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PARLOR AND PLATFORM 
 
 RECITALS, 
 
 HUMOROUS READINGS 
 
 AND 
 
 COMIC SONGS. 
 
 BY / 
 
 \ 
 
 THOMAS F. CASEY. 
 
 
 
 zero X 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
 
 Nos. 29 and 31 BEEKMAN STREET. 
 
^ 
 
 
 c 
 
 -b 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1892, 
 
 BY 
 
 EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE. 
 

 / 
 
 ?/ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bachelor's Dream, The Thos. Hood ioi 
 
 Before and after Taking 159 
 
 Boy's Essay on Girls, A 29 
 
 Border Funeral, A 133 
 
 Brother Bill Geo. Thatcher 52 
 
 Brother Gardner on Liars Detroit Free Press 67 
 
 Cane- Bottomed Chair Thacke?ay 47 
 
 Countryman at the Show, The 106 
 
 Clown's Baby, The Margaret Vande grift 136 
 
 Cow, The. A Boy's Composition J. P. Durfee, Jr. 19 
 
 De Cake Walk Wade Whipple 27 
 
 Death -Bed of Benedict Arnold Geo, Lippard 146 
 
 Drummer's Bride, The 163 
 
 Engineers Making Love P. J. Burdette 30 
 
 Erin's Flag Father Ryan 50 
 
 Essay r-n the Elephant 49 
 
 Fare upon the Floor, The D'Arcy 171 
 
 er Prout's Sermon T. S. Mackenzie 156 
 
 i. an's Story, The 70 
 
 's Wife, The Swiz 116 
 
 Seat, A 124 
 
 'Yeckled-Faced Girl, The Boston Globe 61 
 
 Frenchman's Version of Young Norval P. H. Bowne 36 
 
 Froward Duster, The P. J. Burdette 54 
 
 Grannie's Picture Mrs. M. E. Sniffen 74 
 
 He Understood It , Arkansaw Traveller 118 
 
 Horse or Husband 153 
 
 How We Fought the Fire Will Carleton 166 
 
 In Der Shweed Long Ago Oofty Gooft 122 
 
 Intensely Utter Rockla?id Courier 1 1 
 
 Inventor's Wife, The E. T. Corbett 65 
 
 Irrepressible Yankee, The 1 69 
 
 Jim's Kids Eugene Field 144. 
 
 Little Meg and I C. T. Murphy 22 
 
 Lost Grave. The Walter Pel ham 39 
 
 Marriage Tour, A S. J. Pardessus 32 
 
 Mary's Lamb 164 
 
 Military Discipline Tom Ballantyne 190 
 
 Miner's Protegee, The 123 
 
 Modern Sermon, A 141 
 
 Music Grinders, The Oliver Wendell Holmes 104 
 
 (,Y 
 
 , 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ninety-eight Dr. Campion 77 
 
 No. 5 Collect St S. J. Pardessus 92 
 
 Not Opposed to Matrimony 10S 
 
 Old Actor's Story, The George P. Sn?is 7 
 
 Old Sergeant, The Forceythe Willson 1 1 2 
 
 On the Other Train 88 
 
 Oratory and the Press Daniel Dougherty 128 
 
 Original Love Story, An 91 
 
 Our First Cigars P. H. Bowne 24 
 
 Paddy's Lament 28 
 
 Parson Snow's Broad Hint Parmenas Mix 26 
 
 Philip Barton, Engineer 126 
 
 Photograph Album, The Ella Bevier 37 
 
 Railway Matinee, A R. J. Burdette 43 
 
 Religious Card Player „ 16 
 
 Robert Emmet — L. G.Goulding no 
 
 Romance of a Hammock 58 
 
 Shoemaker's Daughter, The Thomas Dunn English 72 
 
 Smiting the Rock By M. 151 
 
 Solomonism R.J. Burdeile 14 
 
 S'posin' 99 
 
 Stage Driver's Story, The Bernard Bigs by 130 
 
 Supper of St. Gregory, The 59 
 
 Tale of the Tenth Hussars F. C. Burnand 63 
 
 Test, A Drake' 4 's Magazine 161 
 
 That Queen 158 
 
 Trying to Lick the Teacher Eugene T. Hall 135 
 
 Unknown Dead L.D.M. 165 
 
 Widder, The Hawley Chapman 81 
 
 Widow's Son, The 149 
 
 Woman at Poker Si. Slokum 20 
 
 Comic Songs. 
 
 Across the Bridge He Goes 188 
 
 " Drill, ye Tarriers, Drill !" Tho?nas F. Casey 1 75 
 
 "Hogan Paid His Rent" J. W. Kelly 174 
 
 I Went with Him 184 
 
 Murphy Owes Me Rent Geo. C. Marshall 179 
 
 Near It 186 
 
 Paddy Flynn Ed. Barry 180 
 
 Then You Wink the Other Eye Marie Loftus 181 
 
 They're after Me ■ 183 
 
 >Twas Dooley Raised the Fight Thomas F. Casey 177 : 
 
POPULAR 
 
 RECITATION^ AID READING?. 
 
 THE OLD ACTORS STORY. 
 
 GEO. R. SIMS. 
 
 Mine is a wild, strange story, — the strangest you ever heard; 
 There are many who won't believe it, but it's gospel, every word ; 
 It's the biggest drama of any in a long, adventurous life ; 
 The scene was a ship, and the actors — were myself and my new- 
 wed wife. 
 
 You mustn't mind if I ramble, and lose the thread now and then ; 
 I'm old, you know, and I wander — it's a way with old women and 
 
 men, 
 For their lives lie all behind them, and their thoughts go far away, 
 And are tempted afield, like children lost on a summer day. 
 
 The years must be five-and-twenty that have passed since that 
 
 awful night, 
 But I see it again this evening, I can never shut out the sight. 
 We were only a few weeks married, I and the wife, you know, 
 When we had an offer for Melbourne, and made up our minds to 
 
 go- 
 
 We'd acted together in England, travelling up and down 
 With a strolling band of players, going from town to town ; 
 We played the lovers together — we were leading lady and gent — 
 And at last we played in earnest, and straight to the church we 
 went. 
 
3 THE OLD ACTOR'S STORY. 
 
 The parson gave us his blessing, and I gave Nellie the ring, 
 
 And swore that I'd love and cherish, and endow her with every- 
 thing. 
 
 How we smiled at that part of the service when I said M I thee 
 endow!" 
 
 But as to the " love and cherish," I meant to keep that vow. 
 
 We were only a couple of strollers ; we had coin when the show 
 
 was good, 
 When it wasn't we went without it, and we did the best we could. 
 We were happy, and loved each other, and laughed at the shifts 
 
 we made, — 
 Where love makes plenty of sunshine, there poverty casts no 
 
 shade. 
 
 Well, at last we got to London, and did pretty well for a bit ; 
 Then the business dropped to nothing, and the manager took a 
 
 flit,— 
 Stepped off one Sunday morning, forgetting the treasury call ; 
 But our luck was in, and we managed right on our feet to fall. 
 
 We got an offer for Melbourne, — got it that very week. 
 Those were the days when thousands went over to fortune seek, 
 The days of the great gold fever, and a manager thought the spot 
 Good for a " spec," and took us as actors among his lot 
 
 We hadn't a friend in England — we'd only ourselves to please — 
 And we jumped at the chance of trying our fortune across the 
 
 seas. 
 We went on a sailing vessel, and the journey was long and rough 
 We hadn't been out a fortnight before we had had enough. 
 
 But use is a second nature, and we'd got not to mind a storm, 
 When misery came upon us, — came in a hideous form. 
 My poor little wife fell ailing, grew worse, and at last so bad 
 That the doctor said she was dying, — I thought 'twould have sent 
 me mad, — 
 
 Dying where leagues of billows seemed to shriek for their prey, 
 And the nearest land was hundreds — ay, thousands — of miles 
 away. 
 
THE OLD ACTOR 5 STORY. 9 
 
 She raved one night in a fever, and the next lay still as death, 
 So still I'd to bend and listen for the faintest sign of breath. 
 
 She seemed in a sleep, and sleeping, with a smile on her thin, wan 
 
 face, 
 She passed away one morning, while I prayed to the throne of 
 
 grace. 
 I knelt in the little cabin, and prayer after prayer I said, 
 Till the surgeon came and told me it was useless — my wife was 
 
 dead! 
 
 Dead ! I wouldn't believe it. They forced me away that night, 
 For I raved in my wild despairing, the shock sent me mad out- 
 right. 
 I was shut in the farthest cabin, and I beat my head on the side, 
 And all day long in my madness, " They've murdered her ! " I 
 cried. 
 
 They locked me away from my fellows, — put me in cruel chains, 
 It seems I had seized a weapon to beat out the surgeon's brains. 
 I cried in my wild, mad fuiy, that he w T as a devil sent 
 To gloat o'er the frenzied anguish with which my heart was rent. 
 
 I spent that night with the irons heavy upon my wrists, 
 
 And my wife lay dead quite near me. I beat with my fettered fists, 
 
 Beat at my prison panels, and then — O God ! — and then 
 
 I heard the shrieks of women and the tramp of hurrying men. 
 
 I heard the cry, " Ship a-fire ! " caught up by a hundred throats, 
 And over the roar the captain shouting to lower the boats; 
 Then cry upon cry, and curses, and the crackle of burning wood, 
 And the place grew hot as a furnace, I could feel it where I stood- 
 
 I beat at the door and shouted, but never a sound came back, 
 And the timbers above me started, till right through a yawning 
 
 crack 
 I could see the flames shoot upward, seizing on mast and sail, 
 Fanned in their burning fury by the breath of the howling gale. 
 
 I dashed at the door in fur)-, shrieking, " I will not die ! 
 
 Die in this burning prison ! " — but I caught no answering cry. 
 
IO THE OLD ACTORS STORY. 
 
 Then, suddenly, right upon me, the flames crept up with a roar, 
 And their fiery tongues shot forward, cracking my prison door. 
 
 I was free — with the heavy iron door dragging me down to death ; 
 I fought my way to the cabin, choked with the burning breath 
 Of the flames that danced around me like man-mocking fiends at 
 
 play, 
 And then — O God ! I can see it, and shall to my dying day. 
 
 There lay my Nell as they'd left her, dead in her berth that 
 
 night ; 
 The flames flung a smile on her features, — a horrible, lurid light. 
 God knows how I reached and touched her, but found myself by 
 
 her side ; 
 I thought she was living a moment, I forgot that my Nell had 
 
 died. 
 
 In the shock of those awful seconds reason came back to my 
 
 brain ; 
 I heard a sound as of breathing, and then a low cry of pain ; 
 Oh, was there mercy in heaven ? Was there a God in the skies ? 
 The dead woman's lips were moving, the dead woman opened her 
 
 eyes. 
 
 I cursed like a madman raving — I cried to her, " Nell ! my Nell ! " 
 They had left us alone and helpless, alone in that burning hell ; 
 They had left us alone to perish — forgotten me living — and she 
 Had been left for the fire to bear her to heaven, instead of the 
 sea. 
 
 I clutched at her, roused her shrieking, the stupor was on her 
 
 still ; 
 I seized her in spite of my fetters, — fear gave a giant's will. 
 God knows how I did it, but blindly I fought through the flames 
 
 and the wreck 
 Up — up to the air, and brought her safe to the untouched deck. 
 
 We'd a moment of life together, — a moment of life, the time 
 For one last word to each other, — 'twas a moment supreme, sub- 
 lime. 
 
INTENSELY UTTER. II 
 
 From the trance we'd for death mistaken, the heat had brought 
 
 her to life, 
 And I was fettered and helpless, so we lay there, husband and 
 
 wife ! 
 
 It was but a moment, but ages seemed to have passed away, 
 When a shout came over the water, and I looked, and lo, there 
 
 lay, 
 Right away from the vessel, a boat that was standing by; 
 They had seen our forms on the vessel, as the flames lit up the 
 
 sky. 
 
 I shouted a prayer to Heaven, then called to my wife, and she 
 Tore with new strength at my fetters — God helped her, and I was 
 
 free; 
 Then over the burning bulwarks we leaped for one chance of life. 
 Did they save us ? Well, here I am, sir, and yonder's my dear old 
 
 wife. 
 
 We were out in the boat till daylight, when a great ship passing 
 
 by 
 Took us on board, and at Melbourne landed us by and by. 
 We've played many parts in dramas since we went on that famous 
 
 trip, 
 But ne'er such a scene together as we had on the burning ship ! 
 
 INTENSELY UTTER. 
 
 A few months ago the daughter of a Rockland man, 
 who had grown comfortably well off in the small gro- 
 cery line, was sent away to a " female college," and last 
 week she arrived home for the holiday vacation. The 
 old man was in attendance at the depot when the train 
 arrived, with the old horse in the delivery wagon to 
 convey his daughter and her trunk to the house. When 
 
12 INTENSELY UTTER. 
 
 the train had stopped, a bewitching array of dry goods 
 and a wide-brimmed hat dashed from the car, and flung 
 itself into the elderly party's arms. 
 
 "Why, you superlatively pa! I'm ever so utterly 
 glad to see you." 
 
 The old man was somewhat unnerved by the greet- 
 ing, but he recognized the sealskin cloak in his grip as 
 the identical piece of property he had paid for with the 
 bay mare, and he sort of squat it up in his arms, and 
 planted a kiss where it would do the most good, with a 
 report that sounded above the noise of the depot. In 
 a brief space of time the trunk and its attendant bag- 
 gage were loaded into the wagon, which was soon 
 bumping over the hubbies towards home. 
 
 " Pa, dear," surveying the team with a critical eye* 
 " do you consider this quite excessively beyond ? " 
 
 " Hey ? quite excessive beyond what ? Beyond 
 Warren ? I consider it somewhat about ten miles be- 
 yond Warren on the Bath way, if that's what you 
 mean." 
 
 " Oh, no, pa, you don't understand me ; J mean this 
 wagon and horse. Do you think they are soulful ? — 
 do you think they could be studied apart in the light 
 of a symphony, or even a simple poem, and appear as 
 intensely utter to one on returning home as one could 
 express ? " 
 
 The old man twisted uneasily in his seat and mut- 
 tered something about he believed it used to be used 
 for an express before he bought it to deliver pork in ; 
 but the conversation appeared to be travelling in a 
 lonesome direction, and the severe jolting over the 
 frozen ground prevented further remarks. 
 
INTENSELY UTTER. 1 3 
 
 "Oh, there is that lovely and consummate ma!" and 
 presently she was lost in the embrace of a motherly 
 woman in spectacles. 
 
 " Well, Maria/' said the old man at the supper table, 
 as he nipped a piece of butter off the lump with his own 
 knife, " an' how'd you like your school ? " 
 
 " Well there, papa, now you're shou — I mean I con- 
 sider it far too beyond. It is unquenchably ineffable. 
 The girls are so sumptuously stunning — I mean grand 
 — so exquisite — so intense ! And then the parties, the 
 balls, the rides — oh, the past weeks have been one sub- 
 lime harmony." 
 
 " I s'pose so — I s'pose," nervously assented the old 
 man as he reached for his third cup, half full — " but 
 how about your books — reading writing grammar, rule 
 o' three — how about them ? " 
 
 "Pa! don't; the rule of three! grammar! It is 
 French and music and painting and the divine art that 
 have made my school life the boss — I mean that have 
 rendered it one unbroken flow of rhythmic bliss — in- 
 comparably and exquisitely all but." 
 
 The grocery man and his wife looked helplessly at 
 each other across the table. After a lonesome pause 
 the old lady said : 
 
 " How do you like the biscuits, Maria ? " 
 
 "They are too utter for anything, and this plum pre- 
 serve is simply a poem itself." 
 
 The old man rose abruptly from the table, and went 
 out of the room, rubbing his head in a dazed and be- 
 numbed manner, and the mass convention was dis- 
 solved. That night he and his wife sat alone by the 
 stove until a late hour, and at the breakfast table the 
 
14 " SOLOMONISM. 
 
 next morning, he rapped smartly on the plate with the 
 handle of bis knife, and remarked : — 
 
 " Maria, me an' your mother have been talkin' the 
 thing over, an' we've come to the conclusion that this 
 boardin' school business is too utterly all but too much 
 nonsense. Me an' her consider that we haven't lived 
 sixty consummate years for the purpose of raisin' a 
 curiosity, an' there's goin' to be a stop put to this un- 
 quenchable foolishness. Now after you've finished 
 eatin' that poem of fried sausage an' that symphony of 
 twisted doughnut, you take an' dust up stairs in less'n 
 two seconds, an' peal off that fancy dress gown and 
 put on a caliker, an' then come down and help your 
 mother wash dishes. I want it distinctly understood 
 that there ain't goin' to be no more rhythmic foolish- 
 ness in this house, so long's your superlative pa an' 
 ma's runnin' the ranche. You hear me, Maria ? " 
 
 Maria was listening. — Rockland Courier. 
 
 "SOLOMONISM." 
 
 My son, when you hear a man growling and scolding 
 because Moody gets $200 a week for preaching Chris- 
 tianity, you will perceive that he never worries a min- 
 ute because Ingersoll gets $200 a night for preaching 
 atheism. You will observe that the man who is unutter- 
 ably shocked because Francis Murphy gets $120 a 
 week for temperance work seems to think it is all right 
 when the barkeeper takes in twice as much money in a 
 single day. The laborer is worthy of his hire, my boy, 
 and he is just as worthy of it in the pulpit as he is 
 
" SOLOMONISM." 15 
 
 upon the stump. Is the man who is honestly trying to 
 save your immortal soul worth less than the man who 
 is only trying his level best to go to Congress ? Isn't 
 Moody doing as good work as Ingersoll ? Isn't John 
 B. Gough as much the friend of humanity and society 
 as the bartender ? Do you want to get all the good in 
 the world for nothing, so that you may be able to pay 
 a high price for the bad ? Remember, my boy, the 
 good things in the world are always the cheapest. 
 Spring water costs less than corn whiskey ; a box of 
 cigars will buy two or three bibles ; a gallon of old 
 brandy costs more than a barrel of flour ; a " full hand" 
 at poker often costs a man more in twenty minutes than 
 his church subscription amounts to in three years ; a 
 state election costs more than a revival of religion; 
 you can sleep in Church every Sunday morning for 
 nothing, if you are mean enough to dead-beat your lodg- 
 ing that way, but a nap in a Pullman car costs you two 
 dollars every time ; fifty cents for the circus and a penny 
 for the little ones to put in the missionary box ; one dol- 
 lar for the theatre and a pair of old trousers, frayed at 
 the end, baggy as to the knees, and utterly bursted as to 
 the dome, for the Michigan sufferers ; the dancing lady 
 who tries to wear the skirt of her dress under her arms 
 and the waist around her knees and kicks her slipper 
 clear over the orchestra chairs every night gets $600 a 
 week, and the city missionary gets $600 a year ; the 
 horse race scoops in $2000 in a day and the church 
 fair lasts a week, works twenty-five or thirty of the best 
 women in America nearly to death, and comes out $40 
 in debt, — why, my boy, if you ever find yourself sneer- 
 ing or scoffing because once in a while you hear of a 
 
THE RELIGIOUS CARD PLAYER. 
 
 preacher getting a living or even a luxurious salary, 01 
 a temperance worker making money, go out in the 
 dark and feel ashamed of yourself, and if you don't feel 
 above kicking a mean man, kick yourself. Precious 
 little does religion and charity cost the old world, my 
 boy, and when the money it does get is flung into its 
 face, like a bone to a dog, the donor is not benefited 
 by the gift, and the receiver is not, and certainly should 
 not, be grateful. It is insulted. — Robt. J. Burdetie. 
 
 THE RELIGIOUS CARD PLAYER. 
 
 A private soldier, by the name of Richard Lee, was 
 taken before the magistrates of Glasgow for playing 
 cards during divine services. 
 
 A sergeant commanded the soldiers at the church, 
 and when the parson had read the prayers he took the 
 text. Those who had a Bible, took it out ; but this 
 soldier had neither Bible nor common prayer-book, but 
 pulling out a pack of cards, he spread them before 
 him. He first looked at one card and then another. 
 The sergeant of the company saw him and said : 
 
 " Richard, put up the cards ; this is no place for 
 them." 
 
 " Never mind that," said Richard. 
 
 When the services were over, the constable took 
 Richard a prisoner, and brought him before the mayor. 
 
 "Well," said the mayor, "what have you brought 
 the soldier here for? " 
 
THE RELIGIOUS CARD PLAYER. 1 7 
 
 " For playing cards in the church." 
 
 " Well, soldier, what have you to say for yourself ? " 
 
 " Much, sir, I hope." 
 
 "Very good; if not, I will punish you severely." 
 
 11 1 have been," said the soldier, " about six weeks 
 on the march. I have neither Bible nor common 
 prayer-book ; I have nothing but a pack of cards, and 
 I hope to satisfy your worship of the purity of my in- 
 tentions." 
 
 Then spreading the cards before the mayor he began 
 with the ace : 
 
 " When I see the ace it reminds me that there is but 
 one God. 
 
 "When I see the deuce it reminds me of Father and 
 Son. 
 
 " When I see the tray it reminds me of Father, Son 
 and Holy Ghost. 
 
 " When I see the four it reminds me of the four 
 Evangelists that preached — Matthew, Mark, Luke and 
 John. 
 
 " When I see the five it reminds me of the five wise 
 virgins that trimmed their lamps. There were ten, but 
 five were wise, and five were foolish and were shut out. 
 
 " When I see the six it reminds me that in six days 
 the Lord made heaven and earth. 
 
 " When I see the seven it reminds me that on the 
 seventh day God rested from the great work which he 
 had made, and hallowed it. 
 
 "When I see the eight it reminds me of the eight 
 righteous persons that were saved when God destroyed 
 the world, viz. : Noah and his wife, his three sons and 
 their wives. 
 
 2 
 
1 8 THE RELIGIOUS CARD PLAYER. 
 
 " When I see the nine it reminds me of the nine lep- 
 ers that were cleansed by our Saviour. There were nine 
 out of ten who never returned thanks. 
 
 " When I see the ten it reminds me of the ten com- 
 mandments which God handed down to Moses on the 
 tables of stone. 
 
 " When I see the king it reminds me of the Great 
 King of Heaven, which is God Almighty. 
 
 " When I see the queen it reminds me of the Queen 
 of Sheba, who visited Solomon, for she was as wise a 
 woman as he was a man. She brought with her fifty 
 boys and fifty girls, all dressed in boy's apparel, for 
 King Solomon to tell which were boys and which were 
 girls. The king sent for water for them to wash. The 
 girls washed to the elbows and the boys to the wrist ; 
 so King Solomon told by that." 
 
 " Well," said the mayor, " you have described every 
 card in the pack except one." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " The knave," said the mayor. 
 
 " I will give your honor a description of that, too, if 
 you will not be angry." 
 
 " I will not," said the mayor, " if you do not term me 
 to be the knave." 
 
 " The greatest knave I know of is the constable that 
 brought me here." 
 
 " I do not know," said the mayor, " if he is the 
 greatest knave, but I know he is the greatest fool." 
 
 "When I count how many spots there are in a pack 
 of cards, I find three hundred and sixty-five, as many 
 days as there are in a year. 
 
THE COW. 19 
 
 " When I count the number of cards in a pack I find 
 fifty-two — the number of weeks in a year. 
 
 " I find there are twelve picture cards in a pack, rep- 
 resenting the number of months in a year, and on 
 counting the tricks I find thirteen, the number of weeks 
 in a quarter. 
 
 14 So, you see, a pack of cards serve for a Bible, al- 
 manac, and common prayer-book." — Anon, 
 
 THE COW. 
 A boy's composition. 
 
 The cow is a horrid thing with legs. Take a view 
 of a cow behind and she has two legs. Look at her 
 before and she has two legs. Go round on the right 
 side of her and there she has two legs, and on the left 
 side are two legs more. Her legs are set round her in 
 rows, two legs in a row, and one row on each side, and 
 she has four sides. How many's that ? If her tail was 
 stiff she might help stand on that. How many would 
 that make ? Our cow has great ears, as though wings 
 were sprouting out of her, but nobody never need be 
 afraid of cows ever turning into a bird, becoz they 
 wern't intended for 'em. Cows give milk — white cows 
 and red cows and black cows will give white milk. 
 Cows eat grass, but if they eat hay and the dryest 
 things they still give milk. I wonder how such dry 
 things go to make so much juice. In time of a drought 
 a hundred cows would be as good as a rain storm, and 
 nobody need fear for a dry time if they have a hundred 
 cows. Cows chew cuds. That's what makes 'em so 
 
20 WOMAN AT POKER. 
 
 juicy. If a cow looses her cud she's a " goner." Once 
 our cow lost her cud, and she took it to heart so we 
 thought she was agoin' to die ; and Dobbin came and 
 made her another cud to chew, out of eggs and grass, 
 and after she chewed her chew she got lively, and now 
 she's about the smartest cow I know of. Cows appear 
 to have been made to raise babies. Calves are little 
 cows. There are a great many things about cows I 
 am trying to find out, and when I have found 'em I'll 
 
 c 
 
 write some more things on cows. Cows are no great 
 fighters. Roosters can fight better'n cows. Once a 
 hornet stung our cow on the nose. She didn't hook at 
 him, or hook into him — all she did was to open her 
 mouth and rear up. Cows sometimes try to hook up, 
 but their heads are so heavy they can't flourish 'em 
 around verv lively. If cheir horns were hitched on to 
 their tails they'd butt round with more jam and make 
 more headway in fights.— -Joh?i P. Durfee,Jr. 
 
 WOMAN AT POKER. 
 
 When lovely woman tackles poker 
 
 The game with her is quite the rage ; 
 Ne'er harbor fear that you'll provoke her 
 
 By stating that she has the " age." 
 To see her " pass the buck " and " ante " 
 
 Is better fun than seeing plays ; 
 And if there's " sugar " in the shanty, 
 
 Make no mistake, she'll " see your raise ! " 
 
 To see her " draw " is most delicious, 
 As one by one she eyes the cards ; 
 
 And should she " fill," with joy malicious 
 She'll " up and at 'em," like the "Guards." 
 
WOMAN AT POKER. 21 
 
 'Tis sweet the way she bets her money — 
 
 I mean the coffee-grains or beans — 
 And ten to one she " scoops the honey,'* 
 
 Though holding but a " pair of queens ! " 
 
 Ah, when she plays this "game most charming " — • 
 
 N.B. — I'm quoting from The Sim — 
 It beats the Hindoo style of farming, 
 
 Lavs over Gaul and over Hun. 
 The way she " rassles " with the " pictures " — 
 
 The kings and queens and jacks, you know — 
 And, if you're chary of your strictures, 
 
 I'm sure you will enjoy the "show." 
 
 She's daring at the game, and " killing " — 
 
 No " taffy," this, or fulsome gush ; 
 Beware, or she, despite your "filling," 
 
 Will " bluff " you on a " bobtail flush ! " 
 A " plunger," she — this is no gammon — 4 
 
 And makes things warm, if not red hot; 
 And better fun than catching salmon 
 
 It is to see her " rake a pot ! " 
 
 Now, don't pronounce this fiddle-faddle, 
 
 But rest assured, if you "go blind," 
 That she will follow with a "straddle," 
 
 Though holding but — one of a kind! 
 Now, if you fancy you can " raise her 
 
 Out of her boots," as you might say, 
 You'll find the racket won't amaze her — 
 
 Instead, that she " went in to stay," 
 
 And that she'll " see " and "go you better," 
 
 With only an absurd "jack-high" — 
 "No pent-up Utica " can fetter 
 
 The woman betting beans or rye. 
 A "bobtail flush " will set her "idting "— 
 
 Of ttimes she " keeps " and will not " draw " — - 
 But, oh, beware when, fixed for fighting, 
 
 She liberates the " dogs of war." 
 
22 LITTLE MEG AND I. 
 
 A " pair " or two, she'd call a Sultan, 
 
 With " threes," Bob Schenck she'd quick " raise out," 
 A "full " in hand, she'd " rattle " Vulcan ; 
 
 With " fours," you'd hear the lassie " shout ! " 
 But, ah 1 the time to " stand from under " 
 
 Is when she " pulls " a " royal flush ; " 
 Salt Peter ! then look out for thunder — 
 
 She'll steal your " chips " to bet, nor blush ! 
 
 Oh, ne'er at poker try to " bluff" her— 
 
 A woman — if you've any brains ; 
 You'll quickly learn that she's no " duffer " — 
 
 That is, when " chips " are coffee-grains. 
 Oh, never, then, will she " take water," 
 
 But " see " you if it takes her " pile " — 
 What I she, fair Eve's progressive daughter, 
 
 u Lay down " her " hand " ? Well, I should smile ! 
 
 Si Slokum. 
 
 LITTLE MEG AND I 
 
 You ask me, mates, to spin a yarn, before we go below: 
 Well, as the night is calm and fair, and no chance for a blow, 
 I'll give you one — a story true as ever yet was told — 
 For, mates, I wouldn't lie about the dead ; no, not for gold. 
 The story's of a maid and lad, who loved in days gone by ; 
 The maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad, messmates, was I. 
 
 A neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very hard to find ; 
 Why, she could climb a hill and make five knots agin the wind ; 
 And as for larnin', hulks and spars I I've often heard it said 
 That she could give the scholars points, and then come out 
 
 ahead. 
 The old schoolmaster used to say. and, mates, it made me cry, 
 That the smartest there was little Meg, the greatest dunce 
 
 was I. 
 
LITTLE MEG AND I. 7 \ 
 
 But what cared I for larnin' then, while she was by my side ? 
 For, though a lad, I loved her, mates, and for her would have 
 
 died ; 
 And she loved me, the little lass, and often have I smiled 
 When she said, " I'll be your little wife," 'twas the prattle of a 
 
 child. 
 For there lay a gulf between us, mates, with the waters running 
 
 high; 
 On one side stood Meg Anderson, on the other side stood I. 
 
 Meg's fortune was twelve ships at sea and houses on the land ; 
 While mine — why, mates, you might have held my fortune in 
 
 your hand. 
 Her father owned a vast domain for miles along the sliore : 
 My father owned a fishing-smack, a hut, and nothing more. 
 I knew that Meg I ne'er could win, no matter how I'd try, 
 For on a couch of down lay she, on a bed of straw lay I. 
 
 I never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of leaving me, 
 
 For we were young and never dreamed that I should go to sea, 
 
 Till one bright mornin' father said : " There's a whale ship in the 
 
 bay; 
 I want you. Bill, to make a cruise — you go aboard to-day." 
 Well, mates, in two weeks from that time I bade them all good- 
 
 by, 
 
 While on the dock stood little Meg, and on the deck stood I. 
 
 I saw her oft before we sailed, whene'er I came on shore, 
 
 And she would say : " Bill, when you're gone, I'll love you more 
 
 and more ; 
 And I'll promise to be true to you through all the coming years." 
 But while she spoke her bright blue eyes would fill with pearly 
 
 tears. 
 Then, as I whispered words of hope and kissed her eyelids dry, 
 Her last words were : " God speed you, Bill," so parted Meg 
 
 and I. 
 
 Well, mates, we cruised for four long years, till at last one sum- 
 mer's day 
 Our good ship, the Minerva, cast anchor in the bay. 
 
24 OUR FIRST CIGARS. 
 
 Oh, how my heart beat high with hope, as I saw her home once 
 
 more, 
 And on the pier stood hundreds, to welcome us ashore ; 
 But heart sank down within me as I gazed with anxious eye — 
 No little Meg stood on the dock, as on the deck stood I. 
 
 Why, mates, it nearly broke my heart when I went ashore that 
 
 day, 
 For they told me little Meg had wed, while I was far away. 
 They told me, too, they'd forced her to't — and wrecked her fair 
 
 young life — 
 Just think, messmates, a child in years to be an old man's wife. 
 But her father said it must be so, and what could she reply? 
 For she was only just sixteen — just twenty-one was I. 
 
 Well, mates, a few short years from then— perhaps it might be 
 
 four — 
 One blustering night Jack Glinn and I were rowing to the shore, 
 When right ahead we saw a sight that made us hold our breath- 
 There floating in the pale moonlight was a woman cold in death. 
 I raised her up ; oh, God ! messmates, that I had passed her by, 
 For in the bay lay little Meg, and over her stood I. 
 
 C. T. Murphy. 
 
 OUR FIRST CIGARS. 
 
 Between myself and Peter Brown 
 Exists that bond of friendly union 
 To Damon and to Pythias known, 
 A fellowship of sweet communion. 
 In boyhood's hour, when life was gay, 
 Was formed that stiong, enduring tether, 
 And knotted when one dreadful day 
 We smoked our first cigars together. 
 
 We were but tender striplings then, 
 With beardless lips and hopes unbl ignited ; 
 But, ah! we felt like stalwart men 
 When those Havana? we ignited. 
 
OUR FIRST CIGARS. 2$ 
 
 With buoyant steps, as when the deer 
 Bounds lightly o'er his native heather, 
 We went forth, full of hope and cheer, 
 To smoke our first cigars together. 
 
 We went forth, full of joy and pride . 
 We came back, full of woe, to languish 3 
 Down in the cellar, side by side, 
 To sit, and soothe each other's anguish. 
 And all the pangs of after years 
 Produce not the obliteration 
 From memory of that hour of tears, 
 And nausea, and humiliation. 
 
 Yet we have faced the world since then, 
 And toiled and suffered, being human ; 
 Have proved the treachery of men 
 (And Brown has lost his faith in woman) ; 
 Have mourned for cherished hopes laid low, 
 For loss of friends, and Fortune's crosses ; 
 Have found life's ledger failed to show 
 Off-setting gains for all our losses*. 
 
 Our prime of youth has passed away ; 
 'Tis twenty years since I was wedded ; 
 My beard, alas ! is turning gray, 
 And poor old Brown is quite bald-headed ; 
 Yet Time that memory ne'er destroys, 
 And still it is our fixed persuasion 
 There never were two sicker boys 
 Than we were, on that sad occasion. 
 
 Therefore it is that Peter Brown 
 
 To me seems closer than a brother ; 
 
 Those mutual pangs in boyhood known 
 
 Have bound us firmly to each other. 
 
 Old comrade, may our pathways lie 
 
 Still side by side, whate'er the weather ; 
 
 Long may it be ere thou and I 
 
 Shall smoke our last cigars together. — P. H. Bcnvne, 
 
26 PARSON SNOW'S BROAD HINT. 
 
 PARSON SNOW'S BROAD HINT. 
 
 The sermon was affecting, and so many hearers wept 
 That no dust would have arisen had the floor just then been swept ; 
 In fact, a score of brothers were impressed to that extent 
 That they didn't see the " sasser " when it on its mission went. 
 
 When the preacher had concluded, he looked 'round upon the 
 
 crowd, 
 And he said, " I'll make a few remarks if I may be allowed. 
 I'm not used to mincin' matters, and what I'm about to say 
 Will be addressed to you, my friends, in my accustomed way. 
 
 " This is my fust sarmon 'mongst you, and it pleases me to see 
 That the fountains ob your feelings am broke up so easily ; 
 But dar's one thing I has noticed that hab filled me wid unrest, 
 And left the knife ob discontent a stickin' in my breast. 
 
 " I understands de salaries ob preachers down dis way 
 Come frum de contribution box. Now, what I've seen to-day 
 Hab sowed some seeds ob doubt and fear within my aged breast 
 Dat hab done commenced a-growin' in a way dat I can't rest. 
 
 "Although old age hab somewhat dimmed de keenness ob my 
 
 sight, 
 It hain't had no effect as yet upon my appetite ; 
 And anything dat threatens to decrease my bread and meat 
 Just takes me by the tender ha'r and lif's me off my feet. 
 
 " Let your sympathetic tears, my frens, in de future freely flow — 
 Don't run in onions on me — don't use de old man so. 
 Wid all de brudders weepin', an' de sisters wid red eyes, 
 I feel like I could see sabed souls a-mountin' to de skies. 
 
 " But de best tings in dis worl', my friends, can all be overdone, 
 And dis weepin' ober sarmons we must all admit is one ; 
 Use your hankerchuffs wid judgment, and no mattah who you are, 
 Keep a dry eye on the sasser 1 Let us now unite in pra'r." 
 
 Parmenas Mix. 
 
DE CAKE WALK. 27 
 
 DE CAKE WALK. 
 
 De Zion chu'ch o' Wiggleton dey had a Winter fa'r, 
 Sich allers frows de puffume ob a cake walk in de a'r. 
 An' de ladies tuk ter trainin' in a un'erstan'in' way, 
 To captivate de mo'sel dey inten'ed fo' deir prey. 
 
 When de fa'r wuz ripe fo' pickin' an' de multichude on han\ 
 Deacon Rangertang perceded fo' ter take de jedge's stan', 
 An' de sex'on struggle' innard, fo' de 'casion war begun, 
 Wid a cookie so colloshus dat yo' t'ink it weigh' a ton. 
 
 " De skirmishers 'ill gadder ! " said de deacon ; " an' de prize 
 Dat dey'm 'vited to peramble fo' am dar ter feas' de eyes. 
 As de can'idates onlim'ers, let de sex'on call de roll, 
 An' de fust'll open up de jints an' agetate de sole." 
 
 Den Susianna Jogalong jis' amble ter de front, 
 Wid a heel an' toe commotion dat she'd practice' fo* a mont', 
 An' de graceful pa'pertations dat she me'shured wid her shoes, 
 'Peared like dat nature'd tuk' a wrensh an' loosened all de screws, 
 
 «' Cerlelia Tallerfut ! " perclaim' de sex'on. Mighty sakes ! 
 De flo' war shuk jis' like a aingin loosenin' de brakes, 
 An' wid a " ring-a-rosy " glide, dat maiden did volute, 
 Till time war sorter tickin' wid de congergation's boot. 
 
 " Rasanna Hoppergrass ! " Hi, yi ! Fo' brandishin' o' lims 
 Dar nebber wuz skh Tupsycho' sense Moses writ de hymns. 
 Wid shoulders like a walkin'-beam an co'kscrew sarcumben', 
 Dat gal kep' writin' wid her feets a stunnin' reekermen'. 
 
 Den Rose an' Dinah Bunionheel an' Eba Cobblestones, 
 Dey cut some purty riggers wid deir underlatin' bones, 
 An' Rachel Rollinpie, she beat such tatters on de flo' 
 Dat Elder Grubb sung out he knowed jis' whar dat cake'd go. 
 
 But bress yo' stars ! when Angie Ageesole let out a ju'k 
 Dar warn't no geormetic lines could mark the gait she bruk; 
 
paddy's lament. 
 
 She scalloped on cle bias, an' she flung de slickes' flings, 
 Like a zigger-zagger harrycane a-cutting pigeon wings. 
 
 " Dar's evolutin' honey! " " Dat's a treadin' mill fo' sho' 1 " 
 Said de parson an' de elder, while de angel shuk de flo'; 
 An' Deacon Rangertang, he sorter bellered wid his mouf — 
 " Dat walkin's wuff a cookie big as all de sunny Souf ! " 
 
 Den Angie gib a curt'sy an' fetch up ter get de prize ; 
 But hit 'peared de goin's-on had shut de eongergation's eyes, 
 'Caze Sup'intenden' Gadderall had gub his frien's de shake, 
 An' whiles de gals wuz walkin', he jus' walk' off wid de cake. 
 
 Wade Whipple. 
 
 PADDY'S LAMENT. 
 
 Oh, Mary McGallagher, see phat you've done now, 
 You've tied me poor heart in a double bow-knot ; 
 
 For a nice, daycent gairl it's a quare piece o' fun now, 
 To play such a thrick — Och ! phat's into ye got ? 
 
 You've twisted me head till it's all full of aching, 
 For thinking o' you, Mary, all the day long ; 
 
 There's nothing I touch but it's shplitting and breaking, 
 I niver can do a thing right but it's wrong. 
 
 The whole house is aff on a horse-throt to ruin, 
 The parlor's not fit for a jintleman's pig ; 
 
 I feel in me bones there's throuble abrewin', 
 An' me legs are too wake for the ghost of a jig. 
 
 There's a pipe on the mantlepiece all broke to flinders, 
 There's a shoe near the fender's all out at the toe ; 
 
 There's rags where the glass ought to be in the winders, 
 Fur, Mary, mavourneen, I'm loving you so. 
 
 Don't talk to that baste of a Barney McFinnegan ! 
 
 It's working I am fur your good, don't you see ? 
 He's no sooner out of a shpree than he's in agin ; 
 
 Iv'ry cint that he owns, faith it's coming to me. 
 
A BOY S ESSAY ON GIRLS. 29 
 
 Then, Mary McGallagher, pity me sorrow, 
 
 Stand ready to put on your wedding-dress soon. 
 
 Throw care to the dogs — pay the fiddler to-morrow — 
 And dance till the morn by the glint o' the moon. 
 
 Bad luck to the gairl ! May I never begin agin ! 
 
 I'll be an ould bachelor, sure, till I die ; 
 For Mary's gone married to Barney McFinnegan 
 
 In the dress that I guv her the money to buy. 
 
 But fortune go with her! I'll niver deride her; 
 
 There's fish jist as good as are caught in the say; 
 An' since she's took Barney, to jog on beside her, 
 
 Why, faith, I'll make love to swate Biddy McKay. 
 
 Ancn. 
 
 A BOY'S ESSAY ON GIRLS. 
 
 Girls is a queer kind of varmint. Girls is the only 
 tiling that has their own way every time. Girls is of 
 several thousand kinds, and sometimes one girl can be 
 like several thousand other girls, if she wants you to do 
 anything. Girls is all alike one way, they are all like 
 cats. If you rub 'em the right way of the hair they'll 
 pur and look sweet at you, but if you rub 'em the wrong 
 way, they'll claw you. S'long as you let a girl have 
 her own way she's nice and sweet ; but just cross her, 
 and she'll spit at you worse nor a cat. Girls is also 
 like mules, they're headstrong. If a girl don't want to 
 believe anything, you can't make her. If she knows 
 it's so she won't say so. Girls is little women, if they're 
 good ; and if they ain't good then nor when they get 
 big, they're vixens, — that's what father said mamma 
 was once, when she chased him around the kitchen 
 with a red hot poker, 'cause she was mad at him. 
 
30 ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE. 
 
 Brother Joe says he don't like big girls, but he does 
 like little ones, and when I saw him kissing Jennie 
 Jones, last Sunday, and told him what he'd said, he 
 said he was biting her, 'cause he didn't like her. I 
 think he hurt her, for she hollered and run, and 
 there was a big red spot over both of her cheeks. 
 This is all I know about girls, and father says the less 
 I know about 'em the better off I am. — Anon. 
 
 ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE. 
 
 Suggestive of the way in which the engineers and firemen on the New 
 York and New England Railroad salute their wives or sweethearts. 
 
 It's noon when Thirty-five is due, 
 An' she comes on time like a flash of light, 
 
 An' you hear her whistle, " Too-tee-too I " 
 Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight. 
 
 Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day, 
 An' he's callin' his sweetheart far away, — 
 Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill ; 
 You might see her blushin' ; she knows it's Bill, 
 "Tu-die! Toot-ee ! Tu-die! Tu ! " 
 
 Six-five A.M. there's a local comes, 
 
 Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east ; 
 An' the way her whistle sings an' hums 
 
 Is a livin' caution to man an' beast. 
 
 Every one knows who Jack White calls, — 
 Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls 5 
 Summer or winter, always the same, 
 She hears her lover callin' her name — 
 " Lou-ie I Lou-ie ! Lou-iee I " 
 
ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE. 3 1 
 
 But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four — 
 
 Boston express, runs east, clear through— 
 Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar 
 
 With the softest whistle that ever blew. 
 
 An' away on the furthest edge of the town 
 Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown 
 Shine like the starlight, bright and clear, 
 When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear, 
 " You-cu, Su-u-u-u-e ! " 
 
 Along at midnight a freight comes in, 
 Leaves Berlin sometime, — I don't know when 3 
 
 But it rumbles along with a fearful din 
 Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then 
 
 The clearest notes of the softest bell 
 That out of a brazen goblet fell 
 Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams; 
 To her like a wedding-bell it seems — 
 « Nell, Nell, Nell 1 Nell, Nell, Nell I " 
 
 Tom Wilson rides on the right-hand side, 
 Givin' her steam at every stride ; 
 An* he touches the whistle, low an' clear, 
 For Lulu Gray, on the hill, to hear — 
 " Lu-lu ! Loo loo ! " 
 
 So it goes on all day an' all night 
 
 Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore : 
 Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right 
 
 For folks to do courtin' with such a roar. 
 
 But the engineers their kisses will blow 
 From a whistle valve to the girls they know, 
 An' the stokers the name of their sweethearts tell, 
 With the Belle ! Nell ! Dell I of the swaying bell. 
 
 R. /. Burdette. 
 
A MARRIAGE TOUR. 
 
 A MARRIAGE TOUR. 
 
 BY PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Antoine Philarey, after many years of severe strug- 
 gle and rigid economy in his native city of Paris as a 
 manufacturer of choice perfumery, came to the conclu- 
 sion, at forty-seven years of age, to marry Clementine, 
 his pretty chief saleswoman of only eighteen summers. 
 This young person, long before he thus made her the 
 offer of his hand, had surmised what the result of his 
 delicate attentions would be, and to help his endeavors, 
 bestowed upon him many sly eyeing's and winsome 
 looks. 
 
 On a bright spring day Monsieur Philarey might 
 have been seen standing before a huge mirror fixed in 
 the door of a wardrobe twitching nervously at the ends 
 of his w r axed mustache, and the next instant applying 
 an enormous hair brush to his head, making it sink 
 deep into its raven garnishments as if he would have it 
 reach the substratum by the most rapid means. An- 
 other movement, and with his hand placed over his 
 heart, he would bow low, study various poses, and, be- 
 coming satisfied with his progress, commence ejac- 
 ulating with much fervor. Evidently he was prepar- 
 ing himself for some great emergency. Suddenly away 
 flew in every direction all the accompaniments of his 
 toilet. He seems to have come to a sudden resolve. 
 He adjusts his neatly-tied cravat (the most approved 
 tie of forty styles), puts on his elegant velvet wrapper, 
 
A MARRIAGE TOUR. 3$ 
 
 and turns to take a last approving glance into the mirror. 
 A moment after, in the most careless manner, he enters 
 the little boudoir at the back of his store that he had 
 fitted up with exquisite taste as a retiring place for his 
 favorite, and, seizing the hand of Clementine, poured 
 out the long pent-up tumultuous feelings of his heart. 
 On her part a flood of tears gushed forth, followed by a 
 swoon of acceptance. On the third day following they 
 received the benediction as man and wife. 
 
 The joyous Philardy proposed a trip to London, that 
 she might have a view of the sea, and to enjoy with 
 him the sights of that great metropolis, assuring her 
 that they would be able to move about there without 
 the aid of an interpreter, as he was fluently acquainted 
 with their language. 
 
 The day of their arrival in London had been set 
 apart for a grand procession, so after depositing their 
 luggage and travelling paraphernalia they hastened to 
 obtain a place on the sidewalk of an adjacent street, 
 from whence they might obtain a favorable view of the 
 passing column. 
 
 Regiment after regiment passed by in succession, 
 each headed by their great bands of music and giant 
 leader, surmounted by a bear-skin shako of the 
 usual hideous dimensions, the sight of which would 
 draw from the enraptured Clementine the most admir- 
 ing exclamations. As each became the more inter- 
 ested they dropped the taking of each other's arm, and 
 our friend Philarey, carried away by the enthusiasm of 
 the moment, forgot entirely his new estate and the 
 gentle one who but a few days before he had vowed 
 solemnly to shield from harm. Thus absorbed in the 
 
34 A MARRIAGE TOUR. 
 
 passing event the parade came to an end. Then fol- 
 lowed the usual commotion, crowding, and surging of a 
 great crowd, during which the fair Clementine, notwith- 
 standing her utmost endeavor to regain her husband's 
 side, was carried far away down the narrow street, 
 while he, struggling and using the best English form of 
 expression at his command to give force to his useless 
 exertions, sought every advantage to obtain the least 
 sight of her; but, alas for his present happiness! in 
 vain. 
 
 A policeman, attracted by his attitude of alarm and 
 loud vociferations, after learning the cause of trouble, 
 advised him to hasten to a neighboring police station 
 and there make known to the official in charge his 
 anxieties, and give to him a description of the missing 
 lady, "that her loss may be telegraphed throughout the 
 city/' Breathlessly and with haggard looks he rushes 
 into the station, and seeing the official at his desk ex- 
 claims : 
 
 " Oh ! ho ! Monsieur le Sdrgent, I am knock down 
 on ze ground vis von catastrophe terrible. Ze pro- 
 cession has take avay mine vife, mine leetle cheri, and 
 I shall sometimes neVere know ve're evd.e she ees. 
 {Crying?) Ze last time she speak to me she say, ' Looke, 
 Antoine, at ze lofely grande brigadier, vis ze gold 
 globe on hees baton, and ze musique by hees heels.' 
 Eh, bien ! I like not ze observation she make, so tell to 
 her, 'Bah! ' and zen at zat moment I look at ze proces- 
 sion, ven I do see in von wagon ze charmante female 
 allegory of vat you call Britannia, vich do come for to go 
 too quick avay. Ah, sare, catch her eef you in. Oh, la, 
 la, itvas tree days ago she make promise to loaf me, — 
 
A MARRIAGE TOUR. 35 
 
 today, to-morrow, and nevdre no more, — and now I sup- 
 pose she do run avay vis zat Jean Bull de — brigadier 
 of musique, vat she say is so loafly." 
 
 " Is it your wife or the allegory you mention, that 
 you refer to ? " 
 
 " Mais, vat you take me for ? Ven you shall suppose 
 zat I do mean ze charmante allegory on ze top of ze 
 wagon." 
 
 " Ah, yes, I perceive ; you mean your wife." 
 
 11 Par 'bleu ! vat ozdre vife from some oz^re mane 
 moste I look aft^re ? Tout naturelement, it is ze vife of 
 me, myself, Antoine Philardy, ze sweetly leetle angel 
 zoo-zoo zat I loaf so dear." 
 
 " And you imagine she has deserted you ? " asked 
 the officer. 
 
 " Oui, zat is ze vord. She do be push avay vis ze 
 crowd, or she do run avay vis some mean fellows like 
 yourself, and do leave me all alone to myself, vizout to 
 say bon jour, adieu, or somesing else." 
 
 " That was very wrong for her to do," remarked the 
 sergeant. 
 
 " I do believe you, sare. Ven I do marry to her she 
 vas von pauvre leetle child vat I find at ze marchd aux 
 fleurs (ze market in ze flowers), and I vas soche fool 
 I take to myself ze consolation zat I shall make von 
 happ6y girl to sweet mon existance. Mais au contraire 
 (to ze contrary), I rink now zat she do be ze flower of 
 my desolation. Oh, sare, I sail keel myself for ze 
 destraction. She do call me so often her chere zoo-zoo, 
 her coo-coo, her ch6re Polydore, and now, I tink to 
 make me crazy, she now do call zat omlette, Jean Bull, 
 ce brigadier de musique, her coo-coo, her zoo-zoo, her 
 
36 A FRENCHMAN'S VERSION OF YOUNG NORVAL. 
 
 ch£ri, and her Polydore. My heels do stand on ze top 
 of my hair, and — Fricandeaux de poulailles 1 I sail 
 keel him." 
 
 While the worthy Frenchman was thus giving way to 
 his jealous imagination the officer had sent out an 
 alarm message by the telegraph wire, and just as our 
 hero had resolved upon the deed of blood mentioned 
 a return message announced her discovery, while 
 searching widely for her husband. 
 
 In a few moments they were brought together, and 
 amid their tears and overflowing utterances of gratitude 
 we kindly bid them adieu. — S. /. Pardessus. 
 
 A FRENCHMAN'S VERSION OF YOUNG 
 NORVAL. 
 
 Mon nom c'est Norvelle. On ze hill Grampion 
 
 Mon pere he feed hees moutons; un brave homme, 
 
 Whose grand desir vas to pile up richesse 
 
 (Ze — vat you call heem ? — ze needful — ze soap — 
 
 Ze rocks — ze tin — ze — ah ! oui, ze greenback.) 
 
 And keep a la maison hees only fils, 
 
 Hees beau petit garcon. Voila ! c'est moi. 
 
 For I have somtimes hear ze grande bataille — 
 
 Ah, ha! Oui ! I have hear ze crash, ze boom; 
 
 I see ze poof ; I smell ze poudaire — hein ! 
 
 I am excite — I zink I sail go vilde I 
 
 I look down from ze montaine top. I see 
 
 Beaucoup de troupe. It must zat I go fight. 
 
 Mais I remembaire mon pauvre vieux pere. 
 
 I can not leave heem. Non, I stay viz heem. 
 
 Eh, bien ! Ze moon zat rise last night, ronde like 
 
 Zees bouclier, has not yet feel her horns, 
 
 Ven by ze light a band of fierce canaille — 
 
 Ze Rowdie — ze Lofaire — ze Rough — Ah ! oui — 
 
 Ze Bullie Boys, rush like ze diable down 
 
THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM. 27 
 
 Upon ze vallee, tout-a-coup. Zey make 
 
 Ze moutons run avay. Ze bergers hide 
 
 Behind ze bush : zey climb upon ze tree. 
 
 I am leave all alone. Ma foi ! I say 
 
 To myself : " Norvelle, mon petit garcon, 
 
 Now is precisement ze time for you. 
 
 Go in and vin, a la francais, mon brave." 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur," je reponds. Zen I go in 
 
 Vis my revolviere ; and in ze air 
 
 I shake ze sabre de mon pere. Je chasse 
 
 Ze ennemi everyvere. Zen, right ava\, 
 
 Bientot, in a little vile, approach 
 
 Mes amis : zen ve fight, ve conquaire — oui, 
 
 Ve bounce ze Bullie Boys — Ah, ha ! une balle 
 
 From mon pistol have pierce ze chieftain's eye. 
 
 It make heein, oh ! so seek — he fall ; he have 
 
 Ze mal a l'estomac : he cry enoff. 
 
 He is perish. He kick ze pail ovaire. 
 
 He is dead like — ze leetle feesh — 
 
 Ze — vat you call he em ? — oui, ze red hareng. 
 
 I ask politelee has he any more 
 
 Some use for hees gold vatch. He say nossing. 
 
 Zen I go zroo heem. Oui, I take ze vatch. 
 
 I take ze greenback from hees pantalon. 
 
 I take hees tres-magnifique diamond peen. 
 
 Regardez ! It is zees vich now I vear. — P. H. Bourne. 
 
 THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM. 
 
 Good-afternoon, Miss Robbins. Come to see the 
 funer'l pass, I s'pose. It's been very lively in town 
 these two weeks you've been away ; there's been five 
 funer'ls and three vandues, and two small-pox cases. I 
 must remember and tell you all the partickelers. In 
 the fust place, Sam Tunison and his wife's separated, 
 for they didn't walk together at his mother's funer'l, and 
 
33 THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM. 
 
 that's always a sure sign. And Billy Peters' wife was 
 glad when the poor old soul died, for she didn't take it 
 hard at all, didn't cry or go on a bit, as far as I could see. 
 And 'Zekiel Acker rode in the fust carriage along with 
 the minister, and his wife's folks in the second carnage. 
 It don't seem to me that that was the proper thing to do. 
 Will you look at the paper, Miss Robbins ? It ain't 
 much good ; I guess I'll stop it. Ain't never hardly any 
 deaths in any more, nor no family troubles. Don't 
 care for the paper, eh ? Well, here's the photygraph 
 album. There's father and mother — beats all how old- 
 fashioned pictures do git to look in a few short years. 
 And there's our old minister — sich excellent doctrinal 
 sermons as he used to preach ; and then to think he'd 
 go and leave us and go all the way to Spring Hook, 
 Nebrasky, jistfor a raise of a hundred and fifty a year 
 on to his salary ! What a savin' woman his wife used 
 to be ! and she had to be, to be sure — sich an everlast- 
 in' family of children as they did have ! There, that's 
 the woman what was hung for killin' five husbands — 
 two of 'em she pizened and two she choked and one 
 she killed with the gridiron when she was a fryin' flap- 
 jacks. I had to pay fifty cents for that picter ; thought 
 I must have it. There's Will'm Henery's half-sister's 
 son's little boy — jist got on pants and feels very big, of 
 course. There, that's me when I was fust married — . 
 Jemimy Day's step-daughter, she had the imperdence 
 to say it flattered me — she was as homely as a brush- 
 fence. There, that's the man I was a tellin' you of — the 
 man Sal Simpson led such a life, finally left him, and 
 without even so much as a divorce, went and married 
 his second cousin's wife's half-brother, all the worse for 
 
THE LOST GRAVE. 39 
 
 bein' in the family. There's the Siamese Twins, and 
 there's Tom Thumb and his wife. And there's Abe 
 Linkum, and there's the fat woman — cost me twenty- 
 five cents to see that onct in York. There, that's that 
 poor Miss Smith what died with such a terrible cancer 
 — how thankful we had all ought to be that we ain't got 
 no cancers ! Sich a operation as she had to go through 
 with — cost six hundred dollars, and then warn't no 
 good after all. I'd a demanded the money back if I'd 
 a been Sam ; but for that matter, like as not he was 
 glad she died, went and married that young thing I was 
 tellin' you of before she was cold. A high time she'll 
 have with them step-children of hern ! Poor Miss 
 Smith ! it's likely though she's better off, though they 
 do say she was most awful mean about givin' to mis- 
 sions in Chiny — thought the heathen warn't accounta- 
 ble as long as they hadn't heard nothin'. Amazin' 
 queer what notions some people gits into their. heads 
 these days ! And here's poor Mariar Matilda Jinkins — 
 beats all what amazin' fine pumpkin-pies she used to 
 make ! She was always a goin' to give rne her receipt. 
 Poor thing ! now she's gone ! There, that's the last. 
 What a satisfaction and comfort albums are, to be 
 sure ! — Ella Bevier. 
 
 THE LOST GRAVE. 
 
 a costermonger's story. 
 
 Hold hard ! never say the fault is all mine — 
 1*111 somethin' to blame, and I own it ; 
 
 But don't be dcwu on me 'cause now and then 
 IVe taken too much and have shown it. 
 
40 THE LOST GRAVE. 
 
 Folks are o'ny too ready to boast what they'd done 
 
 If they'd had their chances like me ; 
 But what do they know of my trouble indoors 
 
 When I've been druv out on the spree ? 
 
 Bill, open your heart, lad, and listen awhile, 
 
 And then call it " a spree " if you choose, 
 For a man to be drinkin' from mornin' till night, 
 
 An' next day to be down with the blues ! 
 It's nigh three months since, one Saturday morn, 
 
 I was up with the crow of the cock, 
 An' I walked on for miles thro' the rain and the slush, 
 
 To the market afore five o'clock. 
 
 I'd been out on the Friday, 'twas snowin' like mad, 
 
 An' what with the traffic an' carts, 
 On a day like it was, the streets I trudged thro' 
 
 Was up to your knees, Bill, in parts. 
 An' fish was too dear for my customers — see ? 
 
 An' my own bit o' money was small ; 
 I'd a middlin' good show, but lor' bless you, Bill, 
 
 On the truck it looked nothin' at all. 
 
 Leastways for the coin I'd laid out on it, Bill, 
 
 But I pushes the barrow along ; 
 I'd a cup and a slice at the old woman's stall, — 
 
 The wind — it blowed terrible strong ! 
 A piercin', a searching a through-and-through wind, 
 
 Such as freezes the snow as it falls, 
 An' it drove through the feathers that shook in the air, 
 
 The sound o' the hour by St. Paul's. 
 
 There was few in the streets, barrin' tradesmen like me, 
 
 An' the cabs an' the solit'ry police ; 
 I was down in the mouth, Bill, an' dreadfully dull, 
 
 So I had half-a-go at the Fleece. 
 It warmed me all thro', an' it brightened me up 
 
 For a time r and I thought of her name ; 
 I cried with a will the fish I'd to sell, 
 
 But I cried in my heart all the same 
 
THE LOST GRAVE. 4 1 
 
 For my Nance, as I'd left, Bill, a fadin' away 
 
 On my old tatter'd coat for a bed ; 
 An' I thought of that day, just three years afore, 
 
 When they told me her mother was dead ! 
 Nance wasn't my child, — that's she wasn't my own,— 
 
 But her mother, half sister o' mine, 
 Had married my " butty," a proper young chap 1 
 
 Who'd died in a wastin' decline. 
 
 He were wellish to do, owned a pony an' cart, 
 
 Just afore he knocked-up, poor old lad ! 
 But, lor' ! when a hawker gets laid on his back 
 
 Things precious soon goes to the bad. 
 An' to pay for his grave, an' the coffin, an' black, 
 
 They'd to sell both his pony and cart ; 
 Then the bisness went queer, and my sister, poor gal, 
 
 She died of a real broken heart. 
 
 They put in the brokers for rent as were due, 
 
 An' they left her the walls an' the floor; 
 This comin' so soon arter losin' her Jim, 
 
 Crushed her heart, and she never spoke more, 
 I takes to the kid — she was then only seven — 
 
 An' I done, Bill, the best that I could; 
 What can a man do, sittywated like me, 
 
 Who is out all the day, if he would ? 
 
 But a party who lived just a door or two off 
 
 Was that kind she quite took to the girl, 
 An' on Saturday nights she would see her to bed 
 
 Arter putting her hair up in curl. 
 I heerd tell as how she'd been up in the world, 
 
 An' come down through misfortune, they said ; 
 But what did it matter, her heart was all right, 
 
 Though at times a bit queer in her head. 
 
 An* while she were able to hobble about, 
 
 Like a mother she treated our kid ; 
 But a fever broke out, an' with her went so hard, 
 
 That she died of a sudden — she did. 
 
42 THE LOST GRAVE. 
 
 The day she was buried poor Nancy took bad, 
 But, lor' ! how she stood it — the sweet ! 
 
 We could not persuade her to eat or to drink, 
 An' like ice were her poor little feet. 
 
 Her lips went all dry, an' her tongue became parched, 
 
 An' she wandered, an' talked about heaven, 
 An' angels, an' sitchlike, quite wonderful, Bill, 
 
 For a child as had only turned seven ! 
 And — well, I got home, Bill, one night arter dark, 
 
 And took hold of her mite of a hand, 
 Which, through bein' so ill, were as slender an' white 
 
 As any fine girl's in the land. 
 
 I leaned on my elbow, an' looked in her face, 
 
 An' wiped the cold drops from her brow, 
 When the lids of her eyes both closed as in sleep, 
 
 An' she whispered "Dad* Pm comiri* 7iow." 
 I was cut to the heart, for I loved her, old man, 
 
 An' my brain seemed to turn in my head ; 
 I fell down on the floor, an' when I come round 
 
 'Twas all over, poor Nancy was dead ! 
 
 There was not a soul, Bill, my troubles to share , 
 
 As I gazed on the beautiful dead ; 
 I had not a shilling to buy her a grave, 
 
 All had gone to provide her with bread. 
 So, glad for a time such a scene to shake off, 
 
 I crossed slow from the corpse to the door, 
 I opened it softly, an' staggerin' went 
 
 To the Fleece, where I fell on the floor. 
 
 My senses had gone, I was ravin' for days, 
 
 My life, Bill, they scarcely could save ; 
 An' while I was down, Bill, they buried my Nance, 
 
 An' they can't even show me her grave ! 
 I've made from the hedgerows this posy of flowers 
 
 To lay on the newly-made mound, 
 But the graves of the poor are all so much alike, 
 
 Poor Nancy's can never be found. — Walter Pe'ham. 
 
A RAILWAY MATINEE. 43 
 
 A RAILWAY MATINEE. 
 
 The last time X ran home over the Chicago, Burling- 
 ton and Quincy we had a very small, but select and 
 entertaining, party on the train. It was a warm day, 
 and everybody was tired with the long ride and op- 
 pressed by the heat. The precise woman, with her 
 hat swathed in an immense blue veil, who always parsed 
 her sentences before she uttered them, completely worn 
 out and thoroughly lonesome, was glad to respond to 
 the pleasant nod of the big rough man who got on at 
 Monmouth, and didn't know enough grammar to ask 
 for the mustard so that you could tell whether he wanted 
 you to pass it to him or pour it on his hair. The thin, 
 troubled-looking man with the sandy goatee, who stam- 
 mered so dreadfully that he always forgot what he 
 wanted to say before he got through wrestling with any 
 word with a " W" in it, lit up with a tremulous, hesitat- 
 ing smile, as he noticed this indication of sociability ; 
 for, like most men who find it extremely difficult to talk 
 at all, he wanted to talk all the time. And the fat old 
 gentleman sitting opposite him, who was so deaf he 
 couldn't hear the cars rattle, and always awed and 
 bothered the stammerer into silence by saying " Hey ? " 
 in a very imperative tone every time he got in the mid- 
 dle of a hard word, cocked his irascible head on one side 
 as he saw this smile, and after listening intently to 
 dead silence for a minute, suddenly broke out with such 
 an emphatic, impatient " Hey ? " that everybody in the 
 car started up and shouted, nervously and ungrammati- 
 
44 A RAILWAY MATINEE. 
 
 cally : " I didn't say nothing ! " with the exception of the 
 woman with the blue veil, who said : " I said nothing ! " 
 
 The fat old gentleman was a little annoyed and star- 
 tled by such a chorus of responses, and fixing his gaze 
 still more intently upon the thin man, said defiantly : 
 
 " Wha' say ? " • 
 
 " I-I-I I w-w-wuh-wuh-wasn'-wasn' — I wasn' s-s-sp — 
 speak " 
 
 " Hey ? " roared the fat man. 
 
 "He wa'trt sayin' nauthin'," shouted the big rough 
 man, nodding friendly encouragement to the thin man ; 
 " he hain't opened his mouth ! " 
 
 " Soap in the South ? " queried the fat old gentleman, 
 impatiently. "Wha 5 for?" 
 
 " Mouth, mouth,'' explained the precise woman, with 
 impressive nicety. " He said, 'opened his mouth.' 
 The gentleman seated directly opposite you was " 
 
 "' Offers to chew,' what?" cried the fat old gentle- 
 man, in amazement. 
 
 " Sir," said the precise woman, ;i I made no reference 
 whatever to chewing. You certainly misunderstood 
 me." 
 
 The thin man took courage from so many re-enforce- 
 ments, and broke in : 
 
 " I-I-I-I d-d-d-dud-d-u-d-d-u-d-don't-don't — I don't 
 ch-ch-ch " 
 
 " Hey ? " shouted the fat gentleman. 
 
 " He don't chaw nauthin' ! " roared the big rough 
 man, in a voice that made the car windows rattle. " He 
 waVt a talkin' when you sho: off at him ! " 
 
 "Who got off?" exclaimed the fat old gentleman. 
 "Wha' d' he get off for?" 
 
A RAILWAY MATINEE. 45 
 
 11 You don't appear to comprehend clearly what he 
 stated," shrieked the precise woman. " No person has 
 left the train." 
 
 "Then wha' d' he say so for ? " shouted the fat man. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the thin man, in a surprising burst of 
 fluency; "he-he-de d-d-did-did " 
 
 " Who did ? " queried the fat man, talking louder than 
 any one else. 
 
 " Num-num-num-num-n-no-nobody, nobody. He-he 
 d-d-d-dud-didn't-didn't s " 
 
 " Then wha' made you say he did ? " howled the deaf 
 man. 
 
 "You misunderstand him," interrupted the precise 
 woman. " He was probably about to remark that no 
 reference whatever had been intentionally made to the 
 departure of any person from the train, when you inter- 
 rupted him in the midst of an unfinished sentence, and 
 hence obtained an erroneous impression of the tenor 
 of his remarks. He meant no offence " 
 
 " Know a fence ? " roared the fat man. " Of course 
 I know a fence ! " 
 
 " He hain't got middlin' good hearin'," yelled the big 
 man, as apologetically as a steam whistle could have 
 shrieked it. " Y'ears kind of stuffed up ! " 
 
 "Time to brush up?" cried the fat man. "Wha' 
 for ? " 
 
 " No," shrieked the precise woman; "he remarked 
 to the other gentleman that your hearing appeared to 
 be rather defective." 
 
 " His father a detective ? " hooted the fat gentleman 
 in amazement. 
 
 " N-n-n-n-nun-nun-no ! " broke in the thin man ; 
 
46 A RAILWAY MATINEE. 
 
 «' h-h-h-h-huh-huh-he-s-s-sa-sa-said-said you w-w-w-wuh 
 was a little dud-dud — was a little deaf ! " 
 
 " Said I was a thief ! " howled the fat man, a scarlet 
 tornado of wrath , " said I was a thief ! Wha' d'ye 
 mean? Show him to me! Who says I'm a thief? 
 Who says so ? " 
 
 "Now," shouted the big rough man, "nobody don't 
 say ye ain't no thief. I jist sayed as how we didn't git 
 along very well. Ye see he," nodding to the thin man, 
 "he can't talk very well, an' " 
 
 "Wh-wh-wh-why c-c-can't I t-t-t-tut-tut-tut-talk ? " 
 broke in the thin man, white with rage. " I-I-I-I'd like 
 t-t-to know wh-wh-wh-what ; s the reason I c-c-can't tut- 
 tut-talk as w-w-w-well as any bub-bub-body that's bub- 
 bub-bub-been tut-tut-talking on this car ever s-s-s-since 
 the tut-tut-tut " 
 
 " Hey ? " roared the fat man, in an explosion of in- 
 dignant suspicion. 
 
 "I was savin'," howled the big rough man, "as how 
 he didn't talk middlin' well " 
 
 " Should say so," growled the fat man, in tones of 
 intense satisfaction. 
 
 " And," the big rough man went on, yelling with de- 
 light at having made the old party hear something, 
 " and you can't hear only tollable " 
 
 " Can't hear?" the fat old gentleman broke out in a 
 resonant roar. " Can't hear ! Like to know why I 
 can't hear! Why can't I? If I couldn't hear better 
 than half the people on this train I'd cut off my ears ! 
 Can't hear ? It's news to me if I can't. I'd like to 
 know who " 
 
 " Burlington ! " yelled the brakeman. "Chag car fr 
 
THE CANE-BOTTCM'D CHAIR. 47 
 
 Keokuk, Ceed Rap's an' For' Mad'son ! This car f'r 
 Omaha ! Twen' mints f'r supper ! " 
 
 And but for this timely interruption, I don't think 
 our pleasant little party would have got out of that 
 snarl this side of San Francisco. — Robert J, Burdette. 
 
 THE CANE-BOTTOM'D CHAIR. 
 
 In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, 
 And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, 
 Away from the world and its toils and its cares, 
 I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. 
 
 To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, 
 But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure; 
 And the view I behold on a sunshiny day- 
 Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. 
 
 This snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks 
 
 With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, 
 
 And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, 
 
 Crack' d bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends* 
 
 Old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all crack'd), 
 
 Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed ; 
 
 A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; 
 
 "What matter ? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. 
 
 No better divan need the Sultan require 
 Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; 
 And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get 
 From the rickety, ramshakle, wheezy spinet. 
 
 That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp 5 
 By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; 
 A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn ! 
 Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. 
 
>C ERIN'S FLAG. 
 
 again and the elephant nearly killed him. He recogx 
 nized the man, my Uncle John says, though the man 
 had been married more than six months. And that's 
 all I know about elephants. — Anon. 
 
 ERIJSTS FLAG. 
 
 r Unroll Erin's flag ! fling its folds to the breeze ! 
 Let it float o'er the land, let it wave o'er the seas ; 
 Lift it out of the dust — let it wave as of yore, 
 When its chiefs with their dans stood around it and swore 
 That never, no, never, while God gave them life, 
 And they had an arm and a sword for the strife, 
 That never, no, never> that banner would yeild, 
 As long as the heart of a Celt was its shield; 
 While the hand of a Celt had a weapon to wield, 
 And his last drop of blood was unshed on the field. 
 
 Lift it up ! wave it high ! — 'tis as bright as of old ; 
 
 Not a stain on its green, not a blot on its gold, 
 
 Though the woes and the wrongs of three hundred long years 
 
 Have drenched Erin's Sunburst with blood and with tears ; 
 
 Though the clouds of oppression enshroud it in gloom, 
 
 And around it the thunders of tyranny boom. 
 
 Look aloft ! look aloft ! lo ! the cloud's drifting by, 
 
 There's a gleam through the gloom, there's a light in the sky. 
 
 Tis the Sunburst resplendent — far, flashing on high ; 
 
 Erin's dark night is waning, her day-dawn is nigh. 
 
 Lift it up ! lift it up ! the old Banner of Green; 
 
 The blood of its sons has but brightened its sheen. 
 
 What though the tyrant has trampled it down, 
 
 Are its folds not emblazoned with deeds of renown ? 
 
 What though for ages it droops in the dust, 
 
 Shall it droop thus forever ? No ! no 1 God is just ! 
 
 Take it up ! take it up from the tyrant's foul tread, 
 
 Lest he tear the Green Flag we will snatch its last shred, 
 
ERIN'S FLAG. 5 I 
 
 And beneath it we'll bleed as our forefathers bled, 
 And we'll vow by the dust in the graves of our dead ; 
 And we'll swear by the blood that the Briton has shed, 
 And we'll vow by the wrecks which through Erin he spread, 
 And we'll swear by the thousands who famished, unfed, 
 Died down in the ditches — while howling for bread ; 
 And we'll vow by our heroes, whose spirits have fled, 
 And we'll swear by the bones in each coffinless bed 
 That we'll battle the Briton through danger and dread ; 
 That we'll cling to the cause which we glory to wed 
 Till the gleam of our steel and the shock of our lead 
 Shall prove to the foe that we meant what we said — 
 That we'll lift up the Green, and we'll tear down the Red. 
 
 Lift up the Green Flag ! oh ! it wants to go home ; 
 Full long has its lot been to wander and roam : 
 It has followed the fate of its sons o'er the world, 
 But its folds, like their hopes, are not faded nor furled; 
 Like a weary-winged bird, to the East and the West 
 It has flitted and fled, but it never shall rest, 
 Till, pluming its pinions, it sweeps o'er the main, 
 And speeds to the shore of its old home again, 
 Where its fetterless folds o'er each mountain and plain 
 Shall wave with a glory that never shall wane. 
 Take it up ! take it up ! bear it back from afar ! 
 That banner must blaze 'mid the lightning of war; 
 Lay your hands on its folds, lift your eyes to the sky, 
 And swear that you'll bear it triumphant or die ; 
 And shout to the clans scattered far o'er the earth, 
 To join in the march to the land of their birth ; 
 And wherever the Exiles, 'neath heaven's broad dome, 
 Have been fated to suffer, to sorrow, and roam, 
 They'll bound on the sea, and away o'er the foam 
 They'll sail to the music of " Home, sweet Home." 
 
 Father Ryan. 
 
52 BROTHER BILL. 
 
 BROTHER BILL. 
 
 ADAPTED BY ALEX. T. BROWN. 
 
 You didn't know my brother Bill, did you ? Well, Bill 
 has had hard luck lately. You see he belongs to a base 
 ball club. I joined the same club. Bill belongs to 
 the club more than I do ; he plays right field. I got 
 left last summer. They only put me out there now to keep 
 the sun off of Bill. Well, one day we was playing the 
 " Electric Lights " and a fly was knocked to Bill, and 
 while Bill stood looking at the fly there was a goat 
 standing behind Bill. It was the other kind of a goat, 
 a male-man goat, a boy goat, and just about the time 
 that Bill was going to catch the ball the goat caught 
 Bill (on the fly), and Bill — well, he's been walking 
 around lame ever since ; he can't see where it was he 
 was struck. Yes, Bill has had awful bad luck. Bill 
 bought a milk route a few months ago, and the horse 
 is a very intelligent animal and a regular racer. Why, 
 every time Bill gets in front of a customer's door, all 
 he's got to do is to halloo out " Milk ! " and the horse 
 will stop. Yes ; Bill entered him for a race a few 
 days ago against a lot of coach horses, and he was 
 beating the other horses; and just as he got about 
 three feet from the winning-post some fellow who knew 
 all about the horse hallooed out " Milk ! " Well, Bill lost 
 the race. Bill married into a large family, and he's got 
 the meanest mother-in-law you ever saw. Oh! she's 
 awful mean ; well, she's so mean that if she leans 
 
BROTHER BILL. 53 
 
 against a peach tree in the summer it will die in the 
 fall. Why, when she lost her first husband the under- 
 taker came around to the house and asked her what 
 kind of a coffin she wanted, and she said, " Bring 
 around something this side of six dollars ; this is no 
 picnic." " Well," he says, " shall I put a plate on the 
 coffin ? " She says, " No ; I'm going to change my 
 name pretty soon, so you can take the plate off the 
 door down stairs." Then he wanted to know if she re- 
 quired any ice. She says, " Bring around twenty cents 
 worth and put it on his head. You needn't touch 
 his feet, they were frost-bitten last winter." Oh ! she's 
 awful mean. She's got a couple of mean brothers. 
 One is a policeman. Well, you see he was off duty one 
 Sunday and went to church with Bill and me, and when 
 the plate come around Bill and me put in our mite (we 
 might have put in more, but — ). Well, when the man 
 put the plate in front of him he threw back the lappel of 
 his coat and showed his shield. And the other brother 
 he's so mean that he speaks through his nose, afraid of 
 wearing out his teeth. Well, you know Bill's mother- 
 in-law's got a large family, and among them a pair of 
 twins — that is, one each. Their names are Kate and 
 Duplicate — real smart girls, too. One says the other 
 day, she says, " I saw Hazel the other day." The other 
 says, " Which Hazel ? " She says, " « Witch Hazel," 
 Then that one got mad and says, " I can stick you 
 now," and she says, " What with ? " and the other says, 
 " A pin— ah ! ha ! ha ! " This mother-in-law of Bill's 
 has got a son-in-law that she has not spoken a kind 
 word to in twenty years — well, he died in 1863. But 
 then she's had one that she always abused, and found 
 
54 THE FROWARD DUSTER. 
 
 fault with him all the time. Well, she thought she 
 was going to die not long ago, and she sent for this 
 fellow to come and see her, and soon as she saw 
 him she says : " George, kiss me good-by ! I'm going 
 to heaven." Well, he went around to the church next 
 Sunday and gave his pew up. Then she got well and 
 he was taken sick and died, and one night his ghost 
 appeared in her room, and she said : " Whose there ? " 
 and the ghost replied, " It is I — George ! " This 
 was said in a deep-chest ghost's voice, and she said, 
 " Are you happy ? " He replied he was as happy as he 
 could be under the circumstances, and she said, " Well, 
 then, you must be in heaven." He says, " No ! " Well, 
 you know he'd lived with her ten years. Well, you know 
 I've had hard luck myself. Why, a man approached 
 me last November on the street and he had a gun in 
 his hand, and he said he wanted me to marry his 
 daughter immediately ; if I didn't, he'd shoot me on the 
 spot. Well, I married her; any fellow would. I've 
 been living with her four months. We've been keeping 
 house. I wish the gun had gone off. — Geo. Thatcher. 
 
 THE FROWARD DUSTER. 
 
 Ever since my uncle in California left me three 
 hundred thousand dollars I always wear a linen duster 
 when I travel. I feel as though I could afford it, and 
 society rather demands it of me. Well, the other day 
 I climbed into a train and waited for it to start. By 
 and by I reached into the capacious pockets of that 
 duster, and, in an idle, vagrant kind of a moment, drew 
 
THE FRO WARD DUSTER. 55 
 
 forth a newspaper, radiant with the usual astonish- 
 ing display of all kinds of stockings in all manner of 
 attitudes. Now, I never buy and I never read that 
 journal, and I was amazed to find it in my pocket. I 
 went down again and brought up a couple of beer tick- 
 ets. Then I raked again, and found a piece of billiard 
 chalk, several grains of coffee, and a bit of lemon peel. 
 It seemed to me that my ordinarily well-behaved and 
 exemplary duster had evidently been out with the boys 
 last night, instead of reposing in the quiet of the coat- 
 room. Curious to know just how far this iniquity went, 
 I reached into another pocket, and found a corkscrew, 
 three dice — revelling in the luxurious affluence of three 
 aces apiece — and a poker deck, containing four kings 
 of spades. I was ashamed of that duster. Not only 
 had it been out with the boys, but it had fallen among 
 thieves, and was itself the meanest thief of the lot. I 
 was almost afraid to examine the last pocket ; but I 
 finally sent down the grapple, and up it came with a 
 whiskey flask, — very empty, but very odorous. I began 
 to wish the train would start, so that I might watch 
 my opportunity and throw that duster, with all its mani- 
 fold iniquities on its wicked head, into the river. I 
 stealthily felt under the bottle, finding a pair of brass 
 knuckles. That settled it. My duster was irrevocably 
 bad. I would wear it as far as the first river or the 
 first tunnel, and I would never wear it further. Would 
 the train never start ? 
 
 Just then a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I 
 started and looked up, expecting to see a policeman. 
 If I had been arrested on any charge — theft, burglary, 
 murder, sheep-stealing, treason, anything — I should 
 
56 THE FROWARD DUSTER. 
 
 have given right in and gone along. I hadn't enough 
 confidence in myself to deny anything. But when I 
 looked up I saw a kind, tender face, and I heard the 
 pleasant voice of a Methodist clergyman. " I beg 
 your pardon," he said, "but I fear you and I have ex- 
 changed dusters. I only noticed the change this mo- 
 ment, when I found some letters and lecture-tickets 
 bearing your name in the pockets. The mistake was 
 my own, I have no doubt. I am so very careless, and 
 our dusters are so nearly alike.- ' 
 
 I was so shocked that I didn't know what to say nor 
 where to look, but I had just enough sense to say yes, 
 that it was my duster he held in his hands, that I 
 couldn't find my own in the coat-room, and took the 
 only one there was left. And then I gave to this good, 
 innocent man the villanous, old, sin-dyed Philistine 
 that had been corrupting my morals all the morning. 
 
 And then, to sit there and never to look around, but 
 just to listen to that man's exclamations of amazement 
 and horror. First he found the billiard chalk. He 
 didn't know what that was, so he only said, " H'm!" 
 Then he found the coffee grains — but he didn't exactly 
 understand them and just said, " Ha ! " Then he 
 fished out the corkscrew, and he seemed to compre- 
 hend that in a general way, for he said, " What ! " in a 
 staccato of astonishment that elicited an encore from 
 the entire audience. The poor man's "Merciful Heav- 
 ens I" that greeted the appearance of the whiskey flask 
 was drowned in a perfect torrent of applause and wild 
 cries of " Go on 1 " and " More ! " And then when he 
 pulled out the newspaper, and the brass knuckles, he 
 fell back into his seat with an inaudible gasp of hor- 
 
THE FROWARD DUSTER. 5/ 
 
 ror, and the whole earful of people just rose as one 
 man, and yelled and howled and tramped on their hats, 
 and wanted to get out and tear out the bottom of the 
 car and throw it into the Shenango River to express 
 their feelings. I never saw so great enthusiasm over 
 such a little thing. And the fainting clergyman came 
 to me, holding the disreputable, character-destroying 
 old gallows-bird of a duster in his trembling hands. 
 
 " Sir," he said, with patient rebuke and pitiful appeal 
 mingling in his tremulous utterance, " sir " 
 
 But I steeled my heart against him, because I was as 
 innocent as himself, and it was the pulpit and the ros- 
 trum for it. 
 
 "Go 'way/' I said, "don't bring it around here! 
 Don't you point that thing at me ! 'Taint mine ! You 
 claimed it yourself ! Don't dare to charge me with it ! 
 Throw it under the car ! Burn it up ! I won't have it ! 
 Don't you dare " 
 
 But the clergyman held it out toward me and raised 
 his right hand appealingly to heaven. Just before the 
 tableau began to tell with the jury, however, the porter 
 came panting down to the train. He had an innocent 
 looking duster in his hands, with a package of Sunday- 
 school papers bulging in one pocket, and a Moody 
 hymn-book flattening in the other. 
 
 " Gent'men," he said, " de bar-keeper sent me down, 
 and he say as how somebody has don' run away wid 
 his duster ; and he want it sent back, or he make it 
 pow'ful lively for de man what took it ef he hav to come 
 after it hisself." 
 
 That settled it. The clergyman took his own ulster, 
 and gave up the robe of unrighteousness to the ambas- 
 
58 ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK. 
 
 sador. The man on the wood-box made a generally 
 consolatory remark about the false and fatal strength 
 of circumstantial evidence. The band played " Benny, 
 come back to the farm/' and the train pulled out. — JR. 
 J. Burdette. 
 
 ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK. 
 
 Shady tree — babbling brook, 
 Girl in hammock — reading book. 
 Golden curls — tiny feet, 
 Girl in hammock looks so sweet 
 
 Man rides past — big mustache, 
 Girl in hammock makes a " mash." 
 
 " Mash " is mutual — day is set, 
 Man and maiden — married get. 
 
 Married now a year and a day, 
 Keeping house in Avenue A. 
 Red-hot stove — beefsteak frying, 
 Girl got married, cooking trying. 
 
 Cheeks all burning — eyes look red, 
 Girl got married — almost dead. 
 Biscuit burnt up — beefsteak charry, 
 Girl got married — awful sorry. 
 
 Man comes home — tears mustache, 
 Mad as blazes— got no cash. 
 Thinks of hammock — in the lane; 
 Wishes maiden — back again. 
 Maiden also— thinks of swing, 
 And wants to go back too, poor thing I 
 
 Hour of midnight — baby squawking; 
 Man in bare feet — bravely walking ; 
 
THE SUPPER OF ST. GREGORY. 59 
 
 The baby yells — now the other 
 Twin, he strikes up — like his brother. 
 Paregoric — by the bottle 
 Poured into — the baby's throttle. 
 
 Naughty tack — points in air, 
 Waiting some one's — foot to tear. 
 
 Man in bare feet — see him there ! 
 O my gracious ! — hear him swear! 
 
 Raving crazy — gets his gun 
 And blows his head off 5 
 Dead and gone. 
 
 Pretty widow — with a book 
 
 In the hammock — by the brook. 
 
 Man rides past — big mustache ; 
 Keeps on riding — nary " mash." 
 
 Anon* 
 
 THE SUPPER OF ST. GREGORY 
 
 A tale of Roman guides to tell 
 
 To careless, sight-worn travellers still, 
 
 Who pause beside the narrow cell 
 Of Gregory on the Caelian Kill. 
 
 One day before the monk's door came 
 
 A beggar, stretching empty palms, 
 Fainting and fast-sick, in the name 
 
 Of the Most Holy asking alms. 
 
 And the monk answered : " All I have 
 
 In this poor cell of mine I give — 
 The silver cup my mother gave ; 
 
 In Christ's name take thou it, and live. 
 
6o THE SUPPER OF ST. GREGORYc 
 
 Years passed ; and, called at last to bear 
 The pastoral crook and keys of Rome, 
 
 The poor monk in St. Peter's chair, 
 Sat the crowned lord cf Christendom. 
 
 " Prepare a feast," St. Gregory cried, 
 " And let twelve beggars sit thereat.** 
 
 And beggars came, and one beside, 
 An unknown stranger, with them sat 
 
 "I asked thee not," the Pontiff spake, 
 " O stranger ; but if need be thine, 
 
 I bid thee welcome, for the sake 
 Of Him who is thy Lord and mine." 
 
 A grave, calm face the stranger raised, 
 Like His who on Gennesaret trod, 
 
 Or His on whom the Chaldeans gazed, 
 Whose form was like the Son of God. 
 
 " Know'st thou," he said, " thy gift of old ? " 
 
 And in the hand he lifted up, 
 The Pontiff marvelled to behold, 
 
 Once more his mother's silver cup. 
 
 " Thy prayers and alms have risen, and bloom 
 Sweetly among the flowers of heaven, 
 
 I am The Wonderful, through whom 
 Whate'er thou askest shall be given. 74 
 
 He spake and vanished. Gregory fell 
 With his twelve guests in mute accord 
 
 Prone on their faces, knowing well 
 Their eyes of flesh had seen the Lord. 
 
 The old-time legend is not vain ; 
 
 Nor vain thy art, Verona's Paul, 
 TelMng it o'er and o'er again 
 
 On gray Vicenza's frescoed wall. 
 
 Anon* 
 
THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL. 6l 
 
 THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL. 
 
 HOW SHE ENTERTAINED A VISITOR WHILE HER MA WAS 
 
 DRESSING. 
 
 " Ma's up stairs changing her dress," said the 
 freckled-faced little girl, tying her doll's bonnet-strings 
 and casting her eye about for a tidy large enough to 
 serve as a shawl for that double-jointed young person. 
 
 " Oh ! your mother needn't dress up for me," replied 
 the female agent of the missionary society, taking a 
 self-satisfied view of herself in the mirror. " Run up 
 and tell her to come down just as she is in her every- 
 day clothes, and not stand on ceremony." 
 
 " Oh ! but she hasn't got on her e very-day clothes. 
 Ma was all dressed up in her new brown silk, 'cause 
 she expected Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond 
 always comes over here to show off her nice things, 
 and ma don't mean to get left. When ma saw you com- 
 ing, she said, ' The Dickens ! ' and I guess she was mad 
 about something. Ma said if you saw her new dress 
 she'd have to hear all about the poor heathen, who 
 don't have silk, and you'd ask her for more money to 
 buy hymn-books to send 'em. Say, do the nigger ladies 
 use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up and make 
 it frizzy ? Ma says she guesses that's all the good the 
 books do 'em, if they ever get any books. I wish my 
 doll was a heathen ! " 
 
 " Why, you wicked little girl, what do you want of a 
 heathen doll ? " inquired the missionary lady, taking a 
 
02 THE FRECKLED -FACED GIRL. 
 
 mental inventory of the new things in the parlor to get 
 material for a homily on worldly extravagance. 
 
 " So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, 
 and feel sorry to have her going about naked. I ain't a 
 wicked girl, either, 'cause Uncle Dick — you know 
 Uncle Dick, he's been out West, and he says I'm a holy 
 terror, and he hopes I'll be an angel pretty soon. Ma'll 
 be down in a minute, so you needn't take your cloak 
 off. She said she'd box my ears if I asked you to. 
 Ma's putting on that old dress she had last year, 'cause 
 she said she didn't want you to think she was able to 
 give much this time, and she needed a new muff worse 
 than the queen of the cannon ball islands needed re- 
 ligion. Uncle Dick says you ought to go to the islands, 
 'cause you'd be safe there, and the natifs'd be sorry 
 they was such sinners anybody would send you to 'em. 
 He says he never seen a heathen hungry enough to eat 
 you, 'less 'twas a blind one, and you'd set a blind pa- 
 gan's teeth on edge so he'd never hanker after any 
 more missionary. Uncle Dick's awful funny, and 
 makes pa and ma die laughing sometimes." 
 
 "Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved man, and 
 ought to have remained out West, where his style is 
 appreciated. He sets a bad example for little girls like 
 you." V- 
 
 " Oh ! I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide 
 down the bannisters, and he's teaching me to whistle 
 when ma ain't 'round. That's a pretty cloak you've got, 
 ain't it ? Do you buy ail your good clothes with mis- 
 sionary money ? Ma says you do." 
 
 Just then the freckled-faced little girl's ma came into 
 the parlor and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek, 
 
A TALE OF THE TENTH HUSSARS. 63 
 
 and said she was delighted to see her, and they pro- 
 ceeded to have a real social chat. The little girl's ma 
 can't understand why a person who professes to be so 
 charitable as the missionary agent does, should go right 
 over to Miss Dimmond's and say such ill-natured things 
 as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a double- 
 faced gossip. — Boston Globe. 
 
 A TALE OF THE TENTH HUSSARS. 
 
 When the sand of the lonely desert has covered the plains of 
 
 strife 
 Where the English fought for the rescue and the Arab stood for 
 
 his life ; 
 When the crash of battle is over, and healed are our wounds and 
 
 scars, 
 There will live in our island story a tale of the Tenth Hussars. 
 They had charged in the grand old fashion, with furious shout and 
 
 swoop, 
 With a " Follow me, lads ! " from the colonel and an answering 
 
 roar from the troop ; 
 From the staff, as the troops passed it, in glory of pride and 
 
 pluck, 
 They heard, and they never forgot it, one following shout, " Good 
 
 luck ! " 
 Wounded and worn he sat there, in silence of pride and pain, 
 The man who had led them often, but was never to lead again. 
 Think of the secret anguish ! think of the dull remorse i 
 To see the Hussars sweep by him, unled by the old white horse ! 
 An alien, not a stranger, with heart "of a comrade still. 
 He had borne his sorrow bravely, as a soldier must and will — 
 And when the battle was over, in deepening gloom and shade, 
 He followed the staff in silence, and rode to the grand parade ; 
 For the Tenth had another hero, all ripe for the general's praise, 
 
64 A TALE OF THE TENTH HUSSARS. 
 
 Who was called to the front that evening, by the name of trooper 
 
 Hayes : 
 He had slashed his way to fortune, when scattered, unhorsed, 
 
 alone, 
 And in saving the life of a comrade had managed to guard his own. 
 The general spoke out bravely as ever a soldier can — 
 " The army's proud of your valor ; the regiment's proud of their 
 
 man." 
 Then across that lonely desert, at the close of the general's praise, 
 Came a cheer, then a quick, short tremble on the lips of trooper 
 
 Hayes. [say ; 
 
 " Speak out," said the kindly colonel, " if you've anything, lad, to 
 Your queen and your dear old country will hear what you've done 
 
 to-day." 
 But the trooper gnawed his chin-strap, then sheepishly hung his 
 
 head ; 
 " Speak out, old chap ! " said his comrades. With an effort, at 
 
 last, he said : 
 " I came to the front with my pals here, the boys and the brave 
 
 old tars, 
 I've fought for my queen and country, and rode with the Tenth 
 
 Hussars : 
 I'm proud of the fine old regiment ! " — then the colonel shook his 
 
 hand — 
 " So I'll ask one single favor from my queen and my native land- 
 There sits by your side on the staff, sir, a man we are proud to 
 
 own. 
 He was struck down first in the battle, but never was heard to 
 
 groan ; 
 If I've done aught to deserve it " — then the general smiled " Of 
 
 course " — 
 " Give back to the Tenth their colonel ! — the man on the old 
 
 white horse ! 
 If ever a man bore up, sir, as a soldier should, with pluck, 
 And fought with a savage sorrow the demon of cursed ill-luck— - 
 That man he sits before you ! Give us back, with his wounds and 
 
 scars, 
 The man who has sorely suffered, and is loved by the Tenth 
 
 Hussars ! " 
 
THE INVENTOR'S WIFE. 65 
 
 Then a cheer went up from his comrades, and echoed across the 
 
 sand, 
 And was borne on the wings of mercy to the heart of his native 
 
 land, 
 Where the queen on her throne will hear it, and the colonel 
 
 prince will praise 
 The words of a simple soldier just uttered by Trooper Hayes. 
 Let the moralist stoop to mercy, that balm of all souls that live ; 
 For better than all forgetting is the wonderful word " Forgive ! " 
 
 F. C. Burnand. 
 
 THE INVENTOR'S WIFE. 
 
 It's easy to talk of the patience of Job. Humph ! Job had 
 
 nothin' to try him : 
 Ef he'd been married to 'Bijah Brown, folks wouldn't have dared 
 
 come nigh him. 
 Trials ineeed ! Now I'll tell you what — ef you want to be sick 
 
 of your life, 
 Jest come and change places with me a spell, for I'm an inventor's 
 
 wife. 
 And sech inventions ! I'm never sure, when I take up my coffee- 
 pot, 
 That 'Bijah hain't ben " improvin' " it, and it mayn't go off like a 
 
 shot. 
 Why, didn't he make me a cradle once that would keep itself a- 
 
 rockin' ; 
 And didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his head bruised 
 
 shockin' ? 
 And there was his " Patent Peeler," too — a wonderful thing, I'll 
 
 say; 
 But it hed one fault — it never stopped till the apple was peeled 
 
 away. 
 As for locks, and clocks, and mowin' machines, and reapers, and 
 
 all sech trash, 
 Why, 'Bijah's invented heaps of 'em, but they don't bring in no 
 
 cash. 
 5 
 
66 THE inventor's wife. 
 
 Law ! that don't worn' him — not at all ; he's the aggravatin'est 
 
 man — 
 He'll set in his little workshop there, and whistle and think and 
 
 plan, 
 Inventin' a Jew's-harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder 
 
 horn, 
 While the children's goin' barefoot to school, and the weeds is 
 
 chokin' our corn. 
 When 'Bijah and me kep' company he warn't like this, you know; 
 Our folks all thought he was dreadful smart — but that was years 
 
 ago. 
 He was handsome as any pictur then, and he had such a glib, 
 
 bright way — 
 I never thought that a time would come when I'd rue my weddin' 
 
 day ; 
 But when I've been forced to chop the wood, and tend to the 
 
 farm beside, 
 And look at 'Bijah a-settin' there, I've jest dropped down and 
 
 cried. 
 We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin' a gun, 
 But I counted it one of my marcies when it bu'st before 'twas 
 
 done. 
 So he turned it into a " burglar alarm." It ought to give thieves 
 
 a fright — 
 'Twould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it off at 
 
 night. 
 Sometimes I wonder ef 'Bijah's crazy, he does sechcur'ous things. 
 Hev I told you about his bedstead yit ? 'Twas full of wheels and 
 
 springs ; 
 It hed a key to wind it up, and a clock face at the head ; 
 All you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said, 
 That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor, 
 And then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn't sleep any 
 
 more. 
 Wa'al, 'Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at half-past five, 
 But he hadn't more'n got into it when — dear me ! sakes alive 1 
 Them wheels began to whiz and whirr ! I heerd a fearful snap, 
 And there was that bedstead, with 'Bijah inside, shet up jest like 
 
 a trap ! 
 
BROTHER GARDNER ON LIARS. 6/ 
 
 I screamed, of course, but 'twan't no use. Then I worked that 
 
 hull long night, 
 A-tryin' to open the pesky thing. At last I got in a fright : 
 I couldn't hear his voice inside, and I thought he might be dyin' ; 
 So I took a crowbar and smashed it in. There was 'Bijah 
 
 peacefully lyin', 
 Inventin' a way to git out agin. That was all very well to say, 
 But I don't b'lieve he'd have found it out if I'd left him in all day. 
 Now, sence I've told you my story, do you wonder I'm tired of 
 
 life ? 
 Or think it strange I often wish I warn't an inventor's wife ? 
 
 E. T. Corbett, in Harper's Bazar \ 
 
 BROTHER GARDNER, OF THE LIME-KILN 
 CLUB, ON LIARS. 
 
 "Who am a liar?" asked the old man, as he stood 
 up in his usual place and glared around him. 
 
 Pickles Smith, Trustee Pullback, Samuel Shin, and 
 Evergreen Jones started and turned pale, and there 
 was a death-like silence as Brother Gardner continued : 
 
 " An' what shall we do wid him — wid de liar, an' de 
 liars ? De liar am wid us an' of us an' among us. He 
 gits up wid us in de mawnin' and lies down wid us at 
 night. Go to de grocery, an' de grocer smiles an' nods 
 an' lies. Go to de dry-goods man, an' he has a welcome 
 an' a lie. De tailor promises a suit when he knows 
 he can't finish it. De shoemaker promises a pair 
 of butes for Saturday when he has three days' work 
 on de nex' week. De ice man charges us wid twenty- 
 five pounds an' delivers sixteen. Our carpets am war- 
 ranted, an' yet dey fade. De plumber plumbs an' lies. 
 De painter paints an* lies. De carpenter planes an* 
 
6S BROTHER GARDNER ON LIARS. 
 
 saws an* cheats. De dressmaker not only lies but 
 steals de cloth. We all lie like troopers fifty times a 
 day, an* de man who won't lie doan' stan' any show. 
 
 " An' yet, my frens, whar will we bring up in de eand ? 
 When Waydown Bebee axes me fur de loan of a dollar 
 till Saturday, he lies. He knows he can't pay it back 
 under fo' weeks. I know he knows it, an' I lie. I tell 
 him I jist paid out de last shillin' fur a washbo'd, an' 
 can't possibly raise no mo'. If I ax Judge Hostetter 
 Jackson to sign a bank note wid me, he lies when he 
 says he promised his dyin' gran'mudder nebber to do 
 so. We lie when we w'ar better cloze dan we can 
 afford — when we put on airs above us — when we put 
 on our backs what orter be fodder fur our stomachs. 
 We has become a red-hot, go-ahead, dust-aroun' nashun, 
 but we has also become a nashun of liars, cheats, and 
 false pretenders. Our religion furnishes a cloak for 
 hypocrites, an' our charity am but a high-soundin' name 
 fur makin' a dollar bring back ten shillings. I doan' 
 know what de principle wickedness of Sodom consisted 
 of, nor wheder de folks in Gomorrow tole lies or pitched 
 pennies, but if either one could beat an American town 
 of de same size fur lyin' an' decepshun dey mus' have 
 got up werry airly in de mawnin', an' stayed awake all 
 night long. We lie, an' we know we lie. We play the 
 hypocrite, we cheat and deceive, an' yit we want the 
 world to pick us out as shinin' examples of virtue, an' 
 we expect our tombstones to bear eulogies gorgious 
 'nuff fur angels. Gentlemen, let us kick each odder 
 into doin' better ! Let de kickin' begin just whar it 
 happens, fur we can't hit anybody who doan' need 
 it!" 
 
THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE. 69 
 
 Waydown Bebee arose to inquire if he had ever bor- 
 rowed a dollar of de President and neglected to return 
 it on the date specified. 
 
 " You has, sah ! " was the prompt reply. 
 
 Waydown scratched his head, looked around for a 
 soft spot to break his fall, and finally sat down with a 
 look of melancholy creeping over his complexion. — De- 
 troit Free Press. 
 
 THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE. 
 
 Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East 
 
 Who never was " staggered " in the least. 
 
 No tale of marvellous beast or bird 
 
 Could match the stories he had heard. 
 
 No curious place or wondrous view 
 
 " Was ekil to Podunk, I tell yu." 
 
 They showed him a room where a queen had slept ; 
 
 'Twan't * up to the tavern daddy kept" 
 
 They showed him Lucerne. But he had drunk 
 
 From the beautiful Mollichunkamunk. 
 
 They took him at last to ancient Rome, 
 
 And inveigled him into a catacomb. 
 
 Here they plied him with draughts of wine 
 (Though he vowed old cider was twice as fine) 
 Till the fumes of Falernian filled his head, 
 And he slept as sound as the silent dead. 
 They removed a mummy to make him room, 
 And laid him at length in the rocky tomb. 
 
 They piled old skeletons round the stone, 
 
 Set a " dip " in a candlestick of bone, 
 
 And left him to slumber there alone. 
 
 Then watched from a distance the taper's gleam, 
 
 Waiting to jeer at his frightened scream 
 
 When he should awake from his drunken dream. 
 
;o THE fireman's story. 
 
 After a time the Yankee woke, 
 But instantly saw through the flimsy joke; 
 So never a cry or shout he uttered, 
 But solemnly rose and slowly muttered : 
 " I see how it is. It's the judgment day, 
 We've all been dead and stowed away ; 
 All these stone furreners sleepin' yet, 
 An* I'm the fust one up, you bet I 
 Can't none o' you Romans start, I wonder I 
 United States is ahead, by thunder ! " 
 
 THE FIREMAN'S STORY. 
 
 A FRIGHTFUL face ! Wal, yes, yer correct ; 
 
 That man on the engine thar' 
 Don't pack the handsomest countenance — 
 
 Every inch of it sportin' a scar ; 
 But I tell you, pard, thar' ain't money enough 
 
 Piled up in the national banks 
 To buy that face — nor a single scar — 
 
 (No, I never indulges. Thanks ) 
 
 Yes, Jim is an old-time engineer, 
 
 An' a better one never war knowed I 
 Bin a runnin y yar since the fust machine 
 
 War put on the Quincy road; 
 An* thar ain't a galoot that pulls a plug 
 
 From Maine to the jumpin' off place 
 That knows more about the big iron hoss 
 
 Than him with the battered up face. 
 
 Git hurt in a mash-up ? No, 'twas done 
 
 In a sort o' legitimate way ; 
 He got it a trym' to save a gal 
 
 Up yar on the road last May. 
 ' I hevn't much time fur to spin you the yarn, 
 
 Fur we pull out at two twenty-five — 
 Jist wait till I climb up an' toss in some coal, 
 
 So to keep the old * 90 n alive. 
 
THE FIREMAN S STORY. Jl 
 
 Jim war pullin* the Burlin'ton passenger then, 
 
 Left Quincy half an hour late, 
 An' war skinnin' along purty lively so's not 
 
 To lay out number twenty-one freight. 
 The " 90 " war more than a 'hopin' 'em up, 
 
 An' a quiverin' in every nerve ! 
 When all at once Jim yelled " Merciful God ! n 
 
 As she shoved her sharp nose 'round a curvet 
 
 I jumped to his side o' the cab, an' ahead 
 
 'Bout two hundred paces or so 
 Stood a gal on the track, her hands raised aloft, 
 
 An' her face jist as white as the snow. 
 It seems she war so paralyzed with fright 
 
 That she couldn't move for'ard or back, 
 An' when Jim pulled the whistle she fainted an' fell 
 
 Right down in a heap on the track. 
 
 I'll never forgit till the day o' my death 
 
 The look that cum over Jim's face ; 
 He throwed the old lever cl'ar back like a shot, 
 
 So's to slacken the " 90's " wild pace. 
 Then he let on the air brakes as quick as a flash, 
 
 An' out through the window he fled, 
 An' skinned 'long the runnin' board cl'ar out in front, 
 
 An' lay down on the pilot ahead. 
 
 Then, just as we reached whar the poor creatur' lay, 
 
 He grabbed a tight hold of her arm, 
 An' raised her right up so's to throw her one side 
 
 Out o' reach of all danger an' harm. 
 But somehow he slipped an' fell in with his head 
 
 On the rail, as he throwed the young lass, 
 An' the pilot, in strikin' him, ground up his face 
 
 In a frightful an' horrible mass ! 
 
 As soon as I stopped I backed up the train 
 
 To the spot whar the poor fellow lay ; 
 An' thar set the gal with his head in her lap ? 
 
 An' a wipin' the warm blood away. 
 
HIE shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 The tears rolled in torrents right down from her eyes, 
 While she sobbed like her heart war all broke — 
 
 I tell you, my friend, sich a sight as that 'ar 
 Would move the tough heart of an oak. 
 
 We put Jim aboard an' run back to town, 
 
 Whar for week arter week the boy lay 
 A hoverin' right in the shadder o' death, 
 
 An' that gal by his bed every day. 
 But nursin' an' doctorin' brought him around — 
 
 Kinder snatched him right outen the grave ; 
 
 His face ain't so han'som' as 'twar, but his heart 
 
 Remains jist as noble an' brave. 
 ******* 
 
 Of course thar's a sequel — as story books say — 
 
 He fell dead in love, did this Jim ; 
 But he hadn't the heart to ax her to have 
 
 Sich a battered up rooster as him. 
 She knowed how he felt, an' last New Year's Day 
 
 War the fust day o' leap year, you know, 
 So she jist cornered Jim an' proposed on the pote, 
 
 An' you bet he didn't say no. 
 
 He's buildin' a house up thar on the hill, 
 
 An' has laid up a snug pile o' cash, 
 The weddin's to be on the first o' next May — 
 
 Jist a year from the day o' the mash. 
 The gal says he risked his dear life to save hers, 
 
 x\n' she'll jist turn the tables about 
 An' give him the life that he saved — thar's the bell 
 
 Good-day, sir, we're goin' to pull out. — Anon. 
 
 THE SHOEMAKER'S DAUGHTER 
 
 Yesternight, as I sat with an old friend of mine, 
 In his library, cozily over our wine, 
 Looking out on the guests in the parlor, I said, 
 Of a lady whose shoe showed some ripping of thread : 
 " Frank, she looks like a shoemaker's daughter." 
 
THE SHOEMAKERS DAUGHTER. J j 
 
 " Yes," said Frank, u yes ; her shoe has a rip to the side — 
 The mishap of the moment — the lady's a bride. 
 That reminds me of something; and here as we sit, 
 If you'll listen with patience, I'll spin you a bit 
 Of a yarn of a shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 When I was a boy, half a century since — 
 How one's frame, as one numbers the years, seems to wince ! 
 A dear little girl went to school with me then — 
 As I sit in my arm-chair I see her again : 
 Kitty Mallet, the shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 Whence the wonderful ease in her manner she had ? 
 Not from termagent mother, nor hard-working dad ? 
 Yet no doubt that, besides a most beautiful face, 
 The child had decorum, refinement and grace, 
 Not at all like a shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 Her dress was of six-penny print, but 'twas clean ; 
 Her shoes, like all shoemaker's children's were mean j 
 Her bonnet, a wreck, but, whatever she wore, 
 The air of a damsel of breeding she bore — 
 Not that of a shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 The girls of the school, when she entered the place, 
 Pinched each other, then tittered and stared in her face, 
 She heeded no insult, no notice she took; 
 But quietly settled herself to her book — 
 
 She meant business, that shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 Still jeered at by idler, and dullhead and fool, 
 A hermitess she in the crowd of the school : 
 There was wonder indeed when it soon came to pass 
 That " Calico Kitty " was head of the class. 
 
 " What ! Kitty ! That shoemaker's daughter 1 " 
 
 Still wearing the same faded calico dress, 
 And calm, as before, in the pride of success ; 
 Her manner the same, easy, soft and refined, 
 *Twas she seemed an heiress, while each left behind 
 In the race was a shoemaker's daughter. 
 
grannie's picture. 
 
 Bit by bit all her schoolmates she won to her side, 
 To rejoice in her triumph, be proud in her pride, 
 And I with the rest. I felt elderly then — 
 For I was sixteen — while the lass was but ten ; 
 So I petted the shoemaker's daughter. 
 
 Do you see that old lady with calm, placid face ? 
 Time touches her beauty, but leaves all her grace : 
 Do you notice the murmurs that hush when she stirs, 
 And the honor and homage so pointedly hers ? 
 That's my wife, sir, the shoemaker's daughter." 
 
 Thomas Dunn English. 
 
 GRANNIE'S PICTURE. 
 
 A SCOTCH STORY. 
 
 Now in her cosy high-back'd chair 
 My dear old Grannie's seated there, 
 With snowy 'kerchief on her breast, 
 And folded hands in lap at rest, 
 While I am seated at her feet 
 To have a rare and special treat, 
 For she has promised me to-day 
 A tale of time long passed away, 
 An ower true tale — when she was young- 
 Told in her own dear Scottish tongue ; 
 Tears shining in her old blear 'd eyes, 
 She thus began — 'midst sobs and sighs. 
 
 " Weel, we el, my bairn, ye dinna ken 
 The warks, an' ways, langsyne, o' men. 
 Gin ye but look upon the wall 
 Aboon the shelf sae braid an' tall 
 Ye'll find ae pictur i' the jo* 
 Wha lo'ed ye'r Grannie lang ago 
 
 * This and many other like expressions are Grannie's own Scotch. 
 
grannie's picture. 75 
 
 When but a lassie, sic as thou, 
 Wi' curlie locks an' towzie pow, 
 Ae cantie laddie, wi' nae plaidie red 
 Or bonnet blue, upon his bonnie head. 
 But he was birkie, couthie, braw an' fair, 
 Wi 'een o' blue, an' gowden yellow hair ; 
 How dearly him I lo'ed I ne'er maun tell ; 
 But certie sure I am 'twas true an' well ; 
 My mither ken'd it a'. The nichts he came, 
 He was nae unco stranger at our hame, 
 The fire bleezed brichter tae the vera crook 
 When he sat by it, an' his laugh an' jook 
 Rattled an' clatter'd till the merry glee 
 Wad rin the tears in rivers, frae our ee ; 
 Sae winsome was the laddie ilka whare, 
 The sicht o' him was guid for een, 'twar sair ; 
 His collie doggie'd, sit a-hint the bink — 
 Ae tidy dog he was, wi' knowin wink — 
 Noo' at the ane o'us, an' then the ither, 
 Or watchin' o' the spinnin' wheel, whare mither 
 Wad mak the spindle fly, wi' busy hum 
 Fu' sweet, an' listfu', and sae saft an' turn. 
 
 Lammie, Heaven ne'er cuid seem mair bricht 
 Than was our ingleside, a winter's nicht. 
 'Twas twal month, mair, aye nearly twa, 
 
 Since my dear faither gaed awa, 
 Tae sail his ship, tae foreign main, 
 An' noo' he's back, an' hame again. 
 
 1 dearly lo'ed my faither ; an' my mither, his guid wife, 
 Sair't him wi' a' her heart, an' for him wad hae gien her life. 
 But when he ken'd the widow's son, wha had nae gowd or siller, 
 An' airn'd sae hard his mither's bread, a warkin' tae the miller, 
 Cam 'wooing for his dochter's han', an' that her heart she gave, 
 He swoor that sooner far he'd lay that dochter i' her grave — 
 Ech, Lammie, 'tis the ower tauld tale o' ae puir lassie's heart, 
 By cruel faither's iron will, sae rudely forc'd tae part. 
 
 Alas, alas, wi' the first luve, that e'er it call'd its ain, 
 
 An' tho' it maun live three score years, it canna come again. 
 
6 CRANNIES PICTURE. 
 
 My laddie was too honest far by stealth tae come tae me, 
 He vow'd he wad ae captain be, an' when, far ower the sea, 
 He'd gathered gowd an' siller, an' haed muckle wealth untold, 
 He back wad come an' buy me frae my faither wi' his gowd. 
 But years, a-top o' years, roll'd on, sae sad, sae sair, sae slow, 
 Yet brocht me back nae tidin's o' my heart's first mate, my jo. 
 His mither, just afore she died, his pictur gied tae me, 
 An' I hae kept it iver since, an' will until I dee — 
 Aye ! aften wi' it on my knees, I've ask'd my God in prayer 
 Tae tak me tae my laddie dear, that I maun meet him whare 
 There be nae partin' iver, for I ken'd my laddie noo', 
 Awa among the angels, is wi' croon upon his broo. [brocht, 
 
 Ech! weel, ane time when faither came, ae fine man hame he 
 Wha muckle gow'd an' riches haed, fit for his son he thOcht, 
 An' sairlie bade me wed him then an' there; 
 That man, my Lammie, was ye'r ain forebear. 
 Aye ! weel do I remember, bairn, as 'twar but yestereen, 
 I tauld him o' my luve for jo, an' a' that sud hae been, 
 An' he, ye'r ain forebear, my bairn, was gallant, just, an' true, 
 An' tauld me, gin he ken'd my jo, that he cuid io'e kin too, 
 ******* 
 
 Langsyne, they twa hae met, Lammie, 
 
 Aboon, wi' God in Heav'n, 
 Whare my puir, tired, waesome heart, 
 
 Is langin' tae be gaen. 
 
 Ech, Lammie dear, I dinna ken the mony kinds o' croon, 
 
 The Laird an' Maister maks an' keeps for a' the heads aboon, 
 
 But weel I ken the rose an' wee bit prickly thorn, 
 
 He mingled wi' the Crass, I, on my heart, hae worn, 
 
 While trav'lin' here, along the lang an' lonesome road, 
 
 But as I'm nearin' noo' the Ian' whare dwells my God, 
 
 My Lammie dear, I wad na' hae ane thorn awa ; 
 
 He kens them weel, for surely He hae counted a', 
 
 An' ilka sin o' mine an' cruel pain, 
 
 He's wash'd an' heal'd wi' precious bluid, His ain. 
 
 An* i' the countrie whither I'm a gangin' tae I'll meet 
 
 My mither dear an' faither, walkin' i' the gowden street, 
 
NINETY-EIGHT. 'JJ 
 
 An' there nae guide, nae pictur will I need tae ken 
 My bonnie laddie, an* my ain guid man, the best o' men, 
 Ken weel, my Lammie dear, nae marryin' ayont the sod ; 
 For a' are liken' there unto the blessed Son o' God. 
 Ech ! Lammie, when ye'r Grannie's head is lyin' cauld an' low, 
 An* a' the bonnie rlow'rs ye'll plant aboon her grave will grow, 
 Tak frae the wall an' keep it safe, an' keep it aye wi' care, 
 My laddie's pictur ; an' the lock o' gowden yellow hair 
 Ye'll find secure an' safe a-back the wee auld picture frame. 
 Wrapt i' ae bit o' paper, whare I writ his age an' name. 
 My guidman an' my jo hae gaen to -God aboon, 
 Ech i Dinna fash aboot them noo' I'll meet them soon. 
 My Lammie dear, my tale o' luve is dune, 
 I only bide ae wee the settin' o' life's sun, 
 An' when ye'r life, my bairn, an' luves on earth are o'er, 
 We'll meet, my Lammie dear, upon the shiny shore, 
 An' then we'll walk thegith'r the grand, the gowden street, 
 An* ye'r ain forebear, an' my jo, we'll kindly greet. 
 
 Mrs. M. E. Sniffen. 
 
 NINETY-EIGHT. 
 
 In the old marble town of Kilkenny, 
 
 With its abbeys, cathedrals and halls, 
 Where the Norman bell rings out at nightfall, 
 
 And the relics of gray crumbling walls 
 Show traces of Celt and of Saxon, 
 
 In bastions, and towers, and keeps, 
 And graveyards and tombs tell the living 
 
 Where glory or holiness sleeps ; 
 Where the Nuncio brought the Pope's blessing, 
 
 And money and weapons to boot, 
 Whilst Owen was wild to be plucking 
 
 The English clan up by the root ; 
 Where regicide Oliver revelled 
 
 With his Puritan, ironside horde, 
 And cut down both marble and monarchy, 
 
 Grimly and grave — with the sword ; 
 
NINETY -EIGHT. 
 
 There, in that old town of history, 
 
 England, in famed Ninety-eight, 
 Was busy with gallows and yeomen, 
 
 Propounding the laws of the State. 
 
 They were hanging a young lad — a rebel — 
 
 On a gibbet before the old jail, 
 And they marked his weak spirit to falter, 
 
 And his white face to quiver and quail ; 
 And he spoke of his mother, whose dwelling 
 
 Was but a short distance away — 
 A poor, lorn, heart-broken widow — 
 
 And he her sole solace and stay. 
 " Bring her here," cried the chief of the yeomen- 
 
 " A lingering chance let us give 
 To this spawn of a rebel to babble, 
 
 And by her sage counsel to live." 
 
 And quick a red trooper went trotting 
 
 From the town to the poor cabin-door, 
 And he found the old lone woman sitting 
 
 And spinning upon the bare floor. 
 " Your son is in trouble, old damsel I 
 
 They have him within in the town, 
 And he wishes to see you ; so bustle, 
 
 And put on your tucker and gown." 
 
 The old woman stopped from the spinning, 
 
 With a frown on her deep-wrinkled brow : 
 " I know how it is — cursed yeoman ! 
 
 I am ready — I'll go with you now." 
 He seized her, enraged, by the shoulder, 
 
 And, lifting her up on his steed, 
 Stuck the spurs, and they rode to the city, 
 
 Right ahead, and with clattering speed. 
 
 They stopped at the foot of the gallows, 
 And the mother confronted the son — 
 
 And she hugged his young heart to her bosom, 
 And kissed his face, pallid and wan. 
 
NINETY-EIGHT. 79 
 
 And, as the rope dangled before her, 
 
 She held the loop fast in her hand — 
 For, though her proud soul was unblenching, 
 
 Her frail limbs were failing to stand ; 
 And whilst the raw yeomen came crowding 
 
 To witness the harrowing scene, 
 The brave mother flushed to the forehead, 
 
 And spoke with the air of a queen : 
 " My son, they are going to hang you, 
 
 For loving your faith and your home, 
 And they called me to urge you, and save you, 
 
 And, in God's name, I've answered and come. 
 They murdered your father before you, 
 
 And I knelt on the red, reeking sod, 
 And I watched his hot blood steaming upward 
 
 To call down the vengeance of God. 
 No traitor was he to his country — 
 
 No blot did he leave on his name — 
 And I always could pray at his cold grave — 
 
 Oh ! the priest could kneel there without shame ! " 
 
 " To hell with your priests and your rebels ! " 
 
 The captain cried out with a yell, 
 Whilst, from the tall tower in the temple, 
 
 Rang out the sweet Angelos bell. 
 
 " Blessed Mother ! " appealed the poor widow, 
 
 M Look down on my child and on me ! " 
 " Blessed Mother ! " sneered out the vile yeoman; 
 
 " Tell your son to confess, and be free." 
 
 * Never ! never ! — he'll die like his father. 
 
 My boy ! give your life to the Lord ; 
 But of treason to Ireland, via vourneen ! 
 
 Never breathe one dishonoring word ! " 
 
 His white cheek flushed up at her speaking — 
 
 His heart bounded up at her call — 
 And his hushed spirit seemed, at awaking, 
 
 To scorn death, veomen and all. 
 
SO NINETY-EIGHT. 
 
 " I'll die, and 111 be no informer— 
 
 My kin I will never disgrace ; 
 And when God lets me see my poor father 
 
 I can lovingly look in his face." 
 
 " You'll see him in hell ! " cried the yeoman, 
 As he flung the sad widow away — 
 
 And the youth in a moment was strangling 
 In the broad eye of shuddering day. 
 
 " Give the gallows a passenger outside ! " 
 
 A tall Hessian spluttered aloud, 
 As he drove a huge nail in the timber 
 
 'Mid the curses and cries of the crowd. 
 Then, seizing the poor bereaved mother, 
 
 He passed his broad belt round her throat, 
 Whilst her groaning was lost in the drum-beat, 
 
 And her shrieks in the shrill bugle note. 
 
 And mother and son were left choking, 
 And struggling and writhing in death, 
 
 Whilst angels looked down on the murder, 
 And devils were wrangling beneath. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 " For this," cries the Exile defiant — 
 
 " For this" cries the Patriot brave ; «^ 
 
 " For this" cries the lonely Survivor, 
 
 O'er many a horror-marked grave; 
 "For this" cry the Priest and the Peasant-^- 
 
 The student, the lover, the lost ; 
 The stalworth, who pride in their vigor, 
 
 The frail, as they give up the ghost ; 
 For this, we curse Saxon dominion, 
 
 And join in the world-wide cry 
 That wails up to heaven for vengeance 
 
 Thro' every blue gate oi" the sky ! 
 
 Dr. Campion. 
 
THE WIDDER. 8 1 
 
 THE WIDDER. 
 
 BY PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 44 One more unfortunate .... Gone to her death ! n 
 
 Hood. 
 
 Do I know the bottom facts about the Widder ? 
 
 Wall, a few ! 
 W'll I tell 'em to ye, neighbor ? 
 
 Wall, I don't car' ef I do ! 
 
 Step inside an* hev some " cider " — 
 
 Hev a cheer, neighbor. Come! 
 Needn't be so bashful 'bout it, 
 
 Jest you make y'rself to hum. 
 
 We ain't fixt fur 'ceivin' Yorkers, 
 
 It's M'iissy's washin' day ; 
 You'll excuse her, won't ye, neighbor ? 
 
 She's her wringins under way. 
 Yis, she's got up quite regardless 
 
 In her Monday mornin's duds, 
 An' she's tugged away since breakfast, 
 
 Up to elbows in the suds. 
 Wall, I b'lieve I won't disturb her. — 
 
 Oh, I'll give ye some ide 
 About the Widder, ez they call 'er — 
 
 Now, hoi' on, jest let n>e see ! 
 
 'Twas a stormy winter's evenin', 
 
 Wall, three years ago, or more, 
 I sot waitin' fur the mail-stage 
 
 Over here in Bronson's store. 
 Bronson, then* sold simply groceries, 
 6 
 
82 THE WIDDER. 
 
 All his barrel heads was green ; 
 Folks brought cans thet wanted whiskey, 
 
 Winked, and called fur kerosene. 
 Now, he sells rum under license, 
 
 But it's some'at, I expec', 
 Like a Tilden torch pr'ceshin 
 
 Climbin' down a feller's neck I 
 
 Wall, there'd been a fall o* snow, sir, 
 
 An' the evenin' stage was late, 
 Which ain't ap' t' improve the tempera 
 
 Of them folks what has to wait. 
 I'd mos' got tired o' waitin', 
 
 An' was jest agoin' to shift, 
 When a voice out on the turnpike 
 
 Hollered, " Bronson, gi' me a lift ! ' 
 Wall, ez Bronson he was busy 
 
 Tyin' up an ounce o' mace, 
 I, jest merely to obleege him, 
 
 Went outdoors in Isaac's place ; 
 An' I found t'was Henry Beerses 
 
 Voice that hollered in to Ike ; 
 He'd just druv up with the stage-coach 
 
 With his mail-stuff and sich like, 
 An' he says, " Bill, lend a han' here I 
 
 Now, keep still, don't make no noise, 
 There's a gal inside, bad taken, 
 
 Keep it shady from the boys. 
 Pick't her up below to Hubbells ; 
 
 Guess she's taken pretty bad, 
 Better take her into Bronson's." 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " I guess we had I " 
 
 Hen an' me a gently hoi din* — 
 I her feet an' Hen her head — 
 
 Lugged her safely into Bronson's, 
 Where we laid her on a bed. 
 
 Wall, fur takin* car' o' sick-folks 
 
THE WIDDER. 83 
 
 Hen nor me 'u'd never do ; 
 Savin' nothin' of a lady 
 
 In a spell o' faintin' ! So, 
 No women bein' handy, 
 
 'Less 'twas Isaac Bronson's wife, 
 Who never'd had no sickness 
 
 In her fam'ly in her life, 
 I went home an' lugged M'lissy 
 
 Thro' the rain an' slush an' sleet— 
 She'd been callin' to her sister's, 
 
 Phoebe Perkins, up the street. 
 An' we bro't along her bottles, 
 
 Smellin'-salts an' alcohol, 
 An' her bag o' yarbs fur steepin' 
 
 Which she'd pick't the preevyis Fall; 
 An' we sot to work to fannin', 
 
 Clapped her han's ez white ez snow, 
 An' in sutfein' like a jiffy 
 
 We'd, amongst us, fetched her to. 
 
 Wall, when last her eyes had opened, 
 
 Hen says, " Bill, I'll go, I b'lieve 1 ■ 
 So we both went out together, — 
 
 It was time fur men to leave. 
 Henry whispered to M'lissy 
 
 He'd stay roun' fur fear the gal 
 Should be taken of a suddent 
 
 With another faintin' spell, 
 An' I started fur the doctor 
 
 With the sorrel to the sleigh, 
 But, as al'ys when they're wanted, 
 
 Found he'd jest been called away. 
 
 I waited most till mornin' 
 
 Before the doctor come, 
 Every second seemin' hours. 
 
 Wall, when we druv fur hum, 
 Thet goll darn little sorrel 
 
84 THE WIDDER. 
 
 Made the cutter fairly skip. 
 I let doctor do the driving 
 
 I jest slung the black-snake whip, 
 An* we come that four mile, neighbor, 
 
 At a square three-minit gait — 
 Might ez well 'a' took our time, though 9 
 
 Fur we got there jes' too late. 
 
 The little Widder, neighbor, 
 
 Had been cold a half an hour ; 
 When Doc' an' me dub up there 
 
 They'd the crape hung on the door. 
 She'd passed away, unconscious ; 
 
 Ez the storm outside blew o'er 
 M'lissy went to wake her, 
 
 An' she found she was no more. 
 Neighbor, two storms died that mornm* 
 
 T'other'd raged inside her breast ; 
 Both died out, sir, died forever, 
 
 An' the Widder found her rest. 
 
 For she told a touchin' story, 
 'Fore she died, to our M'liss ; 
 
 I'll relate it to ye, neighbor, 
 Ef I don't break down. 'Twas this : 
 
 She belonged, you see, in Bos'on,— 
 Liv'd there with her sister Clar'y, 
 
 Who'd sent her fur her schoolin' 
 To a ladies' seminary. 
 
 She, it seems, sir, was an orphan— 
 
 Clar'y was her only kin 
 That had gi'n to her a shelter. 
 
 Wall, she said she'd only been 
 To the 'cademy a quarter, 
 
 When she up an' run away 
 With a fascinatin' feller 
 
 In a comfortable way. 
 
THE WIDDER. 8$ 
 
 He'd told her that he loved her, 
 
 And had teased her to elope 
 An' go with him an' git married — 
 
 Turned her head with his soft-soap. 
 An' she b'lieved the tarnal critter, 
 
 Thought his love 'u'd never fade, 
 Never dreamin' of her folly 
 
 Till she found her trust betrayed 
 An' he'd run away an' left her 
 
 In her misery and shame 
 After writin' her a letter 
 
 Tellin' her she was to blame. 
 
 How'd we come to call her widder ? 
 
 Oh ! the neighbors here about 
 Sot to asking certain questions — 
 
 Kind o' tried to pry things out — 
 And to stop their 'tarnal quizzin' 
 
 (Hev another glass o' cider ?) 
 We jest merely told some on 'em 
 
 The gal she was a widder, 
 Which kind o' somehow took effect ; 
 
 The 'tarnal quizzin' ceased, 
 An' we smothered up the scandal 
 
 Till we'd buried her, at least. 
 
 A man named Caleb Curtis 
 
 Tried to start a -little gossip, 
 Till I threatened that I'd skin him, 
 'Less he stopped it, with my ho's'ip. 
 
 Well, we gev the gall a fun'ral ; 
 
 Yonder's whar thet coffin sot ; 
 'Twas a quiet like affair, sir. 
 
 Where's she buried ? In our lot. 
 
 She was purty, thet 'ere widder — 
 Why, her face was jest like cream, 
 
 An' ez soft an' smooth ez velvet. 
 Oh ! it really made her seem, 
 
86 THE WIDDER. 
 
 Ez she laid into the coffin 
 
 With a lily on her breast 
 (Which I made M'iissy put there, 
 
 Ez it was her las' request) 
 Jest as though she was an, angel 
 
 In a sort o' sweet repose. 
 Ah, she might hev been by that time, 
 
 Up in heaven there, who knows ? 
 
 I ain't much, sir, on religi'n, 
 
 I can't read, nor write, nor spell, 
 So, what's in the Good Book, neighbor, 
 
 I can't very easy tell ; 
 But I b'lieve that there's a heaven, 
 
 'Cause the Parson tells me so; 
 He sez that there's a hell, sir, 
 
 An' I think he ought to know. 
 Wall, I b'lieve that little widder's 
 
 Up there where, 'mongst the good ones — oh, 
 I believe that she's forgiven, 
 
 That she's washed ez white ez snow t 
 I b'lieve, fur Christ showed mercy 
 
 To a thief on Calvary, 
 That 'ere widder she's an angel, 
 
 An' I think she ought to be I 
 
 She wa'n't bro't up by her mother, 
 
 Guided from her infancy, 
 Didn't even hev' a brother 
 
 To protect her. An* ye see 
 She gev that 'tarnal critter 
 
 All her very heart and soul, 
 An' he run away an' left her 
 
 After crushhv both. I hoi* 
 That man '11 never prosper, 
 
 He'll git paid, you may depend, 
 I, sir, b'lieve in retribution — 
 
 He'll hev' a bitter end. 
 
THE WIDDER. 87 *, 
 
 There's a plenteous lot o' bad folks 
 
 In this world of ours, no doubt ; 
 There's some scraggy thistles growin' here 
 
 That ought to be pulled out. 
 There is crimes ez bad ez stealin', 
 
 Bad ez murder, thet are done 
 An' left, on earth, unpunished I 
 
 That 'ere scoundrel's act is one'. 
 
 There's his pictur. Take it, neighbor, 
 
 You're from 'York ? Wall, so was he ! 
 Ef ye ever run agin' him 
 
 Jest communicate with me. 
 Don't be 'fraid that I'll forgit 'im— 
 
 I know jest what I'm about, 
 I've his pictur' in my mind, sir, 
 
 Stamp' t there, where it can't rub out ! 
 I'll give that 'tarnal critter 
 
 Somethin' he won't soon forgit — 
 What ? you'll take it ? Thank ye, neighbor, 
 
 We may run agin 'im yit. 
 
 Why, ef he was out in Asia, 
 
 An' I thought I'd find 'im there, 
 I'd go there, now, an' thrash 'im 
 
 Ef it took me fifteen year ! 
 I reckon I'm the queerest 
 
 Man I guess you've ever seen ; 
 I mean jest what I say, sir, 
 
 An' I say jest what I mean ; 
 That, when I hear of scoundrels 
 
 Like that curly-headed swell, 
 Oh, I feel it in my soul, sir, 
 
 I REJOICE THAT THERE'S A HELL ! 
 
 Hawley Chapman, 
 
88 ON THE OTHER TRAIN 
 
 ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 
 
 " There, Simmons, you blockhead ! Why didn't you 
 trot that old woman aboard her train ? She'll have to 
 wait here now until the 1.05 a.m." 
 
 14 You didn't tell me." 
 
 " Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your confounded 
 stupid carelessness." 
 
 « She " 
 
 44 She t You fool ! What else could you expect of 
 her ! Probably she hasn't any wit; besides, she isn't 
 bound on a very jolly journey — got a pass up the road 
 to the poor-house. I'll go and tell her, and if you for- 
 get her to-night, see if I don't make mince-meat of 
 you ! " and our worthy ticket-agent shook his fist men- 
 acingly at his subordinate. 
 
 44 You've missed your train, marm," he remarked, 
 coming forward to a queer looking bundle in the corner. 
 
 A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and 
 revealed the sweetest old face I ever saw. 
 
 44 Never mind," said a quivering voice. 
 
 44 "lis only three o'clock now ; you'll have to wait 
 until the night train, which doesn't go up until 1.05." 
 
 " Very well, sir; I can wait." 
 
 44 Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel ? Simmons 
 will show you the way." 
 
 44 No, thank you, sir. One place is as good as an- 
 other to me. Besides, I haven't any money." 
 
 44 Very well," said the agent, turning away indiffer- 
 ently. " Simmons will tell you when it's time." 
 
ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 89 
 
 All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I thought 
 sometimes she must be asleep, but when I looked more 
 closely I could see every once in a while a great tear 
 rolling down her cheek, which she would wipe away 
 hastily with her cotton handkerchief. 
 
 The depot was crowded, and all was bustle and 
 hurry until the 9.50 train going east came due ; then 
 every passenger left except the old lady. It is very 
 rare indeed that any one takes the night express, and 
 almost always, after I have struck ten, the depot be- 
 comes silent and empty. 
 
 The ticket agent put on his great coat, and bidding 
 Simmons keep his wits about him for once in his life, 
 departedior home. 
 
 But he had no sooner gone than that functionary 
 stretched himself out upon the table, as usual, and be- 
 gan to snore vociferously. Then it was I witnessed 
 such a sight as I never had before and never expect to 
 again. 
 
 The fire had gone down — it was a cold night, and 
 the wind howled dismally outside. The lamps grew 
 dim and flared, casting weird shadows upon the wall. 
 By and by I heard a smothered sob from the corner, 
 then another. I looked in that direction. She had 
 risen from her seat, and oh ! the look of agony on the 
 poor, pinched face. 
 
 "I can't believe it," she sobbed, wringing her thin, 
 white hands. "Oh! I can't believe it ! My babies ! 
 my babies ! how often have I held them in my arms 
 and kissed them ; and how often they used to say back 
 tome, ' Ise love you, mamma;' and now, O God! 
 they've turned against me. Where am I going ? To 
 3 
 
9° 
 
 ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 
 
 the poor-house ! No ! no ! no ! I cannot ! I will not I 
 Oh, the disgrace ! " 
 
 And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in 
 prayer : " O God ! spare me this and take me home ! 
 O God, spare me this disgrace ; spare me ! " 
 
 The wind rose higher, and swept through the crev- 
 ices icy cold. How it moaned and seemed to sob iike 
 something human that is hurt. I began to shake, but 
 the kneeling figure never stirred. The thin shawl had 
 dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simmons 
 turned over and drew his heavy blanket more closely 
 around him. 
 
 Oh, how cold ! Only one lamp remained, burning 
 dimly ; the other two had gone out for want of oil. I 
 could hardly see, it was so dark. 
 
 At last she became quieter, and ceased to moan. 
 Then I grew drowsy, and kind of lost the run of things 
 after I had struck twelve, when some one entered the 
 depot with a bright light. I started up. It was the 
 brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to fill the room 
 full of glory. I could see 'twas a man. He walked to 
 the kneeling figure and touched her upon the shoulder. 
 She started up and turned her face wildly around. I 
 heard him say : 
 
 " Tis train time, ma'am. Come ! " 
 
 A look of joy came over her face. 
 
 " I'm ready," she whispered. 
 
 " Then give me your pass, ma'am." 
 
 She reached him a worn old book, which he took and 
 from it read aloud : 
 
 " Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy la- 
 den, and I will give you rest." 
 
AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY. 9 1 
 
 11 That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you 
 
 ready ? " 
 
 The light died away and darkness fell in its place. 
 My hand touched the stroke of one. ^Simmons awoke 
 with a start, and snatched his lantern. The whistles 
 sounded down brakes ; the train was due. He ran to 
 the corner and shook the old woman. 
 
 " Wake up. marm ; 'tis train time." 
 
 But she never heeded. He gave one look at the 
 white, set face, and dropping his lantern, fled. 
 
 The up-train halted, the conductor shouted " All 
 aboard," but no one made a move that way. 
 
 The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he 
 found her frozen to death. They whispered among 
 themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict "apo- 
 plexy," and it was in some way hushed up. 
 
 They laid her out in the depot, and advertised for 
 her friends, but no one came. So, after the second 
 day, they buried her. 
 
 The last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a 
 smile so unearthly, I keep with me yet ; and when I 
 think of the occurrence of that night, I know that she 
 went out on the other train, that never stopped at the 
 poor-house. — Quarterly Elocutionist, 
 
 AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY. 
 
 He struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same 
 To prevent him so bold and undaunted ; 
 
 But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim, 
 u Avaunt, sir ! " and off he avaunied. 
 
9- NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 
 
 But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh, 
 Showing clearly that he was affronted, 
 
 And threatened by main force to carry her off, 
 She cried " Don't ! " and the poor fellow donted. 
 
 When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet, 
 Praying aloud, as before he had ranted, 
 
 That she would forgive him and try to be sweet, 
 And said " Can't you ? " the dear girl recanted. 
 
 Then softly he whispered, " How could you do so ? 
 
 I certainly thought I was jilted; 
 But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go ; 
 
 Say, wilt thon, tny dear ? " and she wilted. — Antm. 
 
 NO 5 COLLECT ST. 
 
 CORRECT VERSION. BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 About the year iSoo, Centre Street in the City of 
 New York was called the " Collect," owing to its rapid 
 descent, and taking the drainage from Chamber and 
 other adjoining streets down to the low grounds 
 about Canal Street. At the corner of Chamber and 
 the Collect (next to the " old Manhattan reservoir,'' 
 
 which was destroyed about the year ) there stood 
 
 an unpretentious brick house, occupied by a worthy 
 landlord of foreign birth as a private first-class hotel. 
 The inmates were mostly of French and Spanish origin, 
 and this place was held in high estimation by the 
 goodly citizens of that day. 
 
 Among the guests was one Mons. RifHard, who was 
 halting there for a day or two on his way from Paris to 
 
NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 93 
 
 Montreal. He understood the English language imper- 
 fectly, and could only command a word here and there 
 to make himself understood. 
 
 With this simple introduction we will now proceed 
 to relate his adventures on the first evening of his 
 visit. Mons. Rifflard, entering the office of the hotel, 
 requested the attendant to direct him to some respect- 
 able place of amusement in the vicinity where he might 
 spend a pleasant evening (an English theatre in pref- 
 erence), as he wished to lose no opportunity of acquir- 
 ing the language. The clerk, accompanying him to the 
 door, begged him to direct his vision over and away 
 across the Park, directly between the Rotunda (on the 
 opposite corner) and the " old gray-stone jail for debt- 
 ors " (since transformed into the "hall of records "), to 
 the large building brilliantly lighted up, and known as 
 the Park Theatre, or " Old Drury." Monsieur, perceiv- 
 ing it as directed, bowed politely, and thanking the 
 young man, departed for his destination ; but coming to 
 a sudden halt, and retracing his steps with "Mille par- 
 dons," asked the clerk to give him the name and the 
 number of the street. " Ah, yes," replied the latter, 
 " No. 5 Collect Street." " Bien ! " responded Monsieur, 
 " I will repeat it often in English on my way there," and 
 so he continued onward, repeating " 5 Collect Street, 
 5 Collect Street," and as he proceeded, acceleyited his 
 pace and the repetition of " 5 Collect Street, 5 Collect 
 Street," etc., etc., till arriving at his destination he 
 found himself quite out of breath, and the name of the 
 street changed to 5 Colley Street. 
 
 Quite a line of persons had formed, reaching to the 
 box-office, into which our friend fell, and leisurely he 
 
94 NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 
 
 progressed, repeating, " 5 Colley Street." At last, 
 reaching the pigeon-hole, he plunged his hand into it, 
 crying out, " Von tickette, 5 Colley Street." The ticket- 
 seller, quite astonished at being addressed in this way, 
 looked at the muttering visitor rather severely on hand- 
 ing the ticket ; but regardless of the angry look, he 
 grasped the card, with a bow, and " Number 5" — now 
 "5 Colleytie Street" — passed on, and taking a front seat 
 in the dress-circle, placed his elbows on the velvet- 
 padded cushion, kept his eyes on the green curtain in 
 front, and still mumbled over, " 5 Colleytie Street, 5 
 Colleytie Street." The ladies and gentlemen, on 
 entering, looked with some distrust upon the strangely 
 behaving gentleman, and naturally moved aw T ay from 
 close contact with him. Still, in the same attitude, he 
 muttered over, " 5 Colleytie Street." 
 
 The play was '* Macbeth," and in the second scene 
 of the second act (commonly called the murder scene) 
 the whole audience, intent upon the dreadful events 
 transpiring, and quieted down to that degree that the 
 least whisper could be distinctly heard, as Macbeth 
 rushes forward, exclaiming, " I have done the deed. 
 Didst thou not hear a noise ? " were suddenly aroused by 
 our excited hero, who, also interested in the tragedy, 
 had forgotten his self-imposed task, and springing to 
 his' feet with a wild look, screamed out, " Ah ! J'ai 
 oubliez,j'ai oabliez ! Oh, sabre de bois ! I have er him. 
 No, I no have er heem. Not you, Monsieur, nor Madame 
 Macabee's. Mais mine — vat you call ? — ah, oui, mine 
 memorie. I no remembaire ze street ; hees run avay." 
 
 Immediately, Macbeth with his poniard and Lady 
 Macbeth became, as it were, transfixed with astonish- 
 
NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 95 
 
 ment, while from all parts of the house arose the cry 
 of " Put him out ! " followed by a rude seizure of Rif- 
 flard's person, a lifting up from his feet, and a precipi- 
 tate rushing toward the doors, amid loud yelling and 
 his energetic gesticulations to make himself under- 
 stood. 
 
 In much less time than it requires to recite the event, 
 poor Mons. Rifflard found himself in a very dilapidated 
 condition upon the sidewalk in front of the theatre. 
 While gaining breath, and contemplating his situation, 
 a hackman accosted him with, "Take a carriage, sir? " 
 The manner of the man, appearing to him so kindly, 
 warmed the bewildered stranger, and suggested the in- 
 quiry, " You vill take me vere I shall vant to go ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, certainly; step in." 
 
 After being seated, the driver asked him where he 
 should drive to. 
 
 " Drive ? Bien ! v6re I vants to go." 
 
 " But the street, sir, and the number ? " 
 
 "Yes, street — v£re I vant to go." 
 
 The hackman, finding finally that his customer could 
 give him no further information, and being somewhat 
 of a wag, requested him to alight and go to the driver 
 next behind, who would be sure to give him entire sat- 
 isfaction. Our hero went to the next one on the stand 
 as directed, and repeated the question, " You shall take 
 me v£re I vants to go ? " 
 
 " That I will, sir, and briskly, too. What's the direc- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Direction ! " repeated Rifflard, " no, not direction, 
 mais vere I vant to go." 
 
 " Well, I don't know anything about that. Tell me 
 
g6 NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 
 
 where you wish to be taken to and I will drive you 
 there." 
 
 " Drive ! no, no ! Look, I villgive you von dollare — 
 two dollare — tree dollare — you take me vere I shall 
 vant to go, eh? " 
 
 "Well, you see, my friend," responded the driver, 
 11 as I don't know where you want to go I can't drive 
 you there, so you had better get out, and try the man 
 next below." 
 
 Rifflard, supposing he had mistaken the carriage the 
 first driver had directed him to, descended, and went to 
 the other. After experiencing the same result as in 
 the former cases he stepped out upon the sidewalk, 
 and was met by a city watchman, who had observed all 
 that we have described, and taken in the facts of the 
 case — that the man was of gentle manners, a stran- 
 ger, unable to make his wants known, and was, there- 
 fore, a fit subject for police protection. So taking him 
 in a kindly way by the arm, motioned that he should 
 go with him over there (pointing to the City Hall). 
 Monsieur took in the watchman's meaning at once, and 
 pleasantly accepted the invitation, relating to him on 
 the way there the whole story of his troubles, which 
 might have interested his hearer had he delivered it in 
 English, or even been less Frenchy in the violence of 
 his gestures. As it was, the watchman could only act in 
 a sort of affirmative way, by answering, " Yes ! oh, yes ! 
 I see," as the Frenchman would once in awhile stop 
 short and look at him inquiringly. 
 
 In those days, the captain of the watch occupied a 
 desk standing upon an elevated platform immediately 
 jr\ front of the door of entrance, and at the moment 
 
NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 9/ 
 
 of the watchman and Rifflard's d^but was having a 
 cat's nap ; but arousing himself he listened to the 
 " aid's " account of the matter, at the conclusion of 
 which he requested him to step aside while he interro- 
 gated " the party." With a loud voice, supposing it 
 the most efficacious way of making the expectant 
 Frenchman understand the English language, he de- 
 manded : 
 
 " Your name ! " 
 
 " Nem ! — nem, — ah, oui, nom ? Emile Rifflard ! " 
 
 " Residence ! " 
 
 " Ah ! bien, residence ! Rue des Enfants rouge, num- 
 ero 27 a Paris. Mais celui de New York, je viens 
 d'oubliez." 
 
 w What's all that he says ? " queried the Captain, look- 
 ing interrogatively at those standing around. No an- 
 swer being given, he again rallied and asked : " What 
 Street? do — " but before he could finish the sent- 
 ence, Rifflard, bursting out in a joyful manner, 
 fairly screamed out, "Street! ah, bravo! bravissimo! 
 Street ! bien ! — look, suppose von mane do go to von 
 grande dinnere. He is polite to ze ladies and eat 
 onley a leetle bit, till ven ze dessert do come he is 
 moche hungray, and do eat zen several piece of pie. 
 He do go home, he go to bed, mais in ze meedle of ze 
 night he vake up vis somesing vezzai bad here " — {hand 
 on the chest) — " vot you call zat, eh ? " 
 
 " That ? why that's — that's an indigestion pain." 
 
 " No, no, not Indigestion-pain St. — non. Suposse 
 
 von mane do go to von grande dinnere. (Excitedly.) He 
 
 is alvays polite to ze ladies, eat onlay a leetle bit of 
 
 soupe, a leetle beefe, a leetle cheeck-en, a leetle fish, 
 
 7 
 
98 NO. 5 COLLECT ST. 
 
 some dessert, drink some Bordeaux and some Cham- 
 paign, a leetle cafe viz ze Cognac and like before. He 
 do go home, he go to bed, he put on hees night-cap and 
 go to sleeps ; but bombye in ze meedle of ze night he 
 do see ze vindow open, and von great a big giant, vis 
 large moustache and big boots like zat " — (showing half 
 way up the thigh) — "do come in and valke to hees bed, 
 shump up and seat on his — his — er — vaistcoat, vich 
 make heem come vary bad heer " — {placing the hand a 
 trifle lower tha?i before), " Vot you call zat, eh ? " 
 
 "Ah, now I have it, sure," exclaimed the Captain, 
 "it's a bilious attack." 
 
 "Non, non, not Beelums-tack St.— non. (Louder.) 
 Suppose von mane do go to von grande dinnere. Hee 
 care not for ze polite to ze ladies, bote hee eat moche 
 soupe, moche beef, moche cheek-en, moche feeshe, drink 
 red vine, vite vine, plenty. Zen eat dessert, von dozaine 
 peece pie, take cafe, Cognac, ecetera. Zen hee go home, 
 hee go to bed, hee put on hees bonnet de nuit, and go 
 to sleeps. In leetle vile ze same vindow do opene, and 
 ze great a big giant vis ze big boots do come into ze 
 room, and aftere hees heels ze vife of ze giant. Zey 
 valk to hees bed, and von aftere ze ozere zey shump 
 up, and stand er on ze top of hees — hees — Eh, bien, — 
 hees estomache, vich make him keeck, and come so 
 verray bad heer " — (placing the hand lower than before, 
 interrogatively). " Vat you call zem, eh ? " (Doubling 
 up) 
 
 " There is no mistaking you now," said the Captain ; 
 " it's a nightmare." 
 
 " Non, non — tonnere, non. It ees not ze Nightmare 
 Street." 
 
s'posin'. 99 
 
 " Well, then, ,, resumed the Captain, " if it is not 
 that, it surely must be a high old colic.'' 
 
 14 Ah, le voila ! ! Colique ! 5 Colique Street take me. 
 All ze time vere I vant to go." — S.J. Pardessus. 
 
 S'POSIN*. 
 
 A man hobbled into the Colonel's office upon 
 crutches. Proceeding to a chair and making a cushion 
 of some newspapers, he sat down very gingerly, placed 
 a bandaged leg upon another chair, and said : 
 
 44 Col. Coffin, my name is Briggs. I want to get your 
 opinion about a little point of law. Now, Colonel, 
 s'posin' you lived up the pike here a half mile, next 
 door to a man named Johnson. And s'posin' you and 
 Johnson was to get into an argument about the human 
 intellect, and you was to say to Johnson that a splendid 
 illustration of the superiority of the human intellect was 
 to be found in the power of the human eye to restrain 
 the ferocity of a wild animal. And s'posin' Johnson 
 was to remark that that was all bosh, because nobody 
 could hold a wild animal with the human eye, and you 
 should declare that you could hold the savagest beast 
 that was ever born if you could once fix your gaze on 
 him. 
 
 44 Well, then, s'posin' Johnson was to say he'd bet a 
 hundred dollars he could bring a tame animal that you 
 couldn't hold with your eye, and you was to take him up 
 on it, and Johnson was to ask you to come down to his 
 place to settle the bet. You'd go, we'll say, and John- 
 son'd wander round to the back of the house and pretty 
 
IOO S'POSIN'. 
 
 soon come front again with a dog bigger'n any four 
 decent dogs ought to be. And then s'posin' Johnson'd 
 let go of that dog and set him on you, and he'd come at 
 you like a sixteen-inch shell out of a howitzer, and you'd 
 get scary about it and try to hold the dog with your eye, 
 and couldn't. And s'posin' you'd suddenly conclude 
 that maybe your kind of an eye wasn't calculated to 
 hold that kind of a dog, and you'd conclude to run for 
 a plum tree in order to have a chance to collect your 
 thoughts and to try to reflect what sort of an eye would 
 be best calculated to mollify that sort of a dog. You 
 ketch my idea, of course ? 
 
 " Very well, then ; s'posin' you'd take your eye off of 
 that dog, — Johnson, mind you, all the time hissing him 
 on and laughing, and you'd turn and rush for the tree, 
 and begin to swarm up as fast as you could. Well, sir, 
 s'posin' just as you got three feet from the ground John- 
 son's dog would grab you by the leg and hold on like 
 a vice, shaking you until you nearly lost your hold. And 
 s'posin' Johnson was to stand there and holloa, * Fix 
 your eye on him, Briggs ! Why don't you manifest the 
 power of the human intellect ? ' and so on, howling out 
 ironical remarks like those; and s'posin' he kept that 
 dog on that leg until he made you swear to pay the bet, 
 and then at last had to pry the dog off with a hot poker, 
 bringing away at the sanje time some of your flesh in 
 the dog's mouth, so that you had to be carried home on 
 a stretcher, and to hire several doctors to keep you from 
 dying with lockjaw. 
 
 " S'posin' this, what I want to know is, couldn't you 
 sue Johnson for damages and make him pay heavily for 
 what that dog did ? That's what I want to get at." 
 
THE BACHELOR S DREAM. IOI 
 
 The Colonel thought for a minute, and then said : 
 " Well, Mr. Briggs, I don't think I could. If I agreed 
 to let Johnson set the dog at me, I should be a party to 
 the transaction, and I could not recover. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that the law won't make that 
 infernal scoundrel Johnson suffer for letting his dog eat 
 me up ? " 
 
 " I think not, if you state the case properly." 
 " It won't, hey ? " exclaimed Mr. Briggs, hysterically 
 " Oh, very well, very well ! I s'pose if that dog had 
 chewed me all up it'd Ve been all the same to this con- 
 stitutional republic. But hang me if I don't have sat- 
 isfaction. I'll kill Johnson, poison his dog, and emi- 
 grate to some country where the rights of citizens are 
 protected ! " 
 
 Then Mr. Briggs got on his crutches and hobbled 
 out. He is still a citizen, and will vote at the next 
 election. — Anon. 
 
 THE BACHELOR'S DREAM. 
 
 My pipe is lit, my grog is mix'd, 
 My curtains drawn, and all is snug ; 
 Old Puss is in her elbow-chair, 
 And Tray is sitting on the rug. 
 Last night I had a curious dream, 
 Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 She look'd so fair, she sang so well, 
 I could but woo and she was won ; 
 Myself in blue, the bride in white, 
 The ring was placed, the deed was donet 
 
102 THE BACHELOR S DREAM. 
 
 Away we went in chaise-and-four, 
 As fast as grinning boys could flog— 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 What loving tete-a-tetes to come ! 
 But t£te-a-t6tes must still defer! 
 When Susan came to live with me, 
 Her mother came to live with her ! 
 With sister Belle she couldn't part, 
 But all my ties had leave to jog — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 The mother brought a pretty Poll, 
 A monkey too — what work he made I 
 The sister introduced a Beau ; 
 My Susan brought a favorite maid. 
 She had a tabby of her own, 
 A snappish mongrel christen 'd Gog— 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 The monkey bit, the Parrot scream'd, 
 All day the sister strumm'd and sung ; 
 The petted maid was such a scold 
 My Susan learn'd to use her tongue ; 
 Her mother had such wretched health, 
 She sat and croak'd like any frog — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 No longer Deary, Duck, and Love, 
 I soon came down to simple "Ml" 
 The very servants cross'd my wish, 
 My Susan let me down to them. 
 The poker hardly seem'd my own, 
 I might as well have been a log — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dcr : 
 
liiE BACHELORS DREAM. I03 
 
 My clothes they were the queerest shape, 
 Such coats and hats she never met! 
 My ways they were the oddest ways f 
 My friends were such a vulgar set J 
 Poor Tompkinson was snubb'd and huff' d, 
 She could not bear that Mister Blogg — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ! 
 
 At times we had a spar, and then 
 Mamma must mingle in the song, 
 The sister took a sister's part, 
 The Maid declar'd her Master wrong, 
 The Parrot learn'd to call me " Fool I H 
 My life was like a London fog — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 My Susan's taste was superfine, 
 As proved by bills that had no end— 
 / never had a decent coat, 
 I never had a coin to spend 1 
 She forced me to resign my Club, 
 Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog— • 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 Each Sunday night we gave a rout 
 To fops and flirts, a pretty list ; 
 And when I tried to steal away 
 I found my study full of whist ! 
 Then first to come and last to go t 
 There always was a Captain Hogg— 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 
 
 Now was not that an awful dream 
 For one who single is and snug, 
 With Pussy in the elbow-chair 
 And Tray reposing on the rug ?— 
 
104 THE MUSIC GRINDERS. 
 
 If I must totter down the hill, 
 Tis safest done without a clog — 
 What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog? 
 
 Tkomas Hodd. 
 
 THE MUSIC GRINDERS. 
 
 There are three ways in which men take 
 One's money from his purse, 
 
 And very hard it is to tell 
 
 Which of the three is worse ; 
 
 But all of them are bad enough 
 To make a body curse. 
 
 You're riding out some pleasant day 
 And counting up your gains ; 
 
 A fellow jumps from out a bush 
 And takes your horse's reins, 
 
 Another hints some words about 
 A bullet in your brains. 
 
 It's hard to meet such pressing friends 
 
 In such a lonely spot ; 
 It's very hard to lose your cash, 
 
 But harder to be shot ; 
 And so you take your wallet out, 
 
 Though you would rather not. 
 
 Perhaps you're goinp out to dine,— 
 
 Some odious creature begs 
 You'll hear about the cannon-ball 
 
 That carried off his pegs, 
 And says it is a dreadful thing 
 
 For men to lose their le^s. 
 
THE MUSIC GRINDERS. 10$ 
 
 He tells you of his starving wife, 
 
 His children to be fed, 
 Poor little, lovely innocents, 
 
 All clamorous for bread, — 
 And so you kindly help to put 
 
 A bachelor to bed. 
 
 You're sitting on your window-seat, 
 
 Beneath a cloudless moon ; 
 You hear a sound that seems to wear 
 
 The semblance of a tune, 
 As if a broken fife should strive 
 
 To drown a cracked bassoon. 
 
 And nearer, nearer still, the tide 
 
 Of music seems to come, 
 There's something like a human voice, 1 
 
 And something like a drum ; 
 You sit in speechless agony, 
 
 Until your ear is numb. 
 
 Poor " home, sweet home " should seem to be 
 
 A very dismal place ; 
 Your " auld acquaintance " all at once 
 
 Is altered in the face ; 
 Their discords sting through Burns and Moore, 
 
 Like hedgehogs dressed in lace. 
 
 You think they are crusaders, sent 
 
 From some infernal clime 
 To pluck the eyes of Sentiment, 
 
 And dock the tail of Rhyme, 
 To crack the voice of Melody, 
 
 And break the legs of Time. 
 
 But hark ! the air again is still, 
 
 The music all is ground, 
 And silence, like a poultice, comes 
 
 To heal the blows of sound; 
 
Io6 THE COUNTRY MAX AT THE SHOW. 
 
 It cannot be, — it is, — it is, — 
 A hat is going round ! 
 
 No I Pay the dentist when he leaves 
 
 A fracture in your jaw, 
 And pay the owner of the bear 
 
 That stunned you with his paw, 
 And buy the lobster that has had 
 
 Your knuckles in his claw ; 
 
 But if you are a portly man 
 
 Put on your fiercest frown, 
 And talk about a constable 
 
 To turn them out of town ; 
 Then close your sentence with an oath, 
 
 And shut the window down 1 
 
 And if you are a slender man, 
 
 Not big enough for that, 
 Or if you cannot make a speech 
 
 Because you are a flat, 
 Go very quietly and drop 
 
 A button in the hat ! 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
 
 THE COUNTRYMAN AT THE SHOW. 
 
 RECITED BY ALEX. J. BROWN. 
 
 Wall ! my name is Zedakiah Green, 
 
 And what I've got to say 
 
 Consarns the curious things I've seen 
 
 While going to a play. 
 
 You see, a company of actors 
 
 Came to our town, 
 
 And to the show accordingly I went" 
 
 With one Sally Brown. 
 
THE COUNTRYMAN AT THE SHOW. IO7 
 
 Just as the curtain it rolled up 
 
 A fellow on the stage 
 
 Was drinking from a pewter cup 
 
 And talking in a rage. 
 
 " I'll have her life, I will," says he, 
 
 And drawing his dagger out, 
 
 When Sally says, says she to me, 
 
 " Why, what's that man about ? " 
 
 W T al!, just as she was a-saying that 
 
 Another chap appeared, 
 
 And wore an awful slouchy hat 
 
 And, laws ! sich an ugly beard ! 
 
 And then they talking in mystery 
 
 And things I couldn't tell, 
 
 When one remarked, " Ha ! 'tis she," 
 
 And the other says, " 'Tis well." 
 
 And then they hid behind a rock, 
 
 And then a maiden fair, 
 
 Dressed in the shortest kind of frock 
 
 (The pattern perhaps was spare), 
 
 Walked right up to where they was, 
 
 Not thinking any harm, 
 
 When jumping up they seized on her, 
 
 Which caused me great alarm. 
 
 " Your mine at last," the villain cried, 
 
 And drawing out his knife, 
 
 " My power long thou hast defied 
 
 And now I'll have your life." 
 
 Then Sally says, says she to me, 
 
 Agasping for her breath, 
 
 " Are you going to set and see 
 
 That lovely maiden put to death?" 
 
 I rose right up and says, says I, 
 
 " You jest let that ere gal alone, 
 
 Or darn me if I don't 
 
 Put a head on your spinal bone." 
 
 Then all the folks began to shout 
 
 Sit down — call the cops — 
 
108 NOT OPPOSED TO MATRIMONY, 
 
 Chuck him out — and things like that, 
 
 Which made me as mad as hops. 
 
 I stood right up, and says, says I, 
 
 " It's a living shame 
 
 To see that lovely maiden put to death, 
 
 And darn me if I'll permit the same." 
 
 Then again the folks began to shout, 
 
 And then amidst their peals 
 
 A big policeman led me out 
 
 With Sally at my heels. 
 
 Now I've told you all I've seen; 
 
 But what I wants to say, 
 
 I'll eat my boots if this yar Greea 
 
 Goes to see another play. — Anon, 
 
 NOT OPPOSED TO MATRIMONY. 
 
 A YANKEE DIALECT STORY. 
 
 Is your family opposed to matrimony ? 
 
 Wal, no, I rather guess not, seem' as how my mother 
 has had four husbands, an* stands a pretty smart 
 chance for having another. 
 
 Four husbands ! Is it possible ? 
 
 Oh, yes. You see, my mother's christened name was 
 Mehitable Sheets, an' dad's name was Jacob Press ; 
 and when they got married, the printers said it was 
 puttin' the sheets to press. When I was born, they 
 said I was the first edition. An', you see, mother used 
 to be the 'tarnalest critter to go to evenin' meetin's. 
 She used to go out pretty late every night, an' dad was 
 afraid I'd get in the same habit, so he used to put me 
 to bed at early candle-light, cover me up with a piller, 
 
NOT OPPOSED TO MATRIMONY. IO9 
 
 an* put me to sleep with a boot-jack. Wal, dad had 
 got up every night, an* let mother in. If he didn't get 
 down and open the door pretty quick when she came, 
 he'd catch particular thunder. So dad used to sleep 
 with his head out of the winder, so's to wake up quick, 
 an' one night he got his head a little too far out, an' he 
 slipped out altogether ; an' down dad cum caflummux, 
 right down on the pavement, an' smashed him in ten 
 thousand pieces ! 
 
 What ! was he killed by the fall ? 
 
 Wal, no, not exactly by the fall. I rather kinder 
 sorter guess as how it was the sudden fetch-up on the 
 pavement that killed him. But mam, she came home, an' 
 found him layin' thar, an' she had him swept together, 
 an' put in a coffin, an' had a hole dug in the buryin'- 
 ground, and had dad put in and buried up, an' had a 
 white-oak plank put up to his head, an' had it white- 
 washed all over for a tombstone. 
 
 So your mother was left a poor, lone widow ? 
 
 Wal, yes, but she didn't mind that much, as it wasn't 
 long before she married Sam Hide. You see, she mar- 
 ried Hide because he was just dad's size, an' she wanted 
 him to wear out dad's clothes. 
 
 Wal, the way old Hide used to hide me was a caution 
 to my hide. Hide had a little the toughest hide of any 
 hide, except a bull's hide, and the way old Hiae used to 
 hide away liquor in his hide was a caution. Wal, one 
 cold day, old Hide got his hide so full of whiskey that 
 he pitched head-first into a snow bank, an' there stuck, 
 and friz to death. So mam had him pulled out, and 
 had him laid out, an' had another buryin'-ground, 
 an' had him buried ; an' then she had another white- 
 
IIO ROBERT EMMET. 
 
 oak plank put at his head, an' whitewashed all over, 
 
 an'— 
 
 So your mother was again a widow ? 
 
 Oh, yes, but I guess she didn't lay awake long to 
 think about it, for in about three weeks she married 
 John Strong — an' he was the strongest-headed cuss 
 you ever did see. He went flshin' the other day, an' 
 got drowned ; an' he was so 'tarnal strong-headed, I'll 
 be darned if he didn't float right agin the current, an' 
 they found him about three miles up the stream, an' it 
 took three yoke of oxen to haul him out. Wal, mam 
 had him buried along side o' t'other two, and had a 
 white-oak plank put up at his head, and whitewashed all 
 over nice, so thar's three on 'em, all in a row. 
 
 And your mother was a widow for the third time ? 
 
 Yes, but mam didn't seem to mind it a 'tarnal sight. 
 The next fellow she married was Jacob Hayes, an' the 
 way mam does haze him is a caution, now, I tell you. 
 If he does anything a little out of the way, mam makes 
 him take a bucket, an' a whitewash brush, an' go right 
 up to the buryin'-ground, and whitewash the three old 
 planks, jest to let him know what he may come to when 
 she's planted him in the same row, an' got married to 
 her fifth husband. So you see, my family ain't a 'tar- 
 nal sight opposed to a dose of matrimony. — Anon. 
 
 ROBERT EMMET. 
 
 Long years have pass'd into the gloom of night 
 Since Robert Emmet for his country died ; 
 
 And yet his glory sheds its lustrous light 
 Wherever Erin's exil'd sons abide ; 
 
ROBERT EMMET. Ill 
 
 Wherever hatred for oppression glows 
 
 To animate the soul that would be free ; 
 Where vengeance through the human current flows 
 
 For Ireland's wrong and Ireland's liberty ! 
 There Emmet's spirit fires the fervid breast 
 That seeks in death or glory where to rest. 
 
 Why measure time — a few years less or more, 
 
 That brings but torture to the fetter'd slave ? 
 Why speak of freedom till his strength is o'er, 
 
 And famine leads him to a wretched grave ? 
 A nation's liberty is rarely won 
 
 By all the eloquence she may afford, 
 Though it be brilliant as the mid-day sun ; 
 
 The clanking chain is sever'd by the sword ! 
 'Twas thus that Emmet fell, and thus he died, 
 The soul of freedom though in bondage tied. 
 
 Still suft' ring from the throes of " 'Ninety-eight;*' 
 
 Ill-omen'd year of tyranny and woe ! 
 And still contending with remorseless Fate, 
 
 That most implacable and treach'rous foe ! 
 What hopes withal, my country ! yet were thine ? 
 
 Those noble aspirations of the just ! 
 But, then, what hand, except the hand Divine, 
 
 Could hope to lay the despot in the dust ? 
 Young, fearless Emmet had resolv'd to brave 
 The tyrant's power, his bleeding land to save. 
 
 And as he knelt before her holy shrine, 
 
 And pledg'd his life to fall or break her chain, 
 All else, so dear to him, did he resign, 
 
 That in his country's love he might remain. 
 Her tortur'd bosom fired his ardent soul 
 
 With all the tenderness that love inspires ; 
 Her fetter'd limbs were destin'd to control 
 
 The heart inflam'd by liberty's desires. 
 And thus impassion'd, Emmet rose above 
 
 All selfish motive in his virtuous love. 
 
112 THE OLD SERGEANT. 
 
 Deep in our heart of hearts his mem'ry lives ! 
 
 Nor time, nor circumstance shall dim his fame 1 
 Who to his country life and fortune gives 
 
 Must leave to the world an immortal name! 
 Of tender years, his manhood scarcely primed, 
 
 But brilliant, bold and ardent in his state, 
 A nation's hope — unseemly and untimed, 
 
 He fell a victim to the tyrant's hate ; 
 Lost to liberty ! in whose cause he fell : 
 
 Lost to the suff'ring land he lov'd so well ! 
 
 His country's sun was eclips'd when he died; 
 
 The weeping island wore her sorrowing pall 
 And wild revenge rose high on ev'ry tide 
 
 From dark Malbay to darker Donegal ; 
 O hapless land ! my native Inis Fail ! 
 
 Your murder'd Emmet on the scaffold lies ! 
 Behold his bleeding corse ! you cian-na-gael ! 
 
 Nor longer sleep when Freedom bids you rise ! 
 The patriot's spirit soaring through the sky 
 
 Appeals for justice to its God on high. 
 
 Lawrence G. Goulding, 
 
 THE OLD SERGEANT. 
 
 " Come a little nearer, doctor, — thank you, — let me take the cup ; 
 Draw your chair up, — draw it close, — just another little sup ! 
 Maybe you may think I'm better ; but I'm pretty well used up,-— 
 Doctor, you've done all you could do, but I'm just a-going up ! 
 
 " Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to ; but it ain't much use to try — " 
 " Never say that," said the surgeon, as he smothered down a sigh | 
 " It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!" 
 " What you say will make no difference, doctor, when you come 
 to die." 
 
THE OLD SERGEANT. II3 
 
 " Doctor, what has been the matter ? " " You were very faint, 
 
 they say ; 
 You must try to get some sleep now." " Doctor, have I been 
 
 away ? " 
 "Not that anybody knows of!" " Doctor,— doctor, please to 
 
 stay! 
 There is something I must tell you, and you won't have long to 
 
 stay! 
 
 " I have got my marching orders, and I'm ready now to go ; 
 Doctor, did you say I fainted ? — but it couldn't ha' been so, — 
 For as sure as I'm a sergeant, and was wounded at Shiloh, 
 I've this very night been back there on the old field of Shiloh ! 
 
 " This is all that I remember ! The last time the lighter came, 
 And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the 
 
 same, 
 He had not been gone five minutes before something called my 
 
 name: 
 
 * Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' just that way it called 
 
 my name. 
 
 " And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow, 
 Knew it couldn't be the lighter, he could not have spoken so, 
 And I tried to answer * Here, sir ! ' but I couldn't make it go ! 
 For I couldn't move a muscle, and I couldn't make it go ! 
 
 " Then I thought : ■ It's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore ; 
 Just another foolish grape-vine, — and it won't come any more ; ' 
 But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as before : 
 
 * Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' even plainer than be- 
 
 fore. 
 
 " That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light, 
 And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night, 
 Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite, 
 When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite ! 
 
 "And the same old palpitation came again in all its power, 
 And I heard a bugle sounding as from some celestial tower ; 
 S 
 
114 THE 0LD SERGEANT. 
 
 And the same mysterious voice said : ' It is the eleventh hour ! 
 Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton, — it is the eleventh 
 hour ! ' 
 
 "Doctor Austin, what day is this?" "It is Wednesday night* 
 you know." 
 
 " Yes, — to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right good time be- 
 low! 
 
 What time is it, Doctor Austin ? " " Nearly twelve." " Then 
 don't you go ! 
 
 Can it be that all this happened — all this — not an hour ago? 
 
 " There was where the gunboats opened on the dark rebellious 
 
 host, 
 And where Webster semicircled his last guns upon the coast ; 
 There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else their 
 
 ghost ! 
 And the same old transport came and took me over, — or its ghost ! 
 
 " And the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide ; 
 There was where they fell on Prentiss, — there McClernand met 
 
 the tide ; 
 There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut's 
 
 heroes died, — 
 Lower down where Wallace charged them, and kept charging till 
 
 he died. 
 
 "There was where Lew Wallace showed them he was of the 
 
 canny kin ; 
 There was where old Nelson thundered, and where Rousseau 
 
 waded in ; 
 There McCook sent 'em to breakfast, and we all began to win; — 
 There* was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to win. 
 
 " Now a shroud of snow and silence over everything was spread ; 
 And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head, 
 I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead; 
 For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead I 
 
THE OLD SERGEANT. I I 5 
 
 "Death and silence! — death and silence! all around me as I 
 
 sped! 
 And behold a mighty tower, as if builded to the dead, 
 To the heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head, 
 Till the stars and stripes of heaven all seemed waving from its 
 
 head! 
 
 11 Round and mighty-based it towered, — up into the infinite, — 
 And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so bright ; 
 For it shone like solid sunshine ; and a winding stair of light 
 Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of sight ! 
 
 " And, behold, as I approached it, with a rapt and dazzled stare, — 
 Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great stair, — 
 Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of — ' Halt, and who goes 
 there ? ' 
 
 * I'm a friend,' I said, * if you are.' * Then advance, sir, to the 
 
 stair ! ' 
 
 " I advanced ! — That sentry, doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne ! — 
 First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the line ! — 
 
 * Welcome, my old sergeant, welcome ! Welcome by that coun- 
 
 tersign ! ' 
 And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine ! 
 
 " As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the grave ; 
 But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and bloodless 
 
 glaive ; 
 4 That's the way, sir, to headquarters!' 'What headquarters?* 
 
 1 Of the brave ! ' 
 1 But the great tower ? ' ' That,' he answered, ■ is the way, sir, of 
 
 the brave ! ' 
 
 " Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of light ; 
 At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright. 
 ' Ah ! ' said he, ' you have forgotten the new uniform to-night, — 
 Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night 1 ' 
 
 " And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there, and I — 
 Doctor, — did you hear a footstep ? Hark ! — God bless you all ! 
 Good-by ! 
 
Il6 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 
 
 Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I dip, 
 To my son — my son that's coming — he won't get here till I die ! 
 
 " Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did before, — 
 And to carry that old musket — " Hark ! a knock is at the door— 
 "Till the Union—" See! it opens !— "Father! Father! speak 
 
 once more ! " 
 "Bless you ! M gasped the old gray sergeant, — and he lay and said 
 
 no more ! — Forceythe Willson. 
 
 THE FISHER'S WIFE. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 The fair young wife, but newly wed, 
 
 Wandered away on the sandy shore, 
 As the sun in the West was sinking red. 
 Ah ! the heart of the woman was heavy as lead, 
 Or as the last batch of home-made bread, 
 
 And her face a wistful expression wore. 
 
 And why did she look and feel so sad ? 
 
 Her husband, a fisherman, bold and free, 
 
 Like all the sons of the surging sea, 
 Was away with his nets for herring and shad, 
 
 Or that was where he was supposed to be. 
 
 For at early dawn, on the day before, 
 He had shoved his boat from the shelving shore; 
 He had started away with the first gray light, 
 And — hadn't been home at all last night ! 
 
 No wonder the young wife's heart was sad 
 When she thought she had lost her fisher lad. 
 A terrible storm, she could see, was brewin', 
 
 And that would be more than his boat could bear, 
 For it meant — what ? widowhood, poverty, ruin, 
 
 A lonely hearth and an empty chair. 
 
v> 
 
 THE FISHERS WIFE. T \J 
 
 The gulls wheeled round in their circling flight, 
 And braved the gale on their pinions white, 
 And those birds, by the sea not aves rarae, 
 But known as the chickens of old Dame Carey, 
 Were flitting about on the billow's top, 
 And that was a sign of a storm — sure pop. 
 
 COLLOQUIAL. 
 
 " Oh ! snowy gull," the young wife cried, 
 
 " Canst tell me where my husband is ? " 
 And the gull replied, as he glanced aside, 
 And a little closer to the woman flied (!) 
 
 " I really can't, and it ain't my * biz.' " 
 
 And he flew away and was seen no more 
 By the wife as she wandered along the shore, 
 
 " Oh ! waves," she said, w as ye break, break, brealc 
 On the cold gray crags, can yon tell me true, 
 
 For the love of Heaving and pity's sake, 
 What has become of my boy in blue?"" 
 
 And the wave replied, as it dashed its brine, " Oh \ 
 Give us a rest please, dem it if I know." 
 
 " Oh ! winds," she cried from her anguished soul, 
 " Ye winds who sweep o'er trie salt sea foam, 
 Who over the whole wide ocean roam, 
 
 And wherever its thundering billows roll, 
 In thy wanderings didst thou chance to rub 
 'Gainst my fisherman true, my own, own hub!" 
 
 And the wind replied as it whistled shrill, 
 
 " I know where he is. Tell ? Hanged if I will." 
 
 " Oh ! coastguard man, you wander far, 
 
 You scan the sea with your telescope, 
 Hast seen of my husband's boat a spar, 
 
 Jib-boom or bowsprit, oar or rope ? 
 
118 HE UNDERSTOOD IT. 
 
 On yon angry ocean he sailed away, 
 And hasn't been back since yesterday. 
 
 " At home the fire on the hearth burns low ; 
 
 The coal is finished. I'm out of grub, 
 And what I'm to do I hardly know 
 
 If the sea has swallowed my own dear ' hub.' " 
 
 Then the hardy coastman turned his quid 
 
 In his cheek and he closed his left ocular's lid. 
 
 u Now don't take on," he cheerily spoke ; 
 
 "Your man ain't lost: he's all right. I swear; 
 He sailed, it is true, as the daylight broke 
 
 On yester morn when the wind was fair : 
 But he didn't go fishing, he went to soak, 
 And to find him I'll tell you exactly where. 
 
 He's over at Flaherty s, beastly drunk, 
 
 And sleepin' it off in the old man's bunk ! " 
 
 Swiz. 
 
 HE UNDERSTOOD IT 
 
 HOW A SQUATTER ENJOYED THE OPERA OF IOLANTHE. 
 
 An old squatter, while in the city recently, accepted 
 an invitation to attend the opera. The old man had 
 no idea of what an opera was like, didn't know whether 
 it was a place of worship or an exhibition of improved 
 fire-arms, but he agreed with that promptness of decis- 
 ion characteristic of a man who is never daunted. 
 
 The opera was Iolanthe, and when the fairies began 
 to march around, in their shrill but not unmusical evo- 
 lutions, the old squatter turned to his friend and said : 
 
 " Mighty peart lookin' gals. Clothes ain't hardly 
 
HE UNDERSTOOD IT. 1 19 
 
 fitten for winter, but they'll do mighty well for summer 
 wear. Air they nachul, like the gals you see walkin' 
 aroun', or air they some sort of contrapshun rigged up 
 by the Yankees ? I have hearn that the Yankees ken 
 make a talkin' machine, an' I reckon if they ken do 
 that, they ken make suthin' ter squeal." 
 
 " They are natural women/' the merchant replied. 
 
 He sat for some time watching the performance. 
 Occasionally he would shake his head in doubt, and 
 then with an affirmative nod, he would approve of some 
 turn affairs had taken. 
 
 " Them fellers must er come from the overflowed des- 
 tricks," he said, pointing to the lords in knee-breeches. 
 11 Either that, or cloth must er been scarce. Look at 
 that Slim Jim of a feller holdin' up the coat-tail of the 
 old buck/' 
 
 11 That's the lord chancellor," whispered the mer- 
 chant. 
 
 " Wall, cloth ain't scarce with him. He's got some 
 to spar'. Ef he wus ter come out in my neighborhood 
 some feller d step on them coat-tails an' ax him his 
 business. It'd be fun for my son-in-law to put his num- 
 ber ten on the tail eend of that garmint an' say l Whar. 
 yer travelin', podner ? ' Ef the Simmon boys wus ter 
 see him they'd say he was the devil. Look at ^m. 
 They sing at each other. It's the whinin'est set I ever 
 seed. Oh, it's a show, is it ? Why don't they fetch 
 out the hosses ? The shows ain't what they w r as when I 
 was a youngster. Them fiddlers down thar is a poke- 
 easy set. They air what we call easy scratches. 'Mind 
 me of the chillun rakin' around whar the 'taters was 
 dug airter the stray ones. Now they've commenced to 
 
120 HE UNDERSTOOD IT. 
 
 dig a little. That feller with the big fiddle's got the 
 grubbin' hoe. Zig, he's found a fresh hill an' is farm' 
 it all ter pieces. Now the other fellers air scratchm' 
 all around him. Now the're over inter the goober pea 
 patch an' air rakin' up the dirt. The big feller kain't 
 git his grubbin* hoe over the fence/' and then as a blast 
 from the cornet rang throughout the house, he added : 
 " Thar's the dinner horn." 
 
 The curtain came down and the old fellow sat for a 
 moment in silence. 
 
 " Air they comin' back airtor dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes," the merchant replied. 
 
 " Then we'll wait an' see the crap gathered. I al'ers 
 like to see the thing well done," and again he devoted 
 himself to deep reflection. The curtain went up again. 
 
 " Thar comes the fellers with short britches an' the 
 gals with wings. That big feller ken sing putty well, 
 an' ain't afeered to open his mouth, but that slim rooster 
 that tries to squeal like a 'oman is in mighty po' busi- 
 ness. I know singin' when I hear it, an' ef I wus ter 
 git up thar ter sing I'd make that feller standin' down 
 thar drop that stick. I couldn't go along an' sing ef a 
 man stood up an' shuck a stick at me. It mout be in 
 fun, but I wouldn't like it. When a man shakes a stick 
 at me he's got ter stop right thar an' explain. Ah, 
 Lawd ! I wish Nip Tucker was here. He'd git up on 
 that flatfo'm amongst them picturs an' sing them fellers 
 outen countenance. Now, Nip's a singer. I tell yer 
 what he dun. Yer know whar the old Aimes place is ? 
 Wall, 'tuther night I was a-sittin' on the fence at home, 
 an' Nip was over at the Aimes place a-singin', an' I could 
 hear him. Three miles away, mind yer. Now what 
 
HE UNDERSTOOD IT. 12 1 
 
 sort of a show would these fellers have with a man like 
 that ? Thar's the feller with the grubbin' hoe. Look 
 at that little feller with a hatchet hackin' on the stump. 
 They air airter a rabbit. Zounds ! how the dogs scratch," 
 and the imaginative old fellow could scarcely keep his 
 seat. Associating every sound with an action, and liv- 
 ing an almost figurative life, the squatter, when his emo- 
 tions are stirred, cannot remain quiet. " Thar's the 
 dog smellin' in the hole. Bim, the big feller's gone to 
 work with the grubbin' hoe. Now they all jine in an' 
 air makin' the dirt fly. They are huddlin' together, and 
 if they don't mind the rabbit'll run out. Zounds ! 
 thar he goes, bookerty, bookerty. Head him, head 
 him ! Through the fence. Whoop ! " 
 
 " Look here, sir," said a man in authority, tapping the 
 old man on the shoulder. " If you don't behave your- 
 self I'll put you out of here. You ought to have better 
 sense than to come here drunk." 
 
 " I ain't drunk." 
 
 " Yes, you are." 
 
 "You're a liar, an' I'll fight yer, rabbit er no rabbit." 
 
 " Hold on," said the merchant. " Don't fight here.'' 
 
 " Well, he kain't say that I'm drunk, when I've been 
 wantin' a drink of whiskey ever since two hours by sun." 
 
 " Come on, the show is over." — Arkansaw Traveller. 
 
122 IN DER SHWEED LONG AGO, 
 
 IN DER SHWEED LONG AGO. 
 
 AS RECITED BY JAS. S. BURDETT. 
 
 In der shweed long ago I dinked I vas shmard, 
 
 Und I dinked I did vant me a vife, 
 To share all my money und sorrows und joys, 
 
 Und to helb me along drough my life. 
 I vanted a lady kind-hearted und goot, 
 
 Dot vas handsome und sensiple doo, 
 Dot cood blay der biano or cook a beefshdeak, 
 
 Darn my shdockings or made me a shdew. 
 
 She must nod be doo shmall-sized or neider doo dall, 
 
 Und she musn'd be old or doo young, 
 Und ven I vas shboking had visdom enuff 
 
 To always kebd quied her tongue. 
 She musd nod be doo dark or agin be doo lighd — 
 
 A kinder bedwixed und bedween. 
 She musd nod knew doo leedle, or vorse, knew it all, 
 
 She musd be good-nadured, vear always a shmile, 
 
 No madder of dings did vent wrong — 
 Ven my friends came around for to make me a call, 
 
 Be ready to sung dem a song. 
 Of der lodge bisness habben'd to kebd me oud lade 
 
 Und I come valdzing home " dighdly-shlighd," 
 She musd pet und caress me und dank her good shdars 
 
 Dot I didn'd shdaid apsend all nighd. 
 
 In a vord, be berfecd — mind, feature und form — 
 From her feet to der crown of her head. 
 
 Now, dot vas der damsel dot I had 'in view, 
 Und der von I vas villing to ved. 
 
THE MINER'S PROTEGEE. 123 
 
 Dot's a long dime ago, und my head dot vas paid, 
 
 Und I vas a pachelor shdill. 
 
 My gal I hafe nefer saw shkibbing round loose — 
 
 Vat's more, I don'd dink dot I vill. 
 
 Oofty Gooft. 
 
 THE MINERS PROTEGEE. 
 
 Wal, you see, it's a queer story, Missy; 
 
 The little gal's none of our kin ; 
 But, you bet, when the old men go under 
 
 She's the one who will handle our tin. 
 My pard an' me's rough minin' fellers, 
 
 We've got nary children nor wife, 
 But we love little yellow-haired Nellie, 
 
 An' we'll rear her up right — bet yer life. 
 
 How old ? Wal, she's nigh eight, I reckon 
 
 Five years since we brought her out here ; 
 An' she was the cunnin'est baby 
 
 We'd looked at for many a year. 
 You see, 'twas the time the Apaches 
 
 Broke out. Blast the red imps of sin ! 
 The emigrant train crossed their trail, Miss, 
 
 An* the Injuns they scooped 'em all in. 
 
 Yes, thar lay men, children, an' wimmin ; 
 
 The red devils raised all their ha'r. 
 We couldn't do nothin' to help 'em, 
 
 So my pard an' me buried 'em thar. 
 We found one likely-lookin' young cre'tur' 
 
 Lyin' out from the rest of the heap ; 
 She was dead, like the rest, an' Nellie 
 
 Lay close by her side — fast asleep. 
 
 Wal, 'twas nigh ninety mile to the settlement ; 
 
 Bill an' me turned the thing in our mind, 
 An' at last we concluded to keep her, 
 
 An' bring her up lovin' an' kind. 
 
124 A FREE SEAT. 
 
 We burled her poor dad an' mammy, 
 Likewise all their unlucky mates, 
 
 An' we named her Nell, arter a sweetheart 
 My pard had once back in the States. 
 
 But the trouble we had with that young 'un 
 
 Was somethin' quite funny to see ; 
 Bih gave her up for a mystery, 
 
 Likewise she was too much for me. 
 Her durned duds we couldn't get on right, 
 
 And we cussed ev'ry but'n an' string ; 
 But arter a spell we did better 
 
 When we once got the hang of the thing. 
 
 An' she growed up quite pertlike an' bloomhV, 
 
 We take her to work ev'ry day ; 
 While Bill an' me's busy a-minin' 
 
 She'll sit by the rock pile an' play. 
 An' she's made better men of us both, Miss, 
 
 We don't cuss now, nor go on no spree, 
 'Cause we're workin' an' savin' for Nellie, 
 
 The pride of my old pard' an' me. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 A FREE SEAT. 
 
 He was old and poor and a stranger 
 
 In the great metropolis. 
 As he bent his steps thitherward 
 
 To a stately edifice, 
 Outside he inquires, " What church is this ?" 
 
 " Church of Christ," he hears them say; 
 "Ah! just the place I am looking for; 
 
 I trust he is in here to-day." 
 
THE FREE SEAT. 1 25 
 
 He passed through the spacious columned door 
 
 And up the carpeted aisle, 
 And as he passed, on many a face 
 
 He saw surprise and a smile. 
 From pew to pew, up one entire side, 
 
 Then across the broad front space ; 
 From pew to pew, down the other side 
 
 He walked with the same slow pace. 
 
 Not a friendly voice had bid him sit 
 
 To list to the gospel truth, 
 Not a sign of deference had been paid 
 
 To the aged one by youth. 
 No door was opened by generous hand, 
 
 The pews were paid for — rented, 
 And he was a stranger, old and poor, 
 
 Not a heart to him relented. 
 
 As he paused outside a moment to think, 
 
 Then passed into the street, 
 Up to his shoulder he lifted a stone 
 
 That lay in the dust at his feet, 
 And bore it up the broad, grand aisle, 
 
 In front of the ranks of pews, 
 Choosing a place to see and hear, 
 
 He made a seat for his use. 
 
 Calmly sitting upon the huge stone, 
 
 Folding his hands on his knees, 
 Slowly, reviewing the worshippers, 
 
 A great confusion he sees. 
 Many a cheek crimsoned with shame, 
 
 Some whisper together sore, 
 And wished they had been more courteous 
 
 To the stranger, old and poor. 
 
 As if by magic some fifty doors 
 
 Open simultaneously, 
 And as many seats and books and hands 
 
 Are proffered hastily ; 
 
126 PHILIP BARTON, ENGINEER. 
 
 Changing his stone for a crimsoned pew 
 
 And wiping a tear away, 
 He thinks it was a mistake, after all, 
 
 And that Christ came late that day. 
 
 The preacher's discourse was eloquent, 
 
 The organ in finest tone, 
 But the most impressive sermon heard 
 
 Was preached by an humble stone. 
 'Twas a lesson of lowliness and worth 
 
 That lodged in many a heart, 
 And that church preserves that sacred stone, 
 
 That the truth may not depart. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 PHILIP BARTON, ENGINEER. 
 
 Philip Barton, of Denver, — have you ever heard the name ?— 
 Sleeps to-night in his icy tomb, wrapped in the martyr's fame. 
 Who was he ? Simply an engineer, and the youngest on the line; 
 But many a year he held his place in the cab of " 49." 
 Many a trip had he looked ahead, over that icy track, 
 Stretching about the mountains and across the " Foster Back," — 
 An ugly bit of mountain road, whenever the upper snow 
 Chances to slide from its rocky nest on to the rocks below. 
 Sixty miles from Denver, and the rocks in solid wall, 
 Rising to the very stars, hung as if to fall 
 Down to where the swift Arkansas, in sullen flow, 
 Sweeps against its stony banks, a thousand feet below. 
 And that night down the canyon — running at " forty," no less- 
 Plunged the two great engines, dragging the night express 
 On over the bridge at the river and into a forest of pines, 
 With Barton's face at the window, watching for danger signs ; 
 Behind was the second engine, ahead was the wall of snow, 
 Which the prong of the great plough lifted and hurled to the 
 
 rocks below. 
 Sudden a shout of horror, wild as a cry of death, 
 Came, while the train swept forward, — swift as hurried breath, — 
 
PHILIP BARTON, ENGINEER. \2J 
 
 Sharp rang a warning whistle from "49" ahead. 
 
 " Danger ! Down brakes ! " the signal that quick whistle said, 
 
 Danger ; for that moment, from the summit of the hill, 
 
 Barton, watching out ahead, saw with a sudden thrill 
 
 A mighty shadow deepen, and heard a muffled roar, 
 
 Like the deep-toned beating of surf upon the shore. 
 
 An instant, and he understood, — some broken cars of freight 
 
 Were rushing down that incline, hurled by their heavy weight. 
 
 He heard the rasping of the brakes, the slowing of the train, 
 
 But only pushed his throttle in to pull it out again. 
 
 " Jump ! " he cried to his fireman, — " jump for the landing, Phin ! 
 
 I'm going to stop the runaway, and break my coupling pin I " 
 
 Out goes the trembling throttle ; crack, and with a will 
 
 Old " 49 " and her engineer went charging for the hill. 
 
 Swift as the equinox, wild as a whirlwind's breath, 
 
 " 49 " and her rider swept up to that awful death. 
 
 The grandest charge of cavalry' the world has ever known, 
 
 The solitary Roman made who faced such odds alone; 
 
 But now without an order, without one word or cheer, 
 
 With half a prayer upon his lips, swept on that engineer, 
 
 Up to the terrible crash, there 'mid the mountain snow, 
 
 That hurled the cab like an arrow on the icy rocks below, 
 
 Crushing the gallant body, till the wreck burst into flame, 
 
 As martyrs' spirits rise to God beyond man's praise or blame, 
 
 Till the stars sent waving back their white signal ray 
 
 To tell that engineer below he had the right of way. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Such is the story I read to-night, read in wind and rain, 
 Till Philip Barton's face looked in from each window pane, 
 Until the wind seemed bearing, where'er its fury blows, 
 The virtue of his hero deed from off the mountain snows ; 
 Where wrapped his icy mantle, but bright with martyr's flame, 
 They guard with vigilance their dead — he of the Barton name. 
 
 Anon. 
 
128 ORATORY AND THE PRESS. 
 
 ORATORY AND THE PRESS. 
 
 The grand days of oratory are gone forever. It is 
 not improbable that the teeming future may give birth 
 to those whose resplendent genius will deservedly rank 
 them among the immortals of the past. Certain it is 
 that Oratory can never be lost while Liberty survives. 
 
 Twin born with Freedom, then with her took breath, 
 That art whose dying will be Freedom's death. 
 
 But for all this, the glory, the pride, and the power 
 of the orator have passed away. In the classical com- 
 mon-wealths of old, the aspirations of the patricians 
 were for oratory or arms, and not a few, like Caesar, 
 excelled in both. The Senate convened or the people 
 met in grand assembly to hear discussed the weighty 
 questions affecting the welfare of the State. There the 
 orator appeared. His whole brain and soul were bent 
 on moving those whom he addressed — he had no 
 thoughts beyond. If others disputed, it brought into 
 play the highest flights of rival genius. ^Eschines, con- 
 testing with Demosthenes, called forth the " Oration 
 on the Crown." The orators then were the leaders of 
 the nation, the directors of public opinion, the control- 
 lers of legislation, the arbiters of peace or war. At 
 home they were the idols of the people — abroad they 
 were the guests of kings. They were the marked men 
 of the world. 
 
 But in these latter days there has risen a power 
 mightier than an army of orators ; a power that has 
 
ORATORY AND THE PRESS. 1 2g 
 
 dwarfed their genius, destroyed their influence, and 
 lowered them to the level of ordinary mortals ; a power 
 that can banish kings, destroy dynasties, revolutionize 
 governments, embroil nations in triumphant or disas- 
 trous wars, and for good or ill is changing the aspect of 
 the civilized world. The glory of the orator sank when 
 the printing-press arose. The orator, at best, can speak 
 to thousands ; the press to hundreds of thousands. The 
 orator speaks rarely ; the press every day. The orator 
 may, at the choicest moment, fail from ill-health or one 
 of many causes ; the press, free from all the ills that 
 flesh is heir to, moves on its mission with all the facility, 
 power and precision of machinery. The orator may 
 move an audience : the press can arouse a nation. The 
 speech dies with the sounds that give it birth ; the press 
 lives forever on the imperishable page. The orator 
 now addresses himself less to the audience of the even- 
 ing than to the world of readers of the next morning. 
 
 Let us hope that the press may be faithful, pure, de- 
 voted to truth, right, justice, freedom and virtue, as the 
 orators have been. The orators — let me repeat it to 
 their immortal honor, — could never be silenced by the 
 frowns of power, or bribed to desert a noble cause. 
 They dared, they defied tyranny, and preferred death 
 to dishonor. If the press gloat in licentiousness ; if it 
 stoop to strike the private man ; if it expose to the 
 public gaze the sacred privacy of homes ; if it violate 
 all decency in thrusting gentle woman to the gossips of 
 the town; if it catch at idle rumor or envious tongues 
 to malign the innocent ; if it can be bribed to suppress 
 the truth, or circulate the falsehood ; if it shield the 
 public wrong-doer, and denounce the faithiul public 
 o 
 
IjO THE STAGE DRIVERS STORY. 
 
 servant ; if it pander to the base passion of the populace 
 — then we may grieve that this great engine should 
 work such mischief to society. 
 
 If, on the other hand, its mission be to disseminate 
 intelligence and truth, to educate the masses to be 
 faithful to their country, and just to their fellow men, 
 to expose with an unsparing hand to public execration 
 the corrupt legislator or the unjust judge ; if it be hon- 
 estly independent instead of timidly neutral in all that 
 concerns the city and State ; if it lift up modest and 
 true worth and hurl down brazen infamy ; if all its aims 
 be the public good, the honor of the nation, and the 
 glory of God — then we may be well reconciled that the 
 days of oratory are over. 
 
 Loud as a scandal on the ears of town, 
 And just as brief the orator's renown ; 
 Year after year debaters blaze and fade, 
 Scarce mark'd the dial ere depart the shade. 
 Words die so soon when fit but to be said, 
 Words only live when worthy to be read. 
 
 Daniel Dougherty* 
 
 THE STAGE DRIVER'S STORY. 
 
 Ah, Deacon Smith w r as a pious man — 
 
 I kind o' guess as you seldom find 
 A leveller head o' the orthodox plan, 
 
 Or a much more reg'lar turn o' mind. 
 Scripter he'd quote by book an' verse, 
 
 From Adam an' Eve to Revelation ; 
 An' as for the hymns as he'd rehearse, 
 
 When once set goin\ t'ud beat creation. 
 
THE STAGE DRIVER'S STORY 131 
 
 An' when the Summer come reekin' hot, 
 
 An' things in the city war kind o' bilin\ 
 An' the whirlin' wheels o' life hed got 
 
 Rusty an' stiff an' wanted 'ilin' ; 
 Then, board 'ud go up an' nary a one 
 
 O' all them homesteads in yonder vale 
 As wasn't crowded an' overdone 
 
 By folks as come from town by rail. 
 
 No depot, you say ? I ruther guess not ; 
 
 But twenty miles over Greylock hill, 
 By Glenway creek — you know the spot, 
 
 Close to where Hulbert owns the mill — 
 Stood a tumbled-down shanty as ever I seen, 
 
 An' the deacon staged over there last season 
 In a kind o' ramshackle batting-machine 
 
 As he called a coach — 'thout rhyme or reason. 
 
 Now the deacon dniv a wall-eyed mare, 
 
 A flea-bitten gray, a useful critter, 
 As 'ud do twelve miles wi'out turnin' a hair' 
 
 In less nor a hour, if ye would but hit 'er. 
 But the deacon was slow an' methodical some, 
 
 An' the beast got inter the ways o' her master, 
 Till you'd think to see her jogging to hum 
 
 At a ten-forty gait as she couldn't go faster. 
 
 Wall, one day last Fall the down train brings 
 
 A young city sport — a glorious bein\ 
 Fixed up wi' watch-chain, pins an' rings 
 
 Like a jeweller's store gone out a-spreein', 
 An' he off wi' the deacon over the hill 
 
 An' they fell a-talkin' o' gettin' religion ; 
 An' this here young chap he argyed until 
 
 The deacon sat ruff'd like a moultin' pigeon. 
 
 He gev him Bob Ingersoll hot an' strong ; 
 
 He dosed him wi' Darwin's Evolution ; 
 An* prayers in the public schools was wrong ; 
 
 An' he'd hev no God in his Constitution* 
 
1$2 THE STAGE DRIVER'S STORY. 
 
 An' he talked ©'advancement an* Reason's Age, 
 Air bis tongue ran on like a streak o' lightnin', 
 
 An' the deacon was bilin' over wi' rage, 
 
 An' his lips grew white an' his breath kept tight'nin'. 
 
 Fur he hadn't the words to answer him back, 
 
 Though his hair was liftin' his hat wi' horror, 
 As the young un' kep' the inside track, 
 
 An' poured out his vials o' sin an' sorrer. 
 Then the deacon thought he'd give him away 
 
 An' put a stop to his high-falutin, 
 So he let the whip onto his flea-bitten gray, 
 
 An' away down hill went the creatur scootin'. 
 
 I guess 'twas a sight to see the old stage 
 
 Rock like a ship in a stormy ocean, 
 An' the gray mare's heels — wall, I'll engage 
 
 She can kick like a mule when she's got the notion. 
 Then white as death grew that young man's face, 
 
 An' he clung to the seat in desperation, 
 An' he prayed the deacon to slacken the pace, 
 
 But the deacon was sot on his soul's salvation. 
 
 " D'ye believe in Adam ? " he screamed in his ears, 
 
 " In Eve's temptation an' Noah's story ? 
 In Methuselah livin' eight hundred years, 
 
 An' Elijah a-ridin' to heav'n in glory ? " 
 " I don't," yelled the youth. But there lay just there 
 
 A corderoy road over which they flew, sir, 
 Which shot the poor lad clean up in the air, 
 
 An' when he lit down, says he, " I du, sir ! 
 
 Now the deacon made him eat every word, 
 
 Take all of it back as he'd dared to say, 
 An' promise he'd ne'er again be so absurd 
 
 As to sneer at religion in that sort o' way. 
 Then the gray mare stopp'd an' that child o' sin 
 
 Started afoot to his distant goal, 
 While the deacon druv on wi' a placid grin, 
 
 Right pleased to have saved an immortal soul. 
 
 Bernard Bigsly. 
 
A BORDER FUNERAL. 1 33 
 
 A BORDER FUNERAL. 
 
 It was a touching sight to see how the boys stood 
 around the dead body of Briggs and endeavored to 
 hide their emotion and failed. 
 
 The tears ran down the face of Arkansas Bob like 
 rain off the gable end of a corn-crib, and Ted Williams 
 and Jim Henderson and several more bowed their 
 heads while their forms shook with the sobs they would 
 not allow to escape. 
 
 The boys dug a grave on the bank of the Brazos 
 River, and that night as the clouds drifted away and the 
 moonlight fell upon the snow-covered ground and 
 sparkled the ice-laden limbs of the forest trees, we laid 
 poor Briggs down in his narrow resting-place. 
 
 The only requiem that was sung was the roar of the 
 turbid Brazos as it surged along on its way to the sea — 
 a mass sung by nature. 
 
 When the grave had been filled Jim Henderson said : 
 " I think we ought to have some kind of service. It 
 ain't right, by a darn sight, to go away without sayin' 
 somethin' over the grave — any you fellows got a 
 Bible?" 
 
 No one had a Bible, nor had seen one in a number 
 of years. 
 
 " Well, suppose some one says a sorter of prayer ? " 
 
 The boys scratched their heads, glanced at one an- 
 other for a moment, and then looked away off into the 
 woods. 
 
«s 
 
 134 A BORDER FUNERAL. 
 
 Finally some one whispered, " Sish ! Arkansas Bob's 
 goin' to pray," and he did. 
 
 " O, Lord ! " he said ; " I guess in your opinion I'm 
 pretty tough, but I ain't askin' nuthin for myself — it's 
 for Briggs. He is dead now but was as white a man 
 as ever walked. He never did no man a hurt, and he 
 had a heart in him as big as a mule, and no one as I've 
 heard ever said a word agin him. I don't know as 
 what I say will have much influence, but Briggs stood 
 well with us down here, and although I don't know 
 much about his career, or his history, or his family, he 
 was a man you could bank on every clatter. He gave 
 a sick Mexican four dollars and fifty cents once for 
 medicine, and then turned right around and nursed him 
 through a fever, but the infernal Greaser hadn't been 
 well more'n two days before he stole Briggs's saddle- 
 bags. Ah ! Lord, there ain't any preacher nowhere 
 'round here, or we'd had him to say something more 
 p'inted to you than I can say it. I never pattered 
 any with the Bible, and can't just now remember a 
 hymn song, but I'm a man of my word — I mean what 
 I say — and Briggs, if he gets a chance, will make a 
 good record in heaven as any one that ever got there. 
 He had, away down in his heart, something that was 
 square and as true as steel, and, oh, Lord ! you mustn't 
 go back on that kind of a man, 'cause they're too 
 skeerce in these parts. Amen." 
 
 The prayer was as rough as Bob, but no more sin- 
 cere, as was evidenced by his tearful eye and trembling 
 lip. After the prayer, the boys ranged themselves on 
 one side of the grave, and, drawing their six-shooters, 
 fired a salute over their dead comrade, and while the 
 
TRYING TO LICK THE TEACHER. I 5 
 
 sharp reports were still echoing through the vaults of 
 the forest, they turned and slowly left the scene. — 
 Anon, 
 
 TRYING TO LICK THE TEACHER. 
 
 TOLD AT THE OLD SETTLERS' MEETING. 
 
 I wuz a boy o' seventeen, ungainly, dull and tall, 
 
 Ez green ez eny gozlin', but I tho't I knew it all. 
 
 I went to school at Piano. I chopped up wood an' chored 
 
 For Zephaniah Wilkinson to pay him fur my board 
 
 One day Philetus Phinney, another boy in school, 
 About ez rough an' raw ez I — about ez big a fool— 
 Jist hinted in a private way, 'twould be a right smart featur' 
 An* give us lots o' glory, if we'd up an' lick the teacher. 
 He wouldn't ask no better fun than just to make him climb. 
 We'd have a long vacation an' a whopper o' a time. 
 The teacher he wuz sickly — he wuz not ez big ez I — 
 I knew that we could bounce him if we didn't a half but try. 
 Fur eny one on lookin' at him would a said on sight 
 Ther' wuzn't eny sand in him an' not a speck o' fight. 
 His hands they wasn't accustomed much to hangin' on to ploughs, 
 To hoein' corn, to cradlin' wheat, or milkin' twenty cows. 
 Philetus said he'd use him fur a mop to mop the floor, 
 An' when he begged an' hollered that we'd hist him out the 
 door. 
 
 We told the boys at recess o' the plot that we hed planned ; 
 They said 'f we couldn't down him they'd lend a helpin' hand. 
 But big Philetus Phinney, he wuz tickled ez could be 
 To think we tho't a snip like that could lick a chap like he ; 
 'F I'd knock the bucket over he'd make the teacher dance — 
 He'd flop him in the water, and he'd mop it with his pants. 
 
136 THE CLOWN'S BABY. 
 
 We heard the school bell ringin', we scrambled in pell-mell; 
 I run again* the water pail, on puppus, an' I fell ; 
 I struck upon a stick o' wood, and I badly raked my shin, 
 The water swoshed upon me, an' it wet me to the skin. 
 
 That scrawny little teacher, why ! he bounded from his cha'r, 
 
 He took me by the trowse's and he held me in the ar', 
 
 Then round an' round an' round an' round he whirled me like 
 
 a top, 
 An' w T hen I seed a thousand stars he sudden let me drop ; 
 He took me an' he shook me till I tho't that I should die. 
 He swished me with his ruler till my pants were nearly dry. 
 While big Philetus Phinney he wuz just too scar'd to laugh. 
 He let the teacher thrash me till I bellered like a calf. 
 An' all the other fightin' boys, with white and frightened looks, 
 Sot shakin' in the'r very boots an' ras'lin with their books ; 
 An* Oh, how hard they studied — not a fellow spoke or stirred ! — 
 They didn't dar to whisper or to say a single word. 
 
 Whar* is that little teacher that giv' me sich a scar' ? 
 
 He still is peaked lookin' — he's settin' over thar' — 
 
 An' tho' he's nearly seventy, an' sickly yit, I vow 
 
 I'd hate to hev him get those hands o' his'n on me now ; 
 
 He taught me one great lesson by that floggin' in his school ; — 
 
 That a braggart an' a bully ar' a coward an' a fool. 
 
 Eugene J, Hall, 
 
 THE CL O WN'S BAB Y 
 
 It was on a western frontier ; 
 
 The miners, rugged and brown, 
 Were gathered around the posters; 
 
 The circus had come to town ! 
 The great tent shone in the darkness 
 
 Like a wonderful palace of light, 
 And rough men crowded the entrance — - 
 
 Shows didn't come every night ! 
 
THE CLOWN S BABY. £3; 
 
 Not a woman's face among them ; 
 
 Many a face that was bad, 
 And some that were only vacant, 
 
 And some that were very sacL 
 And behind a canvas curtain, 
 
 In a corner of the place, 
 The clown, with chalk and vermilion, 
 
 Was " making up " his face. 
 
 A weary-looking woman, 
 
 With a smile that still was sweet, 
 Sewed on a little garment, 
 
 With a cradle at her feet. 
 Pantaloon stood ready and waiting ; 
 
 It was time for the going on, 
 But the clown in vain searched wildly; 
 
 The " property-baby " was gone 1 
 
 He murmured, impatiently hunting, 
 
 " It's strange I cannot find — 
 There! IVe looked in every corner; 
 
 It must have been left behind ! " 
 The miners were stamping and shouting, 
 
 They were not patient men. 
 The clown bends over the cradle — 
 
 u I must take you, little Ben I " 
 
 The mother started and shivered, 
 
 But trouble and want were near ; 
 She lifted her baby gently ; 
 
 " You'll be very careful, dear ? * 
 " Careful ? You foolish darling," — 
 
 How tenderly it was said 1 
 What a smile shone through the chalk and paint,— 
 
 " I love each hair of his head ! " 
 
 The noise rose into an uproar, 
 
 Misrule for a time was king ; 
 The clown, with a foolish chuckle, 
 
 Bolted into the ring. 
 
I3S THE CLOWN'S BABY. 
 
 But as, with a squeak and flourish, 
 
 The fiddles closed their tune, 
 " You'll hold him as if he was made of glass ? n 
 
 Said the clown to Pantaloon. 
 
 The jovial fellow nodded ; 
 
 " I've a couple myself," he said, 
 " I know how to handle 'em, bless you I 
 
 Old fellow, go ahead ! " 
 The fun grew fast and furious, 
 
 And not one of all the crowd 
 Had guessed that the baby was alive, 
 
 When he suddenly laughed aloud. 
 
 Oh, that baby-laugh I It was echoed 
 
 From the benches with a ring, 
 And the roughest customer there sprang up 
 
 With, " Boys, it's the real thing ! " 
 The ring was jammed in a minute, 
 
 Not a man that did not strive 
 For " a shot at holding the baby," 
 
 The baby that was " alive 1 " 
 
 He was thronged by kneeling suitors 
 
 In the midst of the dusty ring, 
 And he held his court right royally, — 
 
 The fair little baby-king, — 
 Till one of the shouting courtiers, 
 
 A man with a bold, hard face, 
 The talk, for miles, of the country, 
 
 And the terror of the place, 
 
 Raised the little king to his shoulder, 
 
 And chuckled, " Look at that ! " 
 As the chubby fingers clutched his hair, 
 
 Then, " Boys, hand round the hat 1 * 
 There never was such a hatful 
 
 Of silver, and gold, and notes ; 
 People are not always penniless 
 
 Because thev don't wear coats ! 
 
THE BATTLE FLAG AT SHENANDOAH. 1 39 
 
 And then, " Three cheers for the baby 1 n 
 
 I tell you, those cheers were meant, 
 And the way in which they were given 
 
 Was enough to raise the tent. 
 And then there was sudden silence, 
 
 And a gruff old miner said, 
 " Come, boys, enough of this rumpus 1 
 
 It's time it was put to bed." 
 
 So, looking a little sheepish, 
 
 But with faces strangely bright, 
 The audience, somewhat lingeringly, 
 
 Flocked out into the night. 
 And the bold-faced leader chuckled, — 
 
 " He wasn't a bit afraid ! 
 He's as game as he is good-looking : 
 
 Boys, that was a show that paid! " — Margaret Vandsgrift. 
 
 THE BATTLE FLAG AT SHENANDOAH. 
 
 The tented field wore a wrinkled frown, 
 
 And the emptied church from the hill looked down 
 On the emptied road and the emptied town, 
 That summer Sunday morning. 
 
 And here was the blue, and there was the gray; 
 
 And a wide green valley rolled away 
 Between where the battling-armies lay, 
 That sacred Sunday morning. 
 
 Young Custer sat, with impatient will, 
 
 His restless steed, 'mid his troopers still, 
 As he watched with glass from the oak-set hill 
 That silent Sunday morning. 
 
 Then fast he began to chafe and fret ; 
 "There's a battle flag on a bayonet 
 Too close to my own true soldiers set 
 For peace this Sunday morning I 
 
140 THE BATTLE FLAG AT SHENANDOAH. 
 
 " Ride over, some one," he haughtily said, 
 
 " And bring it to me ! Why, in bars blood red 
 And in stars I will stain it, and overhead 
 Will flaunt it this Sunday morning ! " 
 
 Then a West-born lad, pale-faced and slim, 
 
 Rode out, and touching his cap to him, 
 Swept down, as swift as the swallows swim, 
 That anxious Sunday morning. 
 
 Oh ! never rode man in the world so well 
 
 From hill of heaven to valley of hell ; 
 And foemen and friends, as in a spell, 
 Stood still that Sunday morning. 
 
 On, on through the valley ! up, up, anywhere ! 
 
 That pale-faced lad like a bird through the air 
 Kept on till he climbed to the banner there 
 That bravest Sunday morning ! 
 
 And he caught up the flag, and around his waist 
 
 He wound it tight, and he fled in haste, 
 And swift his perilous route retraced 
 That daring Sunday morning. 
 
 All honor and praise to the trusty steed ! 
 
 Ah, boy, and banner, and all God speed 1 
 God's pity for you in your hour of need 
 This deadly Sunday morning. 
 
 Oh, deadly shot ! and oh, shower of lead ! 
 
 Oh, iron rain on the brave, bare head ! 
 Why, even the leaves from the trees fall dead 
 This dreadful Sunday morning ! 
 
 But he gains the oaks ! Men cheer in their might ! 
 
 Brave Custer is weeping in his delight ! 
 Why, he is embracing the b>oy outright 
 This glorious Sunday morning ! 
 
A MODERN SERMON. 14 1 
 
 But, soft ! Not a word has the pale boy said ; 
 
 He unwinds the flag. It is starred, striped, red 
 With his heart's best blood ; and he falls down dead, 
 In God's still Sunday morning ! 
 
 So ; wrap his flag to his soldier's breast ; 
 
 Into Stars and Stripes it is stained and blest; 
 And under the oaks let him rest and rest 
 In God s own Sunday morning ! 
 
 Joaquin Miller. 
 
 A MODERN SERMON. 
 
 SUBJECT : OLD MOTHER HUBBARD. 
 
 The following exhibits the method upon which the average Par* 
 son contributes his discourse. 
 
 " Brethren, the words of my text are : 
 
 " ' Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard 
 To get her poor dog a bone ; 
 But w T hen she got there the cupboard was bare, 
 And so the poor dog had none.' 
 
 " These beautiful words, dear friends, carry with them 
 a solemn lesson. I propose this evening to analyze 
 their meaning, and to attempt to apply it, lofty as it 
 may be, to our every-day life. ' Old Mother Hubbard, 
 she went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone.' 
 
 " Mother Hubbard, you see, was old ; there being no 
 mention of others, we may presume that she was alone; 
 a widow, a penniless old solitary widow. Yet, did she 
 despair? Did she sit down and weep, or read a novel, 
 or w r ring her hands ? No, she went to the cupboard. 
 She did not hop, or skip, or run, or jump, or use any 
 
142 A MODERN SERMON. 
 
 other peripatetic artifice, — she solely and merely went 
 to the cupboard. 
 
 " We have seen that she was old and lonely, and we. 
 now further see that she was poor ; for mark, the words 
 are * The cupboard,' not one of the cupboards, or the 
 right hand cupboard, or the left hand cupboard, or the 
 one above, or the one below, or the one under the floor, 
 but just the cupboard — the one little cupboard the 
 widow possessed. And why did she go to the cup- 
 board ? Was it to bring forth golden goblets, or glitter- 
 ing precious stones, or costly apparel, or pearls, or any 
 other attribute of wealth ? It was to get her poor dog 
 a bone ! Not only was the widow poor, but her dog, 
 the Sole prop of her old age, was poor too. We can 
 imagine the scene. The poor dog crouching in the 
 corner, looking wistfully at the solitary cupboard, and 
 the widow going to that cupboard, in hope and expec- 
 tation, may be, to open it — although we are not told 
 distinctly that it was not half open, or ajar — to open it 
 for that poor dog. ' But when she got there, the cup- 
 board was bare, and so the poor dog had none.' 
 
 " When she got there. You see, dear brethren, what 
 perseverance is ; you see the beauty of perseverance 
 in doing right. She got there. There were no turn- 
 ings or twistings, no slippings or slidings, no leaning to 
 the right or faltering to the left ; with glorious simplicity 
 we are told she got there : and how was her noble ef- 
 fort rewarded ? * The cupboard was bare.' 
 
 '•' There was but one, only one solitary cupboard in 
 the whole of that cottage, and that one — the sole hope 
 of the widow and the glorious lodestar of the poor dog 
 — was bare / Had there been a leg of mutton, a loin 
 
A MODERN SERMON. I43 
 
 of lamb, or a fillet of veal, or even an ice from Delmon- 
 ico's, the case would have been different, the incident 
 would have been otherwise ; but it was bare, my breth- 
 ren, bare as a bald head. 
 
 " Many of you will probably say, with all the pride 
 of sophistry, the widow went out and bought the dog a 
 biscuit. Ah, no ; far removed from these earthly ideas, 
 these mundane desires, the widow whom many thought- 
 less worldlings would despise in that she only owned 
 one cupboard, perceived, or I might even say saw at 
 once the relentless logic of the situation, and yielded to 
 it with all the heroism of that nature which had enabled 
 her without deviation to reach the barren cupboard. 
 She did not attempt, like the stiff-necked scoffers of 
 this generation, to war against the inevitable, — she did 
 not try, like the so-called men of science, to explain 
 what she did not understand. She did nothing, the 
 poor dog had none, and then at this point our informa- 
 tion ceases. But do we not know sufficient ? Are we 
 not cognizant of enough ? 
 
 " Who would dare to pierce the veil that shrouded 
 the ulterior fate of Old Mother Hubbard, her poor dog, 
 the cupboard, or the bone that was not there ? Must 
 we imagine her still standing at the open door, depict 
 to ourselves the dog still drooping his disappointed tail 
 upon the floor, the sought-for bone still remaining some- 
 where else ? Ah, no, my dear brethren, we are not 
 permitted to attempt to read the future. Suffice it for 
 us to glean from this beautiful story its many lessons. 
 Suffice it for us to apply them, to study them as far as 
 in us lies, and bearing in mind the natural frailty of our 
 natures, to avoid being widows, to avoid the patronymic 
 
[44 JIM S KIDS. 
 
 of * Hubbard,' to have, if our means afford, more than 
 one cupboard in the house, and to keep stores in them 
 all. And oh, dear friends, keeping the recollection of 
 what we have learned this day, let us avoid keeping 
 dogs that are fond of bones. But, brethren, if we do, 
 if fate has ordained that we should do any of these 
 things, let us go as Mother Hubbard, straight, without 
 circuiting, to our empty cupboard, empty though it be ; 
 let us, like her, accept the inevitable with calm stead- 
 fastness ; and should we, like her, be left with a hungry 
 dog and an empty cupboard, may future chroniclers be 
 able to say also of us, in the words of our beautiful 
 text : 'and so the poor dog had none.' " — Anon. 
 
 JIM'S KIDS. 
 
 Jim was a fisherman — up on the hill 
 
 Over the beach lived he an' his wife 
 In a little house — you can see it still — 
 An' their two fair boys ; upon my life 
 You never seen two likelier kids, 
 
 In spite o' their antics an' tricks an' noise, 
 Than them two boys ! 
 
 Jim would go out in his boat on the sea — 
 
 Jest as the rest on us fishermen did — 
 And when he come back at night thar'd be 
 
 Up to his knees in the surf each kid, 
 A beck'nin' and cheerin' to fisherman Jim— 
 He'd hear 'em, you bet, above the roar - 
 Of the waves on the shore. 
 
 But one night Jim came sailin' home, 
 
 And the little kids weren't on the sands — 
 
 Jim kinder wondered they hadn't come, 
 
 And a-tremblin' took holt o' his knees and hands ; 
 
JIM'S KIDS. 145 
 
 And he learnt the worst upon the hill 
 
 In the little house, and he bowed his head — 
 " The fever," they said. 
 
 'Twas an awful time for fisherman Jim, 
 
 With them darlm's dyin' afore his eyes — 
 They kept a-callin' an' beck'niu' him. 
 
 For they kind o' wandered in mind — their cries 
 Were about the waves and fisherman Jim 
 An' the little boat a-sailin' for shore — 
 Till they spoke no more. 
 
 Well, fisherman Jim lived on and on, 
 
 And his hair grew white and the wrinkles came. 
 But he never smiled, and his heart seemed gone, 
 
 And he never was heard to speak the name 
 Of the little kids who were buried there, 
 Up on the hill, in sight o' the sea, 
 Under a wilier tree. 
 
 One night they come and told me to haste 
 
 To the house on the hill, for Jim was sick, 
 And they said I hadn't no time to waste, 
 For his tide was ebbin' powerful quick, 
 An' he seemed to be wand'rin' and crazy like, 
 An' a-seein' sights he oughtn't to see — 
 An' had called for me. 
 
 And fisherman Jim sez he to me : 
 
 " It's my last, last cruise — you understand — 
 I'm a-sailin' a dark and dreadful sea, 
 
 But off on the further shore, on the sand, 
 Are the kids, who's a-beck'nin' an' callin' my name 
 Jess as they did — ah, mate, you know — 
 In the long ago." 
 
 No, sir • he wasn't afraid to die, 
 
 For all that night he seemed to see 
 His little boys of the years gone by, 
 
 And to hear sweet voices forgot by me ; 
 10 
 
146 DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 
 
 An* just as the mornin' sun came up — 
 
 " They're holding me by the hands 1 " he cried — 
 An' so he died. 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
 DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 
 
 Fifty years ago, in a rude garret, near the loneliest 
 suburbs of the city of London, lay a dying man. He 
 was but half dressed, though his legs were concealed 
 in long military boots. An aged minister stood beside 
 the rough couch. The form was that of a strong man 
 grown old through care more than age. There was a 
 face that you might look upon but once, and yet wear 
 it in your memory forever. 
 
 Let us bend over the bed and look upon that face. 
 A bold forehead seamed by one deep wrinkle visible be- 
 tween the brows ; long locks of dark hair, sprinkled with 
 gray ; lips firmly set, yet quivering, as though they had 
 a life separate from the life of the man ; and then, two 
 large eyes, vivid, burning, unnatural in their steady 
 glare. Ay, there was something terrible in that face, 
 something sq full of unnatural loneliness, unspeakable 
 despair, that the aged minister started back in horror. 
 But look ! those strong arms are clutching at the vacant 
 air ; the death-sweat stands in drops on that bold brow ; 
 the man is dying. Throb, throb , throb, beats the 
 death-watch in the shattered wall. " Would you die in 
 the faith of the Christian ? " faltered the preacher, as 
 he knelt there on the damp floor. 
 
 The white lips of the death-stricken man trembled 
 but made no sound. Then, with the strong agony of 
 
DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 147 
 
 death upon him, he rose into a sitting posture. For 
 the first time he spoke. " Christian ! " he echoed, in 
 that deep tone which thrilled the preacher to the heart: 
 "Will that give me back my honor? Come with me, 
 old man, come with me, far over the waters. Ha ! we 
 are there ! This is my native town. Yonder is the 
 church in which I knelt in childhood ; yonder the green 
 on which I sported when a boy. But another -flag 
 waves there, in place of the flag that waved when I was 
 a child. 
 
 "And listen, old man. Were I to pass along the 
 streets, as I passed when but a child, the very babes 
 in their cradles would raise their tiny hands, and curse 
 me ! The graves in yonder churchyard would shrink 
 from my footsteps ; and yonder flag would rain a bap- 
 tism of blood upon my head ! " 
 
 Suddenly the dying man arose ; he tottered along 
 the floor, threw open a valise and drew from thence a 
 faded coat of blue, faced with silver, and the wreck of 
 a battle-flag. 
 
 " Look ye, priest ! this faded coat is spotted with 
 my blood ! " he cried, as old memories seemed stirring 
 at his heart. " This coat I wore when I first heard the 
 news of Lexington ; this coat I wore when I planted 
 the banner of the stars on Ticonderoga! that bullet- 
 hole was pierced in the fight of Quebec ; and now, I 
 am a — let me whisper it in your ear ! " He hissed that 
 single burning word into the minister's ear. " Now 
 help me, priest ! help me to put on this coat of blue ; 
 for you see — " and a ghastly smile came over his face 
 — "there is no one here to wipe the cold drops from 
 my brow ; no wife, no child ; I must meet death alone ; 
 
I48 DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 
 
 but I will meet him as I have met him in battle, with* 
 out a fear ! " 
 
 And while he stood arraying his limbs in that worm- 
 eaten coat of blue and silver, the good minister spoke 
 to him of faith in Jesus. Yes, of that great faith which 
 pierces the clduds of human guilt, and rolls them back 
 from the face of God. u Faith ! " echoed that strange 
 man, who stood there, erect, with the death-chill on his 
 brow, " Faith I Can it give me back my honor ? Look 
 ye, priest ! there, over the waves, sits George Washing- 
 ton, telling to his comrades the pleasant story of the 
 eight years* war ; there in his royal halls sits George 
 of England, bewailing in his idiotic voice, the loss of 
 the colonies ! And here am I ! — I, who was the first 
 to raise the flag of freedom, the first to strike a blow 
 against that king — here am I dying ! oh, dying like a 
 dog ! » » 
 
 The awe-stricken preacher started back from the 
 look of the dying man, while throb, throb, throb, beats 
 the death-watch in the shattered wall. " Hush ! silence 
 along the lines there ! " he muttered in that wild, ab- 
 sent tone, as though speaking to the dead. " Silence 
 along the lines ! not a word — not a word on peril of 
 your lives! Hark you, Montgomery! we will meet in 
 the centre of the town ; we will meet there in victory, 
 or die ! — Hist ! silence, my men ; not a whisper as we 
 move up those steep rocks ! Now on, my boys ; now 
 on ! Men of the wilderness, we will gain the town ! 
 Now up with the banner of the stars ! up with the flag 
 of freedom, though the night is dark, and the snow 
 falls! Now! now, one more blow, and Quebec is 
 ours!" 
 
"THE WIDOW'S SON." 149 
 
 Who is this strange man, lying there alone, in this 
 rude garret — this man who, in all his crimes, still treas- 
 ured up that blue uniform, that faded flag ? 
 
 Let us look at that parchment and flag. The aged 
 minister unrolls that faded flag ; it is a blue banner 
 gleaming with thirteen stars. He unrolls that parch- 
 ment ; it is a colonel's commission in the Continental 
 army, addressed to Benedict Arnold. And there, in 
 that rude hut, while the death-watch throbbed like a 
 heart in the shattered wall, there, unknown, unwept, in 
 all the bitterness of desolation, lay the corpse of the 
 patriot and the traitor. — Geo. Lippard. 
 
 "THE WIDOW'S SOW 
 
 An old woman had a son in the Crimean war. He never came back. 
 She waited and watched for him. One day she met a veteran of the 
 Crimean, weather-beaten, battle-scarred, and of him she inquired for tid- 
 ings of her boy : — 
 
 " Oh, were you at the war in the dire Eastern land ? 
 
 What did you hear ? What did you see ? 
 Saw you my son with a sword in his hand ? 
 
 Sent he by you any dear word to me ? " 
 
 " I came from dread war in the dire Eastern land, 
 Three deeds I saw done one might well die to see; 
 
 But I know not your son with a sword in his hand, 
 If you would hear of him, paint him to me." 
 
 " Oh, he was as gentle as the soft wind in May^-" 
 " Tis not a gentle place where I have been." 
 
 " Oh, he had a smile like the outbreak of day — " 
 
 " Where men are dying fast smiles are not seen." 
 
ISO "THE WIDOW'S SON." 
 
 " Tell me the mightiest deeds that were done- 
 Deeds of chief honor — you said there were three — 
 
 Tell me of them, I am sure he did one! 
 
 My heart shall descry him and cry, ' this is he.' " 
 
 " I saw a man scale a tower of despair, 
 Went up alone — the host shouted loud — " 
 " That was my son, had he streams of fair hair ? " 
 
 " Nay, it was darker than the darkest night's cloud." 
 "Did he live?" 
 
 " No, he died, but the fortress was won I 
 
 And they said it was grand for a man to die so." 
 " Alas for his mother ! he was not my son ; 
 
 Was there no fair-haired soldier humbled the foe ? n 
 
 " I saw a man charge in front of his ranks 
 Full thirty yards on, in a hurry to die — 
 Straight as an arrow hurled at the flanks 
 Of a huge desert beast, ere the hunter draws nigh. 
 "Did he live?" 
 
 " No, he died, but the battle was won ! 
 
 And the conquerors' cry carried his name through the air ! 
 Be comforted, mother, he was not thy son, 
 
 Wan was his forehead and gray was his hair." 
 
 " Oh, the brow of my son was as smooth as a rose, 
 
 I kissed it last night in my dreams ; 
 I have heard of two deeds from the land of our foes, 
 
 But tell me the third ! You said there were three! 
 
 " I saw a man rush from the trenches and fly 
 
 In a battery's face — but it was not to slay ; 
 A poor little drummer had dropped down to die, 
 
 With his ankle shot through, in the place where he lay ; 
 He carried the boy, like a babe, through the rain 
 
 Of the death-dealing torrent of grapeshot and shell, 
 And he walked at a foot's pace, because of the pain, 
 
 Laid his burden down gently, smiled once, and then fell." 
 
SMITING THE ROCK. I 5 I 
 
 " Did he live ? " 
 
 " No, he died, but he rescued the boy ! 
 
 Such a death was more noble than life, so they said; 
 He had streams of fair hair and a face full of joy, 
 And his name — " 
 " Speak it not ! 'Tis my son, he is dead. 
 
 " Oh, dig him a grave 'neath the red rowan tree, 
 
 Where the mosses grow softer than fringes of foam, 
 And lay his bed smoothly and leave room for me, 
 
 For I shall be ready before he comes home ; 
 And carve on his tombstone a name and a wreath, 
 
 A tale to touch hearts through the slow spreading years, 
 How he died — his noble and beautiful death — 
 
 And his mother who longed for him, died of her tears. 
 
 A tion* 
 
 SMITING THE ROCK. 
 
 The stern old judge, in relentless mood, 
 Glanced at the two who before him stood — 
 She was bowed and haggard and old, 
 He was young and defiant and bold — 
 Mother and son ; and to gaze at the pair, 
 Their different attitudes, look and air, 
 One would believe, ere the truth were won, 
 The mother convicted, and not the son. 
 
 There was the mother : the boy stood nigh, 
 With a shameless look, and his head held high. 
 Age had come over her, sorrow and care ; 
 These mattered but little so he was there, 
 A prop to her years and a light to her eyes, 
 And a prize as only a mother can prize ; 
 But what for him could a mother say, 
 Waiting his doom on the sentence day? 
 
 Her husband had died in his shame and sin ; 
 And she a widow, her living to win, 
 
152 SMITING THE ROCK. 
 
 Had toiled and struggled from morn to night, 
 Making with want a wearisome fight. 
 Bent over her work with resolute zeal, 
 Till she felt her old frame totter and reel, 
 Her weak limbs tremble, her eyes grow dim, 
 But she had her boy and she toiled for him. 
 
 And he — he stood in the criminal dock, 
 With a heart as I„jrd as a flinty rock, 
 An impudent glance and a reckless air. 
 Braving the scorn of the gazers there ; 
 Dipped in crime and encompassed round, 
 With proofs of his guilt by captors found, 
 Ready to stand, as he phrased it, " game," 
 Holding not crime, but penitence, shame. 
 
 Poured in a flood o'er the mother's cheek 
 
 The moistening prayers where the tongue was weak, 
 
 And she saw through the mist of those bitter tears, 
 
 Only the child in his innocent years. 
 
 She remembered him pure, as a child might be, 
 
 The guilt of the present she could not see ; 
 
 And for mercy her wistful looks made prayer 
 
 To the stern old judge in his cushioned chair. 
 
 " Woman," the old judge crabbedly said — 
 
 " Your boy is the neighborhood's plague and dread ". 
 
 Of a gang of reprobates chosen chief ; 
 
 An idler and rioter, ruffian and thief. 
 
 The jury did right, for the facts were plain ; 
 
 Denial is idle, excuses are vain, 
 
 The sentence the court imposes is one — " 
 
 " Your honor," she cried, " he's my only son." 
 
 The tipstaves grinned at the words she spoke, 
 And ripple of fun through the court-room broke ; 
 But over the face of the culprit came 
 An angry look and a shadow of shame. 
 "Don't laugh at my mother! " loud cries he; 
 " You've got me fast and can deal with me; 
 
HORSE OR HUSBAND — A BIG MISTAKE. 1 53 
 
 But she's too good for your coward jeers, 
 
 And I'll — " then his utterance choked with tears. 
 
 The judge for a moment bent his head, 
 
 And looked at him keenly, and then he said — 
 
 " We suspend the sentence — the boy can go ; " 
 
 And the words were tremulous, forced and low ; 
 
 " But stay ! " and he raised his finger then — 
 
 " Don't lev them bring you hither again ; 
 
 There is something good in you yet, I know ; 
 
 I'll give you a chance — make the most of it — Go I * 
 
 The twain went forth, and the old judge said — 
 " I meant to have given him a year instead, 
 And perhaps 'tis difficult thing to tell 
 If clemency here be ill or well. 
 But a rock was struck in that callous heart, 
 From which a fountain of good may start ; 
 For one on the ocean of crime long tossed, 
 Who loves his mother, is not quite lost." 
 
 ByM. 
 
 HORSE OR HUSBAND— A BIG MISTAKE. 
 
 Recently our church had a new minister. He is a 
 nice, good, sociable gentleman ; but coming from a 
 distant State, of course he was totally unacquainted 
 with our people. Therefore it happened that during 
 his pastoral calls, he made several ludicrous blunders. 
 One as follows : The other evening he called upon 
 Mrs. Haddon. She had just lost her husband, and she 
 naturally supposed that his visit was relative to the sad 
 occurrence. So, after a few common-places had been 
 exchanged, she was not surprised to hear him remark : 
 
154 HORSE OR HUSBAND — A BIG MISTAKE. 
 
 " It was a sad bereavement, was it not, Mrs. Had- 
 don ? " 
 
 " Yes," faltered the widow. 
 
 " Totally unexpected ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I never dreamed of it." 
 
 " He died in the barn, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, no ; in the house." 
 
 " Ah, well, I suppose you must have thought a great 
 deal of him ? " 
 
 " Of course, sir." 
 
 This was with vim. The minister looked rather sur- 
 prised, crossed his legs, and renewed the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Blind staggers was the disease, I believe." 
 
 " No, sir," snapped the widow. "Apoplexy." 
 
 u Indeed, you must have fed him too much." 
 
 " He was quite capable of feeding himself, sir." 
 
 " Very intelligent he must have been. Died hard ? " 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " You had to hit him on the head with an axe to put 
 him out of his misery, I was told." 
 
 Mrs. Haddon's eyes snapped fire. 
 
 " Whoever told you that did not speak the truth," 
 she haughtily uttered. " James died naturally." 
 
 " Yes," continued the minister, in a perplexed tone. 
 " He kicked the side of the barn down in his last ago- 
 nies, didn't he? " 
 
 " No, sir ; he did not." 
 
 " Well, I have been misinformed, I suppose. How 
 old was he ? " 
 
 " Thirty-five." 
 
 " He did not do much active work. Perhaps you are 
 
HORSE OR HUSBAND — A BIG MISTAKE. 1 55 
 
 better without him, for you can easily supply his place 
 with a better one." 
 
 " Never ! sir, will I find such a good one as he." 
 
 " Oh, yes you will ; he had the heaves bad, you 
 know." . 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, sir/ 
 
 " Why, I recollect I saw him one day, with you on 
 his back, and I distinctly recollect that he had the 
 heaves, and walked as if he had the spring-halt." 
 
 Mrs. H.'s eyes snapped fire, and she stared at the 
 reverend visitor as if she imagined he was crazy. 
 
 " He could not have had the spring-halt, for he had 
 a cork-leg," she replied. 
 
 " A cork-leg — remarkable ; but really, didn't he have 
 a dangerous trick of suddenly stopping and kicking the 
 wagon all to pieces ? " 
 
 " Never, sir ; he was not mad." 
 
 " Probably not. But there was some good points 
 about him." 
 
 " I should think so." 
 
 " The way in which he carried his ears, for example." 
 
 " Nobody ever noticed that particular merit," said 
 the widow, with much asperity, " he was warm-hearted, 
 generous and frank." * 
 
 "Good qualities," answered the minister. "How 
 long did it take him to go a mile ? " 
 
 "About fifteen minutes." 
 
 " Not much of a goer. Wasn't his hair apt to 
 fly?" 
 
 '' He didn't have any hair, he was bald-headed." 
 
 " Quite a curiosity." 
 
 "No, sir; no more of a curiosity than you are." 
 
156 FATHER PROUT'S SERMON. 
 
 The minister shifted uneasily, and got red in the face ; 
 but he returned to the attack. 
 
 " Did you use the whip much on him ? " 
 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " Went right along without it, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He must have been a good sort of a brute!" 
 
 The widow sat down and cried. 
 
 " The idea of your coming here and insulting me," 
 she sobbed. " If my husband had lived you would not 
 have done it. Your remarks in reference to the poor 
 dead man have been a series of insults, and I won't 
 stand it." 
 
 He colored, and looked dumbfounded. 
 
 11 Ain't you Mrs. Blinkers ? " at last he stammered, 
 " and has not your gray horse just died ? " 
 
 " No ! no ! " she cried. " I never owned a horse, 
 but my husband died a week ago." 
 
 Ten minutes later that minister came out of that 
 house with the reddest face ever seen on mortal man. 
 
 " And to think," he groaned, as he strode home, 
 " that I was talking horse to that woman all the time — 
 and she was talking husband." — Anon. 
 
 FATHER PRO UTS SERMON. 
 
 Last Thursday was a week since Bartlemy fair, and 
 I wint down to buy a horse, for this is a large parish, 
 an' mortification an' frettin' have puffed me up, so that 
 God help me it's little able I am to answer all the sick 
 calls, to say nothin' o' stations, weddin's and christen- 
 
FATHER PROUT'S SERMON. I 57 
 
 in's. Well ! I bought the horse an' it cost me more 
 than I expicted, so there I stood without a penny in my 
 pocket after I paid the dealer. It rained cats an' 
 dogs, an as I am so poor I can't afford a great-coat, I 
 got wet to the skin i' less than no time. There ye 
 were, scores o' ye i ? the public houses, with the winders 
 up that all the world might see ye a atein' an' dhrinkin' 
 as if it was for a wager ; an' there wasn't one o' ye had 
 the grace to ask, Father Prout, ha' ye got a mouth i' 
 yer face ? An' there I might ha' stood i' the rain until 
 this blissid hour (that is, supposin' it had continued 
 rainin' until now), if I hadn't been picked up by Mr. 
 Mun Roche o' Kildinan — an honest gintleman an' a 
 hospitable man I must say, tho' he is a Protestant. 
 He took me home with him, an' there, to yer etarnal 
 disgrace, ye villains, I got as full as a tick — an' Mun 
 Roche had to send me home in his own carriage, which 
 is an everlasting shame to all o' ye who belong to the 
 true Church. 
 
 Now I ask which has carried out this tixt ? Ye who 
 did not give me even a poor tumbler o' punch at Bart- 
 lemy, or Mun Roche, who took me home an' filled me 
 with the best atein' and dhrinkin', an' sint me to my 
 own house afther that in his own illigant carriage ? 
 Who best fulfilled the Scriptur' ? Who lint to the 
 Lord by givin' to the poor clargy ? 
 
 Remember, a time will come when I must give an 
 account o' ye ! What can I say thin ? Won't I have 
 to hang down my head in shame on yer account ? 
 Ton my conscience, it wouldn't much surprise me, un- 
 less ye greatly mind yer ways, if Mun Roche an' you 
 won't have to change places on that occasion — he to 
 
158 THAT QUEEN. 
 
 sit along side o' me, as a friend who had thrated the 
 poor clargy well i' this world, an' ye in a sartin place, 
 which I won't particularly mintion now, except to hint 
 that it's precious little frost and snow ye'll have in it, 
 but quite the revarse. However, it's never too late to 
 mind ; an' I hope by this day week, it's quite another 
 story I'll have to till o'ye all.—-/] Sheldon Mackenzie. 
 
 THAT QUEEN. 
 
 The Judge was a Christian and played on the square, 
 
 But he figured the cards pretty close ! 
 He could call off your hand every time to a pair, 
 
 And lay down a " full " when he chose. 
 
 The Colonel could play a more difficult game, 
 
 I don't mean to say he would cheat, 
 But he held the top card when the big betting came, 
 
 And some hands that couldn't be beat. 
 
 Coming home from Chicago the two chanced to meet — 
 They were very old friends — on the cars ; 
 
 And as neither the other at poker could beat, 
 They played euchre, five points, for cigars. 
 
 The cards ran along pretty evenly, too, 
 Till the Judge turned a moment his head, 
 
 When the Colonel, in shuffling, slipped the deck through 
 And the Judge cut a cold one instead. 
 
 'Twas euchre, of course ; but the Judge was amazed 
 
 When he lifted four kings in a lump ; 
 But the Colonel, not seeming a particle dazed, 
 
 Turned up a red queen for a trump. 
 
 "You say — do you pass, Judge? " the Colonel called out; 
 
 " Look here," said the limb of the law, 
 " I've mighty queer cards ; if you're in for a bout, 
 
 We'll play this one hand out at draw." 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER TAKING. 1 59 
 
 The Colonel considered, and wriggled his neck — 
 
 " I, too, have a very odd hand ; 
 If you'll give me that queen from the top of the deck, 
 
 We'll play out the cards as they stand." 
 
 " Agreed," said the Judge, for he saw at a glance 
 
 The Colonel had one of two things — 
 A full, or four queens, and he hadn't a chance 
 
 To rake down the pot from four kings. 
 
 The Judge chipped with fifty; the Colonel came back; 
 
 The Judge answered him with a raise ; 
 Of the bets the two made I could never get track, 
 
 But they piled up, like gals in a chaise. 
 
 At last says the Judge, " Here, I'm hunting no more — 
 
 Four kings ; reach us over that pot " — 
 " Hold on," says the Colonel, "I, too, have found four, 
 
 And they're four little aces I've got." 
 
 The Judge took the cards and looked over them well, 
 Fetched a breath from his trousers' waistband — 
 
 " Well, what I'd like to know is, what in h — 1 
 The queen had to do with that hand." 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER TAKING. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Popperman to her husband 
 last evening, " I was looking over a bundle of old let- 
 ters to-day T , and found this one which you wrote to me 
 before we were married — when you were young and 
 sentimental." 
 
 " What does it say ? " 
 
 " I'll read it : 
 
 " * Sweet Idol of my Lonely Heart : If thou wilt 
 place thy hand in mine, and say Dear love I'll be thy 
 bride, we'll fly away to some far realm — we'll fly to 
 
l6o BEFORE AND AFTER TAKING. 
 
 sunny Italy, and there 'neath soft cerulean skies we'll 
 bask, and sing, and dream of naught but love. Rich 
 and costly paintings by the old masters shall adorn 
 the walls of the castle I'll give thee. Thy bath shall 
 be of milk. A box at the opera shall be at thy com- 
 mand, and royalty shall be thy daily visitor. Sweet 
 strains of music shall lull thee at eventide, and warbling 
 birds shall wake thee from thy morning slumber. Dost 
 thou accept ? Say yes — oh, fly with me.' 
 
 "And I flew," said Mrs. Popperman. " But if I had 
 been as fly as I am now I wouldn't have flown." 
 
 "Why not, dear?" 
 
 " Why not ? Have you done as you promised in 
 that letter ? When we were married did we ' fly to sunny 
 Italy and bask 'neath soft cerulean skies,' or did we go 
 to Hoboken and spend two weeks fishing for eels on 
 the end of a wharf ? " 
 
 " Well, yes." 
 
 "And how about the pictures? You know very well 
 that every rich and costly painting in this house is a 
 chromo from the tea store." 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " * Thy bath shall be of milk.' Do I bathe in milk, 
 or isn't it like pulling teeth every morning to get 10 
 cents out of you to buy milk for the baby ? " 
 
 " Kinder." 
 
 " ' Royalty shall be thy daily visitor.' The only daily 
 visitors I have are the book agents and the clam ped- 
 dlers." 
 
 14 'Tain't my faul't." 
 
 44 i Sweet strains of music shall lull thee at eventide.* 
 Oh, yes. The only chance I have to listen to the sweet 
 
A TEST. l6l 
 
 strains of music is when you and I go out walking at 
 night and follow a monkey and a hand-organ around 
 the block.'' 
 
 "Oh, I am so sleepy." 
 
 " I don't care if you are. Where are the warbling 
 birds you promised me ? I hear Mrs. Maginnis's 
 crowing roosters next door every morning. Perhaps 
 they are what you meant." 
 
 " Well, never mind." 
 
 " But I will mind. I was to have a box at the op- 
 era. Where is it ? The only time I go to an opera is 
 when you get bill-posters' tickets to a dime museum." 
 
 " It's too bad." 
 
 " It really is too bad. And then you said we'd talk 
 and dream of naught but love. Since I married vou 
 we've talked and dreamt of naught but rent. Good- 
 night, sir," and Mrs. Popperman turned out the gas, 
 and jumped into bed leaving Mr. Popperman to bark 
 his shins against the bureau in trying to grope to bed 
 in the dark. — Anon. 
 
 A TEST. 
 
 " What would you do," asked the fireman black, 
 
 Of the grimy engineer, 
 " If suddenly upon the track 
 
 A woman should appear ? 
 And suppose you were running a little behind, 
 
 With your gauge chock up to * L,' 
 And the woman was deaf and dumb and blind, 
 
 And couldn't hear whistle or bell I " 
 
1 62 A TEST. 
 
 "Do ? JJ cried the grimy engineer, 
 
 With a look of cold disdain ; 
 " I'd get out there and leave you here 
 
 To take your chance with the train I 
 I'd straighten out on that pilot plate, 
 
 And that woman I would snatch, 
 Before she knew whether we were freight, 
 
 Express, wild, or despatch ! " 
 
 " That," said the fireman, " I call game ! " 
 
 And he shovelled in the coal, 
 And wondered if he'd do the same, 
 
 In a similar kind of a hole. 
 And the headlight cast a long, thin stream 
 
 Through the night of dismal black, 
 When suddenly there came the scream 
 
 Of a woman on the track ! 
 
 " Jump ! " shrieked the fireman. " There she goes I n 
 
 But the engineer sat still, 
 And a woman's sorrows, joys, and woes 
 
 Were taken like a pill. 
 " Why didn't you out on the pilot plate ? 
 
 That was the place for you ! 
 Why didn't you try to avert her fate, 
 
 As you boasted you would do ? " 
 
 " My friend," said the grimy engineer, 
 
 With apologetic cough, 
 " That woman knew but trouble here, 
 
 And now she's better off. 
 Besides, by grinding her to hash, 
 
 A good fat thing I draw, — 
 The road will pay five thousand cash, 
 
 And she was — my mother-in-law I " 
 
 Drake* s Magazine* 
 
THE DRUMMER'S BRIDE. 1 63 
 
 THE DRUMMER'S BRIDE. 
 
 AS" RECITED BY E. F. RANDOLPH. 
 
 Hollow-eyed and pale at the window of a jail, 
 Thro* her soft disheveled hair, a maniac did stare, stare, stare ! 
 At a distance, down the street, making music with their feet, 
 Game the soldiers from the wars, all embellished with their 
 
 scars, 
 To the pounding and the sounding of a drum ! 
 Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 
 
 The woman heaves a sigh, and a fire fills her eye. 
 
 When she hears the distant drum, she cries, " Here they come ! 
 
 here they come ! " 
 Then clutching fast the grating, with eager, nervous waiting, 
 See, she looks into the air, through her long and silky hair, 
 For the cheering and the hearing of a drum ! 
 Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 
 
 And nearer, nearer, nearer comes, more distinct and clearer, 
 The rattle of the drumming. Shrieks the woman, " He is coming, 
 He is coming now to me ; quick, drummer, quick, till I see ! " 
 And her eye is glassy bright, while she beats in mad delight 
 To the echo of a drum; To the rapping, tapping, tapping of a 
 
 drum! 
 Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 
 
 Now she sees them in the street, march along with dusty feet, 
 As she looks through the spaces, gazing madly in their faces ; 
 And she reaches out her hand, screaming wildly to the band ; 
 But her words, like her lover, are lost Devon d recover, 
 'Mid the clanging and the banging of a drum! 
 Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 
 
164 MARY^S LAMB. 
 
 So the pageant passes by, and the woman's flashing eye 
 Quickly loses all its stare, and fills with a tear ; 
 As, sinking from her place, with her hands upon her face, 
 She weeps and sobs as wild as a disappointed child ; 
 Sobbing, " He will never come, never come ! 
 Now nor ever, never, never, will he come 
 
 With his drum, with his drum, with his drum ! drum, drum ( 
 drum ! " 
 
 Still the drummer down the street beats his distant dying beat, 
 And she shouts, within her cell, " Ha ! they're marching down to 
 
 hell, 
 And the devils dance and wait at the open iron gate : 
 Hark ! it is the dying sound, as they march into the ground, 
 To the sighing, and the dying of the drum ! 
 To the throbbing and the sobbing of the drum 1 
 Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum 1 drum, drum, drum ! " — Anon, 
 
 MARY'S LAMB. 
 
 AS RECITED BY ALEX. J. BROWN. 
 
 French. 
 La petite Marie had le June muttong, 
 
 Zee wool was blanchee as ze snow, 
 And everywhere la belle Marie went, 
 
 La June muttong was sure to go. 
 
 Chinese. 
 Wun gal named Moll had lamb, 
 
 Fleacee all samee whitee snow, 
 Evly place Moll gal walkee, 
 
 Ba ba hoppee long too. 
 
 Deutche. 
 Dot Mary haf got ein leedle schaf, 
 
 Mit hair shust like some wool, 
 Und all der blace dat gall did vent, 
 
 Dat schaf go like ein fool. 
 
UNKNOWN DEAD. 165 
 
 Irish. 
 Begorry, Mary had a little shape, 
 
 And the wool was white entirely, 
 An' whenever Mary would stir her srhumps, 
 
 That young shape would follow her complately ! 
 
 UNKNO WN DEAD. 
 
 The following lines were suggested by seeing a solitary grave near the 
 banks of the James River. On the rude head-board was carved, " Un- 
 known," whilst beneath, in a delicate female hand, was pencilled, M Yet 
 much Beloved, and Not Forgotten." On the lonely mound lay a faded 
 wreath, a broken sword and rusty scabbard. 
 
 Where the James is rippling gently. 
 
 Wandering o'er its rocky bed, 
 Many years ago they laid him. 
 
 " Much Beloved,' yet " Unknown " dead, 
 Flowers strewn by kindly fingers 
 
 O'er his couch their fragrance shed, 
 Whilst the low winds murmuring softly, 
 
 Sigh their requiems o'er his head. 
 
 What bright hopes may here be buried, 
 
 Who the slain no one can say, 
 Yet we know " somebody's darling " 
 
 Sleeps beside the James to-day. 
 On his grave the sunlight lingers, 
 
 And the silvery moon-beams fall, 
 Here he sleeps, far, far from kindred — 
 
 Sleeps until the last great call. 
 
 Loving hearts mayhaps have waited 
 
 For this "' Unknown " one to come, 
 Long, perhaps, yes, long, long after 
 
 He had found his narrow home. 
 Now when hope has died in anguish, 
 
 Aching hearts this blessing crave, 
 That love soothes his last hard pillow — 
 
 Love still tends this " Unknown " grave. 
 
l66 HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 
 
 Many hearts and blades were broken, 
 
 Thousands of the noblest " braves " 
 Wrapped in jackets gray are sleeping 
 
 Coldly in their " unknown " graves ; 
 Many " Rachels " still are weeping, 
 
 Though so many years have fled, 
 Weeping for their sons returned not, 
 
 Waiting for their " unknown " dead. 
 
 Ye who weave for them fresh garlands, 
 
 O'er their graves sweet flowers spread, 
 Know the prayers of many mothers 
 
 Call down blessings on your head. 
 Loving acts bring blessings always, 
 
 For thy Father says to thee : 
 " As ye soothe My suffering children, 
 
 So ye do it unto Me." 
 
 Oh, ye mothers,, wives, and daughters, 
 
 Tend each unknown grave with care, 
 Who can tell, your own loved darling 
 
 May be called their fate to share. 
 Then as ye would have some fair one 
 
 Strew with flowers his lonely bed, 
 With kind hands and hearts most loving 
 
 Watch and tend our " unknown " dead. 
 
 Z. D. M. 
 
 HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 
 
 i. 
 ? T\vas a drowsy night on Tompkins Hill : 
 The very leaves of the trees lay still ; 
 The world was slumbering ocean-deep ; 
 And even the stars seemed half asleep, 
 And winked and blinked at the roofs below, 
 As yearning for morn, that they might go ; 
 The streets as stolid and still did lie 
 As they would have done if streets could die ; 
 
HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 167 
 
 The sidewalks stretched as quietly prone 
 
 As if a foot they had never known ; 
 
 And not a cottage within the town 
 
 But looked as if it would fain lie down. 
 
 Away in the west a stacken-clond, 
 
 With white arms drooping and bare head bowed, 
 
 Was leaning against — with drowsy eye — 
 
 The dark blue velveting of the sky. 
 
 And that was the plight 
 
 Things were in that night, 
 Before we were roused the foe to fight— 
 The foe so greedy and grand and bright — 
 
 That plagued old Deacon Tompkins. 
 
 11. 
 
 The parson visioned his Sunday's text, 
 
 And what he should hurl at Satan next ; 
 
 The doctor a drowsy half-vigil kept, 
 
 Still studying, as he partly slept, 
 
 How men might glutton, and tope, and fly 
 
 In the face of Death, and still not die ; 
 
 The lawyer dreamed that his clients meant 
 
 To club together, and then present, 
 
 As proof that their faith had not grown dim, 
 
 A small bright silver hatchet to him ; 
 
 The laborer such sound slumber knew, 
 
 He hadn't a dream the whole night through ; 
 
 The ladies dreamed — but I can't say well 
 
 What 'tis they dream, for they never tell ; 
 
 In short, such a general drowsy time 
 
 Had ne'er been known in that sleepy clime, 
 
 As on the night 
 
 Of clamor and fright, 
 We were roused the treacherous foe to fight— 
 The foe so greedy amd grand and bright, 
 And carrying such an appetite — 
 
 That plagued old Deacon Tompkins. 
 
1 68 HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 
 
 ill. 
 
 When all at once the old court-house bell 
 
 (Which had a voice like a maniac's yell) 
 
 Cried out, as if in its dim old sight 
 
 The judgment day had come in the night. 
 
 " Bang whang whang bang clang dang bang whang," 
 
 The poor old parcel of metal sang ; 
 
 Whereat, from mansion, cottage, and shed, 
 
 Rose men and women as from the dead, 
 
 In different stages of attire, 
 
 And shouted, " The town is all afire ! " 
 
 (Which came as near to being true 
 
 As some more leisurely stories do.) 
 
 They saw on the Deacon's house a glare, 
 
 And everybody hurried there ; 
 
 And such a lot of visitors he 
 
 Had never before the luck to see. 
 
 The Deacon received these guests of night 
 
 In costume very simple and white ; 
 
 And after a drowsy, scared " Ahem ! " 
 
 He asked them what he could do for them. 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! " they shouted ; " your house's afire ! " 
 
 And then, with energy sudden and dire, 
 
 They rushed through the mansion's solitudes, 
 
 And helped the Deacon to move his goods. 
 
 And that was the sight 
 
 We had that night, 
 When roused by the people who saw the light 
 Atop of the residence, cozy and white, 
 
 Where lived old Deacon Tompkins. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah me ! the way that they rummaged round ! 
 Ah me ! the startling things they found ! 
 No one with a fair idea of space 
 Would ever have thought that in one place 
 Were half the things that, with a shout*, 
 These neighborly burglars hustled out. 
 
HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 169 
 
 Came articles that the Deacon's wives 
 
 Had all been gathering all their lives ; 
 
 Came furniture such as one might see 
 
 Didn't grow in the trunk of every tree \ 
 
 A tall clock, centuries old, 'twas said, 
 
 Leaped out of a window, heels o'er head ; 
 
 A veteran chair, in which, when new, 
 
 George Washington sat for a minute or two; 
 
 A bedstead strong, as if in its lap 
 
 Old Time might take his terminal nap ; 
 
 Dishes, that in meals long agone 
 
 The Deacon's fathers had eaten on ; 
 
 Clothes, made of every cut and hue, 
 
 That couldn't remember when they were new; 
 
 A mirror, scathless many a day, 
 
 Was promptly smashed in the regular way ; 
 
 Old shoes enough, if properly thrown, 
 
 To bring good luck to all creatures known ; 
 
 And children thirteen, more or less, 
 
 In varying plenitude of dress. 
 
 And that was the sight 
 
 We had that night, 
 When roused, the terrible foe to fight, 
 Which blazed aloft to a moderate height, 
 And turned the cheeks of the timid white, 
 
 Including Deacon Tompkins. 
 
 Lo ! where the engines, reeking hot, 
 Dashed up to the interesting spot : 
 Came Number Two, " The City's Hope," 
 Propelled by a line of men and rope ; 
 And after them, on a spiteful run, * 
 " The Ocean Billows," or Number One. 
 And soon the two, induced to " play " 
 By a hundred hands, were working away, 
 Until, to the Deacon's flustered sight, 
 As he danced about in his robe of white, 
 
I/O HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE. 
 
 It seemed as if, by the hand of Fate, 
 House-cleaning day were some two years late, 
 And with complete, though late, success 
 Had just arrived by the night express. 
 The " Ocean Billows " were at high tide, 
 And flung their spray upon every side ; 
 The " City's Hope " were in perfect trim, 
 Preventing aught like an interim ; 
 And a " Hook-and-Ladder Company " came, 
 With hooks and poles and a long hard name, 
 And with an iconoclastic frown, 
 Were about to pull the whole thing down, 
 When some one raised the assuring shout, 
 11 It's only the chimney a-burnin' out ! " 
 W 7 hereat, with a sense of injured trust, 
 The crowd went home in complete disgust. 
 Scarce one of those who, with joyous shout, 
 Assisted the Deacon in moving out, 
 Refrained from the homeward-flowing din, 
 To help the Deacon at moving in. 
 
 And that was the plight 
 
 In which, that night, 
 They left the Deacon, clad in white, 
 Who felt he was hardly treated right, 
 And used some words, in the flickering light, 
 Not orthodox in their purport quite — 
 
 Poor, put-out Deacon Tompkins 1 
 
 Will Carleton. 
 
THE FACE UPON THE FLOOR. 171 
 
 THE FACE UPON THE FLOOR. 
 
 d'arcy. 
 'Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there, 
 Which well-nigh filled Joe's bar-room, on the corner of the 
 
 square ; 
 And as songs and witty stories came through the open door, 
 A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. 
 
 " Where did it come from?" some one said. "The wind has 
 
 blown it in." • 
 "What does it want?" another cried. "Some whiskey, rum, 
 
 or gin ?" 
 " Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work — 
 I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy as a Turk." 
 
 This badinage the poor wretch tooK with stoical good grace ; 
 In fact, he smiled, as tho' he thought he'd struck the proper 
 
 place. 
 " Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a 
 
 crowd — 
 To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. 
 
 " Give me a drink — that's what I want — I'm out of funds, you 
 
 know. 
 When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow. 
 What ? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held 
 
 a sou, 
 I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you. 
 
 "There, thanks: that's braced me nicely; God bless you one 
 
 and all ; 
 Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call. 
 Give you a song ? No, I can't do that ; my singing days are past ; 
 My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are 
 
 going fast. 
 
174 "HOGAN PAID HIS RENT. 1 
 
 " HOG AN PAID HIS RENT" 
 
 BY J. W. KELLY. 
 
 Malachy Hogan rents his place 
 
 Of Gallagher's estate, 
 And Brady is collector too, 
 
 Whom all the neighbors hate ; 
 He went to Hogan's Tuesday night 
 
 And asked him for the rent. 
 %i Treat the boys,'' says Hogan, 
 
 " Or I'll never pay a cent." 
 "Indeed I won't," says Brady, 
 
 " And I'll tell you to your face, 
 Until you pay me every red, 
 
 I'll never leave the plaee." 
 Both of them were fighting mad, 
 
 On murder they were bent, 
 And all the gang stood back to see 
 
 How Hogan paid the rent. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Each gave back the other what he sent, 
 
 The bones they didn't break were badly bent ; 
 
 They hugged each other, slugged each other, 
 
 With their breaths they drugged each other, 
 
 Any kind of fighting went when Hogan paid the rent. 
 
 Hogan sent an upper cut 
 
 And Brady threw a chair, 
 It knocked Tim Dugan's tooth out, 
 
 He swore he would get square; 
 He c untered with a cuspadore, 
 
 But Brady let it pass, 
 It found a home behind the bar 
 
 In Hogan's looking-glass ; 
 
"DRILL, YE TARRIERS, DRILL!" 1 75 
 
 Hogan lept for Dugan, 
 
 And Dugan tried to run, 
 Look out, says Andy Monahan, 
 
 Mike Walsh has got a gun ; 
 Let me out, says Dugan, 
 
 For my life is nearly spent, 
 Fm with you, too, says Brady, 
 
 And let Hogan keep the rent. 
 
 The noise brought all the neighbors out 
 
 For six or seven blocks. 
 Brady iought, with boots in hand, 
 
 He danced 'round in his socks, 
 A basket full of broken glass 
 
 Was thrown upon the floor, 
 Brady cut his feet, of course, 
 
 And then the fight was o'er. 
 The police, with the wagon, 
 
 Came at last to stop the row, 
 And every man was cut or bruised, 
 
 But no one could tell how. 
 Brady paid the fines for all, 
 
 And then he dropped a hint 
 That he would always buy the drinks 
 
 When Hogan paid the rent. 
 
 Send 20 two- cent stamps, for words and music of the 
 above song, to Excelsior Publishing House, 29 Beekman 
 Street, New York. 
 
 "DRILL, YE TARRIERS, DRILL!" 
 
 AS SUNG BY THOMAS F. CASEY. 
 
 Oh ! every morn at seven o'clock 
 There are twenty tarriers on the rock ; 
 The boss comes along and says, " Be still, 
 And put all your power in the cast-steel drill." 
 
1/6 "DRILL, YE TARRIERS, DRILL ! " 
 
 Chorus. 
 Then drill, ye tarriers, drill ; 
 Drill, ye tarriers, drill. 
 Oh, it's work all day without sugar in your tay when ye work 
 beyant on the railway. 
 
 And drill, ye tarriers, drill. 
 
 Spoken — Stand out there with the flag, Sullivan. Stand back 
 there! Blast! Fire! All over ! 
 
 The boss was a fine man all around, 
 But he married a great, big fat fardown ; 
 She baked good bread and baked it well, 
 And baked it hard as the hobs of h — 1. 
 Cho.— Then drill, etc. 
 Spoken — Stand out fornist the fence with the flag, McCarthy 
 Stand back, etc. 
 
 The new foreman is Dan McCann ; 
 I'll tell you sure he's a blame mean man ; 
 Last week a premature blast went off, 
 And a mile in the air went big Jim GofT. 
 Cho.— Then drill, etc. 
 
 Spoken — Where's the fuse, McGinty? What, he lit his pipe 
 with it ! Stop the Belt car coming down. Stand back, etc. 
 
 When pay day next it came around, 
 Poor Jim's pay a dollar short he found. 
 "What for?" says he ; then came this reply : 
 " You were docked for the time you were up in the sky." 
 Cho.— Then drill, etc. 
 
 Spoken — More oatmeal in the bucket, McCue. What's that you're 
 reading, Duffy — the Staats Zeitung ? Get out there with 
 the flag, etc. 
 
 Send 20 two-cent stamps, for words and music of the 
 above song, to Excelsior Publishing House, 29 Beekman 
 Street, New York. 
 
'TWAS DOOLEY RAISED THE FIGHT. 1 77 
 
 'TWAS DOOLEY RAISED THE FIGHT. 
 
 WORDS AND MUSIC BY THOMAS F. CASEY. 
 
 Fm a man of sports and pleasures, 
 Mike Dooley is my name, 
 And when you'll hear my story, I declare 
 You will say that I'm abused, 
 And what a dreadful shame 
 For a manlike me that's known everywhere; 
 Barney Hogan gave a brilliant dance 
 In honor of his wife, 
 And I among the gents he did invite; 
 But it was no fun for me — 
 I escaped with just my life, 
 And the gang swore black and blue I raised the fight. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Cassidy struck the fiddler, 
 
 And the fiddler struck O'Rourke; 
 Mary McGraw was hit in the jaw 
 
 With a half pound of pork ; 
 Legs and wings of chickens and things 
 
 Were flying around like rain, 
 And Mickey Malone was hit with a bone 
 
 And severed his juglar rein. 
 
 The dance commenced, and Hogan 
 Led the grand de prominade, 
 And things went on so smoothly right along; 
 Miss Nolan sang, u Fair Marguerite," 
 Like the cats in our back yard, 
 For that, they say, is Hogan's favorite song; 
 
178 'twas dooley raised the fight. 
 
 They then formed sets and danced 
 Till they rang the supper bell, 
 And marched down to the lay-out full of life ; 
 They joked and made some speeches, 
 And raised old general h — 1, 
 And gave three cheers for Hogan and his wife 
 
 The scrap began about half past one, 
 Continued until two, 
 And sticks and plates were flying in the air ; 
 Some bad remarks were given out 
 By Timothy McCue — 
 That Mrs. Hogan looked good with bleached hair, 
 He said, 'twas typhoid coffee 
 And consumptive tea, 
 And the diamonds on old Mulligan's wife were light. 
 What he was getting for his price 
 He really couldn't see, 
 And that Hogan's full-dress suit was out of sight. 
 
 Now I'm the wreck that's all done up 
 From Barney Hogan' s hop ; 
 I believe they would have killed me if longer there I'd stopped. 
 The fun it was unlimited 
 
 Till there were several fights 
 Raised by Pug McManus, who turned out all the lights ; 
 Then Hogan took a hand in 
 With a small bit of an axe, 
 When I stepped in to make peace with this return, 
 He split the hump on Riley's back 
 Because he was not taxed, 
 But revenge against Hogan in my heart does burn. 
 
 Send 15 two-cent stamps, for words and music of the 
 above song", to Excelsior Publishing- House, 29 Beekman 
 Street, New York. 
 
MURPHY OWES ME RENT. 1 79 
 
 MURPHY OWES ME RENT. 
 
 WORDS AND MUSIC BY GEO. C. MARSHALL. 
 
 I OWN a row of tenements in the neighborhood below, 
 
 I am respected as a fine aristocrat, 
 But now I'm in hot water since I let a family in, 
 
 For I rented them the best rooms that I had; 
 Murphy is their name, I think they are insane, 
 
 And the rent is due me now for many a day, 
 I have an awful task of it, most ev'ry time I ask for it, 
 
 For divil a cent do they intend to pay. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Murphy owes me rent, and Fm goin' to make him pay it ; 
 I want my money now, and he'd better not delay it. 
 Abuse is all I get from him, he will not pay a cent ; 
 In the street he goes to-morrow, if he don't pay me the rent. 
 
 The tenants all complain of Murphy's children and their noise, 
 
 They fight together like a lot of cats, 
 They've broken all my windows and tore paper of the walls, 
 
 I would like to wring the necks of all his brats, 
 The baby cries all night, and Murphy comes home tight, 
 
 'Tis then he starts right in to beat his wife, 
 And if I chance to interfere, they bounce me out up on my ear, 
 
 In danger am I of my very life. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Murphy owes me rent, and I'll soon have him ejected, 
 I am the landlord and as such I'm bound to be respected ; 
 He drinks all his earnings and to beat me he's content ; 
 I will be the death of Murphy, if he don't pay me the rent. 
 
 Most ev'ry time I meet him, sure, he wants to pick a fuss, 
 And he calls me very disrespectful names, 
 
 He tells me to me face I haven't courage of a calf, 
 But I am on to all his little games. 
 
l8o PADDY FLYNN. 
 
 He wanted bad to fight, when he met me last night, 
 He pulled my nose and said I couldn't scrap, 
 
 But if he don't apologize, I'm going to blacken both his eyes, 
 His little Irish face I'm going to slap. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Murphy owes me rent, and I'm goin' to work and lick him, 
 
 Early in the morning to the sidewalk I will kick him; 
 
 A sheriff I will send to him to collar ev'ry cent, 
 
 And they'll march him off to prison, if he does not pay the rent. 
 
 Send 20 two- cent stamps, for words and music of the 
 above gong, to Excelsior Publishing- House, 29 Beekman 
 Street, New York. 
 
 PADDY FLYNN. 
 
 WORDS AND MUSIC BY ED. BARRY. 
 
 I OCCUPY apartments down in Casey's tenement, 
 
 I'm a man has very little for to say, 
 But when I am insulted, I'm the boy can take me part, 
 
 And like a dacent man I pay me way. 
 Oh ! ever since Pat Flynn and his family moved in, 
 
 There's nothing but ructions day and night. 
 Last night, with a brickbat, he killed me Maltese cat ; 
 
 I challeng'd him — to-morrow, boys, we fight. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Will ye's all be with me when I tackle Paddy Flynn ? 
 
 {Response: We will ! ) 
 Will ye's all be there when the scrap begias ? 
 
 {Response : Yis ! ) 
 Let us all be there, for the fight is on the square, 
 I'll make a mop of him to-morrow morning. 
 
THEN YOU WINK THE OTHER EYE. l8l 
 
 I'm taking boxing lessons from a professor up town, 
 
 I'm training like the divil ev'ry day, 
 All up and down the street, then the boys they rub me down, 
 
 I declare to God I'm eager for the fray. 
 Be with me to a man, for he has the divil's gang, 
 
 Don't leave me in the thickest of the fray ; 
 And when I'm done with Flynn, all that will be left of him, 
 
 In an ambulance they will take him away. 
 
 He's a terror in the neighborhood, that's what the people say, 
 
 He's licked, yes, ev'ry Dutchman on the block, 
 And when they see him coming, sure, they keep out of his way, 
 
 'Tis with his fist I'm told he's breaking rock. 
 He fought a bulldog in a ring, bit the nose off Mike McGlynn, 
 
 Cleaned out a Chinese laundry just for fun; 
 If ever he gets one in on me, daylight I'll never see, 
 
 Be with me to a man, yes, ev'ry one. 
 
 Send 20 two-cent stamps, for words and music of the 
 above song*, to Excelsior Publishing House, 29 Beekman 
 Street, New York. 
 
 THEN YOU WINK THE OTHER EYE. 
 
 AS SUNG BY MARIE LOFTUS. 
 
 Say, boys, whatever do you mean 
 
 When you wink the other eye; 
 Why, when you tell where you've been, 
 
 Do you wink the other eye ? 
 You preach your wives such stories, you can tell them just a few, 
 Just met an old acquaintance, or the train was overdue ; 
 And when the simple wife believes that every word is true, 
 
 Then you wink the other eye. 
 
1 82 THEN YOU WINK THE OTHER EYE. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Say, boys, now is it quite the thing; 
 Say, should we let you have your fling ? 
 Oh, when you've got us on a string, 
 Then you wink the other eye. 
 
 Say, boys, you meet a turtle-dove, 
 
 Then you wink the other eye ; 
 First sight, you madly fall in love, 
 
 Then she winks the other eye. 
 You take her thro , the city for a pleasant little stroll, 
 And up against a jeweler's shop by accident you roll — 
 She'd like that lovely diamond brooch, you find you're in a hole, 
 
 Then she winks the other eye. 
 
 In court a "breach of promise" on, 
 
 Then they wink the other eye ; 
 Up steps the maiden all forlorn, 
 
 Then they wink the other eye. 
 She tells the Judge her story, with the salt-tear in her eye, 
 How the villain woo'd and won her — here she heaves a bitter 
 
 sigh- 
 How he used to kiss and cuddle her when nobody was nigh, 
 
 Then they wink the other eye. 
 
 A sweet, young creature calls a cab, 
 
 And she winks the other eye ; 
 u Right, mum!" another fare to grab, 
 
 Cabby winks the other eye. 
 Her purse, alas ! is empty, but somehow she must get there ; 
 She whispers something in his ear, then it's " Drive to Leicester 
 
 Square." 
 "All right — jump in!" says cabby [pause]. — Oh, " Cabby knows 
 his fare." 
 
 For he winks the other eye. 
 
 The words and music of this song will be sont to any 
 address, post-paid, on receipt of 40 cents. 
 
they're after me. 183 
 
 THEY'RE AFTER ME. 
 
 Copyright, 1890, by White-Smith Music Publishing Co. 
 AS SUNG BY WILLIAM HOEY. 
 
 Our ship of state is sailing on a most uneven keel, 
 
 The people are dissatisfied and want another deal, 
 
 The country's bound for ruin at a headlong railroad speed, 
 
 To stop all this they say they've found the very man they need. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 So they're after me, after me, to capture me is every one's desire ; 
 They're after me, after me, I'm the individual they require. 
 They're after me, after me, to capture me is ev'ry one's desire; 
 They're after me, after me, I'm the individual they require. 
 
 The girls admire a handsome face and go a heap on li style " ; 
 They like to see a noble brow support a shining tile, 
 And when a manly form appears in stunning garb arrayed, 
 Straightway all womankind is "mashed" — wife, damsel and old 
 maid. 
 
 In base-ball matters things are said to be a little u mixed," 
 And all who love the game desire to see the trouble fixed ; 
 Both managers and players say there's only just one man 
 Can straighten tilings and have them run upon a better plan. 
 
 Our shrewd Postmaster-General and Anthony, the wise, 
 Declared Kreutzer's Sonata quite unfit for modest eyes ; 
 The book Sonata sold in scores, and people think the thing 
 A put-up job to make it sell and mighty profits bring. 
 
 In England Queen Victoria would like to take a rest, 
 
 But to resign the crown to Wales she doesn't think it best; 
 
 She says in all the universe there's just one man alone 
 
 She wants as her successor on Great Britain's mighty throne. 
 
 The 'words and music of this song" will be sent to any 
 address, post-paid, on receipt of 40 cents. 
 
1 34 I WENT WITH HIM. 
 
 / WENT WITH HIM. 
 
 One day my pal said, " Let's go out," 
 
 So I went with him ; 
 The streets he wandered round about, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 We met two young girls, bye the bye, 
 And oue of them she looked so shy ; 
 Jack said, " Let's go, there's no one nigh," 
 
 So I went with him. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I went with him, for I could not leave 
 
 My pal, Jack, for I knew that he would grieve ; 
 
 I was very well aware that for mashing he'd a whim, 
 
 And the ladies took my fancies, so I went with him. 
 
 He saw them home, 'twas in the town, 
 
 And I went with him ; 
 They asked him in and he sat down, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 When suddenly, oh, dear ! oh, Lor' ! 
 The father came and stamped and swore ; 
 He kicked Jack clean out through the door, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I went with him, for I could not leave 
 
 My pal, Jack, for I knew that he would grieve; 
 
 The father stamped and swore, then with a savage grin 
 
 Kicked Jack in the gutter, and I went with hirn. 
 
 He went to take a drink one night, 
 
 And I went with him ; 
 And strange to say he got quite tight, 
 
 Tho' I went with him. 
 And when he'd spent nearly aU his tin 
 On whiskey, ale and rum and gin, 
 A policeman came and ran Jack in, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 
I WENT WITH HIM. 1 85 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I went with him, for I could not leave 
 
 My pal, Jack, for I knew that he would grieve ; 
 
 The policeman was so strong, although he looked so slim, 
 
 He took Jack to the station, and I went with him. 
 
 Next morn he came before the Judge, 
 
 And I went with him ; 
 And strange to say he could not speak, 
 
 Though I was with him. 
 The Judge looked stern, and said at once, 
 " Young man, you must have been a dunce ;" 
 He sentenced Jack to three long months, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I went with him, for I could not leave 
 
 My pal, Jack, for I knew that he would grieve ; 
 
 He was so much afraid, and shook in every limb, 
 
 And I thought he would feel lonely, so I went with him. 
 
 One day he went out on the ice, 
 
 And 1 went with him ; 
 He said that skating was so nice, 
 
 So I went with him. 
 We both were skating very well, 
 When suddenly I heard a yell ; 
 The ice gave way and in Jack fell, 
 
 And I went with him. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 I went with him, for I could not leave 
 
 My pal, Jack, for I knew that he would grieve ; 
 
 We were very nearly drowned, for Jack he couldn't swim, 
 
 And as I never learnt myself, I went with him. 
 
 The words and music of this song' will be sent to any 
 address, po3t-paid, on receipt of 40 cents. 
 
I 86 NEAR IT. 
 
 NEAR IT. 
 
 Copyright, 1889, by T. B. Harms & Co. 
 WORDS BY GEORGE COOPER. MUSIC BY A. CORNEY. 
 
 A MAN should always be precise in what he says thro' life, 
 And I am most precise in all I say to my dear wife ; 
 'Twas late last night when I rolled in to my domestic bunk ; 
 "You're drunk/' my wife said; I replied, " My dear, I am not 
 drunk." 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 But I was near it, precious near it, tho' I assured my loving wife 
 I'd not been drunk in all my life, but near it, jolly near it ; 
 Not drunk enough to tell the truth, but near it. 
 
 Is married life a failure ? that's the question of the day ; 
 
 Some answer "yes," some answer "no," but I have a word 
 
 to say : 
 When husbands walk the floor all night in cold and misery 
 With squalling kids, why, marriage then no failure seems to be. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 But it comes near it, mighty near it, the people argue knowingly 
 That marriage can't a failure be ; it's near it, awful near it, 
 When howling twins wake you each night ; it's near it. 
 
 Society sends actresses upon the stage each year, 
 And some of them are pretty, too, and others very queer ; 
 They all of them depend on dress, by Worth they're chiefly clad, 
 And if they're " worth" anything, their acting's not so bad. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 But it comes near it, often near it ; no matter how the fair ones try 
 To act, and not be called a " guy," they're near it, jolly near it ; 
 Not all of them bad actresses, but near it. 
 
NEAR IT. 187 
 
 A "howling swell" at Barnum's once approached the monkey's 
 
 cage; 
 His very loud appearance seem'd to throw them in a rage ; 
 They, one by one, crept to the bars, and all began to shout ; 
 They seem'd to say, ** He's one of us ; why did they let him out ?" 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Well, they guess'd near it, mighty near it ; alino* a swell, so 
 
 not an ape, 
 Yet, if you just observe his shape, he was near it, very near it ; 
 Not quite a Mister Crowley, yet quite near it. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 A man of strict propriety I always have been called, 
 Yet often at the ballet I have found myself installed ; 
 I never act like " old bald-heads n when I attend a show ; 
 That is, I never try to crowd myself in the front row. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 But I get near it, very near it ; and when some dancer is the rage, 
 If I don't climb upon the stage, I am near it, oh, so near it, 
 Not close enough to cause remarks, but near it. 
 
 We have a pretty servant-maid, and so has Jones next door ; 
 Now, tho' I treat our servant, Jane, politely — nothing more — 
 My wife declares I took the girl to the show last night ; 
 I said, " My dear, by all that's good, I swear that you are not 
 right." 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 She was near it, frightful near it ; I did not take our girl, 
 
 I'm sure ; 
 You see I took the girl next door, how near it, awful near it ; 
 My wife, of course, was wrong, but she was near it. 
 
 The words and music of this song* will be sent to any 
 address, post-paid, on receipt of 40 cents. 
 
188 ACROSS THE BRIDGE HE GOES. 
 
 ACROSS THE BRIDGE HE GOES. 
 
 Copyright, 1888, by Oliver Ditson & Co. 
 
 Ox the bridge, at midnight, stood I in dismay, 
 
 Watching weary stragglers passing on their way; 
 
 Silently reflecting, dreaming there alone, 
 
 All their joys and sorrows seemed to be my own; 
 
 See the wretched gambler, looking deathly white, 
 
 All his fortune vanished in one single night, 
 
 With a look of horror he peeps into the stream, 
 
 Thinks of wife and children, shattered in his dream. 
 
 Ruined, fleeced and cheated, fool I was to play, 
 
 Home, how can I face it? what am I to say? 
 
 Whither will he wander, heaven only knows, 
 
 Crushed and broken-hearted, too, across the bridge he goes. 
 
 Next, with steps erratic, comes the city clerk, 
 
 Button-hole and stick, too, ready for a lark ; 
 
 Been to smoking concert, sung his latest song, 
 
 fi Can't be twelve o'clock yet, works have all gone wrong; 
 
 What a beastly nuisance last omnibus has gone, 
 
 Must be in the office at nine to-morrow morn." 
 
 Then he'll ask the " bobby," " Oblige me with a light? 
 
 Thank you, all the same, old chap— »much obliged, good-night ! 
 
 Only got three-pence, this is jolly queer ! 
 
 Where's the other six-pence ? must have gone for beer ! 
 
 Well, here he goes to walk it ; jingo, how it blows ! 
 
 Lights another cigarette as o'er the bridge he goes. 
 
 Comes the muffled burglar, glancing left and rigkt, 
 Shuffling like a spectre, shuns the glaring light ; 
 Touches his revolver with a murderous leer, 
 What's a life to him when sweet liberty is dear ? 
 Next with flying footsteps comes the common thief, 
 Hunted like a tiger, trembling like a leaf, 
 Hark ! the cry " They've got him " — tries to break away — 
 Appeals aloud for mercy; hear what he's to say: 
 
ACROSS THE BRIDGE HE GOES. 1 89 
 
 "Let me off this time, sir, my wife is ill in bed, 
 It's hard to hear the children crying out for bread, 
 This is my first offence, sir, itis, God only knows ! " 
 Mercy was not meant for him, as over the bridge he goes. 
 
 Hark ! a peal of laughter, like a bird in song, 
 
 A pretty little actress trips her way along ; 
 
 Hugging il floral tributes " in her dainty arms, 
 
 Whilst her tall admirer reminds her of her charms. 
 
 " Did not they go frantic when I did my dance ? 
 
 I told you I should knock them out when I got the chance. 
 
 Take a cab — no thank you, I have not far to walk, 
 
 Leave me at the corner, please, you know how people talk. ,; 
 
 "This is too bad of you, Flo— don't go on like this, 
 
 You know you are so fetching, just one piatonic kiss ; 
 
 There's not a soul about here, hang it, don't say no ! M 
 
 Hugging, squeezing, teasing, across the bridge they go. 
 
 Comes the cunning miser, shriveled, shrunk and old, 
 Clutching in his bony hands a bag of shining gold ; 
 How he looks about him to see if any one's near 
 To steal away his treasure, than God to him more dear. 
 He seeks his wretched hovel, with tottering step, and slow, 
 And curses pomp and splendor as it passes to and fro; 
 The wind is blowing fiercely, he trembles with the cold, 
 And as he creeps along the bridge, he whispers to his gold : 
 M Oh, thou precious burden, that filled the world with ill, 
 'Tis you that prompts the murderer to draw his knife and kill ! 
 The bane of all good feeling, the origin of woes." 
 Cursing, clutching at his wealth, across the bridge he goes. 
 
 Next a form approaches at a halting pace, 
 Grief has failed to shatter the beauty of her face ; 
 Promises and falsehoods fondly she believed. 
 Now her dream is ended, forsaken and deceived. 
 Silently to heaven she offers up a prayer, 
 Gazes at the river, then shudders in despair, 
 
I90 MILITARY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Clutching some love token in her withered hands, 
 
 Like an apparition on the brink she stands. 
 
 "Why did he forsake me — him I loved so well ? " 
 
 Hark ! the bell is tolling, bidding earth farewell; 
 
 Frantically her hands high in the air she throws, 
 
 A sigh, a leap, a scream, 'tis done, as o'er the bridge she goes. 
 
 The words and music of this song" will bo sent to any 
 address, post-paid, on receipt of 40 cents. 
 
 MILITARY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 Two sons of Erin's Isle were discussing one evening 
 the subject of Military Discipline. The taller of the two, 
 who was about six feet in height, says to his friend, who 
 was named Sullivan, and was only about four feet in 
 height : u What talk have you, man ? Why do you talk 
 about military discipline ? My grandfather served 
 under General Wellington at the battle of Waterloo ; 
 and, to show you how his men obeyed him, he was 
 coming along the field one day with General von 
 Blucher, or Bleacher, a big Dutch General. Well, how- 
 ever, when he passed me grandfather saluted him, and 
 he says, i Me good man, where did you lose your arm ? ' 
 And me grandfather says, ( At the battle of Waterloo, 
 under General Wellington.' ' Well/ he says, i suppose 
 you were to meet General Wellington and he should 
 command you to lose your other arm ? would you obey 
 the command ? He says, ' Certainly, why not, of course, 
 sure I would/ i Well/ he says, ' I am General Welling- 
 ton, and this is General von Blucher, and he does not 
 believe that you would. So I command you to lose 
 your other arm.' With that me grandfather drew out 
 
MILITARY DISCIPLINE. 191 
 
 his sword and cut off his other arm." His diminutive 
 friend looked at him in amazement, and in a piping 
 voice replied : u And you call that military discipline ? n 
 11 Why, of course, man." u Why, that's nothing. I have 
 a cousin who served in one of the Russian campaigns, 
 and to show the discipline of the men in that service 
 will make the hair stand on the top of your head. 
 Now, in certain parts of northern Russia there is 
 no telegraph service, and they carry the signals of 
 news of war across the country by means of towers 
 built at a distance of a mile apart. Now, one morning 
 the man in the first tower overslept himself, and know- 
 ing the consequence of the disgrace he had brought 
 upon himself, and the penalty, which was that he would 
 be shot, he looks around his tower and finds a taste of a 
 rope, and hangs himself out of the tower by the neck. 
 The man in the next tower, looking through his spy- 
 glass, saw the object hanging out, and he does the same. 
 Well, to show how these men obeyed orders, when the 
 Inspector-General made his rounds he saw every man 
 hanging out of his tower by the neck. There is military 
 discipline.' 7 Well, he looked at him and said : u I'm 
 done; give us two mixed ales." 
 
 Tom Ballaniyne. 
 
.A. 33C-A.3W33^Sr OOB/XX^^^^TXOl?^. 
 
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 used in Business, such as Power of Attorney, Notes, Drafts, 
 Leases, Receipts, Protests, Bills of Lading, Private Marks of 
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 Bates of Postage in U. S.; new American Value of Foreign 
 Gold and Silver Coins ; 1,899 Interesting Facts; Interest Laws 
 of U. S.; Copyright Law ; Interest Tables— 5, 6, 7, 8, and 10 per 
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 Phrases ; Marks and Rules of Punctuation and Accent ; Use of 
 Capital Letters ; Complete Dictionary of Synonyms, etc., 
 etc., making in all the most complete and cheapest Business 
 Encyclopedia ever issued. 212 pages, bound in extra paper 
 cover, price 25 cents ; extra cloth 50 cents. 
 For frale by all booksellers, or sent post-paid onraceipt of price. 
 
 EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
 
 Nos. 29 and. 31 ISeeltman St., New York* 
 CTAGENTS WANTED 
 
its 8J i& i> JbJ r i? r .F 5 » 
 Select Recitations and Eeadings, 
 
 IN PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 For the Use of Schools, Colleges, and Public Readers. 
 
 Aimie and Willie's Prayec 
 Annie's Ticket. 
 Anthonv's Prayer. 
 Arab's Farewell to his Steed, The 
 Baby's Kiss, 
 
 Ballad of IV .land Clare, The. 
 Baron's Last Banquet, The. 
 I.attle ofFontenuy, The. 
 Battle ofIvry,Th'e. 
 Battle ofMorgan.cn, The. 
 Beau. 
 
 Benediction, The. 
 .BethGoiert. 
 
 Bill Gibbon's "Deliverance. 
 Bill Mason's 1 '.ride. 
 Boat-Race, The. 
 Bridge of Sighs, The 
 Burial of Little NeK. 
 Caldwell ofBprfrigtieJd. 
 Charge of the Light Brigade, The. 
 Child's Prayer, Tlie. 
 Confession of a Drunkard. 
 Christian Maiden and the Lion, 
 
 The. 
 Cowardly Jim. 
 Cuddle boon. 
 
 Curfew muat not King To-Xight. 
 Death, 
 
 Death-bed of Benedict Arnold. 
 Doiith of King Jonn. 
 DeatliofMur.it. 
 Death oi il Old Braze." 
 Death of the Drunkard. The 
 Death of the Oid Squire. The, 
 Death of the Reveller, The, 
 Defence of Lueknow, The, 
 D^nnot's Parting. 
 Diver, The. 
 
 Downfall of Poland, The. 
 Dream of Eugene Aram, The. 
 Drown eel 
 
 Dying Hebrew, The 
 Eagle's Rock, Tba 
 Education. 
 Evangelist, The. 
 Execution of Montrose, The. 
 Execution of Queen Mary. 
 Face Against the Pane, The. 
 Fall of Pemberton Mill, The. 
 Farmer Gray's Photograph. 
 Father John. 
 Fearless De CouTGy, The. 
 Fireman, The. 
 First Settler's Sfory, The. 
 Flight for Life, The. 
 Foreclosure of the Mortgage, The 
 Forgive, — Xo, Kever. 
 Forgotten Actor, The. 
 Found Dead. 
 Oailey Slave, The 
 Game Knut Played, The. 
 Glove and the Lions, 'lie 
 Heart's Charity, The 
 
 He Doeth his Alms to be Seen of 
 Men. 
 
 Henry of Xavarre before Pari*. 
 
 Her Last Look. 
 
 Heroism. 
 
 Herve Kiel 
 
 How Ho Savei St. Michael's. 
 
 How J. in- Conquest Rang the Boll 
 
 In the Tunnel. 
 
 I label's Grave, 
 
 Ivan, the Oar 
 
 Joan Goello's Yarn. 
 
 Jim B'.e.dso. 
 
 John Bartholomew's Ride, 
 
 John Maynard. 
 
 Kate Maioi.ey. 
 
 Karl the Martyr. 
 
 King Robert of Sicily. 
 
 Last Banquet. The 
 
 Last Hymn, The 
 
 Last Redoubt, The. 
 
 Last Words. 
 
 Leaguer of Lucknow, The 
 
 Loap of Kot.shan Beg, The. 
 
 Legend of the Church of Los An- 
 geles. 
 
 Legend of a Veil. 
 
 Le:.er, The. 
 
 Lit Je B.y I Dreamed About, The. 
 
 Little Golden Hair. 
 
 Little Grave, The. 
 
 Little Hero, The. 
 
 Little Jim. 
 
 Little Xed. 
 
 Little Phil 
 
 Little Will 
 
 Little Rocket's Christmas. 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
 L:>st and Found. 
 
 '• Lynch for Lynch." 
 
 Maclaine's Child. 
 
 MainTruek,The; or,A LeapforLife 
 
 Maniac, The. 
 
 Marco Bozzaris. 
 
 Marseillaise at Sebaptopol, The 
 
 Martyrs of Sandomir, The 
 
 Mary Queen of Sc-ts. 
 
 Mary, the Maid of the Inn. 
 
 Mask and Domino. 
 
 Master Jonny's Next-door Neigl f 
 bor. 
 
 Maud Muller. 
 
 Mona's "Waters. 
 
 Mother and her Dead Child, The. 
 
 ' ' .Mother 's FooL ' ' 
 
 My Bread on the Waters. 
 
 Xew Year's Eve. 
 
 Xight Watch, The. 
 
 Xobody's Child. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Ode to Eloquence. 
 
 Old Man's Prayer, The. 
 
 O Maria, Regina Misericordite 
 
 O'Mnrtop-h. 
 
 One of King Charles' Stadeap Mec- 
 
 Only a Jew. 
 
 Over the H ill from the Poorhonse, 
 
 Over the Hill to tiie Poi.rhuuse 
 
 Over the Rlwr. 
 
 Cut in the Storm. 
 
 Pain'.n oil ■ioren«tt, The. 
 
 l',i:,.i's L.-tter. 
 
 Fan-has; ' s. 
 
 Pass^of Brander, The. 
 
 riiil'Blood's L< ap. 
 
 Polish Boy, 1 lie. 
 
 Poor Little Joe, 
 
 Portrait, The 
 
 Ramon. 
 
 Rod Jacket, The 
 
 Rescue, The. 
 
 Ride of Jennie McXeal, The 
 
 Richelieu ; or, The Conspiracy. 
 
 Sea Captain's Story, The. 
 
 Sergeant's Story, The of the 
 
 Light Brigade. 
 Seventh Fusuecrs. 
 She is Dead. 
 Ship on Fire, The 
 Sim's Little GiiL 
 Sister of Charity, The 
 Somebody's Darling. 
 Somebody's Mother. 
 Spanish Armada, The 
 Spanish Mother. The 
 Spanish Page, The. 
 Station Agent's Story, The 
 Story of the Faithful Soul, The, 
 Street Musicians, The. 
 Street Organ- Player, The 
 Sue's Thanksgiving. 
 Suicide, The. 
 Supporting the Guns. 
 There'll be Room in Heaven- 
 Three Sons, The 
 Three Words (The); Arnold th< 
 
 Traitor 
 Tiirer Bay. 
 Tim's Kit. 
 Told at the Falcon. 
 Tom. 
 
 To Mark Mother's Grave 
 Tramp, The. 
 Trooper's Story, The 
 True Hero, A. 
 
 Turn Mother's Face to the Waft 
 Two Love3 and a Life. 
 L'n finished Prayr, The 
 We are Seven. 
 What Ailed " Ugly Sam. " 
 Where the Angela Ling-red 
 Will the New Year Cvrnt TO 
 
 Xight, Mamma. 
 Woolen Doll. 1 be 
 Yeoman s Story. The 
 Young Tramp, The 
 
 Containing 508 pages, bonnd in extra Cloth, Price $1.00, 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or sent postpaid, on reoeipt of price 
 
 JSCELSIOB PUBLISHING HOUSE, 23 & 31 Beekman St., NewYork^.S 
 
gXQELSBOR SELECTIO 
 
 ii — ■!!■■ mill i WMMi a— « f mi ■ i w i ■!!■ i h m m iibi— ii iwg—— ■eaea^p^ 
 
 A collection of the most popular and successful Readings and Recitations adapted 
 fur Public or Parlor Entertainments. 
 besides the New and Original pieces never before published in permanent form, this volume 
 brings together man v of the best selections of Humorous, Dramatic, Sentimental, Patriotic, £»• 
 q<i?nt, Pathetic and Dialect pieces in prose and poetry. 
 
 It is the Newest and Handsomest book of its kind ever published. 
 
 Anx Ttallens 
 
 Asleep at the Switch 
 
 bachelor's Dream, The 
 
 Before and After Taking! 
 
 Coy's Essay on Girls, A 
 
 .» f.Ier Funeral, A 
 
 TV other Bill 
 
 •s other Gardner on Liars 
 
 •ells cf Shandon 
 TMshop of Ross, The 
 building and Being 
 Battle of "Waterloo, The 
 Benediction 
 Biddy Magianess at the Photog* 
 
 raphcr'3 
 Billy's Rose 
 
 Black Horse and His Rider, The 
 Book Canvasser, The 
 Brier Rose "*» 
 Cane-Bottomed Chair 
 Countryman at the Show, The 
 Clown's Baby, The 
 Cow, The. A Boy's Composition* 
 Charity Dinner, The 
 Connor 
 Crazy Kate 
 Cuddle Doon 
 Cali for nian and a New York 
 
 Segar, A 
 Caoch the Piper 
 Cataract of Lodore, The 
 Catawba "Wine 
 Children We Keep, Th* 
 Chinese Excelsior, The 
 Clothing Business, The 
 Coals of Fire 
 Como 
 
 Curfew Must Not Ring Tc-Night 
 De Cake Walk 
 
 Death-Bed of Benedict Arnold 
 Drummer's Bride, The 
 Death of the Old Squire, The 
 Dot Baby off Mine 
 Drama of Three, The 
 Duel betweea Mr. Shott and Mr. 
 
 Nott 
 Death of Robespierre, The 
 Difficulty in Rhyming 
 Engineers Making Love 
 Erin's Flag 
 
 Essay on the Elephant 
 Emigrants, The 
 Father P rout's Sermon 
 Fireman's Story, The 
 Fisher's Wife, The 
 Free Seat, A 
 
 Frecklsd-FaceA Girl, The 
 Trench man's Version of Young 
 
 Norval 
 Froward "Duster, The 
 Farmer John 
 Fearless De Cottrcy> The 
 "ash. (The Fireman's Story) 
 ►iy Cogitation, A 
 Grannie's Picture 
 Going to School 
 
 Containing 500 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Granger and the Gambler, The 
 
 He Understood It 
 
 Horse or Husband 
 
 How We Fought the Fire 
 
 His Last Court 
 
 How "Ruby" Played 
 
 How Sockery Set a Hen 
 ; Her Rival' 
 J How Girls Study 
 I How Jane Conquest Rang the 
 i Bell 
 
 j In Der Shweed Long Ago 
 | Intensely Utter 
 
 Inventor's Wife, The 
 
 Irrepressible Yankee, The 
 
 Jim's Kids 
 
 Jiners, The 
 
 Justice in Leadvilie 
 
 Jack 
 
 Kate Maloney 
 
 Katrina's Visit to New" York 
 
 Knight's Toast, The 
 
 Kitchen Clock, The 
 
 Little Meg and I 
 
 Lost Grave, The 
 
 Legend of Innisfallen, The 
 
 Lc~t and Found 
 
 Left 
 
 Life Boat, The 
 
 Life's Magnet 
 
 Marriage Tour 
 
 Mary's Lamb 
 
 Miner's Protegee, The 
 
 Modern Sermon, A 
 
 Music Grinders, The 
 
 Maniac, The 
 
 Mr. Fisher's Bereavement 
 
 My Neighbor's Baby 
 
 Mary's Lamb on a New Principle 
 
 Maud Rosihue's Choice 
 
 Miss Maloney on the Chinese 
 Question 
 
 MollJarvis 0*Marley 
 
 Mrs. Smart Learns How to Skate 
 
 My Garden 
 
 My Lover 
 
 Ninety-eight 
 
 No. 5 Collect St. 
 
 Not Opposed to Matrimony 
 
 Nora Murphy and the Spirit! 
 
 Nancy 
 
 Now and Then 
 
 Old Actor's Story, The 
 
 Old Sergeant, The 
 
 On the other Train 
 
 Oratory and the Press 
 
 Original Love Story, Afl 
 
 Our First Cigars 
 
 Occupant of Lower No. 3, The 
 
 Old Man Goes to Town. The 
 
 Oration on the Labor Question 
 
 Over th3 Hill from the Poor 
 House 
 
 Over the Hill to the Poor House 
 
 Old Man in the Palace Car, The 
 
 Our Travelled Parson 
 
 Paddy's Lament 
 Parson Snow's Broad Hint 
 Philip Barton, Engineer 
 Photograph Album, The 
 Paddy's Reflections on Cleopa* 
 
 thera's Needle 
 Piece of Red Calico 
 Pledge with Wine 
 Providence Pulled him Throus* 
 Phryne's Husband 
 Poor House Nan 
 Railway Matinee, A 
 Religious Card Player 
 Robert Emmet. 
 Romance of a Hammock 
 Rag-picker, The 
 Revenge is Sweet 
 Room Enough for All 
 Shoemaker'B Daughter, The 
 Smiting the Rock 
 Solomonism 
 S'pobin* 
 
 Staze Driver's Story, The 
 Supper of St. Gregory, The 
 Shipwrecked 
 Soft Guitar, The 
 Song of the Shirt 
 Spring House-cleaning 
 Story of the Faithful Soul 
 Street Cries 
 Scandal, A 
 Seedy One, A. (A tale of Fraud 
 
 and Deception.) 
 Sign Board, The 
 Sister of Charity, The 
 Smoker's Soliloquy, A 
 Tale of the Tenth Hussars 
 Test, A 
 That Queen 
 
 Trying to Lick the Teacher 
 That Woman Played Despair 
 Tirzah Ann's Summer Trip 
 To Draw or not to Draw 
 Threadwater Jim 
 Two Glasses, The 
 Tale of a Dog, The 
 To a Skeleton 
 
 Trouble in the Amen Cornet 
 Unknown Dead 
 Uncle Ike's Roosters 
 Uncle Ned's Defense 
 Valentine, The 
 Widder, The 
 Widow's Son, The 
 Woman at Poker 
 What Intemperance Doet 
 "What made him Glad 
 Widow Cummiskey, The 
 Wickedest Man in Memphis 
 Winnie's Welcome 
 "VThat is a Gentleman? 
 When 
 
 Witness, The 
 Wounded 
 Wrong Train, The 
 
 pages, bound in extra Cloth, Price 91»0dt 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price. 
 
 EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE. 29 & SI Eeekraau Su Kev York, 
 
3E3C-A.3XTJ3- , Sr COMPANION, 
 
 PAYNE'S BUSINESS POINTERS. 
 
 Containing much in- 
 formation necessary to 
 success in business com- 
 prising New Tariff 
 complete; Passport 
 Regulations; Mates 
 of Foreign Postage; 
 Naturalization 
 Laws ; How to In- 
 dorse Checks; Debt 
 of U.S.; Wages Table; 
 Official Titles-Military, 
 Scholastic, Naval, and 
 Professional ; Educa- 
 tional Statistics of the 
 World; Business 
 La ws; Legal Forms 
 used in Business^ such as Power of Attorney, Notes, Drafts, 
 Leases, Receipts, Protests, Bills of Lading, Private Marks of 
 Prices, and many other forms ; Dictionary of Mercantile 
 Terms; How to Measure Land ; Legal Bates of Interest; 
 Bates of Postage in U. S»; new American Value of Foreign 
 Gold and Silver Coins; 1,899 Interesting Facts; Interest Laws 
 of U. S.; Copyright Law; Interest Tables— 5, 6, 7, 8, and 10 per 
 cent ; Population of United States, 1890 ; Table of Weights and 
 Measures and the Metric System ; List of Abbreviations used in 
 business; Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian Words and 
 Phrases ; Marks and Rules of Punctuation and Accent ; Use of 
 Capital Letters ; Complete Dictionary of Synonyms, etc., 
 etc., making in all the most complete and cheapest Business 
 Encyclopedia ever issued. 212 pages, bound in extra paper 
 cover, price 23 cents ; extra cloth 50 cents. 
 For sale by all booksellers, or sent post-paid onriceipt of price. 
 
 EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
 
 Nos. J3G and. 31 Beekman St., New York. 
 tFAGENTS WANTED. ^^&&*?0/ 
 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 021 100 636 5 
 
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