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Your “ You'll see nex' time!” an' 6 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 bores, But they ain't quite so bad ez seventy-fours. 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 scans

dle, 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 double-quick, 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
()' 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 1 '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.

THE BRIDGE.

I b'lieve thet's so; but hearken in your ear,
I'm older ’n you, — Peace wun't keep house with

Fear:
Ef you want peace, the thing you've gut to du
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 moniment,
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 perlite,
You've gut to be in airnest, ef you fight;
Why, two thirds o' the Rebbles 'ould cut dirt,
Ef they once thought thet Guy'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', tu. .

THE MONIMENT.

Amen to thet! build sure in the beginnin':
An' then don't never tech the underpinnin':
Th' older a guv'ment is, the better 't suits;
New ones hunt folks's corns out like new boots :
Change jes' for change, is like them big hotels
Where they shift plates, an' let ye live on smells.

THE BRIDGE.

Wal, don't give up afore the ship goes down:
It's a stiff gale, but Providence wun't drown;
An' God wun't leave us yit to sink or swim,
Ef we don't fail to du wut's right by Him.
This land o' ourn, I tell ye, 's gut to be
A better country than man ever see.
I feel my sperit swellin' with a cry
Thet seems to say, “Break forth an' prophesy!”
O strange New World, thet yit wast never young,
Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung,
Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed
Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' tread,
An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an' wants an'

pains,
Nussed by stern men with empires in their brains,
Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain
With each hard hand a vassal ocean's mane,
Thou, skilled by Freedom an' by gret events
To pitch new States ez Old-World men pitch tents,

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