"To choose from the Bar it were fittest, I think; Perhaps you've a man in your eye" And his Holiness here gave a mischievous wink To a Cardinal sitting near by. But the lawyer replied, in a lawyer-like way, I didn't come hither, allow me to say, "Very well," said his Holiness, "then we will do The best that may fairly be done; It don't seem exactly the thing, it is true, "To the neighboring church you will presently go, And this is the plan I advise: First, say a few aves-a hundred or so Then carefully bandage your eyes; "Then (saying more aves) go groping around, And, touching one object alone, The saint you are seeking will quickly be found, For the first that you touch is your own.” The lawyer did as his Holiness said, Without an omission or flaw; Then, taking the bandages off from his head, There was St. Michael (figured in paint) And the lawyer, exclaiming "Be thou our saint!" Each of the Four Numbers of "100 Choice Selections" contained in this volume is paged separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on first page of Contents. The entire book contains nearly 1000 pages. 100 CHOICE SELECTIONS. No. 23. SONG OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE. I build my nest on the mountain's crest, Where the wild winds rock my eaglets to rest, For my spirit free henceforth shall be A type of the sons of Liberty. Aloft I fly from my aërie high, Through the vaulted dome of the azure sky; On a sunbeam bright take my airy flight, And float in a flood of liquid light; For I love to play in the noontide ray, And bask in a blaze from the throne of day. Away I spring with a tireless wing, On a feathery cloud I poise and swing; I dart down the steep where the lightnings leap, Of a free and fearless Liberty. I love the land where the mountains stand бу* Then give to me in my flights to see The land of the pilgrims EVER FREE! And I never will rove from the haunts I love, Oh, guard ye well the land where I dwell, How Freedom's light rose clear and bright Till ye quenched the flame in a starless night. Then will I tear from your pennon fair The fluttering stripes from the flagstaff wrench, A craven race in the land of the free! ON THE FRONTIER.-I. EDGAR JONES. What! Robbed the mail at midnight! We'll trail them down, you bet! We'll bring them to the halter; I'm sheriff of Yuba yet. Get out those mustangs, hearties, and long before set of sun We'll trail them down to their refuge, and justice shall yet be done. It's pleasant, this rude experience; life has a rugged zest Here on the plains and mountains, far to the open west : Look at those snow-capped summits,- waves of an endless sea; Look at yon billowed prairie, boundless as grand and free. Ah! we have found our quarry! yonder within the bush! Empty your carbines at them, then follow me with a rush! Down with the desperadoes! Ours is the cause of right! Though they should slash like demons, still we must gain the fight! Pretty hot work, McGregor, but we have gained the day. What? Have we lost their leader? Can he have sneaked away? |