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they swarmed up the steep ascent with ready alacrity. When morning broke, the whole disposable force of Wolfe's army stood in firm array upon the table-land above the cove. Only one gun, however, could be carried up the hill; and even that was not got into position without incredible difficulty.

Montcalm was already worsted as a general; it was still, however, left him to fight as a soldier. His order of battle was steadily and promptly made. His total force engaged was 7520, besides Indians. Wolfe showed only a force of 4828 of all ranks; but every man was a trained soldier.

The French attacked. After a spirited advance made by a swarm of skirmishers, their main body, in long unbroken lines, was seen approaching Wolfe's position. Soon a murderous and incessant fire began. The British troops fell fast. Wolfe, at the head of the 28th, was struck in the wrist, but was not disabled. Wrapping a handkerchief round the wound, he hastened from one rank to the other, exhorting the men to be steady and to reserve their fire. No English soldier pulled a trigger: with matchless endurance they sustained the trial. Not a company wavered: their arms shouldered as if on parade, and motionless, save when they closed up the ghastly gaps, they waited the word of command.

When the head of the French attack had reached within forty yards, Wolfe gave the order to "fire." At once the long row of muskets was levelled, and a volley, distinct as a single shot, flashed from the British line. For a moment the advancing columns still pressed on, shivering like pennons in the fatal storm; but a few paces told how terrible had been the force of the long-suspended blow. Montcalm commanded the attack in person. Not fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had first moved on his line

of battle, and already all was lost! But the gallant Frenchman, though ruined, was not dismayed. He rode through the broken ranks, cheered them with his voice, encouraged them by his dauntless bearing, and aided by a small redoubt, even succeeded in again presenting a front to his enemy.

Meanwhile Wolfe's troops had reloaded. He seized the opportunity of the hesitation in the hostile ranks, and ordered the whole British line to advance. At first they moved forward with majestic regularity, receiving and paying back with deadly interest the volleys of the French; but soon the ardor of the soldiers broke through the restraints of discipline - they increased their pace to a run, rushing over the dying and the dead, and sweeping the living enemy off their path.

Wolfe was then wounded in the body; but he concealed his suffering, for his duty was not yet accomplished. Again a ball from the redoubt struck him on the breast. He reeled on one side; but at the moment that was not generally observed. "Support me," said he to a grenadier officer who was close at hand, "that my brave fellows may not see me fall." In a few seconds, however, he sank, and was borne a little to the rear.

The brief struggle fell heavily upon the British, but was ruinous to the French. They wavered under the carnage; the columns which death had disordered were soon broken and scattered. Montcalm, with a courage that rose above the wreck of hope, galloped through the groups of his stubborn veterans, who still made head against the enemy, and strove to show a front of battle. His efforts were vain. In a few minutes the French gave way in all directions. Just then their gallant general fell with a mortal wound; from that time all was utter rout.

While the British troops were carrying all before them, their young general's life was ebbing fast away. From time to time he tried, with his faint hand, to clear away the death-mist that gathered on his sight; but the efforts seemed vain, for presently he lay back, and gave no signs of life beyond a heavy breathing and an occasional groan. Meantime the French had given way, and were flying in all directions. A grenadier officer seeing this, called out to those around him, "See! they run!" The words caught the ear of the dying man. He raised himself, like one aroused from sleep, and asked eagerly, "Who run?" "The enemy, sir," answered the officer, "they give way everywhere." "Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," said Wolfe, “tell him to march Webbe's (the 48th) regiment with all speed down to the St. Charles River, to cut off the retreat." His voice grew faint as he spoke, and he turned on his side, as if seeking an easier position. When he had given this last order, his eyes closed in death.

When the news reached England, triumph and lamentation were strangely intermingled. Astonishment and admiration at the splendid victory, with sorrow for the loss of the gallant victor, filled every breast. Throughout all the land were illuminations and public rejoicings, except in the little Kentish village of Westerham, where Wolfe had been born, and where his widowed mother now mourned her only child.

After further successes of the British in other parts of Canada, under Generals Amherst, Haviland, and Sir William Johnson, the French cause became utterly hopeless. On the 8th of September, 1760, a British force of sixteen thousand men assembled before Montreal; and on the same day a capitulation was signed which severed Canada from France forever.

One of the most momentous political questions that have ever moved the human race was decided in this struggle. When a few English and French emigrants first landed among the Virginian and Canadian forests it began when the British flag was hoisted on the citadel of Quebec it was decided. From that day Providence pointed out to the Anglo-Saxon race that to them was henceforth intrusted the destiny of the New World.

flo til'la, a small fleet.

High'land ers, men from the Highlands,
a beautiful district in the north and
west of Scotland. The Highlanders
are brave, sturdy, and honest.
bat tal'ion, an army, or a section of an
army, in battle array.
car'nage, slaughter; bloodshed.
gren a dier', originally a soldier who
threw hand-grenades, that is, explo-
sive missiles.

Qui vive, Who goes there?

M., an abbreviation of the French word "Monsieur," equivalent to our "Mister."

skir'mish ers, irregular fighters in small parties.

re doubt', an enclosed work of defence. ca pit u la'tion, surrender.

An'glo Sax'on, here, the English, and later, the Americans.

ELIOT BARTHOlomew George WARBURTON (1810-1852) was an Irish traveller, historian, biographer, and novelist.

TRANSIENT PLEASURES

ROBERT BURNS

BUT pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snowflake in the river,
A moment white then melts forever;
Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : Then, heigh-ho! the holly!

This life is most jolly!

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!

[Repeat refrain as above.]

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