Ewers, a Non-Resistanter,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

_Lait Gustise of the Peece._

* * * * *

FALLEN ON THE MARCH.

You see that hoss, don't you, there, sir, ahead?
Well, that's JAKE. An hour ago,
The last trip up, he fell--stone dead:
Drop't right flat in his harness, you know.
He'd fell down, too, pooty often before,
And--I guess he won't do it, though, any more.

I allas pitied the poor old cuss;
He was mighty hard driv and terrible thin,
And many a time when he quit the 'bus
I've led the mis'rable creetur in
And giv him a reg'lar bang-up feed
That the Company thought he didn't need.

And now, to see him lyin' there
All by himself, a feast for the flies,--
Why, it kinder makes a feller's hair
Creep all over, first, then straighten and rise.
Maybe you'll say to yourself: "That's all stuff."