He told those about him, the ghosts of the men Now he thought he was burning; the very next breath He said that the blacksmith, who turned to a sot, ""Twasn't liquor that killed him," some said, "that was plain; He was crazy, and sober folks might be insane!" ""Twas delirium tremens," the coroner said, But, whatever it was, he was certainly dead! HE NEVER TOLD A LIE. I saw him standing in the crowd- There was a brightness in his eye, I saw his comrades gaze on him— I heard them whisper each to each. I looked in wonder on that boy, I thought of all the boys I'd known— And knew of none that one could say: I gazed upon that youth with awe I had not seen a boy before So they might look at me and say: I thought of questions very hard "How did you tear those pantaloons?" I proudly took him by the hand, I told him I was proud of him. Informed me that that boy was dumb THE LAST REDOUBT.-ALFRED AUSTIN. Kacelyevo's slope still felt The cannon's bolts and the rifles' pelt; By the Russ yet held, by the Turk not gained. Mehemet Ali stroked his beard; His lips were clinched and his look was weird; "Clear me the Muscovite out !" he cried. Then the name of "Allah!" echoed wide, And the fezzes were waved and the bayonets lowered, And on to the last redoubt they poured. One fell, and a second quickly stopped The gap that he left when he reeled and dropped; Many a fez in the mud was crushed, Over their corpses the living sprang, In the redoubt a fair form towered, . That cheered up the brave and chid the coward; His head erect and his bosom bare. "Fly! they are on us!" his men implored; Then clung they about him, and tugged, and knelt; And fired it blank at the first that set Foot on the edge of the parapet. Over that first one toppled: but on Clambered the rest till their bayonets shone; Not a bayonet's length from the length of his blade. "Yield!" But aloft his steel he flashed, They lifted him up from the dabbled ground; The riddled breast and the tender jaw, "Make her a grave where she stood and fell, 'Gainst the jackal's scratch and the vulture's smell. So a deeper trench 'mong the trenches there HOW TM SAWYER GOT HIS FENCE WHITE WASHED.-MARK TWAIN. Tom Sawyer, having offended his solo guardian, Aunt Polly, is by that sternly affectionate dame punished by being set to whitewash the fence in front of the garden. Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a longhandled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work-the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it-bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange of work, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straightened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently-the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump--proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance-for he was personating the "Big Missouri," and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat, and captain, and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them: "Stop her, sir! Ting-a ling-ling!" The headway ran almost out and he drew up slowly toward the side-walk. "Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!" His arms straightened and stiffened down his sides. "Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow!" His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles,-for it was representing a forty-foot wheel. Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chowch-chow-chow!" The left hand began to describe circles. "Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line. Lively now! Come-out with your spring linewhat're you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now-let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! Sh't! sh't! sh't!" (trying the gauge-cocks.) Tom went on whitewashing-paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: “Hi-yi! you're a stump, ain't you?” No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist; then he gave his brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said: "Hello, old chap; you got to work, hey?", Tom wheeled suddenly and said: 66 Why, it's you, Ben; I warn't noticing." "Say, I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But, of course, you'd druther work, wouldn't you? Course you would!" Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said: "What do you call work?" แ Why, ain't that work?" Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly: "Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know is, it suits Tom Sawyer." "Oh, come now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?” "Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?" |