heard to a preternatural distance, and resembled the cry of a
dying lion more than a human sound.

His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly
exhausted by the effort, and bore him back to his castle in mute
sorrow; while his daughter at once wept for her brother, and
endeavoured to mitigate and soothe the despair of her father.
But this was impossible; the old man's only tie to life was rent
rudely asunder, and his heart had broken with it. The death of
his son had no part in his sorrow. If he thought of him at all,
it was as the degenerate boy through whom the honour of his
country and clan had been lost; and he died in the course of
three days, never even mentioning his name, but pouring out
unintermitted lamentations for the loss of his noble sword.

I conceive that the moment when the disabled chief was roused
into a last exertion by the agony of the moment is favourable to
the object of a painter. He might obtain the full advantage of
contrasting the form of the rugged old man, in the extremity of
furious despair, with the softness and beauty of the female form.
The fatal field might be thrown into perspective, so as to give
full effect to these two principal figures, and with the single
explanation that the piece represented a soldier beholding his
son slain, and the honour of his country lost, the picture would
be sufficiently intelligible at the first glance. If it was
thought necessary to show more clearly the nature of the
conflict, it might be indicated by the pennon of Saint George
being displayed at one end of the lists, and that of Saint Andrew
at the other.