lved to follow it. They again began their painful march; the day
passed, and the night once more overtook them. When the eighth morning
dawned, the younger of the boys found himself unable to rise from his bed
of leaves. Isaac endeavored to encourage him, dug roots, and procured
water for him; but the poor lad was utterly exhausted. He had no longer
heart or hope. The elder boy laid him on leaves and dry grass at the
foot of a tree, and with a heavy heart bade him farewell. Alone he
slowly and painfully proceeded down the stream, now greatly increased in
size by tributary rivulets. On the top of a hill, he climbed with
difficulty into a tree, and saw in the distance what seemed to be a
clearing and a newly raised frame building. Hopeful and rejoicing, he
turned back to his young companion, told him what he had seen, and, after
chafing his limbs awhile, got him upon his feet. Sometimes supporting
him, and at others carrying him on his back, the heroic boy staggered
towards the clearing. On reaching it he found it deserted, and was
obliged to continue his journey. Towards night signs of civilization
began to appear,--the heavy, continuous roar of water was heard; and,
presently emerging from the forest, he saw a great river dashing in white
foam down precipitous rocks, and on its bank the gray walls of a huge
stone building, with flankers, palisades, and moat, over which the
British flag was flying. This was the famous Saco Fort, built by
Governor Phips two years before, just below the falls of the Saco River.
The soldiers of the garrison gave the poor fellows a kindly welcome.
Joseph, who was scarcely alive, lay for a long time sick in the fort; but
Isaac soon regained his strength, and set out for his home in Haverhill,
which he had the good fortune to arrive at in safety.

Amidst the stirring excitements of the present day, when every thrill of
the electric wire conveys a new subject for thought or action to a
generation as eager as the ancient Athenians for some new thing, simple
legends of the past like that which we have transcribed have undoubtedly
lost in a great degree their interest. The lore of the fireside is
becoming obsolete, and with the octogenarian few who still linger among
us will perish the unwritten history of border life in New England.

THE BLACK MEN IN THE REVOLUTION AND WAR OF 1812.

The return of the festival of our national independence has called our
attention to a matter wh