THE WEED'S ANSWER.

THEN answered bold as beggar-brat That plant of mean descent,— "Whoever speaks to me like that Is very imperent.

" At me no hothouse swell shall rail, In such outlandish lingo, Without an answer on the nail, In plainer terms, by jingo.

" It might be rollicksome or queer, The blast that blew me hither, But now I am fast-rooted here, I'm not a-goin' to wither.

"My health, thank God, is very sound ; I crave no shade or prop ; In open air, from common ground, I gets my bite and sup.

" My does diskiver stains and rents, While yours are fine as fire ;

1 don't go in for paints and scents From stable or from byre.

-"But not a breeze can make me shrink, No sun's for me too hot !

I'm blessed if I would take my drink Out o' a waterin'-pot.

-" You Dahly swelled, you Fuachy sick, You fiery-faced Carnation, No doubt, you count yourselves the pick And pride o' all creation. " But though at shows there's such ado About your tints and statur', I've just as great a share as you 0' all that's fair in Natur'.

"'Tis not alone for you the sky At peep o' day is brightenin' ; There's more nor you has got an eye For moonshine and sheet-lightnin'.

" Robins and wrens I here remark, Twitterin' about and clingin', But by my birth-place lived a lark, And over it flew singin' !

"No fear have I o' worm that gnaws, Or frost and storms that splinter, While most o' you poor windle-straws Will never see a winter.

"Afore the snow ye'll all be dead, In spite o' praise and carein', And ugly weeds ' will live and spread, When Flory's pets' die barren."

Still longer thus, with gibings keen, In language free of fetters, The Ragweed had indulged her spleen, And ballyragged her betters ; But suddenly she ceased to prate,

And shook with rueful fidgets, Clutched tightly by the hand of Fate,—

Alias, the gardener's digits !

For that old man, whose skill excelled, Though sometimes he got tipsy, Grew red, cried Dammee r and expelled