unt if dat vrow is Miss Scutter, I bromised to gif her ter small pox."

It was _Miss_ Scudder, and I explained to her that it was a _small box_
he had for her. 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,