Knees."]

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring, He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring; An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band, Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand.

An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear, As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair, An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm, Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!

Never a horse a jockey would notice an' admire Like Flash in front of his engine a-runnin' to a fire; Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin', an' so slack, As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.

Now, when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old, They're no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine A-bossin' one o' God's creatures outside it's natural line.

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now, Feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow; But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din, An' jump an' rear for a season before they could hold him in;

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps, To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps; Whereat the milkman kicked him; whereat, us boys to please, He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.

But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash, Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash, Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart, We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.

If ever I see an old hoss grow upward into a new-- If ever I see a milkman whose traps behind him flew, 'Twas that old hoss, a-rearin' an' racin' down the track, An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.

Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o' "Number Three," Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free; Dodgin' wagons an' horses, an' still on the keenest "silk," An' furnishin' all that neighborhood with good, respectable milk.

Crowd a-yellin' an' runnin', an' vainly hollerin' "Whoa!" Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show; Firemen laughin' an' chucklin', an' shoutin' "Good! go in!" Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.