ine, child of the sun,
There are battles with fate that can never be won!
The star-flowering banner must never be furled,
For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world!

Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof,--
Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof;
But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore,
Remember the pathway that leads to our door!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

* * * * *

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

It don't seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John,--
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!
Old Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,
"The Lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J.B.,
Thet's fit for you and me!"

You wonder why we're hot, John?
Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
Our brothers an' our sons:
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
There's human blood," sez he,
"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,
Though 't may surprise J.B.
More 'n it would you an' me."

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On _your_ front parlor stairs,
Would it just meet your views, John,
To wait an' sue their heirs?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess,
I on'y guess," sez he,
"Thet ef Vattel on _his_ toes fell,
'T would kind o' rile J.B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Who made the law thet hurts, John,
_Heads I win--ditto tails_?
"J.B." was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
(I'm good at thet)," sez he,
"Thet sauce for goose ain't _jest_ the juice
For ganders with J.B.,
No more 'n with you or me!"

When your rights was our wrongs, John,
You didn't stop for fuss,--
Britanny's trident prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
Though physic's good," sez he,
"It doesn't foller thet he can swaller
Prescriptions signed 'J.B.'
Put up by you an' me."

We own the ocean, tu, John,
You mus'n' take it hard,
Ef we can't think with you, John,
It's jest your own back yard.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess
Ef _thet's_ his claim," sez he,
"The fencin' stuff'll cost enough
To bust up friend J.B.
Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Why talk so dreffle big, John,
Of honor when it meant
You didn't care a fig, John,
But jest for _ten per cent_?
Ole Uncle S., sez h