COMPENSATION.* You think I'm nervous, stranger? Well, I am! That's where I live, you sce. As for Lacrosse (Excuse me, neighbor, I must talk or bust)— Since I've been there, its three years certain, just; And now to laugh or cry is just a toss. "Married?" Why, yes, that's where it is, you see; It's too good luck, this is,--to last, you know; You see, when we were married, Sue and I, All I could make went into that concern; In all this world I had but one friend then, But she stood by me nobly, through and through, And said 'twould come out right at last, she knewOne woman stanch is worth a dozen men! Twas tough sometimes, though when a loaf of bread I should have gone, alone, quite to the bad; * For a full description of this poem, see the preceding article. It is a pathetic tribute to the glorious, true womanhood that crowns man's worthiest work. 'Twas her advice that sent me off at last- A hundred thousand and a royalty Is what I've got for going far away; She knows I'm coming; but she doesn't know Dressed in her best-her best, my poor, dear Sue! I'll bet a hundred 'twill be calico! "I'll dress her now!" You bet it!-but go slow; The only reason, if it don't, will be That I'm so strongly thinking that it will. I'm nervous, say you? Just a little, still The luck is none too good for Sue, you see. Hello! we're here!-there's Sue, by all that's grand! CHICAGO.-DWIGHT WILLIAMS. HARK Hark! Hark! From thine midnight's hush and dark, Rising on the atmosphere; Peal! peal! peal! Bells of brass and bells of steel; How he scorns the brazen throats Street to street, Like. a raid of horsemen fleet, Treasured arts of time and toil! Crash! crash! crash! See the fiery surges lash Cross-crowned spire and splendid dome, Proud arcade and palace home; Molten acres seethe and roll, City lords no more control; Riot-flames in fury whirl, Toss their plumes, and madly curl Lips of scorn at human cries, Help imploring from the skies; Rolls a sea of human woc. Fire! Fire! Fire! Bristles every throbbing wire; Cities list with wild surprise, As a prostrate city lies In her ashes low, Breathing out her midnight woe; Charred and crisp her pictured walls, Blank and drear her proudest halls, All the land with pallor turns God, O God, thy judgments stay! God bless thee, O true St. Louis! So worthy thy royal name; Back, back on the wing of the lightning, Thy answer of rescue came; But alas! it could not enter Through the horrible flame and heat, For the fire had conquered the lightning, And sat in the Thunderer's seat, God bless thee, again, St. Louis! Thou called'st to all the cities By lightning and steam and pen: "Ho, ho, ye hundred sisters, Stand forth in your bravest might! Our sister in flames is falling, Her children are dying to-night!" And through the mighty Republic Till it rippled the seas in the tropics, The distant Golden City Called through her golden gates, And quickly rung the answer From the City of the Straits. And the cities that sit in splendor I heard through the next night's darkness, Till they stood where the fated city The rich gave their abundance, The poor their willing hands; There was wine from all the vineyards,There was corn from all the lands. At daybreak over the prairies |