THERE

In the quaint old Quaker town,

And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down,

People gathering at corners,

Where they whispered each to each, And the sweat stood on their temples, With the earnestness of speech.

As the bleak Atlantic currents

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State House,

So they surged against the door; And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound,

Till the quiet street of Chestnut

Was all turbulent with sound.

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" "Who is speaking?” "What's the news?"

"What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?"
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!"
“Make some way, there!” "Let me nearer!"
"I am stifling!" "Stifle, then ;

When a nation's life's at hazard,
We've no time to think of men ! ”

So they beat against the portal —
Man and woman, maid and child ;
And the July sun in heaven

On the scene looked down and smiled;
The same sun that saw the Spartan

Shed his patriot blood in vain, Now beheld the soul of freedom All unconquered rise again.

Aloft in that high steeple

Sat the bellman, old and gray;
He was weary of the tyrant
And his iron-sceptered sway;
So he sat with one hand ready
On the clapper of the bell,
When his eye should catch the signal,
Very happy news to tell.

See! See! The dense crowd quivers

Through all its lengthy line,

As the boy beside the portal
Looks forth to give the sign!
With his small hands upward lifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark! With deep, clear intonation,
Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
List the boy's strong joyous cry!

"Ring!" he shouts aloud, "Ring! Grandpa!
Ring! Oh, ring for Liberty!
And straightway, at the signal,
The old bellman lifts his hand,
Forth sends the good news, making
Iron music through the land.

How they shouted! What rejoicing!

How the old bell shook the air,
Till the clang of freedom ruffled
The calmly gliding Delaware!
How the bonfires and the torches
Lighted up the night's repose,

And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix,
Our glorious Liberty arose !

That old Statehouse bell is silent,

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue,

But the spirit it awakened

Still is living-ever young.

And while we greet the smiling sunlight
On the Fourth of each July,

We will ne'er forget the bellman,

Who, betwixt the earth and sky,
Rung out loudly INDEPENDENCE,
Which, please God, shall never die !

OUR COUNTRY

ANONYMOUS

UR Country! 'Tis a glorious land,

OUR Country!

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore;

The proud Pacific chafes her strand,

She hears the dark Atlantic's roar;
And nurtured on her ample breast
How many a goodly prospect lies,
In nature's wildest grandeur dressed,
Enameled with the loveliest dyes!

Great God! We thank thee for this home,
This boundless birthright of the free,
Where wanderers from afar may come
And breathe the air of liberty;

Still may her flowers untrampled spring,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise;
And yet, till time shall fold her wing,
Remain earth's loveliest paradise!

N°

FORT WILLIAM HENRY MASSACRE

JOHN FISKE

sooner, however, had the garrison left the fort,

than a rabble of Indians swarmed in and instantly tomahawked all the men who were confined to their bed by sickness.

This incident was like the tiger's foretaste for blood. The Indians were too numerous to be kept in control by their French allies. They understood their power, and were to the last degree indignant at the prospect of being balked in their bloodthirsty fury. The next morning, according to agreement, the English column started for Fort Edward with an escort of Canadian militia. At the moment of starting, a large party of Indians tomahawked and scalped seventeen wounded men in the presence of an inadequate French force that had been sent to guard them. Not long after the march had begun, another party rushed up from under cover of the trees and seized some seventy or eighty New Hampshire soldiers, and dragging them off under cover, massacred them at leisure. The short journey to Fort Edward was an evil one, for such acts of murder kept recurring in spite of Montcalm's persistent and furious efforts to prevent them. that in the course of the march the Indians succeeded in dragging six or seven hundred persons from the column; but Montcalm was able to rescue four to five hundred of these.

It is said

The exact number of the victims has never been satisfactorily estimated, but it was enough to make Fort William Henry a name of horror to Americans for many a long year. To Montcalm it was an abiding grief; but while we must acquit the general of any share of this atrocity, it can hardly be denied that some of the French officers showed culpable weakness, acting as if they were more than half afraid of the red men themselves, so that they were over cautious about drawing the wrath of the murderers upon themselves. Take it all for all, it is one of the blackest incidents in the history of our country.