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LXI.-INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

YOU

know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away,

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

2. Just as perhaps he mused, “My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
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.

3. 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.

4. "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace, We've got you Ratisbon!

The 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.

5. 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.

Robert Browning.

THE

LXII. THE WORSTED THREAD.

HE tall chimney of the chemical works had been carried up two hundred and eighty feet, and the scaffolding was to be taken away. Tom Howard's father was the last of the workmen to come down; and, by some oversight, the rope by which he was to descend had slipped off from the top, and there he was, night coming on, with no means of reaching the ground.

2. A crowd soon collected; and Tom ran home to tell his mother of his father's danger. She hastened to the place, and, with a clear, full voice, cried out to him to take off a stocking and unravel it carefully, and, by means of a bit of mortar at the end, to let the thread down slowly. While he was doing this, the thoughtful woman sent to a neighboring shop for a ball of twine.

3. Presently the end of the stocking thread came down along the side of the tall chimney, waving back and forth in the wind. As soon as it reached the ground, she tied it to the end of the twine, and, taking the ball in her hand, called out to her husband to draw up the thread.

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4. As he drew it up, she unrolled the ball carefully, until the cry was heard, "He's got it! he's got it!" "Now hold the string fast, and pull it up,' cried she. The string grew heavy and hard to pull; for Tom and his mother had fastened the end of a thick rope to it.

5. They watched it gradually and slowly uncoiling, as the string was drawn higher and higher. At length, there was but one coil left. The rope had reached the top of the chimney. "Thank God! thank God!" exclaimed the wife. She hid her face in her hands in silent prayer.

6. The rope had been drawn up; but would her husband be able to make use of it? Would not the terror of the past hour have so unnerved him as to prevent him from properly fastening the rope, or from making the exertion necessary to secure his safety in the descent? She did not know the magic influence which her presence and her few words had exercised over him. She did not know the strength with which the sound of her voice, so calm and firm, had filled him.

7. The little thread that carried him the hope of life once more, had conveyed to him some portion of that faith in God which dwelt in her true heart. She did not know that, as he waited there, the words came to him, "Why art thou cast down, O my soul? Hope thou in God." She could do nothing more for

him, and her heart rested on God as on a firm and steadfast rock.

8. There was a great shout. "He's safe, mother! he's safe!" cried Tom. "Thou'st saved me, Mary," said her husband, folding her in his arms. And that night, in their happy home, they poured forth their thanks to God for his great goodness.

S

LXIII.-VIRTUE.

WEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

2. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in the grave,

And thou must die.

3. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
Thy music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

4. Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

George Herbert.

TH

LXIV. BUNKER'S LAWSUIT.

HE parties were now called and sworn; when Bunker proceeded at once to the merits of his case. He produced and spread open his accountbook, and then went on to show his manner of charging, which was wholly by hieroglyphics, generally designating the debtor by picturing him out, at the top of the page, with some peculiarity of his person or calling.

2. In the present case, the debtor, who was a cooper, was designated by the rude picture of a man in the act of hooping a barrel; and the article charged-there being but one item in the accountwas placed immediately beneath, and represented by a shaded, circular figure, which the plaintiff said was intended for a cheese that had been sold to the defendant some years before.

3. "Now, Mr. Justice," said Bunker, after explaining, in a direct, off-hand manner, his peculiar method of book-keeping;-"now, the article here charged, the man had-I will, and do swear to it; for here it is in black and white: and I having demanded my pay, and he having not only refused it, but denied ever buying the article in question, I have brought this suit to recover my just dues. And now I wish to see if he will get up here in court and deny the charge under oath. If he will, let him; but may the Lord have mercy on his soul!"

4. "Well, sir," replied the defendant, promptly rising, "you shall not be kept from having your wish a minute; for I here, under oath, do swear that I never bought or had a cheese of you in my life."

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