(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' go my toe!

My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't,

I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't).

Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong per

suasion

Thet Mexicans worn't human beans, an ourang outang nation,

A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter,

No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter;

I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,

An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national;

But wen I jined I wornt so wise ez thet air queen o'

Sheby,

Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be,

An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions,

Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions,

Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o''s trowsis

An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses;

Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson!

It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo

saxon.

The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say they pis'n all the water,

An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' to;

Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper

An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez

ain't proper;

He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop em fairly

(Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to git up airly),

Thet our nation's bigger'n theirn an' so its rights air

bigger,

An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin'

trigger,

Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to

pieces,

An' thet idee's thet every man doos jest wut he durn pleases;

Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can,

I know thet "every man" don't mean a nigger or a Mexican;

An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeturs,

Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State-prison feeturs,

Should come to Jaalam Center fer to argify an' spout on't,

The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on't.

This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur,

An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter;

O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef't worn't thet I wuz sartin

They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin!

I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to you I may state

Our ossifers aint wut they wuz afore they left the Bay-state;

Then it wuz "Mister Sawin, you're middlin' well now, be ye?

Step up an' take a nipper, sir; I'm dreffle glad to see ye";

But now it's "Ware's my eppylet! here, Sawin, step an' fetch it!

'An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' spry, or, durn ye, you shall ketch it!"

Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty,

Ef I hed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum

vity,

I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music follerin'

But I must close my letter here, fer one on 'em's ahollerin',

These Anglosaxon ossifers,-wal, taint no use ajawin',

I'm safe enlisted fer the war,

Yourn,

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN.

THOMAS B. MACAULAY

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, statesman and historian, was born at Rothley, in Leicestershire, England, in 1800; died at Kensington in 1859. He graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, at the age of eighteen, winning high honors. He was called to the bar, but never made the law his real profession. To Knights Quarterly Magazine he contributed, in the early twenties, the ballads of " 'Ivry," one of his most spirited pieces, Moncontour," and imaginary "Conversation Between Mr. Abraham Cowley and Mr. John Milton," touching the great Civil War. He also wrote for the Edinburgh Review for twenty years. Macaulay entered Parliament in 1830, and at once took a prominent part. He was sent to India as a member of the Supreme Council of India, and remained there four years. In 1839 he was appointed Secretary of War, and in 1859 was raised to the peerage. Among his later works were 'Lays of Ancient Rome," since recited by every schoolboy, and his history of England. In poetry he made a peculiar meter so much his own that poets who now use it are often accused of copying. He was a master of a most melodious and charming prose that makes his "History of England" a great work for the student of rhetoric. Its fairness and accuracy, however, has often been called in question. He writes bitterly of historical characters that have not pleased him, and extravagantly of his favorites.

THE ARMADA

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble Eng

land's praise;

I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in

ancient days,

When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain

The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer

day,

There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;

Her crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's Isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial

grace;

And the tall Pinta, till the noon had held her close in chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;

The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecombe's lofty hall;

Many a light fishing bark put out to pry along the

coast,

And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff

comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;

His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;

For there behooves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,

As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon

swells.

Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient

crown,