As in amaze he stood to gaze,
(The truth can't be denied, sir,)
He spied a score of kegs, or more,
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,

The strange appearance viewing,
First rubbed his eves in great surprise,
Then said, "Some mischief's brewing.

"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,
Packed up like pickled herring;
And they've come down t'attack the town,
In this new way of ferry'ng."

The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And scared almost to death, sir,

Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now, up and down, throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a snoring;

Nor dreamed of harm, as he lay warm
The land of dreams exploring.

Now, in a fright, he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;

He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
"For God's sake, what's the matter?"

At his bedside he then espied
Sir Erskine, at command, sir;
Upon one foot he had one boot,
And t'other in his hand, sir.
"Arise, arise!" Sir Erskine cries;
"The rebels-more's the pity-
Without a boat are all afloat,
And ranged before the city.
"The motley crew in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

"Therefore prepare for bloody war-
These kegs niust all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."
The royal band now ready stand,
All ranged in dread array, sir,
With stomachs stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore;
The small-arms loud did rattle:
Since wars began, I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,
Attacked from every quarter:

Why, sure, thought they, the devil's to pay 'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sir.

From morn till night, these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;

And when the sun was fairly down
Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men, with each a pen,
Or more, upon my word, sir,
It is most true, would be too few
Their valor to record, sir.

Such feats did they perform that day,
Against these wicked kegs, sir,

That, years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

THE VICTIM.-ALFRED TENNYSON.

A plague upon the people fell,
A famine after laid them low,

Then thorpe and byre arose in fire,
For on them brake the sudden foe;

So thick they died the people cried
"The gods are moved against the land."
The Priest in horror about his altar

To Thor and Odin lifted a hand:
"Help us from famine

And plague and strife!

What would you have of us?
Human life?

Were it our nearest,

Were it our dearest,
(Answer, O answer)

We give you his life!"

But still the foeman spoiled and burned,
And cattle died, and deer in wood,
And bird in air, and fishes turned

And whitened all the rolling flood;
And dead men lay all over the way,

Or down in a furrow scathed with flame: And ever and aye the Priesthood moaned Till at last it seemed that an answer came. "The King is happy

In child and wife:
Take you his dearest,
Give us a life!"

The Priest went out by heath and hill;
The King was hunting in the wild;
They found the mother sitting still;
She cast her arms about the child.
The child was only eight summers old,
His beauty still with his years increased,
His face was ruddy, his hair was gold,
He seemed a victim due to the priest.
The priest beheld him,
And cried with joy,
"The gods have answered:
We give them the boy!”

The King returned from out the wild,
He bore but little game in hand;

The mother said "They have taken the child
To spill his blood and heal the land:

The land is sick, the people diseased,
And blight and famine on all the lea:
The holy gods, they must be appeased,
So I pray you tell the truth to me.
They have taken our son,
They will have his life.
Is he your dearest ?

Or I, the wife?"

The King bent low, with hand on brow,
He stayed his arms upon his knee:
"O wife, what use to answer now?

For now the Priest has judged for me."
The King was shaken with holy fear;

"The gods," he said, "would have chosen well; Yet both are near, and both are dear, And which the dearest I cannot tell!" But the Priest was happy,

His victim won:

"We have his dearest,
His only son!"

The rites prepared, the victim bared,
The knife uprising toward the blow,
To the altar-stone she sprang alone,

66

Me, not my darling, no!

He caught her away with a sudden cry;
Suddenly from him brake his wife,
And shrieking "I am his dearest, I-

I am his dearest!" rushed on the knife.
And the Priest was happy,

"Oh, Father Odin,

We give you a life.

Which was his nearest ?

Who was his dearest?

The gods have answered;

We give them the wife!"

MOTHER'S FOOL.

""Tis plain to see," said a farmer's wife,
"These boys will make their mark in life;
They were never made to handle a hoe,
And at once to a college ought to go;
There's Fred, he's little better than a fool,
But John and Henry must go to school."
"Well, really, wife," quoth Farmer Brown,
As he sat his mug of cider down,
"Fred does more work in a day for me
Than both his brothers do in three.
Book larnin' will never plant one's corn,
Nor hoe potatoes, sure's you're born.
Nor mend a rod of broken fence-
For my part, give me common sense."
But his wife was bound the roast to rule,
And John and Henry were sent to school,

While Fred, of course, was left behind
Because his mother said he had no mind.
Five years at school the students spent ;
Then into business each one went.

John learned to play the flute and fiddle,
And parted his hair, of course, in the middle;
While his brother looked rather higher than he,
And hung out a sign," H. Brown, M. D."

Meanwhile, at home, their brother Fred
Had taken a notion into his head;
But he quietly trimmed his apple trees,
And weeded onions and planted peas,
While somehow or other, by hook or crook,
He managed to read full many a book.
Until at last his father said

He was getting "book larnin'" into his head;
"But for all that," added Farmer Brown,
"He's the smartest boy there is in town.'
The war broke out, and Captain Fred
A hundred men to battle led,

And when the rebel flag came down,
Went marching home as General Brown.
But he went to work on the farm again,
And planted corn and sowed his grain;
He shingled the barn and mended the fence,
Till people declared he had common sense.

Now, common sense was very rare,
And the State House needed a portion there;
So the "family dunce" moved into town-
The people called him Governor Brown;
And his brothers, who went to the city school,
Came home to live with "mother's fool."

THE OLD WOMAN'S RAILWAY SIGNAL.

ELIHU BURRITT.

The most effective working-force in the world in which we live is the law of kindness; for it is the only moral force that operates with the same effect upon mankind, brutekind, and bird-kind. From time immemorial, music has wonderfully affected all beings, reasoning or unreasoning, that have ears to hear. The prettiest idea and simile of ancient literature relates to Orpheus playing his lyre to ani