“My name is Liberty; dost thou know me?”
“I have heard my father and grandfather speak of thee, and say they came to the New World to seek thee.”
“Well, I am found at last. Listen to me.”
“Speak on.”
“Your country has just devoted herself forever to me and my glory. Your countrymen have this day pronounced themselves freemen, and they shall be what they have willed, in spite of fate or fortune. But my blessings are never thrown away on cowards; they are to be gained by toil, suffering, hunger, wounds, and death; by courage and perseverance; by virtue and patriotism. The wrath and the mighty energies of the oppressor are now directed against your people; hunger assails them; force overmatches them, and their spirits begin to fail. Take this pipe,” and she flung him the little flageolet, which he caught in his hand. “Canst thou play on it? Try.”
He put it to his lips, and to his surprise, produced the same animating strain he had heard from the nymph of the mountain.
“Now go forth among the people and their armies, and inspire them for battle. Wherever thou goest with thy pipe, and whenever thou playest that air, I will be with thee and thy countrymen. Go, fear not; those who deserve me shall always win me. Farewell—we shall meet again.” So saying, she vanished behind the tuft of laurels.
Shearjashub marched straight home with his pipe, and somehow or other felt he did not quite know how; he felt as if he could eat gunpowder, and snap his fingers at the deacon.
“What the dickens has got in the kritter?” said the deacon, when he saw him strutting along like a captain of militia.
“I declare, Jashub looks like a continental,” exclaimed the girls.