64.-MIDSUMMER.

swaths, lines of cut grass. skůlk, hide.

be cälmed', motionless.

är' go sieş, large ships, either for merchandise or war.

a stere, stern.

Around this lovely valley rise
The purple hills of Paradise.
O, softly on yon banks of haze
Her rosy face the summer lays!
Becalmed along the azure sky,
The argosies of Cloudland lie,

Whose shores, with many a shining rift,
Far-off their pearl-white peaks uplift.

Through all the long midsummer day,
The meadow-sides are sweet with hay.
I seek the coolest sheltered seat,

Just where the fields and forest meet-
Where grow the pine-trees tall and bland,
The ancient oaks austere and grand,
And fringy roots and pebbles fret
The ripples of the rivulet.

I watch the mowers as they go

Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row.
With even strokes their scythes they swing
In tune their merry whetstones ring.
Behind, the nimble youngsters run,
And toss the thick swaths in the sun.
The cattle graze, while warm and still,
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill,
And bright, where summer breezes break,
The green wheat crinkles like a lake.

The butterfly and humble-bee
Come to the pleasant woods with me;
Quickly before me runs the quail,
Her chickens skulk behind the rail;
High up the lone wood-pigeon sits,
And the woodpecker pecks and flits;
Sweet woodland music sinks and swells,
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells,
The swarming insects drone and hum,
The partridge beats his throbbing drum.

The squirrel leaps among the boughs,
And chatters in his leafy house;

The oriole flashes by; and, look!

Into the mirror of the brook,

Where the vain bluebird trims his coat,
Two tiny feathers fall and float.

As silently, as tenderly,

The down of peace descends on me.
O, this is peace! I have no need
Of friend to talk, of book to read:

A dear Companion here abides;

Close to my thrilling heart He hides:
The holy silence is His voice:

I lie, and listen, and rejoice.

J. T. TROWBRIDGE,

Liography.-John Townsend Trowbridge was born at Ogden New York, in 1827.

In 1846, Trowbridge made a visit to New York City and began his literary labors. A year later he went to Boston, and soon acquired a wide reputation. He is now editor of "Our Young Folks." His first publication, "Father Brighthopes," appeared in 1853, under the literary name of Paul Creyton.

His works are numerous, and bright and pleasing in style.

65.-AN HEROIC DEED.

tory, a supporter of the British king.

côr'di al, hearty; warm. sym'pa thy, fellow-feeling. eŎn'ju gal, belonging to marriage.

pā'thos, sorrowfulness; sadness.

ean teens', vessels used by sol
diers for carrying water.
ex trăv'a gant, wild.
con duet' ed, led.

e quipped' (kwipt), provided;
furnished for service.
ănguish (ăng gwish), agony.

Mr. Jasper, a sergeant in the Revolutionary Army, had a brother who had joined the British, and who likewise held the rank of sergeant in their garrison at Ebenezer, Georgia. No man could be truer to the American cause than Sergeant Jasper; yet he warmly loved his tory brother, and actually went to the British garrison to see him.

His brother was exceedingly alarmed lest he should be seized and hung as an American spy; for his name was well known to many of the British officers. "Do not trouble yourself," said Jasper; "I am no longer an American soldier."

"Thank God for that, William," said his brother, heartily shaking him by the hand; "and now only say the word, my boy, and here is a commission for you, with regimentals and gold, to fight for his majesty, King George."N

Jasper shook his head, and observed, that though there was but little encouragement to fight for his country, he could not find it in his heart to fight against her. And there the conversation ended. After staying two or three days with his brother, inspecting and hearing all that he could, he took

his leave, returned to the American camp, and told General Lincoln N all that he had seen.

Soon after, he made another trip to the English garrison, taking with him his particular friend, Sergeant Newton, who was a young man of great strength and courage. His brother received him with a cordial greeting, and he and his friend spent several days at the British fort, without giving the least alarm. On the morning of the third day, his brother remarked that he had bad news to tell him.

"Ay? What is it?" asked William.

"Why," replied his brother, "here are ten or a dozen American prisoners brought in this morning, as deserters, from Savannah, whither they are to be sent immediately; and from what I can learn it will be apt to go hard with them,-for it seems they have all taken the king's bounty." "N

"Let us see them," said Jasper. So his brother took him and his friend Newton to see them. It was indeed a painful sight to behold the poor fellows handcuffed upon the ground. But when the eye rested upon a young woman, wife of one of the prisoners, with her child, a sweet little boy of five years, all pity for the male prisoners was forgotten.

Her humble garb showed that she was poor; but her deep distress, and sympathy with her unfortunate husband, proved that she was rich in conjugal love-more precious than gold. She generally sat on the ground, opposite her husband, with her little boy leaning on her lap, and her coal-black hair spreading in long, neglected tresses on her neck and bosom.

Sometimes she would sit silent as a statue, her eyes fixed upon the earth; then she would start up with a convulsive throb, and gaze on her husband's face with looks as sad, as if she already saw him struggling in the halter, herself a widow, and her child an orphan. The boy, distressed by his mother's anguish, added to the pathos of the scene, by the artless tears of childish suffering.

Though Jasper and Newton were undaunted on the field of battle, their feelings were subdued by such heart-stirring misery. As they walked out into the neighboring wood, tears stood in the eyes of both.

Jasper first broke the silence. "Newton," said he, "my days have been but few, but I believe their course is nearly finished."

"Why so, Jasper?"

"Why, I feel that I must rescue those poor prisoners, or die with them; otherwise, the remembrance of that poor woman and her child will haunt me to my grave."

"That is exactly the way I feel, too," replied Newton; "and here is my hand and heart to stand by you, my brave friend, to the last drop. Thank God, a man can die but once, and why should we fear to leave this life in the way of our duty?"

The friends embraced each other, and entered into the necessary arrangements for fulfilling their desperate resolution.

Immediately after breakfast the prisoners were sent on their way to Savannah, under the guard of a sergeant and corporal, with eight men. They had not been gone long, before Jasper, accompanied by his friend Newton, took leave of his brother,