Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, Her brother David was a tall, Well, David undertook one night to play He knew, Would be returning from a journey through That stood Below The house some distance,-half a mile, or so. With a long taper Cap of white paper, Just made to cover A wig, nearly as large over As a corn-basket, and a sheet With both ends made to meet Across his breast, (The way in which ghosts are always dressed) He took His station near A huge oak-tree, Whence he could overlook The road and see Whatever might appear. It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel Had left the table Of an inn, where he had made a halt, With horse and wagon, To taste a flagon Of malt Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, He went on, Caring no more for twenty ghosts, David was nearly tired of waiting; At length, he heard the careless tones And then the noise Of wagon-wheels among the stones. Out, in great confusion, Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution." His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton; Scaring the whip-po-wills among the trees "See the Yankees Leave the hill, With baggernetts declining, With looped-down hats And rusty guns, And leather aprons shining. "See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?" Said Abel, staring like a cat, As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode Into the middle of the road. "My conscience! what a suit of clothes! Some crazy fellow, I suppose. Hallo! friend, what's your name! by the powers of gi That's a strange dress to travel in." "Be silent, Abel; for I now have come To read your doom; Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. I am a spirit"-"I suppose you are; But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why: Or bad, that's understood,- That I'm secure. If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil, And I don't know but you may be the Devil,— THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. A district school, not far away, Let off in one tremendous kiss! "What's that?" the startled master cries; That you, my biggest pupil, should Before the whole set school to boot- "Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad, But when Susannah shook her curls, WOUNDED. (WILLIAM E. MILLER.) Let me lie down Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, Let me lie down. Oh, it was grand! Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; Weary and faint, Prone on the soldier's couch, ah, how can I rest Oh, that last charge! Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell, It was duty! Some things are worthless, and some others so good Dying at last! My mother, dear mother! with meek tearful eye, I am no saint; But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins, Hark! there's a shout! Raise me up, comrades! We have conquer'd, I know!— Up, on my feet, with my face to the foe! Ah! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, The promise of glory, the symbol of right! Well may they shout! I'm muster'd out. O God of our fathers, our freedom prolong, I'm muster'd out. |