mother country, and to form an independent republic. On the 4th of July, 1776, a formal document was drawn up, called a Declaration of Independence, in which the thirteen colonies were declared to be a Republic, henceforth to be known as the United States of America. Accordingly the 4th of July is always regarded as the birthday of the great American Republic, and celebrated in the United States with great rejoicings.

1 George III. He reigned from 1760 to 1820.

2 The principle, &c., that

was, whether the British Parliament had the right to tax the colonists. 3 Puritan town. Boston is so called because it is the capital of Massachusetts, a state colonised by the Puritans in the reign of James I. and Charles I.

4 The gauntlet, &c. In former times it was the custom for knights in

armour to throw down a gauntlet, or steel glove, in token of defi

ance.

5 Delegates, men chosen to speak and act on behalf of others. (Lat. lego, I choose.)

6 With impunity, without being punished for it. (Lat. punio, I punish.)

7 Disinterested conduct, acting for the general welfare without regard to self-interest.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

[This ride took place on the same night (April 18, 1775) that the English marched from Boston to Concord to destroy the military stores there (see last lesson). Boston and Charlestown are situated on opposite sides of Boston harbour. Paul Revere waited at Charlestown for the signal that the troops were going to march, and then rode to Lexington and Concord to spread the alarm. Accordingly the British troops found the colonists prepared for them; they had to fight their way into Concord, and in their homeward march found the hedges lined by American marksmen.]

LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April in Seventy-five:
Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch

Of the North Church tower, as a signal light:

One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:

A phantom-ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till, in the silence around him, he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door.
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade—
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen, and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
In their night encampment on the hill,

Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well! "

A moment only he feels the spell

Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay-
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,

Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:

That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,

The fate of a nation was riding that night }

And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

It was twelve by the village clock,

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington,
He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock

When he came to the bridge in Concord town
He heard the bleating of the 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-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

THE

THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL.

AS TOLD BY AN AMERICAN.

HE two armies are now in presence, prepared— poorly enough on our (the American) side, but as fully as the occasion will permit-for action. Before we follow them to the fatal encounter, let us pause for a moment, and contemplate, in fancy, the picture that was then exhibited by the two peninsulas and the surrounding waters and country. Transport yourselves with me to the heights at the northern extremity of Boston-then the post of observation of the British commander and his staff and let us look forth from that elevated point upon the spirit-stirring scene.

Before us flows the silver-winding Charles, not, as now, interrupted by numerous bridges, but pursuing a smooth, unbroken way to the ocean. Between us and the Charlestown shore are the ships of war. Their black and threatening hulks pour forth, at every new discharge, fresh volumes of smoke that hang like fleecy clouds upon the air. I see their lightnings flash: I