The fire bust out as she clared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned, and made For that willer-bank on the right. There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out Over all the infernal roar, "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludso's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And know'd he would keep his word. And sure's you're born, they all got off Afore the smoke-stacks fell, And Bludso's ghost went up alone In the smoke of the _Prairie Belle_. He warn't no saint--but at judgment I'd run my chance with Jim 'Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn't shook hands with him. He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing, And went for it thar and then; And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard On a man that died for men. COLONEL JOHN HAY. _HOW UNCLE MOSE COUNTED THE EGGS._ Old Mose, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has got the habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady came out to the gate to make the purchases. "Have you got any eggs this morning, Uncle Mose?" she asked. "Yes, indeed I has. Jes got in ten dozen from de kentry." "Are they fresh?" "I gua'ntee 'em. I knows dey am fresh jess de same as ef I had laid 'em myse'f." "I'll take nine dozen. You can count them in this basket." "All right, mum." He counts: "One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, ten. You kin rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' on at de school? He mus' be mos' grown." "Yes, Uncle Mose, he is a clerk in a bank at Galveston." "Why, how ole am de boy?" "He is eighteen." "You don't tole me so. Eighteen and gettin' a salary already! eighteen (counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-free, twenty-foah, twenty-five, and how's yore gal comin' on? She was mos' growed up de las' time I seed her." "She is married and living in Dallas." "Wal, I declar. How de time scoots away! An' yo' say she has childruns? Why, how ole am de gal? She mus' be about----" "Thirty-three." "Am dat so? (counting) firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't believe you has grand-childruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs old youself." "Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty-three years old----"