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were given and taken, the mêlée rendering the use of firearms nearly impossible for several minutes.

When the Americans had disengaged themselves from the troops, they descended into the little hollow between the two hills, swiftly, and like a disordered crowd, bearing off most of their wounded, and leaving but few prisoners in the hands of their foes. The formation of the ground favored their retreat, as hundreds of bullets whistled harmlessly above their heads; and, by the time they gained the acclivity of Bunker, distance added to their security.

Finding the field lost, the men at the fence broke away in a body from their position, abandoned the meadows, and moved in confused masses behind the crest of the adjacent height. The shouting soldiery, followed in their footsteps, pouring in fruitless and distant volleys; but, on the summit of Bunker, their tired platoons halted, and they beheld the throng move fearlessly through the tremendous fire that enfiladed the low pass, as little injured as though most of them bore charmed lives.

The day was now drawing to a close, and nothing further remained for the achievement of the royal lieutenants, but to go and mourn over their victory.


136. Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

O! WHAT's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,

And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still!

Young Harry was a lusty drover;

And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;

His voice was like the voice of three.
Now Goody Blake was old and poor;
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad ;
And any man who passed her door

Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling,
And then her three hours' work at night.
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling ;

It would not pay for candle-light.
Remote from sheltering village green,
On a hill's north side she dwelt,
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,
And the white frosts are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,

Two poor old dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage;

But she, poor woman! housed alone. 'Twas well enough when summer came The long, warm, lightsome summer day; Then at her door the canty dame

Would sit as any lin et gay.

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But when the ice our streams did fetter,

O, then how her old bones would shake! You would have said, if you had met her,

'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dead; Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink

O joy for her! whene'er, in winter,

The winds at night had made a rout, And scattered many a lusty splinter,

And many a rotten bough about. Yet never had she, well or sick,

As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, turf or stick,

Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring

Then an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And, now and then, it must be said,

When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected

This trespass of old Goody Blake, And vowed that she should be detected,

And he on her would vengeance take And oft from his warm fire he'd go,

And to the fields his road would take, And there, at night, in frost and snow, He watched to seize old Goody Blake. 33

And once behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full, and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
- He hears a noise - he's all awake-
Again! -on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps-'Tis Goody Blake;
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill!

Right glad was he when he beheld her;
Stick after stick did Goody pull;
He stood behind a bush of elder,

Till she had filled her apron full.
When with her load she turned about,

The by-road back again to take,
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,

And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried, "I've caught you then at last!”

Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed
To God, that is the Judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm
"God! who art never out of hearing,
O, may he never more be warm
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away.

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He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill;
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow;
Alas that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding-coat,

But not a whit the warmer he;
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,

And blankets were about him pinned;
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;

And all who see him say 'tis plain,
That, live as long as live he may,

He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,

Abed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,

"Poor Harry Gill is very cold." Abed or up, by night or day,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.


137. On the Life and Character of Lafayette.

LEGISLATORS OF THE NORTH AMERICAN CONFEDERATE UNION: The record of the life of Gilbert Motier de Lafay ette is the delineation of his character. Consider him as one human being of one thousand millions, his contemporaries

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