On tother hand, his brother South
Lived very much from hand to mouth. 
Played gentleman, nursed dainty hands,
Borrowed North’s money on his lands,
And culled his morals and his graces
From cock-pits, bar-rooms, fights, and races;
His sole work in the farming line
Was keeping droves of long-legged swine,
Which brought great bothers and expenses
To North in looking after fences,
And, when they happened to break through,
Cost him both time and temper too,
For South insisted it was plain
He ought to drive them home again,
And North consented to the work
Because he loved to buy cheap pork.

Meanwhile, South’s swine increasing fast;
His farm became too small at last;
So, having thought the matter over,
And feeling bound to live in clover
And never pay the clover’s worth,
He said one day to Brother North:—­

’Our families are both increasing,
And, though we labor without ceasing,
Our produce soon will be too scant
To keep our children out of want;
They who wish fortune to be lasting
Must be both prudent and forecasting;
We soon shall need more land; a lot
I know, that cheaply can be bo’t;
You lend the cash, I’ll buy the acres. 
And we’ll be equally partakers.’

Poor North, whose Anglo-Saxon blood
Gave him a hankering after mud,
Wavered a moment, then consented,
And, when the cash was paid, repented;
To make the new land worth a pin,
Thought he, it must be all fenced in,
For, if South’s swine once get the run on ’t
No kind of farming can be done on ’t;
If that don’t suit the other side,
‘Tis best we instantly divide.’

But somehow South could ne’er incline
This way or that to run the line,
And always found some new pretence
’Gainst setting the division fence;
At last he said:—­
                 ’For peace’s sake,
Liberal concessions I will make;
Though I believe, upon my soul,
I’ve a just title to the whole,
I’ll make an offer which I call
Gen’rous,—­we’ll have no fence at all;
Then both of us, whene’er we choose,
Can take what part we want to use;
If you should chance to need it first,
Pick you the best, I’ll take the worst.’

‘Agreed!’ cried North; thought he, This fall
With wheat and rye I’ll sow it all;
In that way I shall get the start,
And South may whistle for his part. 
So thought, so done, the field was sown,
And, winter haying come and gone,
Sly North walked blithely forth to spy,
The progress of his wheat and rye;
Heavens, what a sight! his brother’s swine
Had asked themselves all out to dine;
Such grunting, munching, rooting, shoving,
The soil seemed all alive and moving,
As for his grain, such work they’d made on ’t,
He couldn’t spy a single blade on ’t.

Off in a rage he rushed to South,
’My wheat and rye’—­grief choked his mouth: 
‘Pray don’t mind me,’ said South, ’but plant
All of the new land that you want;’
‘Yes, but your hogs,’ cried North;