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The Festival of the Tram Club.
Conductor.Comrades of this festival,
Is there one who can recall
Ancient snail-drawn stage-coach days,
Ere, by metal-bordered ways,
The life-crowded lightning-train,
Trampling loud from plain to plain,
Bearing its own steed of steam,
Was a truth, and not a dream?
Ere through storms or gleams of day,
Flying cities sped their way;
Ere, by night, the brilliant cars,
Like a stream of shooting-stars,
Yet inhabited by man,
Their swift pageantry began?
A MODERN CASSANDRA.
Baggage-man.
Yes; I can recollect a time, when, if I had suggested
That things like cars would ever be, I'd almost been arrested.
Before they'd let a fellow make a prophecy much hazier,
They'd put him in asylum walls, and maybe make him crazier.
There's toleration for a man behind the times, some distance;
But any one that's far ahead—he won't enjoy existence.
That things like cars would ever be, I'd almost been arrested.
Before they'd let a fellow make a prophecy much hazier,
They'd put him in asylum walls, and maybe make him crazier.
There's toleration for a man behind the times, some distance;
But any one that's far ahead—he won't enjoy existence.
Now there was Ruby Willoughby: as fine a girl as often
Kept twenty fellows cooing round, her heart toward them to soften.
She 'tended the debating-schools, much sage instruction gaining,
And heard all subjects there discussed, to earth and heaven pertaining;
But as for making speeches, then—girls never used to do it,
Being not supposed to say a thing, however well they knew it.
(They're more like men are, nowadays, my observation teaches;
The less they know about a thing, the longer are their speeches.)
Kept twenty fellows cooing round, her heart toward them to soften.
She 'tended the debating-schools, much sage instruction gaining,
And heard all subjects there discussed, to earth and heaven pertaining;
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Being not supposed to say a thing, however well they knew it.
(They're more like men are, nowadays, my observation teaches;
The less they know about a thing, the longer are their speeches.)
One evening, when the theme picked out to steer the disagreeings,
Was whether iron or gold was most of use to human beings,
Each speaker was assigned his views on this important matter,
And not a single first-class speech had cut through the clatter,
A young chap raised his safety-valve—a handsome, wholesome fellow
As ever made a maiden's heart love-ripen till 'twas mellow;
A regular Patrick Henry speech he made as Iron's attorney,
And scraped the sky, and all the crowd went with him on the journey;
My very hair stood up to hear the chap's sublime oration.
(Insurance agency became his ultimate vocation.)
Was whether iron or gold was most of use to human beings,
Each speaker was assigned his views on this important matter,
And not a single first-class speech had cut through the clatter,
A young chap raised his safety-valve—a handsome, wholesome fellow
As ever made a maiden's heart love-ripen till 'twas mellow;
A regular Patrick Henry speech he made as Iron's attorney,
And scraped the sky, and all the crowd went with him on the journey;
My very hair stood up to hear the chap's sublime oration.
(Insurance agency became his ultimate vocation.)
And Ruby sat and looked at him, her head by little raising,
And her blue eyes grew dark like night, and then burst out a-blazing
(She oft had traded looks with him, as if she meant to mean them,
And something more and less than space was thought to be between them);
And when he'd finished, she arose, wrapped in a frenzied flurry,
And, shouting “I will prophesy!” went at it in a hurry.
And her blue eyes grew dark like night, and then burst out a-blazing
(She oft had traded looks with him, as if she meant to mean them,
And something more and less than space was thought to be between them);
And when he'd finished, she arose, wrapped in a frenzied flurry,
And, shouting “I will prophesy!” went at it in a hurry.
“I see,” she said, “in yonder vale a horse of iron go speeding,
And bushels oft of blazing coals are measured for his feeding!
His head is iron, his body iron, his feet—the earth while scorning—
His breath is like the chimney-smoke upon a winter morning!
He's harnessed up in brass and steel, the buckles wide and gleaming;
His neigh is like the autumn gales when through the forest screaming!
And bushels oft of blazing coals are measured for his feeding!
His head is iron, his body iron, his feet—the earth while scorning—
His breath is like the chimney-smoke upon a winter morning!
He's harnessed up in brass and steel, the buckles wide and gleaming;
His neigh is like the autumn gales when through the forest screaming!
“I see a dozen carriages behind him swiftly running,
All full of comfort and of light, and trimmed with dexterous cunning;
Like flying cottages they look, with palace-splendors gliding;
But travellers walk about in them, as if at home residing!
All things seem for their comfort made, quick met are all their wishes.
I see the flutter of their beds, the gleaming of their dishes.
They read, they write, they stitch, they laugh—all in the flying carriage;
They even spin the tender threads that weave the strands of marriage!
“I talk with one whose sable hue proclaims a bondsman lowly,
Yet with a haughty-humble air he answers questions slowly.
I ask him if the horse is his; his ample lip grows shorter;
He answers, ‘Not exactly, miss, but I'm the Pullman porter.’
What this may mean I do not know; but people who'd live gayly,
Submit to him with deference, and pay him tribute daily.
All full of comfort and of light, and trimmed with dexterous cunning;
Like flying cottages they look, with palace-splendors gliding;
But travellers walk about in them, as if at home residing!
All things seem for their comfort made, quick met are all their wishes.
I see the flutter of their beds, the gleaming of their dishes.
They read, they write, they stitch, they laugh—all in the flying carriage;
They even spin the tender threads that weave the strands of marriage!
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Yet with a haughty-humble air he answers questions slowly.
I ask him if the horse is his; his ample lip grows shorter;
He answers, ‘Not exactly, miss, but I'm the Pullman porter.’
What this may mean I do not know; but people who'd live gayly,
Submit to him with deference, and pay him tribute daily.
“He tells me that some travellers there, are sad of heart and feature,
Because they are not ‘up on time,’ or something of that nature;
Five hundred miles they've journeyed since the sun's last previous setting;
They'll come to Boston ‘three hours late,’ and that is why they're fretting.
They sit and sulk while drawn by hoofs that well might drown the thunder,
And murmur and repine, instead of being dazed with wonder!
Because they are not ‘up on time,’ or something of that nature;
Five hundred miles they've journeyed since the sun's last previous setting;
They'll come to Boston ‘three hours late,’ and that is why they're fretting.
They sit and sulk while drawn by hoofs that well might drown the thunder,
And murmur and repine, instead of being dazed with wonder!
“They still complain—heavens, what is that! the horse is reeling—stumbling!
Beneath his clattering steel-shod feet, the iron road is crumbling!
A crash—a blaze like burning clouds in thunder-beaten weather—
Horse, rider, travellers, carriages—all crush and crash together!
Pain! Blood! Death! Help!”—the prophetess with consciousness grew weaker,
And fell into the willing arms of the preceding speaker.
Beneath his clattering steel-shod feet, the iron road is crumbling!
A crash—a blaze like burning clouds in thunder-beaten weather—
Horse, rider, travellers, carriages—all crush and crash together!
Pain! Blood! Death! Help!”—the prophetess with consciousness grew weaker,
And fell into the willing arms of the preceding speaker.
So it became a legend-joke—the fact of Ruby's vision—
Until at last a fact appeared with terrible precision:
A railroad through that valley runs, in just the same direction
She pointed at, the night she made her strange tour of inspection;
Also a railroad accident, with Horror's hand to mould it,
Occurred, one night, not half a mile from where the girl foretold it.
Until at last a fact appeared with terrible precision:
A railroad through that valley runs, in just the same direction
She pointed at, the night she made her strange tour of inspection;
Also a railroad accident, with Horror's hand to mould it,
Occurred, one night, not half a mile from where the girl foretold it.
Conductor.
Sailors through the hills and dales,
Is one here can tell us tales
Of those times when doubting man
First to “railroad it” began?
When the giant Steam's employ,
Was, to move a toiling toy?
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O'ergrown wagons pushed by steam?
When most mortals did not know
Whether railroading would “go,”
Or rest in the weary round
Of things “tried and wanting” found?
Train-despatcher
reads:
JONATHAN JARVIS.
Now ponder long, ye comrades dear,
The tale that I shall tell,
Of Jonathan Jarvis, Engineer,
And things that him befell;
And learn from this, 'tis oft amiss
To do your work too well.
The tale that I shall tell,
Of Jonathan Jarvis, Engineer,
And things that him befell;
And learn from this, 'tis oft amiss
To do your work too well.
'Twas in a stormy time o' the year,
In the fall of forty-two,
That Jonathan Jarvis, Engineer,
As he was wont to do,
Had just begun to take his run
To the town of Kalamazoo.
In the fall of forty-two,
That Jonathan Jarvis, Engineer,
As he was wont to do,
Had just begun to take his run
To the town of Kalamazoo.
His engine was of largest stripe
That so far had been made;
The smoke-stack big as a chimney-pipe—
The whole five hundred weighed;
And it could go twelve miles or so,
Per hour, adown a grade.
That so far had been made;
The smoke-stack big as a chimney-pipe—
The whole five hundred weighed;
And it could go twelve miles or so,
Per hour, adown a grade.
The whistle it did sound as loud
And starling-like, and shrill,
As boys, with jack-knives bright endowed,
Of bass-wood carved with skill,
And never a bell to ring the knell
Of those the cars might kill.
And starling-like, and shrill,
As boys, with jack-knives bright endowed,
Of bass-wood carved with skill,
And never a bell to ring the knell
Of those the cars might kill.
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The driving-wheels were large as those
Upon a wagon small;
And we may naturally suppose
That there were four in all;
And four were there, that box to bear
That they the tender call.
Upon a wagon small;
And we may naturally suppose
That there were four in all;
And four were there, that box to bear
That they the tender call.
And Jonathan Jarvis, Engineer,
Was full of worthy pride;
He was a popular man, and dear
To all that country-side;
And every boy was wild with joy,
That could with Jonathan ride.
Was full of worthy pride;
He was a popular man, and dear
To all that country-side;
And every boy was wild with joy,
That could with Jonathan ride.
It was a sight the train to see
The country thundering through;
And maidens fair as maids could be,
Ran all of the doors unto;
But Jonathan yet, with teeth firm set,
Kept on for Kalamazoo.
The country thundering through;
And maidens fair as maids could be,
Ran all of the doors unto;
But Jonathan yet, with teeth firm set,
Kept on for Kalamazoo.
Eftsoon a terrible storm up came
Of thunder and lightning, too;
The air was full of flood and flame,
The sky yet blacker grew;
But Jonathan still, with iron will,
Kept on for Kalamazoo.
Of thunder and lightning, too;
The air was full of flood and flame,
The sky yet blacker grew;
But Jonathan still, with iron will,
Kept on for Kalamazoo.
The storm sped on with all its might;
It made immense display;
With whirring wings the raven Night
Flew into the lap of Day;
But Jonathan still, with iron will,
Kept on his wooden way.
It made immense display;
With whirring wings the raven Night
Flew into the lap of Day;
But Jonathan still, with iron will,
Kept on his wooden way.
The wind it roared and cried and laughed,
The rain in billows flew;
They tried to wreck the small land-craft;
But Jonathan, fiercely true,
Still strove to make, for Duty's sake,
The port of Kalamazoo.
The rain in billows flew;
They tried to wreck the small land-craft;
But Jonathan, fiercely true,
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The port of Kalamazoo.
A blue light over the smoke-stack hung,
As oft upon a mast;
The rain-drops to the boiler clung,
And strove to hold there, fast;
And gaudily dire great balls of fire
Along the railway passed.
As oft upon a mast;
The rain-drops to the boiler clung,
And strove to hold there, fast;
And gaudily dire great balls of fire
Along the railway passed.
The cars of the train, they all unhitched
(One coupling strength did lack),
And down a grade, as if bewitched,
They all went skurrying back;
But Jonathan yet, with teeth firm set,
Kept up the slippery track.
(One coupling strength did lack),
And down a grade, as if bewitched,
They all went skurrying back;
But Jonathan yet, with teeth firm set,
Kept up the slippery track.
The engine tipped and creaked and groaned,
As might a ship at sea,
And like a living animal moaned,
And strove to struggle free,
And soon appeared with wheels upreared
Against a fallen tree.
As might a ship at sea,
And like a living animal moaned,
And strove to struggle free,
And soon appeared with wheels upreared
Against a fallen tree.
Then Jonathan Jarvis did a deed
Like loftier men oft do:
His good umbrella spread with speed;
And, first his fireman knew,
With one fierce shout, he started out
Afoot, for Kalamazoo.
Like loftier men oft do:
His good umbrella spread with speed;
And, first his fireman knew,
With one fierce shout, he started out
Afoot, for Kalamazoo.
“Come back!” his fireman yelled; “Come back!”
With many a loud halloo;
But still he hurried up the track,
With purpose born anew,
And said, “I'll break my neck, or make
The town of Kalamazoo!”
With many a loud halloo;
But still he hurried up the track,
With purpose born anew,
And said, “I'll break my neck, or make
The town of Kalamazoo!”
And some time on the following day,
And blind, and deaf, and lame,
A bootless tramp, half-blown away,
Into the station came,
Who yelled in glee, “Excelsior! See?
I got here, just the same!”
And blind, and deaf, and lame,
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Into the station came,
Who yelled in glee, “Excelsior! See?
I got here, just the same!”
Umbrella and hat, they both were gone,
His vestments showed but few,
And every rag that he had on,
The storm had whipped in two;
A scurvier wight, by day or night,
Ne'er entered Kalamazoo.
His vestments showed but few,
And every rag that he had on,
The storm had whipped in two;
A scurvier wight, by day or night,
Ne'er entered Kalamazoo.
You see he lost, some distance back,
His engine, train, and crew;
Left most of himself along the track,
His purpose to pursue;
Even lost his head; but gained, instead,
The town of Kalamazoo.
His engine, train, and crew;
Left most of himself along the track,
His purpose to pursue;
Even lost his head; but gained, instead,
The town of Kalamazoo.
And many a man on life's long road,
Has toiled to “get” somewhere,
And left, while onward still he strode,
All things both good and fair,
And reached the spot, and found that not
One-tenth of himself was there.
Conductor.
Has toiled to “get” somewhere,
And left, while onward still he strode,
All things both good and fair,
And reached the spot, and found that not
One-tenth of himself was there.
Flyers, with strong wings of steel,
Is there one who can reveal
That he saw, 'gainst earth or skies,
Railroad apparitions rise?
Met a straggler from the hosts
Of the flesh-divested ghosts,
That in sorrow walk the earth,
Clinging where their woes had birth?
In our nerve-exciting rounds
Oft are curious sights and sounds;
If one be here who can tell
Such a story, do it well.
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Engine-driver, shrinking down,
Who believes that phantoms live.
Rise, ghost-advocate, and give
Us to hear the privilege,
Of the ghost of Breakneck Bridge!
THE ENGINE-DRIVER'S STORY.
Since you're all bearin' down on me, and won't let me up without it,
I'll tell you a story, providin' you'll let me foller my plan;
Nor I sha'n't fly the track, although you appear to doubt it,
But push ahead to my station as fast as ever I can.
I'll tell you a story, providin' you'll let me foller my plan;
Nor I sha'n't fly the track, although you appear to doubt it,
But push ahead to my station as fast as ever I can.
Company, please excuse me fur all my gropin' an' skippin';
Likewise from whistlin' at crossin's, or makin' stops to explain;
Never was on the explain; it sets a man's drivers to slippin',
Wherefore he's sure to be losin' more time than he'll ever gain.
Likewise from whistlin' at crossin's, or makin' stops to explain;
Never was on the explain; it sets a man's drivers to slippin',
Wherefore he's sure to be losin' more time than he'll ever gain.
Johnny McNutt was my fireman: as fine young feller as ever
Planted his hoof on a foot-board, or swore at sulphury coal;
Al'ays in his place, an' 'Merican meanin' of clever,
Without any gage on his pockets, or steam-brake onto this soul.
Planted his hoof on a foot-board, or swore at sulphury coal;
Al'ays in his place, an' 'Merican meanin' of clever,
Without any gage on his pockets, or steam-brake onto this soul.
Johnny, he had a wife: she somehow must ha' bewitched him,
Fur she was old an' ugly—how old I do not know;
The boys was al'ays wonderin' as how she ever had switched him;
But it was a dead-true certain, for she had the orders to show.
Fur she was old an' ugly—how old I do not know;
The boys was al'ays wonderin' as how she ever had switched him;
But it was a dead-true certain, for she had the orders to show.
Twenty times he had switched her, an' left the old gal behind him;
Twenty times she had followed, an' stuck to him like a burr;
Wherever he might run, she was always sure to find him;
For, poor old soul, she loved him, although he couldn't her.
Twenty times she had followed, an' stuck to him like a burr;
Wherever he might run, she was always sure to find him;
For, poor old soul, she loved him, although he couldn't her.
All the “legal” remedies that surfeited folks is tryin'
Johnny took no stock in; he sent her half his pay!
An' though the lawyers offered a square divorce for the buyin',
He made no run for freedom, except to keep out of her way.
Johnny took no stock in; he sent her half his pay!
An' though the lawyers offered a square divorce for the buyin',
He made no run for freedom, except to keep out of her way.
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Now when John fired with me, he was feelin' some'at better,
An' somehow had an ide' he'd nothin' more to fear;
For he'd seen nothin' of her—not even the ghost of a letter,
As he in confidence told me—for somethin' more than a year.
An' somehow had an ide' he'd nothin' more to fear;
For he'd seen nothin' of her—not even the ghost of a letter,
As he in confidence told me—for somethin' more than a year.
But just as we was a-startin' one night from a one-hoss station,
She climbed up onto the foot-board, a-lookin' wrinkled an' wan,
An' went for John, an' hugged him an' kissed him like all creation!
An' the more he tried to shake her, the more the old gal hung on!
She climbed up onto the foot-board, a-lookin' wrinkled an' wan,
An' went for John, an' hugged him an' kissed him like all creation!
An' the more he tried to shake her, the more the old gal hung on!
Breakneck Bridge is a matter of fifty foot from the bottom;
Nothin' when you've got there, except the rock an' sand;
An' just as we struck the centre, as if the old boy had got 'em,
They both went off together, before I could raise a hand!
Nothin' when you've got there, except the rock an' sand;
An' just as we struck the centre, as if the old boy had got 'em,
They both went off together, before I could raise a hand!
Off in the pitch-black darkness, they both of 'em went a-flyin';
Off in the pitch-black darkness, they both pulled out for Death;
An' when we found 'em, the woman was down on the rocks a-dyin'
An' John had catched on a timber, mashed up an' out o' breath.
Off in the pitch-black darkness, they both pulled out for Death;
An' when we found 'em, the woman was down on the rocks a-dyin'
An' John had catched on a timber, mashed up an' out o' breath.
An' Johnny laid off for repairs, an' full for a year I missed him;
But very first time he was able to make his run once more,
Sir, the ghost of a wrinkled woman climbed up in the cab an' kissed him,
An' when we got to the Breakneck Bridge, went off, as she did before.
But very first time he was able to make his run once more,
Sir, the ghost of a wrinkled woman climbed up in the cab an' kissed him,
An' when we got to the Breakneck Bridge, went off, as she did before.
I knowed when I opened my valves that you'd some on you disbelieve me,
Though why you should, I'm certain is more than I can think;
For eyes ain't tongues, an' mine don't often go to deceive me,
An' I never doused my head-light with any kind of drink;
Though why you should, I'm certain is more than I can think;
For eyes ain't tongues, an' mine don't often go to deceive me,
An' I never doused my head-light with any kind of drink;
Sir, so that singular woman run down on us all summer;
Every once in a short time she'd come upon us quick;
Till John remarked to me, “There's no escapin' from her;
I'll have to leave the engine; I'm gettin' tired an' sick.”
Every once in a short time she'd come upon us quick;
Till John remarked to me, “There's no escapin' from her;
I'll have to leave the engine; I'm gettin' tired an' sick.”
An' afterwards he wrote me: “If I can believe my senses,
I see my wrinkled woman wherever I may go;
I reckon she's got a pass; an' how to pay expenses,
And keep away from a deadhead, is rather more'n I know.”
I see my wrinkled woman wherever I may go;
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And keep away from a deadhead, is rather more'n I know.”
From which I have learned this lesson: Be sure and never try for 't
To run from a desperate woman that thinks she's treated wrong;
She'll follow you up an' catch you, although she has to die for 't;
For love an' hate together can pull exceedin' strong.
To run from a desperate woman that thinks she's treated wrong;
She'll follow you up an' catch you, although she has to die for 't;
For love an' hate together can pull exceedin' strong.
Sir, that's the whole of my story; I've tried hard not to wander,
An' done my best t' work steady and keep her up on time;
An' I shall be somewhat suited, unless that feller yonder
Steams up his poetical b'iler an' runs me into rhyme.
Conductor.
An' done my best t' work steady and keep her up on time;
An' I shall be somewhat suited, unless that feller yonder
Steams up his poetical b'iler an' runs me into rhyme.
Sailors of the iron seas,
Accidents and dire disease
Oft afflict our toiling band;
Many a sturdy heart and hand
Low in cemeteries lie,
Past which they were wont to fly,
Knowing, in gay carelessness,
Naught of danger or distress;
Counting no long weeks of pain
In life-struggles sadly vain;
With no fear of lying dead
'Neath the engine's heavy tread;
Thinking naught how soon the places
That had glimpsed their smiling faces,
As they journeyed to and fro,
Others in their place must know;
Is there one within the room,
Who will voice that thought of gloom?
UNDER THE WHEELS.
Superintendent.
I have had many hard things to do in my day,
For the life of “the boss” isn't constructed of play;
We've a hundred new things every hour to annoy,
And we work more than any one in our employ.
But the hardest day's work I remember to-night,
Was to visit a cottage, clean, cosey, and bright,
Where flowers, birds, and music were strewn without lack,
And to carry some news that should drape it with black.
A sweet-faced old lady my door-signal met,
And gave me these words—I shall never forget,
If I live till Time's wheel has crushed all things at last,
And railroads and progress are things of the past:
For the life of “the boss” isn't constructed of play;
We've a hundred new things every hour to annoy,
And we work more than any one in our employ.
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Was to visit a cottage, clean, cosey, and bright,
Where flowers, birds, and music were strewn without lack,
And to carry some news that should drape it with black.
A sweet-faced old lady my door-signal met,
And gave me these words—I shall never forget,
If I live till Time's wheel has crushed all things at last,
And railroads and progress are things of the past:
“You've called to see Jack, I suppose, sir; sit down;
I'm sorry to say 't, but the boy's out of town.
He'll be back in an hour, if his train is not late,
And perhaps you'd be willing to sit here and wait,
While I give you a cup of his favorite tea,
Almost ready to pour.—Oh!—you called to see me?
You—called—to—see—me? Strange—I didn't understand;
But, you know, we old ladies aren't much in demand;
I'm sorry to say 't, but the boy's out of town.
He'll be back in an hour, if his train is not late,
And perhaps you'd be willing to sit here and wait,
While I give you a cup of his favorite tea,
Almost ready to pour.—Oh!—you called to see me?
You—called—to—see—me? Strange—I didn't understand;
But, you know, we old ladies aren't much in demand;
“You—called—to—see—me. And your business is—Say!
Let me know now at once! Do not keep it away
For an instant! Oh!—pardon! You wanted to buy
Our poor little house here? Now thank God on high
That it wasn't something else that you came for!—shake hands;
I'm so glad!—and forgive an old woman's ado,
While I tell you the facts, till your heart understands
The reason I spoke up so brusquely to you:
Let me know now at once! Do not keep it away
For an instant! Oh!—pardon! You wanted to buy
Our poor little house here? Now thank God on high
That it wasn't something else that you came for!—shake hands;
I'm so glad!—and forgive an old woman's ado,
While I tell you the facts, till your heart understands
The reason I spoke up so brusquely to you:
“My life lives with Jack!—a plain boy, I confess—
He's a young engineer on the lightning express;
But he loves me so true! and though often we part,
He never ‘pulls out’ of one station—my heart.
Poor Jack! how he works! He sinks into this chair,
When he comes home, so tired with the jar and the whirl;
But he fondles my hands and caresses my hair,
And he calls me his ‘love,’ and his ‘darling best girl.’
Poor Jack! but to-morrow is Christmas, you know,
And here is his present: a gown of fine wool,
Embroidered with silk; my old fingers ran slow,
But my heart filled the stitches with love over-full!
“So, when Jack is gone out on his dangerous trip,
On that hot, hissing furnace that flies through the air,
Over bridges that tremble, past sidings that slip,
Through tunnels that grasp for his life with their snare,
I think of him always—I'm never at rest.
And last night—O God's mercy!—the dreams made me see
My boy lying crushed, with a wheel on his breast,
And a face full of agony beck'ning to me!
Now, to-day, every step that I hear on the street,
Seems to bring me a tiding of woe and despair;
Each ring at the door-bell my poor heart will beat,
As if Jack, the dear boy, in his grave-clothes were there!
And I thought, when I saw you—I'm nervous and queer—
You had brought me some news it would kill me to hear.
Please don't be concerned, sir. I'm bound, that in spite
Of my foolish old fancies, the boy is all right.
He's a young engineer on the lightning express;
But he loves me so true! and though often we part,
He never ‘pulls out’ of one station—my heart.
Poor Jack! how he works! He sinks into this chair,
When he comes home, so tired with the jar and the whirl;
But he fondles my hands and caresses my hair,
And he calls me his ‘love,’ and his ‘darling best girl.’
Poor Jack! but to-morrow is Christmas, you know,
And here is his present: a gown of fine wool,
Embroidered with silk; my old fingers ran slow,
But my heart filled the stitches with love over-full!
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On that hot, hissing furnace that flies through the air,
Over bridges that tremble, past sidings that slip,
Through tunnels that grasp for his life with their snare,
I think of him always—I'm never at rest.
And last night—O God's mercy!—the dreams made me see
My boy lying crushed, with a wheel on his breast,
And a face full of agony beck'ning to me!
Now, to-day, every step that I hear on the street,
Seems to bring me a tiding of woe and despair;
Each ring at the door-bell my poor heart will beat,
As if Jack, the dear boy, in his grave-clothes were there!
And I thought, when I saw you—I'm nervous and queer—
You had brought me some news it would kill me to hear.
Please don't be concerned, sir. I'm bound, that in spite
Of my foolish old fancies, the boy is all right.
“No, I don't think we'd sell. For it's this way, you see:
Jack says that he never will care for the smile
Of a girl, till he knows she's in love, too, with me;
And I tell him—ha! ha!—that will be a long while.
So we'll doubtless bide here a long time. And there's some
Little chance of Jack's leaving the engine, ere long,
For a place in the shops, where they say he'll become
A master mechanic—good sir, what is wrong?
Jack says that he never will care for the smile
Of a girl, till he knows she's in love, too, with me;
And I tell him—ha! ha!—that will be a long while.
So we'll doubtless bide here a long time. And there's some
Little chance of Jack's leaving the engine, ere long,
For a place in the shops, where they say he'll become
A master mechanic—good sir, what is wrong?
“You are death-pale and trembling! Here! drink some more tea!
Say! why are you looking your pity at me?
What's that word in your face?—you've a message!—now find
Your tongue!—No?—I'll tear the truth out of your mind!
Jack's hurt! Oh, how hard that you could not at first
Let me know this black news! Say, where is he, and when
Can he come home with me? But my poor heart will burst,
If you do not speak out! Speak, I pray you, again!
I can stand it; why, yonder 's his own cosey bed;
I will get it all fixed;—oh, but I'm a good nurse!
His hospital's home! Here I'll pillow his head;
I will bring him to life, be he better or worse!
Oh, I tell you, however disfigured he be,
What is left of the boy shall be saved, sir, for me!
Thank God for the chance, even! Oh, won't I work
For my poor wounded child! And now let me be led
Where he is. Do not fear! I'll not falter or shrink!
Turn your face to the light, sir.—O God! Jack is dead!
Say! why are you looking your pity at me?
What's that word in your face?—you've a message!—now find
Your tongue!—No?—I'll tear the truth out of your mind!
Jack's hurt! Oh, how hard that you could not at first
Let me know this black news! Say, where is he, and when
Can he come home with me? But my poor heart will burst,
If you do not speak out! Speak, I pray you, again!
I can stand it; why, yonder 's his own cosey bed;
I will get it all fixed;—oh, but I'm a good nurse!
His hospital's home! Here I'll pillow his head;
I will bring him to life, be he better or worse!
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What is left of the boy shall be saved, sir, for me!
Thank God for the chance, even! Oh, won't I work
For my poor wounded child! And now let me be led
Where he is. Do not fear! I'll not falter or shrink!
Turn your face to the light, sir.—O God! Jack is dead!
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