THE LOST CHURCH-FROM UHLAND. BY L. F. ROBINSON. Oft seems a muffled peal to swell Where waves yon wood in lonely glory; And scarcely legendary story. I pierced the wood with footstep bold:- The peal resounded deeper, clearer; My mind was in confusion whirled, I know not what mysterious world I visited on fancy's pinion. A hundred years, methought, had sped The sky was misty blue that day; The mounting sun was broad and golden; There stood a MINSTER, proud and olden. The BELL, with music wild yet bland, It was not swung by mortal hand, But by the Breath of Heavenly Power. My barsting heart beat high and fast As that same BREATH Swept stream-like o'er me . Staggered, with quaking joy, I passed Up through the Dome which rose before me. No pomp of words can paint the scene, Through forms of pious martyrs streaming; To lustrous life and beauty glorious, And with them sainted women stand, Whose meekness was through God victorious. My soul was lost in awe and love; Low at the altar sunk I, kneeling; Were pictured on the gorgeous ceiling. A sight too glorious for a mortal:- What majesty I there beheld, Unveiled to my adoring wonder- Than trumpet's clang or organ's thunder No might of language can reveal: Yet would'st thou feel this bliss unbounded, Heed earnestly the MUFFLED PEAL, Which through yon lonely wood resounded! Hartford, Ct. April, 1847. GEN. GREENE'S RETREAT THROUGH THE CAROLINAS. BY J. T. HEADLEY. To understand the ground over which this remarkable retreat was performed, it is necessary only to glance at a map. Three large rivers rise in the north-west parts of South and North Carolina, and flow in a south-easterly direction into the Atlantic. The lower, or more southern one, is the Catawba, which empties into the Santee. The next, north of it, and nearly parallel, is the Yadkin, emptying into the Pedee. The last, and more northern, is the Dan, which soon leaves its south-easterly direction, and winds backwards and forwards across the Virginia line, and finally falls into the Roanoke. Greene was now on the Catawba, or most southern river, and directed his steps north-his line of progress cutting the Yadkin and Dau. To place a deep river between two armies, effectually separates them for some time, while a retreating army between one and a powerful adversary, is almost sure to be ruined. Therefore, the great effort of Cornwallis was to overtake his weak enemy somewhere between the rivers, while the latter strained every nerve to keep a deep stream dividing him and his foe. Greene was now across the Catawba, which, swollen by the recent rains, prevented Cornwallis from crossing. But at length it began to subside, and the latter determined, by a night march to a private ford near Salisbury, to deceive his antagonist, and cross without opposition. But Greene had been on the alert, and stationed a body of militia there to dispute the passage. At day break the British column was seen silently approaching the river. A deep hush was on every thing, broken only by the roar of the swollen waters, and not a living thing was to be seen on the shore. Twilight still rested on the forest, and the turbid foam-covered stream looked doubly appalling in the gloom. The rain was falling in torrents, and the British commander, as he reined up his steed on the slippery banks, looked long and anxiously on the farther side. There all was wild and silent; but faint flashes of the American fires, in the woods, told too well that he had been forestalled. Still, the order to advance was given, and the column boldly entered the channel. With muskets poised above their heads to keep them dry, and leaning against each other to steady their slippery footing, the grenadiers pushed forward. As they advanced the water deepened, until it flowed in a strong, swift current, up to their waists. The cavalry went plunging through, but the rapid stream bore many of them, both horses and riders, downward in the darkness. The head of the column had already reached the centre of the river, when the voices of the sentinels rung through the darkness, and the next moment their guns flashed through the storm. The Americans, five hundred in number, immediately poured in a destructive volley, but the British troops pressed steadily forward. Soldier after soldier rolled over in the flood, and Cornwallis' horse was shot under him; but the noble animal, with a desperate effort, carried his rider to the bank before he fell. The intrepid troops at length reached the shore, and routed the militia. Cornwallis was now on the same side of the river with his antagonist, and prepared to follow up his advantage with vigor. But the latter no sooner heard that the enemy had passed the Catawba, than he ordered the retreat to the Yadkin. Through the drenching rain and deep mud, scarcely halting to eat or rest, the ragged troops dragged their weary way, and on the third day reached the river and commenced crossing. In the meantime, the recent rains had swollen this river also, so that by the time Greene had safely effected the pas. sage, the current was foaming by on a level with its banks. He had urged every thing forward with the utmost speed, and at midnight, just as the last of the rear guard were embarking they were saluted with a volley from the advanced guard of the British. When the morning light broke over the scene, there lay the two armies within sight of each other, and the blessed Yadkin surging and roaring in threatening accents between, as if on purpose to daunt the invaders from its bosom. Stung into madness at this second escape of their enemy, the English lined the shore with artillery, and opened a fierce cannonade on the American camp. But the army, protected by an elevated ridge, rested quietly and safely behind it. In a little cabin, just showing its roof above the rocks, Greene took up his quarters, and while his troops were reposing, commenced writing his despatches. The enemy suspecting the American general had established himself there, directed his ar tillery upon it, and soon the rocks rung with the balls that smoked and bounded from their sides. It was not long before the roof of the cabin was struck, and the shingles and clapboards began to fly about in every direction-but the stern warrior within never once looked up, and wrote on as calmly as if in his peaceful home. Four days the British general tarried on the shores of the Yadkin, and then, as the waters subsided, again put his army in motion. Moving lower down the river, he crossed over, and started anew after his adversary. But the latter, ever vigilant, was already on his march for Guilford, where he resolved to make a stand, and strike this bold Briton to the heart. But on reaching Guilford, he learned, to his dismay, that the reinforcements prom. ised him had not arrived. The English army was nearly double that of his own, and all well-tried, disciplined soldiers; and he knew it would be madness to give battle on such disadvantageous terms. There was, therefore, no remedy but retreat, and this had now become a difficult matter. In the hope of being able to sustain himself at Guilford, he had suffered his enemy to approach so near, and block him in so effectually, that there was but one possible way of escape. Cornwallis at last deemed his cure. prey se On the 10th of February, this battle of manœuvres again commenced, and the two armies, now only twenty-five miles apart, stretched forward. Cornwallis supposed his adversary would make for the upper fords of the Dan, as there was nothing but ferries below, and hence put his army in such a position that he could crush him at once; but Greene quietly withdrew towards the Lower Dan, where he ordered boats to be congregated, in which he could transport his troops over. His object in this was twofold; first, to place a deep instead of a fordable river between him and his formidable adversary, and secondly, to be in a situation to effect a junction with the reinforcements he expected from Virginia. Discovering at once the error under which Cornwallis labored, he added to it by sending a large detachment to manœu vre in front, as if the upper fords were indeed the object of his efforts. Col. Williams commanded this chosen body of men, and marched boldly against the entire English army. The British commander, thinking it to be the advanced guard of the Americans, began hastily to contract his lines, and make preparations for a fierce resistance. This detained his march, and allowed Greene to get a start, without which he must inevitably have been lost. The English were without baggage; indeed, the whole army had been converted into light infantry, which enabled it to move with much more alacrity than that of the Americans. It was now the dead of winter-the roads of to-day were filled deep with mud, and to-morrow frozen hard, presenting a mass of rugged points to the soldiers' feet, through which or over which they were compelled to drag themselves, urged on by the fear of destruction. In the meantime Cornwallis, apprised of his error, began the pursuit in good earnest. But that gallant rear-guard of Williams kept between the two armies, slowly retreating, but still present-ever bending like a brow of wrath on the advancing enemy. The fate of the American army rested on its firmness and skill, and every officer in it seemed to feel the immense trust committed to his care. There were Lee's gallant legion, and Washington's heavy mounted, desperate horsemen, heroes every one. Vigilant, untiring, brave, they hovered with such a threatening aspect around the advancing columns, that they were compelled to march in close order to prevent an attack. The least negligence, the least oversight, and the blow would fall like lightning. Never did a rearguard behave more gallantly. The men were allowed only three hours' sleep out of the twenty-four, and but one meal a day. By starting and pushing forward three hours before daylight, they were enabled to get a breakfast, and this was the last repast till next morning. Yet the brave fellows bore all without a murmur; and night after night, and day after day, presented the same determined front to the enemy. Cornwallis, believing for a while that he had the whole American force in front, rejoiced in its proximity, knowing that when it reached the river it must perish-then Virginia would lie open to his victorious arms, and the whole South be prostrate. But when he at length discovered his mistake, he strained forward with desperate efforts. In the meanwhile, that fleeing army presented a most heart-rending spectacle. Half clad, and many of them barefoot, with only one blanket for every four men, they toiled through the mire, or left their blood on the frozen ground-pressing on through the wintry storm and cold winds in the desperate struggle for life. At night when they snatched a few moments' repose, three soldiers would stretch themselves on the damp ground under one blanket, and the fourth keep watch: and happy were those who had even this scanty covering. Over hills, through forests, across streams, they held their anxious way, drenched by the rains, and chilled by the water through which they waded-and, unprotected and uncovered, were compelled to dry their clothes by the heat of their own bodies. Greene saw their distress with bitter grief, but it could not be helped-his cheering words and bright example were all he could give them. Now hurrying along his exhausted columns, and now anxiously listening to hear the sound of the enemy's guns in the distance, he became a prey to the most wasting anxiety. From the time he had set out for the camp of Morgan, on the banks of the Catawba, he had not taken off his clothes; while not an officer in the army was earlier in the saddle, or later out of it, than he. But undismayed-his strong soul fully resolved yet. to conquer-he surveyed with a calm, stern eye, the dangers that |