Part 4

But when a town was just in sight, And speed was at its greatest height,-- Alas! that such a thing should be,-- An open switch the Brownies see. Then some thought best at once to go Into the weeds and ditch below; But many on the engine stayed And held their grip, though much dismayed. And waited for the shock to fall That would decide the fate of all. In vain reversing tricks were tried, And brakes to every wheel applied; The locomotive forward flew, In spite of all that skill could do. But just as they approached the place Where trouble met them face to face, Through some arrangement, as it seemed, Of which the Brownies never dreamed, The automatic switch was closed, A safety signal-light exposed, And they were free to roll ahead, And wait for those who'd leaped in dread; Although the end seemed near at hand Of every Brownie in the band, And darkest heads through horrid fright Were in a moment changed to white, The injuries indeed were small. A few had suffered from their fall, And some were sprained about the toes, While more were scraped upon the nose; But all were able to succeed In climbing to a place with speed, And there they stayed until once more They passed the heavy round-house door. Then jumping down on every side The Brownies scampered off to hide; And as they crossed the trestle high The sun was creeping up the sky, And urged them onward in their race To find some safe abiding place.

THE BROWNIES' FANCY BALL.

It was the season of the year When people, dressed in fancy gear, From every quarter hurried down And filled the largest halls in town; And there to flute and fiddle sweet Went through their sets with lively feet. The Brownies were not slow to note That fun indeed was now afloat; And ere the season passed away, Of longest night and shortest day, They looked about to find a hall Where they could hold their fancy ball. Said one: "A room can soon be found Where all the band can troop around; But want of costumes, much I fear, Will bar our pleasure all the year." Another said: "One moment wait! My eyes have not been shut of late,-- Don't show a weak and hopeless mind Because your knowledge is confined,--

For I'm prepared to take the band To costumes, ready to the hand, Of every pattern, new or old: The kingly robes, with chains of gold, The cloak and plume of belted knight, The pilgrim's hat and stockings white, The dresses for the ladies fair, The gems and artificial hair, The soldier-suits in blue and red, The turban for the Tartar's head, All can be found where I will lead, If friends are willing to proceed."

Those knowing best the Brownie way Will know there was no long delay, Ere to the town he made a break With all the Brownies in his wake.

It mattered not that roads were long, That hills were high or winds were strong; Soon robes were found on peg and shelf, And each one chose to suit himself.

The costumes, though a world too wide, And long enough a pair to hide, Were gathered in with skill and care, That showed the tailor's art was there. Then out they started for the hall, In fancy trappings one and all; Some clad like monks in sable gowns; And some like kings; and more like clowns; And Highlanders, with naked knees; And Turks, with turbans like a cheese; While many members in the line Were dressed like ladies fair and fine, And swept along the polished floor A train that reached a yard or more.

By happy chance some laid their hand Upon the outfit of a band; The horns and trumpets took the lead, Supported well by string and reed; And violins, that would have made A mansion for the rogues that played, With flute and clarionet combined In music of the gayest kind. In dances wild and strange to see They passed the hours in greatest glee; Familiar figures all were lost In flowing robes that round them tossed; And well-known faces hid behind Queer masks that quite confused the mind. The queen and clown, a loving pair, Enjoyed a light fandango there; While solemn monks of gentle heart, In jig and scalp-dance took their part. The grand salute, with courteous words, The bobbing up and down, like birds, The lively skip, the stately glide, The double turn, and twist aside Were introduced in proper place And carried through with ease and grace. So great the pleasure proved to all, Too long they tarried in the hall, And morning caught them on the fly, Ere they could put the garments by! Then dodging out in great dismay, By walls and stumps they made their way; And not until the evening's shade Were costumes in their places laid.

THE BROWNIES AND THE TUGBOAT.

While Brownies strayed along a pier To view the shipping lying near, A tugboat drew their gaze at last; 'Twas at a neighboring wharf made fast. Cried one: "See what in black and red Below the pilot-house is spread! In honor of the Brownie Band, It bears our name in letters grand. Through all the day she's on the go; Now with a laden scow in tow, And next with barges two or three, Then taking out a ship to sea, Or through the Narrows steaming round In search of vessels homeward bound; She's stanch and true from stack to keel, And we should highly honored feel." Another said: "An hour ago, The men went up to see a show, And left the tugboat lying here. The steam is up, our course is clear, We'll crowd on board without delay And run her up and down the bay. We have indeed a special claim, Because she bears the 'Brownie' name. Before the dawn creeps through the east We'll know about her speed at least, And prove how such a craft behaves When cutting through the roughest waves. Behind the wheel I'll take my stand And steer her round with skillful hand, Now down the river, now around The bay, or up the broader sound; Throughout the trip I'll keep her clear Of all that might awaken fear. When hard-a-port the helm I bring, Or starboard make a sudden swing, The Band can rest as free from dread As if they slept on mossy bed. I something know about the seas, I've boxed a compass, if you please, And so can steer her east or west, Or north or south, as suits me best. Without the aid of twinkling stars Or light-house lamps, I'll cross the bars. I know when north winds nip the nose, Or sou'-sou'-west the 'pig-wind' blows, As hardy sailors call the gale That from that quarter strikes the sail."

A third replied: "No doubt you're smart And understand the pilot's art, But more than one a hand should take, For all our lives will be at stake. In spite of eyes and ears and hands, And all the skill a crew commands, How oft collisions crush the keel And give the fish a sumptuous meal! Too many rocks around the bay Stick up their heads to bar the way. Too many vessels, long and wide, At anchor in the channel ride For us to show ourselves unwise And trust to but one pair of eyes."

Ere long the tugboat swinging clear Turned bow to stream and left the pier, While many Brownies, young and old, From upper deck to lower hold Were crowding round in happy vein Still striving better views to gain. Some watched the waves around them roll; Some stayed below to shovel coal, From hand to hand, with pitches strong, They passed the rattling loads along. Some at the engine took a place, More to the pilot-house would race To keep a sharp lookout ahead, Or man the wheel as fancy led. But accidents we oft record, However well we watch and ward, And vessels often go to wreck With careful captains on the deck; They had mishaps that night, for still, In spite of all their care and skill, While running straight or turning round In river, bay, or broader sound, At times they ran upon a rock, And startled by the sudden shock Some timid Brownies, turning pale, Would spring at once across the rail; And then, repenting, find all hope Of life depended on a rope, That willing hands were quick to throw And hoist them from the waves below. Sometimes too near a ship they ran For peace of mind; again, their plan Would come to naught through lengthy tow Of barges passing to and fro. The painted buoys around the bay At times occasioned some dismay-- They took them for torpedoes dread That might the boat in fragments spread, Awake the city's slumbering crowds, And hoist the band among the clouds. But thus, till hints of dawn appeared Now here, now there, the boat was steered With many joys and many fears, That some will bear in mind for years; But at her pier once more she lay When night gave place to creeping day.

THE BROWNIES' TALLY-HO.

As shades of evening closed around, The Brownies, from some wooded ground, Looked out to view with staring eye A Tally-Ho, then passing by. Around the park they saw it roll, Now sweeping round a wooded knoll, Now rumbling o'er an arching bridge, Now hid behind a rocky ridge, Now wheeling out again in view To whirl along some avenue. They hardly could restrain a shout When they observed the grand turnout. The long, brass horn, that trilled so loud, The prancing horses, and the crowd Of people perched so high in air Pleased every wondering Brownie there. Said one: "A rig like this we see Would suit the Brownies to a T! And I'm the one, here let me say, To put such pleasures in our way: I know the very place to go To-night to find a Tally-Ho. It never yet has borne a load Of happy hearts along the road; But, bright and new in every part 'Tis ready for an early start. The horses in the stable stand With harness ready for the hand; If all agree, we'll take a ride For miles across the country wide." Another said: "The plan is fine; You well deserve to head the line; But, on the road, the reins I'll draw; I know the way to 'gee' and 'haw,' And how to turn a corner round, And still keep wheels upon the ground." Another answered: "No, my friend, We'll not on one alone depend; But three or four the reins will hold, That horses may be well controlled. The curves are short, the hills are steep, The horses fast, and ditches deep, And at some places half the band May have to take the lines in hand."

That night, according to their plan, The Brownies to the stable ran; Through swamps they cut to reach the place, And cleared the fences in their race As lightly as the swallow flies To catch its morning meal supplies. Though, in the race, some clothes were soiled, And stylish shoes completely spoiled, Across the roughest hill or rock They scampered like a frightened flock, Now o'er inclosures knee and knee, With equal speed they clambered free And soon with faces all aglow They crowded round the Tally-Ho; But little time they stood to stare Or smile upon the strange affair. As many hands make labor light, And active fingers win the fight, Each busy Brownie played his part, And soon 't was ready for the start.

But ere they took their seats to ride By more than one the horns were tried, Each striving with tremendous strain The most enlivening sound to gain, And prove he had a special right To blow the horn throughout the night.

Though some were crowded in a seat, And some were forced to keep their feet Or sit upon another's lap, And some were hanging to a strap, With merry laugh and ringing shout, And tooting horns, they drove about.

A dozen miles, perhaps, or more, The lively band had traveled o'er, Commenting on their happy lot And keeping horses on the trot, When, as they passed a stunted oak A wheel was caught, the axle broke!

Then some went out with sudden pitch, And some were tumbled in the ditch, And one jumped off to save his neck, While others still hung to the wreck. Confusion reigned, for coats were rent, And hats were crushed, and horns were bent, And what began with fun and clatter Had turned to quite a serious matter.

Some blamed the drivers, others thought The tooting horns the trouble brought. More said, that they small wisdom showed, Who left the root so near the road. But while they talked about their plight Upon them burst the morning light With all the grandeur and the sheen That June could lavish on the scene. So hitching horses where they could, The Brownies scampered for the wood. And lucky were the Brownies spry: A dark and deep ravine was nigh That seemed to swallow them alive So quick were they to jump and dive, To safely hide from blazing day That fast had driven night away, And forced them to leave all repairs To other heads and hands than theirs.

THE BROWNIES ON

THE RACE-TRACK.

While Brownies moved around one night A seaside race-track came in sight. "'T is here," said one, "the finest breed Of horses often show their speed; Here, neck and neck, and nose and nose, Beneath the jockeys' urging blows, They sweep around the level mile The people shouting all the while; And climbing up or crowding through To gain a better point of view, So they can see beyond a doubt How favorites are holding out." Another said: "I know the place Where horses wait to-morrow's race; We'll strap the saddles on their back, And lead them out upon the track. Then some will act the jockey's part, And some, as judges, watch the start, And drop the crimson flag to show The start is fair and all must go."

Ere long, the Brownies turned to haul Each wondering race-horse from his stall. They bridled them without delay, And saddles strapped in proper way. Some restless horses rearing there Would toss their holders high in air, And test the courage and the art Of those who took an active part. Said one: "I've lurked in yonder wood, And watched the races when I could. I know how all is done with care When thus for racing they prepare; How every buckle must be tight, And every strap and stirrup right, Or jockeys would be on the ground Before they circled half way round." When all was ready for the show Each Brownie rogue was nowise slow At climbing up to take a place And be a jockey in the race. Full half a dozen Brownies tried Upon one saddle now to ride; But some were into service pressed As judges to control the rest-- To see that rules were kept complete, And then decide who won the heat. A dozen times they tried to start; Some shot ahead like jockeys smart, And were prepared to take the lead Around the track at flying speed. But others were so far behind, On horses of unruly mind, The judges from the stand declare The start was anything but fair.

So back they'd jog at his command, In better shape to pass the stand. Indeed it was no simple trick To ride those horses, shy and quick, And only for the mystic art That is the Brownies' special part, A dozen backs, at least, had found A resting-place upon the ground.

The rules of racing were not quite Observed in full upon that night. Around and round the track they flew, In spite of all the judge could do. The race, he tried to let them know, Had been decided long ago. But still the horses kept the track, With Brownies clinging to each back.

Some racers of the jumping kind At times disturbed the riders' mind When from the track they sudden wheeled, And over fences took the field, As if they hoped in some such mode To rid themselves of half their load. But horses, howsoever smart, Are not a match for Brownie art, For still the riders stuck through all, In spite of fence, or ditch, or wall. Some clung to saddle, some to mane, While others tugged at bridle rein.

So all the steeds found it would pay To let the Brownies have their way, Until a glimpse of rising sun Soon made them leave the place and run.

THE BROWNIES' BIRTHDAY DINNER.

When people through the county planned To give their public dinners grand, The Brownies met at day's decline To have a birthday banquet fine. "The proper things," a speaker cried, "Await us here on every side; We simply have to reach and take And choose a place to boil and bake. With meal and flour at our feet, And wells of water pure and sweet, That Brownie must be dull indeed Who lacks the gumption to proceed. We'll peel the pumpkins, ripened well, And scoop them hollow, like a shell, Then slice them up the proper size To make at length those famous pies, For which the people, small and great, Are ever quick to reach a plate."

This pleased them all; so none were slow In finding work at which to go. A stove that chance threw in their way Was put in shape without delay. Though doors were cracked, and legs were rare, The spacious oven still was there, Where pies and cakes and puddings wide Might bake together side by side.

The level top, though incomplete, Gave pots and pans a welcome seat, Where stews could steam and dumplings found A fitting place to roll around. Some lengths of pipe were raised on high That made the soot and cinders fly, And caused a draught throughout the wreck That door or damper failed to check. The rogues who undertook the part, That tries the cook's delightful art, Had smarting hands and faces red Before the table-cloth was spread; But what cared they at such an hour For singeing flame or scalding shower? Such ills are always reckoned slight When great successes are in sight. There cakes and tarts and cookies fine, Of both the "leaf" and "notched" design, Were ranged in rows around the pan That into heated ovens ran; Where, in what seemed a minute's space, Another batch would take their place; While birds, that had secured repose Above the reach of Reynard's nose, Without the aid of wings came down To be at midnight roasted brown. They found some boards and benches laid Aside by workmen at their trade, And these upon the green were placed By willing hands with proper haste. Said one, who board and bench combined: "All art is not to cooks confined, And some expertness we can show As well as those who mix the dough." And all was as the speaker said; In fact, they were some points ahead; For when the cooks their triumphs showed, The table waited for its load. The knives and forks and dishes white By secret methods came to light. Much space would be required to tell Just how the table looked so well; But kitchen cupboards, three or four, Must there have yielded up their store; For all the guests on every side With full equipments were supplied. When people find a carver hacked, A saucer chipped, or platter cracked, They should be somewhat slow to claim That servants are the ones to blame; For Brownies may have used the ware And failed to show the proper care.

A few, as waiters, passed about New dishes when the old gave out, And saw the plates, as soon as bare, Were heaped again with something rare. No member, as you may believe, Was anxious such a place to leave, Until he had a taste at least Of all the dishes in the feast. The Brownies, when they break their fast, Will eat as long as viands last, And even birds can not depend On crumbs or pickings at the end: The plates were scraped, the kettles clean, And not a morsel to be seen, Ere Brownies from that table ran To shun the prying eyes of man.

THE BROWNIES' HALLOW-EVE.