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demanded his body, therefore, and the spolia opima1 taken with him. Due information having been carried, likewise, by the friar to the grand inquisitor, of the crosses and rosaries and other relics contained in the bag, he claimed the culprit as having been guilty of sacrilege, and insisted that his plunder was due to the church, and his body to the next Auto da Fé. The feuds ran high; the governor was furious, and swore, rather than surrender his captive, he would hang him up within the Alhambra as a spy caught within the purlieus of the fortress.

The captain general threatened to send a body of soldiers to transfer the prisoner from the Vermilion Towers to the city. The grand inquisitor was equally bent upon dispatching a number of the familiars of the Holy Office. Word was brought, late at night, to the governor, of these machinations. "Let them come," said he; "they'll find me beforehand with them. He must rise bright and early, who would take in an old soldier." He accordingly issued orders to have the prisoner removed, at daybreak, to the donjon keep within the walls of the Alhambra. "And d'ye hear, child?" said he to his demure handmaid, "tap at my door, and wake me before cock crowing, that I may see to the matter myself."

The day dawned, the cock crowed, but nobody tapped at the door of the governor. The sun rose high above the mountain tops, and glittered in at his casement, ere the governor was awakened from his morning dreams by his veteran corporal, who stood before him with terror stamped upon his iron visage.

“He's off! He's gone!" cried the corporal, gasping for breath.

1 Richest spoils.

"Who's off - who's gone?"

"The soldier- the robber-the devil, for aught I know. His dungeon is empty, but the door is locked. No one knows how he escaped out of it."

"Who saw him last?

"Your handmaid; she brought him his supper. "Let her be called instantly."

Here was new matter of confusion.

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The chamber of

the demure damsel was likewise empty, her bed had not been slept in; she had doubtless gone off with the culprit, as she had appeared, for some days past, to have frequent conversations with him.

This was wounding the old governor in a tender part, but he had scarce time to wince at it, when new misfortunes broke upon his view. On going into his cabinet, he found his strong box open, the leather purse of the trooper abstracted, and with it a couple of corpulent bags of doubloons.

But how, and which way had the fugitives escaped? An old peasant who lived in a cottage by the roadside, leading up into the Sierra, declared that he had heard the tramp of a powerful steed just before daybreak, passing up into the mountains. He had looked out at his casement, and could just distinguish a horseman, with a female seated before him.

The

"Search the stables!" cried Governor Manco. stables were searched; all the horses were in their stalls excepting the Arabian steed. In his place was a stout cudgel tied to the manger, and on it a label bearing these words:

"A gift to Governor Manco, from an Old Soldier."

HOME, SWEET HOME

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE

John Howard Payne was born in New York in 1792. Both as boy and man he exhibited remarkable qualities. Distinguished as author and actor, it is in the latter field that he was best known in his day, though now generally known only as the author of the following song. ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

MID

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.

Home, home,

Sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home-
There's no place like home.

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,
Oh! give me my lowly thatched cottage again;
The birds singing gayly that come at my call-
Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all.
Home, home, etc.

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY

MARGARET J. PRESTON

66

Margaret J. Preston was born in Philadelphia about 1835. She is the author of "Old Songs and New,” “ Colonial Ballads," and other volumes of verse.

"AND now," said the Governor, gazing abroad on the

piled-up store

Of the sheaves that dotted the clearings, and covered the meadows o'er,

""Tis meet that we render praises because of this yield of grain;

'Tis meet that the Lord of the harvest be thanked for His sun and rain.

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"And therefore I, William Bradford (by the grace of God to-day,

And the franchise of this good people), Governor of Plymouth, say,

Through virtue of vested power, - ye shall gather with one accord,

And hold, in the month November, thanksgiving unto the Lord.

"He hath granted us peace and plenty, and the quiet we've sought so long;

He hath thwarted the wily savage, and kept him from

doing us wrong;

And unto our feast the Sachem shall be bidden, that he may know

We worship his own Great Spirit, who maketh the harvests grow.

"So shoulder your matchlocks, masters, there is hunting of all degrees;

And fishermen, take your tackle, and scour for spoil the

seas;

And maidens and dames of Plymouth, your delicate crafts

employ

To honor our First Thanksgiving, and make it a feast of joy.

"We fail of the fruits and dainties so close to our hand

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Ah, they are the lightest losses we suffer for sake of Heaven!

But see, in our open clearings, how golden the melons

lie,

Enrich them with sweets and spices, and give us the pumpkin pie!"

So, bravely the preparations went on for the Autumn

feast;

The deer and the bear were slaughtered; wild game from the greatest to least

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