tongue of flame, a volume of smoke, a roar, and the iron thunderbolt was on its way, and the colonel walked haughtily but rapidly back to the trenches; for in all this there was no bravado. He was there to make a shot, not to throw a chance of life away watching the effect. 9. Ten thousand eyes did that for him. Both French and Prussians risked their lives craning out to see what a colonel in full uniform was doing under fire from a whole line of forts, and what would be his fate; but when he fired the gun, their curiosity left the man and followed the iron thunderbolt. 10. For two seconds all was uncertain: the ball was traveling. Tom gave a rear like a wild horse; his protruding muzzle went up sky-high, then was seen no more; and a ring of old iron and a clatter of fragments was heard on the top of the bastion. Long Tom was dis mounted. 11. Oh, the roar of laughter and triumph from one end to another of the trenches, and the clapping of forty thousand hands, that went on for full five minutes! Then the Prussians either through a burst of generous praise for an act so chivalrous and so brilliant, or because they would not be crowed over-clapped their ten thousand hands as loudly, and thundering, heart-thrilling salvo of applause answered salvo on both sides of that terrible arena. DEFINITIONS.—1. Point-blănk', permitting a direct shot. 3. Stentō'ri an, extremely loud. A droit'ly, skillfully. 5. Băst'ión, part of the main inclosure of a fortification which projects toward the exterior. Prẻ con çert ́ed, settled beforehand. 6. Lin ́stõek, a forked staff used for firing cannon. 7. Ig nõred', disregarded. 8. Bra va'do, boasting. 9. Eran'ing, stretching out. 10. Pro trud'ing, being thrust out. 11. Chiv'al rous, gallant. Săl'vo, volley. A re'nà, a place of contest. a 20. THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN was born in Edinburgh in 1813. He received a university education, and for several years was Professor of Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres in the University of Edinburgh. His first work was The Life and Times of Richard I. He afterward wrote a volume of poems, several stories, and one or two tragedies, besides contributing for many years to Blackwood's Magazine. His poems possess the simplicity of ballads, combined with a vividness of narration that makes some of them almost equal to Scott's. A vein of pleasantry that runs through many of his tales has gained for him the reputation of a humorist. He died August 4, 1865. The following extract is from the Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers. 1. COME hither, Evan Cameron! Come, stand beside my knee. I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea; There's shouting on the mountain-side, there's war within the blast; Old faces look upon me, old forms go trooping past; 2. 'Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's snows What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Montrose: I've told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad claymore, And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore ; I've told thee how we swept Dundee and tamed the Lindsays' pride; But never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died. 3. A traitor sold him to his foes. O deed of deathless shame! I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's name, Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by arméd men, Face him as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy sire's renown : Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down. 4. They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen span, As though they held a lion there, and not an unarmed man; They set him high upon a cart: the hangman rode below; They drew his hands behind his back and bared his noble brow; Then, as a hound is slipped from leash, they cheered,— the common throng,— And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along. 5. But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and high, So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye, The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with Death; And then a mournful shudder through all the people crept, And some that came to scoff at him now turned aside and wept. 6. Had I been there with sword in hand and fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dun Edin's streets had pealed the slogan-cry: Not all their troops of trampling horse nor might of mailéd men— Not all the rebels in the South-had borne us backward then! Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as air, Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there. 7. It might not be. They placed him next within the solemn hall Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles all; But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor, And perjured traitors filled the place where good men sate before. With savage glee came Warristoun to read the murderous doom, And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the room. 8. Now, by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear, And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross, that waves above us there, Yea, by a greater, mightier oath—and, oh, that such should be! By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and me, I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, Nor hoped I, on my dying day, to win a martyr's crown! 9. The morning dawned full darkly; the rain came flashing down, And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt lit up the gloomy town; The thunder crashed across the heaven; the fatal hour was come; Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat, the 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, and anger in the sky, And young and old, and rich and poor, came forth to see him die. 10. Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet! how dismal 'tis to see The great, tall, spectral skeleton, the ladder, and the tree! Hark! hark! It is the clash of arms; the bells begin to toll: He is coming! He is coming! God's mercy on his soul! One last long peal of thunder: the clouds are cleared away, And the glorious sun once more looks down amidst the dazzling day. 11. He is coming! He is coming! Like a bridegroom from his room Came the hero from his prison to the scaffold and the doom: |