John. Do you pretend to say your garden is large enough to allow of your cutting kingdoms out of it?

Jona. To be sure I do. I have set off thirty-odd kingdoms, some of them ten times as big as your old homestead, and have staked out a dozen more; and, having more land still than I know what to do with, I have concluded to invite all creation to come over and take a lot " free-gratis-for-nothing," just to get it off my hands. John. The deuce is in you. are all running away from me.

Why, Jonathan, my folks
Three or four millions of

Irish bog-trotters decamped all at once, and the Lord knows where they are gone.

Jona. So do I, father. They have all squatted on one of my potato-patches.

John. You ungrateful dog, what do you mean by stealing my hands?

Jona. They said you couldn't support them, sir, and I thought it my duty to help the old man, as they call you. John. Well, Jonathan, what are you going to do with yourself when you grow up?

Jona. Good gracious, father, what do you mean by growing up? I could whip two of you, now.

John. You lie, you rascal!

Jona. I never mean to try, father, but in answer to your question, what I mean to do, I say, I mean to govern all creation, one of these days.

John. What do you mean? Do you expect to lord it

over me?

Jona. I guess you'll be glad, one of these days, to have me give you a lift.

John. What language do your boys talk, Jonathan? Jona. English, sir, better than you speak it here. One of them has just made a dictionary for you, in order to keep you right.

John. The young scape-grace! Well, Jonty, how do your boys, on the whole, feel towards the old homestead?

Jona. They are proud of it, sir, and will never see the old man want, or the farm pass into the hands of strangers. John. Give me your hand, Jonty. They told me you were a great lubber that didn't care for me.

Jona. They lied, father, and if you will tell me who said so, I will make him eat his words without picking out the bones.

John. Come, come, you young rogue, you almost beat

your old father at boasting, but I guess you'll turn out a clever boy, after all, and, one of these days, when my gout is easy, I may walk over and make you a call.

Jona. Do, sir. You shall never miss a welcome from Jonathan, while there is any roast beef or plum pudding to be had this side of t'other end of any distance. [Jonathan goes out.]

John.

He's my boy, after all. Old John Bull will never die while Jonathan lives.

Ex. CCXV.-DIALOGUE BETWEEN MR. DOLE, INDIAN COMMISSIONER, AND OPOTHLEYOHOLO AND LAGARASH, INDIAN CHIEFS--1862.

REBELLION RECORD.

Indian Chief. We are glad to see you. We want help. Our people have been driven from home, and are suffering. Mr. Dole. The Government did not expect the Indians to enter this contest at all. Now that the rebel portion of them have entered the field, the Great Father will march his troops into your country. The country appreciates your services. We honor you. You are in our hearts. One party tells us that John Ross is for the Union, and one that he is not.

Chief. Both are probably right. Ross made a sham treaty with Albert Pike, to save trouble. Ross is like a-man lying on his face, watching an opportunity to turn over. When the Northern troops come within the ring, he will turn over.

Mr. Dole. You did not, and our people remember you. But we hope you will show no revenge.

Chief. The rebel Indians are like a cross, bad dog. The best way to end the breed is to kill the dog.

Mr. Dole. Only the leaders and plotters of treason should suffer.

of

Chief. That's just what I think. Burn over a bad field grass, and it will spring up again. It must be torn up by the roots, even if some good blades suffer. I hope the government money will be paid us.

Mr. Dole. We can not pay you until we know who among you are Union and who are rebel.

Chief. Those left back there are not loyal. They turned against the Government with their eyes open. If we gain our land we should have it and they nothing. We have talked it over among ourselves, and concluded not to do any thing for them.

Mr. Dole. We can not pay you until your chiefs are together, and a council held.

Chief. All those left back there are Secesh.

Mr. Dole. I have not power to use the money except in a legal and regular way. We will take care of you, and the delay in paying you will be as brief as possible.

Chief. The Creeks have one thousand five hundred warriors who want to fight for the Union. The Seminoles have two hundred and fifty, and they will all fight for the Great Father.

Mr. Dole. The Great Father has decided to accept your services to put down this rebellion, in case it is your pleasure to give them. You will not be expected to fight white men unless they are arrayed against loyal Indians. We should not have called upon you at all had not your own brothers been driven from their homes. You go to their assistance,

not ours.

Chief. We came down from our nation to find out how it was, and we want to hear the straight. I depend on my nation; I sit with my ears open to hear what they will do.

Mr. Dole. Unless the chiefs speak out, the warriors will refuse to do so. Will you yourselves urge your people to

act?

Chief. We want to know how long the war is to be, and in what way we are to fight.

Mr. Dole. Not more than twelve months. As to the manner of fighting-you can all draw a bead at two hundred yards. Your way of fighting will answer our purpose.

Chief. We want to go down there on horseback.

Mr. Dole. We are going to send twenty thousand white men, on foot.

Chief. Yes, that's the way white men fight. Indians don't. When we fight, we don't fight all the time. We don't want to fight so long. I think we can end the war in one battle.

Mr. Dole. That will suit us. You are a large, noble and brave set of men. Let me hear you say that you will be brave warriors, whether others are or not.

Chief. I told you that whatever my Father wanted me to do, I would do.

Mr. Dole. When you go home, tell your warriors to get ready, and prepare to be as brave as in former times. Tell them that your brother red men have been driven from their homes, and they need your assistance. If only white men were at war, we should not call upon you.

Ex. CCXVI.—INDIAN NAMES.

LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.

YE say they all have passed away,
That noble race and brave,

That their light canoes have vanished
From off the crested wave;

That 'mid the forest where they roamed
There rings no hunter's shout:
But their name is on your waters-
Ye may not wash it out.

'Tis where Ontario's billow

Like Ocean's surge is curled,

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
The echo of the world,-

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tribute from the west,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.

Ye say their cone-like cabins,
That clustered o'er the vale,
Have fled away like withered leaves
Before the autumn gale;

But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore;
Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts wears it

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it
Within her young renown;
Connecticut hath wreathed it
Where her quiet foliage waves,
And old Kentucky breathed it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.

Wachusett hides its lingering voice
Within his rocky heart,
And Alleghany graves its tone
Throughout his lofty chart;
Monadnock on his forehead hoar
Doth seal the sacred trust:
Your mountains build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.

Ye call these red-browed brethren
The insects of an hour,

Crushed like the noteless worm amid
The regions of their power:

Ye drive them from their fathers' lands,
Ye break of faith the seal:
But can ye from the court of Heaven
Exclude their last appeal.

Ye see their unresisting tribes,
With toilsome step and slow,
On through the trackless desert pass,
A caravan of woe.

Think ye the Eternal ear is deaf?
His sleepless vision dim?

Think ye the soul's blood may not cry
From that far land to Him?