"Just to try his little hatchet."

"Whose little hatchet?"

"Why, his own, the one his father gave him--"

"Gave who?"

"Why, George Washington."

"Oh!"

"So George came up, and he said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I--"

"Who couldn't tell a lie?"

"George couldn't."

"Oh, George; oh, yes."

"It was I who cut down your apple tree; I did--"

"His father did?"

"No, no; it was George said this."

"Said he cut his father?"

"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple tree."

"George's apple tree?"

"No, no; his father's."

"Oh!"

"He said--"

"His father said?"

"No, no, no; George said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet.' And his father said, 'n.o.ble boy, I would rather lose a thousand apple trees than have you tell a lie.'"

"George did?"

"No, his father said that."

"Said he'd rather have a thousand apple trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple trees than--"

"Said he'd rather George would?"

"No, said he'd rather he would than have him lie."

"Oh, George would rather have his father lie?"

We are patient and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers hadn't come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl.

And as Clarence Alencon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut down an apple tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple tree.

THE LOSS OF THE "BIRKENHEAD."

(February 25, 1852.)

SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE.

[The _Birkenhead_ was lost off the coast of Africa by striking on a hidden rock, when the soldiers on board sacrificed themselves, in order that the boats might be left free for the women and children.]

Right on our flank the sun was dropping down; The deep sea heaved around in bright repose; When, like the wild shriek from some captured town, A cry of women rose.

The stout ship _Birkenhead_ lay hard and fast, Caught without hope upon a hidden rock; Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when thro' them pa.s.sed The spirit of that shock.

And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, Drifted away, disorderly, the planks From underneath her keel.

So calm the air--so calm and still the flood, That low down in its blue translucent gla.s.s We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood, Pa.s.s slowly, then repa.s.s.

They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!

The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay, As quiet as the deep.

Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck, Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck Form'd us in line to die.

To die!--'twas hard, while the sleek ocean glow'd Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers: "_All to the Boats!_" cried one--he was, thank G.o.d, No officer of ours.

Our English hearts beat true--we would not stir: That base appeal we heard, but heeded not: On land, on sea, we had our Colours, sir, To keep without a spot.

They shall not say in England, that we fought With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek; Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought By trampling down the weak.

So we made the women with their children go, The oars ply back again, and yet again; Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, Still, under steadfast men.

----What follows, why recall?--The brave who died, Died without flinching in the b.l.o.o.d.y surf, They sleep as well beneath that purple tide As others under turf.

They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave, Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again, Joint heirs with Christ, because they bled to save His weak ones, not in vain.

If that day's work no clasp or medal mark, If each proud heart no cross of bronze may press, Nor cannon thunder loud from Tower or Park, This feel we none the less: