Scott, who tuned his "Harp of the North," in thrilling song of Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye!" And shall these genius-forming "realms" give way to the wasting of oblivion, while that genius shall ride above the ruins, "to wake once more its harp," and bid -"its skill command Some feeble echoing of its earlier lay?" It cannot be. Lutha and Katrine must ever remain, for they exist, the very life of imperishable genius. Yes, Nature is immortal. Memory will preserve every line, every feature of her. Religion will guard her from the hopelessness of oblivion. Genius will ever rescue her from the grasp of decay, and hold up her beauty, her magnificence, and her glory, undiminished by the wasting of time, untouched by the blight of eternity. EUSTA. HYMN. "My heart is awed within me, when I think THE hoary mountains and the sky, Bryant. And when the parting clouds between, When morning comes with robes of light, The glorious fabrics of thy will Or glows the noon-day air; Still beams thy presence there. The earth beneath the tempest reels, New Haven, 1839. Throughout all nature shine; This wayward heart of mine. Send, send an angel from the throng F. W. R. REMINISCENCE OF THE REVOLUTION. STORMING OF RED BANK. THE bright period of the American revolution has now almost become "olden days," and antiquity is beginning to cast over it a dim and sombre coloring. The vividness of its living scenes, the freshness of its thrilling details is fast wearing away, and their remembrance fading like the vision of a past dream. On the lips of a surviving few still faintly linger the tales of that glorious time; but they are growing mute, and soon shall be heard no more. Those hoary forms, age-worn and bowed, are tottering over the brink of the grave; one by one they drop from our sight, and ere long will all "be gathered to their fathers." Then who, when the voice of the warriors are hushed, shall resume the narratives they were wont to tell? Another generation may seek in vain for living witnesses, while vague tradition shall ill supply the story of many a wild adventure and stirring incident through freedom's proudest struggle. To snatch from forgetfulness a few memorials of that heroic period, is deemed a sufficient apology for recording the following recollections. They are, in substance, from the lips of an aged veteran who took part in the scene he relates; their faithfulness must rest on the narrator's memory. After the defeat at Brandywine and consequent taking of Philadelphia, in the summer of 1777, the British, in order to open a communication with their fleet and thence obtain supplies, were under the necessity of capturing the fortresses on the Delaware. These had been erected by the Americans to protect the city, and by their strength and position could effectually cut the enemy off from their shipping. Two of these strong holds commanded the river-Fort Mifflin on Mud Island, and Fort Mercer at Red Bank, across on the opposite Jersey shore; hence the importance of their possession to the enemy. It was their great aim to attack and carry both at the same time; the former with their vessels, the other with a strong body of land forces. The detachment destined for this duty were about two thousand Hessians, headed by Count Donop, a brave and chivalric leader. The garrison consisted of less than four hundred men, commanded by that gallant officer, Col. Greene, who was afterwards slain in battle. Anticipating an attack, the American commander had taken the precaution to strengthen his post by every means in his power. The fortress being too large for his small force, a new breast-work was thrown up through the middle, and the fort, thus cut in two parts, both to be held or one abandoned according to the number of assailants. A neighboring orchard was cut down, and the walls thickly palisaded with sharpened stakes, driven deep and firmly into the earth, to baffle an escalade of the foe. These preparations were hardly made, before they were put to trial. The morning of the 22d of October gave the first signal of the approaching contest. The thunder of the enemy's ships opened on Fort Mifflin, and warned the opposite garrison of the danger that threatened them. At an early hour, Count Donop's band crossed from Philadelphia to the Jersey shore, down which they were to march to Red Bank. But from some delay, they did not arrive in time to make a simultaneous attack with the squadron, as had been planned. The morning was dark and lowering, but the day brightened up as it advanced. The little garrison, on the look out, anxiously awaited the foe-but they came not. Noon drew on-it passed-still no foe was seen. At length about 3 o'clock they suddenly hove in sight. The view was fine and imposing. The tall columns of the Hessians came moving on in solid masses. The sun was shining from a clear sky, and their polished armor glittered brightly across the fields as they marched along. When near, they halted, and a flag approached the fort with a summons to surrender. The answer sent back by Col. Greene, was characteristic of himself and worthy the hero of Old-a spirited defiance. "I keep this fort as long as there is one man to stand by me." The bearer returned and the foe came on. A desperate and bloody struggle must now be made; on the one side, by valiant and veteran troops flushed with their former success and confident in their overwhelming numbers; on the other, by men trusting to their secured position, and nerved by the justice of their cause. The The garrison after a few well aimed fires, finding their strength too weak to hold the entire works against so powerful antagonists, retired into the inner entrenchment, where their battery was planted. The Hessians elated with hope, pressed on in close ranks to gain the deserted outpost-the bait to lure them to destruction. Greene, confident in his scheme, forbade a discharge of cannon or musketry until the enemy were within the vacant space. impatience of the soldiers could scarcely be restrained, so fair a mark did the enemy present. Among the rest a British refugee, an artillery man, who had deserted for the infliction of some humiliating punishment, earnestly begged leave to open his fire on the densely serried platoons before him; burning to wipe out the disgrace he had suffered with the blood of his former partisans. The permission was soon granted. The assailants deeming victory already won, with shouts of exultation, were now pouring in torrents over the front ramparts; another moment and the whole arena was filled. Then followed an awful scene. The word of discharge was given-one tremendous volley and a storm of fire broke in an instant upon them. The whole fort, like a volcano, belched forth streams of flame from every embrasure, and the entire breast-works were girt with one broad, blazing sheet. Through and through the thickly wedged multitudes, swept the murderous cannonade, and down dropped whole ranks before it, like corn beneath the mower's scythe. The assailants seemed paralyzed for a moment, but quickly recovered their wonted firmness. Fresh troops rushed in and closed up the gaps as fast as their comrades fell. In face of the tempest which was thus raining shot like hail among them, they long and obstinately persisted in striving to scale the ramparts. Above the roar of cannon and the din of small arms, rose the shouts of commanders urging on to the deadly strife, while mingled at intervals the shrieks of the wounded and dying. But the strife waxed too hot and sanguinary to last-the strength of the enemy was fast sinking under the overpowering tide that was bearing them down-their efforts to carry the walls by storm grew fainter and fainter till the attempt became desperate. Then their thin and shattered ranks began to waver-faltered-recoiled-and slowly withdrew from the hard fought conflict. The dense cloud of smoke now rose up like a funeral pall, and heartrending was the spectacle disclosed; the whole space around was one deluge of blood, heaped with piles of dead, or strewn with mangled forms writhing in their last agonies. Nearly four hundred lay slain and many wounded. Those who were yet alive were treated with humanity by the Americans; a single exception only must be recorded. One of the Hessians mortally wounded, had crawled up on the parapet, where, faint with the loss of blood and parched by thirst, he imploringly called out to the British deserter in broken English: "Good Rebel, water." This name the Hessians had been taught was the proper title for the AmeriThe imaginary insult, the haughty Briton could not brook. "Don't call me Rebel," exclaimed he with an oath, and tumbling the wretched supplicant from his seat, broke his neck by the fall and thus put an end to his misery. Count Donop, the leader, was taken; he had received his death-wound in the engagement, and survived but about two days, attended while he lived with the kindest care and sympathy of the American officers. This unexpected treatment touched his heart, and to his last moments he bitterly regretted the fate that led him to draw his sword against a stranger people-a people who had done him no injury; whose valor in battle he had so fatally proved, and whose kindness, when it was ended, could soothe even an enemy in his sufferings. cans. THE ROSE'S ERRAND. Go twine thyself amid her waving tresses, Remember then, transfer to her these kisses, Within thy tiny leaves, I breathe this sigh, Soft with her own in sweet effusion meeting. And when her spirit sunk to rest reposes, How he hath loved, who, sorrowing dropp'd it here. If but in dreams it wakes one kind emotion, For him whose melting pen all trembling strays, "Twill well reward this tribute of devotion, Her emblem'd self that now her lover pays. THE BIBLE. We are unwilling to believe that the subject of these pages will be deemed an intrusion on the domain of letters. A book, whose history is identified with the advance of art, learning, and civilization, whose expounders have been often the great champions in science and philosophy, whose principles are inwoven with the highest efforts of eloquence and song, can hardly be circumscribed within the narrow pale of theology, an exile from all other departments of study and of life. Esteem it a mere human production, it is still on a par with all other writings; suppose it a wild and distorted fable, it will be as true as many of the first works of genius. Believe life the whole period of existence, these pages may as well occupy the attention as aught else in the range of phantoms. The ancient knew no higher happiness than to study the mystic legends of mythology and sacrifice to her ten thousand fabled gods. And we too, in the same blissful delusion, may pore over the pages of this imposing mockery; explore, with astonishment, its sublime yet lying |