DRAW up the

WILL CARLETON.

Born at Hudson, Michigan, 1845—

BETSY AND I ARE OUT.

papers, lawyer! and make 'em good and stout, For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are

out,

We who have work'd together so long as man and wife
Must pull in single harness the rest of our natʼral life.

"What is the matter?" says you. I swan! it's hard to tell?
Most of the years behind us we've pass'd by very well;
I have no other woman-she has no other man;
Only we've lived together as long as ever we can.

So I have talk'd with Betsy, and Betsy has talk'd with me;
And we've agreed together that we can never agree;
Not that we've catch'd each other in any terrible crime;
We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had, for a start;
Although we ne'er suspected 'twould take us two apart;
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone,
And Betsy, like all good women, had a temper of her own.

The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed,
Was somethin' concerning heaven-a difference in our creed;
We arg❜ed the thing at breakfast-we arg'ed the thing at

tea

And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we couldn't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow; She had kick'd the bucket, for certain-the question was only-How?

I held my opinion, and Betsy another had;

And when we were done a talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But for full a week it lasted and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I fretted because she broke a bowl;
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way; Always somethin' to ar'ge and something sharp to say,And down on us came the neighbours, a couple o' dozen strong,

And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along.

And there have been days together-and many a weary

week

When both of us were cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;

And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the summer and fall,

If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all.

And so I've talk'd with Betsy, and Betsy has talk'd with me;

And we have agreed together that we can never agree; And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;

And I'll put it in the agreement and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer!—the very first paragraph—
Of all the farm and live stock, she shall have her half;
For she has help'd to earn it, through many a weary day,
And it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her pay.
Give her the house and homestead: a man can thrive and
roam,

But women are wretched critters unless they have a home.
And I have always determined, and never fail'd to say,
That Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken away.

There's a little hard money besides, that's drawin' tol'rable pay,

A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day,—
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;
Put in another clause there, and give her all of that.

I see that you are smiling, sir! at my givin' her so much;
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir! but I take no stock in such ;
True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young,
And Betsy was always good to me, exceptin' with her
tongue.

When I was young as you, sir! and not so smart, perhaps,
For me she mitten'd a lawyer, and several other chaps;
And all of 'em was fluster'd, and fairly taken down,
And for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town.
Once, when I had a fever-I won't forget it soon-
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon-
Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight;
She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and
night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen,
And I don't complain of Betsy or any of her acts,
Exceptin' when we've quarrel'd, and told each other facts.
So draw up the paper, lawyer! and I'll go home to-night,
And read the agreement to her and see if it's all right;
And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know-
And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world

I'll go.

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't

occur;

That when I am dead at last she will bring me back to her,
And lay me under the maple we planted years ago,
When she and I was happy, before we quarrel'd so.

And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me;
And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we'll then agree;
And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer
If we loved each other the better because we've quarrel'd
here.

HOW BETSY AND I MADE UP.

GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer! how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper-I s'pose you want your pay,
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V ;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.
Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,

Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;

And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive, They'd've tipp'd me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No-for I was labourin' under a heavy load;

No-for I was travelin' an entirely different road;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where we miss'd the way, and where we might
have been.

And many a corner we'd turn'd that just to a quarrel led, When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;

And the more I thought it over the more these memories

came,

And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind, Cf little matters betwixt us, where Betsy was good and

kind;

And these things they flash'd all through me, as you know things sometimes will,

When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every thing is still.

"But says I- "we're too far along to take another track,

And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn

back;

And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash

And so I set my teeth together, and vow'd I'd see it through.

When I came in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,

And just as I turn'd a hill-top I see the kitchen light; Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes, But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house the table was set for me-
As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I cramm'd the agreement down in my pocket as well
as I could,

And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsy she pretended to look about the house,

But she watch'd my side coat-pocket like a cat would watch a mouse;

And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,

And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper I draw'd the agreement out,

An' give it to her without a word, for she know'd what 'twas about,

And then I humm'd a little tune, but now and then a note Was bu'sted by some animal that hopp'd up in my throat.

Then Betsy she got her specks from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's
cold.

And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-
streamin' with tears,

And kiss'd me for the first time in over twenty years.

I don't know what you'll think, Sir!-I didn't come to inquire

But I pick'd up that agreement and stuff'd it in the fire; And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the

cow;

And we struck an agreement never to have another row.