Louis XIV.; and Lord Melfort wrote to Cardinal Janson Forbin to lay it before the Pope secretly, but not as from his Majesty James II. and that in fact the declaration itself was only to enable his Majesty to recover the throne, as the affairs of the Catholics would be much better disputed at Whitehall than at St. Germains. James however relied more on other means than his declaration. While the preparations were making, there was an attempt to assassinate William; it was discovered, and the conspirators were punished. James tries in his Memoirs to disculpate himself from any hand in it; with what truth the reader will soon be able to determine.

James confesses that he had been frequently solicited to authorise attempts against the person of William, even as far back as 1698, but that he had constantly refused it. Yet he gave orders to Sir George Berkley, in writing, to take possession of all castles, forts, &c. and exercise according to circumstances all acts of hostility against the Prince of Orange and his adherents, &c. dated St. Germains, 27th December, 1695. This project failed, but it was not James's fault, for he had from the period of 1698 tried to get rid of his adversary.

M. de Mazure has found a proof of this in the archives of James II. still at St. Germains: the date 1693 is written in pencil.

"As the Prince of Orange, against all the laws of God, the law of nations, and against all the duties and engagements of natural affection, without any previous provocation, without any pretension or colour of right to cover

his ambition and his evil designs, has unjustly invaded our kingdoms, and in usurping a tyrannical and arbitrary power over the lives and fortunes of our subjects, has exposed them to the greatest miseries, and which cannot be expressed; and that unless we take care to prevent the consequences, the ruin of our kingdoms is inevitable: We, wishing to contribute as far as in us lies to their relief, and to prevent a greater effusion of blood, authorize you by these presents, and we require you, and you are by these presents authorized and required to seize and secure the person of the Prince of Orange, and bring him before us, taking to assist you such others of our lawful subjects as you have most confidence in. And we command and ordain all our lieutenants, deputy lieutenants, mayors, sheriffs, and other officers civil and military, to assist you in the due execution of the contents of this, and for which the present shall be your warrant."

In the margin is written "Take the King's orders to write to the Governor of Boulogne in favour of M. C." A letter to the Abbé Renaudot proves that this was one Crosby, who in 1696 thought himself authorized to do what he was required to do in 1693. The date James fixes himself for the conspiracies in which he had no hand!! But this is of a piece with the concluding sentence of his declaration: "May God proportion the success to my sincerity." impiety met its due punishment, and his meditated treachery was rewarded by all his efforts proving abortive, and his dying in a land of exile.

His

8.-Recol

8.-Recollections of an Eventful Life chiefly passed in the Army. By a Soldier.

"We had been about three months in Jersey, when the order came for our embarkation for Portugal; but only six women to every hundred men were allowed to accompany us. As there were, however, a great many more than that number, it was ordered that they should draw lots, to see who should remain. The women of the company to which I belonged were assembled in the pay-sergeant's room for that purpose. The men of the company had gathered round them, to see the result, with various degrees of interest depicted in their countenances. The proportionate number of tickets were made with 'to go' or not to go' written on them. They were then placed in a hat, and the women were called by their seniority to draw their tickets. I looked round me before they began. It was an interesting scene. The sergeant stood in the middle with the hat in his hand, the women around him, with their hearts palpitating, and anxiety and suspense in every countenance. Here and there you would see the head of a married man pushed forward, from amongst the crowd, in the attitude of intense anxiety and

attention.

"The first woman called, was the sergeant's wife-she drew 'not to go.' It seemed to give little concern to any one but herself and her husband. She was not very well liked in the company. The next was a corporal's wife-she drew 'to go. This was received by all with nearly as much apathy as the first. She was little beloved either.

"The next was an old hand, a most outrageous virago, who thought nothing of giving her husband a knock down when he offended her, and who used to make great disturbance about the fire, in the cooking way. Every one uttered their wishes audibly that she would lose; and her husband, if we could judge from his countenance, seemed to wish so too. She boldly plunged her hand into the hat, and drew out a ticket: on opening it, she held it up triumphantly, and displayed 'To go.' 'D--n you,' said she, 'old Meg will go yet, and live to scald more of you about the fireside.' A general murmur of disappointment ran through the whole. 'D-n the old b-h,' said some of them, 'she has the devil's luck and her own.'

"The next in turn was the wife of a young man, who was much respected in the company for his steadiness and good behaviour. She was remarkable for her affection for her husband, and beloved by the whole company for her modest and obliging disposition. She advanced, with a palpitating heart and trembling hand, to decide on (what was to her, I believe) her future happiness or misery. Every one prayed for her success. Trembling between fear and hope, she drew out one of the tickets, and attempted to open it; but her hand shook so that she could not do it. She handed it to one of the men to open. When he opened it, his countenance fell, and he hesitated to say what it was. She cried out to him, in a tone of agony, Tell me, for God's sake, what it is.'-'Not to go,' said he, in a compassionate tone of voice. 'Oh, God, help me! oh, Sandy!'

she

she exclaimed, and sunk lifeless in the arms of her husband, who had sprung forward to her assistance, and in whose face was now depicted every variety of wretchedness. The drawing was interrupted, and she was carried by her husband to his birth, where he hung over her in frantic agony. By the assistance of those around her, she was soon recovered from her swoon; but she awoke only to a sense of her misery. The first thing she did was to look round for her husband, when she perceived him she seized his hand, and held it, as if she was afraid that he was going to leave her. Oh, Sandy, you'll no leave me and your poor baby, will you?' The poor fellow looked in her face with a look of agony and despair.

"The scene drew tears from every eye in the room, with the exception of the termagant whom I have already mentioned, who said, 'What are ye a' makin' sic a wark about? let the babie get her greet out. I suppose she thinks there's naebody ever parted with their men but her. Wi' her faintin', and her airs, and her wark.'

"The drawing was again commenced, and various were the expressions of feelings evinced by those concerned. The Irish women in particular, were loud in their grief. It always appeared to me that the Irish either feel more acutely than the Scotch or English, or that they have less restraint on themselves in expressing it. The barrack, through the rest of the day, was one continued scene of lamentation. -

"We were to march the next morning early. The most of the

single men were away drinking. I slept in the birth above Sandy and his wife. They never went to bed, but sat the whole night in their birth, with their only child between them, alternately embracing their child and each other, and lamenting their cruel fortune. I never witnessed in my life such a heart-rending scene. The poor fellow tried to assume some firmness; but in vain: some feeling expression from her would throw him off his guard, and at last his grief became quite uncontrollable.

"When the first bugle sounded, he got up and prepared his things. Here a new source of grief sprung up. In laying aside the articles which he intended to leave, and which they had used together, the idea seemed fixed in her mind, that they would never use them in that way again; and as she put them aside, she watered them with her tears. Her tea-pot, her cups, and every thing that they had used in common, all had their apostrophe of sorrow. He tried to persuade her to remain in the barracks, as we had six miles to travel to the place of embarkation; but she said she would take the last minute in his company that she could.

"The regiment fell in, and marched off, amid the wailing of those who, having two or three children, could not accompany us to the place of embarkation.Many of the men had got so much intoxicated, that they were scarcely able to walk. The commanding officer was so displeased at their conduct, that in coming through St. Helier's he would not allow the band to play.

"When we arrived at the place where we were to embark, a most distressing

distressing scene took place, in the men parting with their wives. Some of them indeed it did not appear to affect much: others had got themselves nearly tipsy; but the most of them seemed to feel acutely. When Sandy's wife came to take her last farewell, she lost all government of her grief. She clung to him with a despairing hold, 'Oh, dinna, dinna, leave me!' she cried. The vessel was hauling out. One of the sergeants came to tell her that she would have to go ashore, 'Oh, they'll never be so hard-hearted as to part us,' said she; and running aft to the quarter deck, where the commanding officer was standing, she sunk down on her knees, with her child in her arms. 'Oh, will you no let me gang wi' my husband? Will ye tear him frae his wife and his wean? He has nae frien's but us-nor we ony but him-and, oh, will you mak' us a' frien'less? See my wee babie pleadin' for us.'

"The officer felt a painful struggle between his duty and his feelings: the tears came into his eyes. She eagerly caught at this as favourable to her cause. 'Oh, aye, I see you have a feeling heart-you'll let me gang wi' him. You have nae wife; but, if you had, I am sure you wad think it unco hard to be torn frae her this way and this wee darlin'.' 'My good woman, (said the officer,) I feel for you much; but my orders are peremptory, that no more than six women to each hundred men go with their husbands. You have had your chance as well as the other women; and, although it is hard enough on you to be separated from your husband, yet there are many more in the same

predicament; and it is totally out of my power to help it,'-' Well, well,' said she, rising from her knees, and straining her infant to her breast; It's a' owre wi' us, my puir babie; this day leaves us frien'less on the wide world.''God will be your friend,' said I, as I took the child from her until she would get into the boat.Sandy had stood, like a person bewildered, all this time without saying a word. 'Farewell, then, a last farewell then,' said she to him: 'Where's my babie?' she cried. I handed him to her-'Give him a last kiss, Sandy.' He pressed the infant to his bosom in silent agony. Now a's owre; farewell, Sandy! we'll maybe meet in heaven:' and she stepped into the boat with a wild despairing look. The vessel was now turning the pier, and she was almost out of our sight in an instant; but, as we got the last glimpse of her, she uttered a shriek, the knell of a broken heart, which rings in my ears at this moment. Sandy rushed down below, and threw himself into one of the births, in a state of feeling which defies description. Poor fellow, his wife's forebodings were too true! He was amongst the first that was killed in Portugal! What became of her, I have never been able to learn."

cession was fast advancing, and he had been two or three times half down on his knees and up again; at last a lucky thought struck him -he snatched a hat out of the hand of the Portuguese that was kneeling before him, and, deliberately placing it on the ground, and kneeling down on it, went through the ceremony with great gravity-thus saving both his conscience and his breeches. The fellow who owned the hat durst not move until the procession had passed; and then, without giving him time to speak, Dennis clapped the hat, dirty as it was, on the owner's head, and walked off."

During the campaign, "We generally turned out the working party, at five o'clock in the morning; and our breakfast, which was coffee with bread, was always ready at that hour. I remember, the first time we had it, each man came forward with his mess-tin for his allowance, which was measured out by the cook. We had a Highlandman in the company, who had enlisted raw from his native hills, and who, I believe, had never seen any thing of the kind before. When he came for his allowance of the coffee, which was now nearly done, the cook was skimming it off the top very carefully, to avoid stirring up the grounds. Donald, who thought this a scheme to keep all the good part to himself, exclaimed, Tam your plood! will you'll no gie some o' the sik as well as the sin?' 'Oh, certainly,' said the cook (who was a bit of a wag); and, stirring the grounds well up, he gave him a double proportion. Donald came in, chuckling with satisfaction at having detected the knavery of the cook, saying, 'If she'll scoht

to sheat a highlandman, she'll be far mistook." And, seeing the rest of his comrades breaking bread in their coffee, he did the same: by this time the eye of every one in the tent was on him, scarcely able to refrain from laughing. Donald began to sup it with his spoon; but, after taking two or three spoonfuls, grinding the coffee grounds between his teeth, and making wry faces, he threw the tin, contents and all, out of the tent door, exclaiming, Tam their coffee! you might as weel chow heather, and drink pog water as that teevil's stuff. Gi'e Donal a cog o'brochan before ony o' your tea or coffees either.'""

"We had not long taken up our quarters in the village, where our whole brigade was, when a peasant entered it, driving a flock of sheep before him. In a moment, a race was made amongst them by some of the soldiers. Others, stimulated by their example, followed; and, in a few minutes, officers and men promiscuously could be seen scrambling for the mutton. Dennis joined the throng, and had seized one of them, at the same moment that an officer of the Irish regiment in the brigade made a grasp at it. 'Give me that sheep, sir,' said the officer in an authoritative tone. Arrah, be aisy, honey,' said Dennis. Kill a Hessian for yourself, if you plase." The officer relinquished his claim, and

A common expression amongst Irishmen. I asked Dennis what it meant. He

said that that during the rebellion, a nam

ber of Hessian soldiers had been landed in Ireland, and an United Man,' having shot one of them, was busy plundering him, when one of his comrades came and asked a share. Kill a Hessian for yourself, my gay fellow,' was the reply.