the disgrace, and determined to wreak his vengeance. Having secured the command of West Point, he offered, by means of a correspondence which he had carried on several months, to betray it into the hands of Clinton. Major An'dre, aid-de-camp to Clinton, was sent to finish the plan of treason and adjust the traitor's recompense. Andre proceeded up the Hudson, and, at a place six miles below West Point, met Arnold, and completed the bargain.

Instead of returning by water, as had been previously arranged, Andre was compelled by circumstances to cross to the east side of the Hudson and proceed by land. When near Tarrytown, he was stopped by three militiamen,—Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart,-who conducted him to North Castle, the nearest military station of the Americans. The commander at North Castle, having no suspicion of Arnold's base design, wrote to that officer, informing him of the arrest of Andre. The traitor, startled and alarmed upon reading the letter, escaped on board the British sloop-of-war Vulture, the vessel which had been intended for Andre's return, and took refuge in New York. Andre was conveyed to Tappan, a village on the west side of the Hudson, opposite Tarrytown, and was there tried by a court-martial, found guilty, and, agreeably to the laws and usages of nations, executed as a spy. Arnold was made a brigadiergeneral in the British service.

Execution of Major Andre.—Alexander Hamilton.

1. NEVER, perhaps, did any man suffer death with more justice, or deserve it less. The first step he took after his capture, was to write a letter to General Washington, conceived in terms of dignity without insolence, and apology without meanness. The scope of it was to vindicate himself from the imputation of having assumed a mean character for treacherous or interested purposes; asserting that he had been involuntarily an impostor; that, contrary to his intention, which was to meet a person for intelligence on neutral ground, he had been betrayed within our posts, and forced into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise; soliciting only that to whatever rigor policy might devote him, a decency of treatment might be observed due to a person, who, though unfortunate, had been guilty of nothing dishonorable.

2. His request was granted in its full extent; for, in the whole progress of the affair, he was treated with the most scrupulous delicacy. When brought before the board of officers, he met with every mark of indulgence, and was required to

answer no interrogatory which would even embarrass his feelings. On his part, while he carefully concealed everything that might implicate others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating to himself, and, upon his confession, without the trouble of examining a witness, the board made their report.

ness.

3. The members were not more impressed with the candor and firmness, mixed with a becoming sensibility, which he displayed, than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeHe acknowledged the generosity of the behavior toward him in every respect, but particularly in this, in the strongest terms of manly gratitude. In a conversation with a gentleman who visited him after his trial, he said, he flattered himself he had never been illiberal; but, if there were any remains of prejudice in his mind, his present experience must obliterate them.

4. In one of the visits I made (and I saw him several times during his confinement), he begged me to be the bearer of a request to the general, for permission to send an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton. "I foresee my fate," said he, "and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life, yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, has brought it upon me. There is only one thing that disturbs my tranquillity. Henry Clinton has been too good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness; I am bound to him by too many obligations, and love him too well to bear the thought that he should reproach himself, or others should reproach him, on the supposition of my having conceived myself obliged, by his instructions, to run the risk I did. I would not, for the world, leave a sting in his mind that should embitter his future days."

Sir

5. He could scarcely finish the sentence, bursting into tears in spite of his efforts to suppress them, and with difficulty collecting himself enough afterward to add: "I wish to be permitted to assure him, I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me, as contrary to my own inclinations as to his orders." His request was readily complied with; and he wrote the letter annexed, with which I

dare say you will be as much pleased as I am, both for the sentiments and diction.

6. When his sentence was announced to him, he remarked, that since he was to die, there was still a choice in the mode, which would make a material difference to his feelings; and he would be happy, if possible, to be indulged with a professional death. He made a second application by letter, in concise, but persuasive terms. It was thought that this indulgence, being incompatible with the customs of war, could not be granted; and it was, therefore, determined, in both cases, to evade an answer, to spare the sensations which a certain knowledge of the intended mode would inflict.

7. In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly as he went along, to all those with whom he had been acquainted in his confinement. A smile of complacency expressed the serene fortitude of his mind. Arrived at the fatal spot, he asked, with some emotion: "Must I then die in this manner?" He was told it had been unavoidable. "I am reconciled to my fate," said he, "but not to the mode." Soon, however, recollecting himself, he added: "It will be but a momentary pang;" and springing upon the cart, performed the last offices for himself with a composure that excited the admiration and melted the hearts of the beholders.

8. Upon being told the final moment was at hand, and asked if he had anything to say, he answered: "Nothing, but to request you will witness to the world that I die like a brave man." Among the extraordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally regretted and universally esteemed.

9. There was something singularly interesting in the character and fortunes of Andre. To an excellent understanding, well improved by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person. 'Tis said he possessed a pretty taste for the fine arts, and had himself attained some proficiency in poetry, music, and painting. His knowledge appeared without ostentation, and embellished by a diffidence that rarely accompanies

so many talents and accomplishments, which left you to suppose more than appeared.

10. His sentiments were elevated, and inspired esteem; they had a softness that conciliated affection. His elocution was handsome; his address easy, polite, and insinuating. By his merit, he had acquired the unlimited confidence of his general, and was making a rapid progress in military rank and reputation. But in the height of his career, flushed with new hopes from the execution of a project the most beneficial to his party that could be devised, he was at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity, and saw all the expectations of his ambition blasted, and himself ruined.-Letter to Laurens.

Andre's Last Request.-Willis.

[The request of Andre to Washington, to be permitted to die the death of a soldier, not of a spy, is beautifully expressed in the following lines by N. P. Willis.]

IT is not the fear of death

That damps my brow;

It is not for another breath

I ask thee now;

I can die with a lip unstirr'd,
And a quiet heart—

Let but this prayer be heard
Ere I depart.

I can give up my mother's look-
My sister's kiss;

I can think of love-yet brook

A death like this!

I can give up the young fame

I burned to win;

All but the spotless name
I glory in.

Thine is the power to give,

Thine to deny,

Joy for the hour I live,

Calmness to die.

By all the brave should cherish,

By my dying breath,

I ask that I may perish

By a soldier's death.

Benedict Arnold.-Garden.

1. THAT treachery creates its own punishment, and, to the detestation of the world, adds the inward agony "that passeth show," is strikingly exemplified in the history of the apostate▾ Arnold. What were the results of his desertion? The fair fame acquired by his early exertions as a patriot-soldier was blasted. Children that had learned to lisp his deeds of gallantry, now shuddered with abhorrence at his name.

2. Execrated by his former friends, proscribed by his country, reluctantly obeyed, and by the meanest sentinel held in the meanest contempt, his life was a constant scene of apprehension, misery, and remorse. A cloud hung over his fortunes that shaded his countenance with the gloom of despair, and betrayed the increasing agonies of his guilty heart. That such was the state of his mind is clear, from his anxiety to learn from others what they supposed his fate would be should he fall into the hands of his countrymen.

3. While commanding the predatory expedition on the shores of Virginia,-a service peculiarly suited to his character, -it is stated that, on one occasion, when some danger appeared of his being taken, he asked an officer near him, "What treatment, think you, sir, am I to look for, should the rebels make me their prisoner?" "I have no doubt," replied the officer, "though my frankness may offend, but that they will cut off the leg that was wounded in storming the British lines at Saratoga, and bury it with the honors of war; but, having no respect for the rest of your body, they will gibbet it.”

4. The contempt that followed him through life is further illustrated by the speech of the present Lord Lauderdale, who, perceiving Arnold on the right hand of the king, and near his person, as he addressed his Parliament, declared on his return to the Commons, "that however gracious the language he had heard from the throne, his indignation could not but be greatly excited, beholding, as he had done, his Majesty supported by a traitor." And on another occasion, Lord Surrey, since Duke of Norfolk, rising to speak in the House of Commons, and