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pended,-methinks I see, as I look to the American works, a horseman advancing towards them at full speed. He · must be some officer of high rank. As he crosses Bunker Hill, Gen. Putnam, also on horseback, rushes forward to

greet him.

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8. “Good Heavens! General Warren! is it you? I rejoice and regret to see you. Your life is too precious to be exposed in this battle. But since you are here, I take your orders.”

9. "General Putnam, I have none to give; you have made your arrangements. I come to aid you as a volunteer. Tell me where I can be useful.”

10. “Go then to the redoubt: you will there be covered.”

11. "I came not to be covered," replies the hero. “Tell me where I shall be most in danger,—where the battle will be hottest.”

12. “The redoubt,” replies Putnam,“ will be the enemy's object: if that can be defended, the day is ours.”

13. General Warren pursues his way to the redoubt. The troops recognize his person and welcome him with loud huzzas. Colonel Prescott offers to take his orders.

14. “No, Colonel Prescott, give me yours, --give me a musket. I have come to take a lesson of a veteran in the art of war."

15. It is now three o'clock. The signal is given by a general discharge of the field-pieces, for the movement of the British army. Their columns proceed slowly, to give the artillery time to take effect. The American drums beat to arms. Putnam, who is at work on Bunker Hill, quits his entrenchment and leads his men into action. I hear him addressing them.

16. “Powder is scarce and must not be wasted : reserve your fire till you see the whites of their eyes; then take aim at the officers."

17. The order is repeated along the whole line. The British are now within gunshot of the works. A few sharp shooters disobey their orders and fire.

18. "Fire again before the word is given at your peril." exclaims Prescott; "the next man that disobeys orders shall be instantly shot.”

19. Lieut. Colonel Robinson, who with Col. Buttrick had led the troops so gallantly at Concord on the 19th of April, runs round the top of the parapet and throws up the muskets. The British are at eight rods distance.

20. “Now, men! now is your time!” says the veteran Prescott. "Make ready! take aim ! fire!”

21. The smoke clears away and the whole hill-side is covered with the dead. The British return the fire: they rally: they attempt to advance. In vain. Victory! victory! They have turned their backs: they are flying from the field. Thus ends the first attack.




N ominous pause, like the lull that from time to time

interrupts the wildest tempest, prevails upon the scene of action, only broken by the occasional discharges of artillery from the ships and batteries. But the British are preparing for a second attack. Let us place ourselves again upon the opposite heights and mark its progress.

2. General Howe has rallied and re-organized his men: with unshaken intrepidity they advance through the tall grass, under the heat of a blazing summer sun, loaded with knapsacks of more than a hundred pounds weight, toward the lines. The artillery push forward to within three hundred yards of the defenses, and open their battery to prepare the way for the infantry. A deep silence broods over the American lines. The men are ordered to reserve their fire till the British are at six rods distance.

3. But while they are thus advancing, what new spectacle bursts upon the eyes of the assembled multitude and adds another, grander horror to the scene? What rolling clouds of smoke overspread the town? What sheets of living fire flash out from among them in all directions ? Charlestown is in flames! The British general, annoyed at his first onset by the fire of a detachment stationed in the town, has ordered it to be burned.

4. The ravenous element is now in full possession of the town. It devours with unrelenting fury house on house, and street on street. It reaches the church; envelops the large edifice in its embraces, and ascends to the sky on its lofty spire, like the brilliant explosion of some vast volcano. Where now shall helpless age and infancy fly for refuge? Where shall the mother conduct her child, when death in all its various horrid forms surrounds her alike at home and abroad?

5. But hark! what discordant clang breaks strangely on the ear through the noise of crackling flames and crashing edifices ? The beam that suspended the church bell is burnt off, and the bell, in falling through the ruins, rings continuously with a hoarse, unwonted, startling tone.

6. Far different was the voice with which that bell in happier times summoned the neighborhood to religious worship, or announced the arrival of some joyous holiday, or tolled in solemn sadness for the burial of the dead. But the sounds which it now sends forth are suited to the time: they are harsh and horrid, like the tumult around: they respond not unfitly to the roar of the batteries, the rattling of the musketry, the shouts, the shrieks, the groans, that make

up the fearful music of a field of battle. 7. Unawed by scenes like these, which in ordinary times would drive the dullest souls to desperation, the armies coolly prosecute their work. The British mount the hill by slow and regular approaches: they fire in platoons with all the precision of a holiday review, and, though without aim, not entirely without effect.

8. Meanwhile the Americans reserve their fire. At length, when the British are at only six rods distance, the order is given. The discharge takes place. Victory! once more victory !-Again the enemy are turning their backs! Again they are hurrying from the hill! Where are now the brilliant ranks that only a few moments since extended far and wide around its sides ?-Hundreds of the men have fallen, including some of the best officers. For the second time on this eventful day has the order been given for the British army to retreat.

9. Here ends the tale of triumph. Oh! that here too could end the story of the day! Let us hasten through the closing act of this glorious tragedy. Undaunted by this new repulse, the British general gives orders at once for a third attack. Enlightened by experience,-cured of their vain presumption,—they now adopt a more judicious plan. They throw aside their knapsacks, reserve their fire, and trust to the bayonet. They have discovered the vulnerable point in our incomplete defenses, and have brought up their artillery where it turns our works and enfilades the whole line.

10. In the mean time what remains for our gallant countrymen? Their ammunition is exhausted: they have no bayonets: no reinforcements arrive. They await with desperate resolution the onset of the British, prepared to repel them as best they may, with the few charges of powder and ball that are still left, with the butt ends of their muskets, and with stones.

11. Colonel Prescott perceives at last that further resistance is only a wanton sacrifice of valuable life, and issues the order to retreat. The Americans leave the redoubt and retire with little molestation from the field.

12. With little molestation did I say? Alas! one sacrifice, the dearest, greatest of all, is to be made :--one other victim, more precious than any that has yet been offered up, must be laid this day upon the altar of the country.Too rash,—too generous Warren! you have come to learn the art of war from a veteran soldier :-you have come to take nis orders :—but your desperate courage refuses to obey the last. On the right,-in front, -the enemy are pouring in upon you: on the left their artillery sweeps transversely through the works: ammunition, every thing is exhausted: the post is no longer tenable: your comrades are leaving you: the best, the bravest are in full retreat.

13. Still you linger! Hasten, gallant Warren! Honor, duty, command you to follow them !—Too late! A bullet has done the fatal work. "The beauty of Israel has fallea upon his high places!”

“How sleep the Brave, who sink to rest
With all their country's wishes blest?
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
It there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than blooming Fancy ever trod.
“By Fairy hands their knell is rung:
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honor walks, a pilgrim gray,
To deck the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall a while repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there.”




YO goes the world;—if wealthy, you may call

, all;

Though you are worthless—witless-never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy-what then ?
'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.


But if you are poor, Heaven help you! though your sire Had royal blood within him, and though you Possess the intellect of angels too, 'T is all in vain ;—the world will ne'er inquire On such a score : -Why should it take the pains ? 'T is easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

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