rushing on, unflinchingly enduring the murderous fire, then sullenly falling back to re-form their broken ranks for a fresh effort.'

And now, strangely, the enemy suddenly struck their colors and hoisted the English flag from one of their strong positions on the breast-work. A large force closed in the English columns and marched up; others along the lines pierced the breast-work with their bayonets, and were about scaling them, when a whole volley from the French cannon and muskets made fearful havoc. They had thrown grenadeshells and all the avalanche of their full force at one fell swoop, mowing down the thick and extended columns of the English army. Hundreds fell; the front and the rear suffered equally. The slaughter ceased; the fortunes of the day were decided; and a mass of human bodies, dying and dead, covered the ground far beyond the lines and strong battlements of the enemy. Nineteen hundred and forty-two were killed and wounded; and of these sixteeen hundred and eight were regulars, and three hundred and thirty-four provincials. Over their mangled carcases the survivors of this ill-starred expedition rushed on in the retreat.

The loss of the enemy was for the time supposed to be trifling, but proved to be three hundred and eighty. Still masters of Northern New-York, twelve months and thirteen days longer the proud flag of France floated on the fortress-battlements of Ticonderoga.

A SONG OF EUROPE.

BY MRS. M. E. HEWITT.

THE clergy did much toward accustoming mankind to prefer the authority of law to the power of the sword. At their instigation private wars ceased for certain periods and on particular days, and the observance of the TRUCE OF GOD' was guarded by the terrors of excommunication and anathema." MILLS' HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES.

OUR sires in the old time
Stayed arrow and sword,
And the earth tilled unfearing,
In truce with the LORD.

The war-cry no longer
Swelled loud o'er the plain,
But the laugh of the husbandman
Rang through the grain.

And the vintagers wakened

The song of the vine,

Where the ripe grape they gathered,

Or pressed out the wine.

Then the bride wore her garland

In gladness and glee;

Then the sad soul was shriven
Ere death set her free..

But when the full harvest
Was reaped from the land,
The bow-string was tightened,
Unsheathed was the brand.

Thus take we the ploughshare
While the sword lieth still,

From her blood-fattened waste lands
Earth's garners to fill.

And think, though our rulers

Feast full on our toil,

That we too shall gather

New strength from the soil.

For e'en while they revel,
Exulting in peace,

Our purpose will ripen,

Our might will increase.

Then look to our tillage,
Sow widely the corn;
And hail to the harvest
That waits us at morn!

For the arm of the reaper
Will sway in the grain,
Till our tyrants are stubble
And chaff on the plain.

AN INCIDENT IN CHURCH.

I SUPPOSE the spirit of every human Being-like a golden reach of Landscape in the richest warmth of Summer-to be, in some of its passages, at times overshadowed by clouds of despondency, or of foreboding, or of grief, or of regret. DAY, in its brilliancy, after the glory of the Sun hath rested in joy for some hours, creates and exalts these vapours of the natural world to soften and temper the ineffable light. And thus also, in the spiritual world, shadows not less certainly, after some hour of transport or of intellectual brightness, are made to pass across the firmament of the mind: or to dwell slowly; or to descend from on high and rest above like a tent of authority; or utterly to lower, or to overcast, or darken it.

Hereafter perhaps in some far-future state of the Soul's existence, it will be given us to know and comprehend if we should desire, how these vapours of the mind that we now construe into trials and sadnesses, may like the clouds of Earth have shaded sheltered refreshed sobered and fertilized the Soul. How out of these its apparent griefs and overshadowings the young leaf hath lifted its green head, and the herbage and fountains and brooks and woods of the moral world have renewed as in youth their anthem of Verdure and delight.

It is not so now. It is not so here. And it was with a depressed, a forlorn heart, that I made my way upon a Sunday morning into the Southern aisle of one of our distant churches, listening as I walked forward up the aisle to the deep and solemn Voluntary that precedes our noble service. I had hardly seated myself in a pew where I felt welcome, when that precious expression of the Warriour-King entered unexpectedly into my thoughts:

"ONE thing have I desired of the LORD; that will I seek after; that I might dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the fair beauty of the LORD, and to enquire in His Temple.

"Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: Wait, I say, on the LORD.'

I was thus in the position so often and so zealously desired and ⚫ longed for by the heroick Leader and King of Israel, the man of arms from his youth; and, during the dissentions of Israel, so fruitlessly and in vain longed for by him-nay more, within my own breast and small experience while travelling at different periods over the Continent of Europe, how often had I, even I, longed for one such Sabbath among my own people as was at this moment to be vouchsafed to me! What Protestant Christian traveller on the Continent of Europe hath not also yearned for this?

'If ever you have look'd on better days,

If ever been where bells have knolled to church'

How strong is the invocation, how numerous, how beautiful the associations that spring upward in the heart to fashion a reply? I was in the very spot where bells had knoll'd; and I felt the cloud that oppressed me preparing to fold up its tented outlines, and the Shadow to pass off at the brightening of these thoughts.

Yet still despondency and grief maintained themselves upon the

large field of my soul; and although the service was read by the voice that in reading I most love to hear; and which, in articulating the words of Holy Writ, not only with admirable discretion and musical emphasis, but with a knowledge that can but be the result of profound investigation, enriches the mind of the hearer with a fresher and more glorious knowledge of the Divine Love-still I remained in the darkness that foretells the storm.

The service proceeded and I participated in it, but nothing remarkable occurred either in the responses, or chaunting, or the singing of the psalm. But the priest gave out as the hymn for the occasion, the two concluding stanzas of the one hundred and forty-ninth; of which the following are the simple and touching verses:

Then it was that a voice, from which no note had come before, took up the strain at it's first commencement, and carried it in every letter through to the termination of the Gloria Patri. It was a veiled voice : low, repressed, diminished. The most expert and best-taught Bullfinch in it's mellowest flow of miniature sound was never half so sweet, nor approached mid-way it's nicety of articulation: while it's compass, it's capacity was such, that before half the first stanza was completed you felt that, restrained and compressed as it was, it contained within it a thousand nightingales in ambush, all ready with their Tereu jug jug jug gurglings of liquid pleasure, with which they could in a moment have filled all arches of the vaulted church.

It played with Joy as at a game of Cup and Ball. And yet, in it's pathos, it recalled gone days that had long past. Enriching the present, and yet reconciling us to its flight. Other voices are coldly exact and critically dull in their admeasurement of Time; upon this, Time seemed to wait and linger and dwell, as upon a mistress of all Time and all Verse.

The clearness and elegance of her enunciation, the syllabick and yet not formal division of her words, the rising swell, and the cadence that seem'd too beautiful to die, all converted the strain into a musical rhetorick of thought; such as when verse and song were one.

With what an oleum lætitiæ, with what a liquid melody of gladness, did the letter L as often as it occurred delight the listener as it slid along the side of her coraline mouth! and the R, rolling over her little gracious tongue, how it loved her as it left the delicious concave for the open air! there to recount and to record and to reverberate her expressions of prayer and praise! It seemed as if there had never been any other Letter than the Letter R. Let every tear be dry.' Joy and goodness and religious fervour awakened at her call of hope and of assurance; the heart was consoled, refreshed; and to hear her was to know, if never known before, that the dew of God's precious blessing of Woman descends upon the soul of man in the tones of her voice.

I longed ardently to behold her; but placed as I was, directly in her front, I felt that it would be rudeness, and that it might be profanation, to turn quite round as I must have done to gain a glimpse of those eloquent lips; and I abstained.

I was rewarded for the self-denial. My attention, undisturbed by any exercise of the sight, revelled in the fresh remembrance of her enchanting tones. I walked homeward alone, with every cloud dispersed, and every faculty exercised in listening, still listening, to the words and notes that she had breathed. It was one of the sacred sweets' yielded by 'the hill of Sion;' I felt it to be such; and I felt myself to be, may I not say it?

-travelling through IMMANUEL'S ground, To fairer worlds on high.'

I have been several times since then, perhaps I ought to say often since then, to the same church, at the same hour, and have seated myself in the same spot; but no such sound has again entranced my senses. I should distinguish the slightest note from that of any other voice, as readily, as certainly, as decide betwixt blue and crimson. From whom could it have proceeded? May it have been that the organs of some dumb Girl shall, utterly unknown to herself, have been occupied and employed by a wandering seraph that had descended to the surface of Earth to heal delight instruct console?-Oh VOICE, holy and pure! come once again to me before I depart and am no more! come to me even at the moment that I bid adieu to Earth, and teach me again of 'fairer worlds on High!' Oh VOICE! holy and pure! oh SPIRIT! beautiful, celestial, that canst not die, once only again before the golden bowl be broken, or ever the silver cord be loosed; — once, once again!

JOHN WATERS.

THE FOURTH OF JULY.

WRITTEN AT SEA.

YE sons of Columbia! land of the brave,
Who roam far away on the ocean's bright wave,

To-day in our dear native land is unfurled

The banner of Freedom, the pride of the world!

From the East to the West, from the South to the North,
Each patriot welcomes the glorious Fourth:

The booming of cannon and martial array

Swells the splendor and pomp of this much-honored day;
Though no cannon peals loud o'er the ocean serene,
Nor the joy of a nation disturbs the still scene,
Yet the flag of our country floats brightly alone,
And who is not proud when he calls it his own?
E'en our gallant ship gaily skims o'er the blue sea,
As if conscious of bearing the Flag of the Free.
Then hip, hip, hurrah! for your banner unfurl'd,
And three hearty cheers for the pride of the world!

W. CRUTTENDEN BROWN.