Show l H lit lter l H HH I 1 poet s corner comer I 1 j j jj j 44 at 41 a I 1 NEWS FROM EROM HOME when the evening shado shade Js Is fallin at the closing of the day art an a teller feller rests from labor gwok ln in at hig h pipe of clay theres nothing does him so BO much good be fortune up or down As the little country paper from ills old home town it aint a thing ot of beauty and its prints not always clean but bat tt it straightens out ills when a tellers llera le beelin mean t it takes the wrinkles oft off bis big face ace an I 1 brushes oft off the frown that little country paper from his old home town it tells of all the parties and the balls on pumpkin row how bout who spent sunday with chos girl an how the crop sll grow an how it keeps a teller posted on chos up and who Is down that little country paper from his old home town now I 1 like to read the dailies and the story papers too and at times the novels and other trash dont you but when I 1 want some thail brush away a frown I 1 want that little paper from my old home town observer vor cedar city utah ONLY THE BRAKEMAN lAKEMAN ni by constance fenimore fellmore woolson Wo only the brakeman Dra keinan killed say was that what they said the brakeman was our joe so then our joe is dead dead dead dead but I 1 cannot think its so it was some other brakeman it cannot be our joe why only this last evening I 1 saw lim him riding past tho the trains dont stop here often go rushing by as fast As ae lightning but joe saw me and waved his hand he sat on the very last old coal car how do you count for that iliac he was killed alone and the others saved when he wast last inside the tunnel come now it be its some mistake of course the fireman find atlie tho engine struck the roc rock and he it was just behind and the root roll felt down on hlin him not on joe our joe I 1 saw that train myself the engine had work enough to draw tire the coal cars full of coal that rattled square and black by tens and twenties past our door along that narrow track on into the dark mountains I 1 never eee bee those peaky peaks ellout Il lout hating haling them for much they care whether the water leaks down their sides to wet the stones that arch the tunnels there so long so black they all may go and much the mountains care im sorry for that fireman that I 1 dont pretend to more than this I 1 saw that train and joe was at the end the very end I 1 tell you come dont stand aland here and mock what it was there right at this end the tunnel caved the rock fell on him but I 1 dont believe a word yes his chain and his poor old silver watch he bought it this stain all AH over it why it Is red 0 joe my joe 0 joe then it was you and you are dead down in that tunnel go and bring my boy back ile he was all the son I 1 had the girls are very well but not like joe such pretty golden curls joe had until I 1 cut them oft off at tour four years old he ran to meet me always at the gate my bonnie little man you dont remember him but then youve only seen him ahen he rides by on the coal trains among the other men all of them black and grimed with coal and circles round their eyes Whip zing along by day and night but you would feel surprise to see how fair he Is when clean on sundays and I 1 know Y oud think him handsome then ill have god I 1 forget 1 0 joe ily aly boy my boy and are you dead so soung but twenty dead doi down n in that awful tunnel with the mountain overhead bringing him oh yes I 1 know bring him and more do it tree free the company leave him at my door just as he is all grimed and black jane put the irons on and wash vash his shirt his sunday shirt its white lie he did have one white shirt for best and proud he wore ore it sunday with a tie of blue a new one 0 my boy how could they let you die crushed Cius lied by those rocks I 1 it IE id been there id heaved them oft off I 1 know they could have done dt ailt it tried they let you die tor for oil oh only the brakeman and his wage was nas n as small the engineer must first be veen seen to there in front my god it stands aa 08 clear before my eyes as though id seen been it all the dark the crash the hissing steam the wet stone sides the arch above tho the flash lanterns coming and my boy my poor boy lying there ling alone under the rocks only ills his golden hair to tell that it was joe a mass all rimed aimed that stir but motheral mot herll know you dear twill make no difference to lier her how black with coal dust you may bo be your poor hardworking hard working hands bands A all 11 torn and crushed perhaps yes yes but bat no one understands that even though lies hoa better off poor lad where lie he lias has gone and the girls are left behind to stand it and live on the bost best we can without him what A wreath A lady sent some flowers was passing through and heard felt sorry well meant kindly no doubt but poor joes been the very first to laugh at white flowers round ills his blackened face write his epitaph that ills name and age poor boy poor joel joe his name has done its wort work in this life for or his age he was not twenty one well grown but slender far too young tor for such a place but then H wanted to help mother and to be among the men for he was always trying to be old he carried wood and built the tires fires tor for me before he hardly understood what a ire fire was my little boy my darling baby joe theres something snapped my breast I 1 think it hurts me so BO II 11 1 I must be something broken what is that I 1 felt elt the floor shake theres some one on the step go jeannie set the door wide open tor for your brother joe is coming home they said only the bra brakeman kenian but it is Is my son dead till THI TRAMP lemme sit down a minute a stones got in my shoe dont you commence your cussia I 1 aint done aothia to you yes im a tramp what ot of it folks say we aint no good cut but tramps has to live I 1 reckon though folks dont think we should once I 1 was strong and handsome had plenty ot of cash and clothes that was before I 1 tippled and gin got into my nose down in the lehigh valley me and my people grew I 1 was a blacksmith caan yes and a good one too me ale and my wife and nellie nellie was just sixteen she was the po otiest the valley had ever seen beaus why she lad had a dozen had em from near and tur fur put they were mostly farmers none of em suited her there was a city stranger young handsome and tall damn him I 1 wish I 1 had him strangled aln aiu that wall he was the man tor for nellie she know no ill mother she tried to stop it but you know a young gals will well its the same old story common enough say he was a soft tongued devil and got lier her to run away more than a mouth month or after we heard from the poor young thing hed gone away and left her without a wedding ring dack back to her home wo we brought her back to her mothers side filled with a raging fever she tell fell at my feet and died frantic with till shame and trouble her mother began to sink dead in less than a fortnight when I 1 took to drink camme one glass colonel and then ill be on ray my way ill tramp till I 1 find that scoundrel it if it takes till the judgment da day Y anonymous 00 |