ed
the flag with his usual politeness, and heard patiently Irvine's
explanations; but he remained immovable; repeating his determination
of holding out to the last.

It was now about noon, and the rays of the scorching sun had prepared
the shingle roof for the projected conflagration. The return of Irvine
was immediately followed by the application of the bow and arrows. The
first arrow struck and communicated its fire; a second was shot at
another quarter of the roof, and a third at a third quarter; this last
also took effect, and, like the first, soon kindled a blaze. M'Pherson
ordered a party to repair to the loft of the house, and by knocking
off the shingles to stop the flames. This was soon perceived, and
Captain Finley was directed to open his battery, raking the loft from
end to end.

The fire of our six pounder, posted close to one of the gable ends of
the house, soon drove the soldiers down; and no other effort to stop
the flames being practicable, M'Pherson hung out the white
flag. . . . . Powerfully as the present occasion called for
punishment, and rightfully as it might have been inflicted, not a drop
of blood was shed, nor any part of the enemy's baggage taken.
M'Pherson and his officers accompanied their captors to Mrs. Motte's,
and partook with them of a sumptuous dinner; soothing in the sweets of
social intercourse the ire which the preceding conflict had
engendered.

THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY.

(_From the funeral oration, 1800._)

First in war--first in peace--and first in the hearts of his
countrymen, he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes
of private life; pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform,
dignified, and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around
him, as were the effects of that example lasting.

To his equals he was condescending, to his inferiors kind, and to the
dear objects of his affections exemplarily tender; correct throughout,
vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue always felt his fostering
hand; the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his
public virtues.

His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life--although in
extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him; and with
undisturbed serenity, he closed his well-spent life. Such was the man
America has lost--such was the man for whom our nation mourns.

Methinks I see his august image, and I hear falling from his venerable
lips these deep-sinking wo