Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so,
But, ef the public think I'm wrong,
I wunt deny but wut I be so,—

An', fact, it don't smell very strong;
My mind's tu fair to lose its balance
An' say wich party hez most sense;
There may be folks o' greater talence
Thet can't set stiddier on the fence.

I'm an eclectic; ez to choosin'

'Twixt this an' thet, I'm plaguy lawth;
I leave a side thet looks like losin',
But (wile there's doubt) I stick to both;
I stan' upon the Constitution,

Ez preudunt statesmun say, who've planned

A way to git the most profusion

O' chances ez to ware they'll stand.

Ez fer the war, I go agin it,

I mean to say I kind o' du'

Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it,

The best way wuz to fight it thru ;
Not but wut abstract war is horrid,
I sign to thet with all my heart,-
But civlyzation doos git forrid

Sometimes upon a powder-cart.

About thet darned Proviso matter

I never hed a grain o' doubt,

Nor I aint one my sense to scatter
So's no one couldn't pick it out;
My love fer North an' South is equil,
So I'll jest answer plump an' frank,
No matter wut may be the sequil,-
Yes, Sir, I am agin a Bank.

Ez to the answerin' o' questions,
I'm an off ox at bein' druv,
Though I aint one thet ary test shuns
'll give our folks a helpin' shove ;
Kind o' promiscoous I go it

Fer the holl country, an' the ground
I take, ez nigh ez I can show it,
Is pooty gen'ally all round.

I don't appruve o' givin' pledges;
You'd ough' to leave a feller free,
An' not go knockin' out the wedges
To ketch his fingers in the tree ;
Pledges air awfle breachy cattle

Thet preudunt farmers don't turn out,-
Ez long'z the people git their rattle,
Wut is there fer m' to grout about?

Ez to the slaves, there's no confusion
In my idees consarnin' them,-
I think they air an Institution,
A sort of-yes, jest so,-ahem:

Do I own any? Of my merit

On thet pint you yourself may jedge;

All is, I never drink no sperit,

Nor I haint never signed no pledge.

Ez to my principles, I glory

In hevin' nothin' o' the sort;
I aint a Wig, I aint a Tory,

I'm jest a candidate, in short;
Thet's fair an' square an' parpendicler,
But, ef the Public cares a fig
To hev' me an❜thin' in particler,
Wy, I'm a kind o' peri-wig.

P. S.

Ez we're a sort o' privateerin',

O' course, you know, it's sheer an' sheer, An' there is sutthin' wuth your hearin' I'll mention in your privit ear ; Ef you git me inside the White House, Your head with ile I'll kin' o''nint By gittin' you inside the Lighthouse

Down to the eend o' Jaalam Pint.

An' ez the North hez took to brustlin'
At bein' scrouged frum off the roost,
I'll tell ye wut'll save all tusslin'

An' give our side a harnsome boost.-
Tell 'em thet on the Slavery question
I'm RIGHT, although to speak I'm lawth;
This gives you a safe pint to rest on,

An' leaves me frontin' South by North.

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand:
'Hark ye,' said he, ''tis an old story this
About the crows !'-'I don't know what it is,'
Replied his friend.—'No! I'm surprised at that,
Where I come from it is the common chat :

But you
shall hear an old affair indeed!
And that it happen'd they all agreed.
Not to detain you from a thing so strange
A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.'
'Impossible !'-'Nay, but it is really true;

I have it from good hands, and so may you.'
'From whose, I pray?' So, having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.
'Sir, did you tell?'—(relating the affair)—
'Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows, not three.' Resolved to trace so wond'rous an event,

Whip to the third the virtuoso went.

'Sir,' and so forth,- Why, yes; the thing in fact, Though, in regard to number, not exact?'

'Where may I find him?'-' Why, in such a place.'

Away goes he, and having found him out,

Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.'

Then to his last informant he referr'd,

And begg'd to know if true what he had heard.

'Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow?'-' Not I.' Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one And here, I find, all comes at last to none ! 'Did you say nothing of a crow at all?' 'Crow-crow, perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over.' 'And pray, Sir, what was't?' 'Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, Something that was as black, Sir, as a crow!'

THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR.

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,
Who was esteem'd a mighty wit,
Upon the strength of a chance hit
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes
In bullying, bantering, brow-beating,
Ridiculing, and maltreating,
Women or other timid folks,

In a late cause resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer-one,
Who, by his uncouth look and gait,
Appear'd expressly meant by Fate
For being quizz'd and play'd upon.