His heart against his waistcoat throbbed, His feelings had a tussle, Which nearly conquered him despite Six feet of bone and muscle.

The candle in the window shone With a most doleful glimmer, And Sam he felt his courage ooze, And through his fingers simmer.

Says he: "Now, Sam, don't be a fool, Take courage, shaking doubter, Go on, and pop the question right, For you can't live without her."

But still, as he drew near the house, His knees got in a tremble, The beating of his heart ne'er beat His efforts to dissemble.

Says he: "Now, Sam, don't be a goose, And let the female wimmin Knock all your thoughts a-skelter so, And set your heart a-swimmin'."

So Sam, he kinder raised the latch, His courage also raising, And in a moment he sat inside, Cid Jones's crops a-praising.

He tried awhile to talk the farm In words half dull, half witty, Not knowing that old Jones well knew His only thought was--Kitty.

At last the old folks went to bed-- The Joneses were but human; Old Jones was something of a man, And Mrs. Jones--a woman.

And Kitty she the pitcher took, And started for the cellar; It wasn't often that she had So promising a feller.

And somehow when she came upstairs, And Sam had drank his cider, There seemed a difference in the chairs, And Sam was close beside her; His stalwart arm dropped round her waist, Her head dropped on his shoulder, And Sam--well, he had changed his tune And grown a trifle bolder.

But this, if you live long enough, You surely will discover, There's nothing in this world of ours Except the loved and lover.

The morning sky was growing gray As Sam the farm was leaving, His face was surely not the face Of one half grieved, or grieving.

And Kitty she walked smiling back, With blushing face, and slowly; There's something in the humblest love That makes it pure and holy.

And did he marry her, you ask?

She stands there with the ladle A-skimming of the morning's milk-- That's Sam who rocks the cradle.

The Red Jacket

'Tis a cold, bleak night! with angry roar The north winds beat and clamor at the door; The drifted snow lies heaped along the street, Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet; The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend But o'er the earth in gloom and darkness bend; Gigantic shadows, by the night lamps thrown, Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.

In lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease, Sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas; In happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet The weary traveler with their smiles to greet; In lowly dwellings, where the needy swarm Round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm, Rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light-- "Thank G.o.d for home, this bitter, bitter night!"

But hark! above the beating of the storm Peals on the startled ear the fire alarm.

Yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sudden light, And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright; From tranquil slumbers springs, at duty's call, The ready friend no danger can appall; Fierce for the conflict, st.u.r.dy, true, and brave, He hurries forth to battle and to save.

From yonder dwelling, fiercely shooting out, Devouring all they coil themselves about, The flaming furies, mounting high and higher, Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire.

Strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe In vain attempts their power to overthrow; With mocking glee they revel with their prey, Defying human skill to check their way.

And see! far up above the flame's hot breath, Something that's human waits a horrid death; A little child, with waving golden hair, Stands, like a phantom, 'mid the horrid glare,-- Her pale, sweet face against the window pressed, While sobs of terror shake her tender breast.

And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild, A mother screams, "O G.o.d! my child! my child!"

Up goes a ladder. Through the startled throng A hardy fireman swiftly moves along; Mounts sure and fast along the slender way, Fearing no danger, dreading but delay.

The stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path, Sharp tongues of flame a.s.sail him in their wrath; But up, still up he goes! the goal is won!

His strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone!

Gone to his death. The wily flames surround And burn and beat his ladder to the ground, In flaming columns move with quickened beat To rear a ma.s.sive wall 'gainst his retreat.

Courageous heart, thy mission was so pure, Suffering humanity must thy loss deplore; Henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live, Crowned with all honors n.o.bleness can give.

Nay, not so fast; subdue these gloomy fears; Behold! he quickly on the roof appears, Bearing the tender child, his jacket warm Flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm, Up with your ladders! Quick! 'tis but a chance!

Behold, how fast the roaring flames advance!

Quick! quick! brave spirits, to his rescue fly; Up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die!

Silence! he comes along the burning road, Bearing, with tender care, his living load; Aha! he totters! Heaven in mercy save The good, true heart that can so n.o.bly brave!

He's up again! and now he's coming fast-- One moment, and the fiery ordeal's pa.s.sed-- And now he's safe! Bold flames, ye fought in vain.

A happy mother clasps her child again.

_George M. Baker._

John Maynard

'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen Swept proudly on her way.

Bright faces cl.u.s.tered on the deck, Or, leaning o'er the side, Watched carelessly the feathery foam That flecked the rippling tide.

Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, That smiling bends serene, Could dream that danger, awful, vast, Impended o'er the scene; Could dream that ere an hour had sped That frame of st.u.r.dy oak Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, Blackened with fire and smoke?

A seaman sought the captain's side, A moment whispered low; The captain's swarthy face grew pale; He hurried down below.

Alas, too late! Though quick, and sharp, And clear his orders came, No human efforts could avail To quench th' insidious flame.

The bad news quickly reached the deck, It sped from lip to lip, And ghastly faces everywhere Looked from the doomed ship.

"Is there no hope, no chance of life?"

A hundred lips implore; "But one," the captain made reply, "To run the ship on sh.o.r.e."

A sailor, whose heroic soul That hour should yet reveal, By name John Maynard, eastern-born, Stood calmly at the wheel.

"Head her southeast!" the captain shouts, Above the smothered roar, "Head her southeast without delay!

Make for the nearest sh.o.r.e!"

No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, Or clouds his dauntless eye, As, in a sailor's measured tone, His voice responds, "Ay! ay!"

Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, Crowd forward wild with fear, While at the stern the dreaded flames Above the deck appear.

John Maynard watched the nearing flames, But still with steady hand He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly He steered the ship to land.

"John Maynard, can you still hold out?"

He heard the captain cry; A voice from out the stifling smoke Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!"

But half a mile! a hundred hands Stretch eagerly to sh.o.r.e.

But half a mile! That distance sped Peril shall all be o'er.

But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames No longer slowly creep, But gather round that helmsman bold, With fierce, impetuous sweep.

"John Maynard!" with an anxious voice The captain cries once more, "Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, And we shall reach the sh.o.r.e."

Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart Responded firmly still, Unawed, though face to face with death, "With G.o.d's good help I will!"

The flames approach with giant strides, They scorch his hand and brow; One arm, disabled, seeks his side, Ah! he is conquered now.

But no, his teeth are firmly set, He crushes down his pain, His knee upon the stanchion pressed, He guides the ship again.

One moment yet! one moment yet!

Brave heart, thy task is o'er, The pebbles grate beneath the keel, The steamer touches sh.o.r.e.