man.

He thinks his own color the best, and loves to hear his own voice, which are eminently human traits. He will never work when he can get another to work for him - a genuine human trait. He eats whatever he can lay his claws upon, and is less mischievous with a full stomach than when hungry, and that is like He is at war with all living things except his own kind, and with them when he has nothing else to do. No wonder men despise crows. They are too much like men. Take off their wings, and put them in breeches, and crows would make fair average men. Give men wings, and reduce their smartness a little, and many of them would be almost good enough to be crows.

1 DE-RIDE'. Laugh at; ridicule.

4 BĂN. Curse; denunciation.

2 QM-NIV'O-ROŬS. Eating food of every 5 TITHED. Taken a tenth part of.

sort.

3 Ē'GO-TIŞM. The frequent use of the

pronoun I (in Latin, ego).

LXXVIII. THE AMERICAN FLAG.

DRAKE.

1. WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,

And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

2. Majestic monarch of the cloud!

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning's lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven !
Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given

To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet toue,
And the long line comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance,
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall sink beneath

Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.

4. Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the swelling sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

5. Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

LXXIX.

ICHABOD CRANE'S RIDE.

AN EXTRACT FROM SLEEPY HOLLOW.

IRVING.

1. THE revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite swains, and

their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they gradually died away. The late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted.

2

2. Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a hen-roost rather than a fair lady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and, with several hearty cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping.

3. It was the very witching 4 time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarrytown. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farm-house away among the hills. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed.

4. The night grew darker and darker, the stars

seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre,* who had been taken prisoner hard by, and was universally known by the name of Major Andre's Tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition.

5. As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle. He thought his whistle was answered. It was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white hanging in the midst of the tree. He paused, and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan. His teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle. It was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.

6. About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. To pass this bridge

* John Andre (Ăn'dụr), a British officer, chiefly known through his complicity in the treason of Benedict Arnold. He was captured by the Americans, and executed at Tappan, New York, in 1780.