"They will lie in wait for Lieutenant Lee,
And, dreaming not of his danger, he
Will keep straight on till it is too late
To escape the foes that in ambush wait."

Great-Grandmother Ruth heard the news they brought
And up to her brain leaped a sudden thought-
Some one must go, and at once, to warn
Lieutenant Lee. Ere another morn
He might fall, perhaps, an easy prey
To the British men who in ambush lay.
But who should go? All the men in town
Were old, or crippled, or broken down
With wounds or sickness. "Not one," cried she,
"To carry the news to Lieutenant Lee!
I will go myself." And her blue eyes shone
With a courage born not of love alone,
But the spirit that nerved the arm and heart
Of those who in war bore a soldier's part.
"A woman can't fight very well," she said;
"But there's many a thing she can do instead
That's as good as fighting. My British men,
I'll take a hand in your game.'
And then

She saddled her horse, and as night came down
They saw her galloping out of the town.

"She goes to warn her lover," they said,

"Of a danger that lurks in the

way ahead.

Brave is the girl's heart and strong her steed."

And every one cheered her and said “God speed!"

Two score miles to make ere the first cock crowed— Great-Grandmother Ruth planned her route as she rode "Lieutenant Lee and his men will take

The old post-road by Hingham's Lake;
There I must meet them, and they can turn
To the north on the highway that runs by Kern;
And thus they can slip past the ambushed foe
Who hides on the new road, miles below.
Ah, ah! my Britishers, watch and wait;
You'll find out the truth when it is too late!"

The dusk closed round her; the stars grew bright,
And the moon made day of the brief June night.
"Five miles are behind us," she cried, as she passed
The ford in the valley, and still more fast
She urged her steed down the road that runs
Through Sudbury town and the smaller ones
That lie to the south. Often those in bed
Were roused by the sound of a horse's tread,
And said to each other, "Some one rides fast,"
And e'en as they said it the place was passed
By the midnight rider. "The stars say One,"
She cries to her horse, “and our ride's half done."
Two-" We do well." Three-"The miles are few.
Doll, do you know what depends on you?"
Four-and upon her keen eyes break

The sight she has longed for of Hingham's lake.
"Our ride is ended," and she draws rein

In the shade of the pine trees on Hingham's plain To wait for the coming of those who are nigh, With a smile on her lip and a laughing eye.

"Hark! they are coming. Good steed of mine, We will bid them stand and give countersign," She says, as the tramp of men's feet sounds near. 'He, my lover, is almost here,"

And her face grows bright like a damask rose
When all of a sudden its leaves unclose
At a warm wind's kiss, and break all apart,
To reveal the glow of the blossom's heart.

"Halt!" The soldiers, startled, heard
A woman's voice speak the well-known word;
Then out of the shadow of pines rode she.

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Ruth, my Ruth!" cried Lieutenant Lee,

"Is this your ghost, or are you a dream?"

Then his arms were round her, and it would seem That the touch of her lips were proof enough That the vision was hardly of ghostly stuff.

"There's no time for love-making now," laughed she.
"There's something more urgent, Lieutenant Lee."
Then she told them what she had come to tell.
"Ruth, my heroine, you've done well,"

Cried Lieutenant Lee, and his face was bright.
"Such help as this nerves our hearts for fight.
Men, what say you? This girl should be
Made Colonel, at least, for her bravery.
Cheers for brave Colonel Ruth, my men!"
And the morning rang and rang again
With hearty cheers for the girl whose deed
Had brought them warning in time of need.

There is little need for me to make
The story longer. At Hingham's lake
They turned to the north, and by this detour
The British were left in the lurch. Quite sure
Am I that no happier girl than she

Who rode by the side of Lieutenant Lee
Could be found in all the land that day.
Ere night in Marblehead safe were they.
The story of Ruth and her long night ride
Spread through the village and country side,
And they came in crowds, it is said, to pay
Respect to her, and "Well done" to say.
"I don't care so much for their praise," said she,
And she smiled in the face of Lieutenant Lee,
"As I do to know that I helped you play
A trick on the British, and won the day.'

EBEN E. REXFORD.

DEAD!

"NO SALOONS UP THERE."

Dead in the fullness of his manly strength, the ripeness of his manly beauty, and we who loved him were glad.

His coffin rested on his draped piano, his banjo and his flute beside it. And as we looked on his brown curls thrown up from the cold white brow, on his skilled hands

folded on his breast, on his sealed lips, of which wit and melody had been the very breathings, the silence was an awe, a weight upon us, yet our voiceless thanks rose up to God that he was dead.

Always courteous in manner, kind in word, obliging in act, everybody liked Ned, the handsome, brilliant Ñed.

Three generations of ancestors, honorable gentlemen all, had taken the social glass as gentlemen, but never lowered themselves to drunkenness; but their combined appetite they had given as an heirloom to Ned, and from his infancy he saw wine offered to guests at the dinner parties, and, when he had been "a perfect little gentleman," was given by his father one little sip.

He grew and the taste grew, and when his father was taken all restraint but a mother's love was taken.

As the only son of a praying mother, now the church would hold him up, now the saloon would draw him down; now his rich voice would join his mother's to swell the anthems of the church, now make the night hideous with his ribald songs. So all along the years he was her idol and her woe.

When her last sickness was upon her the mother said to a friend:

66

They tell me when I am gone. Eddie will go down unchecked, that in some wild spree or mad delirium he will die. But he will not. His fathers created the appetite they gave my poor boy. His disgrace is their sin, and my sin, too. He saw it on our table, tasted it in our ice-creams, jellies and sauces. For this my punishment is greater than I could bear but for the sure faith that God has forgiven me and will answer my daily, nightly prayers, and Eddie will die an humble penitent. It is just that I be forbidden to enjoy here the promised land, but I know whom I believe, and my boy will be carried safely over."

As death drew nigh every breath was a prayer for "Eddie," and as he chafed her death-cold hands the pallid lips formed the words no ear could catch, "Meetme-in-heaven." And his voice, rich and full, responded, "I will, mother-I will."

And as from her mountain height of faith and love

she caught a sight of that "promised land," with a seraph's smile she whispered, "I-thank Thee-O Father," and was gone.

And his uncontrollable grief made one say to another, "His mother's death will be his salvation."

He covered the new-made grave with flowers, and when others had left the cemetery he went back and sat beside it until nightfall, and then went to his lone home, and the oppressive silence drove him out to walk. He passed a saloon; some of his old associates came out and said kind words of sympathy. His soul was dark and sad, and from the open door came light and cheerful voices, and he went in.

66

Before the long spree was over he bade a crony " Take that old book out of my sight."

That old book! the Bible he had seen his sainted mother reading morning, night, and often mid-day, and from which he had read to her those suffering, dying days.

Then a friend of his mother took him to her home and brought him back to soberness, remorse and a horror of himself. For months he did nobly and became active in Christian work, and refused all the urging to "just step in and see your old friends," and we felt there was joy in heaven.

Then he was asked to bring his banjo and sing at an oyster supper at the most respectable saloon in town, where 66 no one is ever asked to drink."

A wild spree was the result, and his robe was so mired he doubted if it had been white. And he lost hope, lost faith in himself, and worse, lost faith in God.

Kind arms were thrown about him, and again he was placed upon his feet. Very humble, very weak, he tried once more to walk the heavenward path.

"I am very glad to see you so well," I said one day when I met him.

"I don't know how long it will last," he said sadly.

66

Forever, I hope," I said cheerily.

"I shall try hard to have it, but there will come an unguarded moment-but you know nothing about it." Some two weeks after I met a physician.