Ghoses.
By James D. Corrothers.
Dey may be glioses, er dey may be none;
I takes no chances on de thaing, mase'f;
'T won't neber shorten no man's life to run,
When somethin' 'nother's skeert 'im mose to deff.
De white man's logic may be all-sufhcin'
Foh white folks—in de day-time; but dey's quar
Thaings seen at night; 'n' when ma wool's a-risin',
Dese feet o' mine is gwine to bu'n de a'r!
Ain't gwine to pestah wid no 'vestigation,
Ma business is to git away f'om dah
Fas' 's I kin—towards my destination—
De ghose ain't bo'n kin ketch me, nuther, sah!
The One Thing Needful.
On Hallowe'en when the lanterns glow
Ruddy and round o'er the throng below,
Each pumpkin-face wears a ghastly grin,
Wide enough to swallow one in—
Yellow noddles ranged in a row.
Why should the lantern mock us so,
Gypsy lasses who to and fro
Swing in the dance with merry din
On Hallowe'en?
This is the reason, if you would know,
Spite of our charms—of course of dough,
Seeds and apples and twirling pin—
The law of our college has ever been
That one may have but a ghostly beau
On Hallowe'en?
