passengers in it was passing over this bridge a few weeks since, as soon as the stage came upon the bridge, it broke away from its abutments and floated down the stream, with the stage and passengers all on it.

Soon after it began to float, it turned round and began to go down the stream endways. The ladies, of whom there were three, were very much frightened, and every attempt was made to get them on shore, but the stream was high and rapid, and all efforts were unavailing. Their only hope of escape was, in the belief that the bridge would hold together, till it got into the Connecticut river and had floated across to the opposite shore. The horses were un

When the bridge came into the river, instead of floating across to the opposite side, it broke to pieces, and those who occupied it were now precipitated into the river. Two of the ladies, both from Charlestown near this city, soon sunk, to rise no more. The third was held up for some time by one of the gentlemen passengers; but at last he was obliged to let go of her, and she was also drowned. The rest of the company, all males, escaped with their lives, though the driver was very much bruised.

It was a most sad accident indeed. Two of the women who were drowned were the mistresses of families, and had young children. They were returning after a season of absence to see their friends. Alas! they will meet them no more in this world.

It is hoped the town of Walpole will be required to pay a heavy price for suffering such an old crazy bridge to go so long unrepaired. True, this will not restore the poor lost females to their bereaved families,-to their motherless babes; but it may prevent others from suffering a similar fate, by similar carelessness.

KNIVES AND FORKS. These were made to use in our eating. For though hands were made first, knives, and forks, and spoons, and plates are very useful.

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THE VINDICTIVE MONKEY.

[THOSE who are determined to wreak their revenge on persons who injure or ill treat them, will do well to remember what animal they resemble when they do so! Will rational beings be willing to act like the brute monkey?]

A painter was once busily employed in decorating, with fancy colors, some carved work on the stern of a French brig which lay in the harbor of Marseilles -and had a stage suspended for that purpose. A monkey which belonged to the captain of an American vessel, moored almost in contact with the stern of the brig, appeared much interested in the progress of the decorations, and watched the artist very closely-and occasionally as if he wished to criticise or ridicule the performance, he would grin and chatter most furiously.

The painter, although at first amused, soon became indignant at the insolent bearing of the monkey, and while Jacko was in the midst of a critical dissertation, and appeared hugely tickled at being able to discompose the nerves of the artist, the latter thrust his largest brush, well charged with a beautiful verdigris green, full in the mouth of the chattering quadruped.

Jacko retreated to his habitation, exhibiting manifest signs of wrath and indignation. The captain of the vessel, who was well acquainted with the character of the monkey, who would never suffer a trick to be played upon him, without retorting in kind, advised the

painter to be particularly cautious, or the monkey would do him some injury.

The painter, however, laughed at the idea-and soon after left his work, and entered a coffee house on the quay, where in drinking a cup of coffee, and in conversation with some friends, he passed half an hour.

In his absence the monkey left his retreat-and passed through a port on to the painter's stage, where all his pots, brushes, &c., were deposited. He commenced an attack on the which ropes held the stage—and employed his time so well that, before the painter appeared, two of them were nearly severed-and when the unsuspecting artist placed his foot on the stage for the purpose of resuming his work, the ropes broke, and painter, pots, paints, and brushes, were precipitated without ceremony into the dock.

Then commenced the triumph of the monkey, who sprang to the gunwale, and while gazing on his floundering foe, he evinced his delight by his gesticulations and his loud chatterings!

The artist was fished out, but his paints, of course were lost, and his clothes were saturated with the briny fluid. His rage was unbounded. As soon as he was safely landed, he seized a club, and rushed on board the vessel, threatening vengeance on the monkey, which he undoubtedly would have killed on the spot, had not Jacko wisely retreated to the main topmast cross trees, where he sat, looking down triumphant

ly on his enemy, who was pacing the deck, uttering imprecations innumerable.

The painter then proceeded to his house, and returned with his fowling piece well charged with buck shot, determined to bring Jacko down, by fair means or foul-but the captain, seeing the danger which was about to befal his mischievous favorite, appeased the anger of the painter by offering to pay him for the loss of his materials, and the damage to his clothes. A treaty was concluded -but Jacko could not easily be convinced of the sincerity of the opposite party, and fearing some mishap, maintained his position on the cross trees for several days.

THE OAK TREE.

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.

"WOODMAN, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me,

And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand

That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not! That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, And would'st thou hack it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke;

Cut not its earth-bound ties; O, spare that aged oak,

Now towering to the skies! When but an idle boy,

I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy

Here, too, my sisters play'd.

My mother kiss'd me here;

My father press'd my handForgive this foolish tear,

But let that old oak stand! My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave!

And, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save,

The axe shall harm it not."

THE ARCHER AND THE ARROW.

A FABLE.

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