the woods, at a place called Kennet's Square, some seven miles westward of Chadd's Ford.

How grandly they broke from the woods with the sunbeams shining on the gaudy red coat, the silver-laced cap, and the forest of nodding plumes! How proudly their red-cross banner waved in the free air, as though not ashamed to toy and wanton with the breeze of freedom, after it had floated over the fields of enslaved Europe, and looked down upon the plains of ravaged India, were the Juggernaut of British power rolled over its ten thousand victims-the mother with her babe, the father with his son, all commingled in one common massacre! Who would have thought that these finely built men, with their robust forms, were other than freemen?—that their stout hands could strike another blow than the good, honest blow of a free arm, winged by the impulse of a free thought?

Who, gazing on this gallant host, with its gleaming swords upraised in air, its glittering bayonets shining in the light, who would have thought that, to supply this gallant host, the jails of England had been ransacked, her convict ships had been emptied? that the dull slaves of a German prince had beeen bought to swell the number of this chivalric band, and that these were the men who had crossed the wide Atlantic-with what object, pray?

To tame these American peasants, who dared syllable the name of "Freedom"-to whip these "Rebel. dogs"-such was the courteous epithet they applied to Washington and Wayne-to whip these "Rebel dogs" back to their original obscurity-to desolate the fair plains and pleasant valleys of the New World-to stain the farmer's home with his own blood, shed in defence of his hearth side-and to crush, with the hand of hireling power, the last hope of man's freedom, burning on the shrine of the desolated world!

And who could have imagined that the majestic-looking man who led this host of hirelings onward, the brave Howe, with his calm face and mild forehead-who could,

have fancied that this was the man to whistle the wardogs on to the scenes of sack and slaughter? Or that the amiable Cornwallis, who rode at his side, was the fit tool for such a ruthless scene of tyrant massacre? Or that the brave and chivalric sons of England's nobility, who commanded the legions of the invading host-that these men, gay, young, and generous, were the executioners of the hangman's warrant, that converted all America into one vast prison-house of convicted felons, each mountain-peake a scaffold for the brave, each tree a gibbet for the soldier of freedom?

THE BATTLE DAY.

The Eleventh of September. It dawned brightly and fairly, and the sky was clear and serene, the perfume of wild flowers was upon the air, and the blue mists of autumn hung around the summit of the woodland hills.

The clear sky arched above,, calm as on the by-gone days of halcyon peace, the wide forests flung their sea of leaves all wavingly into the sunlight-and nature was the same as in the ancient time, but man was changed.

The blacksmith wrought not at his forge on that eventful morn-the farmer leaned wistfully upon the motionless plough, standing idly in the half tilled field, or else went not forth, at all, to labor. The peaceful Quakers of the valley flocked to their simple house of prayer-the Birmingham meeting-house, some four miles northeast of Chadd's Ford-and while rumor after rumor, fraught with intelligence of blood and battle, came floating upon the air, these plain sons of the Christian church. sent up their hearts to God, in voiceless prayer, for that aid and succor which had never yet been denied.

On the summit of a green undulating hill, not more than half a mile distant from the plain of Chadd's Ford, the eye of the traveller is arrested at this day, by the sight of a giant chesnut tree, marked by a colossal trunk, while the wide branching limbs, with their exuberance of deep green leaved foliage, tell the story of two hundred years. Under this massive chesnut tree, as the first glimpse

of dawn broke over the battle field, on that renowned morn, there stood a band of men, in military costume, grouped around a tall and majestic figure, whose face marked him out as one of Nature's appointed kings and rulers.

Within sight of this warlike group, with a hill and valley intervening, lay the plain of Chadd's Ford, backed by the hastily-erected tents of the American encampment, and there, resting on their well-tried arms, were the brave soldiers of the American host, casting anxious, yet unfearing glances towards the western woods which lined the rivulet, in momentary expectation of the appearance of the British forces.

And while all was expectation and suspense in the valley below, this warlike group had gathered under the shade of the ancient chesnut tree-a hurried council of war, the prelude to the blood-stained toil of the coming battle. And the man who stood in their midst, with his tall form clad in the coat of blue, faced with buffthat man with the look of majesty and command-the open brow, and the calm, yet steady eye-who was he?

Ask the soldier the naine he shouts in the van-guard of battle-ask the dying patriot the name he murmurs when his voice is husky with the flow of suffocating blood, and death is icing over his brow and freezing in his veins-ask the mother the name she murmurs when she presses her babe to her breast, and bids him syllable a prayer for the safety of the father, far away, amid the ranks of battle-ask the mother the name she mingles with her tears-ask her the name she utters with the sigh, and the sob, and the tear of joy-the name of GEORGE WASHINGTON!

And as the sunbeams came bright and golden, through the foliage of the ancient chesnut tree, they fell upon the calm face of the sagacious Greene-the rugged brow of the unfearing Pulaski-the bluff, the good-humored visage of the gallant Knox-the frank, manly face of the brave De Kalb-and there, with his open brow, his look of reckless daring, and the full browned eye, that never

quailed in its glance, there was the favorite son of Pennsylvania, her own hero, dear to her history, in many and oft-told tradition, the theme of a thousand legends, the praise of historian and bard—the gallant soldiermad Anthony Wayne!

And standing beside George Washington, was a young soldier, with a light and well proportioned form mingling the outlines of youthful beauty with the robust vigor of manly strength and physical power. His face was free and daring and chivalric in expression, his blue eye was clear, yet sparkling in its glance, and his sand-hued hair fell back in careless locks, from a bold and lofty forehead.

THE CAVALIER.

And who was he? Not a soldier in the American camp, from the Green Mountain Boy of the North to the daring Ranger of the wild Santee, but knows his name, and, has his story at his tongue's end, familiar as a household word.

The gallant young Frenchman! Friends and country he left, rank and power he defied, fortune and hereditary right he flung aside; he crossed the ocean in peril and in danger, pursued by the storm, and surrounded by the ships of a hostile fleet. And why cast he friends, and rank, and hereditary right aside-why dared he the violence of the storm, and the danger of a death that watched his path like a spirit of evil destiny? Why sprang he so gladly upon the American shore? Why cast he wealth, rank, and life at the feet of George Washington, pledging honor and soul in the cause of freedom?

Find your answer in the history of France; find your answer in the history of her Revolutions-the Revolution of the Reign of Terror, and the Revolution of three days; find an answer in the history of the world, for the last sixty years—and in every line, you will behold, beaming forth, that high resolve, that generous daring, that nobility of soul, which in life made his name a sound of blessing, and in death hung like a glory over his memory-the name, the memory of La Fayette.

THE EMBANKMENT.

An hour passed—the council of war was over-and General Wayne looked from the embankments encircling a mound-like hill, that overlooked the plain of Chadd's Ford; he looked forth from the defence of a deep ditch and a high embankment, and his eye was fixed upon the wooded steeps that arose upon the western shore of the stream, steep and abrupt, crowned with forest trees from the very bed of the rivulet.

By the side of the gallant Wayne was Washington himself in the rear, some two miles from the stream, lay Greene, with a body of the army in reserve; two miles below was Armstrong, with the Pennsylvania militia ; two miles above, as far as Brinton's Ford, extended the right wing of the army, under command of General Sullivan.

Thus arranged, the American forces awaited the hour of battle. It was Washington's fixed idea, that the enemy would either attempt the crossing of the Brandywine at Chadd's Ford, or at Brinton's, two miles above, and in this opinion he was supported by all his officers.

Not an officer in the army appears to have entertained the idea that the British might possibly take a circuitous route from their position, seven miles west of Chadd's Ford, and attempt the passage of the river above the forks of the Brandywine, at Trimble's or at Jeffrey's Ford, and thus be enabled to take the right wing of the Continental force by surprise, attack it on the flank, and in the sudden flush of success arising from an unexpected attack, complete the route and dismay of the army of Washington,

This idea, I say, was not entertained by an officer in the army. The attack was looked for from either Chadd's or Brinton's Ford, and in the vicinity of these two points lay the American army, anxious and eager for the commencement of a battle, upon which hung the fate of the nation.

THE HESSIANS.

It was early in the morning that the glance of Wayne