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"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief

"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter! — O my daughter!

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.

54. BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN

By Thomas Campbell

N Linden, when the sun was low,

ON

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Isar, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade;
And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.

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Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
And, louder than the bolts of Heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Isar, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

>henlinden: a village in upper Bavaria nineteen miles of Munich. A great battle was fought here Dec. 3, between the French, under General Moreau, and Austrians, commanded by the Archduke John. The ians were defeated with heavy loss.

r: a river of upper Bavaria, upon which is situated ch, the capital of the kingdom.

ank and Hun: names of the old tribes living in France.

55. ICHABOD CRANE'S ADVENTURE

By Washington Irving

WASHINGTON IRVING

THE British were still in possession of New York, and George Washington was waiting for them to march out, when, on April 3, 1783, Washington Irving was born. His parents were stanch patriots, and when Washington finally took possession of the city they named this youngest son after him. Irving studied law but never practiced his profession; he devoted himself to writing, and was the first great pioneer of American letters. Without the advantage of college education he wrote a book which Sir Walter Scott read aloud to his family, and which brought its author both fame

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and money. This was his "Knickerbocker's History of New York," supposed to have been written by an old gentleman of that name. Irving spent many years abroad, and while in Europe wrote and published his famous "Sketch Book," and, in fact, did all of his best work there. He was the friend and associate of the celebrated writers of the England of his day, and was greatly admired. His writings brought in a good income, and when he came home he built for himself a handsome villa at Irvington, which he named Sunnyside. Here he spent the rest of his life until his death, Nov. 28, 1859. One of his most charming stories is "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." The legend itself is that of a headless horseman who appeared to belated travelers on the lonely road along the Tappan Zee. The story is told one evening at a revel at farmer Van Tassel's, where in the party were many suitors for the farmer's daughter, Kathryn. Among these

was Ichabod Crane, the village schoolmaster, who looked with longing eyes both at the girl and at the wealth she would inherit; but Kathryn said something to him at parting which caused him to leave with a crestfallen air and what happened afterward is told in our selection.

IT

PART ONE

T was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travel homeward, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarrytown, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson.

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid.

In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all

the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by, and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it.

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree he began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer he thought he saw something white hanging in the midst of the tree. He paused and ceased whistling, but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare.

Suddenly he heard a groan,- his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle; it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.

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