“Oh! mama, do tell me now, as I am anxious to hear it. I am sure it is a warning to me,” said Nettie, tapping the velvety cheek of her mother. “Well, Nettie, many years ago in England there once stood a neat cottage surrounded by a group of beautiful trees, and just within hearing of the big bell in London. What a happy little home it was before the revolution broke out in this country. England was all confusion, especially among the second and lower classes of people. The inmates of that little cottage numbered four—father, mother, a lovely girl of eighteen summers, and a lad of sixteen, as honest a boy as ever lived and a kinder heart never beat today. Well, the father had to help to fill the ranks of England’s army and came over here to fight for King George. How noble and manly he looked in his red coat as he mounted his coal black steed. He made a fearless and brave soldier, as many of his comrades testified on their return home. But he who kissed his wife and children an affectionate farewell never returned to receive their welcome embrace of joy as did many of his fellow soldiers. As the news spread quickly over the old domain that the battle of Bunker Hill had been fought many tears fell for the fallen soldiers who fell in that sad fray. “Sad was the news indeed, to hear that the father of this happy household was no more, during the intervening term of his going away and time of his death. The daughter of this family was the fairest in England at that time. Her fame for beauty rang far and near. One day in summer when the commons were robed in green, besprinkled with buttercups and daisies, this young lady for a little pleasure rambled over the green, picking the flowers and thinking of her father who then was far away in the battle fighting for his king, when close to her she espied a large stray sheep of the masculine gender. He had probably broken out from its owner’s enclosure and was wandering over the commons. As soon as he espied the lady he came toward her with his head bent to the ground, and the lady gave a scream and was running toward the hedge fence of thorns; and just as the sheep was about to strike her a young man rode rapidly between them, striking the sheep with a heavy loaded whip, which felled him to the ground as though dead. The gentleman sprang lightly from his horse and picked up the inanimate form of the lady, as if she was an infant, and bore her to a cottage near by, and by the aid of spirits she soon returned to consciousness. She had swooned with fright and had fallen, hitting her head lightly on a rock, cutting a cruel wound which bled profusely. The young man saw the blood and he only had thought for the fair young form as he quickly bore it to a friendly shelter, letting his horse roam at will. The lady was too weak to walk, so the gentleman went home and took his father’s carriage and took her home; as he called every day for several days to see how his