that either of them had seen for two days.

"Take this," said she, offering the sweet child a portion of what she
had prepared for the invalid, but which she was too far gone to receive,
"and may it give you both strength till the day of our deliverance." And
she instantly returned to the death-bed of her friend.

To the famishing group it was like the apparition of an angel, with a
gift from the gods. The savory mess was readily divided, though the
affectionate self-denying child contrived to cheat her father into
receiving a little more than his share, while he tried every effort in
vain, to persuade her to take the larger half. The wretched pair had not
had such a feast for many a long week. "Ah!" exclaimed the daughter, as
she wept over the luxurious repast, "if our dear mother could have had
such a morsel as this, before she died, to stay her in that last
dreadful agony."

"Yes, my beloved child," replied the subdued and bitterly bereaved
father, "but she has gone where there is plenty, and no tears mingled
with it."

The dried fruit was laid away for the morrow. But the same kind hand
that relieved them on that day, was there again on the morrow, and on
every succeeding day, till the city was sacked, and the wretched ghosts
of its inhabitants given up to an indiscriminate slaughter.

When Guatimozin was made acquainted with this incident, he resolved on
making another desperate sally, with the whole force of his wasted army,
in the forlorn hope of breaking through the ranks of the enemy, and
procuring some subsistence for his famishing people. Having drawn them
up in the great square, his heart sunk within him, when he saw their
pale faces and emaciated forms, and contrasted them with the fierce,
stout, and seemingly invincible host, whom he had so often led into
battle. But the feeling of despondency gave way instantly to that stern
fixed purpose, that terrible decision of soul, which is the natural
offspring of desperation. With a firm voice, he addressed them.

"My brave soldiers, we must not any longer lie still. The enemy is at
our gates, and we are perishing in our own citadel. Have we not once
driven them, with a terrible and almost exterminating slaughter, along
those very causeways which they now claim to occupy and to close up? Are
they more invincible now than then? Are we less resolute, less fearless?
By our famishing wives and children, by our desecrated altars and gods,
let us rush upon them an