he to me, 'will you knock out the French sentry's brains?" 'I don't care,' says I, striving to keep myself awake, if I lend a land.' 'Then follow me,' says he; ' and I hope we shall do business.' So up I got, and tied my blanket (which was all the clothes I had) about my middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. 66 Though we had no arms, we went down to the door, where both the sentries were posted, and rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us ran together to the quay, and, seizing the first boat we met, got out of the harbour, and put to sea. We had not been here three days, before we were taken up by the Dorset privateer, who were glad of so many good hands, and we consented to run our chance. However, we had not as much luck as we expected. In three days we fell in with the Pompadour privateer, of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three, so to it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours, and I verily believe we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men left behind; but, unfortunately, we lost all our men just as we were going to get the victory. "I was once more in the power of the French, and I believe it would have gone hard with me had I been brought back to Brest; but by good fortune we were retaken by the Viper. I had almost forgot to tell you that in that engagement I was wounded in two places: I lost four fingers of the left hand, and my leg was shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg and the use of my hand on board a king's ship, and not aboard a privateer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life. But that was not my chance; one man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle. However, blessed be God! I enjoy good health, and will for ever love Liberty and Old England. Liberty, Property, and Old Engand for ever, huzza." Thus saying, he limped off, leaving me in admiration at his intrepidity and content. Nor could I avoid acknowledging that an habitual acquaintance with misery serves better than philosophy to teach us to despise it. INCIDENT IN THE FRENCH CAMP. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day; Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew Full galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy, By just his horse's mane, a boy; You looked twice ere you saw his breast "Well," he cried, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes: "YOU'RE WOUNDED!" " Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: “I'M KILLED, SIRE!" And, his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.-Browning. WILLIAM TELL. TELL, ALBERT (his Son), GESLER, and SARNEM. Sar. [to Tell.] Behold the Governor! Down, slave, upon thy knees, and beg for mercy. Ges. Does he hear? Sar. He does, but braves thy power. Down, slave, and ask for life. Ges. [to Tell.] Why speak'st thou not? Tell. For wonder! Yes, for wonder-that thou seem'st a man. Ges. What should I seem? Tell. A monster. Ges. Ha! Beware!-think on thy chains. Tell. Think on my chains! How came they on me? Ges. Enough; it may do that. Tell. No, not enough:-it cannot take away the grace of life-the comeliness of look that virtue gives-its port erect, with consciousness of truth-its rich attire of honourable deeds-its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues:-it cannot lay its hand on these, no more than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, or with polluted finger tarnish it. Ges. But it may make thee writhe. Tell. It may, and I may say, "Go on!" though it should make me groan again. Ges. Whence comest thou? Tell. From the mountains; there they watch no more the avalanche. Ges. Why so? Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane comes unawares upon them: from its bed the torrent breaks and finds them in its track Ges. What then? Tell. They thank kind providence it is not thou!-Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but the thought of thee doth wither to a curse as something they must lose, and had far better lack. Ges. "Tis well. I'd have them as their hills-that never smile, though wanton summer tempt them e'er so much. Tell. But they do sometimes smile. Ges. Ah-when is that? Tell. When they do talk of vengeance! and the true hands are lifted up to Heaven on every hill for justice on thee! Ges. [To Sarnem.] Lead in his son. Now I will take exquisite vengeance. [To Tell.] I would see thee make a trial of thy skill with that same bow. 'Tis said thy arrows never miss. Tell. What is the trial. Ges. Thou look'st upon thy guessest it. boy as though instinctively thou Tell. Look upon my boy! What mean you? Look upon my boy as though I guessed it!-Guessed at the trial thou wouldst have me make!-Guessed it-instinctively! Thou dost not mean-no, no-Thou wouldst not have me make a trial of my skill upon my child? Impossible! I do not guess thy meaning. Ges. I'd see thee hit an apple on his head, three hundred paces off. Tell. Great Heaven! Ges. On this condition I will spare his life and thine. Tell. Ferocious monster! make a father murder his own child! 'Tis beyond horror! 'tis too much for flesh and blood to bear. Ges. Dost thou consent? Tell. My hands are free from blood, and have no gust for it, that they should drink my child's. I'll not murder my boy for Gesler? Boy. You will not hit me, father. You'll be sure to hit the apple. Will you not save me, father? Tell. Lead me forth- I'll make the trial. Boy. Father Tell. Speak not to me;-let me not hear thy voice-thou must be dumb, and so should all things be-Earth should be dumb, and heaven, unless its thunder muttered at the deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. Give me my bow and quiver. Ges. When all is ready. Sarnem, measure hence the distance-three hundred paces. Tell. Will he do it fairly? Ges. What is't to thee, fairly or not? Tell. Oh, nothing! a little thing! a very little thing! I only shoot at my child! [Sarnem prepares to measure.] Villain, stop! You measure 'gainst the sun. Ges. And what of that? What matter whether to or from the sun? The sun should shine upon Tell. I'd have it at my back. the mark, and not on him that shoots: I will not shoot against the sun. Ges. Give him his way. [Sarnem paces and goes out.] Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit. Ges. There, take that. Tell. You've picked the smallest one. Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be the greater if thou hittest it. Tell. True!-true! I did not think of that. I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one had given me a chance to save my boy. Give me my bow and quiver. Ges. [To an attendant.] Give him a single arrow. Tell. Looks at it and breaks it.] Let me see my quiver. It is not one arrow in a dozen I would use to shoot with at a dove, much less a dove like that. Ges. Shew him the quiver. [Sarnem takes the apple and leads out the boy to place them; meanwhile Tell conceals an arrow under his garment. He then selects another arrow.] Tell. Is the boy ready? Keep silence now for Heaven's sake, and be my witnesses, that, if his life's in peril from my hand, 'tis only for the chance of saving it. For mercy's sake keep motionless and silent! [He aims and shoots in the direction of the boy. Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow's point.] Sar. The boy is safe-no hair of him is touched! [As he raises his arms the concealed arrow falls.] Ges. Unequalled archer!-Ha! why this concealed? Tell. To kill THEE, tyrant, had I slain my boy.-Knowles. ORANGE AND GREEN. THE night was falling dreary in merry Bandon town, Ha! toward his cottage hieing, what form is speeding now, |