Year: 1863

J u Me6CuIdUZd , auu Oil Iu uUuOT VI OH
William Howe, who is so glad that he
is not worse beaten by Washington.


Yoader fair girl bending from the
gallery, lets fall upon the brow Of
that white-plumed knight chaplet
of laurel, woven with lilies and roses.
His dark hazeled eyes upraised catch
the smile as it speaks from her lips.


The Queen of Beauty crowns the
Victor of the Tournament. 1t is. a
lovely picture. Let us look upon a
lovelier.


Yonder, in the deep shadows of the
grove, where the lights glare, filter
ing and indistinct, over the tufted
sward, yonder . Knight cased in
glittering armor kneels at the feet of
a lovely girl. For she is lovely, even
in that lowering beaddress that lays
back her golden hair from her white
brow. in . mass Of powder and pearls;
she is lovely in that gorgeous dress,
trailing in luxurious folds upon the
ground. it's jewels and satin and gold,
hiding the matchless outline Of her
form. Yes she is lovely, for that
deep, yet languishing eye. the laugh
ing lip, would be more beautiful, were
the form girded in q peasant garb, in
stead Of being wrapped in the royal
robes of Queen.


And tell me, as that fair and beau.
tiful girl, extending her hand, half
turns her head away, the blush ripen-
ing over her cheek, while the lover
looks up with glad and grateful eyes,
tell me, is it not as lovely picture as
artist ever drew!


Now change the scene. Let the
Tournament pass. Let Sir William
Howe go home to England. Let the
gay Knights Of the Blended Roses
and Burning Lances go to the battle
field again, there to be beaten by Mad
Anthony, that Knight Of the Iron
Hand, of George Washington, the
knight without Fear and without Re-
proach.


Now let us 60 to West Point. In
the Southern window Of that fortress
stands beautiful woman, with her
long hair all scattered in disorder
about her shoulders, while her blue
eye glaring with look of madness is
fixed on the Southern sky. In that
beautiful woman you recognize the
lovely girl of the Meschianza. That
woman is now the wife of Benedict
Arnold, who fed from West Point,
yesterday, in the British ship Vulture.
That child laughing on her bosom is
the child of traitor. Why does she
gaze SO earnestly at the South ? She
looks for the Knight Of the Tourna.


There on the piece of table-land
which looks down upon the Hudson,
where the waters sweep into their
broadest fow--at Zappan Zee-there,
under the night of the noon-day sun,
a dense crowd is gathered near small
stone house not a murmnr is heard
in that crowd all is as silent as is
the clay cold lips of the dead. Ere
we look upon the sight which chills
the crowd into such silence,
let US go back to the day
| break hour.


Day was breaking over the broad
Hudson, over the hills crowned with
gorgeous autumnal foliage, over yon
military store-house and the level
space, when two figures came thither
with spades in their hands. They
were rough men. embruted in lifelong
deeds of blood, but as they sunk two
holes in the sod, with the distance Of
a few feet between. they were at first
silent then . scalding drop of mois-
ture stole from the eyes of that rough
man, while his comrade cursed him
for crying, as bis own eye was wet
with tear.


1t must have been dark matter in
deed to make men like these shed
tears.


When these holes were dug. then
they brought two pieces Of scantling
and placed them in the cavities then
another piece at the top connected
these upright timbers and last Of
all. rope was brought, and then be-
hold-it was q GALLows II was
around this gallows as the hour Of
noon came on. that q dense crowd
gathered. There were blne and gold
uniforms, and there the brown dress
of the farmer. That bigh-brown man
whom you see yonder. among the
crowd Of officers, bears the great name,
which the nation always loved to re.
spect--Alcxander Hamilton.


II is noon-and look From yon-
der store-honse comes young man,
in a magnificent uniform young
man. with glossy brown hair and deep
hazel eye. As he comes through the
lane, made by the parting OF the
crowd, you can see that cart moving
slowly at bis heels !; that cart in
which crouches a grim figure, sitting
on a pine box, with Grape over his
face. Does that spectacle iDterst you?
Then look in that young mans face,
and behold the knight Of the Tourna.
ment. When we beheld him last, .
fair lady dropped laurel on his brow
chaplet OF laurel roses. To-day
that grim figure will crown him with
a chaplet Of death


He draws near the foot Of the gal
lows. For q moment, he stands, roll
ing over little stone with his foot
as he tries to smother that choking
sensation in his throat.


There il profound silence in that
crowd.


| Look the cart waits for him under
the dangling rope-that grim figure
lays the pine coffin on the ground
and then binds his arms tightly with
handkerchief.
i The silence is deeper. Now the
; young man turns very pale. With


his half pinioued arms, he arranges
the frill of his ruflle around his wrist
; he binds the handkerchief over his
face. Oh, Father of souls, that look
his brow, he casts one glance, ont
deep and yearning look over the ia
ces of men, the river, the sky. th'