The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??, 1885-01-31

That is, till the 1st of July.
You see, we was deep in the mountains
Where, over the hills, far and near,
The ghostly white blanket of winter
Is tucked round the bulk of the year.
1t showed and it froze and it threatened
There was frostbte in every ones nose
And hardly man in the diggins
Could boast of full set of toes.
The th'mometer busted at Christmas,
And to keep us from chokin' to death
Every man in the camp had a bludgeon
For to smash his superfuous breath.
Talk about cold in the settlins,
And snowstorms and other such ills
Why, we put our quinine in the fire
To keep it from catchin' the chills.
1t was pretty hard lines on the miners,
For grub got so thunderin' low
That square meal of beefsteak and
onions
Would have set the whole camp in
glow.
The only amusement was poker,
And that grew uncommonly tame
When, along in December French Peter
Had won our last red at his game.
1t was to'rds the last taiin' of April,
One mornin', with snowshoes and gun,
started to tramp up the canon
On the first CLASSY crust of the sun
l was up in the crotch in the timber,
Where the lynchers squared up with
Long Jack,
When saw, just as clean as a whistle,
The sharp lines of gentleman's track
l knowed in flash twas stranger.
Cos why? Well, a minin' sharp feels
In the diggins it isn't the custom
For to go sportin' round in French
heels.
l don't know what set me to do it
(the story of instinct is stale),
But took a fresh chaw of terbacker,
And l started to follow the trail
Twas the kind of footprint, you savvy,
As would grace the west side of Broad
way,
And what in the deuce it was doin'
Up there was what made me so say.
Well, l followed it on down the canon,
And the process was not very slow,
Till came mighty near falling into
A burned big, jagged hole in the snow.
The gent with French heels had kerflum-
muxed-
Gone crashin' in through the thin crust,
Where it wouldn't take long to trappe
him,
No matter how hotly he cussed
Well, cut down near-grown' saplin'
And run it straight into the hole,
And proceeded at once to shin down it,
Though the snow made me as blind as
mole.
Twas full dozen foot from the surface
That found Mister Gentleman Joe,
Nearer dead than alive with his kickin'
To get out of the feathery snow.
And l lifted him out to the open,
Which the task might be called pretty
tough,
Since he weighed like dead yoke of
oxen
And that isn't sayin' enough.
When got him out where it was solid
l made to pry open his mouth,
And ! poured in a gulp of camp whisky
Which they said came from down in
the South.
And l guess they wern't very far from it,
For of all equatorial drink
Why, good, solid slug of that Ticker
Would make bronze statue turn pink
But it very soon braced Mister Joseph
Which | afterwards learned was his
name
And helped him to walk to my cabin,
Where he shortly proposed small
game.
And how did we get to be pardners?
Now, that's rather hard to say,
But parders We was from the moment
We met in that rather cool way.
In month he had caught the whole dig
| gins,
For we all took to Gentleman Joe,
Whose learnin' was something amazin',
While at poker he weren't rery slow.
But the thing which made Joseph hero,
Was the way most exceedingly neat,
That he calmly bucked up against faro
, Till he busted the bank of French Pete
There was never fellow rs clever
And kind rs that pardner of mine.
You just ought to hear him sling Ian
guage.
tell you, his grammar was fine,
And as soon as the boys got to know il
Every night half dozen would come,
And Joe had his hands full with writin'
OF letters to sweethearts at home.
For most of the crowd was quite shaky
At heaving themselves in that way;
But he used to reel it as frisky
And easy as though it was play.
And many Il girl, let me tell you,
Got love-lctters durin' that year
Like she never saw many times after
And ought to have held mighty dear.
SO the time rolled along, till the summer
Was with us again on its rounds,
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