“Need not write any more!”
“No more,” was the composed reply of the Yankee, as he laid his hand over his fat pocket and said:
“I ’spose ye remember our agreement?”
“Yes, I do, but what’s to be done with all this paper?”
“Keep it to tie up gape-seed in. Good bye, sir!” and the Yankee made a speedy exit.
Arranged by S. Anna Gesemyer.
Tommy’s Deathbed.
But hush! the voice from the little bed,
And the watchful mother bent her head.
“Mammy, I know that I’m soon to die