s just half beans, and the sugar ain't no where.

Perhaps it's his bringin' up; but he sickens day by day,
And he doesn't take no food, and I'm seein' him waste away.
And it isn't the thing to see; for, whatever he's been and done,
Starvation isn't the plan as he's to be saved upon.

For he cannot rough it like me; and he hasn't the stamps, I guess,
To buy him his extry grub outside o' the pris'n mess.
And perhaps if a gent like you, with whom I've been sorter free,
Would--thank you! But, say, look here! Oh, blast it, don't give it to ME!

Don't you give it to me; now, don't ye, don't ye, don't!
You think it's a put-up job; so I'll thank ye, sir, if you won't.
But hand him the stamps yourself: why, he isn't even my pal;
And if it's a comfort to you, why, I don't intend that he shall.

His Answer to "Her Letter."

Reported by Truthful James.

Being asked by an intimate party,--
  Which the same I would term as a friend,--
Which his health it were vain to call hearty,
  Since the mind to deceit it might lend;
For his arm it was broken quite recent,
  And has something gone wrong with his lung,--
Which is why it is proper and decent
  I should write what he runs off his tongue:

First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter
  To the end,--and the end came too soon;
That a slight illness kept him your debtor
  (Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);
That his spirits are buoyant as yours is;
  That with you, Miss, he challenges Fate
(Which the language that invalid uses
  At times it were vain to relate).

And he says that the mountains are fairer
  For once being held in your thought;
That each rock holds a wealth that