summit of the breach, I mean not to assert that our soldiers stood upon a level with their enemies, for this was not the case. There was a high step, perhaps two or three feet in length, which the assailants must surmount before they could gain the same ground with the defenders; and a very considerable period 'elapsed ere that step was surmounted. Here bayonet met bayonet, and sabre met sabre, in close and desperate strife, without the one party being able to advance, or the other succeeding in driving them back. Perceiving that matters were almost desperate, General Graham had recourse to a desperate remedy, and ordered our own artillery to fire upon the breach. Nothing could be more exact or beautiful than this practice. Though our men stood only about two feet below the breach, scarcely a single ball from the guns of our batteries struck amongst them, whilst all told with fearful exactness among the

enemy.

THE VICTORY.

This fire had been kept up only a few minutes, when all at once an explosion took place, such as drowned every other noise, and apparently confounded, for an instant, the combatants on both sides. A shell from one of our mortars 16 had exploded near the train which communicated with a quantity of gunpowder placed under the breach. This mine the French had intended to spring as soon as our troops should have made good their footing, or established themselves upon the summit; but the fortunate accident just mentioned anticipated them. It exploded whilst three hundred grenadiers, the elite 17 of the garrison, stood over it, and instead of sweeping the storming party into eternity, it only cleared a way for their advance. It was a spectacle as appalling and grand as the imagination can conceive. Such, indeed, was the effect of the whole occurrence that, for perhaps half a minute after, not a shot was fired on either side. Both parties stood still to gaze upon the havoc that

had been made, insomuch that a whisper might have caught your ear for a distance of several yards.

The state of stupefaction into which they were at first thrown did not, however, last long with the British troops. As the smoke and dust of the ruins cleared away, they beheld before them a space empty of defenders, and they instantly rushed forward to occupy it. Uttering an appalling shout, the troops sprang over the dilapidated parapet, 18 and the rampart was their own. Now, then, began all those maddening scenes which are witnessed only in a successful storm19 -of flight, and slaughter,and parties rallying only to be broken and dispersed; till, finally, having cleared the works to the right and left, the soldiers poured down into the town. Το reach the streets, they were obliged to leap about fifteen feet, or to make their way through the burning houses which joined the wall. Both courses were adopted, according as different parties were guided in their pursuit of the flying enemy; and here again the battle was renewed. The French fought with desperate courage; they were literally driven from house to house and street to street, nor was it till a late hour in the evening that all opposition on their part ceased.

Salvo. several guns.

Simultaneous firing of

...

13 Breach. practicable. Gap made in the walls was thought sufficient for the besiegers to enter by.

"Forlorn hope.-A body of soldiers who have volunteered to lead the attack on a fortress.

15 Grape and Canister.-Two kinds of charges for a cannon-they consist of cases of bullets. Shells and Grenades are full of powder and shot, so constructed as to explode after touching the ground.

16 Mortar.-A piece of ordnance like a short cannon with a very big mouth, used for throwing bombs and shells.

17 Elite.-Picked men.

18 Parapet.-A wall breast-high. Dilapidated.-In a ruined state LL. dis, asunder, lapis, a stone].

19 Storm.-A violent attack upon a fortress by an attempt to force an entrance.

PEACE AND WAR.

[PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, born at Horsham, Sussex, 1792; drowned on the coast of Italy, 1822. His history is a very melancholy one. He was expelled from his College at Oxford for his writings on Atheism. He eloped with the daughter of a retired hotel-keeper, whom he married when their united ages amounted only to thirty-five. His wife in the course of a few years drowned herself in the Serpentine.]

How beautiful this night !—the balmiest sigh
Which vernal zephyrs1 breathe in evening's ear
Were discord to the speaking quietude

That wraps this noiseless scene.

Heaven's ebon2 vault

Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which Love has spread

3

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,*
So stainless, that their white and glittering spires 5
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly, that fancy deemeth it

A metaphor of peace ;-all form a scene
Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.

7

Ah! whence yon glare
That fires the arch of Heaven? That dark-red smoke
Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow
Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round!
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne!
Now swells the intermingling din; the jar,
Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb;
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangour, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage :-loud and more loud
The discord grows; till pale death shuts the scene,
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,

In proud and vigorous health,-of all the hearts
That beat with anxious life at sunset there,--
How few survive, how few are beating now!
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous" pause;
Save 10 when the frantic wail of widow'd love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay,
Wrapt round its struggling powers.

The gray morn
Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphurous smoke
Before the icy winds slow rolls away,

And the bright beams of frosty morning dance
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood,
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms,
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path
Of the outsallying victors: far behind

Black ashes note where their proud city stood.
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen,—

Each tree which guards its darkness from the day
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.

CULTURE OF THE OYSTER.

THE Oyster belongs to the class of animals called molluscs. To the same class belong the mussel, the cockle, the limpet, and a host of other shell-fish. The name mollusc implies softness. These creatures, being soft and flabby, are provided with one or more shells for defence. Those having a single shell, like the limpet, are called univalves, and those furnished with a double shell, like the oyster, are known as bivalves. The mollusc is thus armed and defended against all attacks,

like an armed knight in olden times; only the knight was able to throw off his coat of mail, whilst the mollusc is attached to its armour by indissoluble bonds.1 Or, viewing the shell as the house which the mollusc has formed for itself, we see that the builder is inseparable from the edifice it has constructed.

From the immense variety of form and size, from the beauty and brilliancy of their colours, the shells of the molluscs are among the most attractive objects of natural history. The study of shells, or conchology as it is termed, is one of great interest and some importance. Every shell, we must remember, was at one time the home of a living creature. An examination of the shell enables the skilled naturalist to determine the habits of the mollusc, and the nature of the element in which it lived-whether in fresh water or salt, whether in a cold or a warm region.

The oyster, however, is not of much interest to us from the shell, but from the delicate substance within it. Man has made use of the oyster from the most remote antiquity.2 It is thought to be the most digestible food ever set on the table. "We may eat them to-day, to-morrow, eat them always, and in profusion, without fear of indigestion." The oyster, indeed, is considered by the gastronomist 3 the crown and glory of the table.

England has always been famous for its oysters, and its pearls are said to have been the chief incentive to Cæsar's invasion. Its "natives" are still justly celebrated for their delicious flavour. Curiously enough, the oysters so termed are not bred in their natural beds, but in beds specially prepared for their reception. The "native" oyster-beds at Whitstable, in the estuary of the Thames, are the most productive. Here the oysters are supplied with the proper nutriment; they are sorted according to size and age; they are transferred from one bed to another more suitable for their growth or fattening; the dead or sickly are taken away; and pains are taken to keep off all creatures that are