My mind often wanders in quiet delight
’Way down from the tree of prosperity’s height
That our industry’s helped us to climb.
And I picture the day to the station we tramped
With our characters safe in the swags—
A long weary walk, and, by George! you were camped;
And don’t you remember the lads had me stamped
As one of Glint’s runaway lags?
[56]
]Well! well! now I wonder is he living still—
The super that then bossed the run,