- The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door; Sudden I picked up baby, and ran to the pasture-bar. As I ran back to the log house, at once there came a sound-The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the groundComing into the turnpike out from the White-Woman Glen-Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men. As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm; They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong. Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day; Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away, To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the west, On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance. Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance; And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain, Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face, nessee. Only sixteen he was, sir-a fond mother's only son- The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth; And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South. Oh, pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through; Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do. But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to; I fed him, and coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do; “Oh, I must go,” he muttered; “I must be up and away! And on, on, came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry- and night; But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight. And rich Ohio sat start!ed through all those summer days: Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her best. A bold ride and a long ride! But they were taken at last, Well, I kept the boy till evening-kept him against his willBut he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still. When it was cool and dusky-you'll wonder to hear me tellBut I stole down to that gully, and broug it up Kentucky Belle. I kissed the star on her forehead-my pretty gentle lass-- I guided him to the southward as well as I knew how; When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high; Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall, And a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in Kentucky's stall. Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me; The lad had got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle; CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON, MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG. My sister'll be down in a minute, and says you're to wait, if you please; And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise her never to tease, Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that's nonsense; for how would you know What she told me to say, if I didn't? think so? Don't you really and truly “And then you'd feel strange here alone. And you wouldn't know just where to sit; For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit; We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be just like you To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last screw. Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh, you're afraid they would think it was mean! Well, then, there's the album; that's pretty, if you're sure that your fingers are clean. For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she's cross. There's her picture. You know it? It's like her; but she ain't as good-looking, of course. "This is ME. It's the best of 'em all. Now, tell me, you'd never have thought That once I was little as that? It's the only one that could be bought; For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I sat, That he wouldn't print off any more till he first got his money for that. "What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than this. There's all her back hair to do up, and all her front curls to friz. But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me! Do you think you'll be coming here often? Oh, do! like Tom Lee, But don't come "Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here day and night, Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack says that gave him a fright. You won't run away, then, as he did? for you're not a rich man, they 46 poor are they? Now, are you? And how Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am, for I know now your hair isn't red; But what there's left of it is mousey, and not what that naughty Jack said. But there! I must go Sister's coming. But I wish I could wait just to see If she ran up to you and kissed you in the way that she used to kiss Lee." BRET HARTE. THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river side, It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, Then up arose the oysterman and to himself said he; "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see· And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, Out spoke the ancient fisherman, -"O what daughter?" was that, my Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water.” |