Again the bill was With many a h But the solid sou

Said, "Boys it s

And then the issu

The south again

Again they thoug To see what 'tw

Just then a gale fr

It said, "we're a

Resign your seats For free-soil me

And when the pes

They who had

With insults, mor

With loud hara

The free-soil men

To see what it

When English sai

6

KANSAS STRUGGLING FOR A FOOTHOLD.

For Jimmy B

will veto that,

He'll crush it afore and aft!"

For six long years of Democratic rule
'Twas broils, blood-shed and strife;
For ruffiains, from the border states,
Marched through with lead and knife.

She had no power such mobs to stay,
For trampled had been her laws.
By the very men who had said,
Our constitution and our laws,

They would sustain to the last clause.

And thus, you see, they bound her down,
Till eighteen sixty-one,-

Old Abe took the reins, you know,-
And then, she walked alone.

And through that long and bloody strife, She filled her quota full;

And since that time she's rushed ahead

Each year, and made some giant strides, While under Republican rule.

She had the best of Governors, too,
From Robison to St. John;

They were just the men to hold the reign,
And drive her right along.

Thus Kansas, in her younger days,

Was like a tender sprout;

She was nipped and stunted by the men Who now, for a blind, with swelling words, Cry, "turn the rascals out!"

The Kansas Boy.

EE the merry Kansas boy,

Rise at dawn of day,—

Do his chores, and eat his hash,
And then to the field away.

Then turn the furrows, one by one,
Till he hears the well-known ring
Of the dear old bell by the kitchen door,
When his mother pulls the string.

And then with a smile and a quickened step, The traces he will drop;

Fold up the lines, and away they'll go,

Till by the well they'll stop.

And when he's eaten a good square meal,

And the hour for rest is done,

He'll turn the furrows as before,
Till the setting of the sun.

Thus, day by day, his work's the same,
Till the plowing is all through;

And then he'll sow and plant his grain,-
For that's the way they do.

And then it's harrow day by day,
Then roll the same ground o'er,
Until it looks like a garden bed,
And smooth as a kitchen floor.

And then there comes the steady tramp, To cultivate the corn,

Until the golden fields of grain

Say, "boy, I must be shorn."

Then it's reap and shock the grain,
And make the giant stacks;

Which make the boys so tired at night,
And many aching backs.