174 LE PREMIER GRENADIER DES ARMEES DE LA REPUBLIQUE. MEES DE LA REPUBLIQUE. "Now, here are you two, squabbling anew," quoth a third to the other twain (He stumped on a peg: he had left his leg somewhere or another in Spain); "What matters it now the why or the how, so long as we won the day, Whether Kellerman's horse broke the Austrian force, or the charge of poor Desaix? Lay this bickering by, and I'll tell you why, I very much want to learn, For I've heard the fame of his glorious name aH about this La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour." "La Tour d'Auvergne," said the pensioner stern, "was a very man of men ; Live long as we may, I'll be bound to say we ne'er see his like again : He began his career as a musqueteer, in the corps of the baker's wife (As they nicknamed then the beautiful queen, who fell by the headsman's knife). Well, America rose 'gainst her English foes, her freedom and rights to earn ; And with freedom for word, won the heart and sword of the bold La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour. "Hence returning again, he enlisted with Spain, where they offered him pensions vast, And their cross of fame-I forget its name-but he only accepted the last : The war being o'er, he came home once more, and lived for a time at ease, Till drafted away with the corps d'armée of the Western Pyrenees ; Servan had command, and he formed a band of eight thousand veterans stern; 'Twas called, they tell, the Column of Hell, and led by La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour. "There our glorious chaps had many mishaps, they were all in the worst distress, Of nations forlorn, all their garments torn; what their pickle might be you may guess, When they tanned the hide of the men that died, for leather to make them shoes! Not so nice, to be sure, but I'm told by La Tour, 'twas good as you'd wish to use: Well, they beat 'em at last, and the war o'erpast, embarked on their home return, When an English sloop took the ship o' the troop in which was La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour. "From out of this scrape he made his escape, one night, when all were asleep; With a comrade bold he broke from the hold, and dropt-splash-into the deep; Quick there came a shout, a blue-light thrown out, the whew of a ball,* a groan, La Tour d'Auvergne had swam under the stern, his comrade perished alone: Well, he drifted away, and a lugger at day picked him up with fatigue outworn; He was not quite drowned, so at last came round, when thus said La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour, "Old fellow,' said he, to the smuggler free, 'when I left the cruiser's deck, A watch and some gold in a stocking I roll'd, and fastened it round my neck; As the seas I clave, 'twas loosed by a wave, and I put up my hand to hold; But the devil to boot, I caught by the foot, and out went the watch and gold. Here's the stocking as yet, little worth I admit; but if ever you need a turn, send it to me, and you then shall see that the soul of La Tour d'Auvergne Just Is the very soul of honour." LE PREMIER GRENADIER DES ARMEES DE LA REPUBLIQUE. I was rapt in a muse, when over the dews | Who died on the field of honour. "'Mark me,' said he, ' for you're fresh I see, never move whatever the case, For if you do, 'tis twenty to two, that you get in an uglier place; I know what you feel, have felt it as well, but 'If I find you shirk in this night's red work, by Who fell on the field of honour. "Mid the murk fight's roar, smoke, darkness, and I somehow got up to the rampart's top, but how My heart and brain, and my every vein, seemed I nor saw nor felt, but my blows I dealt in a frolic of frensied ire: Nor knew I ought the capture was wrought, till I 'Well, they can't say this has been done amiss!' "But he did'nt that night use me wholly right "- We've heard it before fifty times and more," said the pensioner timber-leg; "How you pressed your suit, like an English brute, on a lady found in the town, And how at her cries he rescued your prize, and handsomely knocked you down; There are never, man, needs to make our misdeeds other people's talk or concern; So the less that's told the better, I hold-go on with La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour." "You are right, egad! so shake hands, old lad, But at times like those, you know how it goes, and I was never forgat ever after that, he relapsed his I could say or do as I might to you, what I would with La Tour d'Auvergne, ་་ Who fell on the field of honour. Our various career, for many a year, we pursued thro' weal and woe, Till a wound he got, from a splintered shot, and the doctors took him in tow; 175 "It was claimed at last; many years had past; (Where they say he took to scribbling a book; but His pity it won, Ma petite mignonne, what Who fell on the field of honour. "They forbade her,' she said, her lover to wed, because he was stricken blind; His father being slain in the Swiss Campaign, his mother with want had pined; But to gain her food his trade he pursued, morning, 'Twas that worst of trades, grinding sabre blades, Who fell on the field of honour. « La Tour that day claimed his long lapsed pay, Who fell on the field of honour. "Six months might elapse, or seven perhaps, when there came to La Tour one day, An old, old man, wrinkled and wan, with scant locks withered and grey; To ask his aid, for his son, he said. Sons had he had eleven; Three had died in their childhood's pride, the conscription had taken seven; And now he was reft of the sole one left, for he had been drawn in turn, And he fondly thought his release might be wrought, if asked by La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour. "The old man's form to his bosom warm was | And when on parade the muster was made, and clasped in a close embrace; No need to show the stocking, I trow, he remembered the smuggler's face; Each nerve did he strain, the release to gain, to Napoleon himself applied; But the word was 'no! the conscript must go, if another he could not provide.' Substitutes then were rare sort of men, they were baffled at every turn, 'Peste! I'm here on the shelf, I will go myself,' cried the bold La Tour d'Auvergne, Who fell on the field of honour. "He went as he said in the conscript's stead, and great was the joy we made, His presence did more to inspire each corps than the draft of a whole brigade; Napoleon was won by the deed he had done, and in truth by his whole career, And a sabre decreed as his valour's meed, with the title of Chief Grenadier. The sword hilt was gold, on the blade enscrolled, with many a wreathy turn, Were damasked the words-The nation awards to her citizen bold, d'Auvergne, This sword as a mark of honour.' "Days but eleven, alas! were given, to display his trophy rare; When a Hulan's lance pierced the pride of France in a little out-post affair; I was in the fight next on his right, and he dropt in my arms stark dead : I'd have given away a twelvemonth's pay to have died there in his stead. When it first was known that the hero was down, the troops were inclined to turn; But sudden they changed, and with rage revenged the fall of La Tour d'Auvergne On the gallant field of honour. "Who did not mourn? mourning was worn three days by the nation's will; And the name of the slain decreed to remain on the books of his regiment still. His noble heart bold, in a case of gold, and embalmed with spices rare (A relic, I trow, no church could show) was consigned to a sergeant's care. the hero's name in turn, From the roll was cried, the sergeant replied—' I speak for La Tour d'Auvergne, He has fall'n on the field of honour."" A LONDON LAMENT IN JULY. Weary, weary, weary, Through the summer-time, Lonely, lonely, lonely, It is the curse and the shame of politics, that they render men insensible to, or, which is still worse, incapable of acknowledging the merit really possessed by those who differ from them in views and principles. HELEN MACARTNEY. BY MRS. EMBURY. "Blame not fate For sorrows which thyself did first create." "Promise me that you will not grow weary, dearest, during the long, long years that must elapse ere I can claim the hand which now trembles in mine," said Horace Medwin to her who had just plighted her faith to him. "Do not expect too much of me, Horace," was the reply; "I cannot promise that my heart will be patient while years are stealing the brightness from my eye, and the freshness from my feelings.' "Perhaps you will repent a pledge which must be so tardily redeemed.' "You know me too well to believe so, Horace: I would fain see you content with your present prospects of success, and even at the risk of seeming most unmaidenly in my wishes, I will say that a mere competence with you would be all that I should ask to insure us happiness. Wealth will be dearly purchased by all the terrible anxieties of a long absence; yet, since you think its acquisition essential to your comfort, it is not for me to oppose my wishes to your superior judgment. They also serve who only stand and wait;' and since I can do nothing to aid you in the pursuit of riches, I can at least bide the time. Go where your sense of duty calls you, Horace, and remember, that whether your efforts are crowned with success, or your hopes crushed by misfortunes, this hand is yours whenever you claim my pledge." 'Bless you, bless you, my own sweet Helen; that promise will be my only solace in my exile, and ol, what a stimulus to exertion shall I find in the remembrance of those tears!" Helen Macartney was the child of one of those gifted, but unfortunate persons, who seem born to ill-luck. Her father's whole life had been a series of mistakes; he had quitted college in a fit of pique, just as he was fully prepared to receive those high honours which might have been of great service to him in the career of science to which he even tually devoted himself: he abandoned a profession in which perseverance would have made him eminently successful: he failed in mercantile business, because he could not tie his thoughts down to the details of commerce. In the lowest ebb of his fortunes he married, not from love, but compassion, the proud and penniless daughter of a decayed family, who brought him a dowry of poor relations; and, finally, he wasted his really fine talents, which, if properly exerted, would have secured him at least the comforts of life, upon schemes and projects which were as idle as Alnaschar's dream. As the eye of the mathematician traces on the blue field of ether the diagram which solves his newly-combined problem, so the fancy of the speculative philosopher builds in the vague air his hopes of fame and fortune; but, unlike the man of science, who from his visionary plan de Juces a demonstrable truth, the man of schemes is doomed ever to see his fairy fabrics fade, without leaving a wreck behind. The only thing which ever had power to withdraw the thoughts of the projector from his unreal fancies, was his love for his gentle daughter. He had thoroughly instructed her in all that forms the true foundation of learning, and no expense was spared in the acquisition of those elegant accomplishments which add so great a charm to female society. Helen was a gifted and graceful woman, as well as a fine scholar. Beautiful and gentle, with superior talents, correct taste, and a character which the discipline of circumstances had prematurely strengthened, without impairing the freshness of her feelings, she was a creature worthy to be loved and cherished by some noble heart. But her life had never been a happy one; for, from her earliest childhood, her mother's wayward indolence, and her father's total want of worldly wisdom, had produced an irregular, scrambling sort of system, or rather want of system, in their little household, the discomforts of which had been felt by Helen long before she was capable of understanding or remedying the evil. Leading a very secluded life, and absorbed in those petty cares, which engross so much time and thought in a household where there is no wealth to purchase immunity from labour, she felt little disposition to indulge in the gaieties so natural to her age. Conscious of the beauty which her innate perception of all things lovely enabled her to discover in her own sweet face, and perhaps displaying a trace of girlish vanity in the precision with which her dress was always adapted to the fine proportions of her stately figure, she was yet untainted by mere personal vanity: she adorned her person even as she improved her mind, rather for the gratification of her own elegant taste, than with the wish to attract the admiration of others. Among the various pursuits which Mr. Macartney's versatile talents enabled him to adopt as a means of subsistence, that in which he was most successful was the instruction of youth. Possessing a peculiar talent for simplifying the mysteries of science, he might have reaped a rich harvest from a gift which is perhaps one of the rarest of intellectual endowments, but his eccentricities impaired his usefulness, and at length the number of his pupils was limited to a few youths of matured and developed minds, who sought him to acquire aid in the higher branches of study, and who were amused rather than annoyed by his peculiarities of character. Among these, Horace Medwin had ever been distinguished as an especial favourite of the singular old man, and a degree of intimacy almost amounting to domestication in the family had arisen between them. Gifted with talents but little above mediocrity, he possessed a firmness of character and strength of will which enabled him to overcome difficulties for which a far more vigorous intellect would have felt itself unequal. For him to determine, was always to succeed; for he had a fixedness and tenacity of purpose which never allowed him to loose his grasp on the desired object. Yet, blended with this self-reliance and N decision, which might else have made him arrogant | and overbearing, were some of the gentlest charities of human nature. Kind, considerate, and affectionate, he won the regard of all those who were associated with him, while at the same time, he unconsciously controlled them by his superior firmness of will. Perhaps it was this very quality in the character of Horace, which first excited the regard of Helen Macartney. "What has she known of love," says Madame de Stael," who has not seen in the object of her choice a powerful protector, a guide courageous and kind, whose look commands even while it supplicates, and who kneels at her feet only to receive at her hands the right to dispose of her destiny?" The vacillating temper of her father, whose instability rendered him most unfit to direct the steps of others amid the vicissitudes of life, had made Helen doubly sensitive to the spell which a certain kind of mental force in man ever casts over the more timid heart of woman. Horace had been early attracted by her girlish beauty, and the love which then sprung up in his heart strengthened with his years, until he no longer doubted that his future happiness depended upon winning the pure affections of the artless being who looked up to him with the relying tenderness of a sister. Though much his superior in brilliancy of mind, and possessing in a much higher degree all the perceptive faculties, yet his strength of judgment and force of will were sufficient to give him that superiority in her eyes which alone induces a woman to give out the whole wealth of her affections; and Helen soon learned to love him with a depth and fervour which was only equalled by the undeviating constancy of her attachment. But Horace Medwin was an ambitious man, and his love, while it was strong as death in his heart, only served to refine and elevate what was before a merely selfish feeling. To procure a bare subsistence by his daily labour, and thus live along from day to day, was little suited to his ideas of happiness. He had been brought up in the midst of that worst kind of poverty, which is found in the homes of those whose pride demands sacrifices which comfort would forbid; and the daily struggle between positive want and a desire to keep up appearances, had appalled and dejected him from his youth. He had early resolved to win a fortune, and at a time when boys are thinking only of their sports, he was preparing himself for his future career. As he grew older, a very little observation sufficed to convince him that those only are certain of success, who, laying aside all the restraints of pride and prejudice, will stoop to plant ere they climb to reach the fruits; and he therefore decided, that in order to break through the many bonds which early habit and association impose upon every one, a residence in a land of strangers, during his season of trial, was to be preferred. In vain Helen sought to moderate his views, and confine his ambition within the limits of the narrow circle where may ever be found domestic happiness. He was now ambitious for her sake as well as for his own, and the fairest pictures of the future joy which his fancy sketched, required a golden frame to give The first two years after her lover's departure witnessed little change in the condition of Helen. The daily routine of cares which the peculiar character of her parents imposed upon her, filled up the measure of her time, and Hope-that gentle soother of the weary heart-was ever singing its quiet song beside her. But, at last, the grim fiend of poverty, which had so long lingered upon the threshold, entered their dwelling, and sat down at their scanty fireside. Mr. Macart ney's habits of abstraction had increased, until they almost seemed like aberration of mind; his pupils dropped off one by one; his schemes of utility and fortune failed; his inventions were all forestalled or thrown aside as imperfect, and the old man began to feel the pressure of positive want. The desire of fame lost its inspiriting power, and in the utter wreck of his fortune he sought the excitement of the cup which is drugged with death. His wife, who had never been other than an inert, helpless, fretful creature, only lamenting over evils which she sought not to avert or remedy, became still more helpless from disease, and Helen found herself left to struggle with the exigencies of life beneath a double burden of anxieties. Chained to her mother's couch of sickness, and unable to offer any efficient aid in procuring their daily subsistence, she was compelled to exchange the few superfluities which want had left for the comforts necessary to age and illness. But, when her father's fine though ill-assorted li brary was invaded by their necessities-when she witnessed with bitter regret his child-like abandonment to grief, as shelf after shelf became void of those "dear familiar faces," which in all the vicissitudes of his fortune had ever looked kindly upon him, she felt that the minor evils of life may be harder to be borne than its heaviest misfortunes. It was not until the death of her mother, whose protracted illness had brought upon them the additional burden of petty debts, that Helen was left at liberty to carry out the scheme which she had been maturing in her own mind. With that dread of pecuniary obligation which is so inherent in woman's nature, that if it were not a virtue it would be almost deemed a weakness in the sex, she determined to cancel every claim upon them by the exercise of her own talents. Her plan was formed with prudence, and she carried it into execution with a degree of energy surprising even to herself, nerving herself to bear the arrogance of those who cannot forgive to poverty its self |