"He was a Giant Cracker bold, His name was Wing-Hi-Ee. He wore a dress of red and gold-- Was handsome as could be. His master was a Mandarin, Who lived in old Shang-Hai, And had a daughter named Ah Din, With sweet blue almond eye. "Now Wing he loved this Saffron Queen, And Ah Din she loved him; But Chinese law came in between Them with its measures grim. For you must know, in that far land, Where dwell the heathen wild, A Cracker may not win the hand Of any noble's child. "This made their love a hopeless one-- Alas! that it should be That anywhere beneath the sun Exists such misery! So they resolved, since she could not Become his cherished bride, Together they'd seek out some spot And there they'd suicide. "They hastened, weeping, from the town, Wing-Hi and fair Ah Din, And on the river-bank sat down Until the tide came in. Then Wing-Hi whispered, sitting there, With tear-drops in his eye, 'Good-by, Ah Din!' And, in despair, She answered him, 'Good-by.' "And then she grasped a sulphur match; She lit it on her shoe, Whereat, with neatness and dispatch, Wing-Hi she touched it to. There came a flash, there came a shriek, A sound surpassing weird, And Wing-Hi brave and Ah Din meek In pieces disappeared." "Isn't that lovely?" asked the Rocket, his voice husky with emotion. "It's very fine," said Jimmieboy. "It's rather sad, though." "Yes; but it might have been sadder, you know," said the Giant Cracker. "She might not have loved him at all; and if she hadn't loved him, he wouldn't have wasted a match committing suicide for her sake, and then there wouldn't have been any tragedy, and, of course, no song would have been written about it. Why, there is no end to the misery there might have been." Here one of the Torpedoes fell off the gas-fixture to the floor, where he exploded with a loud noise. There was a rush from all sides to see whether the poor little fellow was done for forever. "Send for the doctor," said the Pin Wheel. "I think he can be mended." "No, don't," said the injured Torpedo. "I can fix myself up again. Send for a whisk broom and bring me a parlor match, and I'll be all right." "What's the whisk broom for?" asked Jimmieboy, somewhat surprised at the remedies suggested. "Why," said the Torpedo, "if you will sweep me together with the whisk broom and wrap me up carefully, I'll eat the head off the parlor match, and I'll be all right again. The match head will give me all the snap I need, and if you'll wrap me up in the proper way, I'll show you what noise is to-morrow. You'll think I'm some relation to that Miss Din in the Giant Cracker's song, unless I'm mistaken, when you hear me explode." The Fire-crackers jeered a little at this, because there has always been more or less jealousy between the Torpedoes and the Fire-crackers, but the Rocket soon put a stop to their sneers.