[_Exit_ First Private.

_Fitzgibbon (cutting the newspaper and handing the halves to the sergeants)_. There, read to the rest, and let me have them back when done with.

_Enter a_ Soldier _with lights_.

[_A voice is heard in the next room, beginning to sing_.

Who's that?

_First Private_. It's Roaring Bill, sir; shall I stop him?

_Fitzgibbon_. No; let him sing.

It cheers our loneliness, and does us good.

_First Sergeant_. Another of his own, I guess; homespun And rough, like country cloth.

_Fitzgibbon_. Hush! what is that he says?

[_A_ Cadet _gently pushes one of the folding doors a little wider open_.

_Roaring Bill_. 'Tis but a doleful ditty, boys, With ne'er a chorus; yet I'll be bound You'll hardly quarrel with it.

_A Comrade_. Let's have it, Bill; we ain't red Injuns, As likes palaver.

_Roaring Bill_--

SONG.

October blasts had strown the wreaths that erstwhile hung so gay, Above the brows of Queenston Heights where we impatient lay; Niagara fretted at our feet, as chafing at his post, And impotence to turn the fleets that bore the aggressive host.

And gray the dawn and cold the morn of Rensselaer's attack, But warm and true the hearts, though few, that leapt to beat him back.

"On, Forth-ninth! On, volunteers! Give tongue, ye batteries twain!"

Bold Dennis spake: the guns boomed forth, and down he rushed amain.

They sink! They fly! They drop down stream.--Ah, too delusive sight!

A long-abandoned path they find, and gain the wooded height.

The batteries now must guard the sh.o.r.e--above, our struggle lies; But down they pour, like surging flood, that skill and strength defies.

Down, down, they press us, inch by inch, beyond the village bound, And there, o'erwhelmed, but not o'ercome, we keep our sullen ground.

Short time we stand. A ringing cheer proclaims our hero nigh; Our darling leader, n.o.ble Brock--hark to his gallant cry!

"Follow me, boys!" the hero cries. We double to the wall-- Waving his gleaming sword on high, he climbs, and follow all; Impetuous up the mountain side he strides in warlike glee, All heedless of the leaden hail that whistles from each tree:

For on and up proud Victory lures--we touch her laurel crown-- When by malign, deliberate aim the hero's stricken down.

He falls! We fire, but ah, too late--the murderous work is done.

No more that voice shall cheer us on, with "Vict'ry!" in its tone.

He falls: nor word nor look may cheer young Jarvis' anxious quest; Among his stricken men he sinks, his hand but seeks his breast.

O, Death, could none but him suffice thy cold, insatiate eye?

Nor knewed'st thou how many there for him would gladly die!

Nor lonely speeds the parting soul, nor lonely stands the bier-- Two forms the bastion-tomb enfolds, two claim the soldier's tear.

"Avenge the General!" was the cry. "AVENGE!" McDonell cries, And, leading madly up the Height, McDonell falls and dies.

[_Several of the men pa.s.s their hands over their eyes;_ MR. JARVIS _goes to the open window, as if to observe something without_.

_An 8th man_. A mournful ditty to a mournful tune, Yet not unworthy of the heroic theme, Nor of a soldier's heart.

_Mr. Jarvis (in a low voice)_. Indeed, you're right.

I thank the singer for his memories, Though sad to me, who caught Brock's latest breath.

_Fitzgibbon_. I did not think there had been such a stroke Of genius in the lad. (_Another voice_.) But who's this, now?

_Second Cadet_. It's young Jack Kelley, sir; he has a voice, And emulates old Bill.

_Jack Kelley_ (_with the airs of an amateur_.) Ugh! ugh! I'm hoa.r.s.e.

Now mind the coal-box, byes, and sing it up.

"The Jolly Midshipman's" the tune.

SONG.

I.

It was a bold Canadian boy That loved a winsome girl; And he was bold as ancient knight, She, fair as day's own pearl.

And to the greenwood they must go, To build a home and name, So he clasped hands with Industry, For fortune, wealth and fame.

CHORUS

(In which all join, the leader beating time upon his knees with his fists.)

For fortune, wealth and fame, For fortune, wealth and fame; So he clasped hands with Industry, For fortune, wealth and fame.

II.

And when the jocund Spring came in, He crowned the wedded pair.

And sent them forth with hearts elate Their wildwood home to share.

For he had built a snug log-house, Beneath a maple tree; And his axe had cleared a wide domain, While store of goods spun she.

CHORUS.

While store of goods spun she, While store of goods spun she, And his axe had cleared a wide domain, While store of goods spun she.

III.

The husband whistles at his plough, The wife sings at her wheel, The children wind the shrilly horn That tells the ready meal.