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But he mus' n't be hard on partickler sins,

Coz then he'll be kickin' the people's own shins; On'y look at the Demmercrats, see wut they've done

Jest simply by stickin' together like fun;
They've sucked us right into a mis'able war
Thet no one on airth aint responsible for;
They've run us a hundred cool millions in debt
(An' fer Demmercrat Horners ther's good plums
left yet);

They talk agin tayriffs, but act fer a high one,
An' so coax all parties to build up their Zion;
To the people they're ollers ez slick ez molasses,
An' butter their bread on both sides with The
Masses,

Half o' whom they've persuaded, by way of a joke,
Thet Washinton's mantelpiece fell upon Polk.

Now all o' these blessin's the Wigs might enjoy, Ef they'd gumption enough the right means to imploy ; 1

Fer the silver spoon born in Dermoc'acy's mouth. Is a kind of a scringe thet they hev to the South; Their masters can cuss 'em an' kick 'em an' wale

'em,

An' they notice it less 'an the ass did to Balaam; In this way they screw into second-rate offices Wich the slaveholder thinks 'ould substract too much off his ease;

1 That was a pithy saying of Persius, and fits our politicians without a wrinkle, - Magister artis, ingeniique largitor venter.H. W.

The file-leaders, I mean, du, fer they, by their

wiles,

Unlike the old viper, grow fat on their files.

Wal, the Wigs hev been tryin' to grab all this prey frum 'em

An' to hook this nice spoon o' good fortin' away frum 'em,

An' they might ha' succeeded, ez likely ez not,

In lickin' the Demmercrats all round the lot,

Ef it warn't thet, wile all faithful Wigs were their knees on,

Some stuffy old codger would holler out, "Trea

son!

You must keep a sharp eye on a dog thet hez bit

you once,

An' I aint agoin' to cheat my constitoounts,"

Wen every fool knows thet a man represents Not the fellers thet sent him, but them on the fence,

Impartially ready to jump either side

An' make the fust use of a turn o' the tide,

The waiters on Providunce here in the city,

Who compose wut they call a State Centerl Committy.

Constitoounts air hendy to help a man in,

But arterwards don't weigh the heft of a pin.
Wy, the people can't all live on Uncle Sam's pus,
So they've nothin' to du with 't fer better or

wus;

It's the folks thet air kind o' brought up to de

pend on 't

Thet hev any consarn in 't, an' thet is the end on 't.

Now here wuz New England ahevin' the honor
Of a chance at the Speakership showered upon

her;

Do you say, "She don't want no more Speakers, but fewer;

She's hed plenty o' them, wut she wants is a doer"?

Fer the matter o' thet, it's notorous in town

Thet her own representatives du her quite brown. But thet's nothin' to du with it; wut right hed Palfrey

To mix himself up with fanatical small fry? Warn't we gittin' on prime with our hot an' cold blowin',

Acondemnin' the war wilst we kep' it agoin'? We'd assumed with gret skill a commandin' posi

tion,

On this side or thet, no one could n't tell wich one, So, wutever side wipped, we'd a chance at the

plunder

An' could sue fer infringin' our paytented thun

der;

We were ready to vote fer whoever wuz eligible, Ef on all pints at issoo he'd stay unintelligible. Wal, sposin' we hed to gulp down our perfessions,

We were ready to come out next mornin' with fresh ones;

Besides, ef we did, 't was our business alone,

Fer could n't we du wut we would with our own?
An' ef a man can, wen pervisions hev riz so,
Eat up his own words, it's a marcy it is so.

Wy, these chaps frum the North, with back-bones to ’em, darn ’em,

'Ould be wuth more 'an Gennle Tom Thumb is to Barnum:

Ther's enough thet to office on this very plan grow,
By exhibitin' how very small a man can grow;
But an M. C. frum here ollers hastens to state he
Belongs to the order called invertebraty,
Wence some gret filologists judge primy fashy
Thet M. C. is M. T. by paronomashy;

An' these few exceptions air loosus naytury
Folks 'ould put down their quarters to stare at, like
fury.

It's no use to open the door o' success,

Ef a member can bolt so fer nothin' or less;
Wy, all o' them grand constitootional pillers
Our fore-fathers fetched with 'em over the billers,
Them pillers the people so soundly hev slep' on,
Wile to slav'ry, invasion, an' debt they were swep'

on,

Wile our Destiny higher an' higher kep' mountin' (Though I guess folks 'll stare wen she hends her account in),

Ef members in this way go kickin' agin 'em,
They wunt hev so much ez a feather left in 'em.

An', ez fer this Palfrey,1 we thought wen we'd gut him in,

He'd go kindly in wutever harness we put him in;

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"Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas." — H. W.

Supposin' we did know thet he wuz a peace man? Doos he think he can be Uncle Sammle's policeman, An' wen Sam gits tipsy an' kicks up a riot,

Lead him off to the lockup to snooze till he's quiet?

Wy, the war is a war thet true paytriots can bear, ef

It leads to the fat promised land of a tayriff;
We don't go an' fight it, nor aint to be driv on,
Nor Demmercrats nuther, thet hev wut to live on;
Ef it aint jest the thing thet 's well pleasin' to God,
It makes us thought highly on elsewhere abroad;
The Rooshian black eagle looks blue in his eerie
An' shakes both his heads wen he hears o' Mon-

teery;

In the Tower Victory sets, all of a fluster,

An' reads, with locked doors, how we won Cherry

Buster;

An' old Philip Lewis

here

thet come an' kep' school

Fer the mere sake o' scorin' his ryalist ruler
On the tenderest part of our kings in futuro
Hides his crown underneath an old shut in his
bureau,

Breaks off in his brags to a suckle o' merry kings,
How he often hed hided young native Amerrikins,
An' turnin' quite faint in the midst of his fooleries,
Sneaks down stairs to bolt the front door o' the
Tooleries.1

It

1 Jortin is willing to allow of other miracles besides those recorded in Holy Writ, and why not of other prophecies? is granting too much to Satan to suppose him, as divers of the

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