cross hese'f dere, an' I understan'--

"Ho! Ho! De Monts! are you down below,
Sleepin' so soun' on de bed somew'ere?
If you 're feelin' well, come up an' tell
W'at kin' of a cloud you be seein' dere."
Den every wan shout w'en de voice ring out
Of de young Champlain on dat summer day,
"Lan'! it is lan'!" cry de sailor man--
You can hear dem holler ten mile away.

Port Rossignol is de place dey call
(I 'm sorry dat nam' it was disappear);
An' mos' ev'ry tree dem Frenchman see
Got nice leetle bird singin', "Welcome here."
An' happy dey were, dem voyageurs
An' de laugh come out on de sailors' face--
No wonder, too, w'en de shore dey view,
For w'ere can you see it de better place?

* * * * * *

If you want to fin' w'at is lef' behin'
Of de story I try very hard tell you,
Don't bodder me now or raise de row,
But study de book de sam' I do.

[1] De-mo.

[2] Shaum-pla.

[Illustration: Border]

Pro Patria

Was leevin' across on de State Vermont;
W'ere mountain so high you see--
Got plaintee to do, so all I want
Is jus' to be quiet--me--
No bodder, no fuss, only work aroun'
On job I don't lak refuse--
But affer de familee settle down
It 's come w'at dey call war-news.

De Spanish da-go he was gettin' mad,
An' he 's dangerous l'Espagnol!
An' ev'ry wan say it was lookin' bad,
Not safe on de State at all--
So Yankee he 's tryin' for sell hees farm,
An' town 's very moche excite,
Feexin' de gun an' de fire-alarm,
An' ban' playin' ev'ry night.

An' soon dere 's comin', all dress to kill,
Beeg feller from far away,
Shoutin' lak devil on top de hill,
An' dis is de t'ing he say--

"Strike for your home an' your own contree!
Strike for your native lan'!
Kip workin' away wit' de spade an' hoe,
Den jump w'en you hear de bugle blow,
For danger 's aroun', above, below,
But de bugle will tell if it 's tam to go."

An' he tak' de flag wit' de star an' stripe,
An' holler out--"Look at me!
If any wan touch dat flag, ba cripe!
He 's dead about wan--two--t'ree."
Den he pull it aroun' heem few more tam,
An' sit on de rockin' chair,
Till somebody cheer for hees Uncle Sam,
Dough I don't see de ole man dere.

I got a long story for tell dat night
On poor leetle Rose Elmire,
An' she say she 's sorry about de fight