When the Waterloo prize money was distributed, the duke's share was £60,000. Other honours and other emoluments were granted; and the ladies of England having contributed £10,000 towards the erection of a monument to the duke and his companions in arms, a magnificent cast of the Achilles on the Quirinal hill, was put up in Hyde Park, near Apsley House.

"The old duke was not only a pillar of the state, a jewel of the crown; he was also a legend of the hearth, a household figure. He had statues everywhere, and gave his name to bridges, squares, and streets." In matters of difficulty, the queen used to say, "I have taken the advice of the duke," and in every ministerial crisis, the press informed us that "Her Majesty had sent for the duke.” He lived to a good old age, but he never could have outlived his fame; respect and honour for the man increased as he grew older; and when at last, from Walmer Castle came the melancholy intelligence, "the duke is dead," the people of England felt indeed that "a prince and a great man had fallen in Israel."

"Mourn for the mighty dead,
Mourn for the spirit fled,
Mourn for the lofty head
Laid in the grave.

Tears, such as nations weep,
Hallow the hero's sleep;
Calm be his rest, and deep,
Arthur the brave!

Nobly his work was done,
England's most glorious son,
True-hearted Wellington,

Stand of our laws!

Ever in perils' night

Heaven send such arms of might,

Guardian of truth and right!

Raised in their cause.

WALLACE-TELL-HAMPDEN-WASHINGTON-GARIBALDI.

Love of country is one of the noblest feelings of the human heart. It has fostered the patient industry of millions; it has quickened into useful activity many indolent spirits; it has called forth deeds of heroic bravery that will for ever remain conspicuous on the page of history.

Among the heroes of Scotland, the name of William Wallace stands high. He lived in troublesome times, when his clear head, stout heart and strong hand were wanted.

It was towards the end of the thirteenth century; and Scotland was torn by the conflicting claims of a dozen competitors for the crown. To avert the evil of civil war the question as to who should reign in Scotland was submitted for arbitration to King Edward I. of England. On

the 10th of May 1291, the Scottish nobility and clergy were summoned to meet the king at the Castle of Norham, on the English side of the Tweed. There Edward sat in great state; but ere the business began, the Scottish representatives were informed that it was necessary they should acknowledge the king of England as Sovereign and lord paramount. The Scots, surprised and indignant, flatly refused. Three days were allowed them for consideration; patriotism gave place to the rival interests of the competitors. They loved Scotland, but they loved self more; so they swore away their independence, and acknowledged that the kingdom of Scotland should henceforth be tributary to England. So the crown was bestowed on John Baliol, who had a fairer claim to it than most of his rivals. He swore fealty to Edward, and was crowned king. But the exactions of the English became so heavy that Baliol revolted, revoked his allegiance, attempted to establish his independence, was beaten, and begged forgiveness. Then Edward became absolute lord of Scotland, and ruled with an iron hand.

The English soldiers oppressed the people in every way; took from them, by main force, whatever they chose; and if they resisted, beat them cruelly, or slew them without a word. Against these oppressions there was no appeal. The English officers never punished the soldiers for offences against the people; and sometimes, when the people did complain too loudly, or too often, the only result was their own destruction; for the captains would hang up the complainers for the sake of peace and quietness. The dark cloud of adversity was over the land. The voice of weeping and lamentation was heard; the husbandman cared not to till the soil, for he knew that in the harvest time his sheaves of yellow corn would be seized by the English soldiers; the dame cared not to sit at her wheel, for she knew that her home-spun would chance to fall into the hands of the aliens; and the fisherman, on the broad, deep, beautiful lake, would not let down his net for a silvery spoil, for he had learned that English soldiers were ever on the watch, and would rob him of his gain. How long was all this to last? Had the sun for ever set in Scotland? had all her

bright hopes perished when the "auld stane was removed? was Scottish liberty dead, or sleeping? Sleeping, only sleeping; dreaming of days gone by, when before the lances of Scottish knights the Southerns fled; when the land was free, when the people were happy, when all was promising, and no foeman dared to tread her soil-dreaming of deliverance from English rule, of happier days to come, of heroism, beyond the heroism of Fergus, and security beyond that of Alexander's reign! And was not the dream a foreshadowing of the truth?

Who is it that walks beside the river Ayr this bright sunshiny morning? He has a fine, open, sagacious countenance; his eyes are full of fire and intelligence; his lips firmly compressed; his figure tall and well proportioned; his long light hair hanging in rich profusion round his neck; his doublet is plain but admirably fitted, and he carries a fish basket and a fishing rod. He is the son of a private gentleman named Wallace of Ellerslie, and his own name is William Wallace. Watch him as he plies the sport until his basket is well filled; he is a skilful angler, and handles the rod with the air of one who loves the "gentle art;" but all this time you notice the serious expression on his face-his mind is bent on other things besides trout fishing he is thinking of Scotland, his dear, his native soil-thinking of her brave days of freedom, and of the dark adversity which is overclouding her glory. Suddenly four or five English soldiers make their appearance. They advance towards the young man, and lay their hands on his trout basket. He bids them stand off. Stand off-nay, that will they not do for all the slaves in Scotland. Take then the fish, but take it at their peril. Their peril! five armed men against a stripling! Down with him and teach him moderation with a bowstring-lash the hound! They rush upon him; he has no better weapon than the butt end of his fishing rod; but he strikes the foremost man under the ear and kills him on the spot; then leaping on the body he gets possession of a sword and fights with so much fury as to put the rest to flight. Then he shoulders his trout and turns homeward whistling in a low key an old song of old Scotia.

But henceforth this William Wallace is a marked man. He is beleaguered, compelled to fly, and for months to lie concealed in the forests, and on the craggy heights where the eagles build their nests.

Some considerable time elapsed. Wallace was married to a rich and noble lady, and resided in the town of Lanark. One day he walked in the market place dressed in green, with a jewelled dagger by his side. As he thus walked, an English soldier, fresh from the wine-house, accosted him, and insolently asked, how a Scotch slave dare wear so gay a garment, or carry so costly a weapon? Wallace had but one reply-a blow. The struggle was a short one; for a few seconds afterwards the body of a slain man lay in the market place; slain with a jewelled dagger he derided. Wallace fled to his own house, which was beset by the English soldiers, and as they broke in at the front, he escaped at the back; taking refuge among the bushes, trees and precipices of the Cartland Crags. But his wife fell a victim to the fury of his enemies; she and the servants were put to death, and the house was burnt to the ground. Wallace vowed revenge. He was an outlaw, and soon collected a body of men, outlawed like himself, willing to risk life and limb in the struggle for Scotland; animated both by private and by public feelings. Upon one occasion Wallace encountered Hazelrigg, the Governor of Lanark, him who had put the hero's wife to death; this man he slew, and soon became so formidable that his very name was a word of terror.

The power and influence of Wallace increased every day. The nobles and peasantry flocked to his standard, and the English were disposed to make terms of peace. But they were not such terms as Wallace chose to accept, not being sufficiently honourable for his country; and at Stirling, where he and his followers were offered a free pardon if they would lay down their arms, he led his troops forward, and routed the English with great slaughter. He then marched into England laying waste the country far and wide.

All this time King Edward was abroad; but when the news reached him, his rage was ungovernable; and