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Or who'd ha' supposed, arter sech swell an' blus

ter 'bout the lick-ary-ten-on-ye fighters they'd muster, Raised by hand on briled lightnin', ez op'lent ’z

you please In a primitive furrest o’ femmily-trees, Who'd ha' thought thet them Southuners ever 'ud

show Starns with pedigrees to 'em like theirn to the foe, Or, when the vamosin' come, ever to find Nat'ral masters in front an' mean white folks be

hind ? By ginger, ef I'd ha' known half I know now, When I wuz to Congress, I would n't, I swow, Hey let 'em cair on so high-minded an' sarsy, 'thout some show o' wut you may call vicy-varsy. To be sure, we wuz under a contrac' jes' then To be dreffle forbearin' towards Southun men; We hed to go sheers in preservin' the bellance: An' ez they seemed to feel they wuz wastin' their

tellents 'thout some un to kick, 't warn't more 'n proper,

you know,

Each should funnish his part; an' sence they found

the toe, An' we wuz n't cherubs — wal, we found the buffer, For fear thet the Compromise System should suffer.

I wun't say the plan hed n't onpleasant featurs, –
For men are perverse an' onreasonin' creaturs,
An' forgit thet in this life 't ain't likely to heppen
Their own privit fancy should ollus be cappen,

But it worked jest ez smooth ez the key of a safe, An' the gret Union bearin's played free from all

chafe. They warn't hard to suit, ef they hed their own

way, An' we (thet is, some on us) made the thing pay: 't wuz a fair give-an’-take out of Uncle Sam's heap; Ef they took wut warn't theirn, wut we give come

ez cheap; The elect gut the offices down to tide-waiter, The people took skinnin' ez mild ez a tater, Seemed to choose who they wanted tu, footed the

bills, An' felt kind o''z though they wuz havin' their

wills, Which kep’ 'em ez harmless an' cherfle ez crickets, While all we invested wuz names on the tickets : Wal, ther' 's nothin', for folks fond o' lib'ral con

sumption Free o'charge, like democ'acy tempered with gump

tion !

Now warn't thet a system wuth pains in presarvin', Where the people found jints an’ their frien's done

the carvin', Where the many done all o' their thinkin' by proxy, An' were proud on’t ez long ez 't wuz christened

Democ'cy, — Where the few let us sap all o’ Freedom's founda

tions, Ef you call it reformin' with prudence an' patience, An' were willin' Jeff's snake-egg should hetch with

the rest,

Ef you

writ " Constitootional” over the nest ? But it's all out o' kilter, ('t wuz too good to last,) An' all jes' by J. D.'s perceedin' too fast; Ef he'd on'y hung on for a month or two more, We'd ha' gut things fixed nicer 'n they hed ben

before : Afore he drawed off an' lef' all in confusion, We wuz safely entrenched in the ole Constitootion, With an outlyin', heavy-gun, casemated fort To rake all assailants, -I mean th' S. J. Court. Now I never 'll acknowledge (nut ef you should

skin me) 't wuz wise to abandon sech works to the in'my, An' let him fin' out thet wut scared him so long, Our whole line of argyments, lookin' so strong, All our Scriptur an' law, every the’ry an' fac', Wuz Quaker-guns daubed with Pro-slavery black. Why, ef the Republicans ever should git Andy Johnson or some one to lend 'em the wit An' the spunk jes' to mount Constitootion an'

Court With Columbiad guns, your real ekle-rights sort, Or drill out the spike from the ole Declaration Thet can kerry a solid shot clearn roun' creation, We'd better take maysures for shettin' up shop, An' put off our stock by a vendoo or swop.

But they wun't never dare tu; you 'll see 'em in

Edom 'fore they ventur' to go where their doctrines 'ud

lead 'em : They've ben takin' our princerples up ez we dropt

'em,

An' thought it wuz terrible 'cute to adopt 'em ;
But they 'll fin' out 'fore long thet their hope 's ben

deceivin' 'em, An' thet princerples ain't o' no good, ef you b'lieve

in 'em ; It makes 'ern tu stiff for a party to use, Where they'd ough' to be easy ʼz an ole pair o'

shoes. If we say 'n our pletform thet all men are brothers, We don't mean thet some folks ain't more so 'n

some others; An' it's wal understood thet we make a selection, An' thet brotherhood kin' o' subsides arter 'lection. The fust thing for sound politicians to larn is, Thet Truth, to dror kindly in all sorts o' harness, Mus' be kep' in the abstract, — for, come to apply

it, You ’re ept to hurt some folks's interists by it. Wal, these 'ere Republicans (some on 'em) ects Ez though gineral mexims ’ud suit speshle facts; An' there 's where we 'll nick 'em, there's where

they 'll be lost: For applyin' your princerple's wut makes it cost, An' folks don't want Fourth o' July t' interfere With the business-consarns o' the rest o' the year, No more ’n they want Sunday to pry an' to peek Into wut they are doin' the rest o' the week.

A ginooine statesman should be on his guard,
Ef he must hev beliefs, nut to b'lieve 'em tu hard;
For, ez sure ez he does, he 'll be blartin' 'em out
'thout regardin' the natur' o' man more 'n a spout,

Nor it don't ask much gumption to pick out a flaw
In a party whose leaders are loose in the jaw:
An' so in our own case I ventur' to hint
Thet we'd better nut air our perceedin's in print,
Nor pass resserlootions ez long ez your arm
Thet may, ez things heppen to turn, du us harm;
For when you've done all your real meanin' to

smother, The darned things 'll up an' mean sunthin' or

'nother. Jeff'son prob’ly meant wal with his " born free an'

ekle,”

you see ?

But it's turned out a real crooked stick in the

sekle; It's taken full eighty-odd year - don't From the pop'lar belief to root out thet idee, An', arter all, suckers on 't keep buddin' forth In the nat'lly onprincipled mind o’the North. No, never say nothin' without you 're compelled tu, An' then don't say nothin' thet you can be held tu, Nor don't leave no friction-idees layin' loose For the ign'ant to put to incend'ary use.

You know I'm a feller thet keeps a skinned eye
On the leetle events thet go skurryin' by,
Coz it's of'ner by them than by gret ones you 'll

see

Wut the p’litickle weather is likely to be.
Now I don't think the South 's more 'n begun to

be licked, But I du think, ez Jeff says, the wind-bag 's gut

pricked;

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