The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI | Page 7

Potomack; a legend as to war and romance. Though bearing with him all the honners that Cambridg could confere, W. Alexander was a faverite in the vilage, being ever ready with a kind enquiry as to Parent, or peny for marbles, not forgetting his boyhoods days. Though the beau par excelant of the vilage, and posessing vast landed estate and a kind retinu, he was not haughty.
Every one was eger to see Rose perform. She in her pasage too and frow had won by her sweet manners (many likings) ere she exhibited her skill.
The eventful hour of promis came and what a crowd was there. Rose came fourth, asisted by Paul Paulo. His form was molded even as an Apolo, and his eger eye was fixed on the bony girl. She ballanced her pole, saught her equiliberum, and every heart was at her desposal, not accepting W. Alexander. Seeing this, the dark pashonate eye of the Italian scowled.
So droped the curtain of the first performance. And W. Alexander stroled on towards his home, heart and head full of the beautiful circus girl, thoughts were very conflicting, love at first sight.
(We will skip, for want of space, the exquisite passages descriptive of the mutual love of Rose and W. Alexander, and pass on to the finale.)
There was a paus, a sencation, and Rose came fourth to meander in mid-air. Admeration was at its hight, as she swayed too and frow as it were a winged egle from some etherial climb.
Low! a paus--the rope snaps--and Rose falls to erth a helpless mass of youth and beauty. The venerable man of medicin closed her star-lit eyes now forever dimed to this world. And all knew she had walked the last rope that bound her to this erth.
What, who, was her murderer?
The rope seemed to be cut with some jaged instrument so that when her tiny feat pressed its coils it became her destroyer.
Suspician pointed at the Italian.
W. Alexander's old Father of sympathy now the strongest, entreted our Hero to sale for distent shores, there asisted by that balm time and change, there assuage his grefe.
Well, came the last evening, and with the sadest of hearts and a bunch of sweet violets W. Alexander went to bid a long fare well.
But as he neared the sacred spot his heart seemed deadened. Prone on her grave changing the snowy whiteness of the flowers with its crimson die was the body of Paul Paulo. Who by his own hand caused his life blood to floe as an attonement.

UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Up and down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone-- With a dad-burn hook-and-line And a saplin'-pole--i swawn! I've had more fun, to the square Inch, than ever anywhere! Heaven to come can't discount mine Up and down old Brandywine!
Haint no sense in wishin'--yit Wisht to goodness I could jes "Gee" the blame world round and git Back to that old happiness!-- Kindo' drive back in the shade "The old Covered Bridge" there laid Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak My soul over, hub and spoke!
Honest, now!--it haint no dream 'At I'm wantin',--but the fac's As they wuz; the same old stream, And the same old times, i jacks!-- Gim me back my bare feet--and Stonebruise too!--And scratched and tanned! And let hottest dog-days shine Up and down old Brandywine!
In and on betwixt the trees 'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, Kindo' curdled with the breeze And the yallerhammer's tune; And the smokin', chokin' dust O' the turnpike at its wusst-- Saturd'ys, say, when it seems Road's jes jammed with country teams!--
Whilse the old town, fur away 'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, Dozed-like in the heat o' day Peaceful' as a hired hand. Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor O' the old bridge!--grind and roar With yer blame percession-line-- Up and down old Brandywine!
Souse me and my new straw-hat Off the foot-log!--what I care?-- Fist shoved in the crown o' that-- Like the old Clown ust to wear. Wouldn't swop it fer a' old Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold!-- Keep yer King ef you'll gim me Jes the boy I ust to be!
Spill my fishin'-worms! er steal My best "goggle-eye!"--but you Can't lay hands on joys I feel Nibblin' like they ust to do! So, in memory, to-day Same old ripple lips away At my cork and saggin' line, Up and down old Brandywine!
There the logs is, round the hill, Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift Out sunfish from daylight till Dew-fall--'fore he'd leave "The Drift" And give us a chance--and then Kindo' fish back home again, Ketchin' 'em jes left and right Where we hadn't got "a bite!"
Er, 'way windin' out and in,-- Old path th'ough the iurnweeds And dog-fennel to yer chin-- Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds