The air of the valley has felt the chill; The workers pause at the door of the mill; The housewife, keen to the shivering air, Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, Instinctive taught by the mother-love, And thinks of the sleeping ones above. Why start the listeners? Why does the course Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse-- “Hark to the sound of the hoofs!” they say-- That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way? God! what was that like a human shriek From the winding valley? Will nobody speak? Will nobody answer those women who cry As the awful warnings thunder by? Whence come they? Listen! and now they hear The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; They watch the trend of the vale, and see The rider who thunders so menacingly, With waving arms and warning scream To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. He draws no rein, but he shakes the street With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet, And this the cry that he flings to the wind,-- “_To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind!_” He cries and is gone, but they know the worst,-- The treacherous Williamsburg dam has burst! The basin that nourished their happy homes Is changed to a demon. It comes! it comes! A monster in aspect, with shaggy front Of shattered dwellings to take the brunt Of the dwellings they shatter;--white-maned and hoarse The merciless terror fills the course Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves With death on the first of its hissing waves, Till cottage and street and crowded mill Are crumbled and crushed. But onward still, In front of the roaring flood, is heard The galloping horse and the warning word. Thank God that the brave man’s life is spared! From Williamsburg town he nobly dared To race with the flood, and to take the road In front of the terrible swath it mowed. For miles it thundered and crashed behind, But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind: “_They must be warned!_” was all he said, As away on his terrible ride he sped. When heroes are called for, bring the crown To this Yankee rider; send him down On the stream of time with the Curtius old; His deed, as the Roman’s, was brave and bold; And the tale can as noble a thrill awake, For he offered his life for the people’s sake! JOHN BOYLE O’REILLY. (By special permission of Miss Mary Boyle O’Reilly.) 60 JIM BLUDSO Wall, no! I can’t tell whar he lives, Becase he don’t live, you see; Leastways, he’s got out of the habit Of livin’ like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three year That you haven’t heard folks tell How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks The night of the _Prairie Belle_?