the chalk;

Your "You'll see nex' time!" an'

"Look out bumby!

وو

arter all!

I tell ye wut, it takes more 'n one

good week

pie.

tweak.

their doubt,

Come must'rin' to the flag with sech a shout,

I hoped to see things settled 'fore this fall,

The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an' all;

Then come Bull Run, an' sence

then I've ben waitin'

Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin',

Nothin' to du but watch my shadder's trace

Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun' my base,

With daylight's flood an' ebb; it's gittin' slow,

An' I 'most think we'd better let 'em go.

I tell ye wut, this war's a-goin' to cost

to say,

Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Heads I win, ditto tails?
"J. B." was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails,

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess (I'm good at thet)," sez he, "Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice

For ganders with J. B.,

No more 'n with you or me!"

away,

An', walkin' home'ards, jest to pass

the time,

I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme :

I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em

on,

But here they be-it's

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

Ir 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,

John,

You didn'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 follerthet 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 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 honour 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 t' you an' me! "

We give the critters back, John, Cos Abram thought 'twas 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!"

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,
With twenty million people,
An' close to every door, John,
A school-house an' a steeple.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
It is a fact," sez he,

"The surest plan to make a Man Is, think him so, J. B.,

Ez much ez you or me!

Shall it be love, or hate, John?
It's you thet's to decide;
Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,
Like all the world's beside?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
Wise men forgive," sez he,
"But not forget; an' some time yet.
Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

God means to make this land, John, Clear thru, from sea to sea, Believe an' understand, John,

The wuth o' bein' free.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, God's price is high," sez he; "But nothin' else than wut He sells Wears long, an' thet J. B. May larn, like you an' me!"

No. III.

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ., TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW.

With the following Letter from the REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A.M.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

JAALAM, 7th Feb. 1862. RESPECTED FRIENDS, If I know myself,-and surely a man can hardly be supposed to have overpassed the limit of fourscore years without attaining to some proficiency in that most useful branch of learning (e cælo descendit, says the pagan poet),—I have no great smack of that weakness which would press upon the pub