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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,
Becase he don't live,
astways, he's got out of the habit
Of livin' like you and me.

har have you been for the last three year,
That you haven't heard folks tell
w Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks
The night of the Prairie Belle?

weren't no saint,-them engineers s pretty much all alike,—

e wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,
nd another one here, in Pike;
eerless man in his talk was Jim,
nd an awkward hand in a row;
he never flunked, and he never lied,-
reckon he never knowed how.

To mind the pilot's bell;

And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire-
A thousand times he swore-
He'd hold her nozzle ag'in the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.

All boats has their days on the Mississippi,
And her day come at last:

The Movastar was a better boat,
But the Belle she wouldn't be passed.
And so she come tearin' along that night-
The oldest craft on the line-

With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.

The bar bust out as she clared the bar,
And burnt a hole in the night,

And quick as a flash she turned, and made
For that willer-bank on the right.

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
And knowed he would keep his word.
And, sure's you're born, they all got off
Afore the smoke-stacks fell,-
And Bludso's ghost went up alone
In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.

'Longside of some pious gentlemen

That wouldn't shook hands with him.
He seen his duty, a dead sure thing,
And went for it thar and then;

And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard
On a man that died for men.

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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,-
b'lieve in God and the Angels,
ver sence one night last spring.

- into town with some turnips,
ad my little Gabe come along,-
r-year-old in the county

uld beat him for pretty and strong,
id chipper and sassy,

vays ready to swear and fight,—
1 larnt him ter chaw terbacker,
to keep his milk teeth white.

w come down like a blanket
I passed by Taggert's store:
n for a jug of molasses

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.

[graphic]

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
Of my fellow critter's aid,—
ust flopped on my marrow bones,
Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.

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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.

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