had charged him to return with his shield or upon it. Or, perchance, he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus.

He saw this unequal combat afar - for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the reds he drew near with rapid pace till he stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior and commenced his operations near the root of his right fore leg, leaving the foe to select among his own members; and so there were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been invented which put all other locks and cements to shame.

Certainly there is not the fight recorded in Concord history at least, if in the history of America, that will bear a moment's comparison with this, whether for the numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and heroism displayed. I never learned which party was victorious, nor the cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of that day as if I had had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, the ferocity and carnage, of a human battle before my door.

From "Walden."

HENRY D. THOREAU.

A LITTLE HEROINE

BLENTARN GHYLL is the name of a little narrow gorge in the Westmoreland mountains. At the foot of these mountains lie the lovely green vale and lake of Grasmere. The lake is fed by mountain streamlets, called, in the north, becks.

One of these becks comes down another beautiful valley called Easedale, sheltered by mountains and green with grass, as smooth and soft as on a lawn. At one end, Easedale opens on the village of Grasmere, at the other is a steep ascent, leading to a bare, stony ravine, shut in on all sides by high mountains.

At the upper end of this lonely ravine there formerly stood a cottage named Blentarn Ghyll. Ghyll means a cleft worn in the rock by water; and just above the cottage there is such a cleft, opening from a basin in the rock that must once have been a tarn, or mountain lakelet. But the pool is now dry, and for want of the living eye of sparkling water, it is termed Blentarn or Blind Pool.

The cottage was the dwelling of an honest old soldier named George Green, who had taken the little mountain farm, and married an active, bustling woman. She kept her home in great order, and regularly sent her children, tidily dressed, to school

at Grasmere whenever the weather did not make the long wild mountain walk impassable for them.

It was in the winter of the year 1807 that there was an auction of furniture at a farmhouse at Langdale Head. These sales are great occasions among the people of these hills. Every one attends them for a considerable distance round, and there is much friendly hospitality. Much business of all sorts is transacted at them, and there are many meetings of old friends.

To this gathering George and Sarah Green set off in the early forenoon of a bright winter day, leaving their cottage and six little ones in the charge of the eldest sister, a girl of nine years named Agnes. They had no servant, and there was no neighbor nearer than Grasmere.

Little Agnes was, however, a remarkably steady and careful child, and all went well through the day. But towards night the mist settled down heavily upon the hills, and the heavy sighing in the air told that a storm was working up. The children watched

anxiously for their parents, but the fog cut off their view, flakes of snow began to fall, and darkness closed in early on them.

Agnes gave the others their supper of milk and oatmeal porridge, and they sat down waiting and watching, and fancying they heard sounds in the

hills. The clock struck one hour after another, and no step was on the threshold, no hand at the latch, no voice at the door, only the white silent flakes fell thicker and thicker. The snow began to close up the door, and came in white clinging wreaths through the crevices of the windows.

Agnes tried to cheer up the other children, but there was a dread on them all, and they could not bear to move away from the fire on the hearth, round which they were nestled. She put the two youngest, who were twins, to bed in their cradle, and sat with the others till the clock struck twelve. Then she heard them, one by one, say their prayers, and doing the same herself, lay down to rest, trusting to her Heavenly Father's care.

The morning came, and no father and mother,

only the snow falling thicker than ever, and almost blocking them in; but still Agnes did not lose hope. She thought her father and mother might have taken shelter at night in some sheepfold, or that the snow might have prevented them from setting out at all. She cheered herself up, and dressed the others, and gave them their breakfast, recollecting, as she saw the lessening stores, that her mother must know how little was provided for them, and be as anxious to get home as they were to see her there.

She longed to go down to Grasmere to inquire; but the communication was entirely cut off by the snow, for the beck was, in the winter, too wide for a child to leap, and too rapid to be waded. The crazy wooden bridge that crossed it had so large a hole in it, that, when concealed with snow, it was not safe to attempt the passage. She could not help being terrified at her lonely and desolate condition, but she set herself resolutely to comfort and help the lesser creatures who depended on her.

She thought over all that could be done for the present, and first wound up the clock, a friend that she could not allow to be silent. Next, she looked into the meal chest, and made some porridge for breakfast, but the store was so low that she was forced to put all except the babies upon short allowance. To reconcile the others to this, she made cakes of a small hoard of flour, and baked them on the hearth.

It was snowing so fast that she feared the way to the peat stack would be blocked up, and therefore her next work was, with the help of her two little brothers, to pull down as much fuel as would last for a week, and carry it indoors. She examined the potatoes, but fancying that if she brought them in, the warmth of the cottage would spoil them, she only took enough for a single meal.