ndred and forty bushels of corn. "A noble example," says the
journal, "and necessary in this bleeding country, while their fathers
and brothers are fighting the battles of the nation."

Lossing records a similar agreement on the part of the Boston women.

* * * * *

The "New York Spectator," April 13th, 1803, forty-seven years old,
announces the arrival in New York of Mrs. Deborah Gannett, the "Deborah
Samson" whose memoir appeared in a former number of the "Lady's Book."
It says: "This extraordinary woman served three years in the army of the
United States, and was at the storming of Yorktown under General
Hamilton, serving bravely, and as a good soldier. Her sex was unknown
and unsuspected, until, falling sick, she was sent to the hospital, and
a disclosure became necessary. We understand this lady intends
publishing her memoirs, and one or more orations which she has delivered
in public upon patriotic subjects. She, last year, delivered an oration
in the Theatre at Boston, which excited great curiosity and did her much
credit."

This curious confirmation of the account given of her in the memoir
alluded to should be a sufficient answer to the ill-natured criticism of
the "_London Athenaeum_," which, reviewing "The Women of the American
Revolution," endeavors to throw discredit on the whole story, by
ridiculing it as utterly improbable and romantic, though the critic does
not bring proof to controvert a single statement, nor assign any ground
for his doubt but "we surmise."

FOOTNOTE:

[B] Josiah Quincy, Jr., ob. 26 April, 1775.

HOME; OR, THE COT AND TREE.

BY ROBERT JOHNSON.

I KNOW a cot, beneath whose eave
There is a hawthorn tree,
Where playmates young were wont to weave
Spring's earliest flowers for me:
That old familiar cot and tree,
The oaken bench and shade,
Are ever present now with me
As when we met and played.

Beneath that ancient tree and cot
We lisped our earliest prayer,
And ours was then the happiest lot,
Blest by a mother's care;
Those gentle looks and tones still live--
Though time that group has riven--
As when we said "Father forgive,"
As we would be forgiven.

Home is a spot where memory clings,
As by a spell, through life;
For there'