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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 bril

liant 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 his 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 fallen 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."

A. H. EVERETT..

XXVII.—THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.

S

I.

O goes the world;-if wealthy, you may call

This, friend, that, brother;-friends and brothers 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.

II.

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,

'Tis all in vain;-the world will ne'er inquire

On such a score:-Why should it take the pains? 'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.

III.

I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise:-he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever

66

Gave him a welcome. Strange!" cried I, "whence is it?"
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some

Said by their silence-"Better stay at home."

IV.

A rich man burst the door;

As Croesus rich, I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit,
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;

He had what's better; he had wealth.

What a confusion!-all stand up erect--
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.

"Allow me, sir, the honor;"-Then a bow
Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?

V.

The poor man hung his head,

And to himself he said,

"This is indeed beyond my comprehension:" Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,

And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?"-"That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other-"have you never heard,

A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?”

KHEMNITZER.

XXVIII.-ARRAIGNMENT OF CATILINE.

OW far, O Catiline! wilt thou abuse our patience?

H How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad

career? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch, posted to secure the Palatium*? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present?

2. Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed?—that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to the knowledge of every man here in the Senate?—that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night; of the night before; the place of meeting, the company convoked, the measures concerted?

3. O, the times! O, the morals of the times! The Senate understand all this. The Consul sees it. And yet the traitor lives! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in council, presumes to take part in our deliberations,—and, with his calculating eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter! And we, the while, think we have amply discharged our duty to the State, if we do but succeed in warding off this madman's sword and fury!

4. Long since, O Catiline! ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the destruction thou hast been plotting against others! There was in Rome that virtue once, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. For thee, Catiline, we have still a law. Think not, because we are forbearing, that we are powerless.

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5. We have a statute, though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard, a statute which makes thy life the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I do not doubt that

* Pronounced Pă-la'-she-ŭm.

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