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And that deep soul of gentleness and power,
Have we not felt its strength in every word
Wont from thy lip, as Hermon's dew, to shower ?
Yes ! in our hearts thy fervent thoughts have burned;
Of IIeaven they were, and thither are returned.

He who, but one short week before, had eulogised the career of Schwarz, has left behind him in India an imperishable memory, as that of The Good Bishop Heber.'




APOLEON THE GREAT did not win his many

victories without many desperate struggles. Great was the terror of his name through Europe, and many an army quailed before him; many a fight was lost through the mere hopelessness of the soldiery in opposing so famous a conqueror. But, at times the peoples of Europe, roused by shame at being so often beaten, and urged to great exertions by the hope of reaping the glory of defeating the hero of so many campaigns, collected in overwhelming force; and, encouraged by the knowledge of their strength in numbers, opposed the invader with a desperation that often shook his confidence. Many a time, surrounded by mounted generals, waiting his orders, and plumed aides-de-camp, ready to start at a word or a signal from their commander, he stood on some hill, with lips compressed, a stern brow, one hand behind his back, and a small telescope in the other, watching the swaying masses of men beneath him. Amid the thunders of the artillery, the rolling clouds of smoke for ever renewed, he could see the far-stretching lines of the army, of


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whose movements he was the mainspring. columns were pressing forward in a rapid charge; there, a brigade of cavalry dashed again and again upon the gleaming bayonets of sturdy battalions, and again and again galloped back without breaking through them; there, he beheld his right wing giving way, the troops recoiling now, now wavering, now broken, now retreating in a scattered confusion; a moment more his left wing is outflanked; it is surrounded by the enemy; it stands staunch, but cannot stand long. His brow darkens; he sees his centre far advanced, and unsupported; his brow grows darker yet; messenger after messenger, mounted on the fleetest steeds, is sent hurriedly in every direction; fresh troops move up, fresh efforts are made; but numbers are against him. The generals whisper anxiously to one another; he, alone, stands immovable, unmoved, with steady eye fixed upon the fight. The great game grows more and more hazardous; message after message arrives from the generals in action, anxiety on every face. Vain is each fresh attempt; more troops are sent up, but they, too, fail; the Guard is advanced, but the Guard itself is broken. It is then that the officers of the staff crowd hurriedly around him, and he hears them exclaim, “The day is lost.' ‘Not so,' is his answer, I have yet my INVINCIBLES.'

Picked from the regiments that had seen service, selected for their acts of bravery, these men, forming one grand powerful corps, were kept in reserve during the heat of the fight. If the battle could be won without them, they remained aloof, as a kind of citadel for those that fought, and were not allowed

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