lost itself in the booming of the car non-the voices of many waters, and the voices of battle sang bass together-and the dead slept in sweet forgetfulness upon the moonlit hill. The first brigade under General Scott, with Towson's artillery, and a body of cavalry, sustained the attack of the British army for an hour, unaided. General Ripley with fresh troops now arrived, and relieved General Scott, while the latter, with his exhausted brigade, formed a reserve in the rear. The British artillery had taken post on an eminence at the head of Lundy's Lane, and were pouring forth a most deadly fire on the Americans. General Brown, the commander of the American forces, feeling the terrible havoc made by the enemy's cannon, concluded that it was necessary to dislodge them or retreat. It was a dreadful duty. The troops that were to march up Lundy's Lane might well say their last prayers, and make their wills before moving. It was certain death to every second man of the forlorn hope. As the commanding general rode along the foot of the hill, in thoughtful mood, he saw the brave Colonel Miller advancing at the head of his newly raised regiment for further orders. He rode up to him, "Will you advance and capture the battery?" said the general. "I will try, sir," said the modest colonel. The general rode on, and the regiment gallantly wheeled and moved up Lundy's Lane. At every rod the artillery on the height sent its messengers of death through the dense column; but still there was no flinching. The voice of the noble Miller, as he waved his sword before the bloody gap, was heard uttering the short and expressive order. "Steady, men-close ranks-march!" Around him the flower of his regiment fell like the withered leaves of autumn; but he heeded not his loss; he was ordered to take the battery on the hill, and he intended to do it. He advanced, therefore, coolly and steadily to his object. Amidst a tremendous blaze of artillery, and at the point of the bayonet, he carried the height. It was a gallant deed. I have never heard of its equal except at the siege of San Sebastian. It was superior in temerity to Bonaparte's attack upon Little Gibraltar, at Toulon, because Miller had no covering for his troops in case of a retreat. It was a dead march to glory!-Yet at every step the rear rank trod upon the dead and the dying; and the groans of suffering humanity mingled in with the hoarse rattle of the drum. When the conqueror, with his remnant of a regiment, trod upon the heights at the head of Lundy's Lane, and turned the cannon upon the astonished enemy, a death struggle ensued between the American and English armies, These guns will decide the battle; they must be regained, or the army of Britain will be cut to pieces; and if regained, the Americans will be conquered." Such were the thoughts of each general. Now came the iron gripe of war. A terrible conflict raged upon the the height; and, when the morning sun arose upon Bridgewater, 1600 soldiers, friends and foes, lay sleeping in gory death upon hill-side in Lundy's Lane. Surely, the Battle of Bridgewater will never be forgotten by the patriot, the historian, or the poet; surely, the day will never dawn when the hero of LUNDY'S LANE shall be forgotten by an American citizen. We glory in the service of the brave. May the laurel circle the victor's brow in life, and at last hang upon a broken column over a deathless tomb! NATIONAL INTELLIGENCER LII. CUPID DEFEATED. 'Twas a beautiful night in the month of May, And the earth shone forth like a young maid weeping. Young Cupid stole out in the dewy night, To a flowery dell where he loved to slumber; His wings drooped low, but his heart was light, For he'd won more hearts than he well could number. He soon found one of the sweetest bowers That ever was formed of flower buds twining; So he gathered himself a couch of flowers, And was lulled to sleep by the brook's soft chiming. The rogue would not part with his arms, the while, His light bow was made of a hazel rod, The string was of riband-grass neatly twisted, Ilis arrow was tipped with a white rose bud, Which was torn from the bower where the youngster rested. His quiver was hung with bright sea shells, To which sweet flowers and buds were clinging, And unseen were hung little silver bells, That would waken the god with their fairy ringing. This Cupid was always an artful boy, As the bells on his quiver but proved too clearly; For should youthful hands molest the toy, It sighed forth music, and those hands paid dearly. Just, now, as the little mischief lay Fast locked in sleep, 'midst his rosy bowers, And saw the rogue on his couch of flowers. The maiden looked on the boy with a sigh; And stole from his head his bow and quiver. But the last had scarcely touched her hand, When the magic winds of that land were dying. "Ha, ha!" said Cupid, "is this the way?" For setting these tell tale bells to ringing." He snatched the bow, and he aimed a dart; With smiles of triumph, the mischief eyed her; "What can this mean?" the poor god cried, ANONYMOUS. LIII. QUEEN ISABELLA. HER person was of the middle height, and well proportioned. She had a clear, fresh complexion, with light blue eyes and auburn hair— a style of beauty exceedingly rare in Spain. Her features were regular, and universally allowed to be uncommonly handsome. The illusion which attaches to rank, more especially when united with engaging manners, might lead us to suspect some exaggeration in the encomiums so liberally lavished on her. But they would seem to be in a great measure justified by the portraits that remain of her, which combine a faultless symmetry of features with singular sweetness and intelligence of expression! Her manners were most gracious and pleasing. They were marked by natural dignity and modest reserve, tempered by an affability which flowed from the kindness of her disposition. She was the last person to be approached with undue familiarity; yet the respect which she imposed was mingled with the strongest feelings of devotion and love. She showed great °tact in accommodating herself to the peculiar situation and character of those around her. She appeared in arms at the head of her troops, and shrunk from none of the hardships of war. During the reforms introduced into the religious houses, she visited the °nunneries in person, taking her needlework with her, and passing the day in the society of the inmates. When traveling in Galicia, she attired herself in the costume of the country, borrowing for that purpose the jewels and other ornaments of the ladies there, and returning them with liberal additions. By this condescending and captivating deportment, as well as by her higher qualities, she gained an ascendency over her turbulent subjects, which no king of Spain could ever boast. She spoke the Castilian with much elegance and correctness. She had an easy fluency of discourse, which, though generally of a serious complexion, was occasionally seasoned with agreeable sallies, some of which have passed into proverbs. She was temperate even to abstemiousness in her diet, seldom or never tasting wine; and so frugal in her table, that the daily expenses for herself and family did not exceed the moderate sum of forty ducats. She was equally simple and economical in her apparel. On all public occasions, indeed, she displayed a royal magnificence; but she had no relish for it in private; and she freely gave away her clothes and jewels, as presents to her friends. Naturally of a sedate, though cheerful temper, she had little taste for the frivolous amusements which make up so much of a court life; and, if she encouraged the presence of minstrels and musicians in her palace, it was to wean her young nobility from the coarser and less intellectual pleasures to which they were addicted. Among her moral qualities, the most conspicuous, perhaps, was her magnanimity. She betrayed nothing little or selfish in thought or action. Her schemes were vast, and executed in the same noble spirit in which they were conceived. She never employed doubtful agents or sinister measures, but the most direct and open policy. She scorned to avail herself of advantages offered by the perfidy of others. Where she had once given her confidence, she gave her hearty and steady support; and she was scrupulous to redeem any pledge she had made to those who ventured in her cause, however unpopular. She sustained Ximenes in all his obnoxious but salutary reforms. She 'seconded Columbus in the prosecution of his arduous enterprise, and shielded him from the calumnies of his enemies. She did the same good service to her favorite, Gonsalvo de Cordova; and the day of her death was felt, and, as it proved, truly felt by both, as the last of their good fortune. Artifice and duplicity were so abhorrent to her character, and so averse from her domestic policy, that when they appear in the foreign relations of Spain, it is certainly not imputable to her. She was incapable of harboring any petty distrust, or latent malice; and, although stern in the execution and exaction of public justice, she made the most generous allowance, and even sometimes advances to those who had personally injured her. But the principle which gave a peculiar coloring to every feature of Isabella's mind, was piety. It shone forth from the very depths of her soul with a heavenly radiance, which illuminated her whole character. Fortunately, her earliest years had been passed in the rugged school of adversity, under the eye of a mother who implanted in her serious mind such strong principles of religion as nothing in after life had power to shake. At an early age, in the flower of youth and beauty, she was introduced to her brother's court; but its blandishments, so dazzling to a young imagination, had no power over hers; for she was surrounded by a moral atmosphere of purity, driving far off each thing of sin and guilt. Such was the decorum of her manners, that, though encompassed by false friends and open enemies, not the slightest reproach was breathed on her fair name in this corrupt and calumnious court. LIV. THE WIND. W. H. PRESCOTT. OH, give me the wind, the wild, wild wind, It comes! it comes! my soul is filled It wakens thought that will slumber not, It thrills my frame as a magic spell, And over the soul, as a flood, doth roll |