Prairie Farmer, Vol. 56: No. 3, January 19, 1884.: A Weekly Journal for the Farm, Orchard and FiresideVarious
Science
Prairie Farmer, Vol. 56: No. 3, January 19, 1884.: A Weekly Journal for the Farm, Orchard and Fireside
Various
Agriculture -- United States -- Periodicals; Farm life -- Periodicals; United States -- Rural conditions -- Periodicals
Then one fever-crazed and his better sense dazed
And dulled with heart-sickness all duty forgot;
Deserted, was taken, condemned to be shot!
And Bally Dean guardin' his comrade half crazed,
Slow paced up and down while he slept where he lay
In the tent waitin' death at the first flush of day.
And Bally Dean thought of the boy to be shot,
Of the fair girl he loved in the woods far away;
Of the true love that grew like a red rose of May;
And he stopped where he stood, and he thought and he thought
Then a sudden star fell, shootin' on overhead.
And he knew that his mother beckon'd onto the dead.
And he said what have I? Though I live though I die.
Who shall care for me now? Then the dull, muffled drum
Struck his ear, and he knew that the master had come
With the squad. And he passed in the tent with a sigh,
And the doomed lad crept forth, and the drowsy squad led
With low trailin' guns to the march of the dead.
Then with face turned away tow'rd a dim streak of day,
And his voice full of tears the poor bowed master said,
As he fell on his knees and uncovered his head:
"Come boys it is school time, let us all pray."
And we prayed. And the lad by the coffin alone
Was tearless, was silent, was still as a stone.
"In line," master said, and he stood at the head;
But he couldn't speak now. So he drew out his sword
And dropped the point low for the last fatal word.
Then the rifles rang out, and a soldier fell dead!
The master sprang forward. "Great Heaven," he said,
"It is Bally, poor Bally, and he's gone up head!"
--_Joaquin Miller._
TOO FAT TO MARRY.
A very fat young woman came to my office and asked to see me privately.
When we were alone she said:
"Are you sure no one can overhear us?"
"Quite sure."
"You won't laugh at me, will you?"
"Madam, I should be unworthy of your confidence if I could be guilty of
such a rudeness."
"Thank you, sir; but no one ever called upon you on such a ridiculous
errand. You won't think me an idiot, will you?"
"I beg of you to go on."
"You don't care to know my name or residence?"
"Certainly not, if you care to conceal them."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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