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.

THE MONIMENT

Wal, wal, two wrongs don't never make a right;

Ef we 're mistaken, own up, an' don't

fight:

For gracious' sake, ha'n't we enough to du 'thout gettin' up a fight with England, tu ? She thinks we 're rabble-rid

in',

Th' ain't nut a face but wut she's shook her fist in,

Ez though she done it all, an' ten times more,

An' nothin' never hed gut done afore, Nor never could agin, 'thout she wuz spliced On to one eend an' gin th' old airth a hoist. She is some punkins, thet I wun't deny, (For ain't she some related to 'n' I?) you But there's a few small intrists here below

Outside the counter o' John Bull an' Co, An' though they can't conceit how 't should be so,

I guess the Lord druv down Creation's spiles

'thout no gret helpin' from the British Isles, An' could contrive to keep things pooty stiff

Ef they withdrawed from business in a miff;

I ha'n't no patience with sech swellin' fellers ez

Think God can't forge 'thout them to blow the bellerses.

THE MONIMENT

You 're ollers quick to set your back aridge, Though 't suits a tom-cat more 'n a sober bridge:

Don't you git het: they thought the thing was planned;

They'll cool off when they come to understand.

THE BRIDGE

Ef thet's wut you expect, you'll hev to wait;
Folks never understand the folks they hate:
She'll fin' some other grievance jest ez good,
'fore the month 's out, to git misunderstood.
England cool off! She'll do it, ef she sees
She's run her head into a swarm o' bees.
I ain't so prejudiced ez wut you spose:
I hev thought England was the best thet
goes;

Remember (no, you can't), when I was reared,

God save the King was all the tune you heerd:

But it 's enough to turn Wachuset roun' This stumpin' fellers when you think they're down.

THE MONIMENT

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 thet meaner bully, old "They'll say"?

Suppose they du say: words are dreffle

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: 'T would put the clock back all o' fifty years Ef they should fall together by the ears.

THE BRIDGE

I 'gree to thet; she's nigh us to wut France is;

But then she'll hev to make the fust advances;

We've gut pride, tu, an' gut it by good rights,

An' ketch me stoopin' to pick up the mites O' condescension she 'll be lettin' fall When she finds out we ain't dead arter all ! I tell ye wut, it takes more 'n one good week Afore my nose forgits it 's hed a tweak.

THE MONIMENT

She'll come out right bumby, thet I'll engage,

Soon ez she gits to seein' we 're of age;
This talkin' down o' hers ain't wuth a fuss;
It's nat❜ral ez nut likin' 't is to us;
Ef we 're agoin' to prove we be growed-up,
'T wun't be by barkin' like a tarrier pup,
But turnin' to an' makin' things ez good
Ez wut we're ollers braggin' that we could;
We're boun' to be good friends, an' so
we'd oughto,

In spite of all the fools both sides the water.

Ef

-Peace wun't keep house

Is jes' to show you 're up to fightin', tu.
I recollect how sailors' rights was won,
Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin'
gun:

Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet he
Hed gut a kind o' mortgage on the sea;
You'd thought he held by Gran ́ther

Adam's will,

An' ef you knuckle down, he'll think so still. Better thet all our ships an' all their crews Should sink to rot in ocean's dreamless ooze, Each torn flag wavin' chellenge ez it went, An' each dumb gun a brave man's moni

ment,

Than seek sech peace ez only cowards

crave:

Give me the peace of dead men or of brave!

THE MONIMENT

I say, ole boy, it ain't the Glorious Fourth: You'd oughto larned 'fore this wut talk wuz worth.

It ain't our nose thet gits put out o' jint;
It's England thet gives up her dearest pint.
We 've gut, I tell ye now, enough to du
In our own fem'ly fight, afore we 're thru.
I hoped, las' spring, jest arter Sumter's
shame,

When every flag-staff flapped its tethered flame,

An' all the people, startled from 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

THE BRIDGE

An' I tell you it wun't be money lost; Taxes milks dry, but, neighbor, you'll allow Thet havin' things onsettled kills the cow: We've gut to fix this thing for good an' all; It's no use buildin' wut's a-goin' to fall. I'm older 'n you, an' I've seen things an' men,

An' my experunce, - tell ye wut it 's ben: Folks thet worked thorough was the ones thet thriv,

But bad work follers ye ez long 's ye live; You can't git red on 't; jest ez sure ez sin, It 's ollers askin' to be done agin:

Ef we should part, it would n't be a week 'Fore your soft-soddered peace would spring aleak.

We've turned our cuffs up, but, to put her thru,

We must git mad an' off with jackets, tu; 'T wun't du to think thet killin' ain't per

lite,

You 've gut to be in airnest, ef you fight; Why, two thirds o' the Rebbles 'ould cut dirt,

Ef they once thought thet Guv'ment meant to hurt;

An' I du wish our Gin'rals hed in mind The folks in front more than the folks behind;

You wun't do much ontil you think it's God, An' not constitoounts, thet holds the rod; We want some more o' Gideon's sword, I jedge,

For proclamations ha'n't no gret of edge; There's nothin' for a cancer but the knife, Onless you set by 't more than by your life. I've seen hard times; I see a war begun Thet folks thet love their bellies never 'd won;

Pharo's lean kine hung on for seven long

year;

But when 't was done, we did n't count it dear;

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',

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,
'T would kind o' rile J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

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!"

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 does n'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 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 did n'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 '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!"

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
It is a fact," sez he,

guess,

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

Ez much ez you or me!"

Our folks believe in Law, John;

An' it's for her sake, now,
They've left the axe an' saw, John,
The anvil an' the plough.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
Ef 't warn't for law," sez he,

There'd be one shindy from here to
Indy;

An' thet don't suit J. B.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, John preaches wal," sez he; "But, sermon thru, an' come to du, Why, there's the old J. B. A-crowdin' you an' 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 forgit; an' some time yit 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 my

supposed to have overpassed the limit of fourscore years without attaining to some proficiency in that most useful branch of learning (e cœlo descendit, says the pagan poet), I have no great smack of that weakness which would press upon the publick attention any matter pertaining to my private affairs. But since the following letter of Mr. Sawin contains not only a direct allusion to myself, but that in connection with a topick of interest to all those engaged in the publick ministrations of the sanctuary, I may be pardoned for touching briefly thereupon. Mr. Sawin was never a stated attendant upon my