The storm raged on――he would not go Without his leader’s word; That leader, fooled by friend or foe, No warning voices heard. He called aloud: “See, Cecil, see How thick the people loom!” He knew not that Lord Salisburee Was reckless of his doom. “Oh, let me go,” again he cried, “I surely can be spared?” “Nay, you must stay,” the “Whip” replied, “Since you’ve remained ‘unpaired.’” Upon his brow he felt the weight Of unaccustomed care, And tried “to follow the debate,” But ended in despair. And shouted but once more aloud: “Oh, Cecil, _must_ I stay!” But Cecil, still unwisely proud, Would have his wilful way. There came a burst, a shock, a jar! The Peer――oh! where was he? Ask of the Chief who scattered far Our old Nobilitee. Dukes, Earls, and Barons went to smash Amidst a grateful cheer; But the crassest victim of the crash Was that deluded Peer! _Truth_, October 16, 1884. ―――― THE OLD MAN LINGERED. The girl stewed on the burning deck, For Rockaway she fled; The sun which blazed down on her neck, Turned all her tresses red. Yet innocent by Pa she sat, While glances shy and warm Shot from beneath her saucy hat At every manlike form. Pa left to see a friend, he told: And then her smile was sweet On Mr. Jones, who growing bold, Took by her side a seat. The boat rolled on. Jones would not go Without her father’s word; That father at the bar below Her laugh no longer heard. She called (not loud) “Stay, father, stay Until thy task is done.” She knew, too well, the old man’s way, Unconscious of her fun. The wind had freshened to a gale, The boat tossed on the sea, “Oh, miss,” cried Jones, “why art thou pale? Why talk’st thou not to me?” “Speak, maiden!” once again he cried; “Art ailing? Tell me quick.” And but the drooping maid replied, “Oh, I――I feel so sick.” Upon her brow then came his breath; He smoothed her frizzled hair. She looked for all the world like death; He looked like grim despair. She murmured but once more aloud, “Oh Jones, a basin――quick!” Not one was left, for in that crowd Each female, too was sick. Oh, when was gallant like to Jones; Or, rather, one so flat! With one heroic smile, he groans, “Here, darling, is my hat.” Then came a burst of lightning sound; The girl!――oh, where was she? A-spoiling Jones’s hat, which crowned His cup of misery. Oh! Knights of old and heroes rare; Oh! lovers think of that, The noblest thing which perished there Was Jones’s new silk hat. _American Paper._ ――――