of the breastwork, but he could bring them no nearer. At length Luxembourg formed his decision. A last attempt must be made to carry Neerwinden; and the invincible household troops, the conquerors of Stein5 kirk, must lead the way.

The household troops came on in a manner worthy of their long and terrible renown. A third time Neerwinden was taken. A third time William tried to retake it. At the head of some English regiments he 10 charged the guards of Louis, the French king, with such fury that, for the first time in the memory of the oldest warrior, that far-famed band gave way. It was only by strenuous exertions that the broken ranks were rallied.

15 A little after four in the afternoon the whole line gave way. All was havoc and confusion. The Duke of Ormond was struck down in the press; and in another moment he would have been a corpse, had not a rich diamond on his finger caught the eye of one of 20 the French guards, who justly thought that the owner of such a jewel would be a valuable prisoner. The duke's life was saved; and he was speedily exchanged for Berwick.

It was only on such occasions as this that the whole 25 greatness of William's character appeared. Amidst the rout and uproar, while arms and standards were flung away, while multitudes of fugitives were choking up the bridges and fords of the Gette, or perishing in its waters, the king put himself at the head of a few

brave regiments and by desperate efforts arrested the progress of the enemy.

His risk was greater than that which others ran, for he could not be persuaded to encumber his feeble frame with a cuirass, or to hide the ensigns of the garter. 5 He thought his star a good rallying point for his own troops, and only smiled when he was told that it was a good mark for the enemy.

Many fell at his right hand and at his left. Two led horses, which in the field always followed his per- 10 son, were struck dead by cannon shots. One musket ball passed through the curls of his wig, another through his coat, a third bruised his side and tore his blue riband to tatters.

Many years later, gray-headed old pensioners, who 15 crept about the arcades and alleys of Chelsea Hospital, used to relate how he charged at the head of Galway's horse, how he dismounted four times to put heart into the infantry, how he rallied one corps which seemed to be shrinking: "That is not the way to fight, gentle- 20 men. You must stand close up to them. Thus, gentlemen, thus.” “You might have seen him," an eyewitness wrote only four days after the battle, "with his sword in his hand, throwing himself upon the enemy. It is certain that one time, among the rest, he was seen at 25 the head of two English regiments, and that he fought seven with these two in sight of the whole army, driving them before him above a quarter of an hour. Thanks be to God who preserved him!"

The enemy pressed on him so close that it was with difficulty that he at length made his way over the Gette. A small body of brave men who shared his peril to the last, could hardly keep off the pursuers as 5 he crossed the bridge. Never, perhaps, was the change which the progress of civilization has produced in the art of war more strikingly illustrated than on that day. Ajax beating down the Trojan leader with a rock which two ordinary men could scarcely lift, Horatius defend10 ing the bridge against an army, Richard the Lionhearted spurring along the whole Saracen line without finding an enemy to stand his assault, Robert Bruce crushing with one blow the helmet and head of Sir Henry Bonun in sight of the whole array of England 15 and Scotland, — such are the heroes of dark ages.

At Landen two poor sickly beings, who in a rude state of society would have been regarded as too puny to bear any part in combats, were the souls of the two great armies. But their lot had fallen on a time when 20 men had discovered that the strength of the muscles is far inferior in value to the strength of the mind.

From "The History of England."

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

For an account of the life of Bryant, see "Cyr's Third Reader."

COME, let us plant the apple tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; Wide let its hollow bed be made; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care, And press it o'er them tenderly, As round the sleeping infant's feet, We softly fold the cradle-sheet; So plant we the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree? Buds, which the breath of summer days

Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;

Boughs where the thrush with crimson breast,

Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest;

We plant upon the sunny lea,

A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;

A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop when gentle airs come by,
That fan the blue September sky,

While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple tree.

And when, above this apple tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by the cottage hearth,

And guests in prouder homes shall see, Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine And golden orange of the line

The fruit of the apple tree.

The fruitage of this apple tree Winds and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,

Where men shall wonder at the view

And ask in what fair groves they grew;