The affair was soon settled as regarded its delivery,
but not as regards the laughter and shouts of the occupants of the old
stage-coach as we rolled away from Jericho. The driver joined in,
although he had no earthly idea as to its cause, and added not a little
to it by saying, in a triumphant tone of voice,--
"I vos pound to gif ter olt voomans ter small pox!"
WALK
BY WILLIAM DEVERE
Up the dusty road from Denver town
To where the mines their treasures hide,
The road is long, and many miles,
The golden styre and town divide.
Along this road one summer's day,
There toiled a tired man,
Begrimed with dust, the weary way
He cussed, as some folks can.
The stranger hailed a passing team
That slowly dragged its load along;
His hail roused up the teamster old,
And checked his merry song.
"Say-y, stranger!" "Wal, whoap."
"Ken I walk behind your load
A spell in this road?"
"Wal, no, yer can't walk, but git
Up on this seat an' ride; git up hyer."
"Nop, that ain't what I want,
Fur it's in yer dust, that's like a smudge,
I want to trudge, for I desarve it.
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