And now is the hour when the attack should be, and no Lambert is yet here, he is ordering the line far to the right yet; and Oliver occasionally, in Hodgson's hearing, is impatient for him. The Scots too, on this wing, are awake; thinking to surprise us; there is their trumpet sounding, we heard it once; and Lambert, who was to lead the attack, is not here. The Lord General is impatient;—behold Lambert at last! The trumpets peal, shattering with fierce clangour Night's silence; the cannons awaken along all the Line: "The Lord of Hosts! The Lord

of Hosts!" On, my brave ones, on !—

The dispute "on this right wing was hot and stiff, for three quarters of an hour." Plenty of fire, from fieldpieces, snaphances, matchlocks, entertains the Scotch main battle across the Brock;-poor stiffened men, roused from the corn-shocks with their matches all out! But here on the right, their horse, “with lancers in the front rank," charge desperately; drive us back across the hollow of the Rivulet;-back a little; but the Lord gives us courage, and we storm home again, horse and foot, upon them, with a shock like tornado tempests; break them, beat them, drive them all adrift. "Some fled towards Copperspath, but most across their own foot." Their own poor foot, whose matches were hardly well alight yet!

Poor men, it was a terrible awakening for them: fieldpieces and charge of foot across the Brocksburn; and now here is their own horse in mad panic trampling them to death. Above Three-thousand killed upon the place: "I never saw such a charge of foot

and horse," says one; nor did I. Oliver was still near to Yorkshire Hodgson when the shock succeeded; Hodgson heard him say, "They run! I profess they

run!"

And over St. Abb's Head and the German Ocean, just then, bursts the first gleam of the level Sun upon us," and I heard Nol say, in the words of the Psalmist, 'Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered," "—or in Rous's metre,

"Let God arise, and scattered

Let all His enemies be;

And let all those that do Him hate

Before His presence flee!"

Even so. The Scotch Army is shivered to utter ruin; rushes in tumultuous wreck, hither, thither; to Belhaven, or, in their distraction, even to Dunbar; the chase goes as far as Haddington; led by Hacker. "The Lord General made a halt," says Hodgson," and sang the Hundred-and-seventeenth Psalm," till our horse could gather for the chase. Hundred-andseventeenth Psalm, at the foot of the Doon Hill; there we uplift it, to the tune of Bangor, or some still higher score, and roll it strong and great against the sky: "O give ye praise unto the Lord,

All nations that be;
Likewise, ye people all, accord
His name to magnify!

"For great to us-ward ever are
His lovingkindnesses;

His truth endures for evermore.
The Lord O do ye bless!"

And now, to the chase again.

a mass.

The Prisoners are Ten-thousand, all the foot in Many Dignitaries are taken; not a few are slain; of whom see Printed Lists,-full of blunders. Provost Jaffray of Aberdeen, Member of the Scots Parliament, one of the Committee of Estates, was very nearly slain: a trooper's sword was in the air to sever him, but one cried, "He is a man of consequence; he can ransom himself!"—and the trooper kept him prisoner. The first of the Scots Quakers, by-and-by; and an official person much reconciled to Oliver. Ministers also of the Kirk Committee were slain; two Ministers I find taken, poor Carstairs of Glasgow, poor Waugh of some other place,—of whom we shall transiently hear again.

General David Lesley, vigorous for flight as for other things, got to Edinburgh by nine o'clock; poor old Leven, not so light of movement, did not get till two. Tragical enough. What a change since January 1644, when we marched out of this same Dunbar up to the knees in snow! It was to help and save these very men that we then marched; with the Covenant in all our hearts. We have stood by the letter of the Covenant; fought for our Covenanted Stuart King as we could;-they again, they stand by the substance of it, and have trampled us and the letter of it into this ruinous state-Yes, my poor friends;—and now be wise, be taught! The letter of your Covenant, in fact, will never rally again in this world. The spirit and substance of it, please God, will never die in this or in any world.

From "Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," by THOMAS CARLYLE.

85. AN EVENING DREAM.

A gun and then a gun! I' the far and early sun
Dost thou see by yonder tree a fleeting redness rise,
As if, one after one, ten poppies red had blown,

And shed in a blinking of the eyes

?

They have started from their rest with a bayonet at each breast,

Those watchers of the west who shall never watch again!

"Tis naught to die, but oh, God's pity on the woe

Of dying hearts that know they die in vain! Beyond yon backward height that meets their dying sight

A thousand tents are white, and a slumbering army

lies.

"Brown Bess," the sergeant cries, as he loads her while he dies

"Let this devil's deluge reach them, and the good old cause is lost."

He dies upon the word, but his signal gun is heard :

Yon ambush green is stirred, yon labouring leaves are tost,

And a sudden sabre waves, and like dead from opened

graves,

A hundred men stand up to meet a host.

Dumb as death, with bated breath,

Calm upstand that fearless band,

And the dear old native land, like a dream of sudden sleep,

Passes by each manly eye that is fixed so stern and dry On the tide of battle rolling up the steep.

They hold their silent ground, I can hear each fatal

.

sound

Upon that summer mound which the morning sunshine

warms

The word so brief and shrill that rules them like a

will,

The sough of moving limbs, and the clank and ring of

arms.

"Fire!" and round that green knoll the sudden war-clouds roll,

And from the tyrant's ranks so fierce an answering blast

Of whirling death came back that the green trees turned to black,

And dropped their leaves in winter as it passed.

A moment on each side the surging smoke is wide,

Between the fields are green, and around the hills are loud,

But a shout breaks out, and lo! they have rushed upon the foe,

As the living lightning leaps from cloud to cloud.

Fire and flash, smoke and crash,

The fogs of battle close o'er friends and foes, and they are

gone!

Alas, thou bright-eyed boy! alas, thou mother's joy!

With thy long hair so fair, thou didst so bravely lead

them on!

I faint with pain and fear. Ah, heaven! what do I hear?

A trumpet-note so near?

What are these that race like hunters at a chase?

Who are these that run a thousand men as one?

What are these that crash the trees far in the waving

rear?

Fight on, thou young hero! there's help upon the way! The light horse are coming, the great guns are coming, The Highlanders are coming;-good God, give us the

day!

Hurrah for the brave and the leal! Hurrah for the strong and the true!

Hurrah for the helmets of steel! Hurrah for the bonnets o' blue!

A run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here!
A gallop and a cheer, the light horse are here!