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Let once my army-leader Lannes

Waver at yonder wall,”-
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew

A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,

And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect,
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,

Scarce any blood came through,)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.
“Well," cried he, “Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon !
he marshal's in the market-place,

And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans.

Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!” The chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes: “ You're wounded !" Nay," his soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said: " I'm killed, sire !" And, his chief beside,

Smiling, the boy fell dead.


It was in the days when Claverhouse

Was scouring moor and glen,
To change, with fire and bloody sword,

The faith of Scottish men,
They had made a covenant with the Lord

Firm in their faith to bide,
Nor break to Him their plighted word,

Whatever might betide.
The sun was well-nigh setting,

When o'er the heather wild,
And up the narrow mountain-path,

Alone there walked a child.

He was a bonny, blithesome lad,

Sturdy and strong of limb-
A father's pride, a mother's love,

Were fast bound up in him.
His bright blue eyes glanced fearless round,

His step was firm and light;
What was it underreath his plaid

His little hands grasped tight ?
It was bannocks which, that very morn,

His mother made with care,
From out her scanty store of meal;

And now, with many a prayer,
Had sent by Jamie her ane boy,

A trusty lad and brave,
To good old Pastor Tammous Roy,

Now hid in yonder cave.
And for whom the bloody Claverhouse

Had hunted long in vain,
And swore they would not leave that glen

Till old Tam Roy was slain.
So Jamie Douglas went his way

With heart that knew no fear;
He turned the great curve in the rock,

Nor dreamed that death was near.
And there were bloody Claverhouse men,

Who laughed aloud with glee,
When, trembling now within their power,

The frightened child they see.
He turns to flee, but all in vain,

They drag him back apace
To where their cruel leader stands,

And set them face to face.
The cakes concealed beneath his plaid

Soon tell the story plain-
“It is old Tam Roy the cakes are for,"

Exclaimed the angry man.
“Now guide me to his hiding place

And I will let you go.”.
But Jamie shook his yellow curls,

And stoutly answered--“No!"
“I'll drop you down the mountain-side,

And there upon the stones


The old gaunt wolf and carrion crow

Shall battle for your bones.”
And in his brawny, strong right hand

He lifted up the child,
And held him where the clefted rocks

Formed a chasm deep and wild.
So deep it was, the trees below

Like stunted bushes seemed.
Poor Jamie looked in frightened maze,

It seemed some horrid dream.
He looked up at the blue sky above,

Then at the men near by;
Had they no little boys at home,

That they could let him die?
But no one spoke and no one sti ed,

Or lifted hand to save
From such a fearful, frightful death,

The little lad so brave.
“It is woeful deep," he shuddering cried,

“But oh! I canna tell,
So drop me down then, if you will

It is nae so deep as hell!"
A childish scream, a faint, dull sound,

Oh! Jamie Douglas true,
Long, long within that lonely cave

Shall Tam Roy wait for you.
Long for your welcome coming

Waits the mother on the moor, And watches and calls, " Come, Jamio, lad,"

Through the half-open door. No more adown the rocky path

You come with fearless tread,
Or, on moor or mountain, take

The good man's daily bread.
But up in heaven the shining ones

A wond'rous story tell,
Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf

That is nae so deep as hell.
And there before the great white throne,

Forever blessed and glad,
His mother dear and old Tam Roy

Shall meet their bonny lad.

WRECK OF THE HURON-NOVEMBER 24, 1877. Extract from a lecture by the Rev. T. De Wirt Talmage, at the Brooklyn Tabernacle.

A few days ago there went out from our Brooklyn Navy Yard a man-of-war, the Huron. She steamed down to Hampton Roads, dropped anchor for further orders, and then went ou southward-one hundred and thirty-six souls on boardand the life of the humblest boy in sailor's jacket as precious as the life of the cominander.

There were storms in the air, the jib-stay had been carried away, but what cares such a monarch of the deep for a hurricane! All's well at twelve o'clock at night! Strike eight bells! All's well at one o'clock in the morning! Strike two bells! How the water tosses from the iron prow of the Huron as she seems moving irresistibly on! If a fishing smack came in her way she would ride it down and not know she touched it.

But, alas! through the darkness she is aiming for Nag's Hlead! What is the matter with the compasses? At one o'clock and forty minutes there is a harsh grating on the bottom of the ship, and the cry goes across the ship, “What's the matter?” Then the sea lifts up the ship to let her fall on the breakers-shock! shock! shock! The dreadful command of the captain rings across the deck and is repeated among the hammocks, "All hands save the ship!" Then comes the thud of the axe in answer to the order to cut away the mast. Overboard go the guns. They are of no use in this battle with the wind and wave.

Heavier and heavier the vessel falls till the timbers begin to crack. The work of death goes on, every surge of the sea carrying more men from the forecastle, and reaching up its briny fingers to those hanging in the rigging. Numb and frozen, they hold on and lash themselves fast, while some, daring each other to the undertaking, plunge into the beating surf and struggle for the land. Oh, cruel sea! Pity them, as bruised, and mangled, and with broker bones, they make desperate effort for dear life. For thirty miles along the beach the dead of the Huron are strewn, and throughout the land there is weeping and lamentation and great woe.

A surviving officer of the vessel testifies that the conduct of the men was admirable. It is a magnificent thing to see a man dying at his post, doing his whole duty. It seems that every shipwreck must give to the world an illustration of the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice-men daring all things to save their fellows. Who can see such things without thinking of the greatest deed of these nineteen centuries, the pushing out of the Chieftain of the universe to take the human race off the wreck of the world?


Mine cracious! Mine cracious! shust look here und see
A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe.
Der beoples all dink dat no prains I haf got,
Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like

Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine,
Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off mine.
Dot schmall leedle vellow I dells you vas qveer;
Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass off beer,
Mit a bare-footed hed, and nose but a schneck,
A mout clot goes most to der pack off his neck,
Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine
To gife sooch a charm to dot baby off mine.
I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys,
Und beats leedle Yawcop for making a noise;
He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English, too,
Says “mama," und " bapa," und somedimes “ah-goo!"
You don'd find a baby den dimes out off nine
Dot vos qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine.
He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt,
Und poots efryding he can find in his mout;
He dumbles der slitairs down, und falls vrom his chair,
Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare;
Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine
Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baby off mine.
Dere vas someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty vell;
To hear in der nighdt-dimes dot young Deutscher yell,
Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es
Vhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes;
Dose leedle shimnasdic dricks vasn't so fine,
Dot I cnés onpat righdt mit dot baby off mine.
* See No. 13, puge jt.

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