Boon's Lick times. [volume] (Fayette, Mo.) 1840-1848, 1846-12-12
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

A ALL vi III OLO 1OlN.
I'll use the advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the summers dust with sho wers of blood
Rain'd from the wounds Of slaughtered English
men. Shakespeare.
Near Dilworth corner, at the time of
the Revolution, there stood quiet cottage
somewhat retired from the road, under the
shade of stout chestnut tree. 1t was
quiet cottage, nesting away here in one
corner of the forest road, dear home in
the wilderness, with sloFing roof, walls of
dark gray stone, and a easement hidden
among vine and flowers.
On one side, amid an interval of the for.
est trees, was seen the rough outline of a
blacksmith's shop. There was small gar.
den in front, with brown gravelled walk,
and beds of wild flowers.
Here, at the time of the Revolution,
there dwelt a stout blacksmith, his young
wife and babe. What cares that black.
smith, working away there in that shadowy
nook Of the forest for war? What cared he
for the peril Of the times, SO long as his
strong arm, ringing that hammer on the
anvil, might gain bread for his wife and
child!
All, he cared little for war, he took little
note of the panic that shook the valley
when some few mornings before the battle
of Brandywine, while shoeing the horse of
a tory refugee, he overheard plot for the
surprise and capture of Washington. The
American leader was to be lured into the
foils of the tories: his person once in the
British camp, the English General might
send the "traitor Washington" to be tried
in London.
Now our blacksmith, working away
there, in that dim nook of he forest, with
out caring for battle or war, had still a
sneaking kindness for this mister" Wash.
ington, whose name rang ON the lips of all
men. So one night. bidding his young
wife hasly good bye. and kissing the babe
that reposed on her bosom, smiling as it
slept, he hurried away TO the American
camp and told his story 10 Washington.
1t was morning ere he returned, it was
in the d,mness of the aniunnal morning
that the blacksmith was plodding his way
along The forest road. Some few PAGES
ahead there was an aged oak. standing ou,
in the road--a grim old veteran of the
forest, that had stood the shock Of three
hundred years. Right beyond the oak was
the blacksmi,h's home.
With this thought warming his heart, he
hurried on. Thinking of the calm young
face and mild blue eyes Of that wife, who
the night before had stood in the cottage
door, waving him on, eff sight with beck
oned good bye-thinking of the baby a.
he lay smiling as he slept on her bosom
he hurried on--he turned the bend of TIT
road, he looked upon his home.
All, what sight was there!
Where. the night before, he had left
peaceable cottage, smiling under greer
chestnut tree, in the light of the settin,
sun, now was only burnt and BLASTED
tree!
This was his homel
And there stood the blacksmith, gain
upon the wreck of his hearthstone-
he stood with folded arms and mood
brow; but in moment a smile broke owe
his face.
He saw il all. In the night his home ha
taken fire, and been burned TO cinders. b,
his wife and his child had escaped. Fo
that he thanked God.
With the toll Of his stout arm. plyin
there ON the anvil, he would build fairt
home for his wife and child; fresh flowe
should bloom over the walks, and moi
lovely vines trail along the easement.
With this resolve kindling over his fac