The barriers of the Rue Richelieu had been erected by the people, and were furiously attacked by squadrons of infantry and cavalry. The Parisians, led by a most intrepid young man, evidently a foreigner, defended it to the very utmost. Three charges had been made, and successfully repulsed. A fourth threatened to carry the barriers. Some of the pickets were overthrown; and already had a few of the light cavalry penetrated within. A few stout hearts strove hand to hand with the military, but numbers had given way. In this emergency, the gallant leader of the people, waving his tri-colored flag, sprang in front of the wavering multitude. His gestures, his example, rëanimated them. Again they pressed forward, and bearing with them the tide of victory, they successfully repulsed the military; but their leader had sealed his conquest with his life. He fell, fighting hand to hand and foot to foot with the leader of the hostile soldiery, and their bodies lay close together, in the sleep of death. The strife of the three days past, honorable interment was awarded the fallen and patriotic brave. Among the latter was not forgotten the youthful stranger, who had so well defended the barriers of the Rue Richelieu. The papers on his person proved him to be an Englishman. That Englishman was FRANCIS MITFORD. SERENADE. FROM THE GERMAN OF BÜRGER.--BY J. J. CAMPBELL. I. WITH song and lyre let sleep now fly; To song and lyre take bounden heed! The wakeful minstrel, that am I, Fair sweetheart! ever true at need. O, open thou the clear sunshine Of those blue laughing eyes of thine! II. Through night and gloom I hither tramp, At hour when spirits are in view; Long since, there glimmers not a lamp The hush'd-up cottage-window through: Long since has rested, sweet and blest, What love and fond desire let rest. III. On his wife's bosom cradled keeps His weary head, the husband dear; While to his favorite hen close creeps, Upon the roost, good chanticleer; And sparrow on the eaves is eyed, Couching with true-love by his side. IV. Oh! when will these dull times be sped, Until I too creep close to thee; Until in sweet repose my head Upon thy bosom nestled be? When lead'st thou me unto the side O, priest! of my sweet little bride? V. How would I then so heartily, So dear, so very dear, thee hold! How would I, oh! how would then we Each other in our arms enfold! Yet patience! time, too, slippeth on-- Be thou but true, my darling one! VI. And now, dear soul! good-night once more; God keep thee with his shelt'ring might! What God keeps, that is well watch'd o'er, And kept from danger and affright. Adieu!--now close the sunny shine Of those blue laughing eyes of thine! MOHEGAN LANGUAGE AND GEOGRAPHICAL NAMES. TO THE EDITORS OF THE KNICKERBOCKER: