"And oh, how I have prayed, Joe, For you who saved my life, That God would send an angel To guide you through all strife. The one who claimed me from you, My Uncle, good and true, Is sick in yonder cabin; Has talked so much of you. "'If Joe were living darling,' He said to me last night, 'He would care for you, Maggie, When God puts out my light.'" We found the old man sleeping. "Hush, Maggie, let him rest." The sun was slowly setting In the far-off, glowing West. And though we talked in whispers He opened wide his eyes: "A dream, a dream," he murmured; "Alas, a dream of lies." She drifted like a shadow To where the old man lay. "You had a dream, dear Uncle, Another dream to-day?" "Oh yes, I saw an angel As pure as mountain snow, And near her at my bedside Stood California Joe." "I'm sure I'm not an angel, Dear Uncle, that you know; These hands that hold your hand, too, My face is not like snow. "Now listen while I tell you, For I have news to cheer; Hazel Eye is happy, For Joe is truly here." It was but a few days after The old man said to me, "Joe, boy, she is an angel, And good as angels be. "For three long months she hunted, And trapped and nursed me too; God bless you, boy, I believe it, She's safe along with you." The sun was slowly sinking, When Maggie, my wife, and I Went riding through the valley, The tear-drops in her eye. "One year ago to-day, Joe, I saw the mossy grave; We laid him neath the daisies, My Uncle, good and brave." And comrade, every springtime Is sure to find me there; There is something in the valley That is always fresh and fair. Our love is always kindled While sitting by the stream, Where two hearts were united In love's sweet happy dream. THE BOSTON BURGLAR I was born in Boston City, a city you all know well, Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell, Brought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly, Till I became a roving man at the age of twenty-three. My character was taken then, and I was sent to jail. My friends they found it was in vain to get me out on bail. The jury found me guilty, the clerk he wrote it down, The judge he passed me sentence and I was sent to Charleston town. You ought to have seen my aged father a-pleading at the bar, Also my dear old mother a-tearing of her hair, Tearing of her old gray locks as the tears came rolling down, Saying, "Son, dear son, what have you done, that you are sent to Charleston town?" They put me aboard an eastbound train one cold December day, And every station that we passed, I'd hear the people say, "There goes a noted burglar, in strong chains he'll be bound,-- For the doing of some crime or other he is sent to Charleston town."