forward every lapsus pennae or lapsus typographi, as an egregious blunder,' the cutting words of Horace, parvum parva decent? I cannot tell, because my manuscript is destroyed, whether tau was prefixed to yos by the printer or my myself. But however low I may stand in the public estimation, I have no fears, when they look at the word ornithichnites, that they will believe I intended to use gros instead of vos in its composition.

The fourth egregious blunder consists in supposing he had made out the signification of stony' from vos, which means simply a trace or track.' But according to the reviewer's third objection, I made use of tzvos instead of xos; and after coining a new word, whose etymology could not be traced, had not a man, whose authority is decisive,' a right to give it the signification of stony, or any other meaning which he chose? However, I can assure him that I never dreamed of deriving the signification of stony from either of these words. I supposed the termination ite, so common in oryctology and mineralogy, to be derived from 00s; and that every naturalist understood this, so that it was unnecessary to allude to it in my description. I am not certain that I am correct in this assumption: but if I mistook in this matter, it was owing neither to 'precipitancy,' nor unpardonable haste' for I weighed the matter as thoroughly as I could, with the means of information within my reach. It would probably have been better for me to have given a literal translation of ornithichnites, or birdtrack stone; or had I written it ornithichnolite, which I should now prefer, it would have removed all obscurity.

An enlightened public must now judge how far the reviewer's castigation is deserved. By that public my imperfect productions have ever been received with far more favor than I had a right to expect, and I ought to be thankful. I have always known that my essays were peculiarly exposed to criticism; for in general, it has been my lot to write upon subjects about which there exists a great variety of opinions among intelligent men. And beside, Providence has so ordered the events of my life, that I have never had any able and sympathizing class-mates, and but few intimate acquaintances among scientific men, who would be ready at a hint to forestall public opinion by a flattering review, or an able defence. Again, I am free to acknowledge that I have generally been so situated, from causes beyond my control, and which are of a nature too personal and private to detail in the public ear, that the alternative has been before me, either to send forth my productions with many deficiencies, or never to publish them at all. I have decided to print them, on the ground that they contained statements which would be of service to the public, even though accompanied with many imperfections. Notwithstanding the benevolent intentions of the reviewer, to make me more careful in future, by endeavoring to give me an earnest of what awaits me from the critic's lash, if I am not more humble and cautious, I fear there will not be much change for the better, should I trouble the public with any farther productions. For in the first place, the peculiar private causes of imperfection, alluded to above, will probably never be removed. Secondly, a venerable clergyman once told me that it was of no use to contradict a man who had passed his fortieth year, and I have reached that period. And thirdly, in correcting me, I think I have shown that the reviewer has not set so perfect an example of

accuracy and humility, that it will be apt to influence me strongly. However, when the public shall distinctly inform me that there is not enough of a redeeming quality in my writings to render my errors tolerable, I shall hope to be willing quietly to terminate my literary labors. For, if I may be permitted to quote a sentiment from the Greek,

· Θάνοιμ', ἂν εἴ με πάντες ευχονται θανειν.

FALL OF THE ALAMO.

A gallant army formed their last array
Upon that spot, in silence and deep gloom,

And at their conquerors' feet

Laid their war-weapons down.

Sullen and stern, disarmed but not dishonored;
Brave men, but brave in vain, they yielded there.'

'FIELD OF THE GROUNDED ARMS.'

UPON a softly-swelling plain,

Where everlasting verdure smiles,
Whence gushing fountains seek the main,
In sportive mood, through devious wilds,
There stands a lone and ancient town,

Not far those gushing founts below;
I deem that now is not unknown
The town of San Antonio.

Bright are her skies- few darkling clouds
Fling their unwelcome shadows there;
Her waters, which no vapor shrouds,
With murmuring music fill the air.
Fair scene of peace! too often broke
By rude foray and war's alarms;
'By gleam of gun and sabre-stroke'

By clashing hosts and conquering arms;
What time the savage of the North
Poured down his fury on the plain,
And civil Hate led legions forth
To war for Mexico or Spain.

'Twas morn: scarce visible, the gray
Of early dawn announced the day:
But yet no herald flush proclaimed

The light that would his gleam have shamed;

The stars shone out, nor seem more bright,

When lighting up the depths of night;

And, save the soft melodious flow,

Where San Antonio's waters go,
Prevailed the silence of the dead,
Like Sleep and Night together wed;
So soft, so still, tired Nature's breath,

In slumber hushed, seemed still in death;
While, spent with toil, and sunk in sleep,
No more the guards their vigils keep,
But, dreamless of the menaced blow,
Unguarded left the Alamo.

'Twas then a cloud of awful volume

Was gathering blackness o'er the passes,

The foe, dark column after column,

Was pouring in his vengeful masses.

Tried veterans they, in part-in part
A herd, without or hand or heart:
Such beings they, for whom - nor few-
To emptied prisons thanks were due;
A squallid crowd, in couples chained,
Felons with crimes unnumbered stained.
From Yucatan to Santa Fé,

Each province swelled the grim array:
Puebla's olive lineage here,

The Zacatecas mountaineer,
Brown herdsmen drawn from Potosi,
Talisco's thralls to slavery

Saltillo's brood, blown into flame,
By hatred of the Texian name-
Campeachy's lowlanders, and ranks
From Rio Grandé's farther banks -
In mingled mass are marshalled now,
To make the stiff-necked rebels bow.'
From pure Castile to black Japan,
All shades of skin the eye might scan:
The sable Ethiop and the brown,
The copper-colored Indian's frown,
Mulatto and Mestizoe's hue,

With olive, marked the mottled crew.

A summons to surrender, scoffed
By taunting banner flung aloft,
And death-defying peal,

Long ere the fatal fray, had taught
The tyrant that the foe he sought
Could scorn a despot's steel.
Nine days in vain the furious foe
Had thundered on the Alamo,
From his beleaguering train;
In vain carbines their fire outpour,
The iron-throated cannons' roar
Assails the walls in vain.

The gallant band within, oppressed
By toil and watching, still confessed
A lingering hope of wearing out
The often baffled rabble rout:

Nor false this hope, perchance e'en then,
Had not a wretch, for paltry gain,
(Thank heaven! upon a Mexican,
Y'BARBO, rests the hated stain,)
Divulged their weakness to the foe,
New-nerving thus another blow:
For Santa Anna - his array
By such a handful held at bay -
Ashamed, enraged, that in his face
So long were flung such foul disgrace,
And desperate grown, resolved again
To urge upon the walls his men,

All reckless how their blood might flow,

If blood would buy the Alamo.

Then force assumed another form:
Protracted siege was turned to storm,
Upon this fatal day.

Yet, as a loathing, trembling craven,
The herd-like mass was onward driven,
To dare the fearful fray.

In front, three columns dense and dark
Of shuddering escaladers, mark

The force apart for storming set;

While, rearward, ranks of horsemen stand,

Nor of the heroes of that day,
Forget the dauntless D'ESPALIER;
Nor MITCHESON, the soul of truth,
Cropped in the bright flower of his youth;
Nor BROWN, nor BLAIR, of honest heart,
Who knew no guile, and scorned all art.

But if none else remember him,
(The soul of feeling as of whim,)
Whose heart and hand were free as air,
For all who wished that heart to share
Whose spirit, independence-fraught,
Despised pretence, and left unsought
All cunning arts, and mean disguise,
All refuges of lackered lies.

Stranger! should in some distant day,
By chance your wandering footsteps stray
To where those heroes fought and fell,
And some old garrulous crone should tell
The story of a nation's birth,

Of human ashes mixed with earth-
The bodies of the bold and free,
Who bled and died for liberty-
Remember, that the name which first
Warms on her lips, the fondest nurst,
The kindliest cherished in her breast-
Of all the martyrs loved the best-
Will be a name which few now hear,
Without a saddened thought, or tear;
Of one whose crowning acts, through time,
Have made simplicity sublime;
Whose single mind and honest arts
'CROCKETT endears to all true hearts!

SUCH was the strife, and such were they
Who perished in this fatal fray.
If, in that strife, 't were given to see
The glory of Thermopyla,

That glory seemed like sun-set's light,

Athwart a troubled ocean's night,

While hollow murmurs o'er the deep,

And clouds of growing blackness sweep; Feeling his fondest hopes expire

On San Antonio's funeral fire,

Young Texian Freedom, wrapt in gloom, Seemed hastening to a bloody tomb.

False fears!-the gloom was that of morn, The darkest just before the dawn.

For from the ashes of the dead

Arose an armed dragon's head,

With glance of fate, and sting of death,
To all who felt his blasting breath.
Like the old guardian of the fleece,
Save that no gold could buy his peace,
It stood as watchful, stern, and true,
Where'er the flag of freedom flew ;
But, when it saw that banner wave
In triumph o'er Oppression's grave,
It closed its eyes, exulting cried,
'The martyrs are avenged!'.

and died.

*David's quaint 'Go ahead!' is now classical.