y aim along their
rusty rifle-barrels; that, with their good swords quivering in their
sinewy hands, they urged their horses boldly over the battle-field,
shouting brave words to their advancing men; and that they laughed at
heat and cold, patiently endured hunger and privation, strode along
bravely on the longest marches, and, at last, stood proudly by when
Cornwallis gave up his sword.

Those old gentlemen did not look like anything of that sort. Their
old arms could hardly manage their old canes; their old legs could
just about carry them on a march around the garden, and they were very
particular indeed about heat and cold.

But History and Art will better keep alive the memory of their good
deeds, and call more vigorously upon the gratitude of their
countrymen, than those old Continentallers could themselves have done
it, had they lived on for years and years, and told generation after
generation how once they galloped proudly along the ranks, or, in
humbler station, beat with vigorous arm the stirring drum-roll that
called their comrades to the battle-field.

[Illustration]

A JUDGE OF MUSIC.

[Illustration]

It is not well to despise anybody or anything until you know what they
can do. I have known some very stupid-looking people who could do a
sum in the rule-of-three in a minute, and who could add up a column of
six figures abreast while I was just making a beginning at the
right-hand bottom corner. But stupid-looking beings are often good at
other things besides arithmetic. I have seen doctors, with very dull
faces, who knew all about castor-oil and mustard-plasters, and above
you see a picture of a Donkey who understood music.

This animal had a very fine ear for music. You can see how much ear he
had, and I have no doubt that he enjoyed the sweet sounds from one end
to the other of those beautiful long flaps. Well, he very often had an
opportunity of enjoying himself, for the lady of the house was a fine
musician, and she used to sing and play upon the piano nearly every
day. And as soon as he heard the sweet sounds which thrilled his
soul, the Donkey would come to the parlor window and listen.

One day the lady played and sang something which was particularly
sweet and touching. I never heard the name of the song--whether it was
"I'm sitting on the stile, Mary," or "A watcher, pale and weary"--but
if it was the latter, I am not surprised that it should have overcome
even a jackass. At any