'Agreed!' cried North; thought he, This fall With wheat and rye I'll sow it all; In that way I shall get the start, And South may whistle for his part. So thought, so done, the field was sown, And, winter haying come and gone, Sly North walked blithely forth to spy, The progress of his wheat and rye; Heavens, what a sight! his brother's swine Had asked themselves all out to dine; Such grunting, munching, rooting, shoving, The soil seemed all alive and moving, As for his grain, such work they'd made on 't, He couldn't spy a single blade on 't. Off in a rage he rushed to South, 'My wheat and rye'--grief choked his mouth: 'Pray don't mind me,' said South, 'but plant All of the new land that you want;' 'Yes, but your hogs,' cried North; 'The grain Won't hurt them,' answered South again; 'But they destroy my crop;' 'No doubt; 'Tis fortunate you've found it out; Misfortunes teach, and only they, You must not sow it in their way;' 'Nay, you,' says North, 'must keep them out;' 'Did I create them with a snout?' Asked South demurely; 'as agreed, The land is open to your seed, And would you fain prevent my pigs From running there their harmless rigs? God knows I view this compromise With not the most approving eyes; I gave up my unquestioned rights For sake of quiet days and nights; I offered then, you know 'tis true, To cut the piece of land in two.' 'Then cut it now,' growls North; 'Abate Your heat,' says South, 'tis now too late; I offered you the rocky corner, But you, of your own good the scorner, Refused to take it: I am sorry; No doubt you might have found a quarry, Perhaps a gold-mine, for aught I know, Containing heaps of native rhino; You can't expect me to resign My rights'-- 'But where,' quoth North, 'are mine?' '_Your_ rights,' says tother, 'well, that's funny, _I_ bought the land'-- '_I_ paid the money;' 'That,' answered South, 'is from the point, The ownership, you'll grant, is joint; I'm sure my only hope and trust is Not law so much as abstract justice, Though, you remember, 'twas agreed That so and so--consult the deed; Objections now are out of date, They might have answered once, but Fate Quashes them at the point we've got to; _Obsta principiis_ that's my motto.' So saying, South began to whistle And looked as obstinate as gristle, While North went homeward, each brown paw Clenched like a knot of natural law, And all the while, in either ear, Heard something clicking wondrous clear.