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thousand strong, had at Smolensko hardly sixty thousand men left, of which number scarcely half were under arms.

Never, surely, was the apothegm of the sagacious Franklin on the neglect of small matters more completely verified, than in the omission of properly shoeing the horses at Moscow. "For want

of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a horse, the rider was lost;-being overtaken, and slain by the enemy."

The army remained in Smolensko two days, which were one continued scene of confusion, plunder and conflagration. The magazines that were found there were of no great resource: for the share that was distributed to each man as a supply for several days, was at once devoured by the famished wretches, although the rations were not given in bread, but in meal. Many thousands indeed went away altogether unsupplied, each in the general struggle being obliged to obtain by force the portion that was allotted to him. A day had also been fixed for distributing ammunition; but few soldiers appeared at the appointed time to receive it.

We advance now to the crossing of the Beresina, which is thus described:

This crossing of the Beresina will long remain in the recollection of the soldiers, on account of the terror with which it was attended. The troops, from the first moment, crowded upon each other in the most disorderly manner, and many, even then, met with a watery grave: but when the corps of Victor and Dombrowsky, being repulsed by the Russian armies, directed their flight to the bridge, confusion and terror increased, and were soon at their highest pitch. Cavalry, infantry, baggage and artillery struggled respectively to pass over the first. The weaker were forced into the river by the stronger, whose progress they impeded, or were trampled under foot: officers and privates met with the same fate: hundreds were crushed under the wheels of the artillery-train: many attempted to swim but were benumbed in the attempt; and others again trusting to the broken sheet of ice that covered the stream were drowned: the cry of distress was heard on all sides, but relief was nowhere given. At length, when the Russian batteries began to cannonade the bridge and both banks of the river, the crossing necessarily ceased, and a whole division of Victor's corps, consisting of seven thousand five hundred men, together with five generals, capitulated. Many thousands were drowned, and an equal number killed; besides which, much baggage and cannon remained on the left bank.

About 40,000 men, together with a body of artillery, still tolerably considerable, had crossed the Beresina; but to what a miserable state was this force reduced!

Another severe frost completed the measure of their sufferings: arms were now thrown down in all directions: the greater number of soldiers had neither boots nor shoes; but were compelled to make use of old hats and knapsacks, or any other kind of covering to fasten round their feet. Round their heads and shoulders they wrapped whatever first offered itself, and might serve as an additional protection against the cold, old sacks, straw mats half torn, and hides of animals recently skinned; [dresses of the women peasants, priests' dresses, &c.] fortunate were the few who succeeded in providing themselves with a bit of fur. With downcast looks, and every other mark of dejection, both officers and soldiers moved slowly on together in mute dismay; and even the guards were in no way superior to, or distinguishable from, the rest: they were equally tattered, famished and unarmed. All spirit of resistance and defence had ceased. At the mere cry of Cossacks! whole columns surrendered, and a few of these were often sufficient to take many hundred prisoners. The road which the army followed was covered with dead bodies, and every bivouack appeared next morning like a field of battle. No sooner was a man fallen to the ground, exhausted with fatigue and hunger, than those who stood next to him, stripped him while yet alive to cover themselves with his rags. Every house and barn was set on fire: and wherever a conflagration had taken place, there also was found a pile of dead bodies, those who had approached the fire to warm themselves, having afterwards, from extreme weakness, been unable to escape from the flames. The highroad swarmed with prisoners, who almost ceased to be taken notice of, and scenes of distress occurred, such as had never before been witnessed. Wretches black with smoke and filth of every kind, crawled like ghosts among the dead bodies of their fellow soldiers, till they themselves dropped and expired. Many hobbled on with bare and gangrened feet, almost deprived of reason; and others again had lost the use of speech, or, from the extreme severity of cold and famine, were driven to a kind of delirium which made them roast and devour corpses, or even gnaw their own hands and arms. Some were so helpless as not to be able to gather fuel, but collected round any little fire that might remain, sitting upon piles of the bodies of their comrades, and died as the last spark went out. Reduced to a state of complete senselessness, many were seen crawling into the fire and burnt to death in endeavouring to warm themselves, while others, notwithstanding the example, crawled in after them and met with a similar fate. Vol. II. New Series.

11

SHAKSPEARE'S WILL.

[By J. N. Brewer.]

I LATELY inspected the genuine will of Shakspeare, which is pre served in Doctors' Commons. A fervent admirer of the bard must needs behold the last stroke of his inspired pen with a feeling of respect approaching to awe! His named is signed in three places; and it was with reverential grief that I observed his weakness and extremity of distress to have evidently increased in the short time required for these three signatures. His hand trembled at the first; when he came to the second, the pauses occasioned by lassitude or anguish would appear to be perceptible, from the tremulous. breaks in the writing. When his name was to be signed for the last time; when the pen, gifted with powers to instruct and delight all succeeding ages, was to make its last, lingering mark; the spirit of Shakspeare, and all his incalculable energies, appear to have been subdued! The name is almost indistinct, and the eye which guided the hand in its melancholy office seems to have been filmed.

The orthography used by Shakspeare in this instance, of course, prescribes the mode in which his name is to be spelt; yet many fearned commentators have erroneously used the e final in regard to the first syllable of the word. The way in which his name was pronounced during his life may be learned from an inspection of his will. The notary (who had been called hastily to the performance of his duty) had no opportunity of correction, and he spelt the name of his immortal client from the recollection of accustomed orthopy alone, Shackspeare.

I presume that I am correct in asserting the signature of the will to be the only specimen extant of Shakspeare's handwriting.

SIR,

CURIOUS ADVERTISEMENT OF POPE.

[From the Universal Magazine.]

LOOKING over some loose numbers of the Daily Post, I found the following singular advertisement, and copied it off for the peusal and amusement of your readers.

"Daily Post, June 14, 1728.

"Whereas there has been a scandalous paper cried about the streets, under the title of a Popp upon Pope,' insinuating that I

was whipped in Ham Walks on Thursday last; this is to give notice that I did not stir out of my house at Twickenham, and that the same is a malicious and ill grounded report.

"ALEXANDER POPE."

Who the person was that was insinuated to have whipped the poet, I have never heard; but the fact of such an advertisement appearing is another proof, if another were wanting, of the morbid irritability of his character. Would any other man have thought it necessary to repel a charge of being whipped. The only excuse is, that his diminutive and feeble person rendered such a transaction not impossible.

Sir, your obedient servant,

X.

ARMED SKELETON.

SOME workmen, while digging lately in an old castle in the Canton of Argovia, (Switzerland,) came to a vault in which was deposited a coffin, containing the skeleton of a knight in full armourin one hand he held a dagger, and in the other a sword. At his feet was placed a cross and a Turkish sabre. From the inscrip tion, it appears that he had commanded in the crusade led by Peter the Hermit.

POETRY.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.

By Lord Byron.

SWEET girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain :
I would not say "I love," but still
My senses struggle with my will;
In vain to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies;
Perhaps this is not love, but yet
Our meeting I can ne'er forget:

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes in sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering language deals,
And tells a tale it never feels;
Deceit the guilty lips impart,

And hush the mandates of the heart;
But souls' interpreters, the eyes,

Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise;
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit from within reproved us,
Say rather 'twas the spirit moved us.
Though what they uttered I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
Thus for myself at least I'll say,

Thy form appears through night, through day;
Awake, with it my fancy teems,

In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;

The vision charms the hours away,

And bids me curse Aurora's ray

For breaking slumbers of delight,

Which makes me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or wo my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.
Alas, again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;

Then let me breathe this parting prayer,

The dictates of my bosom's care:

"May Heaven so guard my lovely Quakers

That anguish ne'er may overtake her,

But blessed be aye her heart's partaker."

Oh, may the happy mortal fated

To be by dearest ties related,

For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!

May that fair bosom never know,
What 'tis to feel the restless wo,

Which stings the soul with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget.

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