POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2006, 29 July 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

THE STAGE DRIVER'S STORY. I know it's presumin' for one sich as me Fur to talk to a lady so grand ; It's jiet like an imp from Satan's domains Ohinnin' one from the heavenly land! But you've axed for my Btory, ma'am, neat and perlite, An' I'll tell it the best that I km ; Leavin' out all that's rough or of vulgar degree, Skippin' over all teohes of sin. I cum to those mountains in 'SO, and hyar I've remained as ye see over since ; I drove on the overland line till the keers Slung the coaches 'way over the fenoe. An' thon I tried minin', an' went through my pile In a manner most dsueedly flat; Then I chopped on that lay, and got in fur to herd Texas cattle up thar on the Platte. "From the States?" do you ask? Yes, I fust saw the light In Ohio, an' right thar I stayed Till I tired o' the civilised racket, ye see; Couldn't coon to legitimate trade. Then 1 packed up my duds an' bid—some one good-bye, And headed my hoss fur the West, An' come to these mountains to buck agin luck— To swallow my dose with the rest! "Got a wife?" Lookee hyar, ma'am, I'd rather not talk On sich subjects as that, fur ye see It moutn't be flat'rin" to let out the truth ; It perhaps 'd reflect upon mo. " Got an object in axin'," ye say. Wal, I swar! I can't see how t'd interest you; An' I guess—eh ? " You must know." Wal, then, ma'am, I had A wife thet was noble an' true. Ye see, 'twar like this : When I lived in the States Somehow I war all outen luck, An' I stood in with nothin' but oussed hard times, No matter what racket I struck ! Till at last I gin up, an' concluded to leave— An' Mary approved o' the plan, An' sod, " Go 'long, Tom, an' when ye get rich Ye'U find yer companion on han\" But the same cussed luck f ollered right in my trail, So I jist quit a writin* back home ; Fur I wanted the folks thar to think White war dead, An' continued as usual to roam. I strayed hyar an' thar, with no settled place Fur to camp, with no object in view ; No ambition to rastle for more than enough To grub me—indeed, ma'am, its true ! "Do I love Mary jit?" Why, ma'am — (darn it all, Thes smoke keeps a smartin' my eyes, Makes 'em water as though I war drappin' some weep; When the wind's south thet smoke alters flies). "Want an answer?" Wal, ma'am, I mus' say (darn thet smoke) — I mus' say thet in all these long yeara She's bin right in my thoughts, an' many's the night I lay thinkin' of Mary—in tears. Her picter I carry right hyar in my heart— Jist a thought of her fills me with bliss, An' the day grows as dark as the bottomless pit When I think p'raps she's dead afore this. I've treated her Bhabby, but, ma'am, twar hard luck Thet made me shake home in thet style, An' I'm hopin' till yit the keerds 'll sooa change, An' begin to run right arter while! An' if ever I git just a small stake ahead I'm a goin' to toddle back thar, An' I'll ax Mary's pardon an' settle right down, An* be decent—l will, ma'am, I'll swar! What's that! Laokee hyar, ma'am. Great heavens! jist turn Yer face more around ter this light! Hist yer veil—great Lord of all maroy above ! Why, Mary Elizabeth White ! Wyoming Kit. —"Detroit Free Press,"