was never chrissen,
An' we want no heretic bell;
W'ere is de book? For you mus' look
An' see if I chrissen it well!"

Leevin' heem broken-hearted,
For Fader Jerome is done,
He sail away wit' de bell dat day,
Capitaine Malcouronne;
An' down w'ere dead man 's lyin',
Down on de ocean deep,
He sink it dere, w'ile he curse an' swear,
An' tole it to go to sleep.

An' t'ree more year is passin',
An' now it 's a winter night:
Poor Salvador, so bles' before,
Is sittin' among de fight
Of breaker, an' sea-bird yellin',
An' noise of a tousan' gun,
W'en troo de fog, lak a dreefin' log,
Come Capitaine Malcouronne!

Gropin' along de sea dere,
Wonderin' w'ere he be,
Prayin' out loud, before all de crowd
Of sailor man on hees knee;
Callin' upon de devil,
"Help! or I 'm gone!" he shout;
"Dat bell it go to you down below,
So now you can ring me out

"To de open sea, an' affer
I promise you w'at I do,
Yass, ev'ry day I 'll alway pray
To you, an' to only you--
Kip me in here no longer,
Or de shore I won't see again!"
T'ink of de prayer he 's makin' dere,
Dat wicked ole capitaine!

An' bell it commence a-ringin',
Quiet at firse, an' den
Lak tonder crash, de ship go smash,
An' w'ere is de capitaine?
An' de bell kip ringin', ringin',
Drownin' de breakers' roar,
An' dere she lie, w'ile de sea-birds cry,
On de rock of Salvador.

[Illustration: Border]

[Illustration: Border]

The Riviere des Prairies

I see de many reever on de State an' ev'ryw'ere,
From Maine to California, New York to Michigan,
An' wan way an' de oder, I tell you I don't care;
I travel far upon dem as moche as any man--
But all de t'ousan' reever I was never pass along,
For w'at dey call de beauty, from de mountain to de sea,
Dere 's wan dat I be t'inkin,' de wan w'ere I belong,
Can beat dem all, an' easy, too, de Riviere des Prairies!

Jus' tak' de Hudson Reever, an' de Mississippi too,
Missouri, an' de res' of dem, an' oders I can't t'ink,
Dey 're all beeg, dirty places, wit' de steamboat gruntin' troo,
An' de water runnin' in dem is black as any ink,
An' de noises of dem reever never stoppin' night or day,
An' de row along de shore, too, enough to mak' you scare;
Not a feesh is wort' de eatin', 'less you 're starvin by de way,
An' you 're feeling purty t'or