JOHN. I’VE worked in the field all day, a plowin’ the “stony streak;” I’ve scolded my team till I’m hoarse; I’ve tramped till my legs are weak; I’ve choked a dozen swears, (so’s not to tell Jane fibs,) When the plow-pint struck a stone, and the handles punched my ribs. I’ve put my team in the barn, and rubbed their sweaty coats; I’ve fed ’em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats; And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin’ feel, And Jane won’t say to-night that I don’t make out a meal. Well said! the door is locked! out here she’s left the key, Under the step, in a place known only to her and me; I wonder who’s dyin’ or dead, that she’s hustled off pell-mell; But here on the table’s a note, and probably this will tell. Good God! my wife is gone! my wife is gone astray! The letter it says, “Good-bye, for I’m a going away; I’ve lived with you six months, John, and so far I’ve been true; But I’m going away to-day with a handsomer man than you.” A han’somer man than me! Why, that ain’t much to say; There’s han’somer men than me go past here every day. There’s han’somer men than me――I ain’t of the han’some kind; But a _loven’er_ man than I was, I guess she’ll never find. Curse her! curse her! I say, and give my curses wings! May the words of love I’ve spoken be changed to scorpion stings! Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt, And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart’s blood out! Curse her! curse her! say I, she’ll some time rue this day; She’ll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play; And long before she dies she’ll grieve she ever was born, And I’ll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down to scorn. As sure as the world goes on, there’ll come a time when she Will read the devilish heart of that han’somer man than me; And there’ll be a time when he will find, as others do, That she who is false to one, can be the same with two. And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes grow dim, And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him, She’ll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost; And then she’ll see things clear, and know what she has lost. And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in her mind, And she will mourn and cry for what she has left behind; And maybe she’ll sometimes long for me――for me――but no! I’ve blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have it so. And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin’ or other she had That fastened a man to her, and wasn’t entirely bad; And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn’t last; But I mustn’t think of these things――I’ve buried ’em in the past.