but this was rejected by General Gates, who insinuated that it originated from fear.

De Kalb, instantly leaping from his horse, placed himself at the head of his command on foot, and with some warmth retorted, "Well, sir, a few hours, perhaps, will prove who are brave." It was the intention of General Gates to surprise the enemy in their encampment, while at the same time Cornwallis had commenced his march to surprise his antagonist. The contending armies had scarcely engaged in the conflict when our militia broke, and, leaving their guns and bayonets behind, fled with the greatest precipitation.

General Gates immediately applied spurs to his horse and pursued, as he said, "to bring the rascals back," but he actually continued his flight till he reached Charlotte, eighty miles from the field of battle. In this measure, he was in some degree justified, as his object was, if possible, to rally and collect the militia with the hope of making a stand.

The Baron de Kalb, at the head of a few hundreds of continental troops, was left to cope with the whole British army, and he sustained the dreadful shock for more than an hour; hundreds of the bravest men had fallen around this undaunted hero; he himself in personal conflict was seen to parry the furious blows, and plunge his sword into the breasts of many of his opponents. But, alas! the hero is overpowered; having received eleven bayonet wounds, he faints and falls to the ground.

Séveral individuals of both armies were killed over him, as they furiously strove to destroy or to defend. His aid-de-camp, Chevalier de Buysson, rushed through the clashing bayonets, and, stretching his arms over the body of the fallen hero, exclaimed, "Save the Baron de Kalb! save the Baron de Kalb!" The British officers interposed, and prevented his immediate destruction, but he survived the action but a few hours.

To a British officer, who kindly condoled with him on his misfortune, he replied, "I thank you for your generous sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed for; the death of a soldier fighting for the rights of man.” His last moments were spent in dictating a letter concerning the continental troops which supported him in the action after the militia had fled, of whom, he said, he had

R

no words to express his love and admiration of their valour.

Ge eral Washington, many years after, on a visit to Camden, inquired for the grave of De Kalb. After looking on it awhile, with a countenance marked with thought, he breathed a deep sigh, and exclaimed, "So there lies the brave De Kalb, the generous stranger who came from a distant and to fight our battles, and to water with his blood the tree of liberty. Would to God he had lived with us to share its fruits!"

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-
FIFTH.

MEN MUTUALLY HELPFUL.

Nature expects mankind should share
The duties of the public care.

Who's born to sloth? To some we find
The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd;
Some at the sounding anvil glow;
Some the swift sliding shuttle throw;
Some, studious of the wind and tide,
From pole to pole, our commerce guide;
While some, with genius more refined,
With head and tongue assist mankind.
Thus, aiming at one common end,
Each proves to all a needful friend.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY

SIXTH.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

It struck my imagination much, while standing on the last field fought by Bonaparte, that the battle of Waterloo should have been fought upon a Sunday. What a different scene for the Scotch Greys and English Infantry, from that which, at that very hour, was exhibited by their re

latives, when over England and Scotland each churchbell had drawn together its worshippers! While many a mother's heart was sending upward a prayer for her son's preservation, perhaps that son was gasping in agony.

Yet, even at such a period, the lessons of his early days might give him consolation; and the maternal prayer might prepare the heart to support maternal anguish. It is religion alone which is of universal application both as stimulant and lenitive, as it is the varied heritage of man to labour or endure. But we know that many thousands rushed into this fight, even of those who had been instructed in sound religious principles, without leisure for one serious thought; and that some officers were killed in their ball dresses. They made the leap into the gulf which divides two worlds-the present from the immutable state -without one parting prayer, or one note of preparation!

As I looked over this field, now green with growing corn, I could observe spots where the most desperate carnage had been, marked out by the verdure of the wheat. The bodies had been heaped together, and scarcely more than covered. And so enriched is the soil, that in these spots the grain never ripens; it grows rank and green to the end of the harvest. This touching memorial, which endures when the thousand groans have expired, and when the stain of human blood has faded from the ground, still seems to cry to Heaven that there is awful guilt somewhere, and a terrific reckoning for those who have caused destruction, which the earth will not conceal. These hillocks of superabundant vegetation, as the wind rustled through the corn, seemed the most affecting monuments which nature could devise, and gave a melancholy animation to this plain of death.

When we attempt to measure the mass of suffering which was here inflicted, and to number the individuals that have fallen, considering that each who suffered was our fellow-man, we are overwhelmed with the agonising calculation, and retire from the field which has been the scene of our reflections, with the simple concentrated feeling— these armies once lived, breathed, and felt like us, and the time is at hand when we shall be like them.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY. SEVENTH.

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

When spring, to woods and wastes around,
Brought bloom and joy again,

The murder'd traveller's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch above him hung
Her tassels in the sky;

And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead;
And, fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away-
And gentle eyes for him,
With watching many an anxious day,
Grew sorrowful and dim.

They little knew who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,

When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarm'd and hard beset.

Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,

The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead.

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dress'd the hasty bier,

And mark'd his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoisten'd by a tear.

But long they looked, and fear'd, and wept,
Within his distant home;

And dream'd, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.

So long they look'd-but never spied
His welcome step again,

Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-
EIGHTH.

FATHER AND SON.

Among the cases of suffering by the wreck in 1686, of the vessel in which the Siamese embassy to Portugal was embarked, few have stronger claims to pity than that of the captain. He was a man of rank, sprung from one of the first families in Portugal; he was rich and honourable, and had long commanded a ship, in which he rendered great service to the king, his master, and had given many marks of his valour and fidelity.

The captain had carried his only son out to India along with him. He was a youth possessed of every amiable quality; well instructed for his years; gentle, docile, and most fondly attached to his father. The captain watched with the most intense anxiety over his safety, on the wreck of the ship; and during the march to the Cape, he caused him to be carried by his slaves.

At length all the slaves having perished, or being so weak that they could not drag themselves along, this poor youth was obliged to trust to his own strength; but became so reduced and feeble, that, having laid him down to rest on a rock, he was unable to rise again. His limbs were stiff and swollen, and he lay stretched at length, unable to bend a joint.

The sight struck like a dagger to his father's heart. He tried repeatedly to recover him; and, by assisting him to advance a few steps, supposed that the numbness might be removed; but his limbs refused to serve him, he was only dragged along, and those whose aid his father implored, seeing they could do no more, frankly declared that if they carried him they must themselves perish.

The unfortunate captain was driven to despair. Lifting his son on his shoulders, he tried to carry him; he could make but a single step, when he fell to the ground with