THE RIDE OF JENNIE M'NEAL.--WILL CARLETON. Paul Revere was a rider bold Well has his valorous deed been told; But why should men do all the deeds On a spot as pretty as might be found She and her mother lived alone. Safe were the two, with their frugal store, Her hair was the hue of a blackbird's wing; He is visiting home, as doth appear; And oft, in her younger days, had he Concerning the French war lately done. With never a thought or a moment more, Around her slender and cloakless form "Halt!" once more came the voice of dread; Sped after her a volley of balls. They passed her in her rapid flight, They screamed to her left, they screamed to her right; But, rushing still o'er the slippery track, She sent no token of answer back, ННННН Except a silvery laughter-peal, Brave, merry-hearted Jennie M'Neal. So on she rushed, at her own good will, Till all at once he stumbled and fell, He gathered his strength once more for all, They were a furlong behind, or more, The startled colonel sprung, and pressed But first he bent in the dim fire-light, And kissed the forehead broad and white, And blessed the girl who had ridden so well The girl roused up at the martial din, Of womankind I must crown you queen; Wear this gold ring as your valor's due; As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps, ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR.*-GEORGE LIPPARD. Benedict Arnold sailed from our shores and came back no more. From that time forth, wherever he went, three whispered words followed him, singing through his ears into his heart-ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR. When he stood beside his king in the House of Lordsthe weak old man whispered in familiar tones to his gorgeously attired General--a whisper crept through the thronged Senate, faces were turned, fingers extended, and as the whisper deepened into a murmur, one venerable lord arose and stated that he loved his sovereign, but could not speak to him while by his side, there stood—ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR. He went to the theatre, parading his warrior form amid the fairest flowers of British nobility and beauty, but no sooner was his visage seen than the whole audience rosethe lord in his cushioned seat, the vagrant of London in the gallery--they rose together, while from the pit to the dome echoed the cry-"ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!" When he issued from his gorgeous mansion, the liveried servant, that ate his bread, and earned it, too, by menial offices, whispered in contempt to his fellow lackey as he took his position behind his master's carriage-" BENEDICT ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR." One day, in a shadowy room, a mother and two daughters, all attired in the weeds of mourning, were grouped in a sad circle, gazing upon a picture shrouded in crape. A *A reuling, giving a vivid description of "The Death-Bed of Benedict Arnold," will be found in No. 2 of this series. visitor now advanced; the mother took his card from the hands of the servant, and the daughters heard his name. "Go!" said that mother, rising with a flushed face, while a daughter took each hand-" Go! and tell the man that my threshold can never be crossed by the murderer of my son -by ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR." Grossly insulted in a public place, he appealed to the company-noble lords and reverend men were there-and breasting his antagonist with his fierce brow, he spat full in his face. His antagonist was a man of tried courage. He coolly wiped the saliva from his cheek. "Time may spit upon me, but I never can pollute my sword by killingARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!" He left London. He engaged in commerce. His ships were on the ocean, his warehouses in Nova Scotia, his plantations in the West Indies. One night his warehouse was burned to ashes. The entire population of St. John's,accusing the owner of acting the part of incendiary to his own property, in order to defraud the insurance companiesassembled in that British town, in sight of his very window they hung an effigy, inscribed with these words—“ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR." When the Island of Guadaloupe was retaken by the French, he was among the prisoners. He was put aboard a French prison-ship in the harbor. His money-thousands of yellow guineas, accumulated through the course of years, was about his person. Afraid of his own name, he called himself John Anderson, the name once assumed by John André. He deemed himself unknown, but the sentinel, approaching him, whispered that he was known and in great danger. He assisted him to escape, even aided him to secure his treasure in an empty cask, but as the prisoner, gliding down the side of the ship, pushed his raft toward the shore, that sentinel looked after him, and in broken English sneered-"ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR." There was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre, hotfoot from Paris. It was in the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by the bloodhounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America in a ship about to sail |