_A SONNET TO SHEKELSFORD

Sweet Shekelsford, the week is near its end,
And, as my custom is, I come to thee;
There is no other who has pelf to lend,
At least no pelf to lend to hapless me;
Nay, gentle Shekelsford, turn not away--
I must have wealth, for this is Saturday.

Ah, now thou smil'st a soft relenting smile--
Thy previous frown was but a passing joke,
I knew thy heart would melt with pity while
Thou heardst me pleading I was very broke.
Nay, ask me not if I've a note from Stone,
When I approach thee, O thou best of men!
I bring no notes, but, boldly and alone,
I woo sweet hope and strike thee for a ten.

December 3d, 1884._

There is no mistaking the touch of the author of "Mr. Billings of
Louisville" in these lines, in which humor and flattery robbed the
injunction of Mr. Stone against advancing anything on Field's salary
of its binding force. Having once learned the key that would unlock
the cashier's box, he never let a week go by without turning it to
some profitable account. But it is only fair to say that he never
abused his influence over Mr. Shackelford to lighten the weekly
envelope by more than the "necessary V" or the "sorely needed X."