The battle began about ten o’clock and was stubbornly contested. It was at length decided in favor of the English. Wolfe though wounded several times, continued to direct his army until, as he was leading them to a final charge, he received a musket ball in the breast. He tottered and called to an officer near him: “Support me; let not my brave fellows see me drop.” He was borne tenderly to the rear, and water was brought him to quench his thirst.
At this moment the officer upon whom he was leaning cried out: “They run! they run!” “Who run?” asked the dying hero, eagerly. “The French,” said the officer, “give way everywhere.” “What,” said Wolfe, summoning up his remaining strength, “do they run already? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton; bid him march Webb’s regiment with all speed to Charles River to cut off the fugitives.” Then a smile of contentment overspreading his pale features, he murmured: “Now, God be praised, I die happy,” and expired. He had done his whole duty, and with his life had purchased an empire for his country.
James D. McCabe.
LITTLE JEAN.
At the battle of the Pyramids, July 21st, A.D. 1798.
Burning sands, and isles of palm, and the Mamelukes’ fierce array,
Under the solemn Pyramids, Napoleon saw that day;
“Comrades,” he cried, “from those old heights, Fame watches the deeds you do,