GENERAL KLEBER

AND SOME

FRENCH OFFICERS.

AN English officer was sitting with his back against the base of the great Pyramid. He sometimes looked towards those of elder date and ruder materials before him, sometimes was absorbed in thought, and sometimes was observed to write in a pocket-book with great rapidity.

"If he were not writing," said a French naturalist to a young ensign, “I should imagine him to have lost his eyesight by the ophthalmia. He does not see us: level your rifle: we cannot find a greater curiosity."

The Arts prevailed: the officer slided with extended arms from his restingplace: the blood, running from his breast, was audible as a swarm of insects in the sand. No other sound was

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heard. Powder had exploded; life had passed away; not a vestige remained of either.

"Let us examine his papers," said the naturalist.

"Pardon me, sir," answered the ensign; "my first enquiry on such occasions is what's o'clock? and afterwards I pursue my mineralogical researches."

At these words he drew forth the dead man's watch, and stuck it into his sash, while with the other hand he snatched out a purse, containing some zecchins: every part of the dress was examined, and not quite fruitlesly.

"See! a locket with a miniature of a young woman!" Such it was . . . a modest and lovely countenance.

"Ha! ha!" said the ensign; "a few touches, a very few touches, I can give them, and Adèle will take this for me. Two inches higher, and the ball had split it... what a thoughtless man he was! There is gold in it too: it weighs heavy. Pest! an old woman at the back! grey as

It was the officer's mother, in her old age, as he had left her. There was something of sweet piety, not unsaddened by presage, in the countenance. He severed it with his knife, and threw

it into the bosom of her son. Two foren letters and two pages in pencil were the contents of the pocket-book. Two locks of hair had fallen out: one rested on his eyelashes, for the air was motionless, the other was drawn to the earth by his blood.

The papers were taken to General Kleber by the naturalist and his associate, with a correct recital of the whole occurrence, excepting the appendages of watch, zecchins, and locket.

"Young man," said Kleber, gravely, "is this a subject of merriment to you? Who knows whether you or I may not be deprived of life as suddenly and unexpectedly? He was not your enemy: perhaps he was writing to a mother or sister. God help them! these suffer most from The heart of the far-distant is the scene of its most cruel devastations. Leave the papers: you may go: call the interpreter."

war.

He entered.

"Read this letter."

My adored Henry .

"Give it me,” cried the general; he blew a strong fire from his pipe and consumed it.

"Read the other."

My kind-hearted and beloved son ... "Stop: read the last line only."

The interpreter answered, "It contains merely the name and address."

"I asked no questions: read them, and write them down legibly."

He took the paper, tore off the margin, and placed the line in his snuffbox.

"Give me that paper in pencil, with a mark of sealingwax on it."

He snatched it, shrunk, and shook some tobacco on it. It was no sealingwax. It was a drop of blood; one from the heart; one only; dry, but seeming fresh.

"Read."

Yes, my dear mother, the greatest name that exists among mortals is that of Sydney. He who now bears it in the front of battle, could not succour me: I had advanced too far: I am, however, no prisoner. Take courage, my too fond mother: I am amongst the Arabs, who detest the French: they liberated me. They report, I know not upon what authority, that Bonaparte has deserted his army, and escaped from Egypt.

"Stop instantly," cried Kleber, rising. "Gentlemen," added he to his staffofficers, "my duty obliges me to hear this unbecoming language on your late commander in chief: retire you a few moments... Continue."