specimen of human nature. I was a slim youth, though rather above the middle stature, and deficient neither in strength nor activity in the ordinary acceptation of the phrase; but when he took my hand between his, which reached to my elbow, and bent over me, I felt perfectly awed and overshadowed by the majesty of his proportions-and that if he was only a man, I could but be a much lower creature, though permitted to bear the same generic appellation.

Well, the repast proceeded much like other entertainments. There was however, I thought, a marked difference in the heartiness (not of appetite, but of manner) which peculiarly appertained to the participants. While all was enjoyment, there yet seemed a total abandonment of self to the general gaiety. The cloth drawn, the Admiral gave THE KING" with the same heartiness. Any stranger to our national customs would have caught the spirit of attachment that seemed to rise with the name. Loyalty is a common, and, I fear, a cant word; but this was a true and heartfelt inspiration of all that a sailor loves and looks up to in the Royal Sovereign, his master-the father and friend of his people, as well as the majestic political fiction of the wearer of the crown. They did not drink the health in ordinary phrase "with enthusiasm," but with the steady resolution they would have cheered on going into action-it was a cheer to denote devotion in life and in death. From that moment the joyousness of the company was up, and every man filled his glass and repeated the toast and the hurrah! like one whose whole heart was cheerfully engaged, and who had no concern beyond that of the moment. One of the most delightful traits of the nature of the gallant old man was, that he took the earliest occasion to turn towards his home and his affections. Gentlemen," said he, "I'll give you the best woman in the world; I'll give you my own wife-Lady Duncan." The roof of the room shook with the cheers, and I saw the veteran's eyes become moist with the tears of fond recollection. He then gave "Lady Anne Hope" (the wife of the Captain of the fleet, his Vice-President), "who," he said, was as good a woman as Lady Duncan ;" not forgetting to repeat, however, that she "was the best woman in the world." So purely natural were the thoughts and manners of this good old seaman.

I used the opportunity his affability afforded me, to inquire some particulars of his own state of feeling before and after the action? He said he went upon deck about six o'clock, having had as sound a night's rest as he had ever enjoyed in the whole course of his life. The morning was brilliant, with a brisk gale; and, he added, that he never remembered to have been exalted by so exhilarating a sensation, as the sight of the two fleets afforded him. He said, however, that the cares of his duties were too onerous to allow him to think of himself; his whole mind was absorbed in observing, and meeting the occasion by ordersall other feelings were lost in the necessity of action. The night after the battle he never closed his eyes-his thoughts were still tossing in the turmoil through which he had passed; but his most constant reflection was a profound thankfulness to God for the event of the engagement. All this was said in so perfectly natural a tone, and with a manner so simple, that its truth was impressed at once, together with veneration for a man who could regard thus humbly an event in which so much of human life had been sacrificed, so much of personal honour,

and so much of national glory and advantage attained. So few words never filled me with such perfect esteem and respect.

A trifle occurred which touched the mainspring of the passions of these brave fellows, and occasioned a tumultuous burst of feeling. When the wine had circulated about an hour, Lord Duncan asked if there was any one present who would enliven the party with a song ? There was a dead silence, which was at length broken by the Mayor, who told the Admiral that I could sing. My voice had just broken, and settled into a base of a good deal of volume and power, but as rough as the tones of Boreas himself. It so happened that I had learned an old English war-song, from a gentleman who had himself been taught it more than half a century before, viva voce, by an aged seafaring man; and I believe the tradition now rests with me alone. It is a curious specimen of the very earliest poesy adapted to such celebrations, and contains, as it seems to my judgment, internal evidence of a very remote date; I can trace it back for more than a century. Of its descriptive strength the reader may judge.

66

Weigh anchor, my lads! see your enemy is near,

Down bulkheads and cabins, see the gun-room be clear;

Down chests, up hammocks, see all in the hold and between decks be right, Both fore and aft, my boys, freedom to fight.

She backs her sails and now lays by,

To show that she does not fear us;

But soon we will her courage try,

When we have brought her near us.

See her colours are out, she's a French man-of-war-just within gun-shot! Come, gunner, I'd have you be arm'd; give her a gun, and try how she likes it;

She's too hardy to run, and too subborn to strike to us.

Come, my jolly hearts,
Play your parts;
Every man to his station!
And when you're upon her,
Remember the honour

Of the Old English nation!

Come, haste, with all the speed you can, hoist up your English flag ;

Now win a golden chain, my boys, ne'er fear a wooden leg!

Hark to the report of the gunner, you old dull blockhead at the helm, and bring your echo steady,

Round steady!

See she fires thick,
Return her quick,

Our sports make better than standing shilly-shally.

Most bravely done, my boys, we stormed her by that hurry,
A brighter deed was never done by Old England before ye.

Come, my jolly hearts,
Play your parts,

Wheel about quick as thought, loosen your lee-lines

middle tier.

My boys, most bravely done,

We blew her sides in shatters;

She crowds more sail, and fain would run,
But she is too lame and tatter d.

Now huzza, my boys, she's sinking!

List how they squall,

O! how they brawl;

To avoid grim death they leap into their grave!
Such cowardly Frenchmen are fearful to die,
They ne'er shall be conquerors over the brave!
Now the danger is o'er,

Let us put to the shore;
But first fill a bowl,
That every brave soul
May drink a large potion;
And he that lies slain

Deep in the main,

Let him pledge us in the brine of the ocean.

The melody of this ancient ditty consists of recitative and air, as rude as its lines; and it is rather a chaunt than a song. There is, of course, full scope for simple energy of manner. Every line seemed to find its echo in the hearts of my sensitive audience, who expressed their delight by every sort of applause. It was repeated, and again repeated. The Russian Admiral Tate, a little Scotchman who sat on my left, could not give utterance to his satisfaction; he absolutely leaped from his seat, shouted, and shook my hand with a vehemence that declared his ungovernable ecstacy. Powerful associations, indeed, evidently wrought upon all present, to whom incidents like those described were probably the most permanent of their past recollections, and the most exciting of their future aspirations.

When the moment arrived for the departure of Lord Duncan, the scene became as silently impressive as the former part of the evening had been tumultuously joyous. The old man rose slowly from his seat, drew himself up to his full height, and in a few simple words announced that he must take his leave. A dead silence ensued. He turned to the Russian Admiral, and folding his vast arms round him, expressed his farewell in this solemn embrace. It was then that the voices of his companions in arms broke forth, and he was saluted with three such cheers, so hearty, so regular, so true, that they vibrated through every fibre of my frame. The sensation is even now revived as I write, though the best part of forty years have since passed to cool remembrance. The venerable man bent his head upon his breast for a moment, and seemed deeply impressed; he then bowed low and majestically-tucked his triangular gold-laced hat under his huge arm, and walked gravely down the room to the door amidst a silence so intense, that his measured tread sounded like minute-drops. He stopped-he turned; he again reared himself to his noble height, took his hat from under his arm, waved it over his head, gave three loud, articulate, and distinct hurrahs-in return for the former salutation-placed it upon his noble brow, and closed the door. It was the last time I ever beheld that glorious impersonation of all that is brave, and generous, and good, but the vision still remains with me.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LUNDY'S LANE.

THE sun had just passed his meridional altitude, and was blazing in his full glory in one of those clear cerulean skies which I have never seen equalled except in some other portions of the North American continent. The native forests, which bounded on two sides the farm of Lundy's Lane, lay lonely and motionless; and save for the noise caused by the rapid motion of the wings of some beautiful little hummingbirds, flitting occasionally from flower to flower, in the foliage of the majestic and blossoming tulip tree, or the hum of the laborious bee among the sweet buds and blossoms of the sugar maple,-all was lifeless and still as the grave. The roar of the "mighty Niagara" disturbed not the repose of the mid-day lassitude that seemed everywhere to reign, for its thunders came softened and subdued through the thick foliage of the forest; and, although scarcely a mile distant from the Canadian shore of this mighty cataract, had it not been for the immense column of spray, white as the light mists of a summer's morning, rolling upwards to a vast height, and then forming into a stream of fantastic clouds, impelled by a gentle current of upper air, a stranger would never have supposed himself within one short mile of this unparalleled and tremendous fall of water.

*

The sun had not yet descended behind the gentle summit of Lundy's farm. The cattle had not yet returned to their evening pasture, nor the wild bee to its hive in the lightning-scathed pine tree; but the green pasture was occupied by armed warriors, and the faint hum of the insect creation was drowned in the shrill tones of the fife, and the louder rattle of the battle drum. 'I hey were the valiant troops of my own sovereign, arrayed in that enchanting scarlet and white, and the dear white and blue cross of St. George flaunted proudly in each silken banner; and there were gay banners borne aloft, with the emblazoned names of many a stronghold in rescued Spain, where their gallant supporters had hardly earned their crowns of laurel, when they lent their proud names to adorn the living page of history. The noise of the loud Niagara was lost amidst the incessant rattling of musketry, and the frequent thunders of a battery of cannon which crowned the gentle eminence already mentioned; and the silvery column of spray was obscured in the dense sulphurous vapour which the awakening evening breeze rolled onward through the western woods. As yet no living enemy had appeared, and the fury of the assailants seemed to be wreaked on an unoffending and defenceless grove of oaks which lay northward from the centre of the farm; but ere long more formidable foes came; for there issued from that oaken grove two compact columns of armed men arrayed in dark blue uniforms, with many a gaily striped and star-spangled banner fluttering in the breeze; and, notwithstanding the murderous and successive volleys of grape and musketry poured in amongst them by the British troops, these new-comers, and they were Americans, boldly rushed forward to the very centre of their position. Long, doubtful, and bloody was the struggle! The sun sank red and fiery through the smoke of the battleguns; and when the last faint rays of the evening twilight mellowed the

splendour of the golden west, still the battle raged, and various were the successes and hopes of the contending combatants. Victory never hovered more doubtfully over a well-fought field; both armies claimed her, but, in fairness, she belonged to neither,-it might, with much propriety, be termed, what it really was, a drawn battle!

It was now the lone hour of midnight, and the scene had again changed; the pale moon hung her silvery crescent far over the eastern wilderness; while, ever and anon, her gentle face was veiled behind the fleecy clouds, which were wafted along by the freshened night breeze across the blue vault of heaven, as if it were too painful a sight for her to behold the carnage that bestrewed the battle-field of Lundy's Lane. The loud bellowing of cannon and the sharper rattling of musketry were heard no more; Lundy's farm was no longer the scene of hurried movements, rapid advances, desperate charges, and quick retreats; for the contending armies were nowhere to be seen. The affrighted herds. had never returned to their wonted pasture, but both glade and upland were plentifully tenanted with the wounded, the dying, and the dead. There was also a profusion of broken and useless arms along the skirts of the forest, and in the direction of the summit of the open plain where a few field-pieces had been planted, and which still remained on the ground. Some of them were, however, disabled-some turned, and, as it were, pointing in the direction of those who had deserted them; while others remained, shotted, and ready to pour forth destruction upon whoever might approach them; but the lately contending parties were gone. It seemed as if both armies, equally weary of the conflict, had simultaneously retreated, the Americans across the Chippawa river, and the British to their encampment on Queenston Heights. The night wind moaned mournfully through the torn foliage of the forest, and mingled with its murmurings were heard the groans and supplications of the wounded and the dying: the roar of the mighty cataract was heard more distinctly, as if in mockery of those whose parched lips would soon be livid in death; but who could yet hear its loud rumbling, and gladly would have given all that in this world they ever possessed for one single draught of its pure, but unpitying waters! Happy were they who heard it not; their sufferings were over; but many, very many there were that must welter in their gore until after the morning sun should have tinged the tall pine trees with splendour and beauty.

The morning came, and the sun arose in unclouded glory, as if to exhibit more fully the destruction which had been wrought during the preceding night. Lundy's farm was one scene of desolation and death! The ripening crops which had gladdened the husbandman's heart, for they promised a rich harvest, were entirely swept away. The fences were all thrown down and levelled with the ground, and the farm buildings were perforated with a thousand bullets. The farm-house was again occupied, not with the affrighted family, for they had not yet ventured to return, but with the advanced guard of the British army, come, not to slaughter, but to save; they had returned to administer relief to the wounded, and to dig graves for the fallen brave. Never is the British soldier's generosity more conspicuous than after a hard fought battle; for it is then that he treats his vanquished foe as he would an unfortuAug.-VOL. XLVII. NO. CLXXXVIII.

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