Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: DONT LET THEM BURY ME DEEP. (One Little Girl's Last Words.) Lift me a bit in my bed, father, Press your warm lip to my cheek, Put your arms under my head, father, I am so tired and so weak! I cannot stay long awake, now— Many a night I shall sleep!— Promise one thing for my sake, now— Don't let them bury me deep! Look! who has come for me now, father, Standing so near to my bed? Some one is kissing my brow, father, Mother, I thought you were dead! See! she is smiling so bright to you, Motions to us not to weep! Tis not "good-bye" but "good-night" to you, They cannot bury me deep! The first railroad-trains were interesting but prosaic affairs. The locomotive was a rude boiler with a primitive smokestack at one end, and a woodbox at the other—all traveling at a moderate pace, on a track of wooden rails. The cars were mere stagecoaches tied to each other. There was much interest in the enterprise, but no sentiment. Now, there is a most wonderful change in that respect, as in others. The railroad is as full of romance and sentiment, as is the ocean. The locomotive is often the sweetheart of the driver. The guild of railroad- toilers has its loves, its hates, its fancies, its superstitions. Ghosts are not uncommonly seen by railroad folk, or their fancies. Legends abound among them, full of sentiment. THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. (Veteran Engine-driver's Story.) Oh, no! I'm not toiling on railroads, although I wasn't built for to shirk: I just limp around in the shops, here, and criticise other folks' work. And there's plenty more classy can do that and haven't got my chance to explain And never went down an embankment, along with -an engine or train. Twas on a bright morning—the New Year of Eighteen and eighty, an...