And she clambered on the wagon, minding not who all were by,

With a laugh of reckless romping in the corner of her

eye.

Clinging round his brawny neck, she clasped her fingers white and small,

And then whispered, "Quick! the letters! thrust them underneath my shawl!

Carry back again this package, and be sure that you are spry!"

And she sweetly smiled upon him from the corner of

her eye.

Loud the motley crowd were laughing at the strange, ungirlish freak,

And the boy was scared and panting, and so dashed he could not speak;

And," Miss, I have good apples," a bolder lad did cry; But she answered, “No, I thank you," from the corner

of her eye.

With the news of loved ones absent to the dear friends they would greet,

Searching them who hungered for them, swift she glided through the street.

"There is nothing worth the doing that it does not

pay to try,"

Thought the little black-eyed rebel, with a twinkle in

her eye.

WILL CARLETON.

MOLLY MAGUIRE AT MONMOUTH.

June 28, 1778.

The battle of Monmouth was indecisive, but the Americans held the field, and the British retreated and remained inactive for the rest of the summer.

N the bloody field of Monmouth

ON

Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne,

Fiercely roared the tide of battle,

Thick the sward was heaped with slain.
Foremost, facing death and danger,

Hessian, horse, and grenadier,

In the vanguard, fiercely fighting,
Stood an Irish Cannonier.

Loudly roared his iron cannon,
Mingling ever in the strife,
And beside him, firm and daring,

Stood his faithful Irish wife.

Of her bold contempt of danger

Greene and Lee's Brigades could tell,

Every one knew "Captain Molly,"

And the army loved her well.

Surged the roar of battle round them,

Swiftly flew the iron hail,

Forward dashed a thousand bayonets,
That lone battery to assail.

From the foeman's foremost columns
Swept a furious fusillade,

Mowing down the massed battalions
In the ranks of Greene's Brigade.

Fast and faster worked the gunner, Soiled with powder, blood, and dust, English bayonets shone before him,

Shot and shell around him burst; Still he fought with reckless daring, Stood and manned her long and well, Till at last the gallant fellow

Dead-beside his cannon fell.

With a bitter cry of sorrow,

And a dark and angry frown, Looked that band of gallant patriots

At their gunner stricken down.

"Fall back, comrades, it is folly

Thus to strive against the foe."

"No! not so," cried Irish Molly; "We can strike another blow."

Quickly leaped she to the cannon,
In her fallen husband's place,
Sponged and rammed it fast and steady,
Fired it in the foeman's face.
Flashed another ringing volley,

Roared another from the gun;

"Boys, hurrah!" cried gallant Molly,

"For the flag of Washington."

Greene's Brigade, though shorn and shattered,

Slain and bleeding half their men,