Then a short, sharp whistle that told with its blast
That the "Dutchman" was into the tunnel at last.

And there on the rail lay that huge mass of stone,
And the "Dutchman" behind coming thundering on;
In a minute or less he would come with a dash,
And a hundred lives would be lost in the crash.

"Now, for your life, Jack!" for Chiddy had flown

Down the bank, and three leaps brought him close to the stone.

Not of his own life, for wife and child's sake,

Thought he, but the hundreds that now were at stake.

"Twas the work of a moment. With terrible strength
And a heave of the shoulder the slab moved at length-
Slipped clear of the rail-when, half-muffled in smoke,
From the mouth of the tunnel the "Dutchman" broke.
There was one sharp whistle, a roar, and a crash
Of wheels ringing clear on the rail, and a flash

Of coiling smoke, and a glitter and gleam

Of iron and steel, and then down fell the steam.

Not a breath could we draw, but stood blank with dismay As the train tore along, making up for delay;

Till at last from us all burst a shout and a cheer,

When we knew that the "Dutchman" had passed and was clear.

And Chiddy? Ah me! you will pardon these tears,
For he was my mate on the rails many years.
When we found him, one look was enough to reveal
That Jack's life-blood was red on the engine-wheel.
Brave Jack Chiddy! Now you don't sneer

At the name which I own is but harsh to the ear;
But a name is a sound,-nothing more,-deeds are best,
And Jack had the soul of a man in his breast.

AN AWFUL SQUIRT.

A Rockland young man until quite recently was courting a fat girl at the North End and had progressed very favorably with his suit. One evening last week he dressed up in his best clothes, carefully combed his hair, and started out to make his tri-weekly visit to his fair one, who was wait

ing in the parlor with fond expectation in her heart and a cold in her head, superinduced by the fluctuating weather. This was, as you might say, the prologue to the tragedy. It appears, moreover, that the fat girl's father-who is worth many thousand dollars in good, sensible bonds, and as a consequence is an object of the young man's tender regard—had for several nights previous been the victim of some unknown miscreant who had raided on his hen pen with disastrous effect. Sick of such foolishness, he had prepared a ghastly retribution for the fowl villains, and to this end had filled a big garden syringe with about a gallon of ancient beef brine, seasoned with garlic and flavored with asafœtida, and was lying in ambush behind a box, where he could sweep every approach to the hennery. The young man, who is pretty well acquainted with the whole family, thought he would surprise his girl by entering the house unexpectedly by the back way. This is the situation:

a is the hennery; b is the old man, and c the syringe; d is the young man lightly turning to thoughts of love as well as the corner of the fence; e is the house itself, painted brown; and ƒ is the fat girl sitting by the piano and singing "Father, dear father, come home;" gggg is the gathering darkness.

Gayly up the back yard the young man comes. Silently in ambush the old man lies. Cheerily the fat girl warbles. Quiet but awful is the syringe. In the uncertain light of early evening the old man sees a figure stealthily drawing near his guarded pen. With bated breath he waits the onslaught. The syringe sounds its dreadful " wh-s-s-h-p," and its deadly contents fly through the air like a wild and mad avenger. A yell that tore the azure robe of night, fairly knocked the fat girl off the piano stool and curdled the old man's blood, followed the discharge, and when the neighbors rushed in, under the impression that the comet had burst

right in the neighborhood, they found the unfortunate young man pawing madly around on the ground, and screaming out awful Mexican words terrible to hear, while the old man hovered over the scene with the syringe in his hands, looking like an animated figure escaped from an allegory. Sympathizing arms bore the young man into the house, after their owners had stopped their nostrils with cotton, and it required the combined efforts of the fat girl and eight friends to bring him to, and it was some hours before he was able to inquire if the meteor hit anybody else when it struck. That night, beneath the darksome shade of a cypress tree, whose thick branches the struggling moonbeams vainly strove to pierce, an old man's tottering form rested upon a spade, and silently viewed a new-made grave. He had just buried the syringe. -Rockland Courier.

BRIER-ROSE.-HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.

Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: "What will become of you, my child, the Lord Almighty knows.

You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom;

You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom.”

Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve, The good-wife as she bustled with pot and tray and sieve; But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head "Why, I shall marry, mother dear," full merrily she said. "You marry; saucy Brier-Rose! The man, he is not found To marry such a worthless wench, these seven leagues around."

But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she trilled a merry lay: "Perhaps he'll come, my mother dear, from eight leagues away."

The good-wife with a "humph" and a sigh forsook the battle, And flung her pots and pails about with much vindictive rattle:

"O Lord, what sin did I commit in youthful days, and wild, That thou hast punished me in age with such a wayward child?"

Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear, And laughing pressed an airy kiss behind the good-wife's ear.

And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh, Heaven only knows Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier-Rose!"

The sun was high and summer sounds were teeming in the air; The clank of scythes, the cricket's whir, and swelling woodnotes rare,

From field and copse and meadow; and through the open door Sweet, fragrant whiffs of new-mown hay the idle breezes bore.

Then Brier-Rose grew pensive, like a bird of thoughtful mien, Whose little life has problems among the branches green. She heard the river brawling where the tide was swift and strong,

She heard the summer singing its strange, alluring song.

And out she skipped the meadows o'er and gazed into the sky;

Her heart o'erbrimmed with gladness, she scarce herself knew why,

And to a merry tune she hummed, "Oh, Heaven only knows Whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose!"

Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied,

She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide;

For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and loom,

And not to drink the sunshine and wild-flower's sweet perfume.

And oft the maidens cried, when the Brier-Rose went by, "You cannot knit a stocking, and you cannot make a pie." But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked her curly head: "But I can sing a pretty song," full merrily she said.

And oft the young lads shouted, when they saw the maid at play:

"Ho, good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, how do you do to-day?" Then she shook her tiny fist; to her cheeks the color flew "However much you coax me, I'll never dance with you."

Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier-Rose's head, Till she was twenty summers old and yet remained unwed. And all the parish wondered: "The Lord Almighty knows Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose!"

And while they wondered came the spring a-dancing o'er the hills;

Her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the mountain rills,

With their tinkling and their rippling and their rushing, filled the air,

And the misty sounds of water forth-welling everywhere.

And in the valley's depth, like a lusty beast of prey,

The river leaped and roared aloud and tossed its mene of spray;

Then hushed again its voice to a softly plashing croon,

As dark it rolled beneath the sun and white beneath **

moon.

It was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled
Adown the tawny eddies that hissed and seethed and swirled,
Now shooting through the rapids and, with a reeling swing,
Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing.

But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline The waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine,

The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam

A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream.

And yet-methinks I hear it now--wild voices in the night, A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light, And wandering gusts of dampness, and round us far and nigh, A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky.

The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red,

As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows sped.

And terror smote us: for we heard the mighty tree-tops

sway,

And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray.

"Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, "you are strong, like Nor way's rock:

A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber lock!

For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil

Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil."

We looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen should.

But at out feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake, And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake.