To bust up friend J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Why talk so dreffle big, John,
Of honor, when it meant
You did n't care a fig, John,
But jest for ten per cent?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess

He's like the rest," sez he:

"When all is done it's number one
Thet 's nearest to J. B.,
Ez wal ez t' you an' me!"

We give the critters back, John,
Cos Abram thought 't was right;
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
We've a hard row," sez he,
"To hoe jest now; but thet, somehow,
May happen to J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!"

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,

With twenty million people, An' close to every door, John, A school-house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess

It is a fact," sez he,
"The surest plan to make a man

Is, Think him so, J. B.,
Ez much ez you or me!"

Our folks believe in Law, John;
An' it's for her sake now,

They've left the axe an' saw, John,
The anvil an' the plough.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess,

Ef 't warn't for law," sez he,

"There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;

An' thet don't suit J. B.

(When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me!)"

We know we've got a cause, John,
Thet 's honest, just, an' true;

We thought 't would win applause, John,
Ef nowheres else, from you.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
His love of rights," sez he,
"Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:
There's natur' in J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!"

The South says, "Poor folks down!" John,

An'

All men up!

say we,

White, yaller, black, an' brown, John:

guess,

Now which is your idee?
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I
John preaches wal," sez he;
"But, sermon thru, an' come to du
Why, there's the old J. B.
A crowdin' you an' me !"

Shall it be love, or hate, John?
It's you thet's to decide;

Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,

Like all the world's beside?

Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
Wise men forgive," sez he,

But not forget; an' some time yet

Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

God means to make this land, John,
Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an' understand, John,
The wuth o' bein' free.

Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess
God's price is high," sez he;
"But nothin' else than wut He sells
Wears long, an' thet J. B.
May larn, like you an' me!"

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,-

Fair as the garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall, –

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,

She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!" "Fire!

The dust-brown ranks stood fast.
Out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.

She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,

But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word

64 Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tramp of marching feet:

All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er

And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her and let a tear

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEK,