I had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with Jessie Brown, the wife of a corporal in my husband's regiment. Poor Jessie had been in a restless state of excitement all through the siege, and had fallen away visibly within the last few days. A constant fever consumed her, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day, when the recollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. At last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped in her plaid. I sat beside her, promis

ing to awaken her when, as she said, her "father should return from the plowing."

She fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparently breathless, her head resting in my lap. I myself could no longer resist the inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon. Suddenly I was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; my companion stood upright beside me, and her head bent forward in the attitude of listening.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

A look of intense delight broke over her countenanc she grasped my hand, drew me towards her, and claimed,

"Dinna ye hear it? Dinna ye hear it? Ay, I'm dreaming: it's the slogan o' the Highlanders: we're save we're saved!" Then, flinging herself on her knees, s thanked God with passionate fervor. I felt utterly bew dered; my English ears heard only the roar of artille and I thought my poor Jessie was still raving; but s darted to the batteries, and I heard her cry incessantly the men, 66 Courage, courage! Hark to the slogan the Macgregor, the grandest of them a'! Here's help

To describe the effect of these words upon the soldi would be impossible. For a moment they ceased firing, a every soul listened with intense anxiety. Gradually, ho ever, there arose a murmur of bitter disappointment, a the wailing of the women who had flocked to the spot bu out anew as the colonel shook his head. Our dull Lowla ears heard only the rattle of the musketry. A few momen more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope, a Jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to feet, and cried in a voice so clear and piercing that it w heard along the whole line, “Will ye no believe it no The slogan has ceased, indeed, but the Campbells a comin'. D'ye hear? d'ye hear?"

At that moment all indeed seemed to hear the voice God in the distance, when the pibroch of the Highland brought us tidings of deliverance; for now there was longer any doubt of the fact. That shrill, penetrati ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds, co come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from work of the sappers. No, it was indeed the blast of

geance on the foe, then in softer tones, seeming to promise succor to their friends in need.

Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not a heart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All, by one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard but bursting of sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all arose, and there rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, which resounded far and wide, and lent new vigor to that blessed pibroch.

To our cheer of "God save the Queen," they replied by the well-known strain that moves every Scot to tears, "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot." After that, nothing else made any impression on me. I scarcely remembered what followed. Jessie was presented to the general on his entrance to the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health was drunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table playing once more the familiar air of "Auld Lang Syne."

XXXIII. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.

(1774–1843.)

WAR is one of the most awful things that can happen to man, and, except in the defense of liberty or of right, one of the most wicked. Men have been called heroes who were mere bullies, simply because they fought well; some time the world will feel the truth of the words of Jesus, "Blessed are the peacemakers,” and the men of peace who have helped others to live better will be more honored than those who have caused many deaths. Many wars, which have been thought glorious at the time, are seen to have been both foolish and wicked, and many men whose lives might have been useful have been killed in these wars because of some one's foolish fancy. The English poet Southey, in the following verses, beautifully expresses this idea in satire.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there had found:

He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

66

And, with a natural sigh,

"'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,

For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plow,

The plowshare turns them out. For many thousand men," said he, “Were slain in the great victory."

"Now, tell us what 't was all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes;

"Now tell us all about the war,

And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 't was a famous victory.

66

My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide;

And many a nursing-mother then,

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

66

They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun.

But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won,

66

66

Nay, nay, my little girl!" quoth he; "It was a famous victory.