"A man sun-struck." "Who is he?"

"Nothing but a laborer!"

"Nothing but a laborer!" A poor wife, sick and weary, watches every passer on the street, strains her ear to catch every foot-fall, and hopes in vain that each one will prove to be the sunshine of her care-worn and hard working life.

"Nothing but a laborer!" but little children cluster round their mother's knee, and ask in disappointed tones, "Why don't father come?"

"Nothing but a laborer!" but the baby lays down her only toy, and claps her hands at each foot-fall, crowing, "Papa, papa!"

"Nothing but a laborer!" but as the night falls dark those with anxious faces, clasped hands, and suspended breath, eagerly watch for the coming of him whose voice is forever hushed; who will never again whisper words of love to the wife who has worn out her life in toil for him; whose cheering tones will never more soothe the troubles of the little ones; whose

very much the reverse of temperate, and the case which at first seemed simple enough, soon assumed a serious aspect: after many weeks of almost incessant suffering, it became necessary that the poor fellow should lose his leg by amputation, if he would preserve his life. The lopping of this limb was to him an especial grief, inasmuch as, next to the loss of one of his "mauleys," it was the saddest thing that, to one of his calling, could possibly happen. His occupation as "a favorite of the public," "a pet of the fancy," would, of course, be gone forever, and no other line was open to him, since the talents of a prize-fighter, however rare and valuable in themselves, so far from being of universal application, are an absolute hinderance to success in almost every other walk of life. There was no chloroform in those days; but he looked on at all the pro

to raise the crowing babe, who in her sweet sleep murmurs his loved name.

Mark the agony of these faces as the messenger of woe approaches the door. Hear the cry of anguish the poor widow gives, and see her fall fainting to the floor; listen to the children's sobs, and hear the baby's cry mingle with theirs as the wail of grief wakes her from her sleep. See the despair that falls on all as the corpse is borne in at the door where his coming was so anxiously looked for; and when the widow, turning from all consolation, calls, in heart-breaking accents, on the dear loved name, and implores him to look up, to speak once more to her; when the children, kneeling near her, call in vain for mother's or father's care, then say, if you can, "Nothing but a laborer!"

DEATH OF REV. ELEAZER WILLIAMS.-The Rev. E. Williams, whom some wicked or foolish persons sought to pass off as "the Dauphin of France," or son of Louis XVI., died at Hogansport, in Bombay, Franklin county, New York, on the 28th of August. He had a variety of diseases, but dropsy is said to have caused his death. The evidence that has been brought forward to support his claim to royal birth is not one tenth part as good as that which has been adduced to show that Perkin Warbeck was the second

son of Edward IV., and Perkin has been ruled out of court. The Rev. Eleazer was

no more a Dauphin (or dolphin) than he was a whale, but simply an odd fish. The funeral was performed by the Freemasons, but the Indians took no part in it save that a few squaws looked into the grave. The warriors all stayed away, but it is not known whether this was from indifference or stoicism. Mr. Williams, in his last days, suffered from the want of attention, and other necessaries. Such was the real Dauphin's fate, so there was some resemblance between the end of the prince and the end of the pre

tender.

THE PHYSICIAN'S RECOMPENSE. - A somewhat celebrated M. D. gives an account of a patient he once had, who was by profession a prize-fighter, and who had by some means dislocated his knee. His habits had been

twitch of the mouth or knitting of the brows; and when the thing was over, and that limb, which he had been so long accustomed to consider his own, became the property of the scientific gentlemen around him, he said: "I thank you, gentlemen," in a cheery voice, and wished them joy of their acquisition. Then turning to him who had performed the operation, "Doctor, you have been a regular stunner to me all along since I have been here, and no mistake; I should be sorry to leave this here hospital without letting you know what I think about it. Most like, you imagined that a poor chap such as me had nothing to give you in return-which only makes it the more brickish-but I am not so bad off as I seem, doctor, by no manner of

means.

"Here," cried he, drawing a coin or medal, wrapped up in a whity-brown paper, from his breast-pocket, "here is, if not money, at least money's worth: to one in your station and with your opportunities, sir, a matter of--ah-a dollar a week for life, at the very least. Even in my humble walk, it has been a pretty penny to me already."

"Why, my good man," cried the doctor, in unaffected disappointment at the discovery, "this is only a penny!"

"Only a penny!" repeated he, with a delighted chuckle, as he hobbled away on his crutches in order to preclude any thanks for his generous behaviour. "That's what you'll be trying to persuade other folks to believe before the day's out. It is only a penny; but it is a penny with a couple of tails upon it!"

SECRET RELIGION. -Cecil says, God is often lost in prayers and ordinances. "Enter into thy chamber," said he, "and shut thy door about thee." "Shut thy door about thee" means much; it means shut out not only frivolity, but business; not only the company abroad, but the company at home; it means-let thy poor soul have a little rest and refreshment, and God have opportunity to speak to thee in a still small voice, or he will speak in thunder. I am persuaded the Lord would often speak more softly if we would shut the door.

hundred regulars and Canadians. When Sullivan arrived, Thompson, who was left with but two hundred men to defend his post, was sending off his sick and his heavy baggage, to be ready for a retreat, if things came to the worst. "It was really affecting," Sullivan wrote to Washington, "to see the banks of the Sorel lined with men, women, and children, leaping and clapping their hands for joy to see me arrive."

Thompson was dispatched with additional troops to overtake St. Clair and assume command of the whole party, amounting then to two thousand men, while Sullivan proceeded with the works on the Sorel. He was sanguine of success, but his anticipations were not realized. Thompson coasted along the right bank of the Sorel, and arrived at Nicolite, where he found St. Clair and his detachment. He crossed the river in the night, and landed a few miles above Three Rivers, intending to surprise the enemy before daylight; his guides, however, were treacherous, and led him into a morass, which obliged him to return back two miles. He was discovered from the enemy's ships at daybreak, and a cannonade was opened upon his men as they were making their way through a swamp. After an hour and a half's floundering in the mud, they succeeded in reaching Three Rivers, but only to be met by a large force drawn up in battle array. They were soon thrown into confusion. Thompson tried to rally his troops, but a fire being opened upon them in the rear, by a party who had landed from the ships, their rout was complete. Thompson himself and about two hundred men were captured; twenty-five were slain; the rest were pursued several miles through the swamp. They reached their boats, and made their way back to the Sorel, where Sullivan, who had heard the firing all the while, had been writing a letter to Washington. "I am almost certain," he wrote, "that victory has decided in our favor." The letter, which had been kept open, closed with an account of the defeat of Thompson, and intelligence of the advance of the enemy. He resolved to defend the mouth of the Sorel, but was induced to abandon it by the unanimous opinion of his officers. He dismounted his batteries, and retreated with his artillery and stores, followed step by step along the Sorel by a strong column under Bur

goyne. He was shortly after joined by Arnold with three hundred men, the garrison of Montreal. Thus re-enforced he succeeded in destroying everything at Chamblee and St. John's; he broke down bridges, left forts and vessels in flames, and continued his retreat to the Isle aux Noix. The unhealthy situation here obliged him to remove his camp to the Isle la Motte, and from thence he ultimately embarked for Crown Point. So ended the disastrous invasion of Canada.

The next action in which Sullivan took part was the battle of Long Island. It was fought on the 27th of August, 1776. To describe the battle at length would occupy as much space as I have allowed myself for the whole of this sketch of Sullivan's life; I shall therefore merely touch on the part that Sullivan played in it, referring the reader who desires a full aecount, to the second volume of "Irving's Life of Washington." About two miles and a half in front of the American intrenchments and redoubts at Brooklyn, was a range of densely wooded hills, extending from southwest to northeast, and forming a natural barrier across the island. The occupation of these hills and the protection of its passes had been designed for General Greene, but as he was taken down by a raging fever, Sullivan had the temporary command The American advanced posts were on the wooded hills, while Colonel Hand, with his riflemen, kept watch over the road leading to Flatbush: a strong redoubt had been thrown up in front of the pass to check any advance of the enemy from that direction. Flatbush was occupied by General De Weister and a strong corps of Hessians. The action commenced in this part of the field by De Weister's opening a cannonade from his camp on the American redoubt at the pass, where Hand and his riflemen were stationed. Sullivan was within the lines at the time, but hearing the firing he rode forth to the post to reconnoiter, and if necessary to assist Colonel Hand. De Weister did not advance, as the Americans expected he would, for his object in engaging them at that time was to distract their attention from a movement of Sir Henry Clinton in the direction of Bedford; he kept up a brisk fire from his artillery on the redoubt, and was as briskly answered. As soon, however, as he heard the thunder of Sir Henry's cannon, he ordered Colone Count Donop to storm the redoubt with his Hessian regiment, while he followed with his whole division. Sullivan did not remain to defend the redoubt, for, learning that his flank was turned by Sir Henry, and that he was in danger of being surrounded, he ordered a retreat to the lines. He was too late, for he had scarcely descended from the height and emerged into the plain below when he was met by the British light infantry and dragoons, and driven back into the woods. By this time De Weister and his Hessians had come up; he was now hemmed in between the two forces. The Americans fought des perately against fearful odds; some were cut down and trampled by the English cavalry, others were bayoneted by the Hessians. They sallied here and there and made a brief stand with their rifles, firing from rocks or behind trees. Some of them cut their way through the host of foes which surrounded them, and effected a retreat to the lines; others took refuge in the woods. The greater part were either killed or made prisoners; among the latter was Sullivan.

He was soon exchanged for General Prescott, and again in service. He took charge of the troops of Lee, after that officer was captured by the British at Baskingridge, and joined Washington in his retreat through the Jerseys. This was in December, 1776. On Christmas evening the American army proceeded to cross the Delaware. It was sunset when they started, and the weather was intensely cold; the wind was high, the current strong, and the river full of floating ice. Washington crossed with the first troops, and stood on the banks of the river hour after hour, waiting until the

enter it on the north. As the troops commenced their march it began to snow and hail fearfully, driving in their faces. The cold was so bitter that night that two of the men were frozen to death. When Sullivan arrived at a designated point, where he was to halt until Washington's troops would complete their circuit, he discovered that the storm had wet many of his muskets, and rendered them useless. While the soldiers endeavored to clear their muskets, Sullivan sent an officer to Washington to apprise him of the condition of their arms. Washington ordered him to return instantly and tell General Sullivan to advance and charge. It was about eight o'clock when Washington's column arrived in the vicinity of the town. The advance guard, led by Stark, drove in the picket and outposts; they retreated in a disorderly manner, for the attack had taken them completely by surprise, firing from behind the houses. The Hessian drums beat, the trumpets of their lighthorse sounded, and all was uproar and confusion. The report of fire-arms at the lower end of the lane told that Sullivan was there. Washington advanced with his column to the head of Kingstreet, riding beside Captain Forest of the artillery. When the battery, which, by the way, consisted of but six guns, was opened, he advanced with him, directing the gunners how to fire. While this was taking place Sullivan, who was approaching the town on the west, detached Stark to its lower or southern end. The British light-horse, and about five hundred Hessians, and Chasseurs, were quartered here; seeing Washington's column pressing in front, and hearing Stark thundering their rear, they fled headlong over the

the banks of the Delaware toward Bordentown. Had Washington's plan been carried out their retreat would have been cut off, but unfortunately General Ewing, to whom the duty of guarding the bridge had been assigned, was prevented by the ice from crossing the river.

Colonel Rahl, the Hessian commander, put himself at the head of what men he could collect in the confusion, and succeeded in extricating them from the town. It was at first his intention to have escaped with them by the Princeton road, but the thought of losing his baggage and flying before rebels was more than he could bear; so he charged back on the town at the head of his grenadiers. He was struck by a bullet in the midst of his rash charge, and came tumbling down from his horse; his men endeavored to retreat by the right along the banks of the Assumpink, but Washington, seeing their aim, threw Colonel Hand's corps of Pennsylvania riflemen in their way, while a body of Virginia troops gained their left. He ordered Captain Forest to discharge some canister shot against them, but before it could be done they struck their colors, and grounding their arms, surrendered at discretion. The skirmish was now over. The number of prisoners taken near one thousand, thirty-two of which were officers.

Trenton was now in possession of Washington, but owing to the small number of his forces, and the failure of Ewing and Cadwalader to cross the river, as anticipated, he determined to recross the Delaware with his prisoners and captured artilery.

The following account of the battle is from a hand sheet of that time:

BATTLE OF TRENΤΟΝ.

On Christmas day in seventy-six,
Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed,

For Trenton march'd away.
The Delaware see! the boats below!
The light obscured by hail and snow!
But no signs of dismay.

Our object was the Hessian band, That dare invade fair freedom's land,

And quarter in that place. Great Washington he led us on, Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun,

Had never known disgrace.

In silent march we pass'd the night,
Each soldier panting for the fight,

Though quite benumb'd with frost.
Greene, on the left, at six began,
The right was led by Sullivan,
Who ne'er a moment lost.

Then pickets storm'd; the alarm was spread

That rebels risen from the dead
Were marching into town.
Some scamper'd here, some scamper'd

there,

And some for action did prepare; But soon their arms laid down.

Twelve hundred servile miscreants,
With all their colors, guns, and tents
Were trophies of the day.
The frolic o'er, the light canteen,
In center, front, and rear was seen
Driving fatigue away.

Now, brothers of the patriot bands,
Let's sing deliv'rance from the hands
Of arbitrary sway,

And as our life is but a span,
Let's touch the tankard while we can

In mem'ry of that day.

Sullivan was with Washington in his attack on Princeton, but as his part in that desperate affair was secondary, I shall not describe it here.

The summer of 1777 found Sullivan with his division at Hanover, New Jersey. While encamped here he attempted to surprise and capture a party of provincials, one thousand strong, stationed on Staten Island. It was his intention to fall on the troops, and making them prisoners, escape with them before the British regulars could come to their aid. He succeeded in taking a number of prisoners, but not having boats enough to secure a retreat at once, the regulars came to the rescue, and a sharp conflict ensued. His rear guard was captured while waiting for the return of his boats. Shortly afterward he joined Washington and fought in the battle of Brandywine.

Sullivan commanded the right wing of the army on this occasion. It was composed of his division and those of Stephen and Sterling, and was stationed along the Brandywine, two miles beyond Washington's position. Across a creek on the extreme right extended a few detachments of raw cavalry. The left wing, composed of Pennsylvania militia, was stationed below Chadd's Ford, where Washington had taken his position, and where the brunt of the battle was likely to be. Between these was the main body of the Americans, commanded by Washington, and consisting of Wayne's, Weedon's, and Muhlenberg's brigades, with the light infantry under Maxwell. Immediately above the ford was an eminence, on which the artillery of Wayne and Prescott were intrenched. With this disposition of the American forces before him, and remembering that the enemy were on the other side of the stream, I hope the reader will be able to understand the movements of both armies during the action.

It commened on the morning of the 11th of September by the British making a demonstration on the road leading to Chadd's Ford. From their side of the river the Americans saw a column of