Although it can not be said that Cadmus, in the course of the desired explanation which followed, succeeded in convincing Mr. and Mrs. Petry that his walking through the tunnel had been a very necessary part of his important errand, two things may be truthfully stated: first, that after reading Dr. Flaxman's letter, Mr. Petry at once decided not to buy "that farm"; and second, that Cadmus did not "have to be whipped," but went home with his parents on the afternoon train, quite subdued in spite of a brand-new straw hat. As they shot through the tunnel, his mother said, in a low voice, "What a mercy you weren't killed, Cadmus, you thoughtless fellow!"
That was about as true a thing as any one ever said about the affair.
[INDEPENDENCE-DAY.]
Through the dusty street
And the broiling heat,
To the sound of the stirring drum,
With a martial grace
And measured pace,
See the proud young patriots come!
Why march they so,
With martial show,
These sons of patriot sires?
What glorious thought,
From the dim past caught,
Their brave young hearts inspires?
Sure the souls of boys
Love din and noise,
And they love to march along
To the ringing cheers
That greet their ears
From the loud-applauding throng.
But a grander thought
In their breasts hath wrought
Than the love of vain applause,
For strong and deep
Is the mighty sweep
Of their love for Freedom's cause.
They have heard the tale
Of the hero Hale,
They have read of Washington,
And they know full well
How Warren fell
Ere the fight was scarce begun.
And the long grand scroll
Of the muster-roll
Of Freedom's patriot band,
With hearts aflame
At each noble name,
Their eager eyes have scanned.
And now, as they hear
Loud cheer on cheer
Roll out like a mighty wave,
They think of the bold
Brave men of old,
And the land they died to save.
March on, brave boys,
With your din and noise,
Through the hot and dusty way,
And strong and sweet
May your hearts e'er beat
For glad Independence-day!
[BURNING THE "TORO."]
BY HELEN S. CONANT.
At sunrise on the Fourth of July the national flag is hoisted on all public buildings in the city of Mexico. Its pretty green, white, and red stripes wave as gayly in the sunshine as the star-spangled banner waves in the breeze sweeping over our own dear country, and the eagle in the white central stripe fiercely clutches the snake in its beak and claws as if it rejoiced in putting to death even a symbol of treachery.
Now the Fourth of July is not a holiday in Mexico, and if you were there you would wonder why so many flags were flying. Stop the first boy you meet in the street, no matter if he is a poor little Indian, and he will tell you it is because it is the Independence-day of the great sister republic, the United States of North America.