army. Nothing could exceed the gallantry of our officers, or the bravery of the troops. I do myself the honor to inclose you a copy of my letter to Congress, and beg leave to refer you to Captain Pierce, one of my Aids, who is the bearer, and who will give your Excellency a full history of all matters in this department, both as to force and supplies. I am trying to collect a body of militia to oppose Lord Cornwallis, should he attempt to escape through North Carolina. And you may rest assured nothing shall be left unattempted, in my power, to impede his march, so as to give your army time to get up with him; but my force is very small, and I am exceedingly embarrassed with numerous wounded." Vol. iii. pp. 406, 407.

Lafayette's filial devotion throws a vein of romantic sentiment into the conglomerate marble of Washington's common experience. An affection so tender, a confidence so perfect, between actors on the great theatre of politics and war, is something of the rarest occurrence. "The Theban pair," with their "virtues in heroic concord joined," are nothing to it. Scipio and Lælius would have missed each other less. Ninus and Euryalus, had they only belonged to something more substantial than poetry, might have furnished a sort of parallel on a small scale. Lafayette pours out his homage to his "guide, philosopher, and friend," in language almost consecrated hitherto to the communications of lovers.

"To hear from you, my most respected friend, will be the greatest happiness I can feel. The longer the letters you write, the more blessed with satisfaction I shall think myself. I hope you will not refuse me that pleasure as often as you can. I hope you will ever preserve that affection, which I return by the tenderest sentiments."

"Farewell, my most beloved General; it is not without emotion I bid you this last adieu, before so long a separation. Don't forget an absent friend, and believe me, forever and ever, with the highest respect and tenderest affection."

"On Board the Alliance, 10 January, 1779.

"I open again my letter, my dear General, to let you know that I am not yet gone; but, if the wind proves fair, I shall sail to-morrow. Nothing from Philadelphia; nothing from head-quarters. So that everybody, as well as myself, is of opinion that I shall be wrong to wait any longer. I hope I am right, and I hope to hear soon from you. Adieu, my dear and forever beloved friend, - adieu." Vol. ii. pp. 248, 249.

"I beg your pardon, my dear General, for giving you so much trouble in reading my scrawls; but we are going to sail, and my last adieu I must dedicate to my beloved General. Adieu, my dear General. I know your heart so well, that I am sure that no distance can alter your attachment to me. With the same candor, I assure you that my love, my respect, my gratitude for you, are above expression; that, at the moment of leaving you, I felt more than ever the strength of those friendly ties that forever bind me to you, and that I anticipate the pleasure, the most wished-for pleasure, to be again with you, and, by my zeal and services, to gratify the feelings of my respect and affection." Vol. iii. p. 461.

"What must your virtuous and good heart feel, on the happy instant when the revolution you have made is now firmly established! I cannot but envy the happiness of my grandchildren, when they will be about celebrating and worshipping your name. To have one of their ancestors among your soldiers, to know he had the good fortune to be the friend of your heart, will be the eternal honor in which they shall glory." Ibid. p. 546.

"Adieu, my dear General. Accept, with your usual goodness, the affectionate tribute of a heart so entirely devoted to you, that no words can ever express the respect, the love, and all the sentiments, with which you know it is glowing for you, and that make me until my last breath, your obedient, humble, and affectionate friend." Vol. iv. pp. 61, 62.

"I am sorry our meeting again is deferred; but, when you are absent, I endeavour to guess what you would have advised me to do, and then do it." Ibid. p. 81.

"I have received your affectionate letter of the 8th; and from the known sentiments of my heart to you, you will easily guess what my feelings have been in perusing the tender expressions of your friendship. No, my beloved General, our late parting was not by any means a last interview. My whole soul revolts at the idea; and could I harbour it an instant, indeed, my dear General, it would make me miserable. I well see you never will go to France. The inexpressible pleasure of embracing you in my own house, of welcoming you in a family where your name is adored, I do not much expect to experience; but to you I shall return, and within the walls of Mount Vernon, we shall yet often speak of old times. My firm plan is to visit now and then my friends on this side of the Atlantic; and the most beloved of all friends I ever had, or ever shall have anywhere, is too strong

an inducement for me to return to him, not to think that whenever it is possible I shall renew my so pleasing visits to Mount Vernon." Ib. pp. 86, 87.

"Adieu, adieu, my dear General. It is with inexpressible pain that I feel I am going to be severed from you by the Atlantic. Every thing, that admiration, respect, gratitude, friendship, and filial love, can inspire, is combined in my affectionate heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your friendship I find a delight which words cannot express. Adieu, my dear General. It is not without emotion that I write this word, although I know I shall soon visit you again. Be attentive to your health. Let me hear from you every month. Adieu, adieu." Ibid. pp. 88, 89.

"What is become of the happy years, my beloved General, when, before my sentiments were formed, I had time to model them after your judgment? This comfort at least remains for me, — to endeavour guessing what your opinion will be on every case that occurs." Ibid. p. 184.

"Adieu, my dear General. I hope you think often of an adoptive son, who loves you with all the powers of his heart; and, as long as it has life, will ever be your most grateful, affectionate, respectful friend." Ibid. pp. 184, 185.

"I do not live one day without grieving for the hard separation which deprives me of the blessed sight of what is dearest to me, and leaves me so few opportunities to tell you, with all the love of a devoted heart, that I am, forever, with the most affectionate respect, your filial, grateful friend." Ibid. p. 219.

"What could have been my feelings, had the news of your illness reached me before I knew my beloved General, my adoptive father, was out of danger? I was struck with horror at the idea of the situation you have been in, while I, uninformed and so distant from you, was anticipating the long waited-for pleasure to hear from you, and the still more endearing prospect to visit you, and present you the ribute of a revolution, one of your first offsprings.

For God's sake, my dear General, take care of your health! Do evote yourself so much to the Cabinet, while your habit of life from your young years, accustomed you to constant exercise. r conservation is the life of your friends, the salvation of your try. It is for you a religious duty, not to neglect what may conI beg you will let me oftener hear from you. I

rn you

write when an opportunity offers; and to my great sorrow I hear my letters must have miscarried, or been detained. But, as our correspondence can have no other bounds but the opportunities to write, it was not a reason, give me leave to say, for you to miss any that may have offered; and you may easily guess what I am exposed to suffer, what would have been my situation, had I known your illness before the news of your recovery had comforted a heart so affectionately devoted to you." Ibid. pp. 343, 344.

And what is very striking, is that when years had passed by, and a new revolution, child of that in America, had come forward, and Lafayette, no longer a youth, had become apparently the most important man in Europe, holding in his hands the fate of its most splendid throne and nation, nothing is abated from his absolute deference to the master of his greener years.

"Give me leave, my dear General, to present you with a picture of the Bastile, just as it looked a few days after I had ordered its demolition, with the main key of the fortress of despotism. It is a tribute, which I owe as a son to my adoptive father, as an Aid-de-camp to my General, as a missionary of liberty to its patriarch." p. 322.

"Whatever expectations I had conceived of a speedy termination to our revolutionary troubles, I still am tossed about in the ocean of factions and commotions of every kind. For it is my fate to be on each side with equal animosity attacked, both by the aristocratic, slavish, parliamentary, clerical-in a word, by all enemies to my free and levelling doctrine; and, on the other side, by the Orleanist factions, anti-royal, licentious, and pillaging parties of every kind; so that my personal escape from amidst so many hostile bands is rather dubious, although our great and good revolution is, thank Heaven, not only insured in France, but on the point of visiting other parts of the world, provided the restoration of public order is soon obtained in this country, where the good people have been better taught how to overthrow despotism than they can understand how to submit to the law. To you, my dear General, the Patriarch and Generalissimo of universal liberty, I shall render exact accounts of the conduct of your Deputy and Aid in that great cause." Ibid. pp. 361, 362.

Lincoln was a man without a particle of impulsiveness or show; but the thing fit to be done, that, in the right time and place, Lincoln always did. Amidst the darkest environments,

he employed every method suited to secure success, just as promptly and strenuously as if cheered on by all bright omens. And when reverse came, he dealt with it just as he had been doing with the means of averting it. It was now a thing simply to be made the best of. Washington understood and respected himself and his friend too well to offer him condolence on the unsuccessful issue of a campaign, which, as things were, could not possibly have terminated in any other way. He merely took care of his feelings by appointing him to receive Cornwallis's sword at Yorktown. Almost disabled by a wound received at Saratoga, Lincoln had desired to retire from the Southern command. But he was too much trusted to allow of his being indulged. He was compelled at last to surrender Charleston, but it was not till he had drawn upon himself a much superior force, consisting of the greater part of the British troops in America, headed by the British commander-in-chief; and it was without the whisper of a charge of any thing having been omitted, which skill and constancy could do to fend off the calamity. There was no trepidation, and no whining, as he saw the circle closing around him. The following are his last two letters, published by Mr. Sparks, before the capitulation.

"MY DEAR GENERAL,

"Charleston, 24 March, 1780.

"Since my last, the enemy have, very unexpectedly, brought over the ships mentioned in the inclosed paper. It has been thought there was not water enough for a sixty-four gun ship. Before they came into the harbour, it was determined to form a line of battle across the channel, with our ships, to act in conjunction with Fort Moultrie; but afterwards, as the enemy were so vastly superior to our force, it was thought best to remove our ships up to the town in Cooper River, and land their heavy cannon and men. We are endeavouring to obstruct the channel from the town to Shute's Folly. If we should succeed, great good will result from the measure, as thereby we shall prevent the enemy from running up that river, and cutting off our communication with the country on the east.

"The enemy are extending their works on Ashley River, from the mouth of Wappoo, with a design to cover their stores, which they can land near the first work, at the mouth of the creek, and remove them a mile or two across land to the head of another creek, which empties