llel.

The indefatigable Blucher arrived, and the star of Napoleon sank.

Pendennyss threw himself from his horse, on the night of the eighteenth of
June, as he gave way by orders, in the pursuit, to the fresher battalions
of the Prussians, with the languor that fellows unusual excitement, and
mental thanksgivings that this bloody work was at length ended. The image
of his Emily again broke over the sterner feelings of the battle, like the
first glimmerings of light which succeed the awful darkness of the eclipse
of the sun: and he again breathed freely, in the consciousness of the
happiness which would await his speedy return.

"I am sent for the colonel of the ----th dragoons," said a courier in
broken English to a soldier, near where the earl lay on the ground,
waiting the preparations of his attendants "have I found the right
regiment, my friend?"

"To be sure you have," answered the man, without looking up from his toil
on his favorite animal, "you might have tracked us by the dead Frenchmen,
I should think. So you want my lord, my lad, do you? do we move again
to-night?" suspending his labor for a moment in expectation of a reply.

"Not to my knowledge," rejoined the courier; "my message is to your
colonel, from a dying man. Will you point out his station?"

The soldier complied, the message was soon delivered, and Pendennyss
prepared to obey its summons immediately. Preceded by the messenger as a
guide, and followed by Harmer, the earl retraced his steps over that
ground on which he had but a few hours before been engaged in the deadly
strife of man to man, hand to hand.

How different is the contemplation of a field of battle during and after
the conflict! The excitement, suspended success, shouts, uproar, and
confusion of the former, prevent any contemplation of the nicer parts of
this confused mass of movements, charges, and retreats; or if a brilliant
advance is made, a masterly retreat effected, the imagination is chained
by the splendor and glory of the act, without resting for a moment on the
sacrifice of individual happiness with which it is purchased. A
battle-ground from which the whirlwind of the combat has passed, presents
a different sight; it offers the very consummation of human misery.

There may occasionally be an individual, who from station, distempered
mind, or the encouragement of chimerical ideas of glory, quits the theatre
of life with at least the appearance of pleasure in his trium