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BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

UP from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand,
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished Rebel horde.

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,-

Over the mountains, winding down,
Horse and foot into Frederick town,-

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind; the sun

Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,

Bowed with her four score years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,

She took up the flag the men hauled down.

In her attic-window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!"-the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!"-out blazed the rifle blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash,

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.

She leaned far out on the window sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host,

Ever its torn folds rose and fell

On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,

And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear,

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of freedom and union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
John Greenleaf Whittier.

KEEPING HIS WORD.

"ONLY a penny a box," he said;
But the gentleman turned away his head,
As if he shrank from the squalid sight
Of the boy who stood in the falling light.

"Oh, sir!" he stammered, "you cannot know" (And he brushed from his matches the flakes of

snow,

That the sudden tear might have chance to fall.) "Or I think I think you would take them all. "Hungry and cold at our garret-pane, Ruby will watch till I come again, Bringing the loaf. The sun has set, And he hasn't a crumb of breakfast yet.

66 One penny, and then I can buy the bread !” The gentleman stopped: "And you ?” he said; “I—I can put up with them-hunger and cold, But Ruby is only five years old.

"I promised our mother before she went―
She knew I would do it, and died content-
I promised her, sir, through best, through worst,
I always would think of Ruby first."

The gentleman paused at his open door,
Such tales he had often heard before;
But he fumbled his purse in the twilight drear,
"I have nothing less than a shilling here."

"Oh, sir, if you'll only take the pack
I'll bring you the change in a moment back,—
Indeed you may trust me !" "Trust you!-no!
But here is the shilling; take it and go."

The gentleman lolled in his cozy chair,
And watched his cigar-wreath melt in air,
And smiled on his children, and rose to see
The baby asleep on its mother's knee.

"And now it is nine by the clock," he said, "Time that my darlings were all a-bed; Kiss me 'good night,' and each be sure, When you're saying your prayers, remember the poor."

Just then came a message--" A boy at the door,"-
But ere it was uttered he stood on the floor
Half breathless, bewildered, and ragged and
strange;

“I'm Ruby-Mike's brother—I've brought you the change.

"Mike's hurt, sir; 'twas dark; the snow made him blind,

And he didn't take notice the train was behind Till he slipped on the track; and then it whizzed

by:

And he's home in the garret; I think he will die.

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