e flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning-breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown,
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British regulars fired and fled--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm--
A cry of defiance, and not of fear--
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness, and peril, and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed.
And the midnight-message of Paul Revere.

A PLEASURE EXERTION.

MARIETTA HOLLEY.

This humorous sketch is taken from a work entitled "My
Opinions and Betsey Bobbet's."

They have been havin' pleasure exertions all summer here to
Jonesville. Every week a'most they would go off on a exertion after
pleasure, and Josiah was all up in end to go too.

That man is a well-principled man as I ever see; but if he had his
head he would be worse than any young man I ever see to foller up
pic-nics, and 4th of Julys, and camp meetin's, and all pleasure
exertions. But I don't encourage him in it. I have said to him, time
and agin, "There is a time for everything, Josiah Allen, and after
anybody has lost all their teeth, and every mite of hair on the top of
their head, it is time for 'em to stop goin' to pleasure exertions."

But, good land! I might jest as well talk to the wind. If that man
should get to be as old as Mr. Methusler, and be a goin' a thousand
years old, he would prick up his ears if he should hear of an
exertion. All summer long that man has beset me to go to 'em, for he
wouldn't go without me. Old Bunker Hill himself hain't any sounder in
principle than Josiah Allen, and I have had to work head-work to make
excuses, and quell him down. But, last week, the old folks was goin'
to have one out on the