he died in a mean public-house in Philadelphia, friendless and alone. His last His last wish was that he might not be buried in consecrated ground, or within a mile of any church or meeting-house, because he had kept so much bad company in this world that he did not choose to continue it in the next. But in this he was not allowed to have his way. He was buried in the cemetery of Christ Church in Philadelphia, and many worthy citizens came to the funeral.

When Washington, after the battle of Monmouth, saw that it was useless further to molest Clinton's retreat, he marched straight for the Hudson River, and on the 20th of July he encamped at White Plains, while his adversary took refuge in New York. The opposing armies occupied the same ground as in the autumn of 1776; but the Americans were now the aggressive party. Howe's object in 1776 was the capture of Washington's army; Clinton's object in 1778 was limited to keeping possession of New York. There was now a chance for testing the worth of the French alliance. With the aid of a powerful French fleet, it might be possible to capture Clinton's army, and thus end the war at a blow. But this was not to be. The French fleet of twelve ships-of-the-line and six frigates, commanded by the Count d'Estaing, sailed from Toulon on the 13th of April, and after a tedious struggle with head-winds arrived at the mouth of the Delaware on the 8th of July, just too late to intercept Lord Howe's squadron. The fleet contained a land force of 4000 men, and brought over M. Gérard, the first minister from France to the United States. Finding nothing to do on the Delaware, the count proceeded to Sandy Hook, where he was boarded by Washington's aids, Laurens and Hamilton, and a council of war was held. As the British fleet in the harbor consisted of only six ships-of-the-line, with several frigates and gun-boats, it seemed obvious that

it might be destroyed or captured by D'Estaing's superior force, and then Sir Henry Clinton would be entrapped in the island city. But this plan was defeated by a strange obstacle. Though the harbor of New York is one of the largest and finest in the world, it has, like most harbors situated at the mouths of great rivers, a bar at the entrance, which in 1778 was far more troublesome than it is to-day. Since that time the bar has shifted its position and been partially worn away, so that the largest ships in the world can now freely enter, except at low tide. But when the American pilots examined D'Estaing's two largest ships, which carried eighty and ninety guns respectively, they declared it unsafe, even at high tide, for them to venture upon the bar. The enterprise was accordingly abandoned, but in its stead another one was undertaken, which, if successful, might prove hardly less decisive than the capture of New York.

After their expulsion from Boston in the first year of the war, the British never regained their foothold upon the mainland of New England. But in December, 1776, the island which gives its name to the State of Rhode Island had been seized by Lord Percy, and the enemy had occupied it ever since. From its commanding position at the entrance to the Sound, it assisted them in threatening the Connecticut coast; and on the other hand, should occasion require, it might even enable them to threaten Boston with an overland attack. After Lord Percy's departure for England in the spring of 1777, the command devolved upon Major-General Richard Prescott, an unmitigated brute. Under his rule no citizen of Newport was safe in his own house. He not only arrested people and threw them into jail without assigning any reason, but he encouraged his soldiers in plundering houses and offering gross insults to ladies, as well as in cutting down shade-trees and wantonly defacing the beautiful lawns. A great

loud - voiced, irascible fellow, swelling with the sense of his own importance, if he chanced to meet with a Quaker who failed to take off his hat, he would seize him by the collar and knock his head against the wall, or strike him over the shoulders with the big gnarled stick which he usually carried. One night in July, as this petty tyrant was sleeping at a country house about five miles from Newport, a party of soldiers rowed over from the mainland in boats, under the very guns of three British frigates, and, taking the general out of bed, carried him off in his night-gown. He was sent to Washington's headquarters on the Hudson. As he passed through the village of Lebanon, in Connecticut, he stopped to dine at an old inn kept by one Captain Alden. He was politely received, and in the course of the meal Mrs. Alden set upon the table a dish of succotash, whereupon Prescott, not knowing the delicious dish, roared, "What do you mean by offering me this hog's food?" and threw it all upon the floor. The good woman retreated in tears to the kitchen, and presently her husband, coming in with a stout horsewhip, dealt with the boor as he deserved. When Prescott was exchanged for General Lee, in April, 1778, he resumed the command at Newport, but was soon superseded by the amiable and accomplished Sir Robert Pigott, under whom the garrison was increased to 6000 men. New York and Newport were now the only places held by the enemy in the United States, and the capture of either, with its army of occupation, would be an event of scarcely less importance than the overthrow of Burgoyne. As soon as the enterprise was suggested, the New England militia began to muster in force, Massachusetts sending a strong contingent under John Hancock. General Sullivan had been in command at Providence since April. Washington now sent him 1500 picked men of his Continental troops, with Greene, who was born hard by and

knew every inch of the island; with Glover, of amphibious renown; and Lafayette, who was a kinsman of the Count

d'Estaing. The New England yeomanry soon swelled this force to about 9000, and with the 4000 French regulars and the fleet, it might well be hoped that General Pigott would quickly be brought to surrender.

The expedition failed through the inefficient coöperation of the French and the insubordination of the yeomanry. D'Estaing arrived off the harbor of Newport on the 29th of July, and had a conference with Sullivan. It was agreed that the Americans should land upon the east side of the island while the French were landing upon the west side, thus intervening between the main garrison at Newport and a strong detachment which was stationed on Butt's Hill, at the northern end of the island. By such a movement this detachment might be isolated and captured, to begin with. But General Pigott, divining the purpose of the allies, withdrew the detachment, and concentrated all his forces in and around the city. At this moment the French troops were landing upon Conanicut Island, intending to cross to the north of Newport on the morrow, according to the agreement. Sullivan did not wait for them, but seeing the commanding position on Butt's Hill evacuated, he rightly pushed across the channel and seized it, while at the same time he informed D'Estaing of his reasons for doing so. The count, not understanding the situation, was somewhat offended at what he deemed undue haste on the part of Sullivan, but thus far nothing had happened to disturb the execution of their scheme. He had only to continue landing his troops and blockade the southern end of the island with his fleet, and Sir Robert Pigott was doomed. But the next day Lord Howe appeared off Point Judith, with thirteen ships-of-the-line, seven frigates, and several small vessels, and D'Estaing,

reëmbarking the troops he had landed on Conanicut, straightway put out to sea to engage him. For two days the hostile fleets manœuvred for the weathergage, and just as they were getting ready for action there came up a terrific storm, which scattered them far and wide. Instead of trying to destroy one another, each had to bend all his energies to saving himself. So fierce was the storm that it was remembered in local tradition as lately as 1850 as "the great storm." Windows in the city were incrusted with salt blown up in the ocean spray. Great trees were torn up by the roots, and much shipping was destroyed along the coast.

It was not until the 20th of August that D'Estaing brought in his squadron, somewhat damaged from the storm. He now insisted upon going to Boston to refit, in accordance with general instructions received from the ministry before leaving home. It was urged in vain by Greene and Lafayette that the vessels could be repaired as easily in Narragansett Bay as in Boston harbor; that by the voyage around Cape Cod, in his crippled condition, he would only incur additional risk; that by staying he would strictly fulfill the spirit of his instructions; that an army had been brought here, and immense stores collected, in reliance upon his aid; that if the expedition were to be ruined through his failure to coöperate, it would sully the honor of France and give rise to hard feelings in America; and finally, that even if he felt constrained, in spite of sound arguments, to go and refit at Boston, there was no earthly reason for his taking the 4000 French soldiers with him. The count was quite disposed to yield to these very sensible remonstrances, but on calling a council of war he found himself overruled by his officers. D'Estaing was not himself a naval officer, but a lieutenant-general in the army, and it has been said that the officers of his fleet, vexed at having

a land-lubber put over them, were glad of a chance to thwart him in his plans. However this may have been, it was voted that the letter of the royal instructions must be blindly adhered to, and so on the 23d he weighed anchor for Boston, taking the land forces with him, and leaving General Sullivan in the lurch.

Great was the exasperation in the American camp. Sullivan's vexation found indiscreet expression in a general order, in which he hoped the event would prove America "able to procure that by her own arms which her allies refuse to assist in obtaining." But the insubordination of the volunteers now came in to complicate the matter. Some 3000 of them, despairing of success and impatient at being kept from home in harvest time, marched away in disgust and went about their business, thus reducing Sullivan's army to the same size as that of the enemy. The investment of Newport by land had already been completed, but the speedy success of the enterprise depended upon a superiority of force, and in case of British reinforcements arriving from New York the American situation would become dangerous. Upon these grounds, Sullivan, on the 28th, decided to retreat to the strong position at Butt's Hill, and await events. Lafayette mounted his horse and rode the seventy miles to Boston in seven hours, to beg his kinsman to return as soon as possible. D'Estaing despaired of getting his ships ready for many days, but, catching a spark of the young man's enthusiasm, he offered to bring up his troops by land. Fired with fresh hope, the young marquis spurred back as fast as he had come, but when he arrived on the scene of action all was over. As soon as Sullivan's retreat was perceived the whole British army gave chase. After the

Americans had retired to their lines on Butt's Hill, Sir Robert Pigott tried to carry their position by storm, and there

ensued an obstinate battle, in which the conditions were in many respects similar to those of Bunker Hill; but this time the Americans had powder enough, and the British were totally defeated. The next day Sullivan received a dispatch from Washington, with the news that Clinton had started from New York with 5000 men to reinforce Sir Robert Pigott. Under these circumstances, it was rightly thought best to abandon the island. The services of General Glover, who had taken Washington's army across the East River after the defeat of Long Island, and across the Delaware before the victory of Trenton, were called into requisition, and all the men and stores were ferried safely to the mainland; Lafayette arriving from Boston just in time to bring off the pickets and covering-parties. The next day Clinton arrived with his 5000 men, and the siege of Newport was over.

It

The failure of this enterprise excited much indignation, and seemed to justify the distrust with which so many people regarded the French alliance. In Boston the ill-feeling found vent in a riot on the wharves between French and American sailors, and throughout New England there was loud discontent. required all Washington's tact to keep peace between the ill-yoked allies. When Congress passed a politic resolution approving the course of the French commander, it met with no cordial assent from the people. When, in November, D'Estaing took his fleet to the West Indies, for purposes solely French, the feeling was one of lively disgust, which was heightened by an indiscreet proclamation of the count inviting the people of Canada to return to their old allegiance. For the American people regarded the work of Pitt as final, and at no time during the war did their feeling against Great Britain rise to such a point as to make them willing to see the French restored to their old position on this continent. The sagacious Vergennes

understood this so well that D'Estaing's proclamation found little favor in his

eyes.

But it served none the less to irritate the Americans, and especially the people of New England.

So far as the departure of the fleet for the West Indies was concerned, the American complaints were not wholly reasonable; for the operations of the French in that quarter helped materially to diminish the force which Great Britain could spare for the war in the United States. On the very day of D'Estaing's departure, Sir Henry Clinton was obliged to send 5000 men from New York to take part in the West India campaign. This new pressure put upon England by the necessity of warding off French attack went on increasing. In 1779 England had 314,000 men under arms in various parts of the world, but she had so many points to defend that it was difficult for her to maintain a sufficient force in America. In the autumn of that year, Sir Henry Clinton did not regard his position in New York as secure enough to justify him any longer in sparing troops for the occupation of Newport, and the island was accordingly evacuated. From this time till the end of the war, the only point which the British succeeded in holding, north of Virginia, was the city of New York. After the Rhode Island campaign of 1778, no further operations occurred at the North which could properly be said to constitute a campaign. Clinton's resources were too slender for him to do anything but hold New York. Washington's resources were too slender for him to do anything but sit and watch Clinton. While the two commanders-in-chief thus held each other at bay, the rapid and violent work of the war was going on in the Southern States, conducted by subordinate officers. During much of this time Washington's army formed a cordon about Manhattan Island, from Danbury in Connecticut to Elizabethtown in New Jersey, and thus

BETWEEN shower and sunshine, and especially towards the close of a day which has been evenly contested by both, when the victory of which the sun is sure is not yet wholly yielded to him, there is often a wide penumbra, which may rather be called a nimbus, since it is no gray result of the blending of light and shade, but a streaming of glory into cloud. The sober verdure imitates the mobility of the sea, and gleams in dancing facets. The bow spans the valley, resting its sheer column at either end firmly and lightly against the hillside; darkening its tones a little where the green of grove or mountain is visible behind it, but preserving there, as on neutral cloud, luminous mist, or ether, the perfect flower of its color; holding like fine, narrow ribbons against the cheek of earth and of sky the separate, delicate elements of which the varied beauty of sky and earth is composed. Often a second bow is more faintly marked upon the hills, and disappears somewhere in the mist, not reaching the perfect arc; but with the same tints it may be finer and more subtle in the promise which it makes for them. Under the arch lies a shining region of fields refreshed by the rain, and steeped in that yellowgreen light which is said to be most favorable to the growth of plants, joyous foreground to the retiring shower, which still holds part of the landscape in its shadow.

a

At such moments the glory of earth is heightened till it almost seems to shine from within, but the sky keeps its su

premacy in value by discarding color for light. The sun burns white his passage through the ether; rolls of white cloud bursting with light leave unexplained, tender shadows on the clear yet softened mountains, or hover above them like crests of radiance; the blue in which they float hardly exists as color, but is the very spirit, unclothed and immaculate, of azure.

Nor need we turn the bow to find the prism. Every raindrop has one, if we rightly catch its gleam; the pond and the cobweb reflect the thought. The other day, a small silvery-white pine established such a relation between my eye and the sun that it was like a revelation, a magic tree sown and quickened in fairy-land. It shivered in tiny drops which shone pure light, like innumerable diamonds, while here and there under the little wet boughs hung larger pendants, which caught but one at a time of the prismatic rays, and gave out their pure orange fire-tint or cool blue according to the angle of vision. The prism seemed to have divided its store and garlanded its tree with separate greetings, as for the Christmas feast.

Enchanting as such visions are, they seem hardly real to us. We walk amid these shifting lights under the misty shower of the summer afternoon, and exclaim at each new message from the half-veiled sunlight, as we look with surprise and delight, on certain bright winter mornings, at the dazzling nightwrought armor of ice on branch and twig. These are joys that come rare