autumn of that year a decisive battle was fought. The Indians were defeated, and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants. But lest the sincerity of a treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguished a chief absented himself, he sent, by a messenger, the following speech, to be delivered to Lord Dunmore:

"I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is the friend of white men.' I had even thought to live with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it: I have killed many: I have fully glutted my vengeance: for my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor the thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?- Not one."

[Abridgment.]

THOMAS JEFFERSON.

THE COMING OF FREEDOM.
CONCORD, 1775-1875.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, Feb. 22, 1819. In his childhood and early youth he grew intimately familiar with Nature and with books. He graduated at Harvard University in 1838. His first volume was published in 1841. This was followed, in a long series of years, by many admirable works in prose and verse. A lover of freedom and truth, he was at once a vigorous poet, a fine critic, and an ardent scholar. For many years he was a professor at Harvard. In 1877, he was appointed minister to Spain, and subsequently to Great Britain. In these offices he proved himself to be an able statesman. He died at Cambridge, Aug. 12, 1891.

Break into rapture, my song,
Verses, leap forth in the sun,
Bearing the joyance along
Like a train of fire as ye run!
Pause not for choosing of words,
Let them but blossom and sing
Blithe as the orchards and birds
With the new coming of spring!

Dance in your jollity, bells;

Shout, cannon; cease not, ye drums;
Answer, ye hillsides and dells;
Bow, all ye people! She comes,
Radiant, calm-fronted, as when
She hallowed that April day.

Stay with us! Yes, thou shalt stay,
Softener and strengthener of men,
Freedom, not won by the vain,
Not to be courted in play,
Not to be kept without pain.

Stay with us! Yes, thou wilt stay,
Handmaid and mistress of all,
Kindler of deed and of thought,
Thou that to. hut and to hall
Equal deliverance brought!

Souls of her martyrs, draw near,
Touch our dull lips with your fire,
That we may praise without fear
Her, our delight, our desire,
Our faith's inextinguishable star,
Our hope, our remembrance, our trust,
Our present, our past, our to be,
Who will mingle her life with our dust
And makes us deserve to be free!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold
The arch enchanter's wand!—itself a nothing
But taking sorcery from the master's hand
To paralyze the Cæsars and to strike.

The loud earth breathless! Take away the sword
States can be saved without it.

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.

tree;

THE MOCKING BIRD.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT was born in New York City, Oct. 27, 1858. He is a graduate of Harvard University. In early manhood he allied himself with the civil-service-reform movement and other reforms. In 1900 he was chosen Vice-President of the United States; and in September, 1901, he became President. In 1904 he was elected President. He has published a number of very interesting books relating to historical themes and to life in the open air. This selection is taken from "The Wilderness Hunter," by courtesy of G. P. Putnam's Sons.

Once I listened to a mocking bird singing the livelong spring night, under the full moon, in a magnolia and I do not think I shall ever forget the song. It was on the plantation of Major Campbell, in the beautiful, fertile, mid-Tennessee country. The mocking birds were prime favorites on the place, and were given full scope for the development, not only of their bold friendliness toward mankind, but also of that marked individuality and originality in which they so far surpass every other bird as to become the most interesting of all feathered folk. On the evening in question the moon was full. My host kindly assigned me a room of which the windows opened on a great magnolia tree, where, I was told, a mocking bird sang every night and all night long.

I went to my room about ten. The moonlight was

shining in through the open window, and the mocking bird was already in the magnolia.

The great tree was bathed in a flood of shining silver; I could see each twig, and mark every action of the singer, who was pouring forth such a rapture of ringing melody as I have never listened to before or since.

Sometimes he would perch motionless for many minutes, his body quivering and thrilling with the outpour of his music. Then he would drop softly from twig to twig, until the lowest limb was reached, when he would rise, fluttering and leaping through the branches, his song never ceasing for an instant, until he reached the summit of the tree and launched into the warm, scent-laden air, floating in spirals, with outspread wings, until, as if spent, he sank gently back into the tree and down through the branches, while his song rose into an ecstasy of ardor and passion.

His voice rang like a clarionet, in rich full tones, and his execution covered the widest possible compass; theme followed theme, a torrent of music, a swelling tide of harmony, in which scarcely two notes were alike.

I stayed till midnight listening to him; he was singing when I went to sleep; he was still singing when I woke a couple of hours later; he sang through the livelong night.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT.