85.]

Finding hypocrisy no longer available, sometime in August, 1776, he
accepted a commission of Lieutenant Colonel Commandant, signed by
General Howe and empowering him to raise a battalion of Rangers for the
British Army. To this work he now applied himself and with success.[A]

[Footnote A: Journals, p. 277.]

On the twenty-first of October, 1776, Rogers fought his last battle, so
far as I have been able to discover, on American soil. His Regiment was
attacked at Mamaronec, New York, and routed by a body of American
troops. Contemporary accounts state that he did not display his usual
valor in this action and personally withdrew before it was over.

The next year he returned to England,[A] where, after a disreputable
life of some twenty-two or twenty-three years, of which little is known,
he is said to have died in the year 1800.

[Footnote A: Parker's History of Londonderry, p. 238.]

Such are some of the more salient points in the career of Major Robert
Rogers, the Ranger. When another century shall have buried in oblivion
his frailties, the valor of the partizan commander will shine in
undimmed lustre. When the historian gives place to the novelist and the
poet, his desperate achievements portrayed by their pens will render as
romantic the borders of Lake George, as have the daring deeds of Rob Roy
McGregor, rehearsed by Walter Scott, made enchanting the Shores of Lock
Lomond.

* * * * *

ROUSED FROM DREAMS.

By ADELAIDE CILLEY WALDRON.

Through the gorges leaps the pealing thunder;
Lurid flashes rend the sky asunder;
On my window-pane, making wild refrain,
Sharply strikes the rain.

Wind in furious gusts with angry railing
Follows the unhappy restless wailing
Of the sobbing sea, and drives ships a-lee
None to save nor see.

Dreaming souls are startled from their slumbers,
Though sleep still their trembling frames encumbers;
Helplessly they wait, fearing portent fate,
Shrieking prayers too late!

* * * * *

HISTORICAL SKETCH OF FITCHBURG

By EBENEZER BAILEY.

On the opening of the year 1764 there was in the westerly part of the
town of Lunenburg, Massachusetts, a settlement of about forty families,
consisting of a number of farms, located mostly on the hills surrounding
a narrow valley through which flowed the north branch of the Nashua
River, almost screened from view by a dense forest o