know that he was to be detained till the end of the war. He then resolved to escape.

The prisoners were confined in a room of the officers' quarters, the window grated, the door provided with a sash, through which the sentinel, constantly on duty in the passage, could look into the room as he paced on his round. At either end of this passage was a door, opening upon the parade of the fort, at which other sentinels were posted. At sunset the gates were closed, and the number of sentinels on the parapet increased. A picket was also stationed at the narrow isthmus connecting with the main-land.

These were not all the difficulties in their way. Supposing them able to pass the sentinels in the passage, and at the outer door of their quarters, they must then cross the open space and ascend the wall under the eye of the guards posted on the parapet. Admitting the summit of the rampart gained, the exterior wall was defended with strong pickets driven obliquely into the earthern wall of the fort.

From this point was a sheer descent of twenty feet to the bottom of the ditch. Arrived here, the fugitives must ascend the counterscarp, and cross the chevaux-de-frise with which it was furnished. They were then without the fortress, with no possible means of gaining their freedom except by water. To elude the picket at the Neck was not to be thought of.

The prisoners' room was ceiled with pine boards. Upon some pretext they procured a gimlet of a servant, with which they perforated a board so as to make an aperture sufficiently large to admit the

body of a man. The interstices were cut through with a penknife, leaving the corners intact until the moment for action should arrive. They then filled the holes with bread, and carefully removed the dust from the floor.

This work had to be executed while the sentinel traversed a distance equal to twice the length of their own room. The prisoners paced their floor, keeping step with the sentry; and, as soon as he had passed by, Burton, who was the taller, and could reach the ceiling, commenced work, while Wadsworth walked on. On the approach of the soldier, Burton quickly rejoined his companion. Three weeks were required to execute this task. Each was provided with a blanket and a strong staff, sharpened at the end. For food they kept their crusts and dried bits of their meat.

They waited until one night when a violent thunder-storm swept over the peninsula. It became intensely dark. The rain fell in torrents upon the roof of the barracks. The moment for action had come. The prisoners undressed themselves as usual, and went to bed, observed by the sentinel. They then extinguished their candle and quickly arose.

Their plan was to gain the vacant space above their room, creeping along the joists until they reached the passage next beyond, which they knew to be unguarded. Thence they were to make their way to the north bastion, acting as circumstances might determine.

Burton was the first to pass through the opening. He had advanced but a little way before he encountered a flock of fowls, whose roost he had invaded. Wadsworth listened with breathless anx

iety to the cackling that apprised him for the first time of this new danger. At length it ceased without having attracted the attention of the guards, and the general with difficulty ascended in his turn. He passed over the distance to the gallery unnoticed, and gained the outside by the door that Burton had left open.

Feeling his way along the wall of the barracks to the western side, he made a bold push for the embankment, gaining the rampart by an oblique path. At this moment the door of the guard-house was flung open, and a voice exclaimed, "Relief, turn out!" Fortunately the guard passed without seeing the fugitive. He reached the bastion agreed upon as a rendezvous, but Burton was not there. No time was to be lost. Securing his blanket to a picket, he lowered himself as far as it would permit, and dropped without accident into the ditch. From here he passed softly out by the water-course, and stood in the open air without the fort. It being low tide, the general waded the cove to the main-land, and made the best of his way up the river. In the morning he was rejoined by his companion, and both, after exertions that exacted all their fortitude, gained the opposite shore of the Penobscot in safety. Their evasion is like a romance of the Bastile in the days of Richelieu.N

S. A. DRAKE.

Notes.-Fu gee', a small, light musket with a long, thin barrel. The name is from fusil, meaning a spindle.

Blunderbuss, a kind of short musket with a very wide bore, sufficient to take in several bullets at once. It is a destructive weapon at close quarters.

Chevaux-de-frise (shěv'o-de-freez) is a defense constructed of wood or iron in such a way as to present an array of sharp,

ragged points toward an enemy. It is an impassable barrier to cavalry.

Bastile (bas teel) was a famous French fortress, whose towers and cellars were used as prisons. The inmates of the dungeons of the Bastile were entirely shut off from hope of escape, and forgotten by the outside world.

Richelieu (Rish ́eh loo) (1585-1642) was a famous French states

man.

Language.-Nouns or pronouns used as the subject of a sentence are said to be in the nominative case,

of nominative case in the lesson.

Point out four examples

88.-SNOW-BOUND.

pôr těnt', an omen; an indica

tion.

sphĕr' ule (sfěr odl), orb.

quĕr'ụ lùs, fretful; complaining.

lit'tered, placed straw for beds.

mir'a ele, a wonder; something contrary to the laws of nature. wān'ing, declining.

pěl'li ela, crystal.

couch'ant, lying down.

rhythm, harmonious movement

The sun, that brief December day,
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,

A portent seeming less than threat,

It sunk from sight before it set.

A chill, no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Or life-blood in the sharpened face,

The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows:
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent,
And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light

The gray day darkened into night,—
A night made hoary with the swarm,
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag wavering to and fro

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow:
And ere the early bedtime came

The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;

In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature's geometric signs,

In starry flake, and pellicle,

All day the hoary meteor fell;

And, when the second morning shone,