Part 5 (1/2)

One night, I wasn't sleepin'--Sister Mary night watch keepin', Jim, weak as a babby, lyin' there upon th' bed, Says: ”Sister,--you remind me--of a--Girl--I left behind me”---- She gev' a little s.h.i.+ver, sayin': ”Hs.h.!.+ THAT--GIRL IS--DEAD!”

Then I he'erd old Jim a-gaspin'--her han's his han's was claspin', Callin' ”MARY, Oh, G.o.d, MARY!” eyes a-bulgin' in his head; She was lookin' down at him, but she on'y whisper'd ”J--im!”

But her face was like the face of some one dead.

The'r han's was locked a minute--ther' wasn't no wrong in it---- They spoke no words, but eyes looked into eyes---- Then, without a word of talkin' she went, like one sleep-walkin', An' I he'erd Jim groanin' tur'ble 'twixt his sighs.

But nex' mornin' little Sister hikes along with a big blister, Jest as d.i.n.ky an' as smilin' as before; But Jim? he lay there blinkin', I guess HE was a-thinkin'

How them little fingers trimbled takin' down his fever score.

Doc. said old Jim was dyin'. That night I he'erd him sighin', An' he up an' says: ”Say, Pard, when I'm--at rest---- Will you see this--little locket--goes with me--in the pocket Of the heart that's lyin' broken--in my breast?”

And if you're no doubtin' Thomas you'll believe I kep' that promise; And the Face inside the locket, HUMAN EYE SHALL NEVER SEE; P'raps it was, or wasn't Sister, her we called ”Saint Mustard Blister,”

When she pumped th' pills an' quinine int' pore old Jim an' me!

TALE OF THE CHE-CHA-KO

Che-cha-ko arrived from London Town Wearing a sort of superior frown; Registered, ”Bellingham-Bolingbroke-Browyne”

(Hyphenating himself in the middle).

He carried of ”boxes” just twenty-four, Voted the country ”A beastly boah”; Laughed at the ”shops,” which he roundly swore ”Weren't worth a Ta-ra-diddle!”

He purchased of farm lands some sections six, Said: ”With those common fawmahs I shan't mix!”

Then he started in with his La-de-dah tricks And built him a ”Countwy Seat.”

Now, a ”country seat” in this western land Is top rail of a fence, or a pile of sand, But Che-cha-ko's daily, diurnal demand Was, ”The best people I must meet.”

They met him half way, for they cleaned him out, Drank his ”extra dry” every ball and rout; His poor working-man neighbour he called ”a lout,”

And laughed at the ”countwy daunce.”

His amazement was great to learn we ”digged wells”; Said, ”We don't do it around Bow Bells”; And, describing the life of the London swells, Sighed: ”Pore devils! you haven't a chaunce!”

He played ”Gentleman Fawmah” a year or two, His cash was all spent (his friends went too) And then he wanted to ”borrow a few Pounds” from his own hired man.

But the rough fellow said, ”My London c.o.c.k, When you learn to work, quit your bally talk, You'll float your s.h.i.+p-of-State off th' rock!”

(And he winked, did the hired man.)

He considered the matter, did B. B. Browyne, Quit every reference to ”Deah London Town,”

And his neighbour, ”the Lout,” why, he came right down And did what we all expected: Lent B. B. seed-grain for his season's crop;-- Said: ”Hang on, m' Boy, y'll come out on top.”

He did. The Che-cha-ko never cried ”stop”

Till for parliament he was elected!

So down at Ottawa now he sits Where he spits and smokes, and smokes and spits; In government circles he splendidly fits, And he's known as ”Bully Boy Brown”!

For he was a man that took his chance---- He got right down to his Song-and-Dance---- Let out ”London Pride” with his workman's lance, Tried the smile instead of the frown.

For the ”Browyne” who would win out in the west Is the Brown with common sense that's blest; Leaves ”Grandpa” at home with the Family crest, Puts hand to the plow; and then---- Follows the furrow as straight as a die, Stout heart, steady hand, with a watchful eye; He'll come to his own, and I'll tell you why:---- The west is calling for MEN!