{"newspaper_name": "The Southern journal.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 3012, "word_count": 539, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9864000082015991], "ccnet_perplexity": [1673.800048828125], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
wife yonder in Englahd--spare mer'
\ The blacksmith, crazed as he is,
trembles--there is tear in his eye.


II would spare you, but there is a
form before me--the form Of my dead
wife! That form has gone before me
all day! She calls on me TO strike!"


And the hammer fell, and then rang
out that strange war-cry-"MARYw
i At LAST, when the battle was over,
ne was found by wagner, who had
at least shouldered cartwhip in his
country's service-he was found sit.
ting by the roadside, his head sunken,
his leg broken--tbe life blood yelling
from his many wounds.


The wagner would have carried
him from the field, but the stout black.
smith refused.


"You see, neighbor," he said, with
that voice husky with death, "l never
meddled with the British till they
burned my home, till they''-he
could not speak the outrage, but his
wife, his child, were there before his
dying eyes-"And now I've but FIVE
minutes life in me. I'd like to give
a shot a! the British afore die. Dye
see that cherry tree? Dye think you
could drag man ofmy build up thar?
Place me thar; give me a powder.
horn, three rifle balls an good rifle F;
that's all ask"


/ The WAGNER granted bis request;
he lifted him to the foot OF the cherry
tree; he placed the rifle, the balls, the
powder,horn in his grasp.


I Then whipping his horses through
the narrow pass, from the summit of a
neighboring height, be looked down
upon the last scene Of the blacksmith's
life.


! There lay the stout man at the foot
of the cherry tree, his head sunk, his
broken leg hanging over the roadside
bank. The blood was streaming from
his wounds--he was dying.


Suddenly he raised his head--a
sound struck on his ears. A party OF
British came rushing along the narrow
road, mad with carnage and thirsting
for blood. They pursued scattered
band Of Continentals. An officer led
the way, waving them on, with his
sword.


The blacksmith loaded his rifle {;
with that eye bright with death he
took the aim. "That's for Washing,
ton" he shouted as he fired. The
officer lay quivering in the roadside
dust. On and on came the British,
nearer and nearer to the cherry tree
the Continentals swept through the
pass. Again the blacksmith loaded
again he fired. "That's for mad
Antony Wayne" he shouted, as an.
other officer bit the sod.


The British now came rushing to
the cherry tree, determined to cut
down the wounded man, who with his
face towards them, bleeding as he was,
dealt death among their ranks. A
fair'visaged officer, with golden hair
waving on the wind, led them on.


The blacksmith raised bis rifle; with
that hand stiffening in death he took
the aim-he fred--the young Briton
fell with sudden shrek.


Sand that" cried the blacksmith,
in voice that strengthened into
shout, sand that's for"-
His voice was gone! The shrek
died on his white lips.


His head sunk--his rifle fell. sd
A single word bubbled up with his
death groan. Even now methinks |
hear that word, ec&oing and trembling
there among the rocks Of Brandywine.
That word was-MARY! 8asi
