rge?' 'Worse than that,'
replied the neighbour; 'he was slain, but he was fighting nobly.' 'Then
I am satisfied,' said the old man; 'bring him to me.' Sam's body was
brought home. The old man wiped the blood from the wound, and while a
tear stood in his eye, said it was the happiest day of his life, to know
that he had five sons fighting for freedom and one slain for the same
cause. There was a spirit of patriotism for you."

"I can tell you of an instance quite as good," said old John Warner.
"Perhaps it is better; for in this instance, a woman displayed the like
spirit. A good lady in 1775, lived on the sea-board, about a day's march
from Boston, where the British army then was. By some unaccountable
accident, a rumour was spread, in town and country, in and about there,
that the _Regulars_ were on a full march for the place, and would
probably arrive in three hours at farthest. This was after the battle of
Lexington, and all, as might be well supposed, was in sad
confusion--some were boiling with rage and full of fight, some with
fear and confusion, some hiding their treasures, and others flying for
life. In this wild moment, when most people in some way or other, were
frightened from their propriety, our heroine, who had two sons, one
about nineteen years of age, and the other about sixteen, was seen
preparing them to discharge their duty. The eldest she was able to equip
in fine style--she took her husband's fowling-piece, 'made for duck or
plover,' (the good man being absent on a coasting voyage to Virginia)
and with it the powder-horn and shot-bag; but the lad thinking the duck
and goose shot not quite the size to kill regulars, his mother took a
chisel, cut up her pewter spoons, and hammered them into slugs, and put
them into his bag, and he set off in great earnest, but thought he would
call one moment and see the parson, who said, well done, my brave
boy--God preserve you--and on he went in the way of his duty. The
youngest was importunate for his equipments, but his mother could find
nothing to arm him with but an old rusty sword; the boy seemed rather
unwilling to risk himself with this alone, but lingered in the street,
in a state of hesitation, when his mother thus upbraided him. 'You John
Haines, what will your father say if he hears that a child of his is
afraid to meet the British: go along; beg or borrow a gun, or you will
find one, child--some coward, I dare say, will be running away, then
take his gu