OVER THE LEFT.
Their deposits were left over night in the bank,—
In a bank without whisper of fault:
The amounts to their credit were placed on the books,
And were left over night in the vault.
To their credit, I say it, the bank was locked tight,
Guarding thus against fire and theft;
A patrol on the walk, and a new 'lectric light,
Throwing beams to the right and the left.
Just here the cashier he left over night,
Taking all but the house and the soil;
And the long and the short of the story is this,—
He was too long of stocks—short of oil.
A receiver was called, and he looked o'er the wreck,
And received those who called—thus bereft.
"Have you nothing left over?" they timidly ask:
He answers, "Yes, over the left."
W. C. Dornin.
THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.
Blaze, with your serried columns!
I will not bend the knee!
The shackles ne'er again shall bind
The arm which now is free.
I've mailed it with the thunder,
When the tempest muttered low;
And where it falls, ye well may dread
The lightning of its blow!
I've scared ye in the city,
I've scalped ye on the plain;
Go, count your chosen, where they fell
Beneath my leaden rain!
