--
Smashed two-thirds of our dishes, and saved some four-foot wood;
With smoke a-settlin' round us and gettin' into our eyes,
And fire a-roarin' an' roarin' an' drowndin' all of our cries.

And just as the roof was smokin', and we hadn't long to wait,
I says to my wife, "Now get out, and hustle, you and Kate!"
And just as the roof was fallin', my wife she come to me,
With a face as white as a corpse's face, and "Where is Kate?" says she.

And the neighbors come runnin' to me, with faces black as the ground,
And shouted, "Where is Katherine? She's nowhere to be found!"
An' this is all I remember, till I found myself next day,
A-lyin' in Sanders' cabin, a mile an' a half away.

If ever you wake up, children, with somethin' into your head,
Concernin' a han'some daughter, that's lyin' still an' dead,
All scorched into coal-black cinders--_perhaps_ you may not weep,
But I rather think it'll happen you'll wish you'd a-kept asleep.

And all I could say, was "Kath'rine, oh Kath'rine, come to me!"
And all I could think, was "Kath'rine!" and all that I could see,
Was Sanders a-standin' near to me, his finger into his eye,
And my wife a-bendin' over me, and tellin' me not to cry;

When, lo! Tom Smith he entered--his face lit up with grins
And Kate a-hangin' on his arm, as neat as a row of pins!
And Tom looked glad, but sheepish; and said, "Excuse me, Squire,
But I 'loped with Kate, and married her an hour before the fire."

Well, children, I was shattered; 'twas more than I could bear--
And I up and went for Kate an' Tom, and hugged 'em then and there!
And since that time, the times have changed, an' now they ain't so bad;
And--Katherine, she's your mother now, and--Thomas Smith's your dad.

OTHER POEMS.

THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN.

They 've got a brand-new organ, Sue,
For all their fuss and search;
They've done just as they said they'd do,
And fetched it into church.
They're bound the critter shall be seen,
And on the preacher's right
They've hoisted up their new machine,
In every body's sight.
They've got a chorister and choir,
Ag'in' my voice and vote;
For it was never my desire,
To praise the Lord by note!

I've been a sister good an' true
For five-an'-thirty year;
I've done what seemed my part to do,
An' prayed my duty clear;
I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,
Just as the preacher read,
And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,
I took the fork an' led!
And now, their bold, new-fangled ways