Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely, and spectral, and somber, and still.
And Lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic,1 meeting the ocean tides;

1 The Mystic River rises in Mystic Lake, near Winchester, and flows into Boston Harbor north of Charlestown.

And under the alders, that skirt its edge,

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of the steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,

And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog
That rises after the sun goes down.
It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

And the meetinghouse windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock

When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,

And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing the meadows brown.

And one was safe and asleep in his bed

Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

Who that day would be lying dead,

Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British regulars fired and fled,
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex 1 village and farm,

1

A cry of defiance, and not of fear,

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,

In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

1 Middlesex is one of the counties of Massachusetts embracing Medford, Lexington, Concord, Cambridge, etc.

1. For what purpose did the English soldiers go to Lexington and Concord? 2. How far from Boston are both of these places? In what direction? 3. Why was Paul Revere so anxious to learn when the English soldiers started? 4. What was the signal agreed upon? 5. Where did he wait? 6. How did he proceed? 7. How does Longfellow describe the passage of Paul Revere and his steed? 8. What did he hear when he came to the bridge in Concord town? 9. What kind of reception did the American farmers give the British redcoats? 10. What is meant by "A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, and a word that shall echo forevermore"?

1. Repeat the ideas in the order in which they occur and, as nearly as you can, in the language of the poet until you can memorize every line of this stirring and patriotic poem. 2. Point out the figurative expressions in these verses, and tell whether they are used for clearness, force, or beauty of expression.

Every year, thousands of persons, young and old, visit the places through which Paul Revere passed on his patriotic errand. Suppose that you had just been over the route, tell in a short composition the thoughts that might have occurred to you during the imaginary journey.

HARE AND HOUNDS

There are few books in any language which have been read and enjoyed more by boys and girls than Tom Brown's School Days by Thomas Hughes. This interesting story of school life in England has a peculiar charm for both young and old. It acquaints the child of to-day with the schools of England, three or four hundred years ago. It tells how the boys of that time acted and what games they played.

It is interesting to recall that many of the best-known preparatory colleges of England (Winchester, Eton, St. Paul's, Westminster, Shrewsbury, Charterhouse, etc.) were founded and established by Catholic bishops, kings, and laymen, before the time of Henry VIII. Rugby, however, was founded in the time of Queen Elizabeth.

The only incident worth recording here, however, was the first run at hare and hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half year, Tom was passing through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long tables, the chorus of which was, "Come and help us tear up scent."

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, always ready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copybooks, and magazines, into small pieces, with which they were filling four large canvas bags.