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Who presented to me, on my Seventy-second Birthday, February 27, 1879, this Chair made from the Wood of the Village Blacksmith's Chestnut Tree.

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And when the winds of autumn, with I see the smithy with its fires aglow,

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LISTEN, my children, and you shall And a huge black hulk that was mag

nified

hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, By its own reflection in the tide. On the eighteenth of April, in Sev

enty-five;

Hardly a man is now alive

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley

and street,

Who remembers that famous day and Wanders and watches with eager ears,

year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march

By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church Tower as a sig

nal light,

One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm,

For the country folk to be up and to

arm."

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay

The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and

spar

Across the moon like a prison bar,

Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack

door,

The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,

And the measured tread of the grenadiers,

Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,

To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch

On the sombre rafters, that round him made

Masses and moving shapes of shade, By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,

To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down

A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the | And seeming to whisper, "All is

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