THE TRAVELLERS.

I am a weary traveller,

This is my faithful steed; _
He’s made of wood,
But he’s splendidly good—

He really is, indeed.

It does not cost much to feed him—
He’s really no bother at all |
And a piece of string
a Is just the thing
- To

  

fiiake him come at your call.
; But in such dreadful weather |
No horses can get on;
And up on my arm
He’s safe out of harm,

And our journey will soon be done.