I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles would n't come nigh a V spot;

Although, most anywares we've ben, you need n't break no locks,

Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o' rocks.

I 'xpect I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral feeturs

O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle

creeturs,

But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded)

How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git drownded.

The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o'

pewter

Our Preudence hed, thet would n't pour (all she could du) to suit her;

Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so 's not a drop 'ould dreen out,

Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean out,

The kiver-hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an'

kiver

'ould all come down kerswosh! ez though the dam bust in a river.

Jest so 't is here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather,

An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be a layin' heads together

Ez t' how they'd mix their drink at sech a milingtary deepot,

"T would pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot.

The cons'quence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave here,

One piece o' propaty along, an' thet's the shakin' fever;

It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm one,

Nor 't aint so tiresome ez it wuz with t' other leg an' arm on;

An' it's a consolation, tu, although it doos n't pay, To hev it said you're some gret shakes in any kin'

o' way.

'T worn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin',

One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',

One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,

Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess o' hacks an' smashes.

But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,

Thet's an investment, arter all, thet may n't turn out so bad;

But somehow, wen we'd fit an' licked, I ollers found the thanks

Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks;

The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' so on,

We never gut a blasted mite o' glory ez I know on;

An' spose we hed, I wonder how you're goin' to

contrive its

Division so's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits;

Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the brav'st one,

You would n't git more 'n half enough to speak of on a grave-stun;

It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul

in 't,

An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in 't;

But glory is a kin' o' thing I sha' n't pursue no fur

der,

Coz thet's the off'cers parquisite,

jest the murder.

yourn's on'y

Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's

one

Thing in the bills we aint hed yit, an' thet's the

GLORIOUS FUN;

Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume

we

All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Monte

zumy.

I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em ;

We never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever I

come

Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it seemed a cent❜ry)

A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry,

An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' re

passes,

A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o'

glasses:

I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed in

side;

All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz

fried,

An' not a hunderd miles away frum ware this child wuz posted,

A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an'

roasted;

The on'y thing like revellin' thet ever come to me Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel's settled now; fer my part I've some doubt on 't,

't'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean out on 't;

At

any rate I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin',

The on'y chance thet's left to me is politics or

writin' ;

Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man, An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a

plan;

The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to

a T,

An' ef I lose, 't wunt hurt my ears to lodge another

flea;

So I'll set up ez can'idate fer any kin' o' office, (I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an' soffies;

Fer ez tu runnin' fer a place ware work's the time

There aint no kin' o' quality in can'idates, it's

said,

So useful ez a wooden leg, except a wooden

head;

There's nothin' aint so poppylar-(wy, it's a parfect sin

To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny's

pin ;)

Then I haint gut no princerples, an', sence I wuz knee-high,

I never did hev any gret, ez you can testify;
I'm a decided peace-man, tu, an' go agin the

war,

Fer now the holl on 't 's gone an' past, wut is there to go for?

Ef, wile you 're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should beg

To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer WOODEN LEG!