Rapides gazette. (Alexandria, La.) 1869-187?, 1873-04-12
Miscellaneous Selections.
JOHNNY BARTHOLOMEW.
By DIR. THOMAS DUNN Z

DR.. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
The journals this morning are full of tale
of a terrible ride through tunnel by rail;
And people are called on to note and admire
How q hundred or more, through the smoke
cloud and fire,
Were bsrne from all peril to limbs and to lives
Mothers saved to their children, and husbands to
wives.
But of hin who performed such notable deed.
Quite little the journalists give us to read.
In truth, OF this hero so plucky and bold,
There is nothing except, In few syllables told,
His name, which is Johnny Bartholomew
Away in Nevada-they don't tell us where,
Nor does it much matter-a railway is there,
Which winds in and out through the cloven ra-
vines,
With glimpses at times of the widest of scenes
Now passing bridge seeming fine rs a thread
Now shooting past cliffs that impend o'er the
head.
Now plunging some black -throated tunnel with
Whose darkness is reused at the clatter and din
And ran every day with its train o. 'er the road,
An engine that steadily dragged on its load,
And was driven by Johnny Bartholomew.
With throttle-valve down, he was slowing the
train,
While the sparks fell around and behind him like
rain,
As he came to a spot where curve to the right
Brought the black, yawning mouth of tunnel
And peerinQ ahead with r-seeing KEN
Was train on the track 2 mol peril as dire
The farther extreme of the tunnel on flrel
And the volume Of smoke, as it gathered and
rolled,
Shook fearful dismay from each dun-colored fold
But daunted not Johnny Bartholomew.
Beat faster his heart, though its current stood
And his nerves felt jar but no tremulous thrill;
And his eyes keenly cleaned through their part
And his lips-not with fear-took the color of
ashes.
"If we falter, these people behind us are desdi.
So close the doors, freman-we' II send her ahead
Crowd on the steam till she rattles and swings!
Open the Unbelievable! give her her wingl'
Shouted he from his post in the engineers room,
Driving onward perchance to q terrible doom,
This man they call Johnny Bartholomew.
Firm gra.:ping the bell-rope and holding his
On, on through the Vale of the Shadow of Death.
On, On on on through that horrible cavern of hell,
Through flames that arose and through tmbers
Through the eddying smoke and the serpents of
That writhed and that hissed in their anguish and
ire,
With rush and roar like the wild tempests
blast,
To the free air beyond them in safety they passed.
While the clang of the bell and the steam-pipe's
shrill yell
Told the joy OF escape from that underground
OF the man they called Johnny Bartholomew.
Did the passengers get up a service of plate?
Did some oily-tongued orator at the man prate2
Women kiss him? Young children cling fast to
his knees?
Stout men in their rapture his brown fingers
squeeze?
And where was he born2 Is he handsome9 Has
he
A wife for his bosom, a child for his knee?
Is he young2 Is he old? Is he tall? Is he short2
Well, ladies, the journals tell naught of the sort.
And all that they give us about him to-day,
After telling the tale in a commonplace way,
Is-the mans name is Johnny Bartholomew.
Hearth and Home.