nice steady gait,
But it tax'd all his skill to mak it run straight.
Two miles o' gooid rooad to the next taan led on,
An ov things like to scare it he knew ther wor none;
Soa he slackened his reins just to give it a spin,--
Then he faand 'at he couldn't for th' world hold it in.
It had th' bit in its teeth an its een fairly blazed,
An it plunged an reared madly,--an then as if crazed
It dashed along th' rooad like a fury let lawse,
Woll Tom tried his utmost to steady his course.
Wi' the reins raand his hands, an feet planted tight
He strained ivvery muscle,--but saw wi' affright
'At the street o' the taan 'at he'd entered wor fill'd,
Wi' fowk fleein wildly for fear they'd be kill'd,
"Let it goa! Let it goa!" they cried aght as it pass'd,
An Tom felt his strength givin way varry fast;
His hands wor nah helpless its mad rush to check,
But he duckt daan his heead an lapt th' reins raand his neck.
That jerk caused the horse to loise hold o' the bit,
An new hooap an new strength seem'd to come to Tom Grit,
An tho' blooid throo his ears an his nooas 'gan to spurt,
Th' horse wor browt to a stand, an ther'd nubdy been hurt.
Then chaps went to hold it, an help poor Tom daan,
For Tom's wor a favorite face i' that taan;
"Tha should ha let goa," they all sed, "an jumpt aght,
Thy life's worth a thaasand sich horses baght daat!"
But Tom wiped his face an he sed as he smiled,
"I'th' back o' that waggon yo'll find ther's a child,
An aw couldn't goa back to its mother alooan,
For he's all th' lad we have. Have yo nooan o' yer own?"

Th' Demon o' Debt.

We read ov a man once possessed ov a devil,
An pity his sorrowful case;
But at this day we fancy we're free from sich evil,
An noa mooar have that trubble to face.
But dooan't be deceived, for yo're nooan aght o' danger,
Ther's a trap for yor feet ready set,
An if to sich sorrow yo'd still be a stranger,
Be careful to keep aght o' debt.

For debt is a demon 'at nivver shows pity,
An when once yor fast in his grip,
Yo may try to luk wise or appear to be witty,
But he'll drive yo to wreck wi' his whip.
He tempts yo to start wi' a little at furst,
An then deeper an deeper yo get,
Till at last yo find aght 'at yor life is accurst,
An yo grooan under th' burden o' debt.

Then sweet sleep forsakes yo an tossin wi' care,
Yo wearily wear neet away;
An yor joys an yor hopes have all turned to despair,
An yo tremmel at th' commin o' day.
Yor ee