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POEMS OF THE TURF 
 
 20 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER BALLADS. 
 
 BY 
 
 ./ '<l 
 
 EM. PIERCE. 
 
 BUFFALO, N. V. : 
 
 THE WENBORNE-SUMNER CO. 
 1890. 
 

 1^4- 
 
 Copyrighted 1890 
 
 BY 
 THE WENBORNE-SUMNER CO. 
 
 Press of 
 The Wenbokne-Sumner Co. 
 Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
To him who loves the noble steed 
 And gives him proper care and feed, 
 
 Admires his beauty, power and speed. 
 And is the horse's friend indeed; 
 
 Whose warm heart beams in word and look- 
 To him I dedicate this book. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Race for a Like ; or The Feat of Tecumseh, 
 
 The Colt I Bought, 
 
 Uncle Shi's Story of Old Sitke 
 
 The Trotting Wonders of iS8(j, 
 
 Uavce MiLROY ; OR, The Disguised Jockey, . 
 
 Bill Burchard's Mule, 
 
 The Dead Heat, 
 
 "Tell Her Good-Bye for Me, Boys," 
 
 Only a Horse, .•••••• 
 
 Hickory Jim, 
 
 Pedigrees, 
 
 Elder Jones' Chestnut Mare, . • • • 
 The Way Ike Won Gray Ea(;le, 
 The Old Sportsman's Last New Year, 
 
 Waiting for the Bell, 
 
 The Ringers 
 
 The Horse 
 
 The Race of Tlme, 
 
 How Uncle Zeke's Roan Won the Race, 
 
 John Hardy, the Blacksmith, 
 
 Old Peter Vanslyke 
 
 Old John Jones; or. The Power of Money, 
 
 9 
 
 21 
 22 
 32 
 33 
 
 39 
 
 43 
 
 45 
 
 48 
 
 52 
 
 56 
 
 57 
 
 59 
 
 64 
 
 66 
 
 67 
 69 
 70 
 71 
 
 75 
 78 
 82 
 
The Jockey's Revenge, So 
 
 A Christmas Wkduing, ...... ... 05 
 
 The Old Farm House, . loi 
 
 Farmer Jones' Daughter, 106 
 
 Widow Slocum, 107 
 
 A Newly Weddded Pair, m 
 
 Thirty Years Ago, 113 
 
 The Brunette and the Blonde, 116 
 
 Barney McGee, '. . . 120 
 
 My Wedding Day 121 
 
 The Old Colored Preacher's Farewell Sermon, 125 
 
 I Don't Suppose, ........... 127 
 
 The Fall of the Pumpkin Sweet, 12S 
 
 'Hot)PiN' Bill, . . , ^ 129 
 
 When the Leaves Begin nj Fall, 130 
 
 From the Banks of the Canasaraui 132 
 
 FoRGI\'KNESS, 
 
 133 
 
 The Sickly Mother-in-Law 134 
 
 Woman, 135 
 
« » * 
 
 E FEAToKTECaM^EK 
 
 When the weather's down to zero, in most every country town, 
 
 It's in the store or hostlery that the talkers gather 'round ; 
 
 One fact I've always noted, — happens nine times out of ten, — 
 
 That horse talk seems to take the lead among all sorts of men. 
 
 There're some you hate to listen to — you wish they'd not begun; 
 
 You yawn and draw a good long breath when their tiresome yarn is spun. 
 
 And then there're others that you'd sit and listen to all night — 
 
 Somehow they interest you in a way you seem to like. 
 
 This was the case the other night at Sherman's new Hotel — 
 The horsemen they had gathered in and soon commenced to tell 
 About what they had seen and done so wonderful, you know. 
 But soon the crowd began to yawn, and said they'd better go. 
 Just then Ben Saunders opened up, — old Ben was seventy-two, 
 But when he told a story, you bet we'd hear him through! — 
 So, when Ben started up and said, "If it wasn't late, you know, 
 I'd tell you of a scrape I had some fifty years ago!" 
 
 That settled it: we all just vowed the story he must tell. 
 
 I'll give you all the facts he told, but I can't tell them quite so well. 
 
 I told you Ben was seventy-two — he didn't look it, though. 
 
 Although his hair and whiskers were as white as driven snow. 
 
 He was straight as any arrow; his eye was clear and mild. 
 
 With a roguish kind of twinkle, like some little, happy child. 
 
 I have watched all kinds of people and have studied many men, 
 
 But I never yet have met a man that equaled Uncle Ben. 
 
And now I'll tell the story as he told it sitting there, 
 
 Tipped back against the ceiling in that old splint-bottom chair: 
 
 Says Ben, "Down in an eastern town, near a little inland lake. 
 
 My father owned as fine a farm as lay in all the State; 
 
 And there I spent my boyhood days among the blooded stock — 
 
 The lessons I caught on to I haven't yet forgot. 
 
 As I was all the chick or child the old folks had, you see. 
 
 They tried to educate me up — make some great man of me ! 
 
 "But books 1 just detested; somehow, I couldn't bear 
 The restrictions of a college, so I got right out of there. 
 And concluded that the life I'd lead must be a life more free 
 Than tied to some profession that I didn't like, you see; 
 And the horses and the cattle had a charm to me far more 
 Than all the books of science that I'd tried to ponder o'er. 
 My father was a horseman well known upon the turf — 
 Once owned a string of runners, (that was before my birth) ; 
 
 "But he still adhered to thoroughbreds, and raised and sold each year; 
 His strains of blood, so purely kept, were sought for far and near. 
 It would take too long to tell you of the beauties reared and sold, 
 But the one I'm going to speak about was worth his weight in gold; 
 I called him Young Tecumseh, and I never to this day 
 Have seen a horse that equaled this gamey iron gray. 
 As a three -year -old I'd matched him in five races with the best — 
 No horse had yet been able to come up with him abreast. 
 
"But his feat at four years old is what I started out to tell — 
 
 His race was for a human life! He won it; then he fell. 
 
 At the time my story opens, old Judge Pemberton, well known, 
 
 Lived just opposite our dwelling, in his rural country home; 
 
 He was old and somewhat feeble, but a man of wealth and fame, — 
 
 Strict in what he deemed his duty, proud of his unsullied name; 
 
 Rumor had it that a daughter years before dared disobey — 
 
 Married one the Judge detested ; he' d not seen her since that day. 
 
 "And the blow soon killed the mother, — for she was their only child, — 
 And the father, stern but lonely, had not since been seen to smile. 
 Time wore on. At length, one evening up in front of his cottage door 
 Stopped the stage-coach from the village — something rarely seen before ! 
 And it left a little maiden gazing 'round as if in wait 
 For some one to come and meet her as she stood there by the gate ; 
 It was plain no one had seen her, so I stepped across the way- 
 Thought I'd ask could I assist her, but the words I did not say. 
 
 "Ere I'd time to speak, she turned two great blue eyes on me, 
 
 That held me dumb and speechless, and I nothing else could see 
 
 'Till the spell she broke by asking, in a voice so sweet and low, 
 
 ' Did I live with Judge Pemberton ?' 'AVas he home there, did I know ?' 
 
 Just then the hall door opened and the housekeeper appeared. 
 
 No word had yet escaped my lips when she inside disappeared; 
 
 And it seemed as though the sunshine was shut out forever more 
 
 As that dainty little figure passed from view within the door. 
 
 "The fact is, I was dead in love; 'twas strange! but yet 'twas so! 
 At first sight I was captured by a girl I didn't know; 
 But soon I learned the story, how that orphan girl had come 
 With a message from the dead to her old grandfather's home; 
 And the letter opened up the heart fast-locked for many years — 
 The old Judge opened wide his arms and blessed her with his tears; 
 She told him of her southern home where the fever's deadly clutch 
 Stamped death upon the forehead of each victim that it touched: 
 
 "How her father, then her mother, in the same week, both had died. 
 And her mother made her promise ere Death tore her from her side, 
 That she 'd leave that southern city, bear her dying message home 
 To the father who disowned her, living childless and alone; 
 And the letter asked forgiveness, and in touching words it said, 
 Ere you can grant my last request, your daughter will be dead ; 
 But my children, orphan children, Oh, take them in your care! 
 Grant this my only last request — hear this my dying prayer?' 
 
■"And the old man's heart was opened — mid tears and sobs he spake: 
 ■'Yes; I love you, little maiden, for your poor dead mother's sake.' 
 And this is how this fairy came to live across the way 
 Where I could watch and worship her throughout each summer day. 
 Minnie Minton, (so they called her,) little, graceful, bright and fair — 
 Eyes of blue that shamed the heavens, and such glorious golden hair! 
 Sweet sixteen! To look you'd doubt it — more a child she seemed to me, 
 But the childish look soon vanished when her flashing eyes you'd see. 
 
 "Minnie had a brother William, eighteen years of age, still there 
 
 In that southern city, working 'mid the deadly-fevered air; 
 
 And when Minnie told the old man, while her eyes so anxious shone, 
 
 Of her brother's fearful peril in that dang'rous southern home. 
 
 Quick the Judge responded, ' Why did he not come with you ? ' 
 
 Minnie answered, 'mid her blushes, 'He feared you'd not like him, too.* 
 
 She ne'er told that her brother thought him heartless — cold as stone — 
 
 And would sooner die than ask him for a favor or a home. 
 
 "But the old Judge wrote a letter urging him to quickly fly 
 From the deadly yellow fever: 'Come,' it said, 'before you die!' 
 And the letter brought the youngster to his sister's side once more, 
 He was welcomed by the old Judge whom he'd never seen before. 
 At first sight there seemed to spring a chilly kind of feeling 
 Between the old Judge and the boy, that over both came stealing — 
 The resemblance to his father, that no doubt brought back the past 
 To the old man's painful memory that would forever last. 
 
 "The boy believed his mother wronged when his grandfather disowned 
 The only child because her love for a poor man had been shown; 
 And so there always seemed to be a gulf between the two. 
 Although by word or act no one could solve the mystery through. 
 The old man's love for Minnie seemed growing day by day — 
 In fact, he couldn't bear to have that little sprite away. 
 He'd watch her every movement — his eyes would flash with pride 
 As she stroked the gray hairs from his brow or nestled by his side. 
 
 "And so the fleeting days flew past, and each one brought around 
 
 Some fresh, bewitching loveliness in Minnie that I found. 
 
 Her love for horse-back riding just seemed her chief delight; 
 
 I loaned her Kit, my saddle pet, a handsome creamy white. 
 
 Each day would see this little witch on horse-back here and there — 
 
 I think she knew she had my heart as well as Kit, my mare! 
 
"*'One day I met Will looking sad — he seemed excited, queer; 
 He finally told me, frankly, why it was he felt so drear: 
 He had heard his name just mentioned, and had listened at the door — 
 Had found out the Judge's hatred, (something he'd not known before) ; 
 He had heard the old Judge dictate to his lawyer who was there, 
 How to word and draw his will up so no portion he should share. 
 When the lawyer had departed, Will had stepped within the door, 
 And proudly said, 'Grandfather, I will trouble you no more! 
 
 " 'The man who'd drive his only child forever from his sight. 
 Of course would curse his grandson, with the same unnatural spite.' 
 And then and there the words grew hot, while servants in the hall 
 Stood silent, list'ning to the words that from each lip did fall. 
 Will told me this excitedly, with firm but pallid face. 
 And said, 'Ben, this is my last night in this accursed place.' 
 ■Soon Minnie dashed up to the gate, returning from her ride, 
 And springing from the back of Kit, stood by her brother's side. 
 
 "And speechless there she stood and heard her brother's story through. 
 
 Then, sobbing, said: 'If you must go, take me along with you.' 
 
 But Will said, 'No, my sister, it's best that you stay here; 
 
 You can not rough it 'round the world, and need a home, my dear; 
 
 And then the old Judge worships you as much as he hates me — 
 
 And for that I'll forgive him, if you'll but happy be.' 
 
 And when I left the two that night. Will had arranged to go. 
 
 It made me sad to see their faces full of grief and woe. 
 
 " I could not sleep, but paced my room and gazed across the way. 
 And watched the light in Will's room as he packed his things away. 
 'Twas two o'clock, and still I sat and looked out in the night. 
 ' Twas inky dark: All I could see was the glimmer of Will's light. 
 I knew no sleep would visit him — my heart ached for the boy. 
 And I knew the separation would crush all of Minnie's joy. 
 AVhile thus I sat, sad, musing, a scream — long, loud and shrill — 
 Came wafted from across the way; it seemed my blood to chill. 
 
 "I saw the light in Will's room leave and flash out in the hall — 
 
 It soon shone from the Judge's room, and then I heard a call; 
 
 And, rushing out across the way, I soon beheld a sight 
 
 That seemed to freeze me where I stood, and filled my soul with fright! 
 
 The old Judge lay upon his bed and gasping for his breath. 
 
 While o'er his wrinkled visage stole the ashen hue of death. 
 
 Beside the bed stood William; within his hand he grasped 
 
 A slender dagger— on the blade his glassy eyes were cast. 
 
 13 
 
" He seemed transfixed, immovable. I wildly called his name — 
 
 'Help! help!' I cried, as in the room the frightened inmates came. 
 
 And Minnie past her brother flew, death-white, unto the bed, 
 
 And cried: 'Grandfather's dying. Will!' and raised his drooping head; 
 
 And, as she spoke, Will dropped the knife and, shuddering, turned and gazed 
 
 Upon the old man's dying face that Minnie's hands had raised; 
 
 And as he looked, the old man's eyes were slowly opened wide. 
 
 And gave a searching look upon the faces by his side. 
 
 " His gaze at last seemed riveted upon the face of Will, 
 
 Who ne'er had moved, but ghastly pale, stood speechless, dumb and still. 
 
 A groan escaped the Judge's lips — his right hand slowly raised 
 
 And pointed full at William, with eyes that seemed to blaze: 
 
 'There stands my murderer!' he hissed; then sank back in his bed. 
 
 A gasp, and all was over — Judge Pemberton was dead! 
 
 "Each looked upon the other, their faces blanched with fear. 
 
 While Will, with eyes cast on the dead, to the stiff 'ning form drew near. 
 
 He spake in tones of agony: 'How could, how dare he die. 
 
 And utter with his latest breath so foul and false a lie ? 
 
 I heard his scream of agony — I hastened to his door. 
 
 He lay unconscious on his bed, that knife lay on the floor. 
 
 I tried to raise him, have him speak; for help I loudly called — 
 
 I picked the knife from off the floor as you came in the hall. 
 
 I know not who hath done this deed. Who can the assassin be ? 
 
 Oh, Minnie — Ben ! My God, but speak ! You cannot think it me ? ' 
 
 " The harrowing scenes for weeks and months that followed, I'll skip o'er — 
 
 The arrest, conviction, sentence, that the boy so nobly bore. 
 
 A sister's deep devotion, with heart crushed in its grief — 
 
 Faith in her brother's innocence, yet no means of relief. 
 
 The circumstantial evidence, — the Judge's last words spoken. 
 
 Declaring Will his murderer, — the chain could not be broken. 
 
 Although I felt within my soul the boy ne'er did the deed — 
 
 The verdict. Guilty, had been passed ; how useless still to plead ! 
 
 " The county jail that held the lad, lay thirty miles away, 
 
 And there the tearful sister's face was seen day after day. 
 
 She had pleaded with the Governor — with streaming eyes she'd knelt 
 
 And begged in such deep agony, it seemed his heart must melt; 
 
 But his duty crushed his pity — the case was plain and clear — 
 
 A cool, unnatural murder — he would not interfere. 
 
 The day of doom comes creeping on, there seemed no power to save. 
 
 And Minnie's brother soon must fill a wretched murderer's grave! 
 
 14 
 
*''Twas Thursday now — on Friday the tragedy would end; 
 
 And Minnie in her brother's cell prays God relief to send. 
 
 I could not bear to see the grief, nor could I stay away; 
 
 I galloped Kit that thirty miles, my last good-bye to say. 
 
 At one o'clock that Friday morn I bid the boy farewell. 
 
 And carried Minnie, fainting, from out her brother's cell. 
 
 But woman's tender hands were there to do all in their power 
 
 To soothe her heart-crushed anguish, as they watched each fleeting hour. 
 
 "The first gray tints of morning found me haggard on the street — 
 
 Wand'ring 'round, I scarce knew where, with hardly power to speak. 
 
 Not knowing why I did so, I saddled Kit, my mare, 
 
 And galloped from the stable in hopeless, wild despair. 
 
 I gave no heed which way I went, nor scarcely looked before. 
 
 Until I found that Kit had stopped in froht the prison door. 
 
 It seemed as though I could not move; some strange bewild'ring spell 
 
 Seemed holding me, 'till all at once a form I knew full well 
 
 "Came swiftly out the prison door, and springing to my side, 
 Said, 'Ben, I have one faint hope left; it can, and must be tried! 
 The fatal drop must fall between the hours of ten and three — 
 The Sheriff's promised he would give the last moment to me; 
 You'll not refuse me Kit, I know, this last attempt to make. 
 Oh, ask no questions! Let me go, else I may be too late!' 
 I thought the girl quite raving mad, her great eyes flashed so wild, 
 But I placed her in the saddle while I trembled like a child. 
 
 "Away Kit bounded like a shot, while Minnie's form so light 
 
 Sat straight and firm upon her back, and soon was out of sight. 
 
 I then learned from the Sherifi' what had caused this sudden freak — 
 
 By accident she'd heard him to other persons speak 
 
 Of the funeral of Mrs. More who lived in our town. 
 
 She was the Governor's sister — it was there he could be found. 
 
 When Minnie heard this news it seemed to give her wond'rous power; 
 
 Although she'd plead in vain before, her hopes grew from this hour. 
 
 "How strange that I, with Kit, should stand outside the prison door, 
 
 Already saddled for a ride I'd known not of before! 
 
 While Minnie, pale and haggard, flew along the dusty road, 
 
 She knew full well the meaning of each crowded country load; 
 
 They were swarming to the county seat to see the public show, — 
 
 No pass for executions then, some fifty years ago ! 
 
 No railroad nor a telegraph — the horse the lightning train 
 
 That whirled the news o'er hill and dale, and brought it back again ! 
 
 15 
 
"As thus she seemed to fly along the people gazed in awe 
 
 At the snow white steed and marble face of this spectre that they saw_ 
 
 At eight o'clock, Kit bathed in foam, stood panting at the door 
 
 Before the crape-draped mansion of the now dead Mrs. More. 
 
 Soon Minnie learned the Governor no doubt was on his way, 
 
 But at what time he might arrive, of course no one could say; 
 
 And Minnie, faint and sick at heart, then took the little mare 
 
 Down to my stable where my groom, old John, would give her care. 
 
 "She told John why and how she came — her hope was dying fast — 
 
 But she could not let her brother die — she'd struggle 'till the last! 
 
 'And, John,' she said, 'If the Governor in time should hear my prayer, 
 
 Have Young Tecumseh saddled and ready, standing there. 
 
 Kit 's had a run of thirty miles— Tecumseh 's fresh and strong, 
 
 He'll carry me the same road back, and not be very long.' 
 
 " ' Tis eleven o'clock ! 'Tis twelve ! ' Tis one ! No Governor appears.. 
 And Minnie, frantic, wild with grief, her eyes bedimned with tears. 
 Despairingly looks down the street, when all at once a thrill 
 Darts through her heart — a coach-and-four are coming down the hill !. 
 A large concourse of people had gathered 'round the door 
 To attend the funeral service of their neighbor, Mrs. More; 
 And while with others Minnie gazed, a man with haggard face 
 Came slowly tottering up the walk, and stopped before the place. 
 
 "His eyes on Minnie rested, 'This package — quick!' he gasped, 
 
 ''Twill save your brother's life,' he cried, 'The truth is out at last!' 
 
 Before these witnesses I swear I killed Judge Pemberton ! 
 
 The proofs are in that packet, and why the deed was done; 
 
 I wrote out that confession of my guilt some time ago; 
 
 But, coward that I was, I dared not face the deadly blow ! 
 
 But it haunted me both night and day — the thought is killing me — 
 
 Oh, save that boy who's innocent! I'll die most willingly !' 
 
 "While thus he spake a livid hue his ghastly face o'erspread — 
 
 He gasped for breath — then, staggering, fell. The murderer was dead!! 
 
 The coach at that same moment drove up before the door 
 
 Where the people long had waited, at the house of Mrs. More. 
 
 This strange man's wild confession, and his sudden tragic death 
 
 Seemed to paralyze the people — they scarce spoke above their breath.. 
 
 The Governor had alighted ere Minnie, who had gazed 
 
 Upon the dead man's package, like one stupefied or crazed, 
 
 i6 
 
"Suddenly seemed to realize the Governor's presence there, 
 
 And darting swiftly to his side in frantic, wild despair, 
 
 She handed him the package, and cried, ' My brother save ! 
 
 Give me some message quickly to snatch him from the grave. ' 
 
 She led him to the stiff 'ning form, and said: 'All, every one, 
 
 Heard that man swear with his last breath, he killed Judge Pemberton.' 
 
 The Governor quick the packet broke, and trembling ran it through : 
 
 'My God!' he says, 'Is there yet time? This confession must be true!' 
 
 "And turning quickly to the crowd, he cries: 'Hear, hear! I pray — - 
 
 A rich reward I'll give the one that saves that boy to-day!' 
 
 Three young men dart up to his side, and each a message take — 
 
 A dash of thirty miles to run — a human life the stake ! 
 
 Each one knows well the charger his competitor will ride — 
 
 All thoroughbreds and racers — well known on every side. 
 
 The slip of paper each one takes and quickly speeds away; 
 
 Then Minnie to the Governor says: 'Give me one, quickly, pray!' 
 
 "He looks, and speaks in pitying tones: 'My child, what would you do?* 
 
 Those young men with their fleetest steeds, I fear, can not get through 
 
 In time to save your brother's life; but, if you wish it, here, 
 
 Take this! God help and speed you! But it's all too late, I fear.' 
 
 The scrap of paper Minnie clutched and bounded from the place; 
 
 Ere she had reached my stable, the others in the race 
 
 Had left the village like the wind — the Chestnut, Black, and Bay 
 
 Had got a good three miles the lead of Minnie's Iron-Gray. 
 
 " Tecumseh, firmly saddled, for two hours had been ready; 
 Old John had exercised him out, to have him calm and steady; 
 But the old man paled as Minnie dashed out into the street, 
 And young Tecumseh seemed to spurn the earth beneath his feet, 
 And as he like a shadow flew along the dusty way, 
 Firm as a knight of old she sat upon the Iron-Gray; 
 Her little form ne'er tipped nor swayed as on Tecumseh flew 
 To make that thirty miles by three — 'twas a quarter now to two. 
 The people looked with pitying eyes, and to each other said : 
 'Long ere she rides that thirty miles, her brother will be dead.' 
 
 "Ten miles are past. Tecumseh seems as fresh as in the start; 
 
 With rapid, easy, graceful stride he tireless seems to dart. 
 
 At fifteen miles she sees ahead the rider on the Bay, 
 
 And soon overtakes and passes him, and leaves him on the way. 
 
 17 
 
At twenty miles she comes upon the rider of the Black — 
 With whip and spur he urges him along the dusty track; 
 Tecumseh seems to spurn him as he turns out to the right 
 And dashes by that thoroughbred, and soon is out of sight. 
 
 "On! On! But only five miles more! And Minnie, pale as death, 
 
 Now urges on Tecumseh, while his steaming puffs of breath 
 
 Come hot from out his nostrils, extended red and wide, 
 
 While great flakes of foam are dropping from young Tecumseh's side. 
 
 She turns an angle in the road and sees not far ahead 
 
 Tecumseh's gamey rival, the Chestnut thoroughbred. 
 
 On! On, they go! The gap between is less'ning every bound. 
 
 The rider of the Chestnut sees his horse is losing ground. 
 
 "Soon up abreast the racers come and dash on side by side, — 
 
 The Chestnut seems new life to take, and quickens up his stride. 
 
 Two miles the guide-board says. Two miles ! When Minnie saw the sign 
 
 She cries, ' My God, let one or both but reach the place in time ! ' 
 
 Neck and neck the Chestnut and the Gray now dash ahead, 
 
 And Minnie's ghastly, ashen face reminds one of the dead. 
 
 With panting breath and quivering flanks, and eyes that widely glare. 
 
 The Chestnut with his rider falls — his race is ended there! 
 
 "All Minnie's hopes now center in Tecumseh's power to stay; 
 
 She sees the glittering spires of town only one mile away; 
 
 She feels Tecumseh's great heart thump beneath her stirrup heel. 
 
 And pity for the noble brute cuts like a blade of steel. 
 
 She, stooping, pats his foaming crest: he seems to understand 
 
 And gathers his remaining strength, cheered by her magic hand. 
 
 "A dense crowd fills the public square — for hours the eager throng 
 
 Are kept in place by soldier guards, at least three hundred strong. 
 
 The scaffold in the center stands facing the great town hall. 
 
 Upon whose dome the town clock stands and points the hour to all. 
 
 The hand of time creeps on, and on. A quarter now to three. 
 
 The doomed boy with the guard appears. Oh, can it, must it be? 
 
 Pale but firm, as step by step he mounts the scaffold high — 
 
 A hush like death spreads o'er the crowd — the closing scene draws nigh. 
 
 "I stand where I can scan the road, a good half mile away, — 
 The road that Minnie has to come. I look and watch and pray. 
 The Sheriff knows my signal point, and watches, pale as death; 
 And when the prayer is ended, five minutes still are left. 
 
 i8 
 
"The arms are pinioned — black cap drawn — when, on the rising hdl. 
 Far up the road I see a sight that makes my heart stand still; 
 'Tis Minnie! and her scarf she waves, keeps waving in the air — 
 I signal to the Sheriff, who seems transfixed standing there. 
 Each second brings her nearer— I rush out on the way 
 To meet her as she urges on the gasping Iron-Gray. 
 Tecumseh sees and knows me— makes one last staggering bound; 
 As I snatch her from the saddle, he falls lifeless to the ground. 
 
 "With Minnie in my arms I fly towards the awful place 
 Where Will stands helpless, pinioned, the black cap on his face! 
 The crowd gave way on either side, and as I reach the stand 
 I see the paper Minnie holds so tightly in her hand. 
 ' Oh ! Is he still alive ? ' she cries, ' Thank God, my brother's free ! 
 Here! here's the Governor's pardon; it gives him liberty!' 
 The Sheriff sprung towards me, and secures the crumpled note. 
 And white as death he reads it o'er, a great lump in his throat; 
 Then, with a bound, he cuts the bands, his face lit up with joy, 
 And tears the black cap from the face of the bewildered boy. 
 'The lad is innocent,' he cries; 'the Governor sets him free!' 
 And as the words escape his lips the old town clock strikes three; 
 Then such a deaf'ning shout went up it shook the very ground. 
 And in that dense and surging crowd no dry eye could be found. 
 The Sheriff took Will in his arms— they all knelt 'round the boy, 
 And on that scaffold thankful prayers mingled with tears of joy. 
 
 "A few short explanations, and my story it is done. 
 The confession of the murderer— why he killed Judge Pemberton: 
 He said some twenty years before the Judge had, out of spite. 
 Worked up a case against him that ruined him outright; 
 And he was sentenced eighteen years for a crime he had not done. 
 And he had sworn to take the life of old Judge Pemberton. 
 He had got in through the basement— found the Judge's private door- 
 Struck the blow— and, in escaping, dropped the knife upon the floor. 
 Will had heard the scream and entered — picked from off the floor the knife. 
 And the Judge had died believing that his grand-child took his life. 
 
 "Weeks and months rolled by ere Minnie rallied from the frightful strain;. 
 But at last, by careful nursing, she looked like herself again. 
 But the Governor's prize he'd offered she refused with tearful eyes, 
 Saying 'Give it to the riders who tried hard to win the prize; 
 
 19 
 
'Twas a brother's life I rode for — not for prize however rare 
 
 Would I see again Tecumseh's last wild, agonizing stare.' 
 
 Some still doubt Tecumseh's timing — claim the Sheriff fixed the clock; 
 
 But, if done, 'twas done so nicely, no one there saw through the plot. 
 
 "Boys, you all know Mrs. Saunders — old Ben's little white-haired wife! 
 Well, 'twas she that rode Tecumseh, and that saved her brother's life. 
 And after what there had happened, Will nor Minnie could not bear 
 The rememb'rance of their sorrows that clung 'round the old place there, 
 And we pulled up stakes and started — found this place here in the West, 
 And for forty years and over we have found a home of rest. 
 Oft' we speak of brave Tecumseh, and the life he won that day — 
 JMinnie ne'er has graced a saddle since she rode the Iron-Gray! " 
 
THE COLT I BOUGHT. 
 
 He was only three years old and grey, and poor for want of oats and hay; 
 
 His hair stuck up, his head hung down, and people wondered through the town 
 
 That I should buy a colt like that! Why not get one slick and fat? 
 
 But I perceived a latent fire, reminding me of his famed sire; 
 
 And so the colt I thought I 'd take, give him a chance, see what he 'd make. 
 
 I've sat and watched him many a day, to see him eat his oats and hay. 
 
 The staring coat began to shine, and he began to look so fine, — 
 
 His every move was ease and grace, each exercise improved his pace, — 
 
 I wondered how the change was wrought so soon in the homely colt 1 bought. 
 
 His head no longer down, but high, with arching neck and flashing eye; 
 
 The dapples glistened on his side, he champed his bit in restless pride. 
 
 And when I drove him people thought he could not be the colt I bought. 
 
 I named him Pomp. He made them stare, and took the first prize at the fair, 
 
 And he was only four years old; but a prouder, finer ne'er was sold. 
 
 No martingale or check or blind did I ever use, the bit he'd mind. 
 
 ''Twas singular, but still a fact, he seemed to know just how to act; 
 
 To walk or trot, to turn or stop, and take the first prize every pop ; 
 
 And every year much more I thought of this homely grey colt I had bought. 
 
 Thirty-one first prizes he had taken, and men at me had greenbacks shaken. 
 And knowing men had vainly sought to snatch the prize from the colt I bought; 
 But one by one they left the field, and to the grey colt had to yield. 
 Many is the time with pride I've sat behind this beauty slick and fat. 
 But I have given him his last drive, and Pomp no longer is alive; 
 His like I ne'er shall see again, or o'er his equal draw the rein. 
 
 Much faster horses some may own, but forty-six old Pomp has shown; 
 And when you come to style and drive, no finer horse stood up alive ; 
 And since his death I've vainly sought for another colt like the one I bought. 
 
 * Note. — Em Pierce's Gray Messenger horse. Pomp, well known by many horsemen back in the sixties, had received 
 ■thirty-one first prizes up to his death, December 25, 1869, aged 12 years. 
 
UNCLE SID'S STORY OF OLD SPIKE. 
 
 He was a bald-faced racker, with four white feet, 
 
 Watch-eyed, with one crop ear, 
 Crooked hind legs, with gothic-roof hips. 
 
 And tail scant of hair, like a steer. 
 He was colored up just like a Holstein cow, 
 
 With stripes and spots thrown 'round — 
 And a meaner, queerer, slab-sided brute 
 
 On the continent couldn't be found. 
 
 Sile White bought him of an Indian 
 That we'd never seen here before; 
 
 Paid him in traps that didn't cost much — 
 
 Odds and ends that he had in the store. 
 
 Sile was a merchant and owned a big farm 
 Was always traffickin' 'round ! 
 
"Somehow or other he'd scoop 'em all in, 
 
 (He darn' near gobbled the town!) 
 But they said that the Injun had fixed him at last — 
 
 Sile could n't give that hoss away 
 For 'twas fall of the year, — he was poor as crow, — 
 
 An' they all was short on 't for hay! 
 
 The Indian told Sile: "He big hoss; he 
 
 Heap run, all time, like coon!" 
 And Sile understood of course what he meant : 
 
 That spike -tail could rack pretty soon. 
 He was sent to the farm, and that winter they tried 
 
 To drive him both single and double; 
 But he kicked a blue streak and scared them all out, 
 And they had all their pains for their trouble. 
 
 Then a horse-tamer came — he'd make him as meek 
 
 As a lamb; 'twas all easy, he said — 
 But he left in disgust with his collar bone broke, 
 
 And the scalp nearly torn from his head ! 
 For Spike would kick, bite, strike, 
 
 Spring ten feet in the air — 
 That long, bare tail he'd swing like a flail, 
 
 And the horse-tamer got out of there! 
 
 So Sile gave him up for a bad job at last. 
 
 And turned him out back in the lot 
 With some horses and colts along in the spring, 
 
 For he couldn't get rid of Old Spot. 
 Whenever a horse-trader came in Sile's store 
 
 He'd stump them to trade 'em old Spike; 
 But they all shook their heads with a smart, knowing look, 
 
 And slyly would wink at Sile White. 
 
 'Till at last, Widow Brown's boy Mike came one day. 
 
 Said he'd trade Sile his two -year -old steers. 
 They struck up a bargain; an' Sile felt so well 
 
 That he treated all 'round to the beers. 
 Now the widow's boy Mike was keen as a brier, 
 
 And the widow allowed Mike to trade. 
 He had caught on to Sile's business ways pretty well, 
 
 And some very cute deals he had made! 
 
 23 
 
A few days before this Sile's horses had jumped 
 
 From his pasture — went roving around — 
 And finally broke into a nice clover field 
 
 That belonged to the old Widow Brown. 
 Mike called his dog, and yelled, "Seek 'em, Towse!" 
 
 And away the colts ran at their best; 
 But the old racker Spike, just astonished young Mike, 
 
 For he racked right away from the rest. 
 
 And Mike says, "I vow, I will tackle Sile White 
 
 For a trade! That old hoss is a rouser! 
 I never would known of that clip he 's shown 
 
 If it hadn't been for my dog Towser. " 
 So Mike, as I've said, got Spike for his steers, — 
 
 And the neighbors all said 'twas too bad 
 For Sile to cheat Mike — get them steers for Old Spike, 
 
 That rat- tailed, old, cross, kicking shad! 
 
 Mike kept his own counsel, but said to himself, 
 
 " I won't try to drive him, but ride him, 
 (That horse -trainer quit on the harnessing game,) 
 
 But, to saddle, there 's no one tried him." 
 He put on his bridle and led him around; 
 
 He 'd pat him, then hang on his shoulder 
 'Till he got him way back in the lot out of sight — 
 
 Each moment he kept getting bolder! 
 
 He expected Old Spike would give him a whirl 
 
 The minute he lit on his back ; 
 But he was determined to hang on his best 
 
 And stick to Old Spike like a tack. 
 At last, with his heart in his mouth, he jumped on; 
 
 Mike's eyes opened wide in surprise^ — 
 Old Spike didn't spring nor do any thing 
 
 Only switch his bare tail at the flies! 
 
 A tickleder boy never sat on a horse. 
 
 When he found Spike broke perfect and handy! 
 He could rein him with ease, — he was kind as you please,- 
 
 And Mike said he was a Jim Dandy. 
 Day after day, when none were around, 
 
 He would go to the old half-mile track, 
 And he found that Old Spike had only one gait — 
 
 He couldn't do nothing but rack! 
 
 24 
 
No running or breaking, but straight as a gun — 
 
 His ears and his tail on a line — 
 It seemed that he flew; but when called on anew, 
 
 He 'd let out a link every time. 
 Not a soul in the town ever dreamed of his speed, 
 
 For when he was racking quite slow 
 He would hump up and wiggle, weave 'round and straddle. 
 
 And you'd swear that the horse couldn't go; 
 
 But when straightened out at his level best, 
 
 Even Roy Wilkes or Brown Jug 
 Struck no handsomer gait, nor shot out more straight 
 
 Than this same homely, rat-tailed, old plug. 
 Sile White owned a mare he called Crazy Nell — 
 
 She was fast (an' Sile always was lucky!) 
 Two seasons he'd backed her and won every race 
 
 He had plenty of stamps and was plucky. 
 
 In her last race they'd marked her at 2.28, — 
 
 Sile was sure that he owned a world-beater! 
 And, in fact, 'twas conceded for many miles 'round 
 
 That no trotter or pacer dare meet her. 
 It would set Sile a-boiling to say that you thought 
 
 That any man's horse could out-trot her. 
 He would out with his money, and blow long and loud, 
 
 And he'd keep growing hotter and hotter. 
 
 Now Mike, though a boy, had an old man's head- 
 He found that Old Spike was a laster; 
 
 And between Sile's mare and the racker he thought 
 And was dead sure Old Spike was the faster. 
 
 He knew that a mighty big stake might be won 
 If he could but work it up right; 
 
 But he had no money, and what could he do 
 With a rich sporting man like Sile White ? 
 
 Mike had an old friend by the name of Tim Clark, 
 
 (Some called him the Old Miser Tim.) 
 He never appeared to take much stock in Sile, 
 
 And Sile didn't seem to love him! 
 Tim never said much; owned his house in the town; 
 
 Was an old bach and lived all alone — 
 And Mike often went and spent many an hour 
 
 With the old fellow there in his home. 
 
And Mike had found out that in years past and gone, 
 
 Old Tim had been posted in racing; 
 He had come from the South at the close of the war, 
 
 But he wan't much on trotting or pacing. 
 Mike knew that his secret was safe with Old Tim, 
 
 So he told him the whole business through. 
 Old Tim scratched his head and to Mike smilingly said : 
 
 "We'll kind'er see what we can do; 
 
 "But I am afraid you are crazy, my boy! 
 
 The very first thing to find out 
 Is what time he'll make, ere a dollar we stake, — 
 
 We'll know then what we are about." 
 So they there set the time that they'd meet at the track. 
 
 They were sure that no one was around ; 
 Old Tim held the ticker, while Mike let him flicker, — 
 
 Old Spike fairly tore up the ground! 
 
 As he finished the mile, Old Tim stood amazed. 
 
 And looked at the watch in his hand: 
 "Two-twenty?" said he, "Oh, that cannot be! 
 
 How it happened I can't understand." 
 They cooled off Old Spike, then sent him again. 
 
 And he went as tho' driven by steam. 
 With nary a wheeze, and he done it with ease. 
 
 And he made it in just two-eighteen ! 
 
 Tim looked in astonishment at the old horse, 
 
 Then said, "My boy, here's what I'll do: 
 I'll work up a match with Sile White, if I can ; — 
 
 If you win, I'll divide up with you. 
 I'll give him a chance to put up quite a pile, — 
 
 But there's one thing, remember, now Mike, 
 Keep mum, and be sure that no one catches on. 
 
 And take the best care of Old Spike." 
 
 That evening Tim sat on a dry goods box. 
 
 Whittling, and smoking his pipe. 
 In front of the old corner grocery store 
 
 Just across from the store of Sile White; 
 When along came Sam Dunn, a drummer, 
 
 A great friend of Sile's and his mare; 
 And Tim thought he'd throw out a hint or two 
 
 To set the ball rolling, right there. 
 
 26 
 
Says Tim: "Sam, I wonder if Crazy Nell 
 
 Aint kind'er played out this spring? 
 There's more wind in Sile than trot in his mare 
 
 She never can get there agin. 
 I think there's trotters and pacers in town, 
 
 If handled, could just make her sick." 
 And Sam took it up, — as Tim knew he would, — 
 
 He bit at Tim's bait mighty quick. 
 
 Says Sam, "You can talk, but you dassn't put up; 
 
 Sile will bet you ten dollars to one." 
 Says Tim, " If I owned a horse that I know, 
 
 I'd bet just a little for fun." 
 Tim knew very well that Sam would tell Sile, 
 
 And the very next day, sure enough. 
 When Sile met Old Tim, he opened on him. 
 
 And bore on most confounded rough. 
 
 And he offered to make any kind of a bet; 
 
 Tim rather acted afraid. 
 But said if he owned a pacer he knew, 
 
 He thought that a bet could be made. 
 Sile said he would lay him two hundred to one 
 
 That there wasn't a horse in the town 
 Could go any gate, excepting a run. 
 
 But what Crazy Nell could down. 
 
 "Now shut up, or put up! you've talked quite enough,- 
 
 I'll go you whenever you please; 
 Just fetch on your nag, you old miser brag. 
 
 And I'll plaster you over with these." 
 Then Sile pulled out a big roll of bills 
 
 And spread himself 'round in the crowd — 
 Old Tim, all the time, looking on with a smile, 
 
 While Sile blew his bugle so loud. 
 
 Says Sile: "Any pacer, or racker, or trotter 
 
 In the town, that you think is so smart. 
 To saddle or harness — go just as you please — 
 
 My Nellie can just break your heart. 
 Now set your own time — one mile, or three — 
 
 Or best three-in-five, if you dare! 
 Two to one, don't you know; ain't that a fair show? 
 
 You're a gamey old coon I declare!" 
 
 27 
 
Tim rose with a smile. Says he: "Now, friend Sile, 
 I just took your abuse long enough; 
 
 Now I'll make you put up, or go back in your hole- 
 How much have you got of that stuff?" 
 
 And that is the way the betting commenced. 
 But before Sile got through with Old Tim, 
 
 He'd got up three thousand against half of that, 
 And his pocket-book looked mighty thin. 
 
 Then Tim took the crowd by surprise when he said: 
 
 "I've a little roll here, Mr. White; 
 I'll now go you even, a thousand or two — 
 
 That's a bait I am sure you will bite!" 
 Sile plainly was nervous, but said with a grin, 
 
 "Oh, bluff is the game you are at! 
 The day of the race I'll put up as much more, 
 
 And I'll draw up a contract to that; 
 
 "And if you or I fail to stake that amount. 
 
 Or don't bring our nags up to place. 
 We forfeit what stakes that are already up — 
 
 Pay or play, life or death, it's a race!" 
 So the contract was drawn — the day it was set — 
 
 And the race was the talk of the town. 
 They all tried to find out what horse Tim had got. 
 
 But the unknown could nowhere be found. 
 
 Two weeks, and the mystery then would be solved ! 
 
 The news flew like wildfire about; 
 Old Tim and Mike worked it fine with Old Spike — 
 
 Not a soul had found anything out. 
 At fitting a horse Mike found that Old Tim 
 
 Understood the whole business clear through ; 
 And many a thing he posted Mike in 
 
 Till he knew pretty well what to do. 
 
 At length the day set for the race came around — 
 
 It seemed the whole country was there ; 
 For thirty miles 'round they had come into town. 
 
 More than ever were there at our fair! 
 Two o'clock was the time for the nags to be called 
 
 But, by one, not a seat could be found. 
 A dense mass of people jammed hither and yon. 
 
 And crowded about on the ground. 
 
 28 
 
Soon Sile, with his driver behind Crazy Nell, 
 
 Appeared up in front of the stand ; 
 Then Old Tim Clark came up to the mark 
 
 With a roll of bills clutched in his hand. 
 Then three thousand more from both was put up, 
 
 And the stakeholder held quite a pile; 
 Tim said he would put up a few dollars more, 
 
 But he didn't hear further from Sile. 
 
 The mare was now stripped and sent up the track. 
 
 And the crowd cheered their favorite Nell, 
 While they hollo and groan, "Bring out The Unknown!" 
 
 And the judges ring out the first bell; 
 But the sound of the bell had not died on the air 
 
 When shuffling along past the crowd 
 Came crop-eared Old Spike — on his back little Mike, 
 
 While the people yell lusty and loud. 
 
 The judges and all, of course, thought it a joke, 
 
 Thought Mike had rode in there for fun — 
 And they yell, "Clear the track!" as he rode along back, — 
 
 Old Tim says: "Please wait 'till he's won!" 
 The old man then steps out in front of the stand 
 
 Saying, "Spike is my horse for this race; 
 I've a few dollars yet I think I would bet 
 
 That the old horse won't get second place." 
 
 They all understood how much money was up. 
 
 And they thought Old Tim out of his head; 
 They put up right fast, but Tim's cash seemed to last, — 
 
 "I've a few ducats more, boys," he said. 
 Sile borrowed and put up — how much, no one knew. 
 
 'Squire Murray he held all the stakes; 
 And every one knew, when the business was through, 
 
 That the winner was sure of the cakes. 
 
 Well, at last came the call from the judges to start. 
 
 Crazy Nell showed up speedy and fast. 
 While the crowd laughed and hawed as Spike weaved and sawed,. 
 
 But they finally got started at last. 
 When the word "go!" was given, Nell had the inside — 
 
 Her driver was holding for Spike, 
 Who, it seemed, couldn't go any gait only slow. 
 
 And he made a most horrible sight. 
 
 29 
 
At the word, the mare left Old Spike like the wind, 
 
 While he wabbled away round the turn 
 With his tail without hair, switching 'round in the air 
 
 Like a rudder attached to his stern. 
 As he struck the back stretch he seemed to unhinge, 
 
 That jiggling motion had ceased. 
 And he flew like an engine cut lose from a train, 
 
 With a full head of steam and well greased. 
 
 Like a shot from a cannon he passed Crazy Nell 
 
 As though she stood hitched in the lot- 
 One turn of the track, he had set her way back, 
 
 And another half mile she must trot. 
 As by the packed stand he goes with a whirl, 
 
 The cheers could be heard for a mile. 
 Old horsemen stand dumb, as they watch Old Spike come. 
 
 For on Nell they had squandered their pile. 
 
 "Holy Moses!" they cry, "Just look at him fly!" 
 
 And the crowd wildly spring to their feet — 
 Then comes a loud shout, "He will shut the mare out! 
 
 He'll distance her, sure, the first heat!" 
 Down the home-stretch comes this bald-faced ghost 
 
 Like a whirlwind; he crosses the score! 
 Nell a big distance back, on a run up the track, — 
 
 Such excitement was ne'er seen before. 
 
 Old Spike is rode shuffling back to the stand. 
 
 The crowd swarm around him to see 
 This crop-eared, watch-eyed, calico horse — 
 
 This spike-tailed mystery! 
 The judges award him the heat and race, 
 
 And the time — just two-sixteen; 
 They cheer little Mike, and the old horse Spike, 
 
 Whose like before never was seen. 
 
 Suffice it to say, Tim was as good as his word, 
 
 And divided the stakes with young Mike. 
 It gave the young lad a nice start in life, 
 
 Which he kept — but he didn't keep Spike. 
 On the day of the race an Indian was seen 
 
 On the track and 'round about town ; 
 But nothing was thought, for often before 
 
 Strange Indians were prowling around. 
 
 30 
 
But the next morning after the race, little Mike 
 
 Went out to look after Old Spike; 
 The stable was empty, the old racker gone! 
 
 He never was seen from that night. 
 A hunter that traveled among different tribes 
 
 Had heard that an Indian chief 
 Had lost a most wonderful spotted old horse, 
 
 And they'd searched high and low for the thief. 
 
 Some Indian, out of revenge had, no doubt, 
 
 Got the old horse well out of the way. 
 But the old chief he thought he'd keep hunters at work, 
 
 For a mighty big price he would pay. 
 In different tribes great stories were told 
 
 Of the wonderful races he'd won — 
 No horse had been able to get to his head, 
 
 And he racked while the other ones run. 
 
 Be that as it may, he's vanished and gone — 
 
 We ne'er will again see his like! 
 But Tim, Mike and Sile will remember the style 
 
 Of that dynamite racker. Old Spike. 
 
THE TROTTING WONDERS OF 1889. 
 
 As o'er old '89 the veil was dropped 
 
 That shut from view the past, tho' not forgot, 
 
 Old veterans in the years to come will read 
 
 Of '89, the year of wondrous speed. 
 
 Maud S., the queen, stood trembling in her stall. 
 
 In fear of baby three-year-old Sunol! 
 
 And Bonner, still to keep the magic crown, 
 
 For safety thought 'twas better to come down 
 
 And buy the wonder ere she snatched the prize 
 
 That Maud still clutched before his welcome eyes. 
 
 Tho' Sunol is a marvel sure enough, 
 
 There 're other youngsters, still within the rough. 
 
 Who yet may knock some seconds from the mark, 
 
 And leave famed Bonner's stable in the dark: 
 
 Axtell, the king, electrify the world — 
 
 Stamboul or Palo Alto take a whirl! 
 
 These wonders stand a very likely show 
 
 To stop the ticker just a notch below. 
 
 Among the wonders, which, say you, is best ? 
 
 If you'll allow, I'll pick one from the nest — 
 
 I'll lay my hand on Axtell's infant head. 
 
 The greatest wonder yet alive or dead ! 
 
 Maud S., you say, with Queen stamped on her brow. 
 
 And Axtell still to Sunol has to bow. 
 
 Yes, that we grant; but look the trainers o'er — 
 
 Was ever such a thing heard of before: 
 
 A novice in the art, breed, raise and drive 
 
 The fastest stallion that stands up alive. 
 
 And only three years old, when like a ghost 
 
 He tore the stallion record from the post ? 
 
 But men are experts who get all the speed 
 
 That's wrapped up in the fleety-going steed. 
 
 Experience and skill in all things will excel. 
 
 And that is only why Sunol has beat Axtell. 
 
 Surprises come, and will for some time yet. 
 
 And trotters will a trifle lower get. 
 
 Time wins at last with all, no getting by it. 
 
 Although we never give up till we try it. 
 
 The trotting wonders seen in '89 
 
 Will brightly shine upon the page of time. 
 
 32 
 
OR, THE DISGUISED JOCKEY. 
 
 You may think this a very strange story; perhaps you may say it's not true. 
 But truth is oft' stranger than fiction, so I'll venture to tell it to you; 
 It happened down there in Kentucky, some ten or twelve summers ago; 
 With exceptions of names which are altered, every word has been vouched for as so. 
 Near a large breeding farm which is noted, among many others of fame, 
 Lived Thomas Milroy, an old jockey, who won for himself quite a name; 
 He had charge of old Col. Wood's stable, and had ridden out many a race; 
 Was a good pilot, too, on the sulky — and in fact could fill any place. 
 
 Old Tom had a wife and two children — twin children — a girl and a boy, 
 
 And there, in Milroy's little cottage, there seemed to dwell nothing but joy, 
 
 'Till at length while all Nature looked smiling, Death quietly slipped in the door — 
 
 Ere they were aware of its presence, old Thomas Milroy was no more. 
 
 'Twas a terrible blow for the widow and the grief-stricken children to bear, 
 
 For Tom was the kindest of fathers, and it drove them almost to despair; 
 
 But Time, that great healer of sorrow, helps bind up the wounds of the past, — 
 
 Altho' grief was deep in that cottage, its keenness could not always last. 
 
 Tom, although poor, owned a cottage with stable and some little land. 
 
 And he owned an old mare he called Starlight, and claimed that her breeding was 
 
 grand ; 
 By her side ran a filly by Planet, that famous old horse of the past. 
 And Tom pinned his faith on her breeding — was sure she'd be gamy and fast, 
 So you see how the widow and children were left on that sorrowful day, 
 When death stole a march on that household — took Tom and just galloped away. 
 The children were named Mark and Madge, and at Tom's death were thirteen 
 
 years old, 
 In form and in feature alike, but for dress their difference could hardly be told. 
 
 33 
 
And Madge often donned her twin brother's suit in her wild, girlish, frolicsome 
 
 And even the neighbors who knew them the best, were willing to swear "she" 
 
 was "he"! 
 Small for their age, but perfect in form, graceful, bewitching and bright — 
 Either could ride a wild colt at best, and that seemed their greatest delight. 
 From childhood brought up with the horses, they knew every colt on the place; 
 In Col. Wood's paddock or pasture they picked out the best for the race. 
 'Twas nearly three years since their father was borne through the old cottage dour, 
 But his grave was kept green on the hillside, and oft' with fresh flowers strewn o'er. 
 
 Mark, tho' but a boy, showed good judgment in the care of the Colonel's fine 
 
 stock. 
 And, in handling and riding the flyers, he was styled "a chip from the old block;" 
 But the pride of Mark's heart was the filly, by Planet out of Charlotte. 
 As a two-year-old she'd been a winner — in her three-year-old form was now booked. 
 The name that they gave her was Fanchion — no finer one stood on the turf, 
 A beautiful, dark dapple chestnut — attractive and kind from her birth. 
 But spirited, knowing and gamy; and Madge was oft' seen on her back. 
 While Mark rode beside her some flyer — away they'd "skim" 'round the old track! 
 
 And Mark often said to his sister, 'twas wonderful how she could ride, 
 And Madge, on the beautiful Fanchion, was a picture that filled him with pride. 
 At Col. Wood's track now quartered the crack three-year-olds of the State, 
 And the favorites, each had their backers with plenty of money to stake. 
 The track was four miles from the city, but hundreds drove out every day 
 To look at the thoroughbred beauties, and hear what the sports had to say. 
 A large stake hung up for the winner, in the three-year-old dash for a mile. 
 And Fanchion's fine form for the trial, lit Mark's boyish face with a smile. 
 
 On the programme the first was the three-year-old race, and wonderful stories were 
 
 told 
 Of a colt they called Climax; the knowing ones said he'd leave all the rest in the 
 
 cold. 
 Others were just as sure of a snap, while excitement ran higher and higher — 
 On the evening before the great three-year-old race, there were "piles" on each 
 
 favorite flyer. 
 But an accident happened, as accidents will, and Mark sad and helpless now lay 
 From a kick just received in the side from a colt — and Fanchion to run the next 
 
 day ! 
 
 34 
 
The boy kept insisting he knew he could ride — would be quite well by morning, 
 
 he said, 
 The doctor, who to Mark would quite cheerfully talk, to his mother and Madge 
 
 shook his head. 
 
 Soon Col. Wood came, and he found that the boy could, of course, take no mount 
 
 in the race, — 
 Mark was to have ridden two races for him, — not a jockey could fill the boy's 
 
 place ! 
 The Colonel knew well that Mark's heart had been set on Fanchion's great race 
 
 for the morrow, 
 But of course now the filly would have to be drawn, and it filled the boy's heart 
 
 full of sorrow. 
 Madge sat and listened to all that was said. When the Colonel arose up to go. 
 She followed him out to the little front gate, and tremblingly wanted to know 
 If he would assist her the filly to ride — she had rode her in races with Mark, 
 If he'd keep her secret they'd surely all think her brother was able to start. 
 
 Mark's suit she said fitted her just to a T — she knew all the rules of the track, 
 And if Fanchion was beaten 'twould be no disgrace when they learned 'twas a girl 
 
 on her back ; 
 She pleaded so hard she at last won him o'er, the Colonel agreed he would say 
 That the boy was determined to ride out the race, and let the wild girl have her 
 
 way. 
 Madge sat up all that night by her sick brother's bed, while Mark and her mother 
 
 both slept. 
 She got Mark's outfit from his bedroom up stairs, and out of the house softly 
 
 crept ; 
 To the stable she took them, then quickly returned, for her mother and Mark 
 
 mustn't know 
 What she in her wild freak intended to do, or they'd never allow her to go. 
 
 The dull, sombre hues of the night fade at last, and the gray mist of morning ap- 
 pears ; 
 
 The sweet, happy notes of the song birds are heard, and their melody gladdens 
 her ears. 
 
 35 
 
She flies to the stable, gives Fanchion her feed, and the grooming she gave her 
 
 would shame 
 Many a stable hand up in the art, or a finished expert at the game. 
 Impatiently Madge passed the lengthy forenoon — excitement beamed forth in her 
 
 face. 
 (Mark had desired her to go to the track to witness the three-year-old race); 
 The call had been set down for two o'clock sharp, it was after twelve now — it was 
 
 time! 
 She got Fanchion ready and donned her boy suit, and left the old cottage behind. 
 
 So slipping away from her mother and Mark, to the little back stable she flew, 
 And emerged very soon, riding out the back way, as it shut out the cottage from 
 
 view; 
 And she followed the winding path out through the grove, that led to the rear of 
 
 the track, 
 While Fanchion seemed proud of the burden she bore, that daintily sat on her back. 
 A rare picture this for an artist to paint, — pen can but faintly portray 
 The dazzling beauty of rider and horse, as they gracefully cantered away; 
 Through the back gate at the rear of the park, goes Madge at the call of the bell, 
 With cap well drawn down, her black tresses hid, no one the deception could tell. 
 
 As the ten fiery starters came up to the stand, and their places were duly assigned. 
 The Colonel gave Madge an encouraging smile as she drew her position behind. 
 The grand stand was crowded with fashion and wealth, and wagers went up thick 
 
 and fast, 
 But Climax sold strong against the whole field, and was barred in the pool box at last. 
 A finer start never was seen on a track than this bunch that got off at the word; 
 At the first quarter Climax was leading the van, and Fanchion had crept up to 
 
 third. 
 At the half Climax opened five lengths in the lead, with Fanchion still holding her 
 
 place ; 
 And backers of Climax were oft'erine odds of one hundred to five on the race. 
 
 But ere they had headed the three-quarter pole, the filly, with lightning-like clip. 
 Had come like a shadow upon the great colt, and was only one stride from his 
 
 hip; 
 But look at them now! As they round the homestretch. Climax, with wonderful 
 
 stride 
 Is trying to shake off the daughter of Planet that inch by inch crawls to his side! 
 Ah, ha! see the lash as it falls on Climax, and the noble colt, game to the last, 
 Responds with a rush! but Fanchion still there, is striving the great colt to pass; 
 
 36 
 
Neck and neck, here they come! Nearing the wire! Like a pair glued together 
 
 they fly! 
 Madge, pale as death, brings the whip smartly down, and fire seems to flash from 
 
 her eye! 
 
 At the critical moment she loses her whip, and wild in her girlish despair. 
 
 She tears off her cap, and hits Fanchion with that! But it lets fall her tell-tale 
 
 hair! 
 Her long, silken tresses stream out in the breeze, the vast throng of people seem 
 
 dumb, — 
 One last desperate effort Madge makes at the wire — by a throat-latch the filly has 
 
 won! 
 Shout upon shout rends the air all around, the backers of Climax seem dazed. 
 While the lucky field-buyers rush hither and yon, like wild men, distracted or 
 
 crazed I 
 Madge tremblingly rides Fanchion back to the stand ; old Colonel Wood springs to 
 
 her side 
 And lifts from the saddle the girl's slender form, gazing at her with wonder and 
 
 pride. 
 
 The race is declared, the blue ribbon tied on the bridle of handsome Fanchion, 
 While praises and cheers from the ladies ring out for the wonderful race she has 
 
 won ; 
 Mark, nervous and anxious to hear from the race, lays waiting for Madge to re- 
 turn — 
 Not a thought but what Fanchion is home in her stall, but soon a surprise he 
 
 will learn. 
 Now Madge on the filly rides up to the door, with Fanchion as bright as the 
 
 sun, 
 F'or the Colonel had seen her most nicely rubbed out, as soon as her great race 
 
 was won. 
 Mark sees through the window the filly and Madge, and he looks at them both 
 
 in surprise. 
 For he sees Madge is rigged out in his own jockey suit — from her bridle the blue 
 
 ribbon flies! 
 
 Then off with a dash to the stable goes Madge — in her girl suit is once more 
 
 arrayed. 
 
 And, waving the ribbon, flies into the house, while her mother and Mark look 
 
 dismayed ; 
 
 37 
 
Then the story she tells from beginning to end, while her eyes flash with joyous 
 
 pride, 
 And tears of joy trickle o'er Mark's haggard cheek, as the story she tells of her 
 
 ride. 
 
 I've not space to tell of the wonderful yarns, that were spun in regard to this 
 
 race, 
 But the name of the girl and the filly took wings, and were wafted to every place. 
 Dame fortune dropped into the cottage that day, and lent them both money and 
 
 friends, 
 And Fanchion has since headed many a field, and the disguised jockey story here 
 
 ends — 
 
 But, wait a moment! I'll whisper it low, — this Madge that I've told you about, 
 Has appeared before thousands — you've seen her yourself, and your voice has went 
 
 up with a shout. 
 As she dashed 'round the track on her fine thoroughbreds, or drove the fleet 
 
 beauties with ease, — 
 She's a model horsewoman, and lady as well; now guess who she is if you please! 
 
 38 
 
BILL BURCHARD'S MULE. 
 
 You say a mule can't ran much, eh? I guess you'd take that back 
 
 If you could see Bill Burchard's mule skin once around a track. 
 
 I'll tell you how Bill caught on as how that mule could run — 
 
 He made a stake right easy, too, besides a lot of fun. 
 
 You see Bill was in the army, and when he was mustered out, 
 
 He rode back home a lean, lank mule that he gobbled on the route. 
 
 His dam must been a thoroughbred, from old Kentucky stock, 
 
 For he showed such game, the jackass blood in him got boiling hot. 
 
 Bill kept him on the old man's farm with the horses, sheep and cattle, 
 
 That mule just bossed the whole darned crew — he showed he'd been in battle. 
 
 He'd jump the fences, let down bars, and neighbor Peters said 
 
 If he didn't shut up that ar' mule, some mule would turn up dead! 
 
 One morning Bill, he missed the cuss; he looked and searched in vain 
 
 Till neighbor Peters came to him, and with words strong and plain. 
 
 Informed him that his mule was tied in his back stable tight; 
 
 He'd caught him down in his oat field, where he'd slashed all the night. 
 
 AVell, Bill, he 'lowed 'twas all dead wrong, and damage he would pay. 
 
 But what to do with the pesky brute was a stumper, anyway. 
 
 Says Peters, "Hold on. Bill, by gosh! I've hit upon a thing — 
 
 I've got a big beef's bladder, I'll get a good stout string. 
 
 "The bladder's dry, we'll put in corn, then tie it to his tail. 
 Head him for home and cut him loose; you bet your life he'll sail! 
 The plan struck Bill exactly, and the scheme worked mighty slick — 
 The corn in the bladder rattled, and the mule commenced to kick! 
 And every time he'd elevate, that bladder it would fly 
 And tunk him all around behind — he was scared enough to die! 
 And then Bill pulled the bridle off — that mule — well, he just flew! 
 All you could see down that 'ere road was a streak kind o' blue! 
 'Twas just a half a mile to run, from Peters' barn to Bill's, 
 You'd thought that mule was loaded with electric lightning pills! 
 
 39 
 
He ran right by Bill's old horse barn, that bladder in the air, 
 And then he jumped a ten-rail fence, and done it fair and square. 
 The bladder caught around a stake, and pulled off from his tail, 
 And then that mule just turned and kicked that bladder off the rail! 
 Well, after that. Bill used to run that mule against his mare. 
 And she was called the fastest nag, by half, there was 'round there. 
 Bill used to ride his running mare, and lead the mule, you know; 
 They'd start from neighbor Peters' house, and then, away they'd go. 
 Old Peters he assisted Bill — he'd lead the mule ahead, 
 And hold him by the bridle, till the word "go" had been said. 
 
 Then I would shake the bladder that I had ready there. 
 As Peters he would loose the mule, then Bill would start his mare. 
 Well, talk about "greased lightning," I never saw the like! 
 That mare was only fairly off, when the mule was out of sight. 
 'Twas two miles from the village, and no one but us three 
 Knew anything about that mule, and we kept mum, you see. 
 One day we heard some fellows with a race horse were up there 
 At the Eagle tavern stopping — they'd heard of Bill's smart mare. 
 Of course they thought they'd catch a snap, and they worked it kind o' slow- 
 Said they'd heard about a running mare a chap owned down below, 
 
 And if the mare was smart enough, they'd like to buy or trade; 
 So Peters, Bill and I went up, to see how the land laid. 
 Bill hitched the mare and drove her up — old Peters rode with him — 
 While I rode on the pesky mule, that looked so lank and thin. 
 We all got introduced around — talked horse, then "liquored" up, 
 Then blowed about making a match, then took another sup. 
 Bill said his mare wan't fit to run, was soft, and fat, and green, 
 'Till finally those chaps flared up, and talked confounded mean. 
 They dared Bill ; said he darn't bet, they'd go him two to one — 
 He hadn't got no sand at all, nor a horse he dared to run. 
 
 Well, Bill he took it mighty cool — said he guessed that 'ere was so. 
 
 And the more he kind o' talked like that, the more those chaps would blow; 
 
 'Till tinally Bill says, "Look 'a here! You see that mule out there? 
 
 Just let me pick the place to run, and I'll chance him if you dare; 
 
 But you shall give me fifteen feet to start that mule ahead, — 
 
 Now don't say that I dasn't bet; I think that's what you said." 
 
 Those fellows said, "Don't talk such bosh, we ain't here just for fun; 
 
 You better straddle that 'ere mule and dig right out for hum! 
 
 40 
 
"To make this business mighty short, we'll tell you what we'll do, 
 Five hundred dollars we'll put up agin half that from you. 
 That we can beat you half a mile with anything you've got, 
 And give you twenty feet the start, and you may pick the spot. 
 We heard you had a running mare you thought was mighty slick. 
 We thought we'd step around this way and kind o' make you sick! 
 Now put up or shut up I We mean just what we say, — 
 We'll run you now, this afternoon, or any other day!" 
 "This afternoon is just the time," says Bill, "put up your chink!' 
 They put up in the landlord's hand, then took another drink. 
 
 mi 
 
 The darndest crowd you ever saw went down to that 'ere place. 
 
 Where Bill had picked his half a mile, to see that big horse race. 
 
 'Twas from neighbor Peters' house, of course, where they should run, 
 
 To Bill's horse barn — the same old track where we had had our fun. 
 
 They all expected sure, of course, that Bill would run his mare. 
 
 But when he said he'd chance the mule, you ought to see them stare! 
 
 They thought that Bill was crazy, and the village people bet 
 
 Against that mule — Peters and I took all that we could get. 
 
 For Bill had given me quite a roll to squander on the race — 
 
 Those smart chaps from the village, we thought we'd change their base. 
 
 Well, everything was ready; that race horse danced and pawed. 
 
 And Bill he jerked the mule around, and all the crowd haw-hawed! 
 
 I slipped up with the bladder, 'twas tied upon a stick, 
 
 I hit him once or twice behind — you oughter see him kick! 
 
 Bill had his hands full holdin' him, he reared and kicked and pitched. 
 
 The starter hollo'd "go!" and then Bill off the bridle twitched. 
 
 41 
 
That race horse was a runner and started, eternal quick, 
 And almost gained the twenty feet, ere the mule had ceased to kick ! 
 I threw the bladder, stick and all — it struck him on the rump. 
 And, mighty Caesar I you should seen that mule just make a jump! 
 
 That crowd looked on with open mouths, dumbfounded, paralyzed — 
 
 But Peters, Bill and I, you see, we weren't a mite surprised. 
 
 Well, running wasn't a name for it, he just skimmed through the air I 
 
 There wasn't one among the crowd who said it wasn't fair. 
 
 The rider on the running horse said, when Bill's barn he passed. 
 
 The mule was way back in the lot, and stood there eating grass. 
 
 I won't attempt to tell you what a time there was in town, 
 
 Nor how Bill set the bug-juice up and and made things lively 'round 
 
 But this I know, those fellows bought that mule and went away. 
 
 And said they got him cheap enough for all they had to pay. 
 
 They took along the bladder, too. The rattle that it made 
 Just seemed to be the only thing to make that mule afraid. 
 Bill got a letter from those chaps, a long while after that; 
 They said they'd never found a horse could head him on a track. 
 So don't say that a mule can't run, as well as kick sky high! 
 For we have got that money yet — Old Peters, Bill and I. 
 
 
 42 
 
THE DEAD HEAT. 
 
 Sad and disheartened sat old Joe Mason 
 
 On an empty feed box by the old stable door; 
 Inside stood his favorite stallion King William, 
 
 In his race he'd been distanced an hour before. 
 The stable boys yet had not ceased from their rubbing, 
 
 The flanks of King William still twitched from the strain 
 Says Joe, "Boys, to-morrow we'll down the whole party. 
 
 Or I never will enter King William again. 
 
 "The gang are against us, but never mind, Jimmy, 
 
 You drove him, my lad, at your best, on the square; 
 It is plain they are playing Black Prince for a winner. 
 
 But to-morrow they'll find old Joe Mason is there. 
 They knew that you never had driven King William, 
 
 Was young at the business, not up to their tricks; 
 They knev/ my old driver was home on the sick list. 
 
 And so these two races they easily could fix. 
 
 "It's been ten years or more since I've straddled a sulky, 
 
 I'm getting too old for such business, you know. 
 But the same flyers trot in the sweepstakes to-morrow, 
 
 Those same drivers want to look out for old Joe. 
 Leave nothing undone, and look well to the stallion. 
 
 Guard him and watch him until dawn of the day; 
 He will sell in the pools for a trifle, I'm thinking. 
 
 Every dollar I've got on King William I'll play. 
 
 "And boys, if I lose! Well, somehow or other. 
 
 We always get through to the next town you know. 
 
 If we win we will rake in a big pot to-morrow — 
 
 You're aware how the boys stand who stick to old Joe." 
 
 'Tis morning. The rich golden tints of the sunshine 
 Creep roguishly in through the old stable door; 
 
 'I'ho' early in rising it found not a sleeper 
 
 Curled up in the straw on the old stable floor. 
 
 43 
 
King William's fine coat shone like high polished silver, 
 His eyes seemed to flash with intelligent pride, 
 
 While Joe stood and gazed in enrapt admiration 
 And patted his pet as he stood by his side. 
 
 Tis three o'clock now. The bell rings for the sweepstakes. 
 
 The pool-sellers' voice rings out with a peel — 
 Black Prince sells for fifty, Grand Duke sells for twenty. 
 
 The rest with King William bring ten in the field. 
 Joe Mason's last dollar lays there in the pool-box, 
 
 The old man goes limping across to the stand; 
 Dons his jacket and cap, takes his seat on the sulky, 
 
 And remarks it's some time since he's taken a hand. 
 
 All eyes seem to turn on the gray-headed veteran, 
 
 He nods with a smile as he draws the outside; 
 As they score up, the driver of Black Prince looks anxious. 
 
 Like a shadow King William o'er the track seems to glide. 
 The word "go!" is given, the five speedy flyers 
 
 Go bunched to the quarter, then strike the back stretch; 
 But look! It's King William that's challenged the leader — 
 
 Black Prince, the strong favorite, leads by a neck! 
 
 -Ah! now he is up, and King William has got him — 
 
 Like a phantom he dashes on over the track ; 
 l^es, faster and faster down the homestretch he's coming, 
 
 Black Prince on a break, the others way back. 
 Like a statue sits Joe with his grip on the ribbons, 
 
 His lips tight compressed and so pale in his seat; 
 Like a flash he is under the wire in a second — 
 
 King William has distanced them all the first heat. 
 
 Cheer after cheer greets the beautiful stallion, 
 
 Frantically rush the crowd to and fro' ; 
 The stable boys throw the sheets over King William, 
 
 But stand back aghast as they look at old Joe. 
 With a smile on his face, with his eyes fixed and glassy, 
 
 Rigid and straight on the old sulky seat 
 Sits Joe dead — yes — dead on his sulky! 
 
 He had won with King William, but drove a dead heat. 
 
 44 
 
"TELL HER GOOD-BYE FOR ME, BOYS." 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH WARDER, RIDER OF LUCY LIGHTFOOT, WHO WAS 
 
 KILLED IN THE STEEPLECHASE, SEPTEMBER 7TH, 18S7, AT THE 
 
 NIAGARA FALLS RACING PARK. 
 
 "Tell her good-bye for me, boys!" were the last words he said, 
 
 And the rider of Lucy Lightfoot — Joe Warder — fell back dead; 
 
 Crushed by the hoofs of his falling steed, lifeless, mangled and torn, 
 
 A pride of the stable an hour before — a corpse from the track was borne. 
 
 One mis-step, a slip, a plunge, and rider and racer lay, 
 
 A tangled mass, and the hurdle secured a brave boy's life that day. 
 
 Tenderly they raised him up and wiped his blood-stained face. 
 And sighing said, with eyes bedimmed, it is Joe's last hurdle race. 
 Sad stood the stable boys in groups, with whispers soft and low, 
 While jockeys still in riding suits in tears gazed at poor Joe; 
 Old veterans looked with trembling lips, upon the silent boy. 
 Whose smiling face one hour before beamed forth in youthful joy. 
 
 But the strangest of this accident, that ended in tragedy. 
 
 Is something that puzzles the mind of man — I'll tell it as told to me: 
 
 'Twas early morning, September seventh, the sun just creeping out 
 
 Painted a golden tinted fringe on the fleecy clouds about, 
 
 And the rumbling roar of the cataract, where the mighty waters leap, 
 
 Seemed drawing near in the silent morn and in thunder tones to speak. 
 
 Its voice rang out at the racing park, a good two miles away, 
 
 And woke Joe Warder, the jockey, up from his dream at the peep of day. 
 
 The whistle and song of the stable boys were heard on every side, 
 
 While grooms were rubbing the satin coats of their favorites with pride; 
 
 And wagers went up along the line among the stable crew. 
 
 Bets that were made with rings and pins and watches were not a few. 
 
 Each seemed sure his favorite would get to the winning place. 
 
 They even would chance their wages on the come-out of the race; 
 
 Groups were scattered here and there around the stable doors. 
 
 While others reclined on the straw inside that covered the stable floors; 
 
 45 
 
All were laughing and chatting, excitement in each face, 
 
 When they saw Joe Warder approaching with slow and halting pace. 
 
 "There's something troubling Joe, " said one; "is Lightfoot off to-day? 
 I'm on she gets a place in the race — Joe, what have you to say?" 
 Silent and sad Joe gazed around, with face that was haggard and white. 
 And trying to smile said, "Boys, I had a terrible dream last night; 
 So real it seemed that it haunts me still; it's foolish of course, I know, 
 I've tried my best to shake it off; it's queer it annoys me so." 
 
 "What was it, Joe?" said all in a breath; their faces excited beam 
 
 As they gather around and ask again for Joe to tell his dream. 
 
 And here is the dream Joe told the boys, in a nervous, trembling tone, 
 
 Of the race he rode the night before, and the face he saw from home. 
 
 Says Joe: "I thought we were ready to mount our nags for the steeplechase 
 
 In the stake that's coming off to-day — each jockey was in his place: 
 
 "The call rang out in a solemn tone, with a deathly kind of knell, 
 
 And we all looked up at the judges' stand to see if they'd changed the bell. 
 
 I thought the judges looked sadly down, and all spoke up in one breath, 
 
 'Prepare, Joe Warder,' they cried aloud, 'prepare for the leap of death!' 
 
 A sea of faces gazed down on me from the stands along the line, 
 
 Gloomy and silent they seemed to me awaiting the starter's time. 
 
 "Impatient the racers champed their bits with eyes extended wide. 
 
 And the veins lay out like whip cords along each racer's side; 
 
 They struck the turf with their dainty hoofs and sprung with anxious bound, 
 
 Their breasts bespattered with flakes of foam that flew from their lips around ; 
 
 Their breath came forth like puffs of steam that dart from a boiling pot, 
 
 And the ring inside each nostril shone like coals of fire, red hot. 
 
 "The word was given, each charger sprung like an arrow from its bow. 
 Or the flash of the sun through a rift in a cloud, that dazzles the eye with a glow; 
 But not to the track did my racer keep, but on through the entrance gate, 
 No pull on the bit checked my thoroughbred, she seemed to be following fate; 
 O'er fences, o'er ditches, with speed of the wind, helpless I look'd with a shiver. 
 As I saw we were nearing the rapids' mad whirl, one mile from the Falls up 
 the river. 
 
 "On, on to the bank, not a halt not a check, but one mighty bound, then a 
 
 plunge 
 That engulfed us, then whirled us high up on its crest, where we danced on 
 
 the waves like a sponge; 
 
 46 
 
And I noticed that Lucy Lightfoot ne'er sank in the waters deep, 
 But ran with ease o'er the foaming mass that lashed her nimble feet: 
 Shouts rang out from wondering crowds that lined the grass)^ shore, 
 They even drowned the thunder tones of old Niagara's roar. 
 
 
 ^^\\ 
 
 .;iVt 
 
 "Ten thousand hands seemed beckoning me, to pull for the solid bank; 
 I tried till my veins seemed bursting, then back in my saddle sank. 
 Nearer we flew to the brink of death! nearer the yawning pit! 
 Nearer the gulf that sends its spray! high up where the rainbows flit! 
 I braced myself for the mighty leap, and raised my eyes on high 
 To take one last, long, lingering look at the beautiful sun and sky. 
 
 "Then, lo! before my trembling eyes my mother's form I see, 
 With outstretched arms and smiling face, she says, 'I've come for thee!' 
 And as we drop o'er the boiling brink, and the flash of the torrent's gleam, 
 She cries: 'Hold fast! holdfast, my boy!' and it woke me up from my dream. 
 
 Thoughtful faces gazed at Joe as he finished and turned away. 
 
 And they, whispering, said he was "off" last night — "he is wrong in his head 
 
 to-day;" 
 But when they received a message that his mother was also dead — 
 Had died on the morn of September seventh at four o'clock it said, — 
 They speechless stood in wonder, for Joe at that time had seen 
 His mother's face as he took the leap, and woke from his terrible dream. 
 
 47 
 
ONLY A HORSE. 
 
 'Twas only a horse — worn, weary, and old; 
 
 Worked early and late, through the heat and the cold, 
 
 'Twas only a horse, and a wreck, too, at that — 
 
 No grooming or care for this broken down hack ! 
 
 Scant was his feed, not a straw for his bed. 
 
 He had hauled the old coal-wagon ten years they said. 
 
 When they bought him he certainly must have been ten, 
 
 So now he was twenty; they called him Old Ben. 
 
 A more faithful creature ne'er pulled at a tug 
 
 Than the once handsome horse that they now styled a plug; 
 
 Tho' scrawny and rough, not a blemish was there. 
 
 And his eye and his coat told his breeding was rare. 
 
 Black as a raven except in one place — 
 
 A peculiar white mark that he had in his face. 
 
 Shaped like a half moon, and clear, snowy white, 
 
 On his black forehead shone like a bright beacon light. 
 
 Roll back, old times! Wheel about ten years or so! 
 And down to the city of Troy let us go. 
 A lady drives up to an elegant place 
 With a stylish black horse — that white mark in his face. 
 She alights from the carriage and says with a smile, 
 "Now Clay, my fine fellow, stand quiet awhile;" 
 And patting his beautiful arched neck and head. 
 His eyes seem to tell that he knew what she said. 
 
 No tie strap; no check; on his bridle no blind, — 
 Handsome and powerful, yet gentle and kind. 
 From the tip of his ears to the plates on his feet 
 Every curve was perfection, each part was complete; 
 And many an envious eye turned that way 
 To gaze on this beautiful horse they called Clay, 
 From an alley adjoining, a stranger steps out, 
 Casts a look at the horse and surroundings about, 
 
 48 
 
Steps into the carriage, takes the reins of the blaclc, 
 And is whirled swift away o'er the stony paved track. 
 I will not stop to speak of the grief and dismay 
 When they found that their pet had been stolen away — 
 That, too, in daylight; and not a soul knew 
 Or had noticed his going — not even a clue; 
 And search as they might, no trace could be found. 
 No more than as tho' he had dropped in the ground. 
 
 Rewards large were offered, but day followed day 
 
 And nothing was heard from the stolen horse Clay. 
 
 In a stable scarce fifty rods back of the place 
 
 Where this black horse was owned with the mark in his face. 
 
 Two men were busy working, and one is the chap 
 
 We saw drive away at his ease with the black. 
 
 They'd clipped him and trimmed him 'till no one could say 
 
 That there stood the horse they had stolen away. 
 
 The white mark was gone — the tail was banged off — 
 
 And the carriage, re-painted, stood up in the loft; 
 
 The harness re-trimmed, — check and blinds on the bridle, — 
 
 Those horse thieves were experts and hadn't been idle! 
 
 Had the owner inspected he never would say 
 
 That there was his turn-out or pet black horse. Clay. 
 
 From the time he'd been stolen, in less than a week, 
 
 The whole rig had passed its old home on the street. 
 
 A man from the West saw and bought him one day — 
 
 Said he'd got a close match, and he took him away. 
 
 He was shipped up to Cleveland, came down with a cold. 
 
 Epizootic set in, and again he was sold — 
 
 And sold for a trifle, was worthless they thought; 
 
 And at last by Old Peters, the coal man, was bought. 
 
 Jaded and poor, he had hauled heavy loads 
 In all kinds of weather and all kmds of roads; 
 And all kinds of drivers and brutes they style men 
 Had abused the horse Clay, that Old Peters called Ben. 
 On his face the white mark shone as plain as the day 
 When the horse thief had stolen and driven him away. 
 
 'Twas along in December — mud and ice on the road 
 Made it hard for a horse to haul much of a load; 
 And Ben, smoothly shod, slipped and sprawled on the street. 
 With the heavy coal wagon could scarce keep his feet. 
 
 49 
 
And the brute of a driver each time Ben would slip 
 
 Would jerk him and give him a cut with the whip, 
 
 And at last he had fallen. On the pavement there lay 
 
 The once proud and handsome black horse they called Clay! 
 
 A crowd stood around while the driver would pound 
 
 And kick the poor horse as he lay on the ground. 
 
 A gentleman riding along by the place 
 
 Got a glimpse of that mark on the old horse's face; 
 
 He springs from the carriage, through the crowd makes his way, 
 
 Stands and looks at the horse, then speaks the word Clay. 
 
 With a whinnow the horse struggles hard to arise, 
 
 And looks at the man with sad, staring eyes; 
 
 But the thills hold him down, and, try as he might, 
 
 He lay helpless and pinioned down closely and tight. 
 
 The half-drunken driver, with curse on his lip. 
 Again with an oath raised his cruel cart whip. 
 But ere the lash fell on the side of poor Clay, 
 The brute was knocked down and quite peaceably lay. 
 The horse was released of its harness and load. 
 And without strap or bridle stood there in the road. 
 
 A policeman appears through the opening crowd, 
 
 Demands what's the trouble, in accents quite loud. 
 
 The stranger says: "Sir, this old horse you see. 
 
 Some ten years ago was stolen from me. 
 
 Rewards I have offered, and searched far and near, 
 
 No clew could I get until found him here 
 
 Stretched out on the ground, with that brute, called a man. 
 
 Clubbing an old horse unable to stand. 
 
 I knocked him down, sir, would do it again! 
 
 I'm known in your city, and there is my name; 
 
 Please find out the man that claims this horse his own — 
 
 The proof that he's mine of course must be shown. 
 
 At the Tremont you'll find me; I'll wait there for you — 
 
 All damage I'll settle when this business is through." 
 
 With great sad eyes staring, Clay tremblingly stood, 
 
 As every word uttered he well understood. 
 
 The stranger would pat him and call him by name — 
 
 That the horse knew his master to all was quite plain. 
 
 Then he says to the horse, "Come, old fellow, this way!" 
 
 And without strap or halter, is followed by Clay. 
 
 50 
 
Along up the street all the boys and the men 
 Gaze first at the stranger and then at Old Ben ; 
 For all knew the black with the mark in his face 
 That for years hauled the coal-wagon there in the place. 
 But what can that fine-looking gentleman want 
 With a horse like Old Ben — poor, played-out, and gaunt? 
 And they wondering stand, and it's queer they all say 
 That Old Ben, like a circus horse, follows that way. 
 
 At the large boarding stable of Brown they pass in. 
 
 Old Ben in the doorway stands haggard and thin, 
 
 While the stranger tells Brown and the grooms in the barn 
 
 The history of Clay and explains the whole yarn. 
 
 "Now," he says, "a box stall, clean straw — and knee deep; 
 
 Rub him down to the buff; give him plenty to eat; 
 
 Get a blanket that's soft — the best can be found. 
 
 I shall be here, perhaps, for a week in your town. 
 
 Then I'll take him to Troy, and with me he shall stay. 
 
 I have owned many horses, but none like Old Clay ! 
 
 Just look at his eye, so wistful and mild — 
 
 Why, my wife thought as much of that horse as a child ! 
 
 Although he's been gone for so many long years 
 
 She could ne'er hear his name but her eyes were in tears. 
 
 She'd drove him so much and he seemed to just know 
 
 Every word that she spoke and just where to go. 
 
 And tho' he don't look like the same horse to-day. 
 
 When she speaks he'll know her, and you bet she'll know Clay. 
 
 A week had passed by, and Ben was brought out: 
 
 Like a new horse he seemed, starting off on his route. 
 
 And the next year I saw him in front of the door, 
 
 And the lady was there that we saw there before; 
 
 And she patted the black, glossy neck of Old Clay 
 
 The same as the day he was stolen away. 
 
 His eye was bright, and his limbs were as clean — 
 
 No finer-styled horse in that city was seen; 
 
 And I thought to myself, which one had the soul : 
 
 The brute with the whip, or the horse drawing the coal ? 
 
 51 
 
HICKORY JIM. 
 
 He was called old Dan by all the boys, and a good groom too was he, 
 He worked awhile in the stable for Case, the owner of Jay-Eye-See; 
 He had trained with horses all his life, his home was the stable and track, 
 And the story he told I'll tell to you, and he vowed every word was a fact. 
 
 Says Dan: "In eighteen seventy-four, as I was roving around, 
 
 I got a job in a hotel barn, in a little western town; 
 
 And there I met old Pete McCoy, a driver of local fame, 
 
 Who never sold out or put up a job, but was square at any game. 
 
 "In his stable he had a five-year-old, and he called him Hickory Jim, 
 Black, with four white feet and a strip, and perfect in form and limb : 
 Pete bought him when a yearling, on a Blue Grass farm down South, 
 When asked how much the colt had cost, Pete smiled but shut his mouth. 
 
 "Well, he fondled and broke and trained that colt, and would sit for hours and 
 
 stare. 
 At his sinewy limbs, his fine cut head, his form and glossy hair; 
 And the colt appeared to like old Pete as well as Pete liked him. 
 And as true as you live there was love between old Pete and Hickory Jim. 
 
 "As a three-year-old he won with ease, a race at the county fair, 
 And at four he was sent in the free-for-all, and won with time to spare; 
 The story got out of the wonderful colt that could trot in twenty-six 
 And fabulous prices were offered Pete, but he always answered 'nix.' 
 
 "Pete had a man working for him, that came from no one knew where. 
 He seemed to know how to handle a horse, and give him the best of care; 
 He often told me of a colt he knew, that for shape and color and limb, 
 With white feet and strip, all but his gait, was the image of Hickory Jim. 
 
 "Old Pete McCoy was taken sick, with a fever, and got so low, 
 
 That the doctors gave him up — we all thought old Pete must go; 
 
 The care of the colt fell on Sam White, the stranger that worked for Pete, 
 
 And he tended well to Hickory Jim, and kept things snug and neat. 
 
 52 
 
*'My stable was twenty rods from Pete's, on the corner across the way, 
 
 And I used to run over and see the colt, with horsemen most every day; 
 
 Old Pete began to slowly improve, the fever had turned with him, 
 
 But he was out of his head, and mumbl'd and talked all the time of Hickory Jim. 
 
 "One morning the people were shocked to hear that Hickory Jim was dead— 
 The colt was all right the night before, so Sam at the stable had said; 
 It seemed he didn't struggle at all, for his blanket was on all right. 
 And Sam had slept in the stable, but heard no noise all night. 
 
 "The town seemed crazed about that colt, for they all felt a pride in him. 
 And they, swarmed around, with tears in their eyes, for a last look at Hickory 
 
 Jim; 
 The doctors forbade us to tell Pete McCoy, and of course it could do him no 
 
 good. 
 So we buried the colt that night in the ground, very near where the stable stood. 
 
 "Sam White soon afterward left the town, and went, no one knew where; 
 And when Pete was told of the death of his colt he listened in blank despair. 
 It almost broke the old man's heart, I could see that plain as day. 
 And it pained me to notice so game a man pan out that kind of way. 
 
 "I finally got sick of the place and left, and traveled here and there, 
 
 And at last brought up in a Kansas town — they were holding a county fair; 
 
 E.xcitement ran up to fever heat, in the pools in the sweepstake trot. 
 
 And they wagered odds you couldn't name, on the nags that would scoop the pot. 
 
 "I got a seat in the stand with the crowd, and at last we heard the call 
 To bring out the steeds for the closing trot — there were four in the free-for-all; 
 Soon three of the horses were jogging around, and warming up for the race. 
 When a sight I saw that drove me wild, as the fourth horse took his place. 
 
 "Before my eyes, as sure as fate, and Sam White driving him. 
 Came the gamy head and well-known form of the dead colt, Hickory Jim! 
 He moved with long and graceful stride, and I heard the people say, 
 *Look out for that California horse, his name is Strideaway!' 
 
 "I was speechless, dumb with wonder, but soon I solved the trick, 
 How Sam had changed those colts so nice, when Pete McCoy was sick, 
 'Mid deafening cheers the colt soon won, they were taking him away — 
 A stranger in that Western town, what could I do or say ? 
 
 53 
 
" From Sam White I steered clear; he was a deep one, that was plain, 
 
 But I vowed I'd take the black colt back to Pete McCoy again. 
 
 To the Sheriff of the county — I straightway went for him 
 
 And told the entire story through of the black colt. Hickory Jim. 
 
 "He proved to be of the real stuff, with a kind heart, game and true; 
 I convinced him that I told the truth — he vowed he'd see me throuffh 
 The next morning bright and early, with documents all right, 
 We strolled down, to the stable to see my friend, Sam White. 
 
 "The Sheriff stood beside the door, while I went slowly in — 
 Sam White, surrounded by a crowd, was showing Hickory Jim; 
 His eye fell on me and he quailed, but not a word did say. 
 Says I: 'Sam, old McCoy would smile, could he see Strideaway!' 
 
 "With pallid face he tried to speak, but his nerve seemed to leave him 
 As the Sheriff said, 'I've papers here for you and Hickory Jim!' 
 Suffice to say, he owned the 'corn,' how he, with another chap. 
 Purchased the colt that looked like Pete's, and successfully sprung the trap. 
 
 "And then with a deadly poison, and the devil a-helping him 
 He'd taken the life of the beautiful colt — a perfect image of Jim; 
 Sam was put into the cooler, but his partner we couldn't find. 
 He'd someway smelled a mouse and skipped, leaving his pard behind. 
 
 "The best part of the story yet remains to be told. 
 
 And the happy face of Pete McCoy paid me far more than gold. 
 
 I remember well the morning when I took from off the train 
 
 The white face colt; not one in town had heard a word, 'twas plain. 
 
 "The hood and blanket covered him, and the name of Strideaway 
 Appeared in letters finely worked, for which Sam White did pay. 
 At the depot friends surrounded us, and many questions asked, 
 Did Strideaway belong to me? and, was he very fast? 
 
 "His legs were bandaged to the knees — no person viewing him 
 Could tell the nag as he was rigged, that this was Hickory Jim; 
 I led him slowly down the street, and laughed out in my joy, 
 As I saw upon the hotel stoop the face of Pete McCoy. 
 
 "I noticed he looked pale and worr, and I kept my eye on him 
 As I saw him coming down the steps towards me and Hickory Jim; 
 I stopped and stood before the colt, as Pete stuck out his hand, 
 'I'm glad to see you back,' said he,; 'What have you got here, Dan?' 
 
 54 
 
"And as he spoke, the colt turned quick, and whinnied out for joy- 
 Pete did not recognize the nag, but the colt knew Pete McCoy. 
 I stripped the hood and blanket, and bandages from him ; 
 Aghast with wonder stood old Pete, and gazed at Hickory Jim. 
 
 "Amazing wonder filled the crowd, and poor old Pete went wild, 
 He hugged and kissed me and the colt, and wept just like a child. 
 I traveled after that with Pete, and raked in lots of tin, 
 But the happiest day to me was when I brought back Hickory Jim. 
 
 55 
 
PEDIGREES. 
 
 The stock farms are booming, 
 
 The stable boys grooming, 
 The new silken coats on the trotters crop out, 
 
 The horses are neighing, 
 
 The frisky colts playing 
 The spring is just throwing her bouquets about. 
 
 The horse kings are praising. 
 
 The stock they are raising. 
 They tell you each strain is the best in the land ; 
 
 And of course you agree. 
 
 All the points you can see 
 But how each is best you can't understand. 
 
 When you leave the great stable 
 
 You're smart if you're able 
 To step back and give one correct pedigree, 
 
 For the dams on the sire's side 
 
 And the sires on the dam's side 
 Are mixed so you can't tell one dam that you see. 
 
 56 
 
ELDER JONES' CHESTNUT MARE. 
 
 Never before in Danville had excitement run as high 
 
 As it did at the Gentlemen's Driving Park, on the Fourth of last July; 
 
 Shouts went up and hats came off, and were thrown high in the air, 
 
 As Elder Jones of the M. E. Church won the race with his chestnut mare. 
 
 Now, Elder Jones was a minister, and a gentleman every way, 
 
 But he liked a horse, and a good one, too, and could drive as well as pray; 
 
 The people of Danville knew full well, and the deacons were well aware, 
 
 That the Elder was proud of the style and speed of his handsome chestnut mare. 
 
 They also knew he enjoyed the sport, for his honest, smiling face 
 Was often seen at the driving park, when a trot was taking place; 
 "But that he should allow his mare to go in a race," the deacons said, 
 "And worst of all to drive himself — he was plainly out of his head." 
 
 Now this is the way it was brought about, that the Elder allowed his mare, 
 
 To trot for the hundred dollar purse, in the green race at the fair: 
 
 Ned Wilson, a well known horseman, was confident she could win, 
 
 And persuaded the Elder to let him take the mare and put her in. 
 
 The Elder had broken the mare himself, no other one to that time 
 
 Had handled the little chestnut mare, or over her drawn a line; 
 
 And when the call for the green race came, there were five that came to the stand — 
 
 It was plain to be seen that the Elder's mare wasn't used to Ned Wilson's hand. 
 
 She would show a beautiful burst of speed, then break and run and pace, 
 
 And 'twas dollars to cents that the little mare couldn't get a place in the race. 
 
 The Elder seemed getting nervous, as he watched Ned Wilson drive. 
 
 Two heats were already trotted out, his mare the last of the five; 
 
 When the call was made for the third heat, you should have seen the people stare. 
 
 As the Elder nimbly sprang on the seat, behind his chestnut mare. 
 
 From the moment he touched the ribbons, she seemed to just know her place, 
 
 And when and where to let out a link, without a skip or a pace. 
 
 And the little mare won three straight heats, in the finest kind of style. 
 
 While over the face of Elder Jones, came the happiest kind of a smile. 
 
 And then it was that the shouts went up and hats flew in the air. 
 
 As Elder Jones, of the M. E. Church, won the race with his chestnut mare. 
 
 57 
 
But you should have seen the wrinkles and scowls of the long-faced, solemn set, 
 
 That were horrified at the Elder's course, and in secret session met; 
 
 Sides were taken for and against, and the members could not agree, 
 
 And the other churches they took it up, as well as the old M. E. 
 
 It was give and take with the brothers, there was shaking among the bones, 
 
 But the same good natured smile still clung to the face of Elder Jones; 
 
 And when it was learned that the Elder, in his modest, quiet way, ' 
 
 Had scattered his prize 'mong the needy poor, there wasn't so much to say. 
 
 And when next Sabbath morning dawned, and the church bell's pealing tones 
 
 Proclaimed the hour of worship near to the different Danville homes, 
 
 'Twas strange how the people seemed to flock to the M. E. Church that day. 
 
 There wasn't a vacant pew to be found when the Elder rose to pray; 
 
 And the sermon he preached was a clinker — he touched on church socials and plays, 
 
 On lotteries and grab-bag amusements, that churches allow now-a-days. 
 
 And he said some believed they were hurtful, others believed they were right, 
 
 Some liked the beautiful sunshine, others the gloom of the night; 
 
 To him the world was a beautiful place, he loved its amusements and mirth. 
 
 And any enjoyments unfettered by sin were blessings to us upon earth. 
 
 And he spoke in that easy, pleasant way, in such earnest, honest tones. 
 
 That he won their hearts, and from that day they have sworn by Elder Jones, 
 
 Even the long-faced, doleful crew, that never seemed pleased before, 
 
 Have each been seen with a smiling face, as they opened the old church door. 
 
 They have learned that religion don't bar a man from pleasant and innocent mirth. 
 
 And I think some believe that a man can be good, and even have fun upon earth ; 
 
 And so in the village of Danville a change has taken place. 
 
 They have found the Elder no hypocrite, and they like his honest face; 
 
 And old and young greet him with a smile, as oft' in the morning air, 
 
 Elder Jones of the M. E. Church "flies" past with his chestnut mare. 
 
 58 
 
THE WAY IKE WON GRAY EAGLE. 
 
 'Twas Christmas Eve! We all drew up around Ike's blazing fire; 
 The snow was falling fast outside, the drifts were mounting higher; 
 Our nags stood in the stable warm, with plenty of oats and hay, 
 They'd hauled us down ten miles an hour before our four-horse sleigh. 
 We started on a sleigh-ride, and to see our old friend Ike, 
 Who kept a slashing good hotel ten miles out on the pike. 
 
 Well, talk about your suppers, we had no bill of fare. 
 
 But the baked pig and the turkeys, and the good things all were there; 
 
 And the great big open fireplace, where all could see the blaze. 
 
 As it flashed and crept around the wood, brought back our boyhood days: 
 
 And we laughed, and smoked, and chatted — us "old timers" in a row, 
 
 Each must treat or tell a story, for 'twas Christmas Eve, you know. 
 
 When it came to Ike, the landlord, — for we all knew him of old — 
 
 He could not get out by treating, but a story must be told. 
 
 Ike had been a noted horseman, well acquainted far and near. 
 
 Owned and drove a heap of trotters — he could tell us something queer; 
 
 So we all just took a "hot scotch," drew our chairs around old Ike, 
 
 And I'll tell to you the story he told us that stormy night. 
 
 "Well," says Ike, "in eighteen-seventy, Boston was a lively place. 
 And a good share of the masses liked to see a good horse race; 
 It was there I kept a stable, bought and sold and traded some. 
 Now and then brought out a flyer that could give the boys some fun; 
 Every week would see us driving some new stepper 'round the course. 
 And we'd tackle one another — whoop 'er up 'till we were hoarse! 
 
 "One day I drove a new one I had caught onto extra cheap. 
 And I found out for a green one she was quite a mare to beat; 
 And I tackled Charley Saunders coming down the road that night — 
 He was out behind Gray Eagle, and I held him mighty tight; 
 He was quite a sport and wealthy, but conceited, bragging, rude, 
 Overbearing, mean and snobbish — just like any high-toned dude! 
 
 59 
 
"And my little bay mare riled him — when up town that night we met 
 He kept blowing, 'til in anger I just nailed him on his bet; 
 Down he laid one thousand dollars, said he'd go it two to one — 
 Dared me stick up my five hundred, said he'd distance me for fun. 
 Well, we both put up our 'duckets' — play or pay, no backing there ! 
 I knew his horse Gray Eagle, but he didn't know my mare. 
 
 "Charley's horse could beat two-forty, trot in thirty-eight or so, 
 
 And I thought my little green one soon would drop a notch below; 
 
 Four weeks' time I'd have to train her, ere the day we set to meet. 
 
 At the track there'd be a large crowd, for 'twas Boston's great race week. 
 
 Well, I trained and drove that bay mare until I disgusted got, 
 
 And I found that just two-forty was for her a little hot! 
 
 "And the more I trained and drove her, worse and worse the mare would 
 
 trot. 
 And I came to the conclusion that I'd have to lose the pot. 
 Well, I felt confounded sheepish; not so much the money, though, 
 As to have the dudish Charley spread himself and croak and blow; 
 So I thought I'd try and manage just before our race, some trick. 
 And would fix my mare in some way so they'd all believe her sick. 
 
 "But, of course, I'd lose my money; it was play or pay you know. 
 
 But I'd one satisfaction— he could not so loudly crow. 
 
 Just ten days before our trial I received a line to come 
 
 Down to Fashion Course, Long Island, in a race to drive Tyrone; 
 
 I had sold him just before this, and I knew him to a tee. 
 
 But I'd promised them to drive him in a race against Dundee. 
 
 "Well, I won my race with Tyrone, then concluded I would stay, 
 As my old friend, Sam McLaughlin, said there'd be some fun next day. 
 'Yes,' said Sam, 'I've got a daisy little bay mare, something new,' 
 That he'd bought down in the country where the orange blossoms grew; 
 And he wanted me to see her; there was four a-going to trot, 
 And they all were mighty speedy, so the race would be red hot. 
 
 "Well, next day I sat a'chatting in the stand with Billy Mack, 
 When the quartette of contestants went a'jogging up the track ; 
 And I rubbed my eyes in wonder, for before me, I declare, 
 Sam was sitting on his sulky up behind my little mare! 
 But the sight just knocked me silly, for I knew it couldn't be. 
 But the shape, the style, the action, color too, was there to see. 
 
 60 
 
"And my little mare's white ankles, and the star, and little snip — 
 
 All were just alike, excepting Sam's mare struck a faster clip! 
 
 I never said a word, but just sat and watched the race clear through, 
 
 But something popped into my head that woke me up anew; 
 
 The mate won neat and handy — trotted out in twenty-eight. 
 
 And that night Sam heard the story of my thousand dollar stake. 
 
 "And I started back for Boston, knowing Sam would soon be there 
 With a pocket full of greenbacks and his little snip-nosed mare; 
 And soon inside my box-stall stood Sam's mare instead of mine, 
 y\nd not a soul had smelt the mouse — we worked the racket fine! 
 And when I exercised her out, each day before the race, 
 No one supposed another horse was in my bay mare's place. 
 
 "Quite soon a little thing leaked out that tickled me somewhat, 
 Charles had some of his spies around to see my bay mare trot; 
 They'd caught the time upon her, and I was a slaughtered lamb! 
 But, mind you, that was just before I'd traded nags with Sam. 
 Well, when the day came for our race the weather it was fair. 
 The stands were packed and crowded — all Boston seemed out there. 
 
 "And Charley with his four-in-hand and tally-ho drove in. 
 He'd brought some bon-ton lady friends to see Gray Eagle win. 
 Our race was first upon the card, the pool-seller McGill 
 Was rattling out the tickets fast — they were going off to kill; 
 And Sam had fixed it with McGill so no one there could know 
 Who bought the tickets on the mare that went so very low. 
 
 "Gray Eagle sold for three to one, they bought him quick at that. 
 
 And Sam dumped in his pile and mine — our pocket-books were flat! 
 
 For every dollar that we had or I could raise was there, 
 
 Safely hidden in the pool-box on the little snip-nosed mare. 
 
 (jray Eagle drew the inside, and they sent us the first time; 
 
 1 held the mare back well in hand, they let Gray Eagle climb! 
 
 6i 
 
"I let him have the first heat, which he took in tliirty-eight, 
 
 And Charley there was ready with any odds to stake ; 
 
 But my last dollar was up there, I couldn't go no more, 
 
 When Chrarley then came blowing 'round, why, I had run ashore! 
 
 But I didn't let him know it, and he thought I was afraid. 
 
 " 'I'll wager you Gray Eagle against your little mare, 
 She'll not take one heat in the race, now chance me if you dare!' 
 The boys were all a-standing 'round, we shook hands on the bet. 
 And I knew I owned (Iray Eagle, dude Charley's dapple pet; 
 We scored up for the second heat, and off, away we went! 
 This heat I didn't hold her back — the little mare I sent! 
 
 " I passed him on the quarter, and so easy took the pole 
 
 That the driver of Gray Eagle must have thought he saw a hole; 
 
 For he lost his head entirely, and drove Eagle to a break, 
 
 And then I went to shut him out right then and take the cake! 
 
 The mare went like a whirlwind, without a skip or fag. 
 
 And the shouts were almost deafening when Gray Eagle got the flag! 
 
 "I'll not take time to tell you all the things that happened there, 
 As the people flocked around to view that little snip-nosed mare; 
 And Charley, well, he braved it out, but didn't smile so grand. 
 And didn't sit up so straight behind his four-in-hand. 
 That night the little mares were changed, and never to this day 
 Have I ever heard a word but what they thought it all fair play. 
 
 "But the biggest joke of all was, when Charley came around 
 
 And said, 'Well, Ike, you've coopered me! I acknowledge I am downed! 
 
 I'll send you 'round Gray Eagle, you won him fair and square, 
 
 Or put your price upon him and that little snip-nosed mare; 
 
 It's not the worth of Eagle that I care for, don't you know. 
 
 But he suits me for a driver, and I hate to let him go. 
 
 " 'And the mare — well, I've a notion that I'd like to own her, too; 
 Now put your price upon the pair, just tell me what you'll do.' 
 Well, don't you see it placed me in a mighty ticklish place, 
 I had won from him Gray Eagle, but not by an honest race; 
 And here he'd come again, you see, so openly and fair, 
 To have swindled him again with that little snip-nosed mare, 
 
 62 
 
My conscience rather troubled me, but I knew that he was rich, 
 And if he'd won that race for me he'd had me in the ditch; 
 Another thing, from first to last he'd forced the bets on me, 
 That put it in a different light and eased me up, you see. 
 Suffice to say, I sold the pair, at right good figures, too, 
 Altho' I knew he'd pay me more, I ihought the price would do. 
 
 "And when his trainer drove and found the best that she could do 
 
 Was to show a clip in forty, why, I guess he thought so too! 
 
 I never saw him after that but what he passed me by 
 
 With a puzzled look upon his face and queer leer in his eye. 
 
 Sam and I made (juite a stake; it feathered up my nest, 
 
 I soon sold out in Boston and emigrated West. 
 
 "I've owned a heap of trotters since, and drove and bought and sold, 
 But I've got through and settled down — found I was growing old; 
 But the meanest trick I ever played, I solemnly declare. 
 Was the way I swindled Charley with that little snip-nosed mare." 
 
 63 
 
THE OLD SPORTSMAN'S LAST NEW YEAR. 
 
 "He that to the poor dumb brute is kind 
 Has a tender heart for all mankind." 
 
 By the window, propped up in his old rocking chair. 
 
 Where the golden sunbeams fell upon his grey hair, 
 
 In the land of sweet flowers, where the orange trees grow, 
 
 And fragrance is wafted wherever you go; 
 
 Where summer and winter in harmony blend, 
 
 And the soft touch of nature seems never to end; 
 
 'Twas there that on New Year old Robert McNair 
 
 Sat gazing, propped up in his old rocking chair. 
 
 His eyes wander over his beautiful land, 
 With evergreen hedges and old trees so grand — 
 The stables, the orchard, the pebbly brook, 
 Running winding around in a serpentine crook. 
 He sees the boys leading his thoroughbreds out. 
 And watches the beauties go prancing about. 
 It's a happy new year to many that 're there, 
 But the last one on earth to old Robert McNair. 
 
 He sends for his grooms and his old Jockey Jake, 
 
 Who has saddled the winner in many a stake, 
 
 And time after time has he headed the field. 
 
 When a less steady hand would have caused him to yield- 
 
 With heart never daunted, and head cool and clear, 
 
 He was known as " McNair's Lucky Star," far and near; 
 
 And it's "Little Old Jake" that now stands by the chair 
 
 His hand clasped in that of old Robert McNair. 
 
 With voice that's unsteady, and trembling lip. 
 
 He says, "Jake, I'm going alone on this trip — 
 
 We've traveled together o'er many a route. 
 
 And this is the first time you've been barred out; 
 
 I'm awaiting the signal up there on the track, 
 
 I shall start at the word, but shall never come back ; 
 
 But, Jake, I'll await for your coming up there, 
 
 And I hope you'll remember old Robert McNair. 
 
 64 
 
"In my will you will find I've rewarded the man 
 Who oft' struck the wire at the head of the van, 
 And snatched from defeat by daring and skill 
 Many a race, and my coffers helped fill. 
 The pride of the stable I now give to you, 
 But promise me this, that his racing is through ; 
 He has won me a fortune — I know you will care 
 For the favorite horse of old Robert McNair." 
 
 Sad and dejected the stable boys stand. 
 He calls each by name, and takes them by the hand. 
 And the words of advice and the warnings he gave 
 Will ne'er be' forgotten this side of the grave. 
 "There's a present for each — it's New Year," said he, 
 "Be kind to the horses and you'll reward me." 
 With tear-bedimmed faces they kneel 'round the chair 
 And take their farewell of old Robert McNair. 
 
 He calls to his children, a girl and a boy. 
 They're all he has left for his brief earthly joy. 
 He looks in their faces, so youthful and bright 
 And presses them both to his bosom so tight, 
 A tear courses down his pale, haggard cheek, 
 While his children stand sobbing, unable to speak. 
 He tells them their mother is waiting up there 
 To greet the New Year with old Robert McNair. 
 
 He pictures the future — what he wants them to do. 
 And above all the rest, to themselves to be true — 
 Altho' they'd have wealth, there's something more grand 
 To live for than barely gold, silver or land ; 
 "Remember your mother's last dying request, 
 Ere we carried her up on the the hill-side to rest — 
 That her children each evening should offer a prayer 
 For themselves, and their father, old Robert McNair." 
 
 His friends and old neighbors who'd known him for years. 
 
 In vain try to drive back the hot, scalding tears — 
 
 All knew him, all loved him, but nothing could stay 
 
 The cold hand of death that must take him away. 
 
 He whispers, "a form at the window I see — 
 
 'Tis your mother, my darlings, she's calling for me." 
 
 With a smile on his face, old Robert McNair 
 
 On New Year sat dead in his old rocking chair. 
 
 05 
 
WAITING FOR THE BELL. 
 
 "Backward, turn backward, oh time, in your flight." 
 These words seem to haunt me while thinking to-night 
 Of the drivers and horses who've passed from the track. 
 Through the gate that ne'er opens to let them come back. 
 Recollections come crowding so thick and so fast. 
 That I only can wonder and stand aghast. 
 
 Backward; ah, yes, as we ponder, and look 
 
 At the names that are crossed on memory's book. 
 
 We hear the bell ring, and the call from the stand; 
 
 We see the old faces that once took a hand ; 
 
 We hear the word "go!" as they sweep past the score, 
 
 We admire the old veteran's cool courage once more. 
 
 We remember it all, so vivid and plain. 
 
 That it seems we are having it over again. 
 
 But where are the forms, and where are the faces 
 
 We saw years ago at the grand circuit races ? 
 
 And where are the kings and the queens of the turf 
 
 That we deemed had no peers on the top of the earth ? 
 
 They've vanished, as well as the time that they made, 
 And their greatest achievements are knocked in the shade. 
 Not backward, but forward, old time's mighty wheel 
 Unperceived revolves, and new wonders reveals. 
 And soon it will take you and me from our place; 
 Just distance us both, and we're out of the race. 
 
 66 
 
THE RINGERS. 
 
 Yes, I've traveled with a ringer, 
 Slept and drank and ate my dinner 
 In a box car with a winner. 
 
 Going forty miles an hour; 
 And I've rubbed his quivering muscle 
 In between heats, in a tussle, 
 When he had to hump and hustle 
 
 And show all his speed and power. 
 
 But that ringer was a wonder. 
 They could never knock him under, 
 Unless some one made a blunder. 
 
 Or he might be "wrong," you know! 
 But when in a "fit" condition, 
 Let him draw any position, 
 He just seemed to know his mission 
 
 When the word was given, — "go!" 
 
 When I'd take my seat behind him, 
 I would know just where to find him. 
 And I never used to mind him. 
 
 If he scored a little rank; 
 For I knew he soon would settle, 
 Altho' full of game and mettle, 
 He would never chafe or nettle, 
 
 For he was no trotting crank! 
 
 Oh, the name he trotted under. 
 Well, he had quite a number, 
 And I often had to wonder 
 
 What we'd better call him next ! 
 Some times we'd dub him Hard Oaks, 
 Yes, some fellows thought him Small Hopes 
 Then, again we named him Tough Spokes, 
 
 And he answered well the text. 
 
 67 
 
One day we'd trot, then ship him, 
 Three hundred miles we'd slip him 
 Before again we'd strip him 
 
 As a green one for the race; 
 It makes me blush to say it, 
 It's a dirty way to play it. 
 But the tariff — we must pay it, 
 
 And put on an honest face. 
 
 But at last, out West we got it. 
 When two Blue Bulls like a rocket 
 Run and paced us in the pocket, 
 
 While the judges blandly smile; 
 To our claim of foul, they, winking. 
 Say according to their thinking, 
 I'm a crank, or been a drinking. 
 
 Or I'm playing eastern "style!" 
 
 But away once more we're going, 
 And the gang I think I'm showing 
 That they'll have a chance of blowing 
 
 Ere they head me in the race; 
 But I see a Blue Bull coming. 
 He's not trotting, neither running, 
 But with stride terrific, stunning, 
 
 That side-wheeler takes my place. 
 
 But the crowd all swear he's trotting. 
 And my protest goes for nothing. 
 All I get is hoots and scoffing, 
 
 While I ask for justice there; 
 But the judges with a glimmer. 
 Say you pesky New York sinner, 
 That Blue Bull has beat your ringer, 
 
 And he trotted fair and square. 
 
 Well, we thought we'd do no squealing 
 As our business, close to stealing. 
 Kinder soothed us in our feeling. 
 
 And we shipped for home that day; 
 But that Indiana stinger. 
 Was the first and last dust slinger. 
 That played havoc with our ringer. 
 
 That is all I have to say. 
 68 
 
THE HORSE. 
 
 He who sees no beauty in the horse, 
 
 Nor ne'er admires his speed upon the course, 
 
 Is doomed to only see life's shady side, 
 
 And always should behind a donkey ride. 
 
 Who with a soul can look with dormant eye 
 
 And view the trotting wonders as they fly, 
 
 Or see the mettled racers near the wire 
 
 With outstretched necks and eyes of flaming fire, 
 
 Without a tingel from his very toes, 
 
 To see which one first shoves in front his nose ? 
 
 If such there be, why, all I've got to say, 
 
 I thank my stars I wasn't made that way! 
 
 Perfection in either man or beast 
 
 Is rarely found, I think, to say the least; 
 
 Say what you may, we kneel at beauty's shrine 
 
 And humbly bow before a form divine. 
 
 But more admired than beauty is the steed 
 
 That shows the staying qualities and speed — 
 
 Endurance, muscle, speed and stamina. 
 
 Give us the far-famed winners of the day! 
 
 The calling of John L. we may despise. 
 
 Yet on his perfect make-up feast our eyes. 
 
 The horse endowed by nature for the race 
 
 Was not intended for a snailing pace. 
 
 The draught horse, trotter, runner, each we find 
 
 Peculiarly constructed for his kind. 
 
 The All-Wise Power has so arranged the plan 
 
 That He can suit most any kind of man. 
 
 So he whose taste admits of nothing fast. 
 
 Can have his ride behind a slow jack-ass. 
 
 69 
 
THE RACE OF TIME. 
 
 The flyers have come and gone again, 
 
 Down through the eastern line, 
 And Buffalo bids good-bye to the boys 
 
 And trotters of eighty-nine; 
 But when the bell of ninety shall ring 
 
 To call them again to the score, 
 Many an old familiar face 
 
 Will be missed that we'll see no more. 
 
 Time, with sickle and tireless stride. 
 
 Wins every race at last, 
 And passes them all on the old home stretch. 
 
 No matter how gamey or fast; 
 The eye grows dim, the wrinkles creep 
 
 O'er the face ere we seem to know. 
 That time has been lashing us year by year 
 
 And marking us every blow. 
 
 But furrows and seams and lines of care. 
 
 With a twinge in the knee and back, 
 At last, just whisper it low to us. 
 
 You're getting too old for the track ; 
 'Age is nothing — it's blood that tells " — 
 
 Joe Mason, the veteran said. 
 And he drove King William and won the race, 
 
 But he sat on his sulky, dead. 
 
 A wonderful race is this race for life. 
 
 Some seem to be stayers and last, 
 While others break down at the head of the stretch 
 
 By rushing the quarters too fast; 
 Go steady, young man, go steady, 
 
 And the record you still may lower. 
 But let it be said you were fair and square 
 
 When your race for life is o'er. 
 
 70 
 
HOW UNCLE ZEKE'S ROAN WON THE RACE. 
 
 You wouldn't believe it if I'd tell you 
 
 That Uncle Zeke's roan that he drives, 
 Just scooped all the nags from the city, 
 
 And won at the fair the big prize. 
 You know Uncle Zeke always told us 
 
 The roan could scarcely slow go. 
 But I always thought he was a'foolin', 
 
 Although Zeke ain't much on the blow! 
 
 He came in the house in the morning. 
 
 Said he, "I don't know as I care, 
 If Sally will tog up the young 'uns, 
 
 I guess we'll drive down to the fair." 
 When we went to get into the wagon 
 
 We seen the road-cart hitched behind, 
 And the new single harness chucked into — 
 
 Never used it but two or three times. 
 
 Aunt Sally said: "Zeke, what on 'airth 
 
 Are you going to do with them 'air ?" 
 He laughed as he said, "Put you in the cart, 
 
 And let you ride round at the fair!" 
 'Twas only two miles to the fair ground — 
 
 The roan was hitched up with old Fan; 
 Now she's an old peeler, I tell you. 
 
 And they made a rip-snortin' good span. 
 
 71 
 
Uncle Zeke did'nt drive in the fair ground, 
 
 But stopped and hitched out by the fence, 
 Then took us all through to the great big stand. 
 
 And I seen him pay seventy cents. 
 By and by I looked round and Zeke wasn't there 
 
 And a man called the three-minute trot; 
 Then they had a colt race, and a 'forty race, too, — 
 
 They kept things agoin' right hot. 
 
 Then they said the big trot with them fast city nags 
 
 Was the next and the last race that we'd see; 
 Aunt Sally said, "Joe, what on airth do you think, 
 
 Your Uncle Zeke's hiding from me ?" 
 Just then three new horses came up to the stand 
 
 With leathers strapped on to their feet, 
 And the drivers had caps, all red, white and blue. 
 
 And their sulkies looked wonderful neat. 
 
 'Bout then my Aunt Sally punched me in the ribs — 
 
 She was taken back so she couldn't speak; 
 But finally said, "Joe, for heaven's sake, look, 
 
 There's the roan boss and your Uncle Zeke!' 
 An' sure 'nuff, there on the road-cart he sat. 
 
 His stomach stuck out mighty full. 
 For Zeke weighed two hundred and ten or fifteen. 
 
 And he looked like a big bag of wool! 
 
 Aunt Sally and I both felt kind o 'shamed. 
 
 For the crowd was all hootin' at Zeke. 
 They cried, "Go in, fatty!" but Zeke didn't care. 
 
 For he laughed all the time in his seat. 
 Then the judges called Zeke and the rest to the stand 
 
 And put on Zeke's head a green cap; 
 Then Zeke he looked up at Aunt Sally and smiled, 
 
 But I knew that Aunt Sally felt flat. 
 
 They drove up and down to get a good start, 
 
 (Zeke had the inside of the track,) 
 The judge told them fellers to drive down with Zeke, 
 
 And just hold their horses right back. 
 At last they yelled "Go!" and Zeke was ahead — 
 
 The little roan horse lit right out ; 
 He went round the corner ahead of them all. 
 
 As if he'd just show them the route. 
 
 72 
 
But then he broke up, and they all went ahead, 
 
 Uncle Zeke couldn't bring him down (juick. 
 But when he got back he trotted so fast. 
 
 If he'd stuck he'd just made 'em all sick! 
 But he busted agin, and they all beat him out, 
 
 And them drivers looked round with a grin; 
 But a feller out there with a trotter 'twas sick. 
 
 Said with any fair show he could win. 
 
 An' that feller took Zeke to one side, an' he said, 
 
 "111 tell you what you'd better do; 
 My hoss that I entered in this race is off. 
 
 And I'll drive this roan nag out for you. 
 He's a good one, but you are too heavy to drive. 
 
 Your cart I would change an' take mine. 
 Them chaps think the roan's no account in this race, 
 
 But perhaps we can alter their mind." 
 
 Uncle Zeke he agreed, an' he took the roan round. 
 
 And the first thing we knew out he came. 
 Hitched on a light cart with that chap up behind, — 
 
 He lit out as tho' it was fun. 
 They had quite a time getting ready to start, 
 
 But at last the judge told 'em to "Go!" 
 The roan was behind, on the outside, at that. 
 
 And they all strung out 'round in a row. 
 
 But when they got 'round on the back of the track 
 
 He passed one an' then he passed two. 
 But when he caught on to the head hoss, I thought 
 
 He'd struck a job he couldn't quite do; 
 But 'twas no use of talkin', he showed 'em his tail, 
 
 Uncle Zeke just haw-hawed right out loud. 
 The people cheered Zeke and the little roan horse, 
 
 Then I knew that Aunt Sally felt proud. 
 
 And the other two heats he took just as nice 
 
 As sliding down hill on a sled ; 
 That driver could stopp'd him and turn'd him round twice. 
 
 And then beat 'em out, so he said. 
 Just after the race a stranger took Zeke 
 
 To one side, and then asked him his price, 
 For the little roan horse — Uncle Zeke said, "I swow! 
 
 If I sold him I'd want something nice. 
 
 73 
 
"But I'd take $1500 — he's worth more, I know, 
 
 If you want him, that settles the hash!" 
 That feller just slashed it down quicker'n a wink, 
 
 And Uncle Zeke gobbled the cash. 
 But I seen a big tear in Uncle Zeke's eye. 
 
 When they led the roan gelding away, 
 Tho' he said "Cash was better than any fast hoss. 
 
 When a chap had a mortgage to pay." 
 
 'Twas a great day for Zeke and Aunt Sally, you bet, 
 
 For that mortgage that hung o'er his head 
 Had caused them more trouble than anything else. 
 
 The amount was ten hundred, he said. 
 Now he could pay that and have five hundred left, 
 
 And their farm all paid for an' clear; 
 But if Sally had known Zeke had entered the roan, 
 
 She would made things quite lively, I fear. 
 
 For Aunt Sally belonged to the close Baptist Church, 
 
 An' was down on hoss racing, you see, 
 Zeke knew her an' kept his own plans to himself, 
 
 An' he never had even told me; 
 But Sally was "stumped," she couldn't say much. 
 
 For that mortgage had been an eye-sore, 
 And she said the Lord worked out good in queer ways. 
 
 Some ways she'd not thought of before. 
 
 Said she, "I just thought I should sink through the seat, 
 
 When I saw Zeke come out with that rig. 
 An' heard Susan Hopkins just giggle and say, 
 
 'Zeke looked like a Chester White pig!'" 
 But Zeke and Aunt Sally are happy as clams. 
 
 Still, I am just sure of one thing. 
 There'll be one more Wood's Hambletonian colt. 
 
 Running round on their farm before spring. 
 
 74 
 
M flAR|y3ii-Bla©h§mith 
 
 Of heroes we've heard, and of heroes we've read, 
 
 Who for safety of others their life blood have shed — 
 
 Heroes in heart and heroes in deed. 
 
 Who boldly stand out in the great hour of need, 
 
 Discarding all danger for self, they appear 
 
 Only watching the peril of others with fear. 
 
 Self-possessed, like all heroes, unruffled and brave. 
 
 They fearlessly spring where there're others to save. 
 
 John Hardy, the blacksmith, rough, uncouth, and grim, 
 
 Whom the elders and deacons pronounced full of sin. 
 
 Because of Sunday he'd open his door 
 
 To nail on a shoe for a horse, nothing more — 
 
 A traveler's horse, often lamed on the way; 
 
 Hardy nailed on the shoe for the horse, not the pay. 
 
 But the ring of his anvil caused many a frown 
 
 To appear on the brows of the deacons in town. 
 
 So they called him "Rough Hardy" — in fact he looked rough 
 
 His muscles were steel and his sinews were tough. 
 
 And he wielded his hammer from morning till night. 
 
 Always taking the part of the weak in a fight; 
 
 And many a bully went quietly by 
 
 As he caught the deep flash of John Hardy's eye. 
 
 For his wife and his boy he a tenderness shown, 
 
 And he labored to give them the comforts of home. 
 
 Across from the shop stood the school-house of town. 
 
 And the children, as usual, were playing around. 
 
 And John in the shop was hammering away. 
 
 With a whistle and song, as he did every day. 
 
 When afar up the street comes a terrible clatter. 
 
 And John rushes out to see what's the matter. 
 
 75 
 
A horse and a rider are recklessly coming, 
 
 In advance, a large bloodhound is foaming and running. 
 
 "Mad dog I" cries the rider in voice loud and clear, 
 
 "Mad dog; clear the street!" and they rush back in fear. 
 
 The children are playing and laughing in glee, 
 
 At the cry they stand quietly looking to see. 
 
 John Hardy at once sees the danger and cries, 
 
 "Children, run for the school-house! Shut the door, for your lives!' 
 
 And rapidly springing 'twixt children and hound. 
 
 With a nail-rod of iron which he hastily found, 
 
 He awaits for the brute coming savagely on. 
 
 "Run for your lives, in the school house!" cried John. 
 
 With red tongue protruding and eyes in a glare. 
 
 On dashes the hound like a hawk through the air. 
 
 Blood streams from the wounds made by many a shot. 
 
 But the bullets had failed to hit one vital spot. 
 
 The children, confounded, stand spell-bound in fear, 
 
 And the warning from John they appear not to hear. 
 
 With a howl the dog turns from the road to the green 
 
 Where the children in groups he appears to have seen, 
 
 But encounters John Hardy, who strikes with a will. 
 
 Such a blow had it hit any creature would kill; 
 
 John sprang on one side as he dealt the fierce blow, 
 
 Slipped, fell, and the iron struck harmless below. 
 
 Ere he could recover once more to his feet, 
 
 The brute had his poisonous fangs through his cheek. 
 
 John Hardy encircled the hound like a vice, 
 
 But he bit through his arm and his hand in a trice. 
 
 76 
 
Men rush to the rescue, he cries, "Stand away! 
 
 Let me be the only one bit here to-day; 
 
 I've got him safe now by the throat you can see — 
 
 Thank God! there's no ether one injured but me," 
 
 And his grip never loosed till the bloodhound lay dead- 
 
 But Hardy, "Rough Hardy," his life-blood had shed. 
 
 A bevy of doctors put forth all their skill, 
 
 The poison effects of the mad bite to kill, 
 
 But science and skill were alike thrown away — 
 
 Poor Hardy was fated and doomed from that day; 
 
 And many a prayer went wafted on high 
 
 For the great God to save — not to let Hardy die. 
 
 Five days passed away: John said with a smile 
 
 He thought he'd walk down to the shop for awhile. 
 
 And the ring of his anvil once more could be heard, 
 
 ^Vhile hundreds of hearts with compassion were stirred — 
 
 He was making a chain, for what purpose none guessed. 
 
 But soon their surmises were all put to rest, 
 
 For John chained himself so securely and stout 
 
 That a demon in strength could have never broke out. 
 
 The shop with his friends was thronged night and day ; 
 
 All he said was, "I thought 1 was safest that way. 
 
 And I want my old neighbors to do nothing more, 
 
 When the spasms come on, only shut the shop door; 
 
 Let no one approach me, not even my wife 
 
 Nor my bo}'^ — promise me this on your life." 
 
 And the promise was made, and the promise was kept 
 
 Till the Angel of Death through the shop door crept. 
 
 Pen never can tell of the agony borne. 
 
 Of the quivering flesh by the manacles torn. 
 
 Of the sobs and the moans of his family and friends. 
 
 Thank God! there's a time when such agony ends; 
 
 John's body in chains lay dead on the floor. 
 
 But the hero unchained will live on evermore. 
 
 Can hero be greater than he that will give, 
 
 Unflinching, his own life that others may live ? 
 
 77 
 
OLD PETER VANSLYKE. 
 
 Old Peter Vanslyke was a comical chap, 
 And his wife was as funny as Pete. 
 
 You'd never suppose 
 
 By the looks of their clothes 
 That they dare venture out in the street. 
 
 But they owned a snug place only five miles from town, 
 And they often drove in with their rig, 
 
 Sold green corn and peas, 
 
 And bully Dutch cheese. 
 Fat chickens, a lamb, or a pig. 
 
 Old Peter was lank and lean as a hound, 
 A little, small, weazen-faced man ; 
 
 While his wife swelled out 
 
 Mighty big all about. 
 And they made a most comical span. 
 
 With their old brown horse, and wagon that squeaked. 
 They met everyone with a smile; 
 
 They'd laugh and they'd talk. 
 
 Their old horse on a walk, 
 And that was the old people's style. 
 
 Some chaps going by from the races in June 
 Stopped at Pete's to get out of the rain, 
 
 And said they'd a mare 
 
 They would like to leave there, 
 That had turned up most terribly lame. 
 
 73 
 
They would pay him to pasture her for them awhile, 
 Look well to her while she was there; 
 
 Altho' she was old 
 
 She was precious as gold, 
 That same little old gray mare. 
 
 And they gave him a ten dollar bill as they left. 
 Which pleased the old woman and Pete, 
 
 And they said they'd take care 
 
 Of that old gray mare. 
 And give her a plenty to eat. 
 
 'Twas along in September, the old mare was slick. 
 Her lameness had all passed away; 
 
 Old Pete thought her nice, 
 
 He had hitched her up twice 
 And drawn in two loads of hay. 
 
 So the old couple rigged for the village one day — 
 'Twas the time of the Pike county fair; 
 
 They thought 'twould be fine, 
 
 And they'd make better time 
 To drive down the old gray mare. 
 
 They took a few melons, some cabbage and beets. 
 And they put in the old woman's chair; 
 
 She sat back of Pete, 
 
 On the splint-bottom seat. 
 And she took all the room that was there. 
 
 So the little old man and his fat, buxom wife 
 Looked as happy as happy could be; 
 
 As they drove down the road 
 
 To the fair, with their load, 
 'Twas a sight mighty funny to see. 
 
 They drove in the fair grounds, just inside the gate. 
 And the old woman sat in her seat; 
 
 With a smile she would say, 
 
 "Have a melon, to-day ?"v 
 At the tail of the wagon stood Pete. 
 
 79 
 
The old mare stood very close to the track, 
 In the green race they'd got the word "Go!" 
 
 The old gray mare 
 
 Raised her head in the air, 
 And the old woman hollered out "Whoa!" 
 
 As by the old wagon the trotters flew past 
 The old mare lit out on the track; 
 
 She went with a whirl, 
 
 And threw the old girl 
 In the wagon-box, flat on her back. 
 
 Now this old gray mare had trotted for years — 
 The old couple of course didn't know it; 
 
 When the trotters went by 
 
 She had blood in her eye. 
 And she made up her mind she would go it. 
 
 Away went the mare at a two-forty gait. 
 The old woman was kicking and squalling; 
 
 Her heels in the air 
 
 While the old gray mare 
 The trotters was fast overhauling. 
 
 And she passed the whole gang coming down the home stretch, 
 And took the heat easy and handy, 
 
 Then stopped, and turned 'round, 
 
 While all on the ground 
 Just cheered that old mare for a dandy. 
 
 The old woman still kicking and hollering "Whoa," 
 Was soon placed all right in her seat; 
 
 And she gave a wild stare 
 
 At the old gray mare. 
 With a face pale and white as a sheet. 
 
 When scared Peter found the old woman all right, 
 A smile on his weazen-face flashed. 
 
 Till he saw in despair, 
 
 In the wagon-box there. 
 His ripe, juicy melons all smashed. 
 
But Pete couldn't help but giggle somewhat, 
 And he said, "Never mind, my dear; 
 
 You won the first heat. 
 
 And you drove with your feet. 
 You can beat any driver that's here. 
 
 Then Peter drove out, while the crowd haw-hawed ; 
 The old woman sat straight in her chair; 
 
 We ne'er saw their faces 
 
 Again at the races. 
 Nor heard of their old gray mare. 
 
 8i 
 
OLD JOHN JONES ; OR, THE POWER OF MONEY. 
 
 With money I can buy a man of almost any station ; 
 With money I can make men bow in meek humiliation; 
 It's wonderful to see the change a heap of money brings — 
 It's sure to get one hosts of friends, and pardon all one's sins! 
 
 John Jones, a poor, hard-working man, but honest as they say, 
 Who a large family had to feed, and toiled both night and day; 
 John Jones might walk the village 'round, without a look or nod- 
 Nobody noticed old John Jones as he to work would plod. 
 
 But John had saved a little sum unknown to anybody, 
 
 For he — always a temperate man — ne'er spent his change for toddy; 
 
 Two hundred dollars safely hid, it was to him a pile; 
 
 It made his heart with pleasure throb, and helped old Jones to smile. 
 
 One night an old friend of John Jones knocked at his cottage door- 
 He formerly had been "well fixed," and ran a village store; — 
 In times gone by he'd trusted John, and John remembered well, 
 But now old Smith had busted up and had no goods to sell. 
 
 They talked about the times gone by, and Smith said to old Jones: 
 "I hardly now am worth the rags that cover these old bones; 
 The house I live in is not mine, my furniture '11 be sold — 
 I mortgaged that some time ago to keep us from the cold. 
 
 82 
 
" My wife is sick — and little Jim, although not very strong, 
 Does all he can for such a lad to help us two along; 
 Now what to do I do not know, my health is broken down, 
 My friends have all forgotten me, I must call on the town." 
 
 Big tears stood in poor old Jones' eyes, his heart was touched with sorrow, 
 Says John: "Smith, you have trusted folks, why don't you try and borrow?' 
 "Yes, that is well enough," says Smith, "but who on earth would lend? 
 Besides, I never could repay, and that would wrong a friend. 
 
 "I might as well ask charity at once, and have it through." 
 "Oh, no;" says John, "hold on a bit — I'll see what I can do. 
 I'm poor and work hard all the day, but yet my arm is strong; 
 Thank God! I think I'll still have strength to help myself along. 
 
 "If you could work as well as I, 'twould be a different thing. 
 But as it is, I hardly think you'll manage through till spring. 
 Your wife, from luxury brought down, now feels the change indeed. 
 And Smith, old friend, you trusted me when I stood in much need. 
 
 "Now, Smith," says John, "just let us see; your furniture '11 be sold 
 To pay your rent, and then you'll soon be turned out in the cold. 
 How much is it that you require to pay your debts and rent ? 
 If not too much I'll help you through, on that John Jones is bent." 
 
 "What, you, John Jones!" says Smith, "Oh, no; you're poor as well as I. 
 I thank you for your kindness, John; but the sum to raise is high — 
 Much more than you and I have seen for many months, my friend. 
 About two hundred dollars, John — who that to me would lend ?" 
 
 "I will," says John, and from a chest a tin box he took out, 
 
 "Look here, friend Smith, there's greenbacks here — yes, greenbacks!" Jones did 
 
 shout. 
 "Why, Smith, what makes you tremble so, here's freedom from your man! 
 Go pay your mortgage, pay your rent, and do the best you can." 
 
 83 
 
Smith shook his head, "Oh, no!" says he, "I never could repay, 
 
 Your kindness and your money would both be thrown away; 
 
 It's better for one family to suffer than for two, 
 
 But Jones, my friend, give me your hand, I'll remember this of you." 
 
 "Now, Smith," says old John Jones, "this money you shall take; 
 Times yet may change, something turn up, and you may raise a stake 
 If not, why, I shall work along more happy than before 
 In thinking that I helped to drive the wolf back from your door." 
 
 Says Smith, "There's one thing that I've got — it was so long ago 
 I'd most forgot about it John; but I've some land you know. 
 That fellow owed me at the store, that came from Titusville; 
 He deeded me some land — I don't expect it's worth a mill." 
 
 "You say this money I shall take, I'll tell you what I'll do: 
 Deed you that land for the interest on the sum till I pay you." 
 "Make out your deed," says old John Jones, "whenever you get ready. 
 But take the money now, friend! 'twill help your steps to steady." 
 
 So Smith, while tears rolled down his cheeks, clasped old John Jones' hand. 
 And prayed to God to bless John Jones in the coming heavenly land. 
 The next day brought the deed to John, all properly signed and sealed. 
 But John ne'er dreamed what untold wealth lay in that deed concealed. 
 
 84 
 
Time wore away and old John Jones kept working as before — 
 
 One night the postman left a note at old John Jones' door. 
 
 John thought there must be some mistake, but his name was plainly there- 
 
 The letter was from Titusville, and to John Jones, Esquire. 
 
 John carefully unsealed the same, then read the letter through. 
 It said: "I wish to buy some land I'm told Smith sold to you. 
 There's twenty acres in the lot — it's rocky, rough and bare; 
 Nothing but thistles, briars, and mullen-stalks grow there. 
 
 "But still, one thousand dollars I'll give you for the land — 
 
 It joins my farm and makes it square, I presume you understand. 
 
 Please answer by return of mail — if you accept, all right; 
 
 I'll send my check, you send the deed — direct to Rufus White." 
 
 The more John looked the letter o'er, more puzzled he became, 
 
 "I'll accept this offer sure," says John, "but I think this White's insane! 
 
 He sat and thought of his good luck till ten o'clock or later. 
 
 Then thought he'd look and see what news was in his weekly paper. 
 
 He reads along, first here, then there, when all at once a thrill 
 Runs through his veins — he reads about oil wells near Titusville — 
 Yes, gushing, flowing wells of oil, unbounded wealth reveal! 
 John says, "I vow I'll see this land before with White I deal! 
 
 He calls his wife and children, and reads to them the news, 
 And says, "I'll see whether or not White's offer to refuse; 
 I'll take the cars to Titusville and ferret the thing out." 
 And soon his carpet-bag was packed, and Jones was on his route. 
 
 Arrived at last in Titusville, with carpet-bag in hand. 
 
 He stood perplexed, not knowing where or which way lay his land; 
 
 But finally he found a man who knew the very place. 
 
 And when old Jones his deed produced, a smile stole o'er his face. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Jones, I'll show you where this little patch of land 
 Is occupied by Mr. White, a speculating man. 
 
 He's tilled the land so wondrous well, and ploughed so very deep 
 That fourteen oil wells on your farm has made this White a heap." 
 
 85 
 
I'll not take time to tell you how Jones made White come down, 
 Nor how his business was arranged before he left the town ; 
 Suffice to say, a princely sum was given him for oil 
 That White had got from Jones' farm — by tilling Jones' soil ! 
 
 John sold off land and sold his wells, but reserved in them a share; 
 One half a million he was worth — how Rufus White did swear! 
 John rigged his business matters snug, and left them safe and right. 
 Then says, "I think I'll now go home; so Rufus White, good night!" 
 
 With money, bonds, and mortgages John Jones was loaded down — 
 
 His neighbor's said, "Where's old Jones been?" when he reached his native town 
 
 But John he briskly starts for home, with twinkle in his eye 
 
 As he looks at his old worn carpet-bag, says "how is this for high?" 
 
 For two weeks John had been away — ne'er so long before, 
 
 And his heart beat fast with throbs of joy as he reached his cottage door; 
 
 His wife clasped him around the neck, his children shook his hand 
 
 And squeezed and hugged and pulled him 'round, till John could hardly stand. 
 
 With tears of joy they huddled 'round to hear what he'd to say. 
 For not a word had John sent home since he had been away; 
 And he had hardly time to think as the days so quickly passed, 
 It did not seem so long a time when he reached his home at last. 
 
 When John looked 'round and saw the group of faces full of love. 
 He said, "There's something left for life, I thank the God above; 
 Tho' poor, we've always happy been, and now this wealth is given. 
 May we the needy friendless cheer — assist and help us heaven! 
 
 John then to his wife and children explained, and told them all, 
 Then says, "Run over, some of you, tell Mr. Smith to call; 
 I'll make his old heart leap with joy, I'll set him wild with money. 
 His wife and little Jim will think the change is very funny." 
 
 Smith came with solemn face, expecting Jones wanted his due, 
 And not a cent could poor Smith raise — he knew not what to do; 
 But when he left John Jones that night, his face had younger grown — 
 He laughed, he danced 'round like a child, his troubles all had flown. 
 
Of course the news had quickly spread, though John said ne'er a word ; 
 But the neighbors soon the story got, and everybody heard 
 That old John Jones had piles of wealth — the richest man in town; 
 And, strange to say, the wealthy ones dropped in from all around. 
 
 The ladies shook Mrs. Jones' hand — were very sorry all 
 They hadn't happened in before, but " Mrs. Jones, do call. 
 We give a party Wednesday night — be sure and come, now do! 
 Without you there's not one of us would care to see it through." 
 
 The gentlemen all talked to John and praised his wondrous tact. 
 
 Till John began to really think his shrewdness was a fact; 
 
 But a light soon stole to old Jones' eye — he sat and thought, (how funny 
 
 He'd never'd thought of it before ! ) that they praised him for his money. 
 
 The aristocracy in town soon found, with all their pains 
 
 They couldn't soft-soap John a whit, he proved a man of brains; 
 
 The sharpest, too, had tested John, but John wasn't to be caught — 
 
 They tried to sell him shares of stock, John said that's what he thought. 
 
 He said he thought he'd not invest, when they would speak to him. 
 
 And advised him where to place his means — to John it looked too thin. 
 
 He in his own way planned his course, and quietly went on. 
 
 And when he walked the street 'twas strange how the hats came off for John. 
 
 A building fine, built in good taste, substantial, plain, but rich. 
 Most plainly told to all in town that John knew what from which; 
 And there John Jones and family have settled down for life, 
 And peace and plenty smile upon good old John Jones and wife. 
 
 And old man Smith John ne'er forgot; he had him well-fixed, too, 
 With this world's goods — he had enough to take him three times through; 
 And Smith and Jones have often sat and talked the matter o'er 
 About the land that Smith had bought of that old fellow at the store. 
 
 Now what a change has taken place in old John Jones' life, 
 And what a brilliant woman now is old John Jones' wife! 
 And how John Jones' boys and girls are petted now by those 
 Who only one short year ago at them turned up their nose. 
 
'Tis strange, but then the truth must out, it's money, more than worth, 
 That makes the thousands bow and kneel to the rich men of the earth; 
 It's money spares the murderer's life, it's money covers sin, 
 It's money rules the nation, it's money that's sure to win. 
 
 I do not say but what there're those who prize far more than gold 
 Their honor, and I think there're men that can't be bought or sold ; 
 There're men like old John Jones who'd give their last cent to a friend. 
 But there're men who'd let the needy starve before they'd give or lend. 
 
 Gold tempts the would-be honest man, gold tempts the great and wise. 
 Gold tempts the preacher in his desk as his prayers to God arise; 
 Gold holds the magic key of life, but turns at the last breath 
 And only loses power o'er man, when man is claimed by Death. 
 
THE JOCKEY'S REVENGE. 
 
 Like a soft summer night came the eve of New Year, 
 In a city where snows hardly ever appear, 
 And the gay Southern town showed a striking contrast 
 To a New Yorker recently facing the blast. 
 
 I'd received a dispatch from my friend Billy Wright, 
 
 If possible, surely to come Wednesday night. 
 
 'Twas race week! The hotels with sportsmen were packed- 
 
 For three days the sport had been good at the track ; 
 
 But for New Year the great three-mile race was put down, 
 
 And strangers were fast flocking into the town. 
 
 Bill Wright had two thoroughbreds named for this race, 
 And one he had backed rather strong for a place; 
 But I found Bill's heart broken — the first word he said 
 When I met him was, "Sam, Gray Nimrod is dead!" 
 And sure enough, there in his box, stiff and cold. 
 Lay as gamey a racer as ever was sold. 
 And poisoned; yes, that had been proved to them all. 
 While the colored boy Zip lay asleep in the stall. 
 
 Now Zip was a little wee bit of a chap, 
 
 As black as a coal and as spry as a cat. 
 
 He had ridden for Wright for three years or more; 
 
 No cooler or keener one rode from the score. 
 
 He always had slept in the stable at night; 
 
 He worshiped the horses — would die for Bill Wright. 
 
 Zip never drank, but he liked a cigar. 
 
 And a pure straight Havana he'd sniff from afar. 
 
It was late in the evening, the night the gray died, 
 
 And Zip on a box by the door sat outside. 
 
 He was whistling a tune, when along came the lad 
 
 Who rode Colonel Morgan's bay racer named Shad. 
 
 He was smoking, and gave Zip a weed and a light, 
 
 And they sat there and puffed — 'twas a beautiful night. 
 
 Zip said he got dizzy — felt queer in his head; 
 
 When he woke in the morning the gray horse was dead. 
 
 Big tears down his ebony cheeks ran like rain ; 
 
 To Zip and to Bill the whole business was plain. 
 
 On Monday a dash of two miles had been run, 
 Nimrod had beat Shad and a big stake had won. 
 The Colonel had wagered large odds on his nag. 
 And the gray cleaned him out of a big pile of swag. 
 On Thursday the two would try titles again; 
 Which horse was the best to the Colonel was plain. 
 The rest of the field he cared nothing about, 
 He was sure of the pot if the gray horse was out. 
 As I said. Bill had two in the big three-mile race, 
 For his roan mare he hardly expected a place. 
 She was called Lady Spanker, her breeding was rare, 
 He had bought her that fall at the Lexington fair. 
 He had got her down now in the finest of trim, 
 And she'd won every mile dash he'd started her in. 
 
 But for three miles Bill's faith was pinned on the gray. 
 Still the Lady was entered to run New Year's day; 
 Zip always declared Lady Spanker could last, 
 And the little coon's judgment wan't often surpassed; 
 And now that the gray horse had run his last race 
 The roan was the best they could start in his place. 
 
 Zip's face was a study that evening. He sat. 
 His big eyes a'blinking, and twirling his hat, 
 And a kind of scowl would steal over his face; 
 He was dreaming, I thought, of to-morrow's big race. 
 The news of the gray racer's death had gone out 
 And had turned all the betting men squarely about; 
 The Colonel was backing his horse five to one 
 Against the whole field — there were seven to run. 
 
 90 
 
The stable and stall where the Colonel kept Shad 
 
 The year before Bill with his racing string had. 
 
 Zip knew that an alley ran next to Shad's stall, 
 
 With a little slide window high up on the wall; 
 
 And while sitting there that wee darkey had planned 
 
 A revenge that was sweet, and he played a lone hand; 
 
 His eyes fairly gleamed with a savage delight, 
 
 As he planned how he'd get through that window that night. 
 
 Along in the morning between two and three, 
 Zip slipped from that hole like a coon from a tree. 
 The apple he'd carried with him in his pocket 
 He'd left and the Colonel's fine racer had got it — 
 Now the dose Zip had given would not hurt the nag 
 And would only make him as weak as a rag; 
 But after he'd straightened himself for a mile. 
 He'd begin to collapse, but would hold up a while. 
 
 Once more time had ticked a new year into place. 
 
 And the morning was slowly unveiling her face; 
 
 Here and there now on the streets you could hear 
 
 The song and the shout of a "Happy New Year." 
 
 From the hotel quite early we two. Bill and I, 
 
 Walked down to the stable, our spirits not high. 
 
 And were met at the door by the queer face of Zip, 
 
 Who acted as though he'd been taking a nip. 
 
 The sad look was gone and a smile seemed to spread 
 
 From his white ivorys to the wool on his head. 
 
 "Nice mornin', sah; yes sah, nice day for de race," 
 
 Said Zip, and his big eyes gazed square in my face. 
 
 "Dare's mighty smart chance foh a big haul to-day, 
 
 "Dey betta killed Zip too along wid de gray." 
 
 And his eyes fairly flashed and he danced round like mad 
 
 As he told us to back the roan mare 'gainst the Shad. 
 
 "Yes, buy de field, boss," was all he would say, 
 
 "For de roan's in de field wid de oders to-day. 
 
 "For de Lord sake don't miss it, jes put up de dust, 
 
 "An' I ain't going to say any moah if I bust." 
 
 'Twas plain to us both that Zip in some way 
 
 Was convinced that the field would beat Shad out to-day; 
 
 But the Colonel was ready and willing to place 
 
 Five dollars to one that he'd win the race. 
 
 91 
 
Zip knew well that Bill was a square, honest man, 
 
 Despising all tricks or low sleight of hand; 
 
 He was sure if Bill knew of the trick he had played 
 
 Ever after he'd lay little Zip in the shade, 
 
 For although Bill well knew that the death of the gray 
 
 Had been planned by the Colonel to get square to-day; 
 
 Still no proof had he only the story of Zip, 
 
 And he'd cautioned him never to let a word slip. 
 
 Now what could it be that Zip had found out ? 
 
 We knew by his actions there wasn't a doubt, 
 
 But what he believed the field was to win, 
 
 And the roan mare, he thought, would be first to come in. 
 
 From the stable Bill Wright and myself sauntered out, 
 
 And talked over matters with feelings of doubt; 
 
 But somehow I felt that the little coon knew 
 
 That Shad as a winner could never pull through ; 
 
 And I thought I would pump him, although he had swore 
 
 That he wouldn't tell Bill or me any more. 
 
 Leaving Bill, I walked back to the stable to see 
 
 If I couldn't make Zip tell his secret to me. 
 
 As I passed along through to the stall of the roan 
 
 I thought I heard voices — I'd supposed Zip alone. 
 
 I listened, then peeked through a crack in the door. 
 
 And there on his knees, in the stall on the floor. 
 
 Was Zip, and in prayer — and I heard him with awe. 
 
 That little coon's prayer, kneeling there in the straw, 
 
 With eyes rolling up and his hands over his head, 
 
 I always remembered the prayer that he said: 
 
 "Good Lord, jes' you let up on poor Zip for dis time 
 
 "For fixin' Shad so he mus' come in behin'; 
 
 "De Lord sakes, I wouldn't kill Shad, but of course 
 
 "Dat apple I fix makes a mighty sick horse, 
 
 "An' please, Lord, jes' damn Colonel Morgan, I pray, 
 
 "He's de cuss, sure's you're born, dat murdered de gray; 
 
 "An', Lord, help me win wid de roan 'gainst dem men, 
 
 "An' I'll lub you fur eber and eber, amen." 
 
 I stole from the stable. Zip's secret I had; 
 I knew well the dose Zip had given to Shad ; 
 
 92 
 
I found Bill and told him I'd made up my mind 
 To back the field up to my very last dime. 
 I said "Ask no questions, but put up your dust; 
 If I'm not mistaken old Morgan will bust." 
 
 At last comes the call for the great three-mile stake, 
 
 The Colonel stood ready all wagers to take; 
 
 And he laid five to one till our ducats played out. 
 
 And still through the crowd you could hear his men shout; 
 
 "Five to one Colonel Morgan's horse Shad wins the race 
 
 Against the whole field." It's big odds to face, 
 
 But only a few seemed to think it worth while, 
 
 For Shad's reputation stood high for three miles. 
 
 The stands are all packed, the dense crowds appear 
 
 To go wild with excitement as the racers draw near; 
 
 And shouts rend the air as Shad passes by. 
 
 And I look him o'er with a critical eye. 
 
 Soon Zip on the back of the roan mare appears, 
 And the little black imp draws his full share of cheers. 
 I see that he watches Shad's step with delight. 
 For his keen eye has seen that he isn't just right 
 
 All is ready, the starter sends them the first time. 
 
 In a bunch the whole seven dash over the line. 
 
 Shad lays out the clip and takes a strong lead, 
 
 Runs graceful and strong, though not up to his speed. 
 
 Each jockey knows well that a racer to last 
 
 In a dash of three miles musn't start out too fast. 
 
 Zip on the roan in last place seems to hang; 
 
 He holds strong and steady and watches the gang. 
 
 They finish the mile with Shad still in advance. 
 
 And the roan still behind, the last one in the dance. 
 
 The racers now strike the back-stretch once again. 
 
 And the six are all closing on Shad, that is plain. 
 
 Hear the shout from the crowd! See the Colonel's white face; 
 
 Shad never before had done that in a race. 
 
 The five had passed him, and Zip on the roan 
 
 Is up side by side and the two are alone. 
 
 93 
 
With eyes glaring wildly, Zip says with a sneer: 
 "Take dat cripple home; he has no business here. 
 Come down to the stable, you sick-looking moke, 
 Bring down some cigars for a gem'in to smoke." 
 And away darts the roan at a mighty hot pace, 
 But seemingly just starting in for the race. 
 
 Around come the six in a bunch by the stand; 
 
 Zip sits firm and square, the mare well in hand. 
 
 But now she drops one, now two, and now three; 
 
 She has collared the fourth — ain't she running now, see! 
 
 Ah, ha! see her fly with that imp on her back. 
 
 Now she leads the whole field; clear the track! clear the track! 
 
 And down the home-stretch comes the little roan mare, 
 
 While deafening shouts from the crowd rend the air. 
 
 She won with all ease, and Zip, on her back. 
 
 Is the happiest coon ever seen on a track. 
 
 'Tis over. The Colonel, with oaths long and loud. 
 Damns everything there and breaks out of the crowd. 
 And it flashed to my mind Zip's prayer that I heard 
 Had been answered, as true as you live, every word. 
 Bill and myself won a large stake that day. 
 And Zip was revenged for the death of the gray. 
 Bill calls Zip his mascot, he worships the boy; 
 He's as tender of him as a valuable toy; 
 And I never can look at his little black face. 
 But I think of his prayer and the Colonel's disgrace. 
 
 94 
 
A CHRISTMAS WEDDING. 
 
 Put the grays on the lead, and the blacks on the pole, 
 
 Take that rein up a notch, let that trace out a hole! 
 
 There, steady my boys, let me see if they're square — 
 
 Haul the check on the off leader up just a hair! 
 
 Are the blankets all in, with the robes and the wraps ? 
 
 We'll be back about five in the morning, perhaps. 
 
 Yes, twenty can ride in this sleigh like a charm, 
 
 And we'll have a grand drive to the Major's fine farm— 
 
 The band started off a full half hour ago, 
 
 But Old Ben, the driver, he always drives slow. 
 
 Overhaul them? You bet! Why a tjiree-minute clip 
 
 I can show with these four — nary a touch of the whip! 
 
 With a hip and a hoop 'la, flying we go, 
 
 As the beautiful four-in-hand dash through the snow. 
 
 A wedding on Christmas! Yes; that's what they say 
 
 Is taking them all to the Major's to-day. 
 
 It was fifteen miles out to Maple Ridge Grove, 
 
 A beautiful place where we frequently drove, 
 
 To Major Grey's mansion — the millionaire's home — 
 
 Constructed of marble and finest cut stone. 
 
 Where elegant stables, large, airy and neat, 
 
 With grounds and surroundings all grand and complete, 
 
 Where nothing seemed ever to be out of place, 
 
 And a smile always shone on the Major's smooth face; 
 
 But his friends from the city, invited this day. 
 
 Little dreamed what would happen ere they came away. 
 
 One daughter, as fair as the sun shone upon, 
 Was the only child in this beautiful home, 
 And the Major was proud of the beauty and grace 
 Of his girl's queenly form and her angelic face; 
 
 95 
 
And Christmas was thought as the most fitting day 
 
 For the party and wedding of sweet Mabel Grey. 
 
 We will leave the gay throng as they merrily go 
 
 In three different turn-outs over the beautiful snow, 
 
 And tell you a secret about Mabel Grey, 
 
 That is breaking her heart on this bright Christmas day. 
 
 Near the Major's fine mansion lived Widow Demott — 
 
 Nowhere could be found so delightful a spot: 
 
 Tho' modest the cottage, it seemed that a charm 
 
 Encircled the home on the neat little farm. 
 
 Demott, once a lawyer of fame and renown. 
 
 Had removed from the city, his health broken down, 
 
 And purchased this place near his friend. Major Grey — 
 
 The two had been old friends for many a day; 
 
 But Death, the destroyer, soon crept through the trees 
 
 And swept off Demott like a leaf in the breeze. 
 
 To the widow was left their only child Paul, 
 
 To the mother her boy was her pride and her all. 
 
 Well might she be proud of so noble a boy. 
 
 For he brought to his mother's heart nothing but joy. 
 
 Tall, graceful and handsome — a favorite with all — 
 
 Tho* sensitive, proud like his father was Paul; 
 
 And the fact of it was, as time wore away, 
 
 Mabel loved Paul, and Paul loved Mabel Grey, 
 
 And oft they had vowed that nothing could sever 
 
 The love that should bind them forever together. 
 
 Thus it was matters stood until Paul, called away 
 
 For two years or more, had not seen Mabel Grey. 
 
 In this time a rich suitor concocted a plan, 
 
 While Paul was away, to obtain Mabel's hand: 
 
 Ralph Linden by name, fine-looking and gay. 
 
 He'd whispered strange stories to old Major Grey ; 
 
 And the scheme had worked well — the Major believed 
 
 That in Paul they had surely been badly deceived. 
 
 Intercepting the letters of Mabel and Paul, 
 
 Together with rumors, surprising to all, 
 
 Of the marriage of Paul in a land far away, 
 
 Had crushed Mabel's heart and had roiled Major Gray ; 
 
 96 
 
The Major's keen pride had been touched to the quick, 
 And it helped this Ralph Linden along in his trick. 
 Although Major Grey knew that Mabel's heart grieved, 
 Still he knew her proud spirit at being deceived 
 Would ne'er brook the insult or let her friends know 
 How keen. was her anguish or bitter her woe. 
 And he pictured to Mabel, if she would accept 
 Ralph Linden at once, her friends would suspect 
 The engagement was broken ere Paul went away, — 
 He succeeded, and Christmas was named as the day. 
 
 Paul, with his mother, to England had gone. 
 
 Ne'er thinking of being detained there so long; 
 
 But a wealthy old uncle had urged them to come 
 
 And see him 'ere Death should claim him as its own. 
 
 This bachelor uncle had no other kin, 
 
 And his sister and nephew were dear unto him — 
 
 They saw that his life was fast ebbing away. 
 
 But this, that Paul had written, never reached Mabel Grey; 
 
 The postman was bribed, no letters were sent. 
 
 And letters to Mabel or Paul never went. 
 
 Thus two years had passed; the uncle now dead 
 
 Had bequeathed his vast wealth to Paul, the will read. 
 
 And Paul had ceased writing, no answers had came 
 
 To his oft' written letters to Mabel at home; 
 
 Although sad the thought, he believed her untrue. 
 
 And heartsick he pondered what course to pursue. 
 
 But love wears a chain that is stronger than pride. 
 
 And holds hearts together that oceans divide. 
 
 Soon 'board of a steamer stands Paul, homeward bound — 
 
 Drawn back by a love he in boyhood had found. 
 
 From Major Grey's mansion the dazzling light 
 
 In splendor shoots forward through the shades of the night; 
 
 And prancing steeds, cover'd with frost and with foam. 
 
 Dash up the broad drive to the millionaire's home; 
 
 From the four-in-hand down to the light Portland sleigh. 
 
 The turn-outs are grand and the occupants gay — 
 
 Space will not permit me to try and describe 
 
 The fleet-footed trotters or elegant ride, 
 
 97 
 
But now, at the Major's, each face beaming bright, 
 All the guests have arrived on this beautiful night; 
 And while they arrange for the grand scene of all, 
 We will step out a moment and look after Paul. 
 
 From the six o'clock train stepped Paul, Christmas night, 
 
 His actions were nervous, his face ghastly white; 
 
 On the train from New York he had met an old friend 
 
 Who had told him the story clear through to the end ; 
 
 And he knew that some dastardly scheme had been tried 
 
 For Ralph to obtain Mabel Grey as his bride. 
 
 No time must be lost — fifteen miles yet to go — 
 
 And the only conveyance a drive through the snow; 
 
 But quickly a fast-stepping pair was brought out. 
 
 And we'll leave Paul like mad, flying over the route. 
 
 
 A't. 
 
 In the drawing room now all seem formed into place, 
 
 And the parson, with fine ministerial grace. 
 
 Awaits the approach of the bride and bridegroom 
 
 As they're ushered within the magnificent room. 
 
 Ralph Linden, fine-looking and richly attired, 
 
 By the ladies, 'twas plain, he was greatly admired; 
 
 No one would suspect he could play such a part — 
 
 Such a model in looks, but a demon in heart; — 
 
 On the arm of the Major clung Mabel, so pale 
 
 That her palor showed plain through her rich bridal veil. 
 
Each guest looked amazed at the sorrowful face 
 As she tremblingly and falteringly moved to her place. 
 But hark! There comes surely the clicking of feet 
 Springing fast o'er the hard, icy drive, from the street, — 
 And Paul, like a phantom, sprang out of the sleigh — 
 No usher is needed to show him the way! 
 He glides through the doorway, unseen by the host, 
 And appears on the scene like a vision or ghost. 
 With face pale and haggard, but step firm and proud. 
 He advances where Mabel with head meekly bowed 
 Like a culprit, seems only awaiting her doom. 
 Unconscious of Paul's presence there in the room. 
 
 He speaks but one word — "Mabel!" he said — 
 
 And she sprang as though called by a voice from the dead 
 
 The Major and guests stand amazed at the sight, 
 
 While Ralph Linden trembles and turns ashen white. 
 
 The Major steps forward with stern, angry face 
 
 And says: "Paul Demott, you've no right in this place!" 
 
 Paul, standing erect, with a voice firm and clear, 
 
 Says: "Only a word will I ask you to hear. 
 
 And then tell me go, and I'll leave on the spot. 
 
 But no stain shall remain on the name of Demott." 
 
 And, suffice it to say, ere his story was through. 
 
 Every soul in that room were convinced it was true. 
 
 And the Major, extending his hand, said: "My boy. 
 There's more than one heart that is leaping with joy." 
 Amid the confusion Ralph Linden had fled — 
 Guilt surely makes cowards of all, so 'tis said. 
 The sweet face of Mabel with happiness shone. 
 Her sorrowful looks had all vanished and flown ; 
 Says the Major, "I blame but myself in this case — 
 Believing your marriage of course had taken place, 
 I saw Mabel crushed, and urged her, in my pride, 
 To accept, though I knew her an unwilling bride. 
 
 "And now as our friends have assembled to see 
 A wedding on Christmas! why, so let it be. 
 And, Paul, if you wish Mabel Grey for a wife, 
 Now is the most fitting time in your life." 
 
 Q9 
 
And Paul clasped the girl that he loved to his heart, 
 
 And the words were pronounced: "Until death doth you part. 
 
 The wedding was over, and happiness shone 
 
 On the face of all in that beautiful home. 
 
 Through the mantle of Night came a glimmer of Day 
 
 Ere we were allowed to leave old Major Grey. 
 
 That wedding on Christmas will ne'er be forgot 
 
 By all that saw Mabel made Mrs. Uemott. 
 
 Now, bring out the nags in the keen morning air — 
 Here comes a four-in-hand, there comes a pair! 
 Steady, my boys! You will soon have a chance 
 To show us your trotting instead of your dance. 
 Here we go, all of us out in a string! 
 Hoop 'la, let 'em fly! Bells gaily ring: 
 "Here's health to the Major, to Mabel and Paul, 
 "And a right Merry Christmas we wish to you all!" 
 
THE OLD FARM HOUSE. 
 
 "Now, wife, let me set back the table — 
 
 Leave the dishes uncared for a while; 
 Take your old rocking chair in the corner, 
 
 And change that sad look for a smile, — 
 It's years since we've met our old friend here, 
 
 And his face takes me back to the time 
 When I won you and wed you, my darling. 
 
 And was proud such a beauty was mine; 
 And, as John has asked me for the story — 
 
 Our story, so bitter to bear, — 
 I know he will sympathise with us 
 
 And some of our sufferings share. 
 
 "Let me see, Jane, how old was our Mary 
 
 When we bid John good-bye ? Don't you know 
 I held her up so he could kiss her — 
 
 Yes, three years, I guess that is so; 
 And Tommy, well, he was a baby — 
 
 It seems an age almost to me — 
 But no matter, we shook hands and parted. 
 
 And our Friend started over the sea. 
 Well, John, the old farm house was heaven, 
 
 So happy the years flew away; 
 Ere I knew it the children had grown up 
 
 And my hair had commenced to turn gray. 
 
 "Our Mary grew up like her mother, 
 
 But Tom, they said, looked more like me, 
 
 And they worshiped each other, those children 
 And were happy as happy could be; 
 
 1^ 
 
Everything on the farm seemed to prosper, 
 
 And nothing but joy seemed to dwell 
 Beneath the old roof of our cottage, 
 
 Till at last in our Heaven came Hell, — 
 It came in the shape of a man, John — 
 
 A viper, fine-looking and gay. 
 And his serpent eye singled out Mary 
 
 As the fairest that stood in his way. 
 
 "From the first I disliked his appearance, 
 
 With his city-bred airs and his style — 
 Altho' I could give no good reason. 
 
 Somehow, I just hated his smile; 
 But I saw he was winning our Mary — 
 
 There was no hiding that, it was plain. 
 The blush on her cheek told the story 
 
 Whenever we mentioned his name. 
 So I thought I would write to the city, 
 
 To an old friend and have him search out 
 The record of Mary's fine lover 
 
 That throwed so much money about. 
 
 "Well, I didn't wait long for an answer — 
 
 My hair fairly stood on my head 
 When I read o'er my old friend's letter, 
 
 And this is about what he said: 
 ' He's a fraud of the very first water — 
 
 A blackleg, and gambler, and rake — 
 A sneak even shunned among culprits, 
 
 With a tongue glib and smooth as a snake. 
 And while I was reading this letter 
 
 I knew he that evening would come 
 To take Mary off to a party 
 
 Some two miles away from oqr home. 
 
 " And Mary was then getting ready, 
 Her face was as bright as the sun, 
 
 And it pained me to tell her the story. 
 But I knew it had got to be done. 
 
 I told her the fears I had harbored. 
 And why I had written our friend ; 
 
I handed her the doomed letter, 
 
 And watched her read through to the end. 
 I saw her turn whiter than marble — 
 
 Then saw her cheeks burning with shame 
 As she tremblingly said, ' It is over — 
 
 Fear not for your daughter's fair name; 
 I wish to but see him a moment. 
 
 When he comes let me open the door, 
 I will give him my proof and unmask him — 
 
 He never will trouble us more.' 
 
 "He came, and was met on the threshold — 
 
 A few hasty words and no more; 
 And we heard his voice, low, but in anger, 
 
 As Mary shut the hall door. 
 The next that we heard, this vile villain 
 
 Had coupled her name with disgrace. 
 And soon came our greatest life-sorrow 
 
 That after this quickly took place. 
 Our Tom, who just worshiped his sister, 
 
 Had heard the vile slanders he'd told, — 
 Altho' but a boy, scarcely sixteen. 
 
 His anger was fierce to behold. 
 
 "'Ere we were aware of his movements 
 
 He was gone; and, sufifice it to say. 
 They met and Tom shot down the mi.screant- 
 
 Our boy we've never seen since that day! 
 No doubt he supposed the shot fatal, 
 
 And fled in his fear and despair. 
 The villain supposed he was dying 
 
 And acknowledged his vile purpose there. 
 And he cleared Mary's name from suspicion. 
 
 Grew better, and finally got well — 
 Left the place, and about a year later 
 
 Was killed in a gambling hell. 
 
 "But Tommy, our boy, is an outcast, — 
 Altho' it's but three years to day. 
 
 His mother looks twenty years older — 
 Hasn't smiled since our boy went away. 
 103 
 
And Mary, poor girl, 's but a shadow — 
 
 Seems to think our great sorrow has come 
 Through her foolish, blind infatuation, 
 
 And driven her brother from home. 
 Now, John, as I've told you the story — 
 
 Our story so bitter to bear — 
 Do you wonder that Jane's smile is vanished, 
 
 And silver threads creep through her hair ? 
 
 "Could we know that our boy was still living — 
 
 That we should again see his face. 
 What a joy it would bring to this cottage, 
 
 What a cloud it would lift from this place! 
 And, John, do you know something tells me 
 
 The prayers that go up every day 
 From the sorrowing mother and sister 
 
 Will bring our boy home in some way. 
 Well, well! I declare I've been talking 
 
 Till its getting quite dark in the room; 
 I will light up the lamp in a moment — 
 
 We will try and cheer up from this gloom. 
 
 "You said you had a friend that was coming 
 
 To call for you just about eight; 
 Well, really, it's near that now, John! 
 
 I hardly thought it was so late. 
 This friend is a young man you tell me. 
 
 From California together you came. 
 Oh! you say he's the son of an old friend — 
 
 I don't think you told me his name. 
 There's his knock now, I guess I'll go to the door; 
 
 Yes, come in, your old friend is here. 
 What! No! Speak again, it can't be my boy; 
 
 Oh, Tom! I am dreaming, I fear." 
 
 But, no ; the old man was not dreaming, 
 
 And Tom to his mother had sprung. 
 Lifted her from the chair in the corner, 
 
 Around her both arms he had flung. 
 And kissed the sad, changed face before him. 
 
 And stroked back the hair now so gray. 
 
 104 
 
His tears fell like rain on her pale cheek, 
 As her head on his throbbing breast lay; 
 
 And Mary, the sister he worshiped, 
 Had bounded towards him with joy. 
 
 While his father stood sobbing, but speechless, 
 And gazed on the face of his boy. 
 
 Explanations soon followed, and Tommy, 
 
 Clasping the hand of his father's old friend, 
 Told how John had met him and knew him. 
 
 And the story clear through to the end; 
 How they planned the surprise for the household, 
 
 How he'd longed to behold them once more, 
 How his heart seemed to bound from its bosom 
 
 When his father had opened the door. 
 
 'Twas an evening of pleasure and thanksgiving, 
 
 Joy beamed from each happy face there 
 While they knelt 'round the old family altar 
 
 In earnest and soul-stirring prayer. 
 What a change had come into that cottage! 
 
 What a cloud had been lifted! What joy! 
 Only father and mother can tell you 
 
 Who have welcomed a prodigal boy. 
 
 io5 
 
FARMER JONES' DAUGHTER. 
 
 I sat upon the mossy bank, 
 
 A-gazing in the water, 
 Beside me gracefully reclined 
 
 Old farmer Jones' daughter. 
 A pebble now and then she 
 
 Gently tossed into the brook. 
 Then slyly cast a glance at me 
 
 With such a roguish look; 
 Says she to me, "What do you see 
 
 That makes you look so blank?" 
 I says, "The cause, you little elf. 
 
 Is here upon the bank." 
 
 "What, here upon the bank?" she cried, 
 
 "Pray, now, what can it be? 
 There's nothing here upon the bank 
 
 Excepting you and me." 
 " Ain't they enough ?" I meekly said, 
 
 "They're all the world to me! 
 Suppose a score or more were here, 
 
 I only you could see." 
 "Then you'r near-sighted, Jack," she said, 
 
 "That's why you look so blank; 
 It's now explained — you said the cause 
 
 Was here upon the bank." 
 
 "The cause," said I, "is very near, 
 
 But I wish it to be nearer — 
 The cause to me is wondrous dear. 
 
 But I wish it to be dearer." 
 A modest blush stole o'er her cheek — 
 
 Said she: "Pray do explain!" 
 I gasped, "I wan't you for my wife. 
 
 My own dear Sarah Jane." 
 "What, me?" she cried, "Why I'm engaged 
 
 To widow Sampson's Hank" — 
 And farmer Jones' girl was gone 
 
 And I was on the bank. 
 
 1 06 
 
WIDOW SLOCUM. 
 
 I'll tell you the way that it happened, 
 
 And how the whole thing came about: 
 I thought I had married a widow, 
 
 But that wasn't the way it panned out. 
 In love I was always unlucky — 
 
 The girls didn't seem to hold fast; 
 Although they would promise to have me, 
 
 I always got left at last. 
 
 Disgusted, I tramped through the country, 
 
 Working here and there for a while, 
 Till at last I hired out to a widow 
 
 That slung on considerable style. 
 She owned a small farm near the village. 
 
 And had some loose change in the bank. 
 With horses and cattle quite plenty, 
 
 And three sqalling young ones to spank. 
 
 Her husband. Bill Slocum, enlisted 
 
 Only two years before, so she said; 
 And the first thing she heard he was captured. 
 
 And the next news she got he was dead. 
 The tears flowed quite freely while telling 
 
 How much she had missed him — but then 
 There was still consolation in thinking 
 
 That there was yet left noble men. 
 
 And then she would glance at me queerly. 
 And, sighing, say I looked like Bill — 
 
 Draw her chair up beside me at evening 
 And ask if I didn't feel ill. 
 
 107 
 
I couldn't withstand such devotion, 
 But proposed, was accepted, and wed; 
 
 And in less than three months after marriage 
 She broke a chair over my head. 
 
 She kept me at work late and early, 
 
 And drove me around with a will; 
 Said I was a tramp and a beggar. 
 
 And a tarnal sight meaner than Bill. 
 I began to think marriage a humbug. 
 
 And wished myself single once more, 
 Then she would come 'round mighty clever, 
 
 And we would go on as before. 
 
 One day I dove up to the station 
 
 With a load of produce I had sold, 
 Which brought then a big price m greenbacks- 
 
 But you couldn't get silver or gold. 
 With my pocket-book pretty well loaded, 
 
 I was thinking how nice it would be 
 To be boss of the farm and the money, 
 
 And not have a wife bossing me. 
 
 Two years I had worked like a hero — 
 
 Made money but still it want mine. 
 And I thought if I ever got any, 
 
 It seemed to me that was the time. 
 With these thoughts I unhitched the horses — 
 
 A fine, stylish bay and a brown — 
 Bill Slocuni had raised them and broke them, 
 
 And they were the finest in town. 
 
 I was just about turning them homeward 
 
 When the train from the south hove in sight ; 
 I thought I would hold on a moment 
 
 And hear from the last southern fight. 
 From the train stepped a black-whiskered fellow, 
 
 Rough-looking, with long, matted hair; 
 As his eye fell on me and the horses. 
 
 He gave us a wild, searching stare. 
 
 loS 
 
Then, stepping up to me, said: "Stranger, 
 
 Will you tell me which way you'r bound ?" 
 When I told him, he climbed in beside me. 
 
 And said that he guessed he'd ride down. 
 I thought to myself he was cheeky, 
 
 But I couldn't refuse him a ride. 
 And I wondered as off I was driving, 
 
 Who the Dickens it was by my side. 
 
 'Ere we left the outskirts of the village. 
 
 He commenced asking questions of me 
 In regard to the once Widow Slocum — 
 
 If there was more youngsters than three ? 
 Said he heard the widow was married. 
 
 And asked me if I was the chap, — 
 If my wife was right loving and tender. 
 
 And all about this thing and that. 
 
 And while he was speaking I noticed 
 
 His eyes looked at me mighty queer. 
 And it flashed to my brain in an instant 
 
 Bill Slocum ain't dead, but he's here; 
 And I thought I'd let him down easy, 
 
 For I felt I'd embittered his life. 
 And I told him she'd mourned for Bill Slocum 
 
 Ever since I'd called her my wife, — 
 
 That the young ones down there were all Slocums, 
 
 That in fact she called me a bad pill. 
 And she only allowed me to stay there 
 
 Because I looked so much like Bill; 
 That her tears had flown daily and nightly, 
 
 That a smile never lighted her face — 
 For her sake I wished Bill was living 
 
 And I lay down there in his place. 
 
 As true as I live he was sobbing. 
 
 The tears down his cheeks ran like rain ; 
 
 And, I vow, I found I was bawling. 
 For I knew how he felt mighty plain. 
 
 109 
 
Then turning to me he says: "Stranger, 
 Your story has changed my whole plan, 
 
 The jealous revenge I was nursing 
 Is gone, and I feel like a man. 
 
 *' 'Twill surprise you that I am Bill Slocum, 
 
 But, nevertheless, it is true; 
 I'm about to lay claim to the widow. 
 
 But what's to become, then, of you ? 
 I like you because of your candor, 
 
 And because she thinks you a bad pill ; 
 If you'd told me you knew that she loved you. 
 
 You'd wished that you'd never met Bill. 
 
 "Now turn round the team and drive slowly 
 
 Back to town while I explain 
 That I think it is best for all parties 
 
 You leave on the very next train; 
 And promise me now on your honor 
 
 You'll get out and never come back — 
 There's five hundred dollars to help you, 
 
 There's some consolation in that I" 
 
 The five hundred dollars I salted, 
 
 And an oath I most solemnly swore. 
 To get out and get and stay got out. 
 
 And see Mrs. Slocum no more. 
 The depot was reached, the train hove in sight, 
 
 I entered the car with a will. 
 My heart was at ease with the world and myself, 
 
 But I felt mighty sorry for Bill. 
 
 Of the Slocums' re-union I'm still in the dark. 
 For I've kept my oath sacred; but still 
 
 My mind wanders back to the widow and farm 
 Where I fathered the family of Bill. 
 
A NEWLY WEDDED PAIR. 
 
 In this world of toil and trouble 
 
 There is also lots of fun, 
 And the chap that can't enjoy it, 
 
 Wasn't baked till he was done; 
 It's refreshing to a fellow 
 
 That is loaded down with care. 
 To watch the love-lit glances 
 
 Of a newly wedded pair. 
 
 While riding on the Central road, 
 
 And dozing in my seat, 
 I was aroused by hearing words 
 
 So tender, soft and sweet; 
 They startled me, and glancing back 
 
 I soon became aware 
 That in the seat behind me sat 
 
 A newly married pair. 
 
 I soon found out her name was Lib — 
 
 Sweet Libby, Dovey, Petty; 
 And his was George — yes, darling George! 
 
 With mustache twisted pretty. 
 He wore a button hole boquet, 
 
 A three-ply chok-'em collar 
 Buttoned so tight around his neck. 
 He couldn't hardly swallow. 
 
 Lib wore a wide-brimmed hat and plume, 
 
 Her hair banged just in style; 
 She'd throw a glance at Georgie, dear, — 
 
 He'd, oh! so gushing smile. 
 They talked about the birds and spring — 
 
 About sweet flowers and weather, 
 And then they'd clasp their little hands 
 
 So lovingly together. 
 
He bought her figs and oranges, 
 
 And Harper's Magazine, 
 And vowed that was the boss of all 
 
 The days he'd ever seen; 
 He praised her eyes, her lips, her hair! 
 
 Enrapt, his gaze would linger 
 Upon her frizzes, cheek and nose, 
 
 Then he would pinch her finger. 
 
 I, being an old bachelor, of course 
 
 Could not make out 
 What sense there was in squeezing hands 
 
 And pinching round about; 
 I thought perhaps she'd tire out 
 
 And make dear Georgie quit. 
 But the more he pinched the more I 
 
 Saw she just admired his grit. 
 
 The shades of night came creeping on, 
 
 The sombre hues grew deeper, — 
 When lamps were lit I felt relieved 
 
 To find he hadn't eat her; 
 Her head lay pillowed on his breast, 
 
 Her eyes were closed in slumber. 
 She faintly whispered, "Oh, dear George, 
 
 Where are we now, I wonder?" 
 
 "We're nearly there, my dovey dear. 
 
 We'll soon be where we're cosy." 
 "Oh, dearest George! I'm so, so glad. 
 
 For I am getting dozy." 
 They cooed and talked, and talked and cooed, 
 
 And kept me interested, 
 Although in such a scheme as that 
 
 I never had invested. 
 
 Our terminus was reached at last — 
 
 I saw them take a carriage, 
 I thought as I ne'er thought before 
 
 About the bliss of marriage. 
 I skirmished 'round and found a girl 
 
 That said she didn't care. 
 And soon the train will carry off 
 
 Another wedded pair. 
 
THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 It does not seem to me, Ett, 
 
 Like thirty years ago 
 Since I hitched up and took you in, 
 
 And drove off through the snow; 
 Then called on Elder Whitney 
 
 To have him tie for life 
 The knot that bound us, at nineteen, 
 
 A husband and a wife. 
 
 I, nothing but a strippling — 
 
 You, little, fresh and fair; 
 I, tall and gawky-looking. 
 
 With goose-grease on my hair. 
 How in the world you ever picked 
 
 A fellow out like me, 
 And mittened those fine-looking chaps, 
 
 I never yet could see. 
 
 The first time that I met you— 
 
 You was engaged, you know, 
 To a fellow that had lots of cash — 
 
 A srnart, fine-looking beaux! 
 I remember what I thought, Ett, 
 
 Whenever him I'd see — 
 I felt, somehow, as though you'd like 
 
 To swap that chap for me! 
 
 * Lines to my wife on the thirtieth anniversary of our weddinj 
 January 30, 1880. 
 
 "3 
 
Just how 'twas brought about, Ett, 
 
 I hardly now can tell — 
 That you got cheated in the trade 
 
 Of course I know full well; 
 I've often thought it over — 
 
 It was too bad! But then 
 If it didn't turn out good for you, 
 
 'Twas a slashing trade for Em. 
 
 But that was long ago, Ett, 
 For now we're forty-nine, — 
 
 It's wonderful how many changes 
 Happen in that time ! 
 
 The births, the marriages, and deaths- 
 Each came along in line, 
 
 And plainly show to old and young 
 The steady step of Time. 
 
 The prattle of our little ones. 
 
 Like music of the past. 
 Comes floating back in melodies 
 
 That will forever last; 
 The old songs that they used to sing 
 
 Had untold charms for me — 
 My thoughts fly back o'er Memory's track, 
 
 To the little group of three. 
 
 I suppose I'm like some others, Ett, 
 
 Who think their children neatest, 
 Of any that they've ever seen 
 
 The handsomest and sweetest; 
 I take no credit to myself — 
 
 They're more like you, you see; 
 I shouldn't like them half so well 
 
 If they took after me. 
 
 114 
 
Although there's none yet far away, 
 
 And one that's very near, 
 With a Httle black-eyed roguish chap 
 
 That to us both is dear; 
 Yet still they've flown from out our nest, 
 
 And got one of their own. 
 And left us two a-jogging on 
 
 As we commenced, alone. 
 
 In looking back o'er thirty years, 
 
 I now can plainly view 
 The road o'er which we've traveled 
 
 Since starting out with you; 
 Many a rough spot on the track 
 
 I might have shunned and passed — 
 It wouldn't have jolted you so hard 
 
 If I hadn't drove so fast. 
 
 Some morning one of us will wake 
 
 And find the other gone 
 To that last final resting place 
 
 That hope lies anchored on; 
 As you are not so well prepared 
 
 To stand the world's rough style, 
 If you insist, when one must go, 
 
 I'll rough it here a while. 
 
 But still you're so obliging, 
 
 I presume to spare me pain. 
 You'll say: "Go first, dear Emmons — 
 
 I'll suffer and remain." 
 So let's leave the thing unsettled. 
 
 Who goes first or who shall stay; 
 But let us try and find each other 
 
 At the last great judgment day. 
 
 "5 
 
THE BRUNETTE AND THE BLONDE. 
 
 Charles Augustus Hemingway, an artist of renown, 
 
 In New York kept his studio, though fond of a country town; 
 
 In the heated term of Summer he loved the mountain air. 
 
 And roamed amid the rural scenes to sketch their beauties rare. 
 
 In old Vermont he found himself after a dusty ride, 
 
 At a little way-side station, in the small village of Clyde — 
 
 A city friend had praised quite high the beauties of the place 
 
 And claimed the scenery rich and grand for Charley's hand to trace. 
 
 So here he found himself at last, 'mid mountains high and grand, 
 Two large trunks on the platform and a grip-sack in his hand. 
 The station agent seemed to be the only man around, 
 And naturally he asked him where a hotel could be found. 
 Informing him he'd come to stay a month or so to rest. 
 And much desired that he should say which hotel was the best. 
 The agent, smiling, said they had but one small tavern there — 
 Accommodations mighty poor, though plenty rooms to spare. 
 
 So Charley thought he'd stroll about — inspect the little town, 
 
 And try and find some private house where he could settle down; 
 
 Sufifice to say at last he found a cosy little place. 
 
 With parlor and bedroom attached just suited to his taste — 
 
 The Widow More consented to let the artist stay 
 
 A short time at her cottage by receiving ample pay. 
 
 Her daughter, Molly, and a friend from Boston, Blanche LaClair, 
 
 Made up the widow's household, and they were wondrous fair. 
 
 ii6 
 
And here Augustus Hemingway, before a week had sped, 
 
 Fell dead in love with both the girls — in fact, they turned his head. 
 
 If Charles had been like some young men and beauty ne'er had seen, 
 
 We should not deem it quite so strange, but should have styled him green; 
 
 But Charles had traveled far and wide, seen beauties of all types, 
 
 Sketched forms and faces from all climes as well as mountain heights; 
 
 And so for years his soul untouched by Love, save love of art. 
 
 At last in this lone place had found two loves that stole his heart. 
 
 Tall, queenly, beautiful and grand was handsome Blanche LaClair, — 
 
 A brunette with black, flashing eyes and wealth of raven hair; 
 
 Each movement ease and grace itself, well versed in city style — 
 
 Bewildering was her every look, enchanting was her smile; 
 
 And Charles Augustus Hemingway in secret had to own 
 
 That beauty, such as Blanche LaClair's, he ne'er before had known 
 
 But while entranced with Blanche LaClair, his thoughts would wander o'er 
 
 To find the winning, cheerful smile of little Molly More. 
 
 Fair as model e'er was moulded, golden hair, and eyes of blue 
 Sparkling as the stars of midnight, laughing while they flashed on you; 
 Brighter than a summer morning, fairer than e'er dawned before — 
 Such is but a faint description of angelic Molly More. 
 One day he'd swear by Blanche LaClair — the next, by Molly More; 
 His love to neither one he spoke, but grieved his passion o'er. 
 
 One day Charley wandered forth down by the little stream 
 That ran back of the cottage around through the ravine. 
 The day was hot — the cooling stream invited Charley in. 
 No one invaded such a spot, and why not have a swim ? 
 Now Blanche LaClair and Mollie More, unknown except to them. 
 In this same place oft' bathing went far from the sight of men. 
 By banks and bushes hid from view where no vile eyes could stare 
 Upon the modest Molly More or queenly Blanche LaClair. 
 
 Charley swam across the stream, when from the other shore 
 He heard the merry, ringing laugh of little Molly More; 
 
 "7 
 
And quickly climbing up the bank in shameful fear and haste, 
 Behind some bushes trembling clung, crouched in his hiding place; 
 His cast-off clothing he had left across the little stream. 
 Quite nicely hid from view they lie beneath an evergreen. 
 What could he do? Was ever man in such a plight before? 
 And there arranging for a bath was Blanche and Molly More! 
 
 What is it pales the artist's brow ? Why creep the blush of shame 
 So soon o'er Charley's handsome face ? Is it a guilty flame ? 
 He was no spy, he was no sneak — the sight unbidden came ! 
 If mortal man could turn away, he could but turn again. 
 Does human nature say, Avaunt! when beauty unconcealed 
 In its entrancing loveliness to mankind is revealed ? 
 As well might man refuse to look upon the orb of day — 
 Although resolve were in his heart, his eyes would steal astray. 
 
 Partly disrobed stood Molly More; no painter's power could trace 
 Such wild, bewitching loveliness, such innocence and grace. 
 No model e'er had posed for man, no sculptor's wildest dream 
 Had e'er conceived such beauty as upon that bank was seen. 
 
 Although the form of Molly More had caught the artist's eye. 
 And its transcendent loveliness seemed wafting him on high, 
 It was not Molly's beauty that brought the blush and stare, — 
 It was the form in bathing suit of shrunken Blanche LaClair, 
 Of corset, pads and plumpers, — and bustle, too — bereft. 
 Her switches and her frizzes gone, not much of Blanche was left; 
 And Charley blushed to see the form he'd thought so wondrous fair 
 Transferred to actual ugliness — could that be Blanche LaClair ? 
 
 Half leaning o'er the steep decline above the running brook, 
 Supported by a sapling pine, Charley with culprit look 
 Gazed on the beauteous Molly as she with fingers fair 
 Helped to arrange the bathing dress tied on by Blanche LaClair. 
 
 ii8 
 
Now Molly scans the Long Branch suit, and laughs aloud in glee, 
 And cries: "Oh, Blanche, if Charley could your bathing suit but see!" 
 As Charley's name escaped her lips, in guilty shame he shrank — 
 The pine gave way on which he leaned, and Charley went down the bank. 
 
 He clutched, he grabbed, but tumbling went until he struck kersplash 
 Headforemost in the stream below with a tremendous dash. 
 Ye powers I but what a scene ensued — imagine if you can. 
 And I will let the curtain drop, as I'm a modest man. 
 
 Suffice to say that Blanche LaClair to Boston quickly fled, 
 And Charley and his Molly More that very fall were wed. 
 This truthful yarn but poorly told, a moral may bestow: 
 That all that glitters is not gold, and much is empty show; 
 Art's faults, ingenious make-ups have driven to despair 
 Many a fool that's lost his heart to such as Blanche LaClair. 
 
 119 
 
BARNEY MCGEE. 
 
 I'm a tramp, did ye say, lad ? 
 
 Ye can call me all that if ye loike — 
 'Pon me soul, be the looks o' me outfit 
 
 Not a mon but would say ye wuz right; 
 And I tramp from one job to another, 
 
 And dig wid me pick and me sphade — 
 I've worked long enough at the business 
 
 To be a boss man at me trade. 
 
 Ye ax am I hungry and cold, lad ? 
 
 Ye nayden't mind guessing again, 
 For me stomach's all empty inthirely, 
 
 An' I'm soaked to the skin wid de rain; 
 I've nary a cint in me pocket, 
 
 An' nothing but rags to me back — 
 An', mind ye, I worked all the sayson 
 
 A-gradin' the railroad thrack ! 
 
 Ye ax what I did wid me money ? 
 
 It's mesilf ought to blush at that same, 
 For I spint all me earnings for whiskey — 
 
 It's an Irishman's wakeness an' shame; 
 But I shwear be the toe-nails of Moses, 
 
 If ye'll give me a morsel to ate, 
 Niver more of the sthuff I'll be dhrinking, 
 
 Nor divel of a man will I trate. 
 
 God bless ye, me lad! fer yer kindness, 
 
 And the grub you have squandered on me; 
 It's sthronger I'm falin' for ateing, 
 
 You've the blessing of Barney McGee! 
 But phwist! Can't ye bring from the cellar 
 
 On the sly, do ye mind, a shmall swig? 
 Be the powers of Moll Riley, jist do that me lad. 
 
 An' I'll dance ye a foine Irish jig. 
 
MY WEDDING DAY. 
 
 You ought to see the rig I had 
 
 The day I took a wife ! 
 The picture's now before my eyes, 
 
 And will be all my life. 
 Imagine now, an old black horse 
 
 With white strip in his face. 
 Two big bone spavins on his legs — 
 
 But a duster in a race. 
 
 When first he started off you know, 
 
 He pretty stiff would be, 
 But after you had warmed him up 
 
 He'd trot like fun, you see. 
 I had a double harness, new, 
 
 All brass-trimmed up so fine; 
 I made a single one of it, 
 
 But drove the double lines. 
 
 My cutter, with a scow-sloop dash 
 
 And iron whiffletree. 
 And a big old-fashioned string of bells. 
 
 That jingled mightily; 
 A coverlid spread o'er the seat 
 
 To make it warm and good. 
 With a little worn-out, borrowed robe — 
 
 I got the best I could. 
 
 I had a hickory whipstock, too. 
 With knobs and buckskin lash — 
 
 I'd crack that 'round old Limpin' Bill 
 As through the snow he'd dash ; 
 
With cotton gloves and father's cape 
 
 Made out of corduroy, 
 With cap too small and boots too large, 
 
 I was a "gallus" boy! 
 
 My pants too tight for my boot-legs, 
 
 And about six inches short — 
 If the man in the moon had looked 
 
 At me, he couldn't help but snort. 
 I wore a pair of rubbers, too. 
 
 That made my boots look bigger; 
 With coat too small, and sleeves too short, 
 
 I cut a slashing figure. 
 
 I drove through Waverly, up the hill, 
 
 As happy as a clam, — 
 I was nineteen years old that month. 
 
 And thought I was a man. 
 I hitched old Bill out by the gate, 
 
 Into the house did walk; 
 My mother-in-law, that was to be, 
 
 To me commenced to talk. 
 
 She said she hoped we'd happy be, 
 
 (She meant me and her daughter), 
 I sighed and said I hoped so, too. 
 
 And really thought we'd "oughter. " 
 She said she knew we both were young. 
 
 But still she couldn't see 
 But what 'twas just as well for us — 
 
 And it seemed just so to me. 
 
 Quite soon my wife that was to be, 
 
 Came from the other room, 
 And blushingly she said. 
 
 She didn't think I'd come so soon. 
 A checkered gingham dress she wore. 
 
 With flounces all about. 
 As she looked she seemed to say, 
 
 " Does your mother know you're out?" 
 
A leghorn bonnet, black basque, 
 
 Her hands stuck in a muff, 
 Green ribbons on her bonnet, too, 
 
 With other kinds of stuff. 
 I walked with her out to the gate, 
 
 And helped her in so nice; 
 As soon as I got out of sight, 
 
 I think I kissed her twice. 
 
 She sticks to it I didn't — 
 
 Says she knows as well as me — 
 And whether I did or didn't. 
 
 Now its just the same, you see. 
 At any rate I drove back home, 
 
 And there helped in my sister; 
 We all three then to the preacher's went, 
 
 And then I know I kissed her. 
 
 Old Elder Whitley was the man 
 
 That made us two but one, 
 And I was glad, I tell you now, 
 
 When the awful thing was done. 
 Good mother Whitley flew around 
 
 And made us stay to supper, 
 And filled us up with sausage, 
 
 Nice hot biscuit and butter. 
 
 I then took out my money-purse 
 
 And planked it on the table, 
 And told the Elder I would pay 
 
 Him then when I was able. 
 Two dollars then I handed him — 
 
 'Twas all in silver, too, 
 And said: "There, take it, Elder; 
 
 I'm much obliged to you." 
 
 Then handing sister Laura 
 And my wife into the sleigh, 
 
 We started back and bid 
 
 The Elder and his wife good-day. 
 
 123 
 
Old Bill, he lit out lively, 
 
 For the elder's oats he'd eat. 
 And he made the snow-balls rattle 
 
 'Round our heads, from off his feet. 
 
 We laughed and talked as we rode home- 
 
 My sister, wife and I ; 
 And so passed off my wedding day — 
 
 Oh, how was that for high ? 
 
 124 
 
THE OLD COLORED PREACHER'S FAREWELL SERMON. 
 
 My work is done in dis ole church, 
 
 Where close 'to forty year 
 I'ze preached de truff from dis ole book 
 
 To you ole sinners here. 
 
 But now de ole church's playin' out, 
 An' de ole style preachin', too; 
 
 De high-flutin' cullud folks 
 Dey pine fer su'thin' new. 
 
 But I want ter say a word to you 
 
 Before I go away, — 
 De ole religin, stick ter dat 
 
 And de way you used ter pray! 
 
 When you get in der bran new church 
 Wid red plush cushioned pews, 
 
 I'ze afraid you'll all forget what for 
 Dey built dat church to use. 
 
 An' dar is ole Aunt Syntha, 
 
 Who for years has had dat seat. 
 
 An' always trudged thro' rain an' snow 
 On dem bressed ole brack feet. 
 
 But where you goin' to put her 
 
 When dis ole church's tored away ? 
 
 Dat dear ole soul won't feel at home 
 To talk an' sing an' pray. 
 
 135 
 
No more you'll hear ole Syntha's voice 
 When this ole (church comes down ; 
 
 De new church won't be made for such 
 Ole Christians, I'll be bound. 
 
 Dey've changed dat dear old bible now — 
 I spec's dey'll change it moah, 
 
 An' leave out Jonah an' de whale, 
 An' de ark dat carried Noah. 
 
 De op'ra singers in de choir 
 
 Your souls can nebber raise 
 Like "Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing 
 
 My great Redeemer's praise." 
 
 The good old metre hymns we've sung, 
 
 Let's sing again to-day, 
 Fur dey's gwine to tore de ole church down, 
 
 An' dis ole man's gwine away. 
 
 126 
 
I DONT SUPPOSE. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows, 
 
 As long days come and go, 
 Whether the hearts of their neighbors are sad. 
 
 Or tinged with a radiant glow. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows 
 
 The secret, gnawing pain 
 Hidden beneath the mask of a smile 
 
 That flashes and fades again. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows. 
 When a friend they chance to meet. 
 
 Whether the smile springs from the heart 
 Or is only a grin of deceit. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows 
 
 For what mankind was born ; 
 He laughs, he cries — he lives, he dies. 
 
 And fades like the mist of morn. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows. 
 
 When we are hid from view, 
 How many will follow the same old path 
 
 That we are now journeying through. 
 
 I don't suppose that anyone knows, 
 
 When we jump from this world of pain. 
 
 Whether we'll land in the realms of bliss 
 Or never strike bottom again. 
 
 But I suppose that everyone knows 
 
 The present aim of man 
 Is to envy your neighbor the money he's got. 
 
 And gobble it all if you can. 
 127 
 
THE FALL OF THE PUMPKIN SWEET. 
 
 They sat beneath an apple tree, 
 
 The twihght fast was fading; 
 The luster of her bright blue eyes 
 
 The sombre hues were shading. 
 He speaks in accents soft and low, 
 
 "My darling, how I love you — 
 You're sweeter than the pumpkin sweets 
 
 That cluster up above you." 
 
 Then laughingly her head it nods. 
 
 And rests upon his shoulder; 
 He fondles her bewitching curls. 
 
 Then to his bosom folds her; 
 When lo! a pumpkin sweet drops down — 
 
 A great big sixteen-ouncer! 
 It hit him square upon the nose — 
 
 You ought to have seen him bounce her. 
 
 And while he rips and tears around. 
 And wipes his injured smeller. 
 
 She laughingly says, "Poor pumpkin sweet!' 
 Then skips with another feller. 
 
 Young lovers, pray a warning take — 
 
 It's plain for all to see 
 That danger lurks in different forms 
 
 Beneath an apple tree. 
 Poor Adam, sorely tempted. 
 
 Of forbidden fruit did eat; 
 And mother Eve just lost her grip 
 
 When she saw that pumpkin sweet. 
 
 128 
 
'HOOPIN' BILL 
 
 'Twas at the old log meetin' house, the preachin' had begun, 
 And the minister was firin' off his loudest kind of gun ; 
 Protracted meetin' had been goin' on for quite a spell — 
 The elder, he had woke them up 'till brimstone they could smell, 
 When in came 'Hoopin' Bill, he was loaded up to kill; 
 
 He swore he'd bust that meeting up — he was from Pizen Hill! 
 
 "I order this 'ere meetin' closed!" cried 'Hoopin' Bill, "Now git, 
 You gaunt, white-livered preachin' cuss! Close up your valve, an' quit." 
 He hauled his old six-shooter out and swung it 'round with pride. 
 While women fainted, men turned pale, and children loudly cried. 
 "I'm an avalanche," cried Bill, "I'm a bitter, griping pill; 
 
 Come down, you slick-haired, sick galoot — I'm fresh from Pizen Hill!' 
 
 The elder smilingly stepped down, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 And in the face of that 'are gun to 'Hoopin' Bill drew nigh; 
 
 Kerflip, kerflop, — how it was done, no one on earth could say. 
 
 But the elder hammered 'Hoopin' Bill 'till he made him kneel and pray; 
 
 Then he mildly said to Bill, as he helpless lay, so still, 
 
 "Please listen to my sermon — then crawl back to Pizen Hill!" 
 
 129 
 
WHEN THE LEAVES BEGIN TO FALL. 
 
 How often my thoughts 
 
 Wander back to my youth, 
 And the things that were 
 
 Dear to my sight; 
 How often I dream of 
 
 My boyhood days, 
 That to me were so 
 
 Happy and bright. 
 The old house and orchard, 
 
 The well-curb and sweep. 
 And the swing for my sister and me. 
 
 Where in heat of the day 
 
 In the shade we would play 
 Under the old maple tree. 
 
 Gone are the bright, merry days of my youth ! 
 
 Gone are the forms dear to me! 
 But my thoughts turn to-day where we all used to play, 
 
 Under the old maple tree. 
 
 On the trunk of the old maple tree 
 
 There remain many names 
 That are nearly defaced, 
 
 Where young, dimpled hands. 
 Now wrinkled and old. 
 
 So nimbly each letter did trace. 
 Gone, like a shadow 
 
 That fades from the view. 
 Are the faces I there used to see; 
 
 But an echo I hear 
 
 From the voices so dear, 
 As I sit by the old maple tree. 
 
 130 
 
The robin still warbles 
 
 His sweet morning song 
 On the branch of the old maple tree; 
 
 The nest is still built 
 Midst the clustering leaves 
 
 Where often I've climbed up to see; 
 But winter's cold winds 
 
 Through the boughs soon will sweep 
 And death's chill will creep over me; 
 
 But I wish to be laid 
 
 Where in childhood I played, 
 Under the old maple tree. 
 
 131 
 
FROM THE BANKS OF THE CANASARAUL 
 
 He had voted in the morning 
 
 In his town across the creek, 
 And had swore about the candidates 
 
 'Till the polling board was sick; 
 Then he started for another town 
 
 Where he could get some gin — 
 He swore he'd get a drink, 
 
 x\nd put another ballot in. 
 Six-foot-two in his stocking feet, a head just like an owl, 
 This whooping, howling, hungry hulk from the banks of the Canasaraul. 
 
 He struck the town adjoining. 
 
 At two in the afternoon, — 
 'Twas plain he'd had some tanglefoot, 
 
 His face was all a-bloom; 
 And he swaggered to the voting place, 
 
 A bad leer in his eye. 
 And says, "I'll vote or lick the crowd — 
 
 I'm a slugger on the sly!" 
 Six-foot-two in his stocking feet ! And they trembled at the growl 
 Of the whooping, howling, hungry hulk from the banks of the Canasaraul! 
 
 He took a fighting attitude 
 With ballot in his hand. 
 And shoved it under the nose of Ted, 
 
 A hunch-back Irishman ; 
 'Twas then that Ted uncoiled himself 
 
 And straightened out his spine. 
 Unhinged the jaw of the fierce galoot 
 In the quickest kind of time. 
 Six-foot-two in his stocking feet for mercy then did howl. 
 And hoofed it hobbling, hungry, back to the banks of the Canasaraul. 
 
 132 
 
FORGIVENESS. 
 
 A generous act or kind word spoken, 
 
 Oft' tends to weld the band so rudely broken 
 
 More firm and more secure than e'er before — 
 
 The strain that snapped it once breaks it no more. 
 
 The heart so sensitive to words of pain 
 
 Is just as ready to forgive again, 
 
 If honest purpose drawn from out the face 
 
 That asks again for its accustomed place. 
 
 Oh, stern, relentless, unforgiving one! 
 
 That holds a grudge within a heart of stone; 
 
 Who stands unyielding with a look of hate, 
 
 Altho' the heart of penitence may break; 
 
 Remember, he who sins will have to ask 
 
 For pardon from the Mighty Judge at last; 
 
 And, inasmuch as thou no pardon gave, 
 
 Can'st thou, unblushing, from Him pardon crave? 
 
 Without forgiveness, what a world of pain; 
 
 But, with forgiveness, joy springs forth again. 
 
 133 
 
THE SICKLY MOTHER-IN-LAW. 
 
 Cale Hopkins yoked his brindle steers, 
 And hitched them to his sled, 
 
 To take his sickly mother-in-law 
 Home on a feather bed. 
 
 The steers they turned their yoke and ran 
 
 Down an embankment high — 
 It killed the steers and smashed the sled 
 
 And made the feathers fly. 
 
 But what broke Caleb up the worst 
 And caused his heart to quail — 
 
 Unhurt, wen't skipping up the bank, 
 The mother-in-law of Cale. 
 
 134 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 What a mystery is woman! Shrouded in doubt, 
 And all her ways are ways past finding out. 
 Tender, gentle, kind, yet strong and brave. 
 She makes of powerful man a humble slave. 
 Meek and lowly, yet her magic hand 
 Binds him hand and foot with iron band. 
 Beautiful to look at — when not cross — 
 Charming, if you'll only let her boss. 
 Lovely, sweet, bewitching — yes, unless 
 You admire some other lady's dress! 
 Vain, suspicious, jealous — oh, no, no! 
 Ask your wife if she was ever so. 
 
 135 
 
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