A patient form I seemed ter see,
In tidy dress of black:
I almost thought I heard the words,
"When will my boy come back?"
'N' then—the old sign creaked; but now
It was the boss who spake:
"Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts
Like yer mother used ter make."
Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up;
'N' ez I've struck pay gravel,
I ruther think I'll pack my kit,
Vamose the ranch, 'n' travel.
I'll make the old folks jubilant;
'N' if I don't mistake,
I'll try some o' them doughnuts
Like my mother used ter make.
Charles Follen Adams.
OVER THE LEFT.
Their deposits were left over night in the bank,—
In a bank without whisper of fault:
The amounts to their credit were placed on the books,
And were left over night in the vault.
To their credit, I say it, the bank was locked tight,
Guarding thus against fire and theft;
A patrol on the walk, and a new 'lectric light,
Throwing beams to the right and the left.
*****
Just here the cashier he left over night,
Taking all but the house and the soil;
And the long and the short of the story is this,—
He was too long of stocks—short of oil.
A receiver was called, and he looked o'er the wreck,
And received those who called—thus bereft.
"Have you nothing left over?" they timidly ask:
He answers, "Yes, over the left."