"What's the use of making the young one cry? Say, what's the use of being a fool? Sling the little one up here whar he can see, He won't git the snuffles a-ridin' with me, The night ain't any too cool." The child hushed cryin' the minute he spoke; "Come up here, Major! don't let him slip." And jest as nice as a woman could do, He wropped his blanket around them two, And was off in the crack of a whip. We rattled along an hour or so, Till we heerd a yell on the still night air. Did you ever hear an Apache yell? Well, ye needn't want to, THIS side of hell; There's nothing more devilish there. Caught in the shower of lead and flint, We felt the old stage stagger and plunge; Then we heerd the voice and the whip of Ben, As he gethered his critters up again, And tore away with a lunge. The passengers laughed. "Old Ben's all right, He's druv five year and never was struck." "Now if _I_'d been thar, as sure as you live, They'd 'a' plugged me with holes as thick as a sieve; It's the reg'lar Golyer luck." Over hill and holler and ford and creek, Jest like the hosses had wings, we tore; We got to Looney's, and Ben come in And laid down the baby and axed for his gin, And dropped in a heap on the floor. Said he, "When they fired, I kivered the kid,-- Although I ain't pretty, I'm middlin' broad; And look! he ain't fazed by arrow nor ball,-- Thank God! my own carcase stopped them all." Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower jaw fall,-- And he carried his thanks to God. THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT. A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY. It's all very well for preachin', But preachin' and practice don't gee: I've give the thing a fair trial, And you can't ring it in on me. So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, Ef that's what you want me to sign; Betwixt me and you, I've been thar, And I'll not take any in mine. A year ago last Fo'th July A lot of the boys was here. We all got corned and signed the pledge For to drink no more that year. There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail And me and Abner Fry, And Shelby's boy Leviticus, And the Golyers, Luke and Cy. And we anteed up a hundred In the hands of Deacon Kedge For to be divided the follerin' Fo'th 'Mongst the boys that kep' the pledge. And we knowed each other so well, Squire, You may take my scalp for a fool, Ef every man when he signed his name Didn't feel cock-sure of the pool. Fur a while it all went lovely; We put up a job next day Fur to make Joy b'lieve his wife was dead, And he went home middlin' gay; Then Abner Fry he killed a man And afore he was hung McPhail Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer By getting him slewed in jail.