"Turn off the forced draught!" he cried.

"Goodness, Huntley, what are you going to do?" "Bank the fire! Quick!"

"It's certain death!"

"For one-unless, for all! Turn off the draught! Bank the fire!"

The orders were carried out feverishly.

"Now a plank!"

And before they could stop him this hero had flung the plank into the furnace, right on top of the black coal with which it was banked, and had himself climbed and crawled over the ragged mass, far back to where the steam was rushing like some hissing devil from the loosened socket.

For three minutes he remained inside that fearful place, and then the work was done-the ship was saved-and his friends drew him out at the door. The forced draught went to its work again, and in an instant the furnace was once more raging.

But what of Huntley? Scorched, scalded, insensible, wellnigh dead, he lay upon the iron floor of the furnace room, while around him stood his mates dousing him with water, and using every known means for his resuscitation. He did not die, but when once more he opened his eyes, and was able to be carefully lifted into daylight, there arose such cheers from the throats of those dirty, grimy mates as never greeted taking of city or sinking of fleet.

The story is briefly chronicled in the log of the Castine, and Huntley simply claims that he "did his duty." But while the United States remains a nation; so long as the banner bearing the silver stars on the field of blue above alternate stripes of red and white remains the symbol of purity, bravery, and patriotism to American hearts the whole world over; so long, when her heroes are spoken of, one name should never be omitted that of Boiler-maker Huntley, of Norfolk, Virginia. -From the Toledo Blade

AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL1

(Our part in the Great World War has drawn the eyes and hearts of all peoples to America as a land that craves justice and liberty for all nations, great and small. To help these other peoples realize their aspirations, we must first realize our own. Our hearts must hunger and thirst after righteousness before they can be filled. In expressing our renewed national longing for justice, liberty, kindness, and progress, this beautiful song by Katharine Lee Bates, of Wellesley College, is unrivaled. It is a great song worthy of a great people-a song that will help us become what we long to be.

It is interesting to know that Miss Bates wrote this song at Colorado Springs in 1893. She had come from her home on the Atlantic coast on a trip to the wonderful buildings of the World's Fair at Chicago, then across the prairies and plains, and finally to the top of Pike's Peak. Of her experience on the mountain Miss Bates says: "It was then and there, as I was looking out over the sea-like expanse of fertile country spreading away so far under ample skies, that the opening lines of the hymn floated into my mind.")

Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life!

America!

America!

May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness

And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!

God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

-Katharine Lee Bates

Copyrighted by Katharine Lee Bates, and used by her permission.

ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC

(The author of this poem, Ethel Lynn Beers, did considerable writing, but her claim to fame rests on this simple poem. One morning during the Civil War, she read the following headlines in one of the daily papers: "All Quiet Along the Potomac-A Picket ShotNothing of Importance from the Front." The worth of the picket's life to himself and his loved ones filled the poet's mind and heart, and this poem was the result.)

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“AL

LL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
"Tis nothing-a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch fire, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh of the gentle night wind

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed-
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for his children asleep,
For their mother; may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips-when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
The footstep is lagging and weary,

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle ... “Ha! Mary, good-by!"
The red life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night;
No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead-
The picket's off duty forever!

-Ethel Lynn Beers

BEFORE SEDAN*

(Here we have a poem that found its inspiration in a war correspondent's story of a battle of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. The correspondent wrote of seeing a dead soldier who clasped a letter in his hand.