"Hie over!" he shouted. The ferryman came at his calling; Across the clear reed-bordered river he ferried us fast. Such a chase! Hand in hand, foot to foot, we ran on; it surpassed Nor behold her wild eyes, and her mystical countenance fair. Not Echo, fair Echo! for Echo, sweet Echo! was flown. So we came to the place where the dead people wait till God call. Of the pendulum swing in the tower; we saw the clear gold And she stepped upon flowers they strewed for her." Then quoth small Seven: "Shall I wear a white gown and have flowers to walk upon ever?" All doubtful: "It takes a long time to grow up," quoth Eleven; "You 're so little, you know, and the church is so old, it can never Last on till you 're tall." And in whispers - because it was old And holy, and fraught with strange meaning, half felt, but not told, Full of old parsons' prayers, who were dead, of old days, of old folk, Neither heard nor beheld, but about us in whispers we spoke. Then we went from it softly, and san hand in hand to the strand, While bleating of flocks and birds' piping made sweeter the land. And Echo came back e'en as Oliver drew to the ferry. Ay, here it was here that we woke her, the Echo of old; All life of that day seems an echo, and many times told. - passed on? -Jean Ingelow. THE VICTOR OF MARENGO Napoleon was sitting in his tent; before him lay a map of Italy. He took four pins and stuck them up; measured, moved the pins, and measured again. "Now," said he, "that is right; I will capture him there!" "Who, sir?" said an officer. "Milas, the old fox of Austria. He will retire from Genoa, pass Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. I shall cross the Po, meet him on the plains of Laconia, and conquer him there," and the finger of the child of destiny pointed to Marengo. Two months later the memorable campaign of 1800 began. The 20th of May saw Napoleon on the heights of St. Bernard. The 22d, Larmes, with the army of Genoa, held Padua. So far, all had been well with Napoleon. He had compelled the Austrians to take the position he desired; reduced the army from one hundred and twenty thousand to forty thousand men; dispatched Murat to the right, and June 14th moved forward to consummate his masterly plan. But God threatened to overthrow his scheme! A little rain had fallen in the Alps, and the Po could not be crossed in time. The battle was begun. Milas, pushed to the wall, resolved to cut his way out; and Napoleon reached the field to see Larmes beaten, Champeaux dead, Desaix still charging old Milas, with his Austrian phalanx at Marengo, till the consular guard gave way, and the well-planned victory was a terrible defeat. Just as the day was lost, Desaix, the boy General, sweeping across the field at the head of his cavalry, halted on the eminence where stood Napoleon. There was in the corps a drummer-boy, a gamin whom Desaix had picked up in the streets of Paris. He had followed the vic torious eagle of France in the campaigns of Egypt and Germany. As the columns halted, Napoleon shouted to him: "Beat a retreat!" The boy did not stir. "Gamin, beat a retreat!" The boy stopped, grasped his drumsticks, and said: "Sir, I do not know how to beat a retreat; Desaix never taught me that; but I can beat a charge,-oh! I can beat a charge that will make the dead fall into line. I beat that charge at the Pyramids; I beat that charge at Mount Tabor; I beat it again at the bridge of Lodi. May I beat it here?" Napoleon turned to Desaix, and said: "We are beaten; what shall we do?" "Do? Beat them! It is only three o'clock, and there is time enough to win a victory yet. Up! the charge! beat the old charge of Mount Tabor and Lodi!" A moment later the corps, following the sword-gleam of Desaix, and keeping step with the furious roll of the gamin's drum, swept down on the host of Austrians. They drove the first line back on the second - both on the third, and there they died. Desaix fell at the first volley, but the line never faltered, and as the smoke cleared away, the gamin was seen in front of his line marching right on, and still beating the furious charge. Over the dead and wounded, over breastworks and fallen foe, over cannon belching forth their fire of death, he led the way to victory, and the fifteen days in Italy were ended. To-day men point to Marengo in wonder. They admire the power and foresight that so skillfully handled the battle, but they forget that a general only thirty years of age made a victory of a defeat. They forget that a gamin of Paris put to shame "the child of destiny." -Anonymous. MAMMY'S LI'L' BOY Who all time dodgin' en de cott'n en de corn? Who all time stealin' ole massa's dinner-horn? Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, run ter es mammy En she tek 'im in 'er arms, Who all time runnin' ole gobble roun' de yard? Byo baby boy, oh bye, Oh, run ter es mammy En climb up en 'er lap, Mammy's li'l' baby boy. Who all time stumpin' es toe ergin er rock? Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, run ter es mammy Mammy's li'l' baby boy. Who all time er-losin' de shovel en de rake? Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, scoot fer yer mammy En she hide yer f'om yer ma, Mammy's li'l' baby boy. Who all de time er-trottin' ter de kitchen fer er bite? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who mess 'esef wi' taters twell his clothes dey look er sight? Mammy's li'l' baby boy. Byo baby boy, oh bye, En 'e run ter es mammy Fer ter git 'im out er trouble, Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day? Deir now, lay right down on. mammy's bed en go 'long back ter sleep,- shoo-shoo! -H. S. Edwards. |