her you had seen him dead,

would be her comfort;" and he thought, Lord has called me she shall know, time," and Enoch set himself, lms, to work whereby to live. all things could he turn his hand. was and carpenter, and wrought he boatmen fishing nets, or helped and unlading the tall barks,

ght the stinted commerce of those days; ed a scanty living for himself:

he did but labor for himself,

hout hope, there was not life in it
the man could live; and as the year
elf round again to meet the day
och had returned, a languor came
, gentle sickness, gradually

ng the man, till he could do no more,
the house, his chair, and last his bed.
ch bore his weakness cheerfully.
no gladlier does the stranded wreck
ngh the gray skirts of a lifting squall
that bears the hope of life approach
the life despaired of, than he saw
wning on him, and the close of all.

rough that dawning gleamed a kindlier hope h, thinking, "After I am gone,

Then may she learn I loved her to the last."
He called aloud for Miriam Lane and said,
"Woman, I have a secret - only swear,
Before I tell you -swear upon the book
Not to reveal it, till you see me dead."

"Dead," clamored the good woman, "hear him talk! I warrant, man, that we shall bring you round." "Swear," added Enoch sternly, "on the book." And on the book, half-frighted, Miriam swore. Then Enoch, rolling his gray eyes upon her, "Did you know Enoch Arden of this town?" "Know him?" she said, "I knew him far away. Aye, aye, I mind him coming down the street; Held his head high, and cared for no man, he." Slowly and sadly Enoch answered her: "His head is low, and no man cares for him. I think I have not three days more to live; I am the man." At which the woman gave A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry.

"You Arden, you! Nay, sure he was a foot Higher than you be." Enoch said again,

66

"My God has bowed me down to what I am;

My grief and solitude have broken me;

Nevertheless, know you that I am he

Who married-but that name has twice been changed

I married her who married Philip Ray.

Sit, listen." Then he told her of his voyage,
His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back,
His gazing in on Annie, his resolve,
And how he kept it. As the woman heard,
Fast flowed the current of her easy tears,

While in her heart she yearned incessantly
To rush abroad all round the little haven,
Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes;
But awed and promise-bounden she forbore,
Saying only," See your bairns before you go!
Eh, let me fetch 'em, Arden," and arose
Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung
A moment on her words, but then replied:

7

"Woman, disturb me not now at the last, But let me hold my purpose till I die. Sit down again; mark me and understand, While I have power to speak. I charge you now, When you shall see her, tell her that I died Blessing her, praying for her, loving her; Save for the bar between us, loving her As when she laid her head beside my own. And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw So like her mother, that my latest breath Was spent in blessing her and praying for her. And tell my son that I died blessing him. And say to Philip that I blessed him too; He never meant us anything but good. But if my children care to see me dead, Who hardly knew me living, let them come, I am their father; but she must not come, For my dead face would vex her after-life. And now there is but one of all my blood Who will embrace me in the world-to-be : This hair is his: she cut it off and gave it, And I have borne it with me all these years,

And thought to bear it with me to my grave;
But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him,
My babe in bliss: wherefore when I am gone,
Take, give her this, for it may comfort her:
It will moreover be a token to her,

That I am he."

He ceased; and Miriam Lane Made such a voluble answer promising all, That once again he rolled his eyes upon her Repeating all he wished, and once again

She promised.

Then the third night after this,
While Enoch slumbered motionless and pale,
And Miriam watch'd and dozed at intervals,
There came so loud a calling of the sea,
That all the houses in the haven rang.
He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad,
Crying with a loud voice, "A sail! A sail!
I am saved;" and so fell back and spoke no more.
So past the strong heroic soul away.
And when they buried him the little port
Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.

SULLIVAN'S EXPEDITION

From "The American Revolution"

JOHN FISKE

AN army of 5000 men was sent out in the summer

of 1779, with instructions to lay waste the country of the hostile Iroquois and capture the nest of Tory miscreants at Fort Niagara. The command of the expedition

was offered to Gates, and when he testily declined it, as requiring too much hard work for a man of his years, it was given to Sullivan.

To prepare such an army for penetrating to a depth of four hundred miles through the forest was no light task; and before they had reached the Iroquois country, Brant (Thayendanegea) had sacked the town of Minisink and annihilated a force of militia sent to oppose him. Yet the expedition was well-timed for the purpose of destroying the growing crops of the enemy.

The army advanced in two divisions. The right wing, under General James Clinton, proceeded up the valley of the Mohawk as far as Canajoharie, and then turned to the southwest, while the left wing, under Sullivan himself, ascended the Susquehanna. On the 22d of August the two columns met at Tioga, and one week later they found the enemy at Newtown, on the site of the present town of Elmira, 1500 Tories and Indians led by Sir John Johnson in person, with both the Butlers and Thayendanegea.

In the battle which ensued, the enemy was routed with great slaughter, while the American loss was less than fifty. No further resistance was made, but the army was annoyed in every possible way, the stragglers were now and then caught and tortured to death. On one occasion a young lieutenant named Boyd was captured while leading a scouting party, and fell into the hands of one of the Butlers, who threatened to give him up to torture unless he should disclose whatever he knew of General Sullivan's plans. On his refusal, he was given into the hands of a Seneca demon, named Little Beard; and after being hacked and plucked to pieces with refinement