OLD POEMS CONTINUE TO BE RECEIVED IN GREAT NUMBERS
wE MUST crave the indulgence of
our friends who are following
the page of favorite poems, if
the publication of their requests are
slow in appearing, for we have on hand
so many requests that it is practically
impossible to publish all that are re
ceived each week. We are therefore
obliged to print. for the present at
least, only requests which we receive
from several sources, indicating a
- rather- general demand for the poem
asked.
- Poems that have been requested and
copies of which have come to hand we
will reprint as rapidly as space is
available.
The request recently for the old song
favorite which was all the rage some
20 years ago has brought many copies
of it. and we are giving it herewith.
Contributors of copies of "After the
Ball." up to date are: Michael McDon
ough. Mrs. Theodore Jeffries. of New
berg; Gustav Sebander. of Orchards,
and Jeanette Snipes. of The Dalles.
AFTER THE BALL.
- A little maiden climbed an old man's
knee, .
Begged for a story--"Do. Uncle, please.
Why are you single? why live alone?
Have you no babies? have you no
home?"
"I bad a sweetheart, years. years agol
Where she is -now, pet, you will soon
know;
- List to the story. I'll tell it all:
I believed her faithless after the ball.
Pi' CHORUS:
wAfter the ball is over, after the break
of morn--
After the dancers' leaving; after the
stars are gone;
Many a heart is aching, if you could
read them all; .
Many the hopes that have vanished
after the ball.
Wright lights were flashing in the
grand ballroom.
SOftly the music. playing sweet tunes.
There came my sweetheart. my love.
my own
'I wish some water; leave me alone.'
When I returned. dear, there stood a
Man.
Hissing my sweetheart as lovers can.
Down fell the glass. pet. broken, tha,t's
all.
Wnst as my heart was after the balL
CHORUS:
"Long years have passed, child; rve
never wed;
True to my lost love, though she is
dead.
She tried to tell me, tried to explain:
I would not listen. pleadings were vain;
One day a letter came from that man
Ile was her brotherthe letter ran
That's why I'm lonely. no home st all;
I broke her heart. pet, after the ball."
Another poem by the same title has
been sent by "Mrs. J. N. D.." of Port
land which we reproduce herewith.
.
Michael McDonough has contributed
Castles in the Air." which has been
requested.
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
This world is all a bubble. no matter
where you go:
There's nothing here but trouble. hard
ship. toil and woe;
Go where you will. do what you Man
you're never free from care,
And at the best the world is but a
castle in the air.
Old Ireland bad her poet; she loved
him well. rm sure;
He was a true-born Irishman; his name
it was Tom Moore;
And of all the world's troubles I'm
sure he had his share,
For Moore was always happy building
castles in the air.
He sang the rights of Ireland. He
sang against her wrongs;
And znany a loving Irish heart that
cherish yet his songs.
He made the Irish heart rejoice. He
bade them ne'er despair.
And for Ireland in the future he built
castles in the air.
We boast. of Dan O'Connell, too. who
struggled hard and sore
To tring both peace and happiness to
dear old Erin's shore;
And though his efforts were in vain.
the spirit still was there.
For Dan he struggled on and built
bright castles in the air.
And now though he ts dead and gone,
we find both old and young
Doth often quote the wit that flowed
from Dan O'Connell's tongue.
The widows and the fatherless their
sorrows he would share.
And build for them in days to come
bright castles in the air.
Old Ireland had her statesmen and art
ists many a one;
Ner sculptors and her Generals who
noble deeds have done;
glut likewise boasts of Goldsmith with
talents rich and rare
Whose standard works make thousands
build bright castles in the air.
Frer mountains. lakes and valleys are
lovely to behold;
tiler daughters they are bright and fair,
her sons are brave and bole
No other country where I've been to me
seems half as fair
the land where in my childhood I
built castles in the air.
The following ts contributed by J. T.
Thompson. of this city:
0YALLER DOG'S LOVE FOR-. A
NIGGER.
there's a rude mound in yotKler grave
yard cold
That knows no Decoration day.
:And ha that Is laid underneath to
mould
Is only a "nigger." they say.
Ile died an old vagrant. not a cent did
he own,
And he left not a soul to be sad;
They gave him his freedom and ha
wandered alone.
And an old, "yaller" dog was all that
he had.
They dug him a grave and laid him
away.
That poor old worn-out slave.
Not a prayer for him did anyone say,
But his dog lay down on his grave.
And there you carb see him day after
day.
At morning'. at night or at noon.
And the daintiest morsel can't tempt
him away,
From the sad, rude g-rave of the coon.
Ile lies there 8.nd mourns the whole
long day,
For nobody else does he care;
Neither menace nor threat can drive
him away
From the grave of the nigger laid
there.
There's a mighty fine monument stand
, ing right nigh,
But to me that rude mound seems
bigger,
For there's a monument that money
can't buy
The "yaller" dog's love for a nigger.
Author Unknown.
To the Editor: Captain Jack Craw
ford. the famed Poet Scout, and I were
close companions for several years in
the brave old days of the West, when
be was a chief of scouts attached to
the division of the army operating
against the hostile Apaches ort the
- ,
1Stritthwestern border. We yet are de
voted friends. and from one of his sev
eral books of poems 'in my library I
copy the verses, "Whar' the Hand o'
God Is Seen." requested by Therese M.
Castner. of Hood River, acting upon the 4
request of a friend in Canyon City. Colo
rado. Yours very trulY. -
JAMES BARTON ADAMS.
Vancouver. Wash.
WHAlt THE HAND 0' GOD IS SEEN.
Do I like the city. stranger? 'Tisn't
likely that I would;
"risn't likely that a ranger from the
border ever could
Git accustomed to the flurry and the
loud. unearthly noise.
Everybody in a hurry. men an' wim
men. gals an' boys
All a-rushin like the nation 'mid the
rumble and the jar.
Jusr as if their souls' salvation hung
upon their gittin' thee. .
Like it? No. I love to wander
'Mid the vales an' mountains green
In the borderland out yonder.
Whar' the hand o' God is seen.
Nothin' here but bricks an' Mortar
tow'rin overhead so high
That you never see a quarter of the
overhangle sky.
Not a tree or g-rassy medder, not a
runnin' brook ir sight,
Nothin' but the buildin's shadder
makin gloom o heaven's light.
E'en the birds are all imported from
the lands across the sea,
Faces meet me all distorted with the
band o misery.
Like it? No. I love to wander
'Mid the vales an' mountains green
In the borderland out yonder.
Whar' the hand o' God is seen.
Roarin' railway trains above you.
streets by workmen all defaced,
Everybody tryirb' to shove you in the
gutter in their haste.
Cars an carts an' wagons rurublin'
through the streets with deafen
in roar,
Drivers swearin'. yellIn" grumblin". 3es
like imps from sheol's shore;
Factories j'Inin' in the chorus, helpin'
'long the din to swell.
Auctioneers in tones sonorous brio'
'bout the goods they sell.
Like it? No. I love to wander
'Mid the vales an' mountains green
In the borderland out yonder.
Whar the hand o God is seen.
Yes, love the 'Western border. pine
trees wavin' in the air,
Rocks piled, up in rough disorder. birds
a-singin' everywhere.
Deer a-playin' in their gladness, elks
a-feedin in the glen,
Not a trace o' pain or sadness campin'
on the trail o' men.
Brooks of crystal clearness flowin o'er
the rocks an' lovely flowers
In their tinted beauty growin' in the
mountain dells an' bowers.
Fairer picture the Creator
Never threw on earthly screen
Than that lovely home o' Natur'
Whar' the hand o' God Is seen.
.
Mrs. Florence Cady. of Pal 'bridge,
Wash., and Mrs. F. F. Smith. of Port
land, have answered the request for
"The Barefoot Boy."
THE 1pAREPOOT BOY.
(BY John G. Whittler.)
Blessing's on thee, little man
Barefoot boy. with cheek of tan.
With thy turned-up pantaloons
And thy merry whistled tunes.
With thy red lip redder still,
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face.
Through thy torn brim's Jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee JoY
I was once a barefoot boy.
Prince thou artthe grown-up Man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride:
Barefoot, trudging- at his side.
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye
Outward sunshine. inward .10Y;
Blessings on thee. barefoot boy.
O. for boyhood's painless play.
Sleep that wakes in langhing daY.
Health that mocks the doctor's rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools
Of the wild bee's morning chase.
Of the wild flower's time andeplace.
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the robin feeds her young.
How the oriole's nest is hung.
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground nut trails its vine.
Where the wood-grape clusters shine;
Of the black wasp's cunning- way
And the architectural plarbs
Of the gray hornst artisans--
For eschewing' books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks.
Face to face with her he talks.
Part and parcel of her Joy
Blessings on the barefoot boy.
0, for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding- years in one brief MOTU.
When all things I heard or saw.
Me, their master waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees.
Humming birds and honey bees;
For my sport the squirrel played.
Plied the spouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone:
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the
night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond.
Mine the walnut slopes beyond.
Mine, on bended orchard trees.
Apples of Hesperides;
Still as my horizon grew.
Larger my riches, too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy.
Fashioned for a barefoot boy:
0. for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood.
On the door stone gray and rude;
O'er me like a regal tent,
Cloudy ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple curtain, fringed with gold.
Looped in many a wide-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir.
Lit the fly his lamp of lire.
I was monarch; pomp and Joy
Waited on the barefoot boy;
Cheerily. then,. my little man.
Live and laugh, as boyhood can:
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-spread the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must. hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod.
Like a colt's for work be shod.
Made to tread the mills of toil.
Up and down in ceaseless moil;
Happy if their track be found
Never on, forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of stn.
Ahl that thou couldst know thy Joy
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
Mrs. J. J. Palmateer, of Hillsboro.
sends us a copy of "The Decanter." but
this poem we have already reprinted
on this page. Mrs. Palmateer has also
sent the following song of 60 years
ago. which ought to ias an inspiration
THE SUNDAY OREGONIAN, PORTLAND, FEBRUARY 4, 1917.
JU
to the average scenario writer of to
day: JOHNNIE SANDS.
A man whose name was Johnnie Sands
Had married Betty Hague,
Altho' she brought him gold and land,
She proved a terrible plague.
And ohl she was a scolding wife.
Full of caprice and whim!
lie said that he was tired of life.
And she was tired of him.
Said he then. "I will drown myself.
The river runs below."
Says she, "Pray do, you silly elf.
I wished it long ago."
iroArTERIfit
Says he. "Upon the brink I'll stand
While you run down the bill
And push brie in with all your might."
Says.she. "Ily love. I will."
"For fear that should courage lack
And try to save my. life.
Pray tie my bands behind my back."
"I will." replied his wife."
She tted them fast. as you may think.
And when securely done.
"Now stand." says she. "uporb the
brink.
While I prepare to run."
As down the bill hts loving bride
Ndw ran with all her force
To push him in. he stepped aside
And she fell in, of course.
Now, splashing, dashing- like a fish.
"Oh, save mc. Johnnie Sands."
"I can't. rny dear. tho' much I wish.
For you have tied my hands."
AFTER 'PHE BALL.
BY NORA PERRY.
They sat amd combed their beautiful
hair,
Their long, bright tresses. one by one.
AB they. laughed and talked in the
chamber there
After the revel was done.
Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille.
Idly they laug-hed like other girls.
Who over the fire. where all is still.
Comb out their braids and curls.
Robe of satin and Brussels lace,
Knots of flowers and ribbons, too,
Scattered about in every place,
For the revel is through.
And Maud and Madge in robes of white.
The prettiest nightgowns under the
sun.
Stocking less, slipperless. sit i21 the
night.
For the revel Is done.
Sit and comb their beautiful hair.
Those wonderful tresses of brown and
gold,
Till the fire is out In the chamber
there.
And the little bare feet are cold.
Then out of the gathering Winter chill.
All out of the bitter St. Agnes
weather.
While the fire is out and the house Is
still
Maud 8.nd Madge together--
Maud and Madge In robes of white,
The prettiest nightgowns under the
sun.
Curtained away from the chilly night
After the revel Is done
Float along in a splendid dream.
To a golden gittern's tinkling tune.
While a thousand lusters shimmering
stream
In a palace's grand saloon.
'
Flashing of jewels and flutter of laces,
Tropical odors sweeter than musk,
Men and women with beautiful faces
And eyes of tropical dusk.
And one face shining' out like a star.
0116 face haunting the dvams of
each.
And one voice ev;4eter than others are.
Breaking into silvery speech--
Telling through lips of bearded bloom
The old. old story over again.
As down the royal bannered room
To the golden gittern's strain.
Two and two they dreamily walk,
While an unseen spirit walks beside,
And all unheard, in the lovers' talk,
- He claimeth one for his bride.
0 Maud and, Madge dream on together,
With never a pang of jealous fear!
For ere the bitter St. Agnes weather
Shall whiten another year.
Robed for the bridal and robed for the
tomb,
Braided brown hair and golden tress,
There'll be only one of you left for the
bloom
Of the bearded lips to press--
Only one for the bridal -pearls.
The robe of satin and Brussels lace--
Only one to blush -through her curls
At the sight of a lover's face.
0 beautiful Madge. In your bridal white.
For you the revel bas just begurr;
But for her who sleeps In your arms
tonight
The revel of Hie is done!
But robed and crowzied with your
saintly bliss.
Queen of heaven and bride of the sun.
0 beautiful Maud. you'll never miss
The kisses another bath W012!
T. Thompson, of Portland. contrib
utes the following coup of "What Is
Timer Mr. Thompson also serbds a
coup of "The Battle of Blenheim."
which hes' to acknowledges an-110144k
Requests Will Be Printed as Fast as Space Permits.
I
(A song of the Civil War times, this poem was almost as popular as its
forerunner. Just Before the Battle. blother." It was sung to the same tune.
The copy for the accompanying version was furnished us by C. C. Lewis, of this
city.)
we have already reprinted it on the
pag-e of old poems:
WHAT i TimEv
asked art aged man, a man of cares.
Wrinkled and curved and white with
hoary hairs:
"Time is the warp of life," he said. "Oh.
tell
The young. the fair, the gay to weave it
well."
I asked the ancient, venerable dead
Sages who wrote and warriors who
bled;
Prom the coM grave a hollow murmur
flowed.
"Time sowed the seed we reap in this
abode."
asked the dyalg sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins; "Time." he
replied.
"rve lost it All. the treasure: and he
died.
I asked a spirit lost: but oh, the shriek
That pierced my soul. I shudder while
I speak. -
It cries "A particle, a speck. a mite
Of endless years. duration infinite.
I asked my Bible; and. methinks. it
said.
"Time is the present hour; the past is
tied;
Live. live today. tomorrow never yet
On any human being rose or set"
I asked old Father Time himself. at
last;
But in a moment he levy swiftly past.
His chariot was & cloud. the viewless
wind
His noiseless steeds. which left no trace
behind.
I asked the mighty angel who shall
stand.
One foot on sea and one on solid land;
"'I now declare, the mystery is o'er;
Time was." he cried, "but time shall be
no more." Marsden.
INIrs. tr. Smith sends us "Small Be
ginnings": ' SMALL BEGINNINGS.
(By Charles Mackay.)
A. traveler through a dusty road
strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted and
grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time.
to breathe its early vows.
And age was pleased. in heats of 1:10031,
to back beneath its boughs;
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
the birds sweet music bore;
It stood a glory in its place. a blessing
evermore.
A little spring had lost its way amid
the grass and fern;
A. passing stranger scooped a well.
where weary men might turn;
He walled it in and hung with care a
ladle at the brink;
He thought not of the deed be did, but
Judged that toil might drink.
He passed again, and lo. the well, by
Summers never dried.
Had cooled ten thousand parching
tongues and saved a life beside.
A dreamer dropped a random thought;
'twee old and yet 'twas new;
A simple fancy of the brain. but strong
in being true.
It shone upon a genial mind, and lo, its
'light became
A lamp of life. a beacon ray. a moni
tory flame.
The thought was small; its issue great;
a watchilre On the hill;
It sheds its radiance far adown and
cheers the valley still.
A nameless man. amid- a crowd that
thronged the daily mart.
Let fall a word of hope and love, un
studied. from the heart;
A whisper on the tumult thrown:a
transitory breath
It raised a brother from the dust; it
saved a aoul from death.
0 germ. 0 fount, 0 word of love; 0
thought at random cast,
To were but little at the first, but
mighty at the lase
A contributor from Gold Beach Bends
the "Stor3r of Karin," a Danish legend.
told in the Scotch dialect. and asks for
the author's name.
THE STORY Ore KARIN.
Karin the fair. Karin- the gaY.
She came on the morn of her bridal
day.
She came to the millpond clear and
bright.
And viewed herser in the morning
light
"And oh." she cried. "that my bonny
brow
May ever be white and smooth as now!
And oh, my hair. that I love to braid.
Be yellow in sunshine and brown In
shade!
And oh. my waist, sae slender and fine,
MaY It never need girdle longer than
mine I"
She lingered and laughed 'er the waters
clear.
When sudden she starts and shrieks In
, fear:
"Oh. what is this face. sae laidly old.
That looks at my side in the watere
cold?"
She turns around to view tbe bank.
And the osier willows dark and dank
And from the fern she sees arise
An aged crone Nvi awsome eyes.
"Hai ha!" she laCighed. "ye're a bonny
bride!
See how yell fare gin the New Year's
tide!
Yell wear a robe sae blithely gran',
An ell-long girdle canna span.
When twal-montlxs three uhall Pans
avia.yit
ATTL
Still upon the field of battle
.---Cre- I am lying, mother dear.
- With my wounded comrades -waiting
. For the morning to appear.
' e,.. . Many sleep to waken never.
In this world of strife and death.
fbAnd many more are faintly calling
4 With their feeble. dying breath:-''-'1.-
CHORUS
Mother. dear. your boy is wounded.
And the night is drear with pain.
Sk---...
- ,,,,,But still I feel that I shall see you,
And the dear loved home again.
....26
f'Ç"' Oh! the first great charge was fearful.
t r And a thousand brave men fell.
'''''''),"'
l'.. r uwt a agmstadt et hf ar ot d rsehaodtf ualn cdasrtil earl!.
.......
........ ,-", So amid the fatal shower.
-Th 71-4----- I had almost passed the dal.
When here the deadly minute strUck
me.
0 - And I fell amid the fray.
ft, Obl the glorious cheer of triumph.
When the foeman turned and fled,
Leaving us the field of conflict,
Strewn with dying and with dead
Oh the torture and the anguish.
S That I could not follow on,
But here amonterny fallen comrades.
I rnust watt till morning's dawn.
1
1
Your berry-brown hair shall be
streaked wi gray,
And gin ye be mither of bairnies nine
Your brow shall be wrinkled and dark
as mine."
Karin she sprang to her feet wi' speed
And clapped her hands abune her bead.
"I pray to the.saints and spirits all
That never a child may me mither call!"
The crone drew near and the crone she
spake:
"Nine times flesh and banes shall ache.
Laid ly and awsome ye shall wane
WI' toil and care arbd travail pain."
Betteirt,0"wsarld Karin. "lay me low
And. sink rne for aye in the water'n
The crone raised. her withered hand on
high
And showed her a tree that stood hard
by.
"And take of the bonny fruit," she said'.
"And eat till the seeds are dark and
red.
Count them less or count them micro,
Nine times you shall number o'er,
And when each number you shall speak,
Cast seed by seed into the lake."
Karin, she ate of the fruit sae fine;
'Twas mellow as sand and sweet aa
brine.
Seed by seed she let them fall;
The waters rippled over all.
But ilka seed as Karin threw
Uprose a bubble to her view--
Uprose a sigh from out the lake.
As though a baby's heart did break.
Twice nine years are come and gone;
Karin the fair she walks her lone.
She sees around, on lika side.
Maiden and mither. wife arbd bride.
Wan ancl pale her bonny brow.
Sunken and sad her eyelids now.
Slow her steps and heavy her breast.
And never an .arm whereorb to rest
The old kirk porch when Karin spied.
The postern door was open wide.
"Wae's me!" she cried. "I'll enter in
And shrive me from my every sin."
'Twas silence all within the kirk;
The aisle was empty. chill and mirk.
The chan,cel rails were black and bare;
Nae priest. nee penitent was there.
Karin knelt and her prayer she said.
But her heart within her was heavy
and dead.-
Her prayer fell back on the cold graY
stone;
It would not rise to heaven alone.
Darker grew the darksome aisle.
Colder felt her heart the while.
"Wae's me!" she cried. "what Is MY
sin?
Never I wronged kith or kin,.
But why do I start and quake wi' fear
Lest I a dreadful doom should hear
And what is this light that seems to
fall
On the sixth command upon the wall?
And who are these I see arise
And look on me wi' stony eyes?
A shadowy troop. they flock sae fast.
The kirk yard may not hold the last.
Young and old of ilk degree.
Bairns and bairnies' bairns I see.
Ail I look on either way,
'Mother! mother!' seem to say,
'We are souls that might have been
But for your vanity and 8 i rt.
We. in numbers multiplied.
Might have lived and loved and died.
Might have served the Lord In this.
Might have met your soul in bliss.
Mourn for us. then. while you pray.
Who might have been but never may.'"
Thus the voices died awaY
"'Might have been but never may.'"
Karin she left the kirk no more;
Never she left the postern door.
They found her dead at the vesper toll.
May heaven in mercy rest her soul!
Three copies of "The Actor's Story."
recently requested. have been sent
Ruth Luce, of Portland. furnished one.
Mrs. E. E. Carson, of Vancouver, an
other. and the third reached us incom
plete. so that the name of the contrib..
utor does not appear.
THE AcTow STORY.
Mine Is a wild. strange story. the
strangest you ever heard;
There are many who won't believe It.
but Wag gospel, every word.
It's the biggest drama of any in a long,
adventurous life;
The scene was a ship. and the actors
were myself and new-wed wife.
You musn't mind if ramble and lose
the thread now and then;
I'ort old. you know. and wanderIt's
a way with old women and men.
For their lives lie all behind them, and
their thoughts go far away,
And are tempted afield. like children
lost on a Summer day.
The years must be live and twenty that
have passed since that awful
night
But I see it again this evening; I can
never shut out the sight.
We were only a few weeks married. I
and the wife. you know.
When we had an offer for Melbourne
and made up our minds to go.
We'd acted tógether In England. trav
eling up and down
With a strolling band of players. going
from town to town;
Ws played the lovers togetherwe
were leading. lady arid gent
And at la:st we played in earnest and
straight to the church we went.
The parson gave us his blessing and I
gave Nellie the ring.
And swore that I'd love and cherish.
and endow her with everything.
How we smiled at that part of the serv
ice, when I said "I thee endowr
But as to the "'love and cherish."
friends. I meant to keep that vow.
We were only a couple of strollers; we
had coin when ttie show wag
good;
'When it wasn't ws went without it.
and we did the best we could.
We were happy and loved each other.
and laughed at the shifts we
made.
Where love makes plenty of sunshine.
there poverty easts no shade.
0
,
Well. at last we got to London. and
did pretty well for a bit:
Then the business dropped off to noth
ing. and the manager took a fit--
Stepped off one Sunday morning. for
getting the treasury call:
But our luck was in. and we managed
right on our feet to fall.
We got art offer for Melbournegot it
that very week.
Those were the days when thousands
went over their fortunes to seek
The days of the great gold fever. and
the rnanager thought the spot
Good for a "spec." and took us actors
among his lot
We hadn't a friend in Englandwe'd
only ourselves to please--
And we jumped at the chance of trying
our fortunes across the seas.
We went on a sailing vessel. and the
journey was long and rough:
We hadn't been out a fortnight before
we had had enough.
But use Is a second nature. and we'd
got not to mind a storm
When misery came upon uscame In a
hideous form.
My poor little wife fell ailing. grevr
worse. and at last so bad
That the doctor said she was dying-1
thought 'twould have sent me
math
Dying where leagues of billows seemed
to shriek for their prey.
And the nearest land W a S hundreds--
aye thousands of miles away.
She raved one night in a fever. and,the
next iay still as death.
So still rd bend to listen for the faint
est sign of breath.
She seemed as in a sleep. and sleeping
with a smile an her thin. wan
face.
She passed away one morning. while I
pruyed to the throne of grace.
I knelt in the little cabin. and prayer
after prayer I said.
Till the surgeon came and told rne it
was uselessmy wife was dead!
Dead! wouldn't believe it. They
forced me away that night
For I raved in my wild despairing. the
shock sent me mad outright
was shut in the farthest cabin. and I
beat my head on the side.
Arid all day long in my madness.
"They've murdered her!" I cried.
I They locked me away from my fellows.
Put me in cruel chains,
It seems I had seized a weapon to beat
1 out the surgeon's brains.
I I cried in my wild. mad fury that he
was the devil sent
To gloat o'er the frenzied anguish with
which my heart was rent
I (gent that night with the irons heavy
upon my wrists.
And my wife lay dead quite near me.
I beat with my fettered fists
Baat at my prison panels. and then
() Godand then
I heard the shrieks of women and the
- tramp of hurrying men.
I heard the cry "Ship afire!" caught up
by a hundred throats.
And over the roar the captain shouting
to lower the boats:
Then cry upon cry. and curses and the
crackle of burning wood.
The place grew hot as a furnaceI
could feel it where I stood.
beat at the door and shouted. but
lever a sound came back.
And the timbers above me started. till
right through a yawning crack
I could nee the flames shoot unwards.
seizing' on mast and gall.
Fanned in their burning fury by the
breeth of the howling galls.
I dashed at the door In my fur3r. skirlek
ins'. "I will not die!
DIa in this burning prison!"but I
caught no answering' cry.
Then, suddenly. right upon me the
flames crept up with a roar.
And their fiery tongues shot forward.
cracking my prison door.
I was freewith the heavy Iron door
dragging ma down to death;
I fought my wav to the cabin. choked
with the burning breath '
Of the flames that danced around me
like mad. mocking fiends at play.
And then. 0 God! I can see it, and shall
to my dying day.
There lay Nell as they'd left her dead
in her berth that night:
The flame flung a smile on her features
horrible. lurid light,
God knows how I reached and touched
her. but I found myself by her
side ,
I thoug-ht she was living a moment.
I forgot that my Nell had died.
In the shock of those awful seconds
- reason came back to my brain.
I heard a sound as of breathing. and
then a low cry of pain:
Oh. was there mercy in heaven? Was
there a God in the skies?
The dead woman's lips were moving,
the dead woman opened her eyea.
I cursed like a mad man ravingI cried
to ber "Nell! My Nell!"
They had left us alone and helpless.
alone in that burning hell;
They had left us alone to perishfor
gotten me livingand she
Had beeo left for their fire to bear her
to heaven, Instead of the sea.
I clutched her. roused her shrieking.
the stupor was on her BMW'
I seized her in spite of my fettersfear
gave me a giant's will.
God knows how I did it. but blindlI
fought through the flames and
the wreck.
ITp. up to the air. and brought her safe
to the untouched deck.
We'd a moment of life together. a mo
ment of life, the time
FOr one last word to each other. 'twas
a moment supreme. sublime,
From the trance we'd for death mis
taken the heat had brought her
to life.
And I was fettered and helpless. so we
lay there. husband and wife!
It was but a moment. but ages seemed
to have passed away.
When a shout came over the water, and
I looked. and lo. there lay
Right away from the vessel. a boat was
standing by;
They bad seen our forms on the vessel.
as tbe flames lit up the sky..
shouted fl prayer to heaven. then
called to my wife. and she
Tore with new strength at my fetters--
, God helped her and I was free;
Then over the burning. bulwarks we
leaped for one chance of life.
Did they save us? Well. here I arn, sir.
and yonder's my dear old wife.
Vire were out in tbe boat till daylight.
when a great ship passing by
Took us on board. and at Melbourne
landed us by and by.
We've played many parts In dramas
since We went on that famous
trip.
But neer such a seems together as we
had 011 the burning' ship!
George R. Sims.
Harry Crabb, of Hillsboro. Is the first
to contributor who has responded to the
..
request fors"The Days of '49." The
version appears imperfect in many mi
nor details. but will prove Interesting
to our readers:
DAYS Or 0410.
It's now you see Tom Moore. a relic of
former days.
A bummer. too. they call me now. but
what care I for praise;
For rny heart is filled with the days of
old. and oft do I repine
For the days of old. the land of gold.
the days of forty-nine.
I had comrades then. & jovial. jolly
crew;
There were some hard cases. must
confess. but they were brave and
true.
They neer would finch. what ere the
pinch. never fret nor whine.
But like good old bricks. they stood Um
kicks in the days of forty-nine.
There was New York Jake. a butcher's
boy. who was fOrld of getting
tight.
And when Jake Wile ort a spree he 'grafi
spoiling for a fight;
One night he ran against a knife ta the
hands of old Bob Kline.
And over Jake we beld a wake. In the
days of forty-nine.
There was poor lame Jest,. a hard old
case, who never would repent;
Jess never missed a meal. nor never
paid a cent.
But like all the rest, he did to death
resign.
For in his bloom be went up the flume.
in the days of forty-nine.
There was Monte Pete. I knew him welts
for the luck he always had:
He'd deal for you both day and night
or as long- as you had a aced:
He'd ante a slug or go a hatPull
But in a game with death Pete lost his
breath, in the days of forty-ninc
There was Roaring- Bill. who could out
roar a buffalo bull. you bet
He'd roar all day. he'd roar all night,
and I guess he's roaring yet.
One night he rode in a prospect hole,
'twat; a roaring. bad design.
For in that bole Bill roared out his
soul. in the daya of forty-nine.
Of all tbe friends that I had then.
there's none remain to toast.
They have gone and lett me in, my mis
ery like some poor wandering
ghost;
And as I go from place to place, folks
call me a traveling sign.
Saying. "there goes Tom Moore, a bum
mer sure of the days of forty.,
nine."
---,..--
Ruth Luce. one of our best contribu
tors, sends the following:
SONG OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE.
I build my nest on the mountain's
crest,
Where the wild winds rock my eaglets
to rest
'Where the lightning flash and the
thunders crash
And the roaring torrents foara and
dash
For my spirit free henceforth shall be
A type of the Sons of Liberty.
Aloft I fly to my aerie high.
Through the vaulted dome of the azure
sky
Ort a sunbeam bright take my airy
flight.
And float in a fldod of liquid light;
For love to play in the noontide ray.
And bask in a blaze from the throne
of day.
Away I spring with a tireless wing.
On a feathery cloud I poise and swing;
I dart down the steep where the light
nings leap.
And the clear blue 'canopy swiftly
sweep.
For dear to me is the revelry
Of a free and fearless Liberty.
I love the land where the mountains
stand
Like the watch-towers high of a
patriot band
For I may not bide in my glory and
pride.
Though the land be never so fair and
- wide
'Where Luxury reigns o'er voluptuous
plains.
And fetters the free-born soul in
chains.
Then give to me in my nights to see
The land of the pilgrims ever free!
And I never will rove from the haunts
I love,
But watch from my sentinel-track
above,
Your banner free. o'er land and sea.
And exult in your glorious 14berty.
Oh. guard ye well the land where I
dwell,
Lest to future times the tale I tell,
When slow expires in smouldering
fires
The goodly heritage of your sires.
How Freedom's light rose clear and
bright
O'er fair Co!umbia's beacon-height
Till ye ouenclaed the flame in a starless
night.
Then will I tear from your :lennons
fair
The stars ye have set in triumph there:
My olive-branch on the blast ra
launch
The fluttering stripes from the flag
staff wrench
And away I'll flee; for I scorn to see
A craven race in the land of the free!
H. E. French, of Grass Valley. co...I
tributes the following piece of chaie
acteristic verse:
THE COWBOY CALLER.
Git yer little sagebens ready;
Trot em out upon the floor
Line up there. you cusses; steadyl
1..ively now! One couple more!
Shorty. shed that ol' sombrero!
Stop yer cussin'. Casimero.
For the ladles! Now all set!
S'inte your ladies, all together!
Ladies opposite the same--
Hit the lumberwith yer leather!
Balance all an' swing yer dame'
Burtch the heifers in the middle!
Circle stags and do-se-do--
Pay attention to the fiddle!
Swing her 'round and off you go!
First four forward! Back to placeat
Second rollershuffle back!
Now you've got it down to cases--
Swing 'em till their trotters crack!
Gents all right a heel and toeite;
Swing' 'enu kiss 'em if you kiro--
On to next and keep a-goin'
Till you hit your pards ag'int
Gents to center. ladles round 'ern
Form a basket; balance all;
Whirl your gals to where you found
'ern;
- Promenade around the hall!
Balance to your parde an' trot 'am
Round the circle double quick;
Grab an' kiss 'em while you've got 'ema
Hold 'em to it if they kickl
Ladles, left band to your sonnies;
Alaman. grand right and left;
Balance all alb. swing yer honies--
Pick 'em up an' feel their heft; ,
Promenade like skeery cattle--
Balance all swing yer sweets;
Shake yer spurs au' make 'ern rottlet
IZertol Promenade to seats!
.--,Author Unknown
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(A song of the Civil War times, tl
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forerunner. Just Before the Battle. I'd
The copy for the accompanying version '
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