that was at Little Oscue, where we took on board the Western mail.

"How we go," uttered one of the guards, some fifteen minutes after we had left Dirsham.

"The new engineer is trying the speed," I replied, not yet having any fear.

But ere long I began to apprehend he was running a little too fast. The carriages began to sway to and fro, and I could hear exclamations of fright from the passengers.

"Good heavens!" cried one of the guard, coming in at that moment, "what is that fellow doing? Look, sir, and see how we are going."

I looked at the window, and found that we were dashing long at a speed never before traveled on that road. Posts, fences, rocks, and trees flew by in one undistinguished mass, and the carriages now swayed fearfully. I started to my feet, and met a passenger on the platform. He was one of the chief owners of our road, and was just on his way to Berlin. He was pale and excited.

"Sir," he gasped, "is Martin Kroller on the engine?" "Yes," I told him.

"Holy Virgin! didn't you know him?"

"Know?" I repeated, somewhat puzzled; what do you mean? He told me his name was Kroller, and that he was an engineer. We had no one to run the engine, and—” "You took him!" interrupted the man. Good heavens, sir, he is as crazy as a man can be! He turned his brain over a new plan for applying steam power. I saw him at the station, but did not fully recognize him, as I was in a hurry. Just now one of your passengers told me that your engineers were all gone this morning, and that you found one that was a stranger to you. Then I knew that the man whom I had seen was Martin Kroller. He had escaped from the hospital at Stettin. You must get him off somehow."

The whole fearful truth was now open to me. The speed of the train was increasing every moment, and I knew that a few more miles per hour would launch us all into destruction. I called to the guard, and then made my way forward as quickly as possible. I reached the after platform of the after tender, and there stood Kroller upon the engine-board,

his hat and coat off, his long black hair floating wildly in the wind, his shirt unbuttoned at the front, his sleeves rolled up, with a pistol in his teeth, and thus glaring upon the fireman, who lay motionless upon the fuel. The furnace was stuffed till the very latch of the door was red hot, and the whole engine was quivering and swaying as though it would shiver to pieces.

"Kroller! Kroller!" I cried at the top of my voice.

The crazy engineer started and caught the pistol in his hand. Oh, how those great black eyes glared, and how ghastly and frightful the face looked!

"Ha! ha! ha!" he yelled demoniacally, glaring upon me like a roused lion.

"They swore that I could not make it! But sce! see! See my new power! See my new engine! I.made it, and they are jealous of me! I made it, and when it was done, they stole it from me. But I have found it! For years I have been wandering in search of my great engine, and they swore it was not made. But I have found it! I knew it this morning when I saw it at Dantzic, and I was determined to have it. And I've got it! Ho! ho! ho! we're on the way to the moon, I say! By the Virgin Mother, we'll be in the moon in four-and-twenty hours. Down, down, villain! If you move, I'll shoot you."

This was spoken to the poor fireman, who at that moment attempted to rise, and the frightened man sank back again. "Here's Little Oscue just before us," cried out one of the guard. But even as he spoke the buildings were at hand. A sickening sensation settled upon my heart, for I supposed that we were now gone. The houses flew by like lightning. I knew if the officers here had turned the switch as usual, we should be hurled into eternity in one fearful crash. I saw a flash,—it was another engine,-I closed my eyes; but still we thundered on! The officers had seen our speed, and knowing that we would not head up in that distance, they had changed the switch, so that we went forward.

But there was sure death ahead, if we did not stop. Only fifteen miles from us was the town of Schwartz, on the Vistula; and at the rate we were going we should be there in a few minutes, for each minute carried us over a mile. The

shrieks of the passengers now rose above the crash of the rails, and more terrific than all else arose the demoniac yells of the mad engineer.

"Merciful heavens!" gasped the guardsman, "there's not a moment to lose; Schwartz is close. But hold," he added; "let's shoot him."

At that moment a tall, stout German student came over the platform where we stood, and we saw that the madman had his heavy pistol aimed at us. He grasped a huge stick of wood, and, with a steadiness of nerve which I could not have commanded, he hurled it with such force and precision that he knocked the pistol from the maniac's hand. I saw the movement, and on the instant that the pistol fell I sprang forward, and the German followed me. I grasped the man by the arm; but I should have been nothing in his mad power, had I been alone. He would have hurled me from the platform, had not the student at that moment struck him upon the head with a stick of wood which he caught as he came over the tender.

Kroller settled down like a dead man, and on the next instant I shut off the steam and opened the valve. As the freed steam shrieked and howled in its escape, the speed began to decrease, and in a few minutes more the danger was passed. As I settled back, entirely overcome by the wild emotions that had raged within me, we began to turn the river; and before I was fairly recovered, the fireman had stopped the train in the station-house at Schwartz.

Martin Kroller, still insensible, was taken from the platform; and, as we carried him to the guard-room, one of the guard recognized him, and told us that he had been there about two weeks before.

"He came," said the guard, "and swore that an engino which stood near by was his. He said it was one he had made to go to the moon in, and that it had been stolen from him. We sent for more help to arrest him, and he fled."

"Well," I replied with a shudder, "I wish he had ap proached me in the same way; but he was more cautious at Dantzic."

At Schwartz we found an engineer to run the engine to Bromberg; and having taken out the Western mail for the

next Northern mail to carry along, we saw that Kroller would be properly attended to, and then started on.

The rest of the trip we ran in safety, though I could see the passengers were not wholly at ease, and would not be until they were entirely clear of the railway. A heavy purse was made up by them for the German student, and he accepted it with much gratitude, and I was glad of it; for the current of gratitude to him may have prevented a far different current of feeling which might have poured upon my head for having engaged a madman to run a railroad train.

But this is not the end. Martin Kroller remained insensible from the effects of the blow nearly two weeks; and when he recovered from that, he was sound again, his insanity was all gone. I saw him about three weeks afterward, but he had no recollection of me. He remembered nothing of the past year, not even his mad freak on my engine.

But I remembered it, and I remember it still; and the people need never fear that I shall be imposed upon again by a crazy engineer.

ANSWER TO "FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING."

It is all very well for the poets to tell,

By way of their songs' adorning,

Of milkmaids who rouse to manipulate cows,

At five o'clock in the morning;

And of moony young mowers who bundle out doors,

The charms of their straw beds scorning,

Before break of day, to make love and hay

At five o'clock in the morning!

But, between me and you, it is all untrue;
Believe not a word that they utter;

To no milkmaid alive does the finger of five
Bring beaux-or even bring butter;

The poor sleepy cows, if told to arouse,
Would do so, perhaps, in a horning,

But the sweet country girls, would they show their curls
At five o'clock in the morning?

It may not be wrong for the man in the song,
Or the moon-if anxious to settle,-

To kneel in wet grass and pop, but alas!

What if he popped down on a nettle?
For how could he see what was under his knee,
If, in spite of my friendly warning,

He went out of bed, and his house, and his head,
At five o'clock in the morning?

It is all very well such stories to tell,

But if I were a maid all forlorning,

And a lover should drop in the clover to pop

At five o'clock in the morning,

If I liked him, you see, I'd say, "Please call at three;"
If not, I'd turn on him with scorning,

"Don't come here, you flat, with conundrums like that,
At five o'clock in the morning."

A MIDSUMMER DAY SCENE.

The farmer sat in his easy chair,
Smoking his pipe of clay,

While his hale old wife, with busy care,
Was clearing the dinner away;

A sweet little girl, with fine blue eyes,
On her grandfather's knee was catching flies.

The old man placed his hand on her head,
With a tear on his wrinkled face;

He thought how often her mother, dead,

Had sat long ago in that place.

As the tear stole down from his half-shut eye,

"Don't smoke," said the child," how it makes you cry!"

The house-dog slumbered upon the floor,

Where the sun, after noon, would steal;
The busy old wife, by the open door,
Was turning the spinning-wheel;

And the old brass clock on the mantel-tree
Had plodded along to almost three.

Still the farmer sat in his easy chair,
While close to his heaving breast
The moistened brow and the head so fair
Of his dear grandchild were pressed.

His frosty locks 'mid her soft hair lay-
Fast asleep were they both, that summer day!