"
(Hyphenating himself in the middle).
He carried of "boxes" just twenty-four,
Voted the country "A beastly boah";
Laughed at the "shops," which he roundly swore
"Weren't worth a Ta-ra-diddle!"

He purchased of farm lands some sections six,
Said: "With those common fawmahs I shan't mix!"
Then he started in with his La-de-dah tricks
And built him a "Countwy Seat."
Now, a "country seat" in this western land
Is top rail of a fence, or a pile of sand,
But Che-cha-ko's daily, diurnal demand
Was, "The best people I must meet."

They met him half way, for they cleaned him out,
Drank his "extra dry" every ball and rout;
His poor working-man neighbour he called "a lout,"
And laughed at the "countwy daunce."
His amazement was great to learn we "digged wells";
Said, "We don't do it around Bow Bells";
And, describing the life of the London swells,
Sighed: "Pore devils! you haven't a chaunce!"

He played "Gentleman Fawmah" a year or two,
His cash was all spent (his friends went too)
And then he wanted to "borrow a few
Pounds" from his own hired man.
But the rough fellow said, "My London Cock,
When you learn to work, quit your bally talk,
You'll float your Ship-of-State off th' rock!"
(And he winked, did the hired man.)

He considered the matter, did B. B. Browyne,
Quit every reference to "Deah London Town,"
And his neighbour, "the Lout," why, he came right down
And did what we all expected:
Lent B. B. seed-grain for his season's crop;--
Said: "Hang on, m' Boy, y'll come out on top."
He did. The Che-cha-ko never cried "stop"
Till for parliament he was elected!

So down at Ottawa now he sits
Where he spits and smokes, and smokes and spits;
In government circles he splendidly fits,
And he's known as "Bully Boy Brown"!
For he was a man that took his chance----
He got right down to his Song-and-Dance----
Let out "London Pride" with his workman's lance,
Tried the smile instead of the frown.

For the "Browyne" who would win out in the west
Is the Brown with common sense that's blest;
Leaves "Grandpa" at home with the Family crest,
Puts hand to the plow; and then----
Follows the furrow as straight as a die,
Stout heart, steady hand, with a watchful eye;
He'll come to his own, and I'll