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Tuey took that little cot-yon, there; you see the roof from
An' close up to it grows the sedge, -
That fancy kind, wi' which you've got
Sometimes she'd go, an' sometimes bide;
'Twere plain he were his father's pride,-
An' on the yacht a little gun,
Their colors, an' enjoy the fun
might be more;
Bes' liked-an' by us poor folk, mind-
One o' the days wi' blood-red sun,
To scorch, an' judge 't would be rare fun
I stood upon the beach the while,
The little fellow said, “Ol' Gile, We goin' to fish to-day." 'Bout four o'clock the storm come up--I'd felt it sure since
An' all the arternoon I prayed
An' what a storm! the billows raged-a storm, too, in the
The thunder roared, an' flashed again
Wi' glass in hand she scanned the shore, -
I couldn't hope to see 'em more, 1 couldn't doubt their fate. But soon she thought she saw the yacht, a speck upon the
An' on her knees she prayerful fell"O God! my dear ones save!" The storm waxed high, the billows rose like monsters in hot
The yacht, as through the waves she seemed
Thanked God, the fight seemed nearly won;
She seed her husband, tall an' fair;
The wind played wi' his flowin’hair,
His eyes, I judge, were blind wi' spray,
An' there above the water, sir,
She stood like dead-it seemed an age to those who were
An' for the moment sped away,
He chooses where shall be man's tomb;
An' all my limbs a-tremblin' shook
I felt my heart within me sink-
She walked right close up to the brink;
I'd walked about a rod-nay, less-
Her child I seed her closely press,
Her anguished mind an' grief intense,
An' that they're joined forever, hence,
NOBLE REVENGE.-THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
A young officer (in what army no matter) had so far forgotten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes happens in all ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inex oral;le laws of military discipline forbade to the injurei sol, dier any practical redress--he could look for no retaliation by acts. Words only were at his command, and, in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his of ficer that he would “make him repent it.” This, wearing the shape of a menace, naturally rekindled the officer's anger, and intercepted any disposition which might be rising within him toward a sentiment of remorse; and thus the irritation between the two young men grew hotter than before.
Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a valley occupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial array. But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on; in the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty.
A strong party has volunteered for the service; there is a cry for somebody to head them; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership; the party moves rapidly forward; in a few minutes it is swallowed up from your eyes in clouds of smoke; for one half hour, from behind these clouds you receive hieroglyphic reports of bloody strife-fierce repeating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry, and exulting hurrahs advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling.
At length all is over; the redoubt has been recovered; that which was lost is found again; the jewel which had been made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glorious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is relieved, and at liberty to return. From the river you see it ascending. The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of what was once a flag, whilst with his right he seizes that of the leader, though no more than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not; mystery you see none in that. For distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded ; " high and low” are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble froin the noble, or the brave man from the brave.
But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition, suddenly they pause? This soldier, this officer-who are they? O reader! once before they had stood face to face—the soldier that was struck, the officer that struck him. Once again they are meeting; and the gaze of armies is
them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in a moment the doubt has perished. One glance exchanged between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed forever.
As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted dead, the officer sprang forward, threw his arms around the neck of the soldier, and kissed him, as if he were some martyr glorified by that shadow of death from which he was returning; whilst, on his part, the soldier, stepping back, and carrying his open hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute to a superior, makes this immortal answer—that answer which shut up forever the memory of the indignity offered to him, even while for the last time alluding to it: “Sir," he said, “I told you before, that I would make you repent it.”
Poor friar Philip lost his wife,
At last he made a vow to fly,