But gives a stifled, smould'ring heat,-
The Rhodes' family burning peat.
The patient's hard, uneasy breathing
Alone is heard, as he lay seething.
The prim nurse by the fireside sat,
And nodded to the gray house-cat,
Reposing on an easy cushion,
Which now would rise to its ablution,
And then would stretch itself, and, gaping,
Resume again its dreams and napping.
Between them, in a big arm-chair,
The Doctor sat with solemn air,
The all-beloved cue, so stable,
Projecting o'er the little table
That stood behind, with scores of phials,
Of which the tallow dip made dials;
Whilst round it as a body-guard,
They formed, like veterans old and scarred.
The flame, by red, round spots bedimmed,
Might be revived, if slightly trimmed.
Soon Jotham, too, with vigils weary,
Began to nod; his eyes grew bleary,
And, notwithstanding his profession,
Nod soon chased nod in quick succession.
The cue stood sometimes at an angle,
Would sometimes 'mongst the bottles tangle,
As if 't would study all the labels,
And cure the man with Latin fables.
Again it would go, twitch and swishing,
As if engaged in earnest fishing,-
The fast succeeding jerks and quibbles,
Proclaim, at least, a lot of nibbles;
But seeming weary thus to dandle,
Began to tantalize the candle.
Poor Aaron watched the curious bobbing,
And, though his throat with pain was throbbing,
He scarcely could contain a titter
That filled his soul with pangs most bitter.
The easiest movement of a muscle
Would sting like life and death's last tussle.
A small tea-bell lay on the bed,
Quite handy to the patient's head;
Which solemnly he thought to ring,
The nurse to his relief to bring;
For if the cue's indulging fancies
Extended wide its comic dances,
A little more eccentric dafter,
Would, certain, cause his death of laughter;
But, as he lay in mirthful thinking,
The solemn with the merry linking,
The Doctor's head quick backward came,
And forced the cue right in the flame.
When, lo!-Oh horror, flash and thunder!-
The cue, exploding, burst asunder
With such terrific noise and smoulder,
Near shook the head from off his shoulder.
Away went Doctor Joe's adorner
In singeing tufts through every corner;
Away went pussy, helter-skelter,
Below the trundle-bed for shelter;
Away went nurse beside her, squeezing,
Though neither could refrain from sneezing;
A way went Joe himself, still faster,
Upsetting phials, cups, and castor;
His elbows through the windows smashing, His bare head bends the metal sashing, Then up and down the room went skipping, His nose with perspiration dripping;
His head oft clasping in his hands
To make him sure that still it stands.
The patient loud with laughter screamed; The abscess broke, the matter streamed.
Thus burst the cue and burst the laughter, And burst the stubborn tumor after;
And Aaron, like a flying ranger,
Was soon beyond the reach of danger.
For which, may endless thanks be due
To Doctor Tindale's fated cue..
The mystery we must explain— Though learned men long tried in vainOf what had caused this great ado,
And saved Rhodes' life, but killed the cue. The Doctor always went in state
To church or ceremonies great;
That morning, weighed with calls and care, In which the busy household share,
He thought his lovely spouse he'd tell
The precious cue to powder well;
While he composed a potion neat
For Tawdy Jenkins' child so sweet.
This she had never done before,
But in perplexity she bore,
And, anxious that it should not want
For anything that she could vaunt,
Had passed the dredging-box in scorn,
And used the Doctor's powder-horn!
Here no bribe the bond can weaken,
Here no substitute is taken;
Each one for himself-no other,
Son nor father; no, nor brother;
Love the purest cannot save;
Each alone the roll must answer
In the grave.
Who commands the dread procession
That shall know no retrogression,
Who can be the great director?
Ha! that grim and grisly spectre,
Him that sin to Satan gave,
Death, the mighty King of Terrors
HOW CUSHING DESTROYED THE ALBEMARLI
OCTOBER 27, 1863.
The clouds hang dark, the surging waves
Beat fretfully o'er wooden walls,
Old ocean hints of watery graves,
While over all night's curtain falls.
Our squadron rides at anchor there;
The flag-ship signals to the fleet
That, crouching in her harbor lair,
The rebel-ram seeks our defeat.
For days we've watched her grim black form,
Our picket-boats at night had heard
Forebodings of the coming storm-
That all was ready, save the word.
The captain paces to and fro
His quarter-deck, with oath and snarl,
And matters as he goes below:
"I'll sink the rebel Albemarle.
"And ere another sun shall rise,
This iron monster of the deep,
In spite of armor, crew or size,
Shail 'neath Atlantic's billows sleep!
Ho, messengers!" They wake, they stir,
His faithful servants tried and true,
Spring from their hammocks--" Aye, aye, sir!"
For well their captain's voice they knew.
Quick! man the boats, this message take
And bear it swiftly through the fleet,
For lives and fortunes are at stake
Till we this braggart foe shall meet.
Let each commander come aboard
The pennon ship to-night at ten;
Yon rebel flag must now be lowered,
And I shall need the bravest men."
Then over waves and through their crests
The boats in darkness soon are lost.
That waiting heart like ocean rests-
Now calm-now wild-now tempest-tossed.
Back o'er the billows-silently-
The boats return their human freight,
Brave men who've dared the wildest sea,
And laughed to scorn a sailor's fate.
The captain speaks: "The hour's at hand
For glorious deeds. That craft so queer
You saw to-day, awaits command
Of him who dares to volunteer.
She's but a small torpedo boat,
Unused to ocean's harsher breath.
The ram once struck, both cease to float,
While friend and foe must welcome death."
The thrilling words were scarcely said
When Cushing made this proud reply:
"Give me command! I do not dread
The task you set, I can but die.
I've sailors in my crew who'd dare
To storm with me the gates of hell!"
His comrades whispered: "Boy, beware!"
The captain answered: "Go! farewell!"
Out upon the waste of waters, through the trackless surf
Sails that little crew devoted; theirs to do, to dare, obey.
Glory counts those faithful heart-beats, duty calls from watch and ward,
As they answer back the challenge of our picket-boats on guard.
On its mission speeds the fragile little bark its destined course,
Holding in her grasp securely but a single giant force.
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