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"I will name them before my comrades when tling, precisely where the soldier was. He had we muster."

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also taken off his shoes, and walked in his stockings. He had walked his post nearly two hours, when he noticed the grunting and the

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Just before night, the little company were paraded, and volunteers for the forlorn posttread of a large hog among the bushes. His first were called for. Buel at once stepped out of thought was, Why is not that fellow at home the ranks and said, "I will take the post, on and abed?" The second thought was, "She three conditions. That there is a mysterious and certain danger, is very plain. That we are all afraid to take the stand, is equally plain. I trust I shall not be thought to forfeit the character of a soldier, if I insist on my conditions."

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said so!" As he walked and whistled by turns, the hog evidently worked along nearer. But as yet he could not see him. The animal rooted and grunted. After a while the soldier fixed his eye on the hog, nor did he for an instant take it off, sometimes walking, and sometimes halting. About ten feet from where the soldier stood, was a small log, lying parallel with his path, or beat. The moment the hog attempted to step over the log, he noticed that he did not lift his foot naturally. It was done too carefully. In an instant he brought his gun to his

"Second, that I may blacken the barrel and shoulder, and the woods echoed long and loud bayonet of my gun."

"I think too, that may be allowed." "Third, that I may whistle on my post." "Whistle on your post! A sentinel whistle on his post!"

"Yes, sir, I mean just so, and I deem this so essential to my safety, that I cannot volunteer without it."

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"Stand to your arms," shouted the Captain, and turned upon his heel for the quarters of the commander. In a few minutes he returned and dismissed the company. Buel," said he, after the men had retired, "I believe you or the Colonel, or both, are crazy, or fools, and perhaps both. The Colonel says you may whistle softly and low."

"Very well, sir, that is all I ask for."

About ten o'clock the soldier stood leaning upon his gun. He had blackened the barrel, and had contrived to conceal his uniform, and even to shade his face. He had written two long letters, which he committed to a comrade, with a charge to forward them, provided he never returned.

at the report. The soldier stepped back a few
paces, from the spot where the flash of the gun
revealed him, and commenced reloading. At
that instant a groan, unlike that of a dying
hog, was heard, and the alarm drum beat, to
call out the guard to his relief. The guard
came upon the run and met the sentinel.
"Buel, all well?"
"All well, sir."

"At what did you discharge your arms?"
"We will see, sir," and he led the guard to
his mark.

"So you have actually shot a hog in your terror."

He gave the hog a kick, and off came the hog-skin, revealing a monstrous Indian, full six feet and four inches long! He was dead, and the mystery was solved. He had crept up to the sentinel in the disguise of a hog, night after night, till he was so near that with a spring he could leap upon him and throttle him, and carry him off dead. Buel received the congratulations of his comrades, the praises of his officers, and it was the first step in his promotions, which followed in rapid succession. Now for the links to our story. Among the first who went with Mason to his grant on the

He had also read his Bible, and even, with a few like himself, had spent a little season in prayer. The proper guard accompanied him, as usual, to his post. It was plain that they never expected to see him | Piscataqua River was Egbert Hamilton, a man again. He merely said, "Officer of the guard, if my musket is heard, I trust the guard will lose no time in coming to my relief." "You may be assured of that, my good fel- Englishman in all his habits, views, and feellow."

The soldier shouldered his musket, and carefully kicked every dry stick out of the path which he was to pace. The night was pro

of fortune, a daring spirit, and who loved excitement for its own sake, and dangers for the sake of their excitements. He was a thorough

ings, attached to the Episcopal form of worship, prejudiced against Puritanism, and ready to die for his king. That the king could do no wrong, was a prime article in his creed. He

were both gone up the river on business. But his sister at home felt the shock no less than the rest. She knew that on his return the next morning, Henry would be off. But what could he do for clothing? It so happened that he was deficient in pantaloons, and neither garments nor materials could be bought. What shall the patriotic girl do? She gets a dish of oats, goes out and calls the sheep, catches one, and with her shears, takes off half of its fleece. How shall she colour it? She hesitates not,

fixed his residence at Portsmouth, where, with a lovely wife and a little girl, he created a pleasant home. In the same neighbourhood lived a sturdy single-hearted Puritan by the name of Jehiel Buel. He was a thrifty, well-to-doin-the-world sort of a man, who began his Sabbath precisely at sunset on Saturday evening, who never cheated a human being out of a cent, who was a devout worshipper, an humble Christian, and an iron Whig. If Egbert Hamilton knelt with his prayer-book, Jehiel Buel stood up and uncovered his head, and let | but goes and catches a black sheep and shears nothing come between him and his God but his | it in the same way. This she washes, dries, Redeemer. If Hamilton was an uncompromising Tory, Buel was a Whig, bred in the bone. Yet they lived happily side by side, their families occasionally mingling together at the fireside and their children conning their lessons together in the same little log schoolhouse. But time produces great changes. Egbert Hamilton buried his family-all excepting Kitty, who was left to him as a bright sunbeam in a dark night. Buel, too, had been called to mourning. He had been stripped of family and property, save one son, Henry, and a daughter, two years younger. In consequence of his misfortunes, he had left the town and gone up the river and cleared up a wild farm, where he was living at the time when our history commences. It was from this farm that Henry came down in his canoe when we first find him attending the funeral of Liberty. The excitement of the times, which had Boston for its centre, was very great. It reached and thrilled every dweller in the land. One pulse seemed to beat through the nation. When Hamilton found that all around him were going to be Whigs, and that he must be left alone, he resolved to leave Portsmouth, and go to a more loyal part of the country. New York at that time seemed to be more passive to the king and his ministers than the rest of the land, and owning a small estate on the Hudson River, he took his child and fled to find quiet and repose. He actually left his comfortable home on the morning of the popular outbreak which we have described. Henry and Kitty had known each other at school. They were very young, and probably had no very intimate knowledge of each other. But it is natural for the heart to indulge in day-dreams, and these usually commence early and last late in life.

The visions which dance before the eyes of the imagination, lie forward of us in youth, and back of us in age.

When the first tidings of shedding of blood at Lexington spread through New England, it caused every young man to start up, seize his gun, and hasten down from the hills and forests to the scene of action. When they reached Portsmouth and vicinity, Mr. Buel and his son

cards, spins, weaves, and, by sitting up all night, actually had the pantaloons cut and made up ready for her brother by sunrise the next morning!* On the return of her brother, he snatched his gun and pantaloons, kissed his wearied, weeping sister, and went to the gathering of the people in the day of their peril. From this time onward, he had been in the army, sometimes almost naked, sometimes almost starving, but never flinching. Like thousands and thousands, he served his country without rewards, or honours, or the hopes of either. When we next introduce Henry Buel, he is in the army at an advanced post of observation as we have narrated. About a week before the event of his standing sentinel, in one of his lonely scouting excursions he had fallen in with a large, strongly-built log house, which, from watching in concealment one whole day, he was sure was the resort of Tories, Indians, and even British officers. By some means or other, to his utter amazement, he found it was the habitation of his father's old neighbour, Egbert Hamilton! By some equally mysterious process, too, he discovered that his old schoolmate, Kitty, inhabited the cottage! How he contrived to meet her alone, and actually to speak to her, to shake her little hand, and to see the tear of gladness that dropped from her eye, I am sure is equally mysterious. For years they had been separated, neither knowing where the other was, and neither expecting ever to see each other again. And now they met-he, a soldier risking his life daily for his country, and she, the daughter of a most determined Tory! She had too much filial reverence to compromit her father by word or deed, and about him or his company she would not utter a single word. It came to pass also, that under the pretence of scouting, Henry was in the neighbourhood of the solitary dwelling often, almost daily, and by some means or other it so happened, that he seldom came away without at least a short interview. with Kitty. In these chance meetings, they never talked of anything but politics—the

A literal fact.

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theme of the nation! It was plain that Kitty knew more than she chose to tell him. But when on the last meeting, he mentioned the mysterious death of his companions, she became sober; and when he announced that he proposed to take the dangerous post that night, she most earnestly besought him not to do so, even with tears. When she found that nothing would deter him, she merely hinted that if she were to stand there, she would shoot the first thing that came in sight, whether it were a dog, a hog, or any other animal. The hint was apparently undesigned, and yet it was pondering on that hint, probably, which led him to do as he did, and thus save his life.

Some days after the event mentioned, Buel was out as a scout in the deep forest. He had been to the lines of the enemy and obtained all the information in his power, and was on his return. He had halted by a small brook, and had set his rifle against a tree, that he might eat his light dinner, when the rattle of the rattlesnake struck his ear. It was intermitted a few moments, and then repeated. Buel gave three very low whistles, when an Indian rose up from a thick bunch of bushes and came to him, looking sharply and cautiously in every direction. At the motion of the Indian, Buel filled his canteen with water from the rivulet, and in silence followed up to the top of a steep hill, from which they could see in every direction. Having made a screen with the boughs of the hemlock so that no one could see them first, they sat down together. Not a word had been spoken.

"Well, Cassiheeno, I thought we had lost you. I have not seen you for nearly three weeks! Where have you been?" In saying this, Buel kept his eye on the face of the Indian, while his hand drew his rifle nearer to him. The motion did not escape the quick eye of the Indian. He was silent an instant, and then merely said, "I very sick. I so sick again, I will die." "Sick, sick! What was the matter?" And now for the first time, Buel saw that he looked pale and feeble. Lifting his blanket, and showing a terrible wound in his left shoulder, he replied,

"I try come to you, and tell you great thing, secret thing, and they see me and shoot at me. I most die. I lie lone in woods. I just creep out now to find you, and tell you more strange thing."

"Well, my good fellow,"-every suspicious look gone from his face,-"eat my dinner. You look faint. Have you had any food today?"

"No, nor three more day."

"Then, for mercy's sake, eat."

agreed to share the scanty provisions with him. When they had concluded their hasty repast, the Indian proceeded:

"When I leave you, I soon learn from Canada Indian about kill soldier. I go like one strange Indian 'mong 'em. I talk St. Francais language. I hear 'em talk how Big Moose, Lorette Indian, put on hog-skin, catch sentinel, choke him, get scalp, get plenty money. Then I come towards you; when English see me, think belong to you, and shoot at me. I run, and he never know he hit me. But I no could come and tell you about Big Moose."

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'Well, Cassiheeno, Big Moose was shot, and that's all over now."

"No, not all over-not all over yet," said he sorrowfully.

"Why, what's to pay now? A soldier of our guard shot the fool in the hog-skin." "And that soldier was you."

"How did you know that?" said Buel in surprise.

"I tell you. Last night I creep up 'mong Indians. I hear 'em talk, and plan. They swear hard. They say Miss Kitty tell you about hog-skin, for they watch and see you talk with him in alder bush. They say they kill you, and take Miss Kitty, carry him off prisoner, (make father believe they Mohawks,) get him in woods, then kill him with tomahawk. They terrible Indians, take revenge when much mad. Very much mad now!"

The soldier and the Indian parted. The former hastened to his own camp, while the latter crept away among the thick bushes. On reaching the camp, Buel found the men all under arms. As he came near, the Colonel beckoned to him to advance. He came near, made the military movement with his rifle and stood erect.

"Buel," said the good Colonel, "for your long, tried, and faithful services, the American Congress, have been pleased to promote you. Soldiers, salute Lieutenant Buel."

The drums beat a hearty salute, and his own company cheered. Tears stood in the eyes of the young officer. He was immediately summoned to the tent of the commander.

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Lieutenant Buel, I must now send you on a secret, important, and rapid despatch to Boston. No time must be lost. You must set out this very night. Can you be ready?"

"Yes, sir,-though I have some things to communicate to you, sir, and ask your advice and aid."

"What now? No folly, I hope!"

The Lieutenant then went into a history of his life, of that of the Hamiltons, and ended by telling him how he got the hint from Kitty about the hog, and the danger that now surrounded

But the Indian would not eat, till Buel had the poor girl in consequence, and no less ear

nestly he sought the kindness of the Colonel in behalf of Cassiheeno. Very patiently did the officer hear it all through, and then said:

"Buel, this is a bad business. But I don't see that any one has been to blame. I might have known that some woman must have put it into your head about that Indian's disguise. Stay; can you say upon the honour of a soldier, that this is no love affair between you and the girl?"

herself up for death. I mention this to account for the terror into which the tidings of the young officer threw Kitty; for it was just after Miss M'Crea's terrible fate, that she was informed that a similar fate awaited her. She saw at a glance that she could not reveal anything to her father without endangering his life. She hoped that things would come to a crisis in a few weeks, when she could return safe and sound, and tell him all. What seemed

"I assure you, sir, that no allusion to any to be the most dreadful part of her trial was, such thing has ever passed between us."

"Very well. I only wonder how the daughter of a high Tory can be so much of a Whig; that's all. Now there is, to my mind, but one course. You must go and persuade that girl to save her life by going with you to the East. Mind, now, this must be no runaway match between you and the girl; first, because we can't spare you a day for such affairs; and, second, because I have too much regard for the fifth commandment to encourage or countenance such doings. I am a father of daughters myself. Take her to her and your friends at or near Boston, for these savages will have no mercy on her. If you can persuade her to go, the carriage that came this morning to the camp, to convey the sick lieutenant to his home, but which, as you know, is too late, he being dead, and you in his place, shall carry you to Albany, and thence you will go on horseback. Now hasten about this business." Lieutenant Buel drew his girdle tight about him, and in five minutes was taking the Indian lope, on his way to the log house. By means of his own, he obtained an interview with the poor girl.

Our readers must understand that between Troy and the beautiful village of Glen's Falls, the tree still stands, under which Miss M'Crea was so inhumanly murdered by the Indians, and whose history will long thrill the human heart. That one murder sent a shudder through the land, and made the impression deep, that no innocence or loveliness could protect from the terrible tomahawk and scalping-knife. The mother clasped her babe to her bosom in terror, lest on the morrow she should be called to see it dashed against the wall, or writhing on the arrow; and the maiden drew her zone tight about her, not knowing but she was girding

that she must leave him ignorant of her motives, her course, her protection, or her plans. With many tears, she at last yielded-for "all that a man hath will he give for his life"-and agreed that at midnight she would be ready to go with her old schoolmate and friend. She knew nothing of his promotion.

A little past midnight, the old carriage which had so opportunely come from Albany, stood near the door of the cabin, among the thick trees. But it took all the power of persuasion of which Buel was master, to get the poor girl into the carriage. Noiselessly she placed her bare feet on the rough floor, and with tears, kissed the forehead of her sleeping father; while Buel laid his hand upon her, determined to force her away, and into the carriage, the moment the old man should show signs of awaking. In her little room she had left a note for her father, assuring him of her unbounded love and reverence, and begging him to believe that nothing but the most important of all considerations, could induce her to do as she had done; that she was in safety, and that if his thoughts took the direction of surmising that she had run away to be married, he might rest assured that it was not so, and closed her note by beseeching him to take good care of himself till her return, and by a most fervent and beautiful prayer, that God would cover his gray head with his protecting care and mercy.

At length the weeping maiden was in the carriage with her friend. She hoped and expected that in a few weeks she should again see her father.

"Oh! Henry," said she, "this is sad. May God forgive me, if I am wrong. But let us hope that this sorrowful DEPARTURE—" "Will surely be followed," said he, "by a happy RETURN."

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sence came

A Spectre, thin as that dismal flame
That burns and beams, a moving lamp,
Where the dreary fogs of night encamp.
Her lips were pale, her cheeks were white,
Her eyes were full of phantom light-
Once, twice, thrice,

A goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine;

But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

I could not speak, I could not stir,
I could do nought but look at her;
Nought but look in her wonderful eyes
And loose me in their mysteries.
The goblet shone, the goblet glowed,
But from its rim no liquid flowed.
Its sides were bright with pictures rare
Of demons foul and angels fair,
And Life and Death o'er Youth contending,
And Love on luminous wings descending,

Celestial cities with golden domes,
And caverns full of labouring gnomes.
Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

Loud rang the bell through the stormy air,
And the clock replied on the shadowy stair,
And Chanticleer awoke and flung
The echo from his silvery tongue.
All nature with a sudden noise
Proclaimed the momentary poise
Of that invisible beam, that weighs
At midnight the divided days.

The Phantom beckoned and turned away,

I had no power to speak or stay:

We passed the dusky corridor,
Her sandal gems illumed the floor,
And with a ruddy, phosphor light,
The frozen goblet lit the night.
Once, twice, thrice,

That goblet wrought to a rare device
She held to fevered lips of mine,
But mocked them with its frozen wine,
Till they were numb on the dusky ice.

She led me through enchanted woods,
Through deep and haunted solitudes,
By threatening cataracts, and the edges
Of high and dizzy mountain ledges,
And over bleak and perilous ridges,
To frail and air-suspended bridges,
Where, in the muffled dark beneath,
Invisible rivers talked of death,

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