So we shuddered there in silence, For the stoutest berth was shook, While the wooden gates were opened And the mate talked with the cook.

And as thus we lay in darkness, Each one wishing we were there, "We are through!" the captain shouted, And he sat down on a chair.

And his little daughter whispered, Thinking that he ought to know, "Isn't travelling by ca.n.a.l-boats Just as safe as it is slow?"

Then he kissed the little maiden, And with better cheer we spoke, And we trotted into Pittsburg, When the morn looked through the smoke.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._

THERE'S A BOWER OF BEAN-VINES

There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard, And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens; In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hard To bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.

That bower and its products I never forget, But oft, when my landlady presses me hard, I think, are the cabbages growing there yet, Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?

No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave, But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on; And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gave All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it awfully hard; As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._

REUBEN

That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not), Walking between the garden and the barn, Reuben, all armed; a certain aim he took At a young chicken, standing by a post, And loosed his bullet smartly from his gun, As he would kill a hundred thousand hens.

But I might see young Reuben's fiery shot Lodged in the chaste board of the garden fence, And the domesticated fowl pa.s.sed on In henly meditation, bullet free.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._

THE WIFE

Her washing ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And pa.s.sed the long, long night away In darning ragged hose.

But when the sun in all its state Illumed the Eastern skies, She pa.s.sed about the kitchen grate And went to making pies.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._

WHEN LOVELY WOMAN

When lovely woman wants a favor, And finds, too late, that man won't bend, What earthly circ.u.mstance can save her From disappointment in the end?

The only way to bring him over, The last experiment to try, Whether a husband or a lover, If he have feeling is--to cry.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._

JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHTER

A fellow near Kentucky's clime Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry, And I'll give thee a silver dime To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now, who would cross the Ohio, This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I am this young lady's beau, And she, John Thompson's daughter.

"We've fled before her father's spite With great precipitation; And should he find us here to-night, I'd lose my reputation.

"They've missed the girl and purse beside, His hors.e.m.e.n hard have pressed me; And who will cheer my bonny bride, If yet they shall arrest me?"

Out spoke the boatman then in time, "You shall not fail, don't fear it; I'll go, not for your silver dime, But for your manly spirit.

"And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; For though a storm is coming on, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the wind more fiercely rose, The boat was at the landing; And with the drenching rain their clothes Grew wet where they were standing.

But still, as wilder rose the wind, And as the night grew drearer; Just back a piece came the police, Their tramping sounded nearer.

"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "It's anything but funny; I'll leave the light of loving eyes, But not my father's money!"

And still they hurried in the face Of wind and rain unsparing; John Thompson reached the landing place-- His wrath was turned to swearing.

For by the lightning's angry flash, His child he did discover; One lovely hand held all the cash, And one was round her lover!

"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe, Across the stormy water; "But leave the purse, and you may go, My daughter, oh, my daughter!"

'Twas vain; they reached the other sh.o.r.e (Such doom the Fates a.s.sign us); The gold he piled went with his child, And he was left there _minus_.

_Ph[oe]be Cary._