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"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 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 High-
lands, a beautiful district in the
north and west of Scotland.

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 "Monsieur," equivalent to our "Mister." skir'mish ers, irregular fighters in 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.

STARS

BARRY CORNWALL

THEY glide upon their endless way,
Forever calm, forever bright;
No blind hurry, no delay,

Mark the Daughters of the Night:

They follow in the track of Day,
In divine delight.

Shine on, sweet orbed Souls for aye,
Forever calm, forever bright:

We ask not whither lies your way,

Nor whence ye came, nor what your light.

Be still a dream throughout the day,

A blessing through the night.

ANNABEL LEE

EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the wingéd seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me

Yes!

that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we,

Of many far wiser than we;

And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And so, all the night-tide I lie down by her side
In her sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849) was an American poet and writer of tales. Much of his poetry is remarkable for its rhythm.

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.

ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796) was one of the greatest Scotch

poets.

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