and it seemed at every moment that the torn and mangled column must break and fly. The Austrian cannon are gradually wheeled around till they stretch away in parallel lines on each side of this band of heroes, and hurl an incessant tempest of lead against their bosoms. But the stern warriors close in and fill up the frightful gaps made at every discharge, and still

press on.

Macdonald has communicated his own settled purpose to conquer or die to his devoted followers. There is no excitement-no enthusiasm such as Murat was wont to infuse into his men when making one of his desperate charges of cavalry. No cries of "Vive l'Empereur," are heard along the lines; but in their place is an unalterable resolution that nothing but annihilation can shake. The eyes of the army and the world are on them, and they carry Napoleon's fate as they go. But human strength has its limits, and human effort the spot where it ceases forever. No living man could have carried that column to where it stands but the iron-hearted hero at its head. But now he halts and casts his eye over his little surviving band that stands all alone in the midst of the enemy. He looks back on his path, and as far as the eye can reach, he sees the course of his column by the black swath of dead men that stretches like a huge serpent over the plain. Out of the sixteen thousand men with which he started but fifteen hundred are left beside him. Ten out of every eleven have fallen, and here at length the tired hero pauses, and surveys with a stern and anxious eye his few remaining followers. The heart of Bonaparte stops beating at the sight, and well it may, for his throne is where Macdonald stands. He bears the Empire on his single brave heart-he is the EMPIRE. Shall he turn at last, and sound the retreat? The Empire totters on the ensanguined field, for, like a speck in the distance, Macdonald is seen still to pause, while the cannon are piling the dead in heaps around him. "Will he turn at last?" is the secret and agonizing question Napoleon puts to himself, "must my throne go down"" No! he is worthy of the mighty trust committed to him. The Empire stands or falls with him, but shall stand while he stands. Looking away to where his Emperor sits, he sees a movement as if aid were at hand. Onward," breaks from his iron lips. The roll of drums and the pealing of trumpets answer the volley

that smites that exhausted column, and the next moment it is seen piercing the Austrian centre. The day is won-the Empire saved--and the whole Austrian army is in full retreat.

Such was the awful battle of Wagram, and such the charge of Macdonald. We know of nothing equal to it except Ney's charge at Waterloo, and that was not equal, because it failed.

On riding over the ensanguined field Bonaparte came where Macdonald stood amid his troops. As his eye fell on the calm and collected hero, he stopped, and holding out his hand said, "Shake hands, Macdonald-no more hatred between us-we must henceforth be friends, and as a pledge of my sincerity, I will send your marshal's staff, which you have so gloriously earned." The frankness and kindness of Napoleon effected what all his neglect and coldness had failed to do-subdued him. Grasping his hand, and with a voice choked with emotion, which the wildest uproar of battle could never agitate, replied, "Ah! sire, with us it is henceforth for life and death." Noble man! kindness could overcome him in a moment. It is no wonder that Bonaparte felt at last that he had not known Macdonald's true worth.

Car

The last great conflict in which he was engaged was the disastrous battle of Leipsic. For two days he fought like a lion, and when all hope was abandoned, he was appointed by Napoleon to form, with Lannistau and Poniatowski, the rear guard of the army while it passed over the only remaining bridge of Lindenau across the Elster. Here he stood and kept the allies at bay, though they swarmed in countless multitudes into the city, making it fairly reel under their wild hurrahs, as they drove before them the scattered remnants of the rear of the French army. riages and baggage-waggons, and chariots and artillery came thundering by, and Macdonald hurried them over the bridge, still maintaining his post against the headlong attacks of the victorious army. Slowly the confused and bleeding mass streamed over the crowded bridge, protected from the pursuing enemy by the steady resistance of Macdonald. The allies were struck with astonishment at this firm opposition in the midst of defeat. Half the disasters of that battle, so fatal to Napoleon, would have been saved but for the rashness of a single corporal. Bonaparte had ordered a mine

to be constructed under this bridge, which was to be fired the moment the French army had passed. The corporal to whom this duty had been entrusted hearing the shouts of the allies as they rolled like the sea into Leipsic, and seeing the tiralleurs amid the gardens on the side near the river, thought the army had all passed, and fired the train. The bridge was lifted into the air with a sound of thunder, and fell in fragments into the river. It is said, the shriek of the French soldiers forming the rear guard, when they saw their only communication with the army cut off, was most appalling. They broke their ranks and rushed to the bank of the river, stretching out their arms towards the opposite shore, where were the retreating columns of their comrades. Thousands, in desperation, plunged into the stream, most of which perished, while the whole remaining 15,000 were made prisoners. But amid the melée that succeeded the blowing up of the bridge, were seen two officers spurring their horses through the dense multitude that obstructed their way. At length, after most desperate efforts, they reached the banks. As they galloped up the shore on their panting and blood-covered steeds, one was seen to be Macdonald, and the other the brave Poniatowski. Casting one look on the chaos of an army that struggled towards the chasm, they plunged in. Their strong chargers stemmed the torrent manfully, and struck the opposite shore. With one bold spring, Macdonald cleared the bank, and galloped away. But the brave and noble Pole reached the shore only to die. His exhausted steed struggled nobly to ascend the bank, but failing, fell back on his wounded rider, and both perished together in the flood.

Of Macdonald's after-career we have already spoken. He remained firm to Napoleon till his abdication, and then, like all his Generals and Marshals, gave in his allegiance to the Bourbon throne. His firmness of character which rendered him in all emergencies so decided and invincible prevented him also from joining Bonaparte's standard when he landed from Elba. The contagious enthusiasm which bore away so many of the old companions in arms of Bonaparte, did not shake his constancy. He gave his adhesion to the Bourbons because it was in the compact with Napoleon, and because under the circumstances he considered it his duty to do so, and no after excitement could shake his fidelity. He

was a thorough Scotchman in his fixedness of will. He possessed none of the flexibility of the French character, and but little of its enthusiasm. Bold, unwavering, and determined, he naturally held great sway over the French soldiers. Versatile themselves, they have greater confidence in a character the reverse of their own, and will follow farther an iron-willed commander than one possess ing nothing but enthusiasm. In a sudden charge you want the headlong excitement, but in the steady march into the very face of destruction, and the cool resistance in the midst of carnage, you need the cool, rock-fast man,

This trait in Macdonald's character was evinced in his conduct when sent to repel the invasion of Napoleon, who was drawing all hearts after him in his return from exile. He repaired to Lyons with his army, but finding that his troops had caught the wild-fire enthusiasm, that was carrying everything before it, he addressed them on their duty. It was to no purpose, however, for no sooner did they see the advanced guard of Bonaparte's small company, and hear the shout of "Vive l'Empereur," with which they rent the air, than they rushed forward, shouting "Vive l'Empereur" in return, and clasped their old comrades to their bosoms. Ney, under similar circumstances, was also borne away by the enthusiasm of the moment, and flinging his hat into the air, joined in the wild cry that shook Europe like an earthquake, and summoned a continent to arms again, and made kings tremble for their thrones. But Macdonald was not a being of such rapid impulses. His actions were the result of reflection rather than of feeling. True to his recent oath he turned from his treacherous troops and fled, and narrowly escaped being taken prisoner by them.

He was a conscientious soldier-kind in peace-sparing of his men in battle, unless sacrifice was imperiously demanded, and then spilling blood like water. Generous and open hearted, he spoke his sentiments freely, and abhorred injustice and meanness. Dazzled as all the world was by the splendid talents and brilliant achievements of Bonaparte, he never seemed to have discovered his cold selfishness and towering ambition which lay at the bottom of all his actions.

He

The Duke of Tarentum, as Macdonald was called in France, had no sons. had three daughters, two of whom married nobles, and the third a rich banker.