An' thet we fit thru all thet dreffle war
Jes' for his private glory an' eclor;
"Nobody ain't a Union man," sez he,

""thout he agrees, thru thick an' thin, with me;
War n't Andrew Jackson's 'nitials jes' like mine?
An' ain't thet sunthin like a right divine
To cut up ez kentenkerous ez I please,

An' treat your Congress like a nest o' fleas?"
Wal, I expec' the People would n' care, if
The question now wuz techin' bank or tariff,
But I conclude they 've 'bout made up their min'
This ain't the fittest time to go it blin',
Nor these ain't metters thet with pol'tics swings,
But goes 'way down amongst the roots o' things;
Coz Sumner talked o' whitewashin' one day
They wun't let four years' war be throwed away.
"Let the South hev her rights? They say,
"Thet's you!

But nut greb hold of other folks's tu."
Who owns this country, is it they or Andy?
Leastways it ough' to be the People and he;
Let him be senior pardner, ef he's so,
But let them kin' o' smuggle in ez Co;
Did he diskiver it? Consid’ble numbers
Think thet the job wuz taken by Columbus.
Did he set tu an' make it wut it is?

[Laughter.]

Ef so, I guess the One-Man-power hez riz.
Did he put thru the rebbles, clear the docket,
An' pay th' expenses out of his own pocket?
Ef thet's the case, then everythin' I exes
Is t' hev him come an' pay my ennooal texes.
[Profoun' sensation.]

Was 't he thet shou'dered all them million
Did he lose all the fathers, brothers, sons?
Is this ere pop'lar gov'ment thet we run
A kin' o' sulky, made to kerry one?

guns ?

An' is the country goin' to knuckle down
To hev Smith sort their letters 'stid o' Brown?
Who wuz the 'Nited States 'fore Richmon' fell?
Wuz the South needfle their full name to spell?
An' can't we spell it in thet short-han' way
Till th' underpinnin' 's settled so 's to stay?
Who cares for the Resolves of '61,

Thet tried to coax an airthquake with a bun?
Hez act❜ly nothin' taken place sence then
To larn folks they must hendle fects like men?
Ain't this the true p'int? Did the Rebs accep' 'em?
Ef nut, whose fault is 't thet we hev n't kep 'em?
War n't there two sides? an' don't it stend to rea-

son

Thet this week's 'Nited States ain't las' week's

treason?

When all these sums is done, with nothin' missed, An' nut afore, this school 'll be dismissed.

I knowed ez wal ez though I'd seen 't with eyes
Thet when the war wuz over copper 'd rise,
An' thet we'd hev a rile-up in our kettle

't would need Leviathan's whole skin to settle :
I thought 't would take about a generation
'fore we could wal begin to be a nation,

But I allow I never did imegine

't would be our Pres'dunt thet 'ould drive a wedge

in

To keep the split from closin' ef it could,

An' healin' over with new wholesome wood;

For th' ain't no chance o' healin' while they think
Thet law an' gov'ment 's only printer's ink;

I mus' confess I thank him for discoverin'
The curus way in which the States are sovereign;
They ain't nut quite enough so to rebel,

But, when they fin' it's costly to raise h—,

[A groan from Deac'n G.]

Why, then, for jes' the same superl❜tive reason,
They're 'most too much so to be tetched for treason;
They can't go out, but ef they somehow du,
Their sovereignty don't noways go out tu;
The State goes out, the sovereignty don't stir,
But stays to keep the door ajar for her.
He thinks secession never took 'em out,

An' mebby he's correc', but I misdoubt;

Ef they war'n't out, then why, 'n the name o' sin, Make all this row 'bout lettin' of 'em in?

In law, p'r'aps nut; but there's a diffurence,

ruther,

Betwixt your mother-'n-law an' real mother,

[Derisive cheers.] An' I, for one, shall wish they'd all ben som'eres, Long 'z U. S. Texes are sech reg'lar comers. But, O my patience! must we wriggle back Into th' ole crooked, pettyfoggin' track, When our artil'ry-wheels a road hev cut Stret to our purpose ef we keep the rut? War's jes' dead waste excep' to wipe the slate Clean for the cyph'rin' of some nobler fate.

[Applause.]

Ez for dependin' on their oaths an' thet,

't wun't bind 'em mor 'n the ribbin roun' my het;
I heared a fable once from Othniel Starns,
That pints it slick ez weathercocks do barns:
Onct on a time the wolves hed certing rights
Inside the fold; they used to sleep there nights.
An', bein' cousins o' the dogs, they took
Their turns et watchin', reg'lar ez a book;
But somehow, when the dogs hed gut asleep,
Their love o' mutton beat their love o' sheep,
Till gradilly the shepherds come to see
Things war'n't agoin' ez they'd ough' to be;
So they sent off a deacon to remonstrate

Along 'th the wolves an' urge 'em to go on straight;

They did n' seem to set much by the deacon,
Nor preachin' did n' cow 'em, nut to speak on;
Fin'ly they swore thet they'd go out an' stay,
An' hev their fill o' mutton every day;

min',

Then dogs an' shepherds, after much hard dam-
[Groan from Deac'n G.]
Turned tu an' give 'em a tormented lammin',
An' sez, "Ye sha' n't go out, the murrain rot ye,
To keep us wastin' half our time to watch ye!"
But then the question come, How live together
'thout losin' sleep, nor nary yew nor wether?
Now there wuz some dogs (noways wuth their

keep)

Thet sheered their cousins' tastes an' sheered the

sheep;

They sez, "Be gin'rous, let 'em swear right in,

An', ef they backslide, let 'em swear ag'in;

Jes' let 'em put on sheep-skins whilst they're swearin';

To ask for more 'ould be beyond all bearin'." "Be gin'rous for yourselves, where you're to

pay,

Thet's the best prectice," sez a shepherd gray; "Ez for their oaths they wun't be wuth a button, Long 'z you don't cure 'em o' their taste for mut

ton;

Th' ain't but one solid way, howe'er you puzzle: Tell they're convarted, let 'em wear a muzzle.” [Cries of "Bully for you! "]

I've noticed thet each half-baked scheme's abet

ters

Are in the hebbit o' producin' letters
Writ by all sorts o' never-heared-on fellers,
'bout ez oridge'nal ez the wind in bellers;
I've noticed, tu, it's the quack med'cine gits
(An' needs) the grettest heaps o' stiffykits;

[Two pothekeries goes out.]

Now, sence I lef' off creepin' on all fours,
I hain't ast no man to endorse my course;
It's full ez cheap to be your own endorser,
An' ef I've made a cup, I 'll fin' the saucer;
But I've some letters here from t' other side,
An' them's the sort thet helps me to decide;
Tell me for wut the copper-comp'nies hanker,
An' I'll tell you jest where it's safe to anchor.

[Faint hiss.]

Fus'ly the Hon'ble B. O. Sawin writes
Thet for a spell he could n't sleep o' nights,