Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the State prison) An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico was hisn.*

This 'ere 's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver
(Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt river);
The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater,
I'd give a year's pay for a smell o' one good blue-nose tater;
The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin'
Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin'.

He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all,
The holl on 't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal ;
You see a feller peekin' out, an' fust you know, a lariat

Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, "Wut air ye at?"†
You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant
To say I've seen a scarabæus pilularius‡ big ez a year old elephant)
The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug

From runnin' off with Cunnle Wright-'t wuz jest a common cimex lectularius.

One night I started up on eend an' thought I was to hum agin,

I heer a horn; thinks I, it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin,

His bellowses is sound enough—ez I'm a livin' creeter,

I felt a thing go thru my leg-'t wuz nothin' more'n a skeeter !
Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito-
(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' go my toe!
My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't,
I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't).
Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion
Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,§ an ourang outang nation,
A sort 'o folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter,
No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter;
I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,
An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national ;
But wen I jined I worn't so wise ez thet ere queen o' Sheby,
Fer come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be,
An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions,
Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions.

* it must be aloud that thare's a streak o' nater in lovin' sho, but it sartinly is 1 of the curusest things in nater to see a rispecktable dri goods dealer (deckon off a chutch mayby) a riggin' himself out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign aspilin his trowsis and makin' wet goods of himself. Ef anythin's foolisher and moor dicklus than militerry gloary, it is milishy gloary.-H. B.

↑ these fellers are verry proppilly called Rank Heroes, and the more tha kill the ranker and more Herowick tha bekum.-H. W.

it wuz "tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the Latten instid. i sed t'other man better meeter, but he said tha was eddykated peepl to Boston, and tha wouldn't stan' it nohow, idnow as tha wood and idnow as tha wood.-H. B.

§ he means human beins, that's what he means. beans ware the Xisle Poles comes from.-H. B.

i spose he kinder thought tha wuz human

Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis,
An' walk him Spanish clean right out 'o all his homes an' houses;
Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson!
It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo-saxon.
The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water,
An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' to;
Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out 'o copper,
An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez aint proper ;
He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly
(Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to get up airly),
Thet our nation 's bigger'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger,
An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin' trigger,
Thet Anglosaxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to pieces,

An' thet idee 's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases :
Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can,
I know thet "every man" don't mean a nigger or a Mexican ;
An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeturs,
Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State prison feeturs,
Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on 't,

The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on 't

This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur,
An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter;
O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef 't worn't thet I wuz sartin
They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin!

I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to you I may state
Our ossifers aint wut they wuz afore they left the Bay-State;
Then it wuz 66
Mister Sawin, sir, you're middlin' well now, be ye?
Step up an' take a nipper, sir; I'm dreffle glad to see ye;"

But now it's "Ware's my eppylet? here, Sawin, step an fetch it!

An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' spry, or damn ye, you shall ketch it!" Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty,

Ef I hed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum vity,

I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music follerin'—

But I must close my letter here, fer one on 'em's a hollerin',

These Anglosaxon ossifers-wal, 'tain't no use ajawin',

I'm safe enlisted fer the war.

Yourn,

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN

TRAIN MANNERS.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

GENESEE.-A woman with three bird-cages and a little girl has just got on the train. She arranges the three bird-cages on a seat, and then she and the little girl stand up in the aisle, and she glares around upon the ungallant men who remain glued to their seats, and look dreamily out of the window. I bend my face down to the tablet and write furiously, for I feel her eyes fastened upon me. Somehow or other, I am always the victim in cases of this delicate nature. Just as I expected! She speaks, fastening her commanding gaze upon me :

"Sir, would it be asking too much if I begged you to let myself and my little girl have that seat? A gentleman can always find a seat so much more easily than a lady."

And she smiled. Not the charmingest kind of a smile. It was too triumphant to be very pleasing. Of course I surrendered. I said: "Oh, certainly, certainly! I could find another seat without any trouble."

She thanked me, and I crawled out of my comfortable seat, and gathered up my overcoat, my manuscript, my shawl-strap package, my valise, and my overshoes, and she and the little girl went into the vacant premises; the writ of ejectment had been served, and they looked happy and comfortable.

Then I stepped across the aisle; I took up those bird-cages and set them along on top of the coal box, and sat down in the seat thus vacated. I apologetically remarked to the woman, who was gazing at me with an expression that boded trouble, that "it was much warmer for the canaries up by the stove." She didn't say anything, but she gave me a look that made it much warmer for me, for about five minutes, than the stove can make it for the canaries.

Belvidere. A woman has just gone out of the car and left the door wide, wide open, and the wind is blowing through the coach a hundred miles a minute. Why is it that a woman never shuts a car door? Also, why does a man always leave it open? And indeed, why nobody ever shuts it except the brakeman, and he only closes it for the sake of the noise he can make with it.

Yesterday morning, I saw a man go out of a car, and shut the

door after him. I have traveled very constantly for nearly three years, and this was the first man I ever saw shut the car door after him as he went out.

And he only shut it because I was right behind him, trying to get out, with a big valise in each hand. When I set down my valises to open the door, I made a few remarks on the general subject of people who would get up in the night to do the wrong thing at the wrong time,

but the man was out on the platform, and failed to catch the drift of my remark.

I was not sorry for this, because the other passengers seemed to enjoy it quite as well by themselves, and the man whose action called forth this impromptu address was a forbidding looking man, as big as a hay wagon, and looked as though he would have banged me clear through the side of a box car if he had heard what I said.

I suppose these people who invariably do the wrong things at the

THE CLOG.

wrong time are necessary, but they are awfully unpleasant.

Cuba. A woman gets on the train and says a very warmhearted good-bye to a great cub of a sixteen-year-old boy who sets down her bundles, and turns to leave the car with a gruff grunt that may mean good-bye or anything else. There is a little qui ver on her lip as she calls after him, "Be a good boy, write to me often, and do as I tell you." He never looks around as he leaves the car. He looks just like the kind of a boy who will do just as she tells him, but she must be careful to tell him to do just as he wants to. I have one bright spark of consolation as the train moves on, and I see that boy performing a clumsy satire

on a clog dance on the platform. Some of these days he will treat some man as gruffly and rudely as he treats his mother. Then the man will climb onto him and lick him; pound the very sawdust out of him. Then the world will feel better and happier for the licking he gets. It may be long deferred, but it will come. at last. I almost wish I had pounded him myself, while he is young and I felt able to do it. He may grow up into a very discouragingly rugged man, extremely difficult to lick, and the world may have to wait a very long time for this act of justice. It frequently happens that these bad boys grow up into distressingly "bad" men.

We have got as far as Hinsdale, and here we have ceased to progress. The experienced passengers sit as patiently as the train itself. The inexperienced ones fly around and tramp in and out, and leave the door open, and ply the train men and the operator with numerous questions. Sometimes the train men answer their questions, and then sometimes they do not answer them. When they do reply to the eager conundrums, somehow or other the passenger always feels as though he knew a little less than he did before. It is a cruel, deceitful old world, in snow time.

A man has gone to the front seat, and is warming his feet by planting the soles of his boots against the side of the stove. As he wears India rubber boots, the effect is marked but not pleasant.

As usual, the drinking boy is on the car. He has laid regular