Penn, one of the early settlers. I was reading t'other day about him. When he first arrived he got a lot of Indians up a tree, and when they shook some apples down, he set one on top of his son's head, and shot an arrow plump through it and never fazed him. They say it struck them Indians cold; he was such a terrific shooter. Fine countenance, hasn't he? Face shaved clean; he didn't wear a moustache, I believe, but he seems to have let himself out on hair. Now, my view is, that every man ought to have a picture of that Patriarch so's to see how the fust settlers looked and what

kind of weskets they yoused to wear. See his legs, too! Trousers a little short maybe, as if he was going to wade in a creek; but he's all there. Got some kind of a paper in his hand, I see. Subscription list, I reckon. Now, how does that strike you? There's something nice. That I think, is-is-that a—a—yes, to be sure, Washington-you recollect him, of course? Some people call him Father of his Country, George— Washington. Had no middle name, I believe. He lived about two hundred years ago and he was a fighter. I heard the publisher telling a man about him crossing the Delaware River up yer at Trenton, and seems to me, if I recollect right, I've read about it myself. He was courting some girl on the Jersey side, and he used to swim over at nights to see her when the old man was asleep. The girl's family were down on him, I reckon. He looks like a man to do that, don't he? He's got it in his eye. If it'd been me I'd gone over on a bridge, but he probably wanted to show off afore her; some men are so reckless, you know. Now, if you'll conclude to take this I'll get the publisher to write out some more stories about him, and bring 'em round to you, so's you

can study up on him. I know he did ever so many other things, but I've forgot 'em; my memory's so awful poor.

"Less see! Who have we next? Ah, Franklin! Benjamin Franklin! He was one of the old original pioneers, I think. I disremember exactly what he is celebrated for, but I think it was a flying a-oh! yes, flying a kite, that's it. The publisher mentioned it. He was out one day flying a kite, you know, like boys do now-a-days, and while she was a flickering up in the sky, and he was giving her more string, an apple fell off a tree, and hit him on the head;-then he discovered the attraction of gravitation, I think they call it. Smart, wasn't it? Now, if you or me'd a been hit, it'd just a made us mad like as not and set us a ravin'. But men are so different. One man's meat's another man's pison. See what a double chin he's got. No beard on him, either, though a goatee would have been becoming to such a round face. He hasn't got on a sword and I reckon he was no soldier;-fit some when he was a boy, maybe, or went out with the home-guard, but not a regular warrior. I aint one, myself, and I think all the better of him for it. Ah, here we are! Look at that! Smith and Pocahontas! John Smith! Isn't that gorgeous? See, how she kneels over him, and sticks out her hands while he lays on the ground, and that big fellow with a club tries to hammer him up. Talk about woman's love! There it is for you. Modocs, I believe. Anyway some Indians out West there, somewheres; and the publisher tells me that Captain Shackanasty, or whatever his name is there, was going to bang old Smith over the head with a log of wood, and this here girl she was sweet on Smith, it appears, and she broke loose, and

jumped forward and says to the man with the stick, 'Why don't you let John alone? Me and him are going to marry, and if you kill him, I'll never speak to you as long as I live,' or words like them, and so the man he give it up, and both of them hunted up a preacher and were married and lived happy ever afterward. Beautiful story, isn't it? A good wife she made him, too, I'll bet, if she was a little copper-colored. And don't she look just lovely in that picture? But Smith appears kinder sick, evidently thinks his goose is cooked, and I don't wonder, with that Modoc swooping down on him with such a discouraging club. And now we come to-to ah-to-Putnam-General Putnam:-he fought in the war, too; and one day a lot of 'em caught him when he was off his guard, and they tied him flat on his back on a horse and then licked the horse like the very mischief. And what does that horse do but go pitching down about four hundred stone steps in front of the house, with General Putnam lying there nearly skeered to death. Leastways the publisher said somehow that way, and I oncet read about it myself. But he came out safe, and I reckon sold the horse and made a pretty good thing of it. What surprises me is he didn't break his neck, but maybe it was a mule, for they're pretty sure footed, you know. Surprising what some of these men have gone through, aint it? Turn over a couple of leaves. That's General Jackson. My father shook hands with him once. He was a fighter, I know. He fit down in New Orleans. Broke up the rebel Legisla ture, and then when the Ku Kluxes got after him he fought 'em behind cotton breast works and licked 'em 'til they couldn't stand. They say he was terrific when he got real mad. Hit straight from the shoulder and

fetched his man every time. Andrew, his fust name was; and look how his hair stands up. And then, here's John Adams and Daniel Boone and two or three pirates, and a whole lot more pictures, so you see it's cheap as dirt. Lemme have your name, won't you?" MAX ADELER.

WHAT

WENDELL PHILLIPS.

HAT shall we mourn? For the prostrate tree that sheltered the young green wood?

For the fallen cliff that fronted the sea, and guarded the fields from the flood?

For the eagle that died in the tempest, afar from its eyrie's brood?

Nay, not for these shall we weep; for the silver cord must be worn,

And the golden fillet shrink back at last, and the dust to its earth return;

And tears are never for those who die with their face to the duty done;

But we mourn for the fledglings left on the waste, and the fields where the wild waves run.

From the midst of the flock he defended, the brave one has gone to his rest;

And the tears of the poor he befriended their wealth of affliction attests.

From the midst of the people is stricken a symbol they daily saw,

Set over against the law book, of a Higher than Human

Law;

For his life was a ceaseless protest, and his voice was a prophet's cry

To be true to the Truth and faithful, though the world were arrayed for the Lie.

From the hearing of those who hated, a threatening voice has past;

But the lives of those who believe and die are not blown like a leaf on the blast.

A sower of infinite seed was he, a woodman that hewed to the light,

Who dared to be traitor to Union when Union was traitor to Right!

"Fanatic!" the insects hissed, till he taught them to understand

That the highest crime may be written in the highest law of the land.

"Disturber" and "Dreamer" the Philistines cried when

he preached an ideal creed,

Till they learned that the men who have changed the world with the world have disagreed;

That the remnant is right, when the masses are led like sheep to the pen ;

For the instinct of equity slumbers till roused by instinctive men.

It is not enough to win rights from a king and write them down in a book:

New men, new lights; and the fathers' code the sons may never brook,·

What is liberty now were license then; their freedom our yoke would be;