I made varses in the country talk all the same, and sent 'em to editors, but they couldn' see nothin' in 'em.

Writ back that I'd better larn to spell.

When I could a-spelt down any one of 'em the best day they ever seed!" "I'd like to see some of your verses," said Albert.
"I thought maybe you mout," and with that he took out a soiled blue paper on which was written in blue ink some verses.
"Now, you see, I could spell right ef I wanted to, but I noticed that Mr.
Burns had writ his Scotch like it was spoke, and so I thought I'd write my country talk by the same rule." And the picturesque Inhabitant, standing there in the morning light in his trapper's wolf-skin cap, from the apex of which the tail of the wolf hung down his back, read aloud the verses which he had written in the Hoosier dialect, or, as he called it, the country talk of the Wawbosh.

In transcribing them, I have inserted one or two apostrophes, for the poet always complained that though he could spell like sixty, he never could mind his stops.
[Illustration: THE INHABITANT.] WHAT DUMB CRITTERS SAYS The cat-bird poorty nigh splits his throat, Ef nobody's thar to see.
The cat-bird poorty nigh splits his throat, But ef I say, "Sing out, green coat," Why, "I can't" and "I shan't," says he.
I 'low'd the crows mout be afeard Of a man made outen straw.
I 'low'd the crows mout be afeard, But laws! they warn't the least bit skeered, They larfed out, "Haw! haw-haw!" A long-tail squir'l up in th' top Of that air ellum tree, A long-tail squir'l up in th' top, A lis'nin' to the acorns drop, Says, "Sh! sh-sh!" at me.
The big-eyed owl a-settin' on a limb With nary a wink nur nod, The big-eyed owl a-settin' on a limb, Is a-singin' a sort of a solemn hymn Of "Hoo! hoo-ah!" at God.
Albert could not resist a temptation to smile at this last line.
"I know, stranger.

You think a owl can't sing to God.