« 上一页继续 »
Thirty minutes and round the bend
Flashed his horse, like a streak of gray. Now for a straight course to the end.
Hold the pace, and life wins the day! Foain on the flank, and foam on the lip;
Nostrils crimsoned with oozing blood;
Yea--but think of the racing flood !
Out of the saddle sprang Reckless Dan,
Saved! but they drew them up half dead,
Man and child, from the whirlpool's grasp, Close to Dan's bosom, the golden head
Strained in his tight, convulsive clasp. Saved! and the cañon rang again With the joyful shouts of the rough-garbed men, “Hooray!” they cried, " for Reckless Dan! His heart's big enough for any man!” Aye, big enough and warm enough,
Like many another in the rough.
THE STORY OF A LITTLE RED HEN.
S. E. EASTMAN.
HIS is the story my grandmother told,
You have read it before, perhaps dozens of times. Will you hear it again in the simplest of rhymes ? “Who'll sift the flour?” cried the little red hen;
We need some more bread.” “I w-o-n'-t, I w-o-n'-t," all the rest of the ten
Quite lazily said.
That very same hour,
Till she sifted the flour.
Who'll stir in the yeast? ” cried the little red hen,
“And who'll knead the bread?” “I won't, I won't,” all the rest of the ten
Rather angrily said. “Well, then, I will," and she worked so fast
That the loaf looked light, When placed in its shining pan at last,
To rise through the night.
Who will kindle the fire?” cried the little red hen;
Who'll bake the bread ? ” “ I won't, I won't,” all the rest of the ten
Quite sullenly said.
Till the oven was clean;
That ever was seen.
"Now the work is donę," cried the little red hen,
“ Who'll eat the bread?' "I will, I will," all the rest of the ten
Very eagerly said.
I'll eat it myself,"
On the closet shelf.
FIVE LITTLE BROTHERS.
IVE little brothers set out together
To journey the livelong day.
And they could not move about;
And the wee one began to pout,
. Let's leave the carriage and run away." So out they scampered, the five together,
And off and away they sped !
Oh, my! how she shook her head.
MAN is his own star, and the soul that can
MARY AGNES TINCKER.
(From "Aurora,” by permission of the author.)
A Study in Word-Painting.
BANQUET-HALL in a palace; drapery between open
columns, with glimpses of a garden, fountains and
birds; a faint breeze; a marble floor and marble walls that reflect like mirrors; a great arch leading out to an open court and stair; a table spread with wines and with fruits, and glittering with plate.
is all ready? All is ready. Is there a speck on fruit, a mote in wine, a grain of dust, or a rose-leaf even fallen on the damask cloth? The fruit has been guarded from the flower, every sunbeam tempered to its needs, and no wind allowed to touch it but a nursing, rocking breeze. The wine is strained, tiil it is clearer than the jewels of the East; and a snowflake on the damask were a stain.
Does the music wait their coming? Every player holds his breach above the string or the key, and the leader listens with his bâton raised. At the first advancing murmur, the rustle and ii:e laughier, all the perfumed air will turn into a song.
But what darkens on the glistening marble floor? What shadow grows within the mirrored arch? A vision of a man with outstretched hand,-quivering, dim, gigantic, clothed in rags. Motionless, yet quivering, he stands, with the keen, voracious quiver of a flame.
O Lazarus, thou Samson of to-day! Round the pillars of my joy let not thy despairing prayers clasp their strength and bring down judgment on my head. ( awful poverty! Poison of ail ills, extracted and condensed, charity and faith corroding, till even hope becomes a leper, and love's heart strikes, with every beat a thorn! O thou shadow of the beggar at my gate! 'Tis the hell that man has made makes thee quiver on the wall as its gnawing flame devours thee flesh and soul.
But one steadfast ray I see in the tremor and the dark. 'Tis the steadfast eyes of Christ looking through thine at me!
OBLIGING HIS LANDLADY.
CHARLES D. HICKMAN.
A Monologue for a Man. CHARACTER: FRANK GAMMON.
SCENE: An apartment; small mirror, slippers, shaving utensils handy; assistant behind scenes, with squeaker, to imitate cry of baby. Enter FRANK GAMMON, with hat, bag, and umbrella, speaking off as he enters.
With pleasure, Mrs. Grunter; you may depend upon me, [Putting down bag, etc.; taking off boots, and putting on slippers.] One must oblige one's landlady sometimes, especially when one is not in the habit of taking down one's rent on the 'exact date when due. Mrs. Grunter has generally to come up for my rent-or for her rent, as she says, though I am constantly explaining to her that nothing is one's own, till one gets it. Its invariably nothing she gets, when she ascends for the rent. Had I a receipt for each occasion on which I have paid her nothing—but there, some day she shall be paid in full. Taking everything into consideration, it may prove to my advantage to carry out her instructions to the best of my ability—as all persons of no ability invariably observe when undertaking a commission. Having to go out for half-an-hour, my landlady has left everything in the house to my care, including a baby, at present peacefully slumbering in the next room. I had misgivings as to my infant-minding powers, but Mrs. Grunter assured me, on her word of honor as a gentlemen-I meanwell, she assured me, the baby would not disturb me, if I did not disturb the baby. A most remarkable infant, according to the mother's testimony, and a mother's testimony as to her child's worth should be believed—though it very often isn't. My mother used to tell everyone I was a little angel; but nobody personally acquainted with me believed it. On the contrary, everyone said I was a noisy little brat. The only relative who never seemed to mind being present at my head-splitting, ear-drumming, constitution-destroying, but otherwise artistic performances on the tea-tray, was old Aunt Susan. Truc, she was deaf and dumb, poor old soul, but stillanyhow, Mrs. Grunter says her child always sleeps soundly, and never wakes