others; for the eyes of the sanguinary spectators were not yet glutted with this scene of savage barbarity.
As on Marengo's field, or Leipsic's plain, many a valiant hero fought and fell undistinguished; so here, the martial achievements of many a feathered warrior must sink unrecorded. every well contested field, there are some whose deeds are so conspicuous, that our innate love of valour rescues them from oblivion. Such was now the case, a couple of heroes took their post on the floor of blood, whose matchless prowess, and deeds of might, merit a place in the records of fame, and deserve an abler historian.
Not greater anxiety did Buonaparte feel at the battle of Waterloo, when the fate of Europe depended on its termination, than was depicted on the countenance of Dick Clover, when he placed his hero on the floor. Sprung from a magnanimous and warlike race, whose blood is warmed by the fervours of a tropical sun, he claimed to be of Malayan extraction. Fierce and cruel in his disposition, a blow was never forgiven; he had been accustomed to fight, but knew not what it was to retreat. Repeated victories had increased his pride, and, like some of his brother bipeds, he believed himself invincible. Black were his plumes, as the fur of the sable, and glossy as the raven's jetty wing. Majestic was his stature, and proudly did he lift his head, as he looked around. while the glauce of scorn flashed from his eyes Hard and heavy were his heels, and death was in their strokes; but his leader, to fit him for deeds
