Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-08-15
OUR JUTENILKS.
Gsamdpa's Earn.

oh, Jolly old place Is grandpa's barn,
Where the doors stand open throughout the day,
And the cooling doves fly in and out,
And the air Is sweet with the fragrant hay.
Where the grain lies over the slippery floor,
And the hens are busiy looking around,
And the sunbeams flicker, now here, now there,
And the breezes blow through with q merry sound.
The swallows twitter and chirp all day,
With auttering wings, in the old brown caves
And the robins sing In thetrees which lean
To brush the roof with their rusting leaves.
Oh for the glad vacation time,
When grandpa's barn will echo the shout
the merry children, who romp and play
In the newborn freedom Of "school let out"
Such soaring of doves from their cozy nests,
Such hunting for eggs In the lofts 30 high,
Till the frightened hens, with Q cackle shrin,
From their hidden treasures are fam to Ay.
Oh, the dear old barn, so cool, 30 widel
Ite doors VIII open again ere long
To the summer sunshine, the new-mown hay,
And the merry ring Of vacation song.
For grandpa's barn La the joIliest place
For frolic and fun on summer day;
And cen old Time, as the years pass by.
Its memory never can steal away.
-HagpeS's Toatng Folks.
The Ds'Mnamser-BOy.
One cold December morning about
eighty years ago, a party Of tourists
were crossing the Alps-and a pretty
large party, too, for there were several
thousands of them together. Some
were riding, some walking, and most Of
them had knapsacks on their shoulders,
like many Alpine tourists nowadays.
But instead Of walking-sticks they car
ried muskets and bayonets, and dragged
along with them some fifty or sixty can
non.
In fact, these tourists were nothing
less than a French army; and very
hard time Of it they seemed to be hay-
ing. Trying work, certainly, even for
the strongest man, to wade for miles
through knee-deep snow in this bitter
frost and biting wind, along these mar
row, slippery mountain paths, with
precipices hundreds Of feet deep all
| round. The soldiers looked thin and
heavy-eyed for want Of food and sleep,
and the poor horses that were dragging
the heavy guns stumbled at every step.
But there was one among them who
seemed quite to enjoy the rough march
ing, and hamped along through the
| deep snow and cold, gray mist, through
which the great mountain peaks over
| head doomed Like shadowy giants, as
merrily as if we were going to picnic.
This was little drummer-boy Of 10
years old, whose fresh, rosy face looked
very bright and pretty among the grim,
SCARED visages of the old soldiers.
When the cutting wind whirled shower
| Of snow In his face he dashed it away
with CHEEKY laugh, and awoke all the
echoes with the lively rattle Of his drum,
till it seemed as if the huge black rocks
around were all singing in chorus.
"Bravo, Petit Tambourl Qittle
drumnder) cried tall man in a shabby
gray cloak, who was marching at the
head of the line with a long pole in his
hand, and striking it into the snow
every now and then to see how deep it
was, "Bravo, Pierre, my boyl With
such music as that one could march all
the way to Moscow"
The boy smiled, and raised his hand
to his cap in salute, for this rough-look-
ing man was no other than the General
himself, Fighting Macdonald" one of
the bravest soldiers in France, of whom
his men used to say that one sight of
his face in battle was worth whole
regiment.
"Long live our General r. shouted a
hoarse voice; and the cheer, flying from
mouth to mouth, rolled along the silent
mountains like peal Of distant thunder.
But its echo had hardly died away
when the silence was again broken by
another sound Of very different kind
strange, uncanny sort OF whispering
far away up the great white mountain
side. Moment by moment it grew louder
and harsher, till at length it swelled into
a deep, hoarse roar.
Con your faces, ladsr' roared the
General 'eit's an avalanche I"
But, before his men had time to obey,
the ruin was upon them. Down thun-
dered the great mass Of snow, sweeping
the narrow ledge-path like waterfall,
and crashing down along with it came
heaps of stone and gravel and loose
earth, and uprooted bushes and great
blocks of cold blue ice. For a moment
all was dark as night; and, when the
rush had past, many of the brave fellows
who had been standing ON the path were
nowhere to be seen. They had been
carried down over the precipice, and
either killed or buried alive in the snow.
But the first thought of their comrades
was not for them. When it was seen
what had happened, one cry arose from
every mouth:
~ TN ..