"Your advice is good and I always would
Comply with what you said,

And wherever you go, I am with you, Jo,
Till we're numbered with the dead."

So we started away the very next day,
With all the money we had,

And when that night we came in sight
Of the village we both felt glad.

Well, we started then for a gambling den,
And joined the gamblers' ring;

For gambling fills your pets with bills,
And money was everything.

The time did fly and a month slipped by,
And still we held our own;

And it couldn't be more than a year before
We had both of us wealthy grown.

We were playing one night by the candle light,
A dozen of men or more;

When we heard a sound and looked around,
As some one opened the door,

And a man came in who was tall and thin,
And looked like old Jim Vear;

But it couldn't be him for I knew that Jim
Had been dead for more than a year.

And we shivered and shook at every look
He gave, and at every tone,

Yet I honestly swear there were no cowards there,
They were grit to the very bone.

Well, anyway, we asked him to play,
And he came at the very first call
And took a chair beside us there,
And played and beat us all.

But we wouldn't flinch, no, not an inch;
'Twas luck-we'd try him awhile;

But the very next game was just the same,

He easily swept the pile.

And so it went till the night was spent,

And I was getting mad,

For I could see there appeared to be

No end to the money he had.

"He's a devilish cheat or he could not beat
Us all!" Then I drew my knife:

"Now, you miserable cuss, give it back to us,
Or-I will have your life!"

And with the shout revolvers came out,
And were leveled at his head,

But he calmly rose and spoke to his foes,
And his voice was the voice of the dead:

"Boys don't come near, I am old Jim Vear!"
And a shudder swept through each frame,
For a skeleton stood by the table of wood,
With eyes of burning flame.

Then he vanished from sight, and from that night
I've let the cards alone,

And when under the sod, I hope that God

Will forgive me for what I've done.

MY FIRST SINGING LESSON.*-C. S. BROWN, JR.

Having a natural love for music, and desiring to cultivate my voice, my friends advised me to try the noted teacher, Miss

"What part do you sing?" said she.

"I don't know, ma'am," said I.

"Well, we'll begin at middle C and find out what you can do."

I hadn't contracted for any ocean voyage, but didn't say anything. She seated herself at the piano and carried me up and down the scale two or three times, and finally said, "You have a baritone voice."

I said, "Yes'm, I can bear a tone about as well as any body I know of. She smiled a little and said we would now try some of the technique. As I had never seen any, I was very anxious to try them, but she went on fingering the keys and never said anything more about them. Presently she said:

"You must get a full breath and control it well, and take care not to let it out too rapidly.”

Written expressly for this Collection.

I was determined to do the thing just right, so I took in a good breath and closed my lips firmly. Then came the do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do. I tried to make them just like she did. As she was seated at the piano, I could not see exactly how she managed her mouth, but I took particular pains to keep mine well closed, and sang do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

We went over this several times, and then she said: "I am afraid you don't open your mouth well. You must open your mouth wide enough to get in two fingers thus, and then sing out distinctly."

I didn't see how in the world I was to keep back a good supply of breath with my mouth wide open. I decided, however, to try it, if it gave me the lockjaw. So she played it over again and I sang (fingers in mouth) do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do. She told me that my voice still wasn't clear, and that I must hold my tongue well down against my lower teeth.

I asked her in a somewhat despondent tone if one man was expected to do all that and sing at the same time. She took pity on me, and said it would all come natural after awhile.

Then she changed the exercises and began la, la, la, la, la. I just thought "La, la, la, me alive, woman, what are you doing?" After singing la, la, la, till I was ashamed of every man, woman, and child in the town, she said we would now sing la, le, li, lo, loo. I couldn't imagine why she wanted Lou to lie low. I didn't see why she couldn't come out and face the world as well as anybody, but I was afraid to ask any questions.

Then she informed me that we would try the portamento next. I pretended that I had been used to portamentos all my life, and so waited for further developments. I soon found however, that there was no dependence to be put in that kind of singing. You never saw such jumping in all your life. She started way down in the cellar and went clear to the second story at one jump. Down she came again, and then up just like she was

made of India rubber. I just stood still and waited to see where she was going to light. Finally she settled down, and after resting a moment or two said we would learn the staccato. She said all I would have to do would be to make the note by a simple stroke of the glottis. I told her I would. Then she began ha, ha, ha, ha, just like I was the biggest idiot in creation. 1 didn't like to be laughed at right in my face, but I thought I would put up with it for the sake of learning to sing. While I was resting, she said she would run over the minor scale. I told her I would be pleased to hear it. She went over it once right slowly. I knew there was something wrong. I studied a moment and then said, "Do that again, will you?"

Before she had finished, I could see the graveyard. Tombstones rose up in the background. It seemed like all my folks were dead and she was playing the funeral dirge. I told her that I was not well and must go home.

it

Before I left she told me I must practice holding my breath, and for a good exercise she recommended that I take a full breath and then count forty before letting go. All the way home I could think of nothing but staccatos and portamentos, and la, le, li, lo, loo, kept ringing in my ears. When I reached home, I went out on the piazza, stood up erect, and prepared to make my forty. I drew in a full breath and began to count, but made only fifteen. I was not to be discouraged, how, ever, and so I took a new start. By the time I reached twenty, my cheeks had begun to stand out considerably, and at twenty-five the explosion took place. I took a good rest and then determined to make forty in spite of all obstacles. I filled my lungs well and began. At twenty I began to feel weak, at twenty-five the blood was rushing to my face, and at thirty my eyes began to roll back, but I held on like grim death. Just as I reached thirty-five, my boarding-house lady came to the front door, and, seeing me in this condition, dashed a bucket of cold water in my face. And I fainted.

LOST ON THE DESERT.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.
Written expressly for this Collection.

Burning, burning, burning is the sand,
And burning, burning, burning is the sky!
Three days upon this trackless arid sea,
The sun white-hot, the heavens a bright steel eye
That gloats upon me, lost and pitiful;
The red sand shining like another eye

I tread upon. The Khamseen's fiery breath,
Blowing in fitful gasps, has killed the air.
There is no shade, not any tree nor shrub,
Not any rock to hide me from the glare
Of sky and earth; and all the sound there is
Is the faint tinkling of the blowing sand
That cuts me as it flies, save in the night,
The hot, dry night, when stifled murmurs come
Of fray mysterious in the under world
Where Korah, Dathan and Abiram still

Are tortured with the fierce thirst of the lost.
Not any sound, not any bird or beast,
Not any insect-only, once I heard
The groaning of the camels far away
Of some slow caravan going Egyptward.

Where is my camel? Ah, it died last night-
I had no water for it and it died.

Water! See my goat-skin! Dry it is,
And all around is parched and blistering sand.
Nay, nay, there is the water! Hail, bright length
Of liquid life! There it is, and broad palms
Droop over it, how cool; and little waves
Round into curves upon the shingly shore,
And-ah, 'tis gone again; again 'twas but
The mirage I have seen these bitter days,
The shadow of sweet waters somewhere in
A fertile land, or near or more than far.
Ah, for a moment's shade! ah, for a drop
Of moisture for my tongue that aches upon
The pebbles in my mouth that keep my throat
From drying till I die! Let me forget,—
Let me remember!

A few short days, it seems,
And Cairo saw me and my Musa there,—
Musa, my brave lover, bold and strong,