Amen to thet! build sure in the beginning', 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 jest for change is like those 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 yet 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 yet wast never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung,-- Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed Was prowled round 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,-- Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah's plan Thet only manhood ever makes a man, An' whose free latch-string never was drawed in Aginst the poorest child o' Adam's kin,-- The grave's not dug where traitor hands shall lay In fearful haste thy murdered corse away! I see---- Jest here some dogs began to bark, So thet I lost old Concord's last remark: I listened long, but all I seemed to hear Was dead leaves goss'pin' on some birch-trees near; But ez they hedn't no gret things to say, An' said 'em often, I come right 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. It 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, "The lion's paw is all the law, Accordin' to J.B., Thet's fit for you an' me!" Blood ain't so cool as ink, John: It's likely you'd ha' wrote, An' stopped a spell to think, John, _Arter_ they'd cut your throat? Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess He'd skurce ha' stopped," sez he, "To mind his p-s an' q-s, ef thet weasan' Hed b'longed to ole J.B., Instid o' 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!"