_Yorick_ scarce ever heard this sad vaticination of his destiny read over to him, but with a tear stealing from his eye, and a promissory look attending it, that he was resolved, for the time to come, to ride his tit with more sobriety.—But, alas, too late!—a grand confederacy with ***** and ***** at the head of it, was formed before the first prediction of it.—The whole plan of the attack, just as _Eugenius_ had foreboded, was put in execution all at once,—with so little mercy on the side of the allies,—and so little suspicion in _Yorick_, of what was carrying on against him,—that when he thought, good easy man! full surely preferment was o’ripening,—they had smote his root, and then he fell, as many a worthy man had fallen before him. _Yorick_, however, fought it out with all imaginable gallantry for some time; till, overpowered by numbers, and worn out at length by the calamities of the war,—but more so, by the ungenerous manner in which it was carried on,—he threw down the sword; and though he kept up his spirits in appearance to the last, he died, nevertheless, as was generally thought, quite broken-hearted. What inclined _Eugenius_ to the same opinion was as follows: A few hours before _Yorick_ breathed his last, _Eugenius_ stept in with an intent to take his last sight and last farewell of him. Upon his drawing _Yorick_’s curtain, and asking how he felt himself, _Yorick_ looking up in his face took hold of his hand,—and after thanking him for the many tokens of his friendship to him, for which, he said, if it was their fate to meet hereafter,—he would thank him again and again,—he told him, he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the slip for ever.—I hope not, answered _Eugenius_, with tears trickling down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone that ever man spoke.—I hope not, _Yorick_, said he.——_Yorick_ replied, with a look up, and a gentle squeeze of _Eugenius_’s hand, and that was all,—but it cut _Eugenius_ to his heart.—Come,—come, _Yorick_, quoth _Eugenius_, wiping his eyes, and summoning up the man within him,—my dear lad, be comforted,—let not all thy spirits and fortitude forsake thee at this crisis when thou most wants them;——who knows what resources are in store, and what the power of God may yet do for thee!——_Yorick_ laid his hand upon his heart, and gently shook his head;—For my part, continued _Eugenius_, crying bitterly as he uttered the words,—I declare I know not, _Yorick_, how to part with thee, and would gladly flatter my hopes, added _Eugenius_, chearing up his voice, that there is still enough left of thee to make a bishop, and that I may live to see it.—I beseech thee, _Eugenius_, quoth _Yorick_, taking off his night-cap as well as he could with his left hand,—his right being still grasped close in that of _Eugenius_,—I beseech thee to take a view of my head.—I see nothing that ails it, replied _Eugenius._ Then, alas! my friend, said _Yorick_, let me tell you, that ’tis so bruised and