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Long 'z ye give out commissions to a lot o' peddlin'
drones Thet trade in whiskey with their men an' skin 'em
to their bones, Long 'z ye sift out safe" canderdates thet no one
ain't afeard on Coz they 're so thund'rin' eminent for bein' never
An' hain't no record, ez it's called, for folks to
pick a hole in, Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in, An' it wuz ostentashun to be showin' on 't about, When half his feller-citizens contrive to du with
out, Long 'z you suppose your votes can turn biled keb
bage into brain, An' ary man thet 's pop'lar 's fit to drive a light
nin'-train, — Long 'z you believe democracy means I'm ez good
ez you be, An' that a feller from the ranks can't be a knave
or booby, Long’z Congress seems purvided, like yer street
cars an' yer busses, With ollers room for jes' one more o' your spiled
in-bakin' cusses, Dough 'thout the emptins of a soul, an' yit with
means about 'em (Like essence-peddlers 1) thet 'll make folks long
to be without 'em,
1 A rustic euphemism for the American variety of the Mephitis.
Jes heavy 'nough to turn a scale thet 's doubtfle the
wrong way, An' make their nat'ral arsenal o' bein' nasty
pay, Long ʼz them things last, (an' I don't see no gret
signs of improvin',) I sha'n't up stakes, not hardly yit, nor 't would n't
pay for movin'; For, 'fore you lick us, it 'll be the long'st day ever
Yourn, (ez I 'xpec' to be nex' spring,)
B., MARKISS O' Big Boosy.
A MESSAGE OF JEFF DAVIS IN SECRET
Conjecturally reported by H. BIGLOW
TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
JAALAM, 10th March, 1862. GENTLEMEN, My leisure has been so entirely occupied with the hitherto fruitless endeavour to decypher the Runick inscription whose fortunate discovery I mentioned in my last communication, that I have not found time to discuss, as I had intended, the great problem of what we are to do with slavery, – a topick on which the publick mind in this place is at present more than ever agitated. What my wishes and hopes are I need not say, but for safe conclusions I do not conceive that we are yet in possession of facts enough on which to bottom them with certainty. Acknowledging the hand of Providence, as I do, in all events, I am sometimes inclined to think that they are wiser than we, and am willing to wait till we have made this continent once more a place where freemen can live in security and honour, before assuming any further responsibility. This is the view taken by my neighbour Habakkuk Sloansure, Esq., the president of our bank, whose opinion in the practical affairs of life has great weight with me, as I have generally found it to be justified by the event, and whose counsel, had I followed it, would have saved me from an unfortunate investment of a considerable part of the painful economies of half a century in the Northwest-Passage Tunnel. After a somewhat aninnated discussion with this gentleman, a few days since, I expanded, on the audi alteram partem principle, something which he happened to say by way of illustration, into the following fable.
Once on a time there was a pool
Now in this Abbey of Theleme,
To call a meeting there and then.
Old croakers, deacons of the mire,
But vain was all their hoarsest bass,
“ Lord knows,” protest the polliwogs,
Pray, wait awhile, until you know
“Yo," piped the party of reform,
Fate holds her best gifts till we show
The thing was done, the tails were cropped,
From lower to the higher next,