IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.

I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to do, When I think about them days we used to spend A hoein' out tobacker in th' clearin'—me an' you— An' a wishin' that the day was at an end. For the dewdrops was a sparklin' on the beeches' tender leaves As we started out a workin' in the morn; An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower of burnin' sheaves When we heard the welcome-soundin' dinner-horn. An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of ghostly batch, 'Fore we started home from workin' in that ol' tobacker patch. I'm a feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun' to-day, For I see th' change that's taken place since then. All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods is cleared away; You an' me has changed from ragged boys to men; You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream about; I am still a dwellin' here upon the place, But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so straight and stout, An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on my face. You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been your match, But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker patch.