An' would agin, an' swear she had a right to,

Ef we warn't strong enough to be lite to.

perOf all the sarse thet I can call to mind, England doos make the most onpleasant kind:

It's you 're the sinner ollers, she's the saint;

Wut's good's all English, all thet is n't ain't;

Wut profits her is ollers right an' just, An' ef you don't read Scriptur so, you must;

She's praised herself ontil she fairly thinks

There ain't no light in Natur when she winks;

Hain't she the Ten Comman'ments in her pus?

Could the world stir 'thout she went, tu, ez nus?

She ain't like other mortals, thet's a fact:

She never stopped the habus-corpus act,

Nor specie payments, nor she never yet Cut down the int'rest on her public debt;

She don't put down rebellions, lets 'em breed,

An' 's ollers willin' Ireland should secede :

She 's all thet 's honest, honnable, an' fair,

An' when the vartoos died they made her heir.

An', though they can't conceit how 't

I

should be so,

guess the Lord druv down Creation's

But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law,

The best way is to settle, an' not jaw. An' don't le' 's mutter 'bout the awfle bricks

We'll give 'em, ef we ketch 'em in a fix: That 'ere 's most frequently the kin' o' talk

Of critters can't be kicked to toe the chalk ;

Your "You'll see nex' time!" an' "Look out bumby!"

Most ollers ends in eatin' umble-pie. 'T wun't pay to scringe to England:

will it pay

To fear that meaner bully, old "They'll say"?

Suppose they du say: words are dreffle bores,

But they ain't quite so bad ez seventyfours.

Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fit

Where it'll help to widen out our split: She's found her wedge, an' 't ain't for us to come

An' lend the beetle thet 's to drive it home.

For growed-up folks like us 't would be a scandle,

When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle.

England ain't all bad, coz she thinks us blind:

Ef she can't change her skin, she can her mind;

An' we shall see her change it doublequick, Soon ez

we've proved thet we 're a-goin' to lick.

She an' Columby's gut to be fas' friends;

For the world prospers by their privit

ends:

Why, law an' order, honor, civil right, Ef they ain't wuth it, wut is wuth a fight?

I'm older 'n you: the plough, the axe, the mill,

All kin's o' labor an' all kin's o' skill, Would be a rabbit in a wile-cat's claw, Ef't warn't for thet slow critter, 'stablished law;

Onsettle thet, an' all the world goes whiz,

A screw's gut loose in everythin' there

is: Good buttresses once settled, don't you fret

An' stir 'em; take a bridge's word for thet!

Young folks are smart, but all ain't good thet 's new;

I guess the gran'thers they knowed sunthin', tu.

THE MONIMENT.

Amen to thet! build sure in the beginnin',

IT don't seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John, -
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,
"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,

Thet 's fit for you an' me!"

You wonder why we 're hot, John?
Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
Our brothers an' our sons:

Ole Uncle S sez he, "I guess There's human blood," sez he, "By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts, Though 't may surprise J. B. More 'n it would you an' me."

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait an' sue their heirs?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, I on'y guess," sez he, "Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell,

juice

For ganders with J. B.,

No more than you or me!"

When your rights was our wrongs, John,

You did n't stop for fuss, Britanny's trident prongs, John, Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
Though physic's good," sez he,
"It doesn't foller thet he can swaller
Prescriptions signed 'J. B.,'
Put up by you an' me!"

We own the ocean, tu, John:
You mus' n' take it hard,
Ef we can't think with you, John,
It's jest your own back-yard.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I I guess,
Ef thet 's his claim,"
sez he,
"The fencin'-stuff'll cost enough
To bust up friend J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!'

Why talk so dreffle big, John,
Of honor when it meant
You didn't care a fig, John,
But jest for ten per cent?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess He's like the rest,' sez he: "When all is done, it's number one Thet's nearest to J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!"

We give the critters back, John,

Cos Abram thought 't was right; It warn't your bullyin' clack, John, Provokin' us to fight.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess We've a hard row," sez he, "To hoe jest now; but thet somehow, May happen to J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me!