and that no British ship had yielded, he turned to speak of himself—' I am a dead man, Hardy! I am going fast. It will soon be all over with me.' Hardy hoped that there was yet a chance of recovery. 'O no! it is impossible. I feel something rising in my breast that tells me so.' Captain Hardy having been again on deck, returned at the end of an hour, to his dying friend. He could not tell, in the confusion, the exact number of allies that had surrendered; but there were at least fifteen; for the other ships had followed the admiral's into action, breaking the enemy's line and engaging closely to leeward, in the same gallant style as the Victory and Sovereign. Nelson answered, that is well, but I bargained for twenty.' And his wish was prophetic; he had not miscalculated the superiority of his followers; twenty actually surrendered. Having ordered the fleet to anchor, he again spoke of himself. 'Don't throw me

overboard. Kiss me Hardy!' Hardy knelt down and obeyed in silence. 'Now I am satisfied; I thank God I have done my duty.' Hardy kissed him again, received the blessing, and then took leave of him for ever."

"The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an example, which are at this hour inspiring thousands of the youth of England: a name which is our pride, and an example which will continue to be our shield and our strength."

SOUTHEY'S Life of Nelson.

Stop:-for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust,
Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so.
As the ground was before thus let it be.-
How that red rain has made the harvest grow!
And is this all the world hath gain'd by thee,
Thou first and last of fields, king-making Victory?

There was a sound of revelry by night!
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;*
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell;-

But hush! hark; a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

* The Duke of Wellington was with his officers in Brussels, when he heard that the French were advancing. He prepared for the battle, which was fought June 18, 1815.

Did you not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is! it is! the cannon's op'ning roar!

Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And rous'd the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting fell.
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress;
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago,
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts: and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum

Rous'd up

the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! they come, they come !"

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albion's hills
Have heard, and heard too have her Saxon foes:
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With their fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years:

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's

ears.

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass,
Grieving-if aught inanimate e'er grieve-
Over the unreturning brave-alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure: when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay;

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife-
The morn, the marshalling in arms-the day,
Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover-heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent!

BYRON.

Standing on the Table Rock, a magnificent amphitheatre of cataracts burst upon my view with appalling suddenness and majesty. However, in a moment the scene was concealed from my eyes by a dense cloud of spray, which involved me so completely that I did not dare to extricate myself. A mingled and thundering rushing filled my ears. I could see nothing except when the wind made a chasm in the spray, and then tremendous cataracts seemed to encompass me on every side; while below a raging and foaming gulf of undiscoverable extent, lashed the rocks with its hissing waves; and swallowed, under a horrid obscurity, the smoking floods that were precipitated into its bosom.

Proceeding down the river nearly half a mile, I came to a chasm in which was a spiral staircase, about eighty feet in perpendicular height: at the bottom a narrow slippery path leads to the bottom of the Great Fall. The impending cliffs, hung with a profusion of trees and bushwood, over-arch this road, and seem to vibrate with the thunders of the cataract. In some places they rise abruptly to the height of one hundred feet, and display upon their surfaces fossil shells, and the organic remains of a former world; thus sublimely leading the mind to contemplate the