THE REASON WHY. A CORNISH BALLAD. A good sword and a trusty hand, King James's men shall understand And have they fixed the Where and When? Then twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why! What, will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, Then twenty thousand underground Out spake the captain brave and bold, "Though London's Tower were Michael's hold, We'll cross the Tamar, hand to hand, The Exe shall be no stay Go, side by side, from strand to strand, Ánd who shall bid us nay? What, will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why! And when we come to London wall Trelawney is in keep and hold, Trelawney e'en may die; But twenty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why! What, will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand underground Will know the reason why!" Note 1.-Trelawney was one of the seven Bishops whom James the Second sent to the Tower. 2.-By pol. pen. tre. and an, Ye shall know the Cornish man. Thus, Polwhele, Penrice, Trelawney, Vivian. THE DEATH OF WOLFE. (1759.) Silently and swiftly, unchallenged by the French sentries, Wolfe's flotilla dropped down the stream in the shade of the overhanging cliffs. The rowers scarcely stirred the waters with their oars; the soldiers sat motionless. Not a word was spoken, save by the young general. He (as a midshipman on board of his boat afterwards related) repeated in a low voice to the officers by his side, "Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard," and as he concluded the beautiful verses, said, "Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec!" But while Wolfe thus, in the poet's words, gave vent to the intensity of his feelings, his eye was constantly bent upon the dark outline of the heights under which he hurried past. He recognised at length the appointed spot, and leaped ashore. Some of the leading boats-conveying the light company of the 78th Highlanders-had in the meantime been carried about 200 yards lower down by the strength of the tide. These Highlanders, under Captain M'Donald, were the first to land. Immediately over their heads hung a woody precipice, without path or track upon its rocky face. At the summit a French sentinel marched to and fro, still unconscious of their presence. Without a moment's hesitation, M'Donald and his men dashed at the height. They scrambled up, holding on by rocks and branches of trees, guided only by the stars that shone over the top of the cliff. Half the ascent was already won, when for the first time "Qui Vive?" broke the silence of the night. "La France," answered the Highland captain, with ready self-possession, and the sentry shouldered his musket and pursued his round. In a few minutes, however, the rustling of the trees close at hand at length alarmed the French guard. They hastily turned out, fired one irregular volley down the precipice, and fled in panic. The captain, alone, though wounded, stood his ground. When summoned to surrender, he fired at one of the leading assailants, but was instantly overpowered. The Highlanders, incensed at his vain valour, tore from his breast a decoration which he bore, and sent him a prisoner to the rear. In the meantime nearly 500 men landed and made their way up the height. Those who had first reached the summit then took possession of the intrenched post at the top of that path which Wolfe had selected for the ascent of his army. Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray, landed with the first division. As fast as each boat was cleared it put back for reinforcements to the ships, which had now also floated down with the tide nearly opposite to the point of disembarkation. The battalions formed on the narrow beach at the foot of the winding path, then they ascended the cliff, and again formed upon the plains above. There all was quiet. The Light Infantry, under Lieutenant Colonel Howe, had driven away the enemy's picquets. The boats plied busily. Company after company was quickly landed, and as soon as the men touched the shore they swarmed up the steep ascent with ready alacrity. When morning broke, the whole disposable force of Wolfe's army stood in firm array upon the table-land above the cove. Only one gun, however, could be carried up the hill, and even that was not got into position without incredible difficulty. When the alarming news of Wolfe's landing reached Montcalmthe French commander-he professed confidence, but could not communicate this to his troops. He commanded the attack in person; but not fifteen minutes had elapsed after he had first moved on his line of battle, when all was lost! The Canadian militia, with scarcely an exception, broke and fled. The right wing, which had recoiled before Townshend and Howe, was overpowered by a counter-attack of the 58th and 78th. His veteran battalions of Berne and Guienne were shattered before his eyes under the British fire; on the left the Royal Roussillon was shrunk to a mere skeleton, and-deserted by their provincial allies-could hardly retain the semblance of a formation. But the gallant Frenchman, though ruined, was not dismayed. He rode through the broken ranks, cheered them with his voice, encouraged them by his dauntless bearing, and-aided by a small redoubt-even succeeded in once again presenting a front to his enemy. Meanwhile Wolfe, whose troops had reloaded, seized the opportunity of the hesitation in the hostile ranks, and ordered the whole British line to advance. At first they moved forward in majestic regularity, receiving and paying back with deadly interest the volleys of the French. But soon their ardour broke through the restraints of discipline. They increased their pace to a run, rushed over the dying and dead, and swept the living enemy off their path. On the extreme right, the 35th-under the gallant Colonel Fletchercarried all before them, and won the white plume, which, for half a century afterwards, they proudly bore. Wolfe himself led the 28th and the diminished ranks of the Louisburg Grenadiers, who that day nobly redeemed their error at Montmorency. The 43rd, as yet almost untouched, pressed on in admirable order, worthy of their after-fame in that noble Light Division, which never gave a foot of ground but by word of command." On the left, the 58th and 78th overcame a stubborn and bloody resistance, and more than 100 of the Highlanders fell dead and wounded. The weak battalion by their side lost a fourth part of their strength in the brief struggle. Just then Wolfe was a second time wounded; but he concealed his suffering, for his duty was not yet accomplished. Again a ball from the redoubt struck him on the breast, and he reeled on one side; but at the moment this was not generally observed. "Support me," said he to a grenadier officer who was close at hand, "that my brave fellows may not see me fall." In a few seconds, however, he sank, and was borne a little to the rear. Colonel Carleton was desperately wounded in the head a few paces from Wolfe. The aide-de-camp who hastened for Monckton, to call him to the command, found him also bleeding on the field, near the 47th Regiment. At length Townshend, the senior officer, was brought to this bloody scene from the left flank, to lead the army. This brief struggle fell heavily upon the British, but it was ruinous to the French. They wavered under E 66 the carnage, and their columns, which death had disordered, were soon broken and scattered. Montcalm, with a courage that rose above the wreck of hope, galloped through the groups of his stubborn veterans-who still made head against the advancing enemyand manfully strove to show a front of battle. His efforts were vain, as the head of every formation was swept away before that terrible musketry: in a few minutes the French gave way in all directions, and their gallant general fell with a mortal wound.-Wolfe's dearlybought victory secured the supremacy of the English in America. MAJOR WARBURTON. THE BOY WHO COULD NOT LIE. There was once a young Virginian, and a princely boy was he, Yet he sprang not from a princely line, nor was of high degree; But the clear blood mantled in his cheek-the light flashed from his eye, And his presence was right noble, for he never told a lie. Now his home was near a forest, filled with lofty branching trees, And his wont had been to try his knife, boy-fashion, upon these; We may think that he, not seldom too, had snapped the brittle toy, Before his father found a hatchet and bought it for his boy. Who so proud as our young woodman now? his soul is full of glee, Oh! the mischief in that bold, bright eye! the mischief in that arm! But the boy was better than his thought. His father saw the tree : O, I wish all could see his father's changing features now: So the fearless boy grew up to be a noble, fearless man ; Home Book for Children of all Ages.-Adap. THE RISING OF THE VENDEE.* It was a sabbath morning, and calm the summer air, "Your Queen is in the dungeon; your King is in his gore; That livelong night the horn was heard, from Orleans to Anjou, And through the night, on foot and horse, the sleepless summons flew, And morning saw the Lily-flag wide waving o'er Poitou; We march'd by tens of thousands, we march'd through day and night, The Lily standard in our front, like Israel's holy light. *In behalf of the Royal cause, on hearing of the dreadful deeds of the Republicans at Paris, 1793. |