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Hessians and Brunswickers, the lees Of Europe's cup of miseries, And brutal Tories, worse than these—

Britons, with rude, relentless hand:
All these made up the cruel band
Which came to spoil and vex the land.

I felt my heart in anger leap—
"No!" cried my spirit from its deep,
"I will not here ignobly creep.

"I have a strong arm for the fray;

"I have a rifle sure to slay;

"I fear no man by night nor day.

"When prowling wolves have left their den,
"The hunter's craft is needed then—
"The country must not lack for men."

So from the corn-rows, green and tall,
I led my plow-horse to the stall,
Then took my rifle from the wall.

{ slung my pouch and powder-horn,

I kissed my babe scarce three months born,

And bade my wife farewell that morn.

I journeyed steadily all that day—' Through brake and brier I made my way; For stream or hill I did not stay.

At set of sun I made my camp,
Mid alder bushes thick and damp,
And at the dawn resumed my tramp.

I reached the meeting-place at eight, But, though no laggard, I came too late— They had not thought for me to wait.

Oh, fatal haste, so soon to stir!
Yet not the fault of Herkimer,
Who knew his foe too well to err.

Rash, headstrong men the others led,
Who mocked at what the General said,
And heaped contumely on his head.

"You know not what you seek," he cried; "Those are but fools who foes deride; "And prudence dwells with courage tried.

"My messenger left at set of sun;

"When once his errand has been done,

"Will sound Fort Schuyler's signal-gun.

"Wait till that cannon's voice you hear, "And then we'll fall upon their rear,"As Gansevoort to their van draws near."

Said Colonel Paris then, "Not so!
"We left our homes to strike a blow;
"So lead us quickly to the foe.

Willett, who acted such an important part at Oriskany, for which a sword was presented to him by Congress, waif .1 native of Jamaica, Long Island. He was elected Mayor of New York in 1S07; In 1824 he was President of the Electoral College of the State. He died in 1830, aged ninety-one years.

The sketch of the Battle-Field was made in 184S, by Mr. Los-sing, for hie u Field-Book of the Revolution." The frame-work in the centre of the picture is the remains of the platform erected for the speakers at the celebration held upon the battle-ground in 1844. Fifteen thousand people were collected. The principal speakers were Hon. D. S. Dickinson and Hon. John A. Dix, recently appointed Major-General of the United States Army. The platform was erected on the spot where Herkimer fell. A dark spot in the centre of the field behind indicates the place where the beech-tree stood, under which the wounded General sat when delivering his orders. The Indian ambush was placed upon the high ground in the middle of which the barn now stands. The hottest part of the fight took place upon ths high plain between the ravine in the fore-ground and another ravine farther to the right.

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"Else all may see those do not err
"Who brand you as a coward cur
'And skulking Tory, Herkimer."

But Herkimer only smiled at first—
He knew those merely words at worst
That from hot-headed rashness burst.

"I have been placed your path to guide,
'And shall I lead you then," he cried,
'To the jaws of ruin gaping wide?"

But Cox replied, "This talk is vain;
'' If Herkimer fears he may be slain,
''Let him in safety here remain."

Flashed Herkimer's eyes with fire at this,
And sank his voice to an angry hiss—
''Such shafts," he cried, "my honor miss.

'' Mareh on! but if I judge aright,
''You'll find when comes our foe in sight,
"The loudest boaster first in flight."

And so they were marching through a glen
Not far from the mouth of Oriskany, when
I overtook their hindmost men.

I saw Dirck Bergen's honest face

Among the rest; he had reached the place

An hour before me in the race.

He wrung my hand and told me all—
"Look out," said he, "for a rain of ball,
"And the thickest shower that well can fall.

"For Brant is watching round about,
"And long ere this by many a scout
"He knows his foes are armed and out.

'We'll have it heavily, by-and-by;
''But that's no matter—one can but die—
'And safer it is to fight than fly."

I laughed a little my fear to hide;
But I felt my memory backward glide
To the home I left on the river-side.

I saw that cabin of logs once more,
The ceiling low and the sanded floor,
And my wife the cradle leaning o'er.

I saw her bending with girlish grace,

And I knew the mother was trying to trace

The father's look in the infant's face.

The house-dog pricked his watchful ear—
He heard some traveler passing near—
She listened my coming step to hear.

Fringing the fore-ground of the scene,
I saw the slender birches lean
Lovingly o'er the tussocks green.

The leaves were thickly set o'erhead,

The low-growth dense around was spread—

But suddenly filled my heart with dread.

A sight, a sound the soul to shock—
A dark face, peering past a rock,
The clicking of a rifle lock.

Forth from a jet of fiery red

Leapt to its mark the deadly lead—

Dirck Bergen fell beside me dead.

To life the sleeping echoes woke,

As from each rock and tree there broke

A flash of fire, a wreath of smoke.

Then rang around us yell on yell,
As though the very fiends of hell
Had risen in that gloomy dell.

And though the foe we scaree could see,
Still from each bush and rock and tree
He poured his fire incessantly.

From a sheltering trunk I glanced around—
Dying and dead bestrewed the ground,
Though some by flight scant safety found.

Ay, flight! as Herkimer had said,
Appalled at blood-drops raining red,
The rear-guard all like dastards fled.

But Herkimer blenched not—clearer then
His accents rang throughout the glen,
Cheering the spirits of his men.

And though his horse was slain, and he
Was wounded sorely in the knee,
A cooler man there could not be.

He was not chafed nor stirred the least,
But, gay as a guest at a wedding-feast,
He bade them strip his dying beast.

A famous seat the saddle made
Beneath a beech-tree's spreading shade,
From whence the battle he surveyed.

All through the hottest of the fight
He sat there with his pipe alight,
And gave his orders left and right.

Whoever could gaze at him and flee,
The basest of poltroons would be—
The sight chased every fear from me.
I was not idle through the fray;
But there was one alone that day
I had a fierce desire to slay.

But soon dispersed that pleasant scene, None shrank the foe, though sore bested;

And I glanced with vision clear and keen j Each from his tree the bullet sped, Through the close-set boughs of the forest green. 1And paid them back with dead for dead.

A deep ravine was in our way, |The battle-shout, the dying groan,

Marshy and damp, and o'er it lay !The hatchet's crash, the rihVs tone,

A causeway formed of logs and clay. Mixed with the wounded's painful moan.

The spot was pleasant—stilly down Full many a stout heart bounding light,

Fell forest shadows cool and brown, Full many a dark eye beaming bright,

From branch and bough and lofty crown. i Were still'd in death, and closed in night.

I had seen the face and marked it well,
That peered from the rock when Bergen fell;
And I watched for that at every yell.

No hound on scent more rapt could be,

As I scanned the fight from behind the tree;

And five I slew, but neither was he.

At length I saw a warrior brain

A neighbor's son, young Andrew Lane,

And stoop to scalp the fallen slain.

'Twas hel my brain to throb began,
My eager hands to the gun-stock ran,
And I dropped fresh priming in the pan.

His savage work was speedily through;
He raised and gave the scalp-halloo;
Sure aim I took, and the trigger drew.

Off to its mark the bullet sped;
Leapt from his breast a current red;
And the slayer of honest Dirck was dead.

Upon us closer now they came;

We formed in circles walled with flame,

Which way they moved our front the same.

Sore galled and thinned came Butler's men,
With a bayonet charge to clear the glen,
And gallantly we met them then.

Our wrath upon the curs to deal,
There, hand to hand and steel to steel,
We made their close-set column reel.

Fiercely we fought 'mid fire and smoke,
With rifle shot and hatchet stroke,
When over our heads the thunder broke.

And I have heard the oldest say

That ne'er before that bloody day

Such storm was known as stopped our fray.

'Twas one of the cloud-king's victories—
Down came the rain in gusty seas,
Driving us under the heaviest trees.

But short the respite that we got;
The rain and thunder lasted not,
And strife again grew fierce and hot.

At the foot of a bank I took my stand,
To pick out a man from a coming band,
When I felt on my throat a foeman's hand.

At the tightening grasp my eyes grew dim;
But I saw 'twas a Mingo, stout of limb,
And fierce was the struggle I made with him.

Deep peril hung upon my life;

My foot gave way in the fearful strife;

The wretch was o'er me with his knife.

In my hair his eager fingers played;I felt the keen edge of his blade; But I struggled the harder undismayed.

I had sunk before his deadly blow,
When suddenly o'er me fell my foe—
A friendly ball had laid him low.

The Mohawks wavered—Brant in vain
Would bring them to the charge again,
For the chiefest of their braves were slain.

We heard a firing far away

In the distance where Fort Schuyler lay—

Twas Willett with Johnson making play.

Advancing then with friendly cries,
A band of patriots met our eyes—
The Tories of Johnson in disguise.

They came as though to aid our band,
With cheerful front and friendly hand—
An artful trick and ably planned.

We hailed their coming with a cheer,

But the keen eye of Gardinier

Saw through their mask as they drew near.

"They think," he cried, "by tricks like these,
"To lock our sense, and bear the keys—
"Look! those are Johuson's Refugees!''

A deadly purpose in us rose;
There might be quarter for our foes
Of Mingo breed, but none for those.

For cabins fired, and old men slain,
And outraged women pleading vain,
Cried vengeance on those sons of Cain.

A hurtling volley made to tell,
And then, with one wild, savage yell,
Resistless on their ranks we fell.

The Mohawks see their allies die;
Dismayed, they raise the warning cry
Of "Oonah!" then they break and fly.

A panic seized the startled foe;

They show no front, they strike no blow.

As through the forest in rout they go.

We could not follow—weak and worn
We stood upon the field that morn;
Never was triumph so forlorn.

For of our band who fought that day
One half or dead or wounded lay,
When closed that fierce and fearful fray.

And on that field, ere daylight's close, We buried our dead, but mourned not those We laid to rest beside our foes.

Revenge, not grief our souls possest—
We heaped the earth upon each breast,
And left our brothers to their rest.

ORLEY FARM.BY ANTHONY TIIOLLOPE.—ILLUSTRATED BY J. K MILLAIS.

CHAPTER XIII.

GCILTY, OR sOT GCILTY.

UNFORTUNATELY for Mr. Furnival, the intruder was Mrs. Furnival—whether he pleased or whether he did not please. There she was in his law chamber, present in the flesh, a sight pleasing neither to her husband nor to her husband's client. She had knocked at the outside door, which, in the absence of the fag, had been opened by Mr. Crabwitz, and had immediately walked across the passage toward her husband's room, expressing her knowledge that Mr. Furnival was within. Mr. Crabwitz had all the will in the world to stop her progress, but he found that he lacked the power to stay it for a moment.

The advantages of matrimony are many and great—so many and so great that all men, doubtless, ought to marry. But even matrimony may have its drawbacks; among which unconcealed and undeserved jealousy on the part of the wife is perhaps as disagreeable as any. What is a man to do when he is accused before the world— before any small fraction of the world—of making love to some lady of his acquaintance? What is he to say 1 What way is he to look ?" My love, I didn't. I never did, and wouldn't think of it for worlds. I say it with my hand on my heart. There is Mrs. Jones herself, and I appeal to her." He is reduced to that! But should any innocent man be so reduced by the wife of his bosom?

I am speaking of undeserved jealousy, and it may therefore be thought that my remarks do not apply to Mrs. Furnival. They do apply to her as much as to any woman. That general idea as to the strange goddesses was on her part no more than a suspicion; and all women who so torment themselves and their husbands may plead as much as she could. And for this peculiar idea as to Lady Mason she had no ground whatever. Lady Mason may have had her faults, but a propensity to rob Mrs. Furnival of her husband's affections had not hitherto been one of them. Mr. Furnival was a clever lawyer, and she had great need of his assistance; therefore she had come to his chambers, and therefore she had placed her hand in his. That Mr. Furnival liked his client because she was good-looking may be true. I like my horse, my picture, the view from my study window for the same reason. I am inclined to think that there was nothing more in it than that.

"My dear!" said Mr. Furnival, stepping a little back, and letting his hands fall to his sides. Lady Mason also took a step backward, and then with considerable presence of mind recovered herself, and put out her hand to greet Mrs. Furnival."How do you do, Lady Mason?" said Mrs.

Furnival, without any presence of mind at all. "I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you very well. I did hear that you were to be in town— shopping; but I did not for a moment expect the—gratification of fmding you here." And every word that the dear, good, heart-sore woman spoke told the tale of her jealousy as plainly as though she had flown at Lady Mason's cap with all the bold, demonstrative energy of Spitalfields or St. Giles.

"I came up on purpose to see Mr. Furnival about some unfortunate law business," said Lady Mason.

"Oh, indeed! Your son Lucius did say— shopping."

"Yes; I told him so. When a lady is unfortunate enough to be driven to a lawyer for advice, she does not wish to make it known. I should be very sorry if my dear boy were to guess that I had this new trouble; or, indeed, if any one were to know it. I am sure that I shall be as safe with you, dear Mrs. Furnival, as I am with your husband." And she stepped up to the angry matron, looking earnestly into her face.

To a true tale of woman's sorrow Mrs. Furnival's heart could be as soft as snow under the noonday sun. Had Lady Mason gone to her and told her all her fears and all her troubles, sought counsel and aid from her, and appealed to her motherly feelings, Mrs. Furnival would have been urgent night and day in persuading her husband to take up the widow's case. She would have bade him work his very best without fee or reward, and would herself have shown Lady Mason the way to Old Square, Lincoln's Inn. She would have been discreet too, speaking no word of idle gossip to any one. When he, in their happy days, had told his legal secrets to her, she had never gossiped, had never spoken an idle word concerning them. And she would have been constant to her friend, giving great consolation in the time of trouble, as one woman can console another. The thought that all this might be so did come across her for a moment, for there was innocence written in Lady Mason's eyes. But then she looked at her husband's face; and as she found no innocence there her heart was again hardened. The woman's face could lie—"the faces of such women are all lies," Mrs. Furnival said to herself—but in her presence his face had been compelled to speak the truth.

"Oh dear, no; I shall say nothing of course," she said. "I am quite sorry that I intruded. Mr. Furnival, as I happened to be in Holborn— at Mudie's for some books—I thought I would come down and ask whether you intend to dine at home to-day. You said nothing about it either last night or this morning; and nowadays one really does not know how to manage in such matters."

•' I told you that I should return to Birmingham this afternoon; I shall dine there," said Mr. Furnival, very sulkily.

"Oh, very well. I certainly knew that you were going out of town. I did not at all expect that you would remain at home; but I thought that you might, perhaps, like to have your dinner before you went. Good-morning, Lady Mason; I hope you may be successful in your— lawsuit." And then, courtesying to her husband's client, she prepared to withdraw.

"I believe I have said all that I need say, Mr. Furnival," said Lady Mason; "so that if Mrs. Furnival wishes—" And she also gathered herself up as though she were ready to leave the room.

"I hardly know what Mrs. Furnival wishes," said the husband.

"My wishes are nothing," said the wife, "and I really am quite sorry that I came in." And then she did go, leaving her husband and the woman of whom she was jealous once more alone together. Upon the whole, I think that Mr. Furnival was right in not going home that day to his dinner.

As the door closed somewhat loudly behind the angry lady—Mr. Crabwitz having rushed out hardly in time to moderate the violence of the slam—Lady Mason and her imputed lover were left looking at each other. It was certainly hard upon Lady Mason, and so she felt it. Mr. Furnival was fifty-five, and endowed with a bluish nose; and she was over forty, and had lived for twenty years as a widow without incurring a breath of scandal.

"I hope I have not been to blame," said Lady Mason in a soft, sad voice; "but perhaps Mrs. Furnival specially wished to find you alone."

"No, no; not at all."

"I shall be so unhappy if I think that I have been in the way. If Mrs. Furnival wished to speak to you on business I am not surprised that she should be angry, for I know that barristers do not usually allow themselves to be troubled by their clients in their own chambers."

"Nor by their wives," Mr. Furnival might have added, but he did not.

"Do not mind it," he said; "it is nothing. She is the best-tempered woman in the world; but at times it is impossible to answer even for the best tempered."

"I will trust you to make my peace with her."

"Yes, of course; she will not think of it after to-day; nor must you, Lady Mason."

"Oh no; except that I would not for the world be the cause of annoyance to my friends. Sometimes I am almost inclined to think that I will never trouble any one again with my sorrows, but let things come and go as they may. Were it not for poor Lucius I should do so."

Mr. Furnival, looking into her face, perceived that her eyes were full of tears. There could be no doubt as to their reality. Her eyes were full of genuine tears, brimming over and running down; and the lawyer's heart was melted. "I

do not know why you should say so," he said."I do not think your friends begrudge any little trouble they may take for you. I am sure at least that I may so say for myself."

"You are too kind to me; but I do not on that account the less know how much it is I ask of you."

"'The labor we delight in physies pain,"' said Mr. Furnival, gallantly. "But, to tell the truth, Lady Mason, I can not understand why you should be so much out of heart. I remember well how brave and coustant you were twenty years ago when there really was cause for trembling."

"Ah, I was younger then."

"So the almanac tells us; but if the almanac did not tell us I should never know it. We are all older, of course. Twenty years does not go by without leaving its marks, as I can feel myself."

"Men do not grow old as women do, who live alone and gather rust as they feed on their own thoughts."

"I know no one whom time has touched so lightly as yourself, Lady Mason; but if I may speak to you as a friend—"

"If you may not, Mr. Furnival, who may?"

"I should tell you that you are weak to be so despondent, or rather so unhappy."

"Another lawsuit would kill me, I think. You say that I was brave and constant before, but you can not understand what I suffered. I nerved myself to bear it, telling myself that it was the first duty that I owed to the babe that was lying on my bosom. And when standing there in the Court, with that terrible array around me, with the eyes of all men on me, the eyes of men who thought that I had been guilty of so terrible a crime, for the sake of that child who was so weak I could be brave. But it nearly killed me. Mr. Furnival, I could not go through that again; no, not even for his sake. If you can save me from that, even though it be by the buying offof that ungrateful man—"

"You must not think of that."

"Must I not? ah me!"

"Will you tell Lucius all this, and let him come to me?"

"No; not for worlds. He would defy every one and glory in the fight; but after all it is I that must bear the brunt. No; he shall not know it—unless it becomes so public that he must know it."

And then, with some further pressing of the hand, and further words of encouragement which were partly tender as from the man, and partly forensic as from the lawyer, Mr. Furnival permitted her to go, and she found her son at the chemist's shop in Holborn as she had appointed. There were no traces of tears or of sorrow in her face as she smiled on Lucius while giving him her hand, and then when they were in a cab together she asked him as to his success at Liverpool.

"I am very glad that I went," said he, "very glad indeed. I saw the merchants there who

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