"The boy stood on the burnin' deck whence all but him had fled----The flames that lit the battle's wreck shown 'round him o'er the dead, yet beautiful and bright he stood----the boy stood on the burnin' deck----and he wuz the bravest boy that ever wuz. His father told him to keep a-stan'in' there till he told him to git off'n there, and the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there----and fast the flames rolled on----The old man went down stairs in the ship to see about sump'n, an' he got killed down there, an' the boy he didn't know it, an' he jist kept a stan'in' there----an' fast the flames rolled on. He cried aloud: "say father, say, if _yit_ my task is done," but his father wuz dead an' couldn't hear 'im, an' the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there----an' fast the flames rolled on.----They caught like flag banners in the sky, an' at last the ol' biler busted, an' the boy he went up!!!!!!!!" At the close of this great speech the fiddle fainted as dead as a herring. THE QUILTING AND THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL. The old fiddler took a fresh chew of long, green tobacco, and rosined his bow. He glided off into "Hop light ladies, your cake's all dough," and then I heard the watch dog's honest bark. I heard the guinea's merry "pot-rack." I heard a cock crow. I heard the din of happy voices in the "big house" and the sizz and songs of boiling kettles in the kitchen. It was an old time quilting--the May-day of the glorious ginger cake and cider era of the American Republic; and the needle was mightier than the sword. The pen of Jefferson announced to the world, the birth of the child of the ages; the sword of Washington defended it in its cradle, but it would have perished there had it not been for the brave women of that day who plied the needle and made the quilts that warmed it, and who nursed it and rocked it through the perils of its infancy, into the strength of a giant. The quilt was attached to a quadrangular frame suspended from the ceiling; and the good women sat around it and quilted the live-long day, and were courted by the swains between stitches. At sunset the quilt was always finished; a cat was thrown into the center of it, and the happy maiden nearest to whom the escaping "kitty-puss" passed was sure to be the first to marry.