The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth; And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South. Oh, pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through; Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do. But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to; "Oh, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away! And on, on, came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry— But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight. And rich Ohio sat startled through all those summer days: Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her best. A bold ride and a long ride! But they were taken at last. Well, I kept the boy till evening-kept him against his will— But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still. When it was cool and dusky-you'll wonder to hear me tell— But I stole down to that gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle. I kissed the star on her forehead-my pretty gentle lass- I guided him to the southward as well as I knew how; When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high; Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall, And a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in Kentucky's stall. Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me; The lad had got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle; CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON, ་་ MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG. "My sister'll be down in a minute, and says you're to wait, if you please; And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise her never to tease, Nor speak till you spoke to me first But that's nonsense; for how would you know What she told me to say, if I didn't? Don't you really and truly think so? "And then you'd feel strange here alone. And you wouldn't know just where to sit; For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit; We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be just like you To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw. Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh, you're afraid they would think it was mean! Well, then, there's the album; that's pretty, if you're sure that your fingers are clean. For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she's cross. There's her picture. You know it? It's like her; but she ain't as good-looking, of course. "This is ME. It's the best of 'em all. Now, tell me, you'd never have thought That once I was little as that? It's the only one that could be bought; For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat, That he wouldn't print off any more till he first got his money for that. "What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than this. There's all her back hair to do up, and all her front curls to friz. But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me! Do you think you'll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don't come like Tom Lee,— "Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and night, Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack says that gave him a fright. You won't run away, then, as he did? for you're not a rich man, they say. Pa says you are poor as a church mouse. poor are they? Now, are you? And how "Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am, for I know now your hair isn't red; But what there's left of it is mousey, and not what that naughty Jack said. But there! I must go. just to see Sister's coming. But I wish I could wait If she ran up to you and kissed you in the way that she used to kiss Lee." BRET HARTE. THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river side, It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, Then up arose the oysterman and to himself said he; "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont,—and I will swim this here.” And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, Out spoke the ancient fisherman,-"O what was that, my "Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." “And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a swimming past." Out spoke the ancient fisherman,-" Now bring me my harpoon! Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea-weeds on a Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. [The following is an extract from a speech supposed by many to have been delivered by John Adams in support of American Independence. It was really delivered by Daniel Webster, who was its author-and contains sentiments which were cherished by Adams. In his discourse on Adams and Jefferson he imagines Mr. Adams to have thus spoken in favor of the immediate adoption of the Declaration of Independence. It is a masterly production. This famous speech affords a fine opportunity for the grandest declamation; the student will do well to read and reread and ponder over every paragraph until he catches the exact meaning intended to be conveyed. It should be recited on a moderately high key, with rather quick time, and with great and increasing animation and power. Emphasis and quantity should be combined in its elocution.] Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there's a divinity that shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interests, for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a reconciliation with England? Do we mean to submit to the measures of parliament, Boston port-bill and all? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the Declaration of Indepen dence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character |