attain. If he had one passion more strong than another, it was love of his country. The purity and ardor of his patriotism were commensurate with the greatness of its object. Love of country in him was invested with the sacred obligation of a duty; and from the faithful discharge of this duty he never swerved for a moment, either in thought or deed, through the whole period of his eventful career. From "Life of Washington."

THE FATE OF ANDRE.

C. J. BIDDLE.

Few men have possessed in a higher degree the power of captivating the feelings of those around them. Young, with no family influence, and but lately entered from commercial business into military life, he had so ingratiated himself with his commander, that Clinton actually extorted from the British ministry the promotion which he desired for his favorite. The sense of obligation was deeply felt and warmly expressed by André; and it no doubt stimulated his efforts to secure, at every personal hazard, the triumph that would have established the fortunes of his friend. Of Swiss parentage, and educated upon the continent of Europe, André possessed all the lighter accomplishments which, with his natural vivacity and graceful bearing, rendered him the delight of every society in which he moved. The protraction of individual lives so connects the past generation with the present, that I have, myself, heard one who knew him descant upon the charms of his conversation and the elegance of his manners, as exhibited in the social circles of this city.

I conceive him to have been in temperament sanguine and mercurial -easily elated, easily depressed-and, though emulous of distinction, governed rather by impulse than reflection; with some pronenessfrom circumstances and education rather than from nature-to arts of insinuation and intrigue, which brought him, through their slippery pathways, to a bitter expiation. In his brief captivity, he turned enemies into friends. The narrative of Hamilton perpetuates, in all their original freshness, the feelings of the hour, as they overflowed in the generous bosoms of the young American soldiers, whose ministrations of respect and love lightened to the ill-fated André the shame of an ignominious death. In the last disastrous days of his career, his mind was elevated by misfortune; and his final hour displayed-what seldom graces a public exit from the scene of life-an unaffected courage, alike removed from weakness or bravado.

Yet time will but confirm the judgment that the men of the Revolution passed upon André. They condemned him, yet they pitied him

so we may do without yielding to the morbid sensibility that can find a saint and martyr in "the amiable spy," and would sacrifice the fame of great and just men to his memory.

"The warmest panegyrists of Washington," says Lord Mahon, "sometimes imply that his character was wholly faultless;" they err then, for to be faultless is to be more than human: yet in no other of the world's heroes is it so difficult to trace the common infirmities of nature. That, in the transaction here discussed, the "faulty point" of his character has been laid bare, through the acumen of the English historian, few will agree with him in thinking. For never was more manifest, than in the disposal of the case of André, the constant, calm, and high devotion to duty, that made the life of Washington an example of as near approach to complete moral greatness as has yet exalted the dignity of man.

From "Contributions to American History."

WEST POINT.

LOSSING.

IN the midst of wild mountain scenery, picturesque but not magnificent when compared with the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Adirondack and Catskill range in New York, or the Alleghanies in Western Pennsylvania and Virginia, is a bold promontory called West Point, rising more than one hundred and fifty feet above the waters of the Hudson, its top a perfectly level and fertile plateau, and every rood hallowed by associations of the deepest interest. West Point! What a world of thrilling reminiscences has the utterance of that name brought to ten thousand memories in times past, now, alas! nearly all slumbering in the dreamless sleep of the dead! How does it awaken the generous emotions of patriotic reverence for the men, and things, and times of the Revolution, in the bosoms of the present generation! Nor is it by the associations alone that the traveller is moved with strong emotions when approaching West Point; the stranger, indifferent to our history and of all but the present, feels a glow of admiration as he courses along the sinuous channel of the river or climbs the rough hills that embosom it. The inspiration of nature then takes possession of his heart and mind, and

"When he treads

The rock-encumbered crest, and feels the strange
And wild tumultuous throbbings of his heart,
Its every chord vibrating with the touch

Of the high power that reigns supreme o'er all,

He well may deem that lips of angel-forms
Have breathed to him the holy melody

That fills his o'erfraught heart."

The high plain is reached by a carriage-way that winds up the bank from the landing; the visitor overlooking, in the passage, on the right, the little village of Camptown, which comprises the barracks of United States soldiers and a few dwellings of persons not immediately connected with the military works. On the left, near the summit, is "the Artillery Laboratory," and near by, upon a little hillock, is an obelisk erected to the memory of Lieutenant-colonel Wood. On the edge of the cliff, overlooking the steamboat landing, is a spacious hotel, where I booked myself as a boarder for a day or two. A more delightful spot, particularly in summer, for a weary traveller or a professed lounger, cannot easily be found, than the broad piazza of that public dwelling presents. Breezy in the hottest weather, and always enlivened by pleasant company, the sojourner need not step from beneath its shadow to view a most wonderful variety of pleasing objects in nature and art. Upon the grassy plain before him are buildings of the military establishmentthe Academic Halls, the Philosophical and Library buildings, the Observatory, the Chapel, the Hospital, the Barracks and Mess Hall of the cadets, and the beautifully shaded dwellings of the officers and professors that skirt the western side of the plateau at the base of the hills. On the parade, the cadets, in neat uniform, exhibit their various exercises, and an excellent band of music delights the ear. Lifting the eyes to the westward, the lofty summit of Mount Independence, crested by the gray ruins of Fort Putnam, and beyond it the loftier apex of Redoubt Hill, are seen. Turning a little northward, Old Cro' Nest and Butter Hill break the horizon nearly half way to the zenith; and directly north, over Martelaer's Rock or Constitution Island, through the magnificent cleft in the chain of hills through which the Hudson flows, is seen the bright waters of Newburgh Bay, the village glittering in the sunbeams, and the beautiful cultivated slopes of Dutchess and Orange. The scenery at the eastward is better comprehended and more extensive as seen from Fort Putnam, whither we shall presently climb.

From "Pictorial-Field Book of the Revolution.”

THE IMPOSSIBLE.

ROBERT DALE OWEN.

RETURNED as it were from the dead, survivor of a voyage overhung with preternatural horrors, his great problem, as in despite of man and nature, triumphantly resolved, Columbus, the visionary, was welcomed as the conqueror; the needy adventurer was recognised as Admiral of the Western Ocean and Viceroy of a New Continent; was received, in solemn state, by the haughtiest sovereigns in the world, rising at his approach, and invited (Castilian punctilio overcome by

intellectual power) to be seated before them. He told his wondrous story, and exhibited, as vouchers for its truth, the tawny savages and the barbaric gold. King, queen, and court sunk on their knees; and the Te Deum sounded, as for some glorious victory.

That night, in the silence of his chamber, what thoughts may have thronged on Columbus's mind! What exultant emotions must have swelled his heart! A past world had deemed the Eastern Hemisphere the entire habitable earth. Age had succeeded to age, century had passed away after century, and still the interdict had been acquiesced in, that westward beyond the mountain pillars it belonged not to man to explore. And yet he, the chosen of God to solve the greatest of terrestrial mysteries, affronting what even the hardy mariners of Palos had regarded as certain destruction,-he, the hopeful one where all but himself despaired,-had wrested from the Deep its mighty secret, -had accomplished what the united voice of the Past had declared to be an impossible achievement.

But now, if, in the stillness of that night, to this man, enthusiast, dreamer, believer as he was, there had suddenly appeared 'some Nostradamus of the fifteenth century, of prophetic mind instinet with the future, and had declared to the ocean-compeller that not four centuries would elapse before that vast intervening gulf of waters-from the farther shore of which, through months of tempest, he had just groped back his weary way-should interpose no obstacle to the free communication of human thought; that a man standing on the western shore of Europe should, within three hundred and seventy years from that day, engage in conversation with his fellow standing on the eastern shore of the new-found world; nay,—marvel of all marvels !—that the same fearful bolt which, during his terrible voyage, had so often lighted up the waste of waters around him, should itself become the agent of communication across that storm-tossed ocean; that mortal creatures, unaided by angel or demon, without intervention of heaven or pact with hell, should bring that lightning under domestic subjection, and employ it, as they might some menial or some carrier-dove, to bear their daily messages;-to a prediction so wildly extravagant, so surpassingly absurd, as that, what credence could even Columbus lend? What answer to such a prophetic vision may we imagine that he, with all a life's experience of a man's short-sightedness, would have given? Probably some reply like this: that, though in the future many strange things might be, such a tampering with Nature as that—short of a direct miracle from God-was IMPOSSIBLE!

From "Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World.”

HAVELOCK'S HIGHLANDERS.

W. BROCK.

THE Highlanders had never fought in that quarter of India before, and their character was unknown to the foe. Their advance has been

described by spectators as a beautiful illustration of the power of discipline. With sloped arms and rapid tread, through the broken and heavy lands, and through the well-directed fire of artillery and musketry, linked in their unfaltering lines they followed their mounted leaders, the mark for many rifles. They did not pause to fire-did not even cheer; no sound from them was heard as that living wall came on and on, to conquer or to die. Now they are near the village; but their enemies occupy every house, and from every point a galling fire is poured on them from the heavy guns. The men lie down till the iron storm passses over. It was but for a moment. The General gave the word, Rise up! Advance!" and wild cheers rung out from those brave lines-wilder even than their fatal fire within a hundred yards; and the pipes sounded the martial pibroch, heard so often as earth's latest music by dying men. The men sprung up the hill covered by the smoke of their crushing volley, almost with the speed of their own bullets; over, and through all obstacles, the gleaming bayonets advanced; and then followed those moments of personal struggle, not often protracted, when the Mahratta learned, too late for life, the power of the Northern arm. The position was theirs. All that stood between them and the guns fled the field or was cut down. General Havelock was with his men. Excited by the scene, some letter-writers say that he exclaimed, "Well done, 78th. You shall be my own regiment. Another charge like that will win the day.”

From "Life of Havelock."

THE NEWS FROM LEXINGTON.

GEORGE BANCROFT.

DARKNESS closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the war-message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the backwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was never suffered to droop, till it had been borne north, and south, and east, and west, throughout the land. It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New Hampshire, and ringing like bugle-notes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the cliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale. As the summons hurried to the south, it was one day at New York;