JOHN HAY HN HAY, statesman, diplomat, soldier, and or, born at Salem, Indiana, in 1838, died in He graduated from Brown University, and became secretary to President Lincoln; served e Civil War and was brevetted colonel. He disished himself as ambassador to England, and cretary of State. Among his works are "CasDays," "Pike County Ballads," and "AbraLincoln," written in collaboration with John G. ay. JIM BLUDSO om "Pike County Ballads." Copyright by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., published by permission) WALL you see; WALL, no! I can't tell whar he lives, har have you been for the last three year, weren't no saint,-them engineers s pretty much all alike,— e wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, To mind the pilot's bell; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire- All boats has their days on the Mississippi, The Movastar was a better boat, With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, The bar bust out as she clared the bar, And quick as a flash she turned, and made There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, Over all the infernal roar, 'I'll hold her nozzle ag'in' the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn't shook hands with him. And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard Copyright by Houghton, rom "Pike County Ballads." Mifflin & Co., Published by permission) ON'T go much on religion, I never ain't had no show; 've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, n the handful o' things I know. t pan out on the prophets nd free will, and that sort of thing,- - into town with some turnips, uld beat him for pretty and strong, vays ready to swear and fight,— w come down like a blanket left the team at the door. red at something and started,ard one little squall, -to-split over the prairie t team, Little Breeches and all. we rousted up some torches, And sarched for 'em far and near. last we struck hosses and wagon, Snowed under a soft white mound, sot, dead beat,--but of little Gabe No hide nor hair was found. I here all hope soured on me this, the torches was played out. And me and Isrul Parr nt off for some wood to a sheep fold That he said was somewhar thar. found it at last, and a little shed Where they shut up the lambs at night. looked in, and seen them huddled thar, So warm and sleepy and white; THAR sot Little Breeches and chirped, As pert as ever you see, want a chaw of terbacker, And that's what's the matter of me." w did he git thar? Angels. He could never have walked in that storm, ey jest scooped down and toted him To whar it was safe and warm. d I think that saving a little child, And bringing him to his own, a derned sight better business Than loafing around The Throne. |