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Pub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine

eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owns: Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this

You were disguised.

Peace: no more. Adieu;
Your uncle must not know but you are dead :
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

O heaven !-I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more; go closely in with me. Much danger do I undergo for thee.



Biography.-William Shakspeare (1564-1616), the greatest of English poets and dramatists, was born at Stratford-on-Avon, England.

Very little is known in regard to his early life, and the manner of his education must remain matter for conjecture. At the age of twenty-two he went to London, and soon came into notice as a writer of plays. It is not possible here to go into the details of his success or to speak of his marvelous genius. His first drama was written in 1590 and the last in 1613; in all they number thirty-five.

Notes. – Dispiteous is made up of the prefix dis and the stem piteous, and means without pity, cruel. The word is now obsolete.

Fair writ means well written, hence easily read and understood.

Ex' e unt is a Latin word, meaning they go forth, depart. Chid (for chidden) away, means driven away by reproaches.

Troth is the same as truth. By my troth means nearly the same as "on my honor."

Tarre (tär) means drive, drive with a whip (obsolete).


(A. D. 1759.)

in trěnched', surrounded with a

ditch; fortified. skír' mish erş, light troops sent

in advance to discover the strength

and morements of an enemy es €ôrted, accompanied. en dūr' ance, fortitude. €är' naġe, slaughter in ěv' i ta ble, unavoidable.

re doubt', outwork placed within

another outwork. rē'-en förçe'ments, additional

forces. a lă€'ri ty, readiness; a cheerful

willingness. chiv'al rgůs, gallant. flo til’lá, fleet of small Dessels. ěl' e ġy, sorrorful poem.

The closing scene of French dominion in Canada was marked by circumstances of deep and peculiar interest. The pages of romance can furnish no more striking episode than the Battle of Quebec. The skill and daring of the plan which brought on the combat, and the success and fortune of its execution, are unparalleled. A broad, open plain, offering no advantages to either party, was the field of fight. The contending armies were nearly equal in military strength, if not in numbers. The chiefs of both were already men of honorable fame.

France trusted firmly in the wise and chivalrous Montcalm. England trusted hopefully in the young and heroic Wolfe. The magnificent stronghold which was staked upon the issue of the strife, stood close at hand. For miles and miles around, the prospect extended over as fair a land as ever rejoiced the sight of man-mountain and valley, forest and waters, city and solitude, grouped together in forms of almost ideal beauty.

Quebec stands on the slope of a lofty eminence on the left bank of the St. Lawrence. That portion of the heights nearest the town on the west is called the Plains of Abraham. Wolfe had discovered a narrow path winding up the side of the steep precipice from the river. For miles on either side there was no other possible access to the heights. Up this narrow path Wolfe decided to secretly lead his whole army, and make the plains his battle-ground.

Great preparations. were made throughout the fleet and the army for the decisive movement; but the plans were all kept secret.

At nine o'clock at night, on the 13th of September, 1759, the first division of the army, 1,600 strong, silently embarked in flat-bottomed boats. The soldiers were in high spirits. Wolfe led in person. About an hour before daylight, the flotilla dropped down with the ebb-tide in the friendly shade of the overhanging cliffs. The rowers scarcely stirred the waters with their oars; the soldiers sat motionless. Not a word was spoken, save by the young general. He, as a midshipman on board of his boat afterward related, repeated, in a low voice, to the officers by his side, this stanza of Gray's “Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard :"

“The boast of heraldry, N the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave.
Await alike the inevitable hour:-

The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

As he concluded the beautiful verses, he said, “Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec !”

But while Wolfe thus gave vent to the intensity of his feeling, in the poet's words, his eye was constantly bent upon the dark outline of the heights under which he was hurrying. At lengtn he recognized the appointed spot and leaped ashore.

Some of the leading boats, conveying the light company of the 78th Highlanders, had, in the meantime, been carried about two hundred yards lower down by the strength of the tide. These Highlanders, under Captain MacDonald, were the first to land. Immediately over their heads hung a woody precipice, without path or track upon its rocky face. On the summit, a French sentinel marched to and fro, still unconscious of their presence.

Without a moment's hesitation, MacDonald and his men dashed at the height. They scrambled up, holding on by rocks and branches of trees, guided only by the stars that shone over the top of the cliff. IIalf of the ascent was already won, when, for the first time, “Qui vive ?” broke the silence of the night. “La France,” answered the Highland captain, with ready self-possession, and the sentry shouldered his musket and pursued his round.

In a few minutes, however, the rustling of the trees close at hand alarmed the French guard. They hastily turned out, fired one irregular volley down the precipice, and fled in a panic. The captain, alone, though wounded, stood his ground. When summoned to surrender, he fired at one of the leading assailants, but was instantly overpowered. In the meantime, nearly five hundred . men landed and made their way up the height. Those who had first reached the summit then took possession of the intrenched post at the top of the path which Wolfe had selected for the ascent of his army.

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Wolfe, Monckton, and Murray landed with the Arst division. As fast as each boat was cleared, it put back for re-enforcements to the ships, which had now also floated down with the tide to a point nearly opposite that of disembarkation. The battalions formed on the narrow beach at the foot of the winding path; and as soon as completed, each ascended the cliff, when they again formed upon the plains above.

The boats plied busily; company after company was quickly landed, and they swarmed up the steep ascent with ready alacrity. When morning broke, the whole disposable force of Wolfe's army stood in firm array upon the table-land above the Only one gun, however, could be carried up the hill; and even that was not placed in position without incredible difficulty.

Montcalm was already worsted as a general: it was still left him, however, to fight as a soldier. His order of battle was steadily and promptly made. He commanded the center column in person. His total force engaged was 7,520, besides Indians. Wolfe showed only a force of 4,828 of all ranks; but every man was a trained soldier.

The French attacked. After a spirited advance made by a swarm of skirmishers, their main body, in long, unbroken lines, seen approaching Wolfe's position. Soon a murderous and incessant fire began. The British troops fell fast. Wolfe was struck in the wrist, but was not disabled.

Wrapping a handkerchief around the wound, he hastened from one rank to another, exhorting the men to be steady and to reserve their fire. No English soldier pulled a trigger; with matchless


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