THE TRAMP

ANONYMOUS

Now, is that any way for to treat a poor man?
I just asked for a penny or two;
Don't get your back up, and call me a "bum,"
Because I have nothing to do.

Once I was strong and handsome,
Had plenty of money and clothes:
That was afore I tippled,

And whisky had painted my nose.

Down in the Lehigh Valley

Me and my people grew. Gentlemen, I was a farmer, And a very good farmer, too.

Me and my wife, and Nellie,-
Nellie was just sixteen;

And she was the prettiest creature
That ever that valley had seen.

Beaux? Why, she had a dozen;
They come from near and fur:
But they was mostly farmers,

And that didn't quite suit her.

But one of 'em was a New Yorker,
Stylish and handsome and tall.

Hang him! If I had him I'd-

Well, just let me catch him, that's all.

Well, he was the fellow for Nellie,-
She didn't know no ill.

Her mother tried to prevent it;

But you know a young girl's will.

Well, it's the same old story,
Common enough, you'll say:
He was a smooth-tongued villain,
And he got her to run away.

About a month or so after,

We heard from the poor young thing:
He had gone away, and left her
Without any wedding-ring.

Back to our home we brought her,-
Back to her mother's side,

Filled with a raging fever;

And she fell at our feet, and died.

Frantic with grief and sorrow,
Her mother began to sink:

Dead! in less than a fortnight.

And all I want is a penny or two,

Just to help me on my way;

And I'll tramp till I find that hell-hound.
If it takes till the judgment-day.

THE DANDY FIFTH

BY F. H. GASSAWAY

'Twas the time of the workingmen's great strike, when all the land stood still

At the sudden roar from the hungry mouths that labor could not fill;

When the thunder of the railroad ceased, and startled towns

could spy

A hundred blazing factories painting each midnight sky; Through Philadelphia's surging streets marched the brown ranks of toil,

The grimy legions of the shops, the tillers of the soil.

White-faced militiamen looked on, while women shrank with

dread;

'Twas muscle against money then, 'twas riches against bread. Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, a carriage stopt the way, Upon the silken seat of which a young patrician lay;

And as, with haughty glance, he swept along the jeering crowd, A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks took off his cap and bowed. That night the Labor League was met, and soon the chairman said, "There hides a Judas in our midst, one man who bows the head, Who bends the coward's servile knee when capital rolls by." "Down with him!" "Kill the traitor cur!" rang out the savage

cry.

Up rose the blacksmith, then, and held erect his head of gray: "I am no traitor, tho I bowed to a rich man's son to-day; And, tho you kill me as I stand, as like you mean to do,I want to tell you a story short, and I ask you'll hear me through. I was one of those who enlisted first, the old flag to defend; With Pope and Halleck, with 'Mac' and Grant, I followed to the end.

'Twas somewhere down on the Rapidan, when the Union cause looked drear,

That a regiment of rich young bloods came down to us from here. Their uniforms were by tailors cut; they brought hampers of good

wine;

And every squad had a servant, too, to keep their boots in shine; They'd naught to say to us dusty 'vets,' and, through the whole

brigade

We called them the kid-gloved Dandy Fifth, when we passed them on parade.

Well, they were sent to hold a fort that Rebs tried hard to take, 'Twas the key of all our line, which naught while it held out could break.

But a fearful fight we lost just then, the reserve came up too late,

And on that fort, and the Dandy Fifth, hung the whole division's fate.

Three times we tried to take them aid, and each time back we fell, Tho once we could hear the fort's far guns boom like a funeral

knell;

Till at length Joe Hooker's corps came up, and then straight

through we broke;

How we cheered as we saw those dandy coats still back of the drifting smoke!

With bands all front and our colors spread we swarmed up the

parapet,

But the sight that silenced our welcome shout I shall never in life forget.

Four days before had their water gone,-they had dreaded that the most,

The next, their last scant ration went, and each man looked a ghost

As he stood gaunt-eyed, behind his gun, like a crippled stag at bay,

And watched starvation, not defeat, draw nearer every day.
Of all the Fifth, not fourscore men could in their places stand,
And their white lips told a fearful tale, as we grasped each blood-
less hand.

The rest in the stupor of famine lay, save here and there a few
In death sat rigid against the guns, grim sentinels in blue;
And their colonel could not speak or stir, but we saw his proud
eye thrill

As he simply glanced to the shot-scarred staff where the old flag floated still!

Now, I hate the tyrants who grind us down, while the wolf snarls at our door,

And the men who've risen from us, to laugh at the misery of the

poor;

But I tell you, mates, while this weak old hand I have left the strength to lift,

I will touch my cap to the proudest swell who fought in the Dandy Fifth !"

ON LINCOLN

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-
crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head!
It is some dream, that on the deck you've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My Captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! but I with mournful tread
Walk the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead.

THE LITTLE STOWAWAY

ANONYMOUS

"'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I'm in now, I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer bound for New York. There'd been a lot of extra cargo sent down just at the last minute, and we'd no end of a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin'; so that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n warn't in the sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither. On the mornin' of the third day out from Liverpool, the chief