shoulders and figureed onto his coat and trousis, let alone wut nater hed sot in his featers, to make a 6 pounder out on. wal, Hosea he com home considerabal riled, and arter I'd gone to bed I heern Him a thrashin round like a short-tailed Bull in fli-time. The old Woman ses she to me ses she, Zekle, ses she, our Hosee's gut the chollery or suthin anuther ses she, don't you Bee skeered, ses I, he's oney amakin pottery ses i, he's ollers on hand at that ere busynes like Da & martin, and shure enuf, cum mornin, Hosy he cum down stares full chizzle, hare on eend and cote tales flyin, and sot rite of to go reed his varses to Parson Wilbur bein he haint aney grate shows o' book larnin himself, bimeby he cum back and ed the parson wuz dreffle tickled with 'em as i hoop you will Be, and said they wuz True grit. Hosga ses taint hardly fair to call 'em hisn now, cos the parson kind o' slicked off sum o' the last varse, but he told Hosee he didnt want to put his ore in to tetch to the Rest on 'em, bein they wuz verry well As thay wuz, and then Hosy ses he sed suthin a nuther about Simplex Mundishes or sum sech feller, but I guess Hosea kind o' didn't hear him, for I never hearn o' nobody o' that name in this villadge, and I've lived here man and boy 76 year cum next tater diggin, and thair aint no wheres a kitting spryer 'n I be. * Aut insanit, aut versos facit.-H. W. If you print 'em I wish you'd jest let folks know who hosy's father is, cos my ant Keziah used to say it's nater to be curus ses she, she aint livin though and he's a likely kind o' lad. EZEKIEL BIGLOW. THRASH away, you'll hev to rattle Thet is ketched with mouldy corn; Let folks see how spry you be,— Thet air flag's a leetle rotten, "Twouldn't suit them Southun fellers, O' them nigger-drivin' States. Them thet rule us, them slave-traders, All on eend at bein' biled? Ez fer war, I call it murder,— 'Taint your eppyletts an' feathers Wut's the use o' meetin'-goin' Trainin' round in bobtail coats,- They may talk o' Freedom's airy It's a grand gret cemetary Fer the barthrights of our race; Aint it cute to see a Yankee Clear ez one an' one make two, Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers Want to make wite slaves o' you. Tell ye jest the eend I've come to 'Taint by turnin' out to hack folks "Taint the hide thet makes it wus, All it keers fer in a feller 'S jest to make him fill its pus. Want to tackle me in, du ye? Wen cold lead puts daylight thru ye 'Spose the crows wun't fall to pickin' Jest go home an' ask our Nancy Take them editors thet's crowin' 'Fore they think on't they will sprout, (Like a peach thet's got the yellers,) With the meanness bustin' out. Wal, go 'long to help 'em stealin' Massachusetts, God forgive her, She's akneelin' with the rest, |