queror of Scinde; encompassed by enemies, and denied quarter, he received five wounds, but he still fought and struggled for life, till a French drummer, with a generous heat and indignation, forcibly rescued him from his barbarous assailants. Meanwhile Sir John Moore, observing the error of the 42nd, had galloped down, and with a fiery exhortation sent it back to the village, where the 50th, notwithstanding the loss of their commander, was successfully maintaining a very violent conflict: then with heroic anticipations from the development of his counter-combination, he returned to the ridge from whence he could view the whole action. Elvina was now his centre of battle and pivot of movements, for on his left the battle had then become general and furious, yet the French made no progress against Hope's division; and on the right, in the valley, the attacking column was at bay, wavering under a double fire in front and flank: everywhere the signs of coming victory were bright, when the gallant man, the consummate commander, who had brought the battle to this crisis, was dashed from his horse to the earth. A cannon-shot from the rock battery had torn away all the flesh from his left breast and shoulder, and broken the ribs over a heart undaunted even by this terrible, this ghastly mortal hurt; for with incredible energy he rose to a sitting posture, and with fixed look and unchanged countenance continued to regard the fight at Elvina until the Frenchmen's backward steps assured him the British were victorious: then sinking down he accepted succour.

Being placed in a blanket for removal, an entanglement of his belts caused the hilt to enter the wound, and Captain Hardinge attempted to take away the weapon altogether; but with martial pride the stricken man forbade the alleviationhe would not part with his sword in his field! Epaminondas, mortally wounded at Mantinea, was anxious for the recovery of his shield. Moore, mortally wounded at Coruña, sustained additional torture rather than part with his sword!

The Theban hero's fall dismayed and paralysed his victorious troops. It was not so with the British at Coruña. They saw Baird, second in command, carried from the field as the generalin-chief had been, and they would have seen all their generals fall one after another without abating their battle; hence it was not long before the French were entirely driven from Elvina, while on the left, they were not only repulsed from the ridge, but pursued and assailed in their own villages; that of Palavia, defended by the since celebrated General Foy, was taken. Meanwhile Paget, pouring into the valley with conquering violence, overthrew everything in his front, and driving off the dismounted French dragoons who had descended to the lower falls on his right, made for the great rock battery, which he would certainly have stormed if the counter-attack had

been continued, and Frazer's division been thrown, as Moore designed, into the fight. The French would thus have been wrecked; for their ammunition, of which the rapid marches through Gallicia had only allowed them to bring up a small supply, was exhausted, the river Mero was in full tide behind them, and only one bridge remained for retreat. But this want of ammunition was unknown to the English general Hope, on whom the command had devolved, and he, judging a night action, for it was then dark, too hazardous, profited from the confusion of the French to embark the army without loss, and sailed for England. The heroic spirit of Moore went with his troops, his body rested with the enemy.

For some hours after receiving his hurt that great man had lived painfully, but with a calm fortitude that excited the admiration of those about him. Several times he expressed his satisfaction at having won the battle, and his last words were to express a hope that his country would do him justice!'

Full justice has not been done, because malignant faction has strived hard to sully his reputation as a general; but thus he died, and the record of his worth will be as a beacon to posterity so long as heroic virtue, combined with great capacity, is reverenced; for in any age, any nation, any conjuncture, Sir John Moore would have been a leading man. Tall he was and vigorous of person, and of a very comely noble aspect, indicating penetration which no subtlety could deceive, valour which no danger could appal, and withal a dignity of mind which awed while it attracted admiration and confidence. With him, indeed, all commanding qualities seemed to be united to, and inseparable from, estimable sentiments. Integrity, honour, generosity, patriotism, adorned the whole course of his existence, and his death furnished an irrefragable test of the sincerity of his life; for both he may claim a place with the greatest men of antiquity.

MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES.

(1) How many cart-loads of coal, each 5 cwt. 16 lbs., can be supplied from a keel of 20 tons 6 cwt. 1 qr. 4 lbs. ?

(2) If 204 men build a wall 306 ft. long, 8 ft. high, and 3 ft. thick,

in 42 days of 6 hours each, in how many days of 8 hours each will 188 men build a wall of 6 ft. high, and 18 in. thick round a rectangular enclosure whose length is 319 ft. and breadth 97 ft.?

(3) If I gain 16 per cent. by selling 98 yards of cloth for £23 13s. 8d. what was the cost price per yard?

(4) A diamond-shaped kite, 2 ft. broad, and 4 ft. long, is covered on one face with gold leaf, which is sold in pieces 4 in. square; how many leaves does it take?

(5) What must be added to 356 of £2 17s. 10d. to make up of £8 19s. 7 d.?

A SKETCH OF MODERN ASTRONOMY

al-ter'-nate, by turns

ret'-i-nue, a train of attendants
ex-pa'-ti-ate, to enlarge on
con-cep'-tion, a notion

(concluded).

(By Dr. Chalmers.)

con-jec'-tu-ral, depending on guess or
supposition

phe-nom'-e-non (Gr.), plu. phe-nom'-
e-na, any extraordinary appearance
in the works of nature
mech'-an-ism, the principles of construc-
tion

re-cip'-ro-cal, mutual, alternate
a-byss, a fathomless gulf or pit
can'-o-py (n.), the sky

in-fin'-i-ty, endless number or size
per-cus'-sion, the act of striking; a stroke
co-e'-val, of the same age with
em'-a-nate, to issue from

cen-tri'-fu-gal, flying from the centre
an-te'-ri-or, previous

con-tig'-u-ous, near, meeting so as to touch

But what can those stars be which are seated so far beyond the limits of our planetary system? They must be masses of immense magnitude, or they could not be seen at the distance of place which they occupy. The light which they give must proceed from themselves, for the feeble reflection of light from some other quarter would not carry through such mighty tracks to the eye of an observer. A body may be visible in two ways. It may be visible from its own light, as the flame of a candle, or the brightness of a fire, or the brilliancy of yonder glorious sun which lightens all below, and is the lamp of the world. Or it may be visible from the light which falls upon it as the whole assemblage of objects on the surface of the earth, which appear only when the light of day rests upon them-or the moon, which, in that part of it that is towards the sun, gives out a silvery whiteness to the eye of the observer, while the other part forms a black and invisible space in the firmament or as the planets, which shine only because the sun shines upon them, and which, each of them, present the appearance of a dark spot on the side that is turned away from it. Now apply this question to the fixed stars. Are they luminous of themselves, or do they derive their light from the sun, like the bodies of our planetary system? Think of their immense distance, and the solution of this question becomes evident. The sun, like any other body, must dwindle into a less apparent magnitude as you retire from it. At the prodigious distance even of the very nearest of the fixed stars, it must have shrunk into a small indivisible point. In short, it must have become a star itself, and could shed no more light than a single individual of those glimmering myriads, the whole assemblage of which cannot dissipate, and can scarcely alleviate, the midnight darkness of our world. These stars are visible to us, not because the sun shines upon them, but be

cause they shine of themselves; because they are so many luminous bodies scattered over the tracks of immensity-in a word, because they are so many suns, each throned in the centre of his own dominions, and pouring a flood of light over his own portion of these unlimitable regions.

If

At such an immense distance for observation, it is not to be supposed that we can collect many points of resemblance between the fixed stars and the solar star which forms the centre of our planetary system. There is one point of resemblance, however, which has not escaped the penetration of our astronomers. We know that our sun turns round upon himself, in a regular period of time. We also know that there are dark spots scattered over his surface, which, though invisible to the naked eye, are perfectly noticeable by our instruments. these spots existed in greater quantity upon one side than upon another, it would have the general effect of making that side darker, and the revolution of the sun must, in such a case, give us a brighter and a fainter side, by regular alternations. Now, there are some of the fixed stars which present this appearance. They present us with periodical variations of light. From the splendour of a star of the first or second magnitude, they fade away into some of the inferior magnitudes and one, by becoming invisible, might give reason to apprehend that we had lost him altogether-but we can still recognise him by the telescope, till at length he reappears in his own place, and, after a regular lapse of so many days and hours, recovers his original brightness. Now the fair inference from this is, that the fixed stars, as they resemble our sun in being so many luminous masses of immense magnitude, they resemble him in this also, that each of them turns round upon his own axis; so that if any of them should have an inequality in the brightness of their sides, this revolution is rendered evident by the regular variations in the degrees of light which it undergoes.

Shall we say, then, of these vast luminaries, that they were created in vain ? Were they called into existence for no other purpose than to throw a tide of useless splendour over the solitudes of immensity? Our sun is only one of these luminaries, and we know that he has worlds in his train. Why should we strip the rest of this princely attendance? Why may not each of them be the centre of his own system, and give light to his own worlds? It is true that we see them not; but could the eye of man take its flight into those distant regions, it should lose sight of our little world before it reached the outer limits of our system-the greater planets should disappear in their turn-before it had described a small portion of that abyss which separates us from the fixed stars, the sun should decline into a little spot, and all its splendid retinue of worlds be lost

in the obscurity of distance-he should at last shrink into a small indivisible atom, and all that could be seen of this magnificent system should be reduced to the glimmering of a little star. Why resist any longer the grand and interesting conclusion? Each of these stars may be the token of a system as vast and as splendid as the one which we inhabit. Worlds roll in these distant regions; and these worlds must be the mansions of life and intelligence. In yon gilded canopy of heaven, we see the broad aspect of the universe, where each shining point presents us with a sun, and each sun with a system of worlds-where the Divinity reigns in all the grandeur of His high attributes-where He peoples immensity with His wonders, and travels in the greatness of His strength through the dominions of one vast and unlimited monarchy.

The contemplation has no limits. If we ask the number of suns and of systems-the unassisted eye of man can take in a thousand, and the best telescope which the genius of man has constructed can take in eighty millions. But why subject the dominions of the universe to the eye of man, or to the powers of his genius? Fancy may take its flight far beyond the ken of eye or of telescope. It may expatiate on the outer regions of all that is visible-and shall we have the boldness to say, that there is nothing there? that the wonders of the Almighty are at an end because we can no longer trace His footsteps? that His omnipotence is exhausted, because human art can no longer follow Him? that the creative energy of God has sunk into repose, because the imagination is enfeebled by the magnitude of its efforts, and can keep no longer on the wing through those mighty tracks, which shoot far beyond what eye hath seen, or the heart of man hath conceived-which sweep endlessly along, and merge into an awful and mysterious infinity? But before bringing to a close this rapid and imperfect sketch of our modern astronomy, it may be right to advert to two points of interesting speculation, both of which serve to magnify our conceptions of the universe, and, of course, to give us a more affecting sense of the comparative insignificance of this our world. The first is suggested by the consideration that, if a body be struck in the direction of its centre, it obtains, from this course, a progressive motion, but without any movement of revolution being at the same time impressed upon it. It simply goes forward, but does not turn round upon itself. But, again, should the stroke not be in the direction of the centreshould the line which joins the point of percussion to the centre make an angle with that line in which the impulse was communicated by one blow, then the progressive motion must go along with it. In order to have the first motion without the second, there must be a twofold force applied to the body in opposite directions. It must be set a-going in the same way