res must be colored light-brown, and the men wear heavy beards.
The light for this scene should come from a red fire, burned in small
quantities at the front side of the stage. No music will be required
for the piece.

DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corpse to the ramparts we hurried,
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero was buried.

WOLFE.

Twenty Male Figures.

The battle of Corunna, so disastrous to the British army, was fought
January 16, 1809. Sir John Moore arrived in Spain in November, 1808,
with a British army, and having advanced some distance into the
country, he found himself compelled to make a rapid retreat. He was
closely followed by the French under Marshal Soult, who attacked the
British as they were embarking. Sir John Moore, while earnestly
watching the result of the fight about the village of Elrina, was
struck on the left breast by a cannon shot; the shock threw him from
his horse with violence; he rose again in a sitting position, his
countenance unchanged, and his steadfast eye still fixed upon the
regiments engaged in his front; no sigh betrayed a sensation of pain;
but in a few moments, when he was satisfied that the troops were
gaining ground, his countenance brightened, and he suffered himself to
be taken to the rear. As the soldiers placed him in a blanket, his
sword got entangled, and the hilt entered the wound. A staff officer
attempted to take it off, but the dying man stopped him, saying, "It
is as well as it is. I had rather it should go out of the field with
me." And in this manner, so becoming to a soldier, Moore was borne
from the field. Several times he caused his attendants to stop and
turn him around, that he might behold the field of battle. Night soon
darkened the scene; the rumbling of baggage wagons, and the occasional
booming of the distant cannon, alone disturbed the mournful silence of
the scene; here and there the flames of burning villages shed a
portentous light through the gloom. At length, to break the mournful
silence, and to express the sympathy they might not speak, the band
played a requiem for the dying general. The solemn strains arose and
fell in prolonged echoes over the field, and swept in softened
cadences on the ear of the dying warrior. Moore breathed faintly for a
few hours, and before the morning dawned he had passed away. His
corpse w