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Over all the fallen corpses brave old Anthony was borne, With his blood still downward trickling, and his clothing

pierced and torn, High upon the trampled breastwork were the mangled

bodies piled; Now our men were on the red coats, for despair had made

them wild. A few moments’ fiercest fighting, and the bloody deed was

done; Many patriots were dying, but the victory was won. Though their wounds were gaping, bleeding, yet they showed

they could be free"To the one who fights for freedom God will give the vic

tory!" Yes, beside the River Hudson, stands that fortress there to

day, And its walls are as defiant as when captured in that fray. Since the day that it was taken, we have held it as our own, Though old Anthony, who took it, lies beneath the sod

alone. Honor be to those brave soldiers who gave up their lives so

true, That the blessed light of freedom might shine all our coun

try through. Honor be to that brave General who through valor won the

fray, At the capture of the fortress which I tell you of to-day.


AN AUSTRALIAN GOLD-DIGGER'S STORY. I was a English workin' man as 'ad come out to the gold fields for to try my luck, and Sam Coley were a mate wot ’ad come out with me. Tory Bill were a rather haristocratic young party as ’ad chummed in with me an' Sam on our way up from Adelaide. He told us he was the son of a parish beetle wot ’ad got into redooced circumstances through refusing-on religious grounds-a invitation to dine with the Harchbishop o' Canterbury, *A very superior prose rending by Mr. Overton, entitled "The Three Parsons,' will be found in No. 25 of this series. *Me and Bill," (on which is founded the author's popular nantical drama, “ Hearts of Oak,") is in No. 26, and “Turning the Pointa," in No. 27. Each of these presents a peculiar blending of quaint humor, strong pathos and stirring dramatic effect.

as 'ad took offence, an' spoke again 'im to the War Office an' the Prime Minister. Tory Bill were a cut above me an' Sam in the way of usin' uncommon long words an’ in 'is manner like; but he turned out a good ’ard-workin' pardner, an' when we took up our claim all together we got on without usin' our shootin' irons, anythink to speak of, exceptin' wen wisitin' neighbors, or friends, or sich like.

Now about Juberlo Tom. It come about in rather a strange way. Things 'ad been goin' very wrong at our lot. We 'ad bored, an' dug, an' shoveled, standin' sometimes for hours with the water up to our waists, but for all our 'ard labor, an' swearin', an' strainin’ we'd got nothink but ’urt backs an' rheumatics. No gold,—none of the precious stuff we'd come so far for to get.

One day as we sits lookin' at each other and pullin' ’ard at our pipes, and wonderin' where we were to get money to buy better tools, all of a sudden we 'eerd somebody comin' along towards our tent, 'ollerin' an' roarin' like a wild bull

"Oh, de ransom will be paid,
An' free men de darkies made,

In de year ob Juberlo ! " “It's a nigger,” says Tory Bill, lookin' out; “ we've got too many of them prowlin' about this camp. Just 'eave somethink at 'im, Sam.”

Sam stoops down an' picks up a lump o’ore, an' 'eaves it where the voice come from. But it didn't fetch our darkey, for he kep' comin' on, 'ollerin' "De year ob Juberlo!” Next minute he shoves 'is 'ead in at the tent, smilin' kinder benevolent, shewin' all 'is great, white, gleamin' teeth.

"Wot do yer want 'ere?” says Tory Bill, 'eavin' a mutton bone at the darkey's 'ead; “ go an’ ’ave yer Juberlo with some o' yer own cussed black brothers, can't yer, an' don't come intrudin' on white folks.”

“Yus," says Coley, emptying our last drop o' whisky down 'is throat an' chuckin' the bottle at the smilin' stranger, “don't come disturbin' our dewotions with yer Juberlo."

I didn't say nothink, but so's not to 'urt the feller's feelin's by appearin' not to notice 'im, I awailed myself of a pause in the conversation to shy a camp-stool at 'im.

The darkey smiled so benevolent I thought 'is face would ha' cracked, an' then he walks straight into the tent,--a great, black, woolly-'eaded giant of a chap,-picks up the stool I'd used for to shy at 'im, an' sot down.

“How you do, gem'men, eh? My name Tom, Juberlo Tom. You want nuffer partner in dis yer claim, eh?” says the wisitor, smilin' all round like a archangel. “Dis yer's a good claim, but you kinder don't work it right, want more tools, new tools."

Tory Bill looks at me an' Sam, an' then he growls, “Wot do you know about gold minin', an' wot tools ha' you got as we aint got a'ready?”

Juberlo Tom put 'is 'and in 'is boot an' lugged up a brown paper parcel. Undoin' the parcel he 'eld out a double-'andful of bright, shinin' yeller boys.

Up we all jumps, our eyes shinin' like the gold in the darkey's black 'and.

"He'll do," shouts Tory Bill; never mind 'is black hide. Juberlo Tom's a pardner in this yer lot.”

'Juberlo Tom,” says Sam Coley, “if so be as I 'urt either your feelin's or your 'ead when I chucked that bottle at yer just now, let bygones be bygones. Jine this yer fam’ly succle, an’ we'll all have a Juberlo together.” * Juberlo Tom," I says,

I went for yer with that stool as you're now sittin' on, my only reason were that yer were standing in yer own light, an' I couldn't see yer properly, an' which I felt so much interested in wot I did see that I wanted yer to get out o' the light, so's I could see yer better.”

From that night Juberlo Tom was one of us, an every. think went better at once. I never see sich a 'andy feller in my life. That very night he made us all a reg’lar good supper by stooin' the mutton bone as Tory Bill shied at ’im, an' the bottle wot Sam chucked at 'im he took an' brought back full o' whisky, stole from a neigh

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bor. As for work, nothink stopped 'im. We bought better tools, an' Juberlo Tom struck out a fresh lode. He was workin' away one mornin' roarin' out ’is Juberlo 'ymn, when all of a sudden he stops.

What's up with Juberlo Tom?” says Coley. “He's gone mad," says I, for he was jumpin' an' roarin' an' 'oldin' 'is sides.

“He's made a find !” shouts Tory Bill, as we all run up to ’im.

True enough, Juberlo Tom 'ad struck a vein, an' by the time we'd worked out that claim, every one of us ’ad made a pile--and a good tall pile, too. Gold worth thousands o' bright, shinin', glitterin' yeller boys did we bring out o' that claim as we thought at one time would ha’ bin no good.

At last, one night, Tory Bill makes a speech, and he says, “ Boys,” he

says, guess our time at Gubbin's Creek is about up, an'as for me, I'm goin' to make tracks for the old country. We're a rough lot up 'ere, all on us, an' it's a good job as us four didn't bring no sorter bloom on us wen we fetched these yer diggin's, 'cos 'twould ha' bin kinder wasted. But away in the old country I've got a father,-a parish beetle in redooced circumstances, as you may ’ave 'eerd me mention,—likewise a old mother, as always give me more than my share of the family spankin' wen whippin' was goin' round. Boys, I'm goin' home!"

Then Sam Coley, the sigh-nick, ups an' speaks: "Boys, leastways Tory Bill and Jack, when we knowed each other fust we was ’ard up. When Juberlo Tom come along we was done




We've ’ad luck, and now we're rich men to the end of our lives. Tory Bill's bin a good pardner to all on us. no father, parish beetle or otherwise, an' I aint got no mother, spankin' or otherwise, but there's a little village in Essex as I aint seen for many a long day, with a little churchyard, where some one's sleepin' as used to love me very true an' very dear, long afore I was a drinkin', swearin' digger. An' I'm a-goin' 'ome

I aint got

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with Tory Bill. An'—wot the blazes am I cryin' about?" he says, as he drawed 'is sleeve across ’is eyes.

I smoked my pipe out, an' then I says, “ Boys,” I says, “ 'ear to me a minute. Tory Bill, likewise Sam Coley, likewise Juberlo Tom, I feel as though as we've all bin together in a-gettin' of our dust we shouldn't be parted now we've got our dust. I feel like 'avin 'a rvarin' old Juberlo together in the old country, an' I'm a-goin' 'ome along of Tory Bill an' Sam Coley. Juberlo Tom, are you goin' to jine the fam'ly succle?”

Then we all looks at Juberlo Tom for a answer. He were a strange chap, this feller, an' 'ad never told us anythink about ’isself since we knowed 'im. He sot with 'is face buried in 'is 'ands.

* Juberlo Tom,” says Tory Bill, "are you comin' along o yer old pardners ?”

Then Juberlo Tom 'as 'is say, still keepin' 'is woolly ’ead buried in 'is ’ard black 'ands : “'Way down ole Virginny I was a slave. I ran away. But way down ole Virginny is de girl dat I love,-a slave. I got money now, plenty money to buy de freedom ob de girl I love, like Sam Coley love de girl dat am sleepin' in de English churchyard. Juberlo Tom goin' 'way down ole Virginny.”

We all knowed wot he meant.

" Juberlo Tom,” said Sam Coley, with clean lines down 'is face where the tears was washin' the dirt away, “Juberlo Tom, shake!"

The next day we made tracks for Adelaide. got there we found a fast ship ready to sail for London.

“Juberlo Tom," says Sam Coley, "ship along of us 'stead o' waitin' for a ship to take you to ole Virginny the straight route. Then I'll leave England with yer for ole Virginny, an’the lives of a 'undred haristocratic slave-owners sha'n't stand 'tween you an' the girl.” Sam meant it, an’ we all four left aboard the “ Boomerang," Cap'n Richard Preece, 'omeward bound.

Afore we left, nothink would satisfy Juberlo Tom but

Wen we

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