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Now vas taller as hees fader,
Und vas oup to all sooch dhings
Like shimnasdic dricks und pase pall;
Und der oder day he say
Dot he boxes mit "adthledics,"
Somevheres ofer on Back Bay.

Times vas deeferent, now, I dold you,
As vhen he vas been a lad;

Dhen Katrine she make hees drowsers
Vrom der oldt vones off hees dad;
Dhey vas cut so full und baggy
Dot id dook more as a fool
To find oudt eef he vas going,
Or vas coming home vrom school.

Now, dhere vas no making ofer
Off mine clothes to make a suit
For dot poy,-der times vas schanged;
"Der leg vas on der oder boot; "
For vhen hees drowsers dhey gets dhin
Und sort off "schlazy" roundt der knee
Dot Mrs. Strauss she dake der sceessors
Und she cuts dhem down for me.

Shust der oder day dot Yawcob
Gife me von elecdric shock,
Vhen he say he vants fife-hundord
To invesht in railroadt schtock.
Dhen I dell him id vas beddher
Dot he leaf der schtocks alone,
Or some fellar dot vas schmardter
Dake der meat und leaf der bone.

Und vhen I vas got oxcited,

Und say he get "schwiped" und fooled,
Dhen he say he haf a "pointer"

Vrom soom friendts off Sage und Gould;
Und dot he vas on "rock bottom!"
Had der "inside drack” on "Atch-"
Dot vas too mooch for hees fader,
Und I coom oup to der scratch.

Dhen in bolitics he dabbles,
Und all qvesdions, great und schmall,
Make no deeferent to dot Yawcob-
For dot poy he knows id all.

Und he say dot dhose oldt fogies
Must be laid oup on der shelf,
Und der governors und mayors
Should pe young men-like himself.

Vell! I vish I vas dransborted
To dhose days off long ago,
When dot schafer beat der milk-ban,
Und schkydoodled droo der schnow.
I could schtand der mumbs und measles,
Und der ruskshuns in der house;
But mine presendt dribulations
Vas too mooch for Meester Strauss.


An "Engineer's Story," in form regulation,

I ain't going ter tell-I am not cruel-hearted. This story, in kind, is the first since creation

Upon its long journey o' mysteries started.

I loved Sallie Jenkins-a name that's not takin'
With people what hanker for poetry names;
'Twas the gal, not 'er name, sir, that first did awaken
Affection in me, an' enkindled love's flames.

We met, an' as soon as her pirty eyes hit me,

I felt my heart jump, like a feller in a doze, I sez, "Thar's a gal what'll jes' 'zackly fit me,

I'll hev 'er no matter what troubles oppose."

I found she wuz willin', but then her ole daddy
He took down his gun from the garret, an' sed
If ever I 'tempted to take her, he had me,-

He'd draw back the hammer, so I would go dead.

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I knowed he would do it, yes, 'cause the ole party Hed won much renown fer sich innocent capers. His appetite allers fer fightin' wuz hearty,

'N much he hed done I hed read in the papers.

But fortune hit allers smiles out on two lovers,
I rested fer things ter develop themselves.
Good luck in the cloud that affrights us oft hovers,
Success in calamity's house often dwells.

One evenin' at dusk, when the moon wuz up creepin',

My train near her home wuz a-chargin' with might; Ahead, near the track, there wuz sumthin' a-leapin', Then a form uv a woman grew quick on my sight! She seemed all unconscious uv what she wuz doin';

She heeded no whistle,-stepped right on the track; Her form to the rails soon the wheels would be gluin' Unless by a miracle she was jerked back!

One chance in a thousand! Reversing the lever,
An' makin' a leap an' a grab at one time,
I landed her over the bank in a quiver

Of terror and gladness-that sweet gal o' mine!

Next day all the papers wuz full uv the story:
"The brave engineer" wuz the idol uv all.
Her old dad wuz on me,-his eyes no more gory,-

He hugged me, while tears from his whiskers did fall!

And now for pure fact in this awful narration,—

Fer since we are married the public may scoff,That job wuz put up at the sharp gal's dictation, When I leaped ter save her she wuz twenty steps off!


If I to-night were lying dead,

Would they who now with scoff and jeer
Defame my life,-would they draw near
And mouth their scandals o'er my head?
Would they with malice-venomed dart
Re-ope the wounds in my dead heart?
Would those whose burdens I have borne,
To help them on their upward way,
Though I was weak and poor as they,
And needed favors in return:

Would they requite me when I'm dead
With sorrow-or with scorn instead?

If, looking down in my dead face,

They marked the lines of toil and care
And self-denial printed there,

Which death itself could not efface,

Would they not say, "He's happier far
Than we who have maligned him are?"

If sacrifice for others' need,

If craving love where none is given,
If these be sin in sight of heaven,
Then I must stand condemned indeed;
But malice wrought on any one
Is evil I have never done.

And so, when I shall come to die,
This heritage of hate will cease;
And in its place the sweetest peace
Will brood around me when I die,

And all my life of love and care
Will rise toward heaven like a prayer.


We passed the bridge with tramping steeds,

The waters rushed below,

Down from the gorges of the hills

We heard the torrents flow.
But louder than the roar of streams,-
We rode as hurried men,—
The footfalls of our cavalcade

Re-echoed through the glen.

We sang and shouted as we went,
Our hearts were light that day,
When near the middle of the bridge
A shrill voice bade us stay.
We saw a woman gaunt and old
Come gliding up the rocks,

With long bare arms, and shriveled face,
And grey disheveled locks.

She seized my bridle suddenly,

The horse stood still with fear

Her hand was strong and bird-like long,
Her eye was piercing clear.


Oh, shame!" she said, "oh, cruel shame!
To ride so fierce and wild,

The clatter of your horses' hoofs
Will wake my little child.

"Oh, hush! oh, hush! I pray you, hush!
I ask no other boon-

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Much wondered we to hear her words,
But Hugh, our guide, looked on:

Poor soul!" he said, "we'll do our best
To earn her benison.


"Twill cost no trouble to be kind:

Good Chrystie, let us through,
We will not wake your sleeping child,
But pray for her and you."

She slowly let the bridle fall

"Ride on your way," she said, "But oh, be silent! noise like yours Disturbs both quick and dead." And then she slid among the rocks; We saw not where she went, But turned to Hugh our anxious eyes, Inquiring what she meant.

"Poor thing!" he said, while forth we rode As if we trod on snow,

"Her brain is turned by sore mischance
That happened long ago.

Her age was scarcely twenty then,
But what it now may be
Is somewhat difficult to fix,

Between fourscore and three.

"Though now she's ugly as a witch,
She was a beauty then,

And with her gentleness and grace
She won the hearts of men.

And Donald Bain won hers, and sought
The hand she freely gave.

They married; but before a year
She wept upon his grave.

"A little babe was left behind,-
A fairy thing, 'tis said,

With soft blue eyes and golden hair,
And cheeks of cherry red.

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