Colonel Haynes, now being compelled, in opposition to his will, to take up arms, resolved by every means in his power to oppose the invaders of his native country. He withdrew from the British, and was invested with a command in the continental service; but it was soon his hard fortune to be captured by the enemy, and carried into Charleston.

Lord Rawdon, the commandant, immediately ordered him to be loaded with irons, and, after a sort of mock trial. he was sentenced to be hung. This sentence seized all classes of people with horror and dismay. A petition, headed by the British Governor Bull, and signed by a number of royalists, was presented in his behalf, but was totally disregarded.

The ladies of Charleston, both Whigs and Tories, now united in a petition to Lord Rawdon, couched in the most eloquent and moving language, praying that the valuable life of Colonel Haynes might be spared; but this also was treated with neglect. It was next proposed that Colonel Haynes's children (the mother had recently deceased) should, in their mourning habiliments, be presented, to plead for the life of their only surviving parent.

Being introduced into Rawdon's presence, they fell on their knees, and, with clasped hands and tears in their eyes, lisped their father's name, and pled most earnestly for his life, but in vain; the unfeeling man was still inexorable! His son, a youth of thirteen, was permitted to stay with his father in prison, and, beholding his only parent loaded with irons and condemned to die, was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow.

"Why, my son," said he, "will you thus break your father's heart with unavailing sorrow? Have I not often told you that we came into this world to prepare for a better? For that better life, my dear boy, your father is prepared. Instead, then, of weeping, rejoice with me, my son, that my troubles are so near an end. To-morrow, I set out for immortality. You will accompany me to the place of my execution; and, when I am dead, take and bury me by the side of your mother."

The youth here fell on his father's neck, crying, "O my father! my father! I will die with you! I will die with you!" Colonel Haynes would have returned the strong embrace of his son, but, alas! his hands were con

fined with irons. "Live, my son," said he, "live to honour God by a good life, live to serve your country, and live to take care of your little sisters and brother!"

The next morning, Colonel Haynes was conducted to the place of execution. His son accompanied him. As soon as they came in sight of the gallows, the father strengthened himself, and said "Now, my son, show yourself a man! That tree is the boundary of my life, and of all my life's sorrows. Beyond that, the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Don't lay too much to heart our separation from you; it will be but short. It was but lately your dear mother died. Today, I die; and you, my son, though but young, must shortly follow us."-" Yes, my father," replied the brokenhearted youth, "I shall shortly follow you; for, indeed, I feel that I cannot live long."

On seeing, therefore, his father in the hands of the executioner, and then struggling in the halter, he stood like one transfixed and motionless with horror. Till then, he had wept incessantly; but, as soon as he saw that sight, the fountain of his tears was staunched, and he never wept more. He died insane; and, in his last moments, often called on the name of his father, in terms that wrung tears from the hardest hearts.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH.

TEARS FOR SCOTLAND.

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn,
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more
Invite the stranger to the door;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees, afar,
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life;

Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks
Where once they fed their wanton flocks;
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ;
Thy infants perish on the plain.

What boots it then, in ev'ry clime,
Through the wide spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crowned with praise,
Still glows with undiminished blaze-
Thy towering spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke:
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancour fell.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-
FIRST.

MASSACRE OF MISS M'CREA.

It seems that this unfortunate young lady was betrothed to a Mr Jones, an American refugee, who was with Bur goyne's army; and, being anxious to obtain possession of his expected bride, he despatched a party of Indians to escort her to the British army.

The party set forward, and she on horseback. They had not proceeded more than half a mile from Fort Edward, when they arrived at a spring, and halted to drink. The impatient lover had, in the meantime, despatched a second party of Indians, on the same errand; they came at the unfortunate moment, to the same spring, and a collision immediately ensued, as to the promised reward.

Both parties were now attacked by the whites; and, at the end of the conflict, the unhappy young woman was found tomahawked, scalped, and (as is said) tied fast to a pinetree just by the spring. Tradition reports, that the Indians divided the scalp, and that each party carried half of it to the agonised lover.

This beautiful spring still flows, limpid and cool, from a bank near the road side. The tree, which is a large and ancient pine, "fit for the mast of some tall admiral," is wounded in many places, by the balls of the whites, fired

at the Indians. They have been dug out as far as they could be reached, but others still remain in this ancient tree, which seems a striking emblem of wounded innocence; and the trunk, twisted off at a considerable elevation by some violent wind, that has left only a few mutilated branches, is a happy, although painful memorial of the fate of Jenne M'Crea.

Her name is inscribed on the tree, with the date 1777; and no traveller passes this spot, without spending a plaintive moment in contemplating the untimely fate of youth and loveliness. Persons are still living who were acquainted with Miss M'Crea, and with her family.

The murder of this interesting young lady, occurring as it did at the moment when General Burgoyne, whose army was then at Fort Anne, was bringing with him to the invasion of the American States hordes of savages, whose known and established mode of warfare was that of promiscuous massacre, electrified the whole continent, and, indeed, the civilised world-producing a universal burst of horror and indignation. General Gates did not fail to profit by the circumstance; and, in a severe, but too personal remonstrance, which he addressed to General Burgoyne, charged him with the guilt of the murder, and with that of many other similar atrocities.

His real guilt, or that of his government, was, in employing the savages at all in the war; in other respects, he appears to have had no concern with the transaction. In his reply to General Gates, he thus vindicates himself:— "In regard to Miss M'Crea, her fall wanted not the tragic display you have laboured to give it, to make it as sincerely lamented and abhorred by me, as it can be by the tenderest of her friends. The fact was no premeditated barbarity. On the contrary, two chiefs who had brought her off for the purpose of security, not of violence to her person, disputed which should be her guard; and, during a fit of savage passion in one from whose hands she was snatched, the unhappy woman became the victim. Upon the first intelligence of this event, I obliged the Indians to deliver the murderer into my hands; and, though to have punished him by our laws on principles of justice, would have been, perhaps, unprecedented, he certainly should have suffered an ignominious death, had I not been convinced, by circumstances and observation, beyond the possibi

lity of a doubt, that a pardon, under the terms which I presented, and they accepted, would be more efficacious than an execution to prevent similar mischiefs."

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY.
SECOND.

VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS.

One night, when balmy slumbers shed
Their peaceful poppies o'er my head,
My fancy led me to explore

A thousand scenes unknown before.
I saw a plain extended wide,

And crowds pour'd in from every side;
All seem'd to start a different game,
Yet all declared their views the same:
The chase was Happiness, I found;
But all, alas! enchanted ground.

As Parnell says, my bosom wrought
With travail of uncertain thought;
And, as an angel help'd the dean,
My angel chose to intervene.

The dress of each was much the same;
And Virtue was my seraph's name.
When thus the angel silence broke,
Her voice was music as she spoke :

"Take pleasure, wealth, and pomp away,
And where is happiness?" you say.
""Tis here—and may be yours-for know,
I'm all that's happiness below.

To vice I leave tumultuous joys;
Mine is the still and softer voice,

That whispers peace when storms invade,
And music through the midnight shade.

"Come, then, be mine in ev'ry part,
Nor give me less than all your heart;
When troubles discompose your breast,
I'll enter there, a cheerful guest;