at their feet, grabbing fsrs his life
But lock again!-Hc dashes his foes
{"newspaper_name": "The Southern journal.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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springs through the gate; an instant,
and it is locked; the Bsiish soldiers,
mad with rage, gaze u P5s the high.
wall Of logs and stone, and vent their
anger in drunken curses.


Now look to yonder window -
Where the young girl stood moment
ago, quivering with suspense, as she
beheld her father struggling etors bis
life, now stands the old man himself
his brow barred, his arm gra.pingtbe
rifle. while his gray hairs wave back
from his wrinkled and blood-dabbled
lace! That was fine picture of an
old veteran nerved for his last fight;
stout warrior preparing for his death
struggle! !
Death struggle? Yes!-for the old
man, Isaac Wampole, had dealt too
many hard blows among the British
soldiers, tricked, foiled, and cheated
them too often TO escape now! A
few moments longer, and they would
be reinforced by strongh party Of re.
fngees; the powder the arms, in the
old block-house. perhaps that daught"
er herself was to be their reward
There was scarcely a hope for the
old man, and yet he had determined
to make desperate fight.


"We must bluff offthese rascals!"
he said with grim smile, turning to
his child. "Now Bess, my girl, when
fire this rifle, do you hand me ano>
ther, and so on. until the whole eight
shots are fired! That will keep them
on the other side Of the wall, for a
few moments at least, and then we
will have to trust 10 God for the restr'
Look down there, and see hand
stealing over the edge of the wall!
The old man levels his piece--that
british trooper falls back with crush.
ed hand upon his comrades heads.


No longer quivering with suspense,
but grown suddenly firm, that young
girl passes loaded rifle to the veter.
ans grasp, and silently awaits the re.
suit.


For moment all is still below;
the British bravoes are some " hat 10th
to try that wall, when stout old Re
bell rifle in hand is looking from yon~
der window! Here is pause-low,
deep murmurs they are holding
counci


A moment is gone, and nine heads
are thrust above the wall at once
bark! One-two-three! The old
veteran has fired three shots, there
are three dying men, grovelling in the
yard, beneath the wall!


"Quick, Bess, the rifesw


And the brave girl passed the rifles
to her fathers grasp; there are four
shots, one after the other: three more
soldiers fell back, like weights Of lead
upon the ground, and "a single red
coat is seen, slowly mounting to the
top of the wall, his eye fixed upon the
hall door, which he will force ere a
moment is gone!


Now the last ball is fired, the old
man stands there, in the second story
window, his hands vainly grasping for
another loaded rifle! At this moment
The wounded and dying baud below,
are Joined by party Of some twenty
refugees, who, clad in their half rob-
Der uniform came rushing from the
woods, and, with one bound, are leap
ing for the summit of the wall!
Quick, Bess, my rlfer'


And look there--even while the
veteran stood looking out upon his
foes, the brave girl--for slender in
form, and wildly beautiful in face, she
is brave girl, Hero Woman-had
managed, as if by instructive impulse,
to load a rife, she handed it to her
father, and then loaded another and
another! Wasn't that beautiful
sightf A fair young girl, grasping
powder and ball, with the ramrod, RI
sing and falling in her slender fingers!


Now look down TO the wall again!