So 's 't when you come to strike, it ain't no gret to wish ye j'y on,

An' hurts the hammer 'z much or more ez wut it doos the iron,

Jeff don't allow no jawin'-sprees for three months at a stretch,

Knowin' the ears long speeches suits air mostly made to metch;

He jes' ropes in your tonguey chaps an' reg'lar teninch bores

An' lets 'em play at Congress, ef they 'll du it with closed doors;

So they ain't no more bothersome than ef we'd took an' sunk 'em,

An' yit enj'y th' exclusive right to one another's Buncombe

'thout doin' nobody no hurt, an' 'thout its costin' nothin',

Their pay bein' jes' Confedrit funds, they findin' keep an' clothin';

They taste the sweets o' public life, an' plan their little jobs,

An' suck the Treash'ry, (no gret harm, for it's ez dry ez cobs,)

An' go thru all the motions jest ez safe ez in a

prison,

An' hev their business to themselves, while Buregard hez hisn:

Ez long 'z he gives the Hessians fits, committees can't make bother

'bout whether 't 's done the legle way or whether 't 's done the tother.

An' I tell you you've gut to larn thet War ain't one long teeter

Betwixt I wan' to an' 'Twun't du, debatin' like a

skeetur

Afore he lights,

millin',

all is, to give the other side a

An' arter thet 's done, th' ain't no resk but wut the lor 'll be willin';

No metter wut the guv'ment is, ez nigh ez I can

hit it,

A lickin''s constitooshunal, pervidin' We don't git it.

Jeff don't stan' dilly-dallyin', afore he takes a

fort,

(With no one in,) to git the leave o' the nex' Soopreme Court,

Nor don't want forty-❜leven weeks o' jawin' an' expoundin',

To prove a nigger hez a right to save him, ef he 's drowndin';

Whereas ole Abe 'ud sink afore he'd let a darkie

boost him,

Ef Taney should n't come along an' hed n't interdooced him.

It ain't your twenty millions thet 'll ever block Jeff's game,

But one Man thet wun't let 'em jog jest ez he's takin' aim:

Your numbers they may strengthen ye or weaken ye, ez 't heppens

They 're willin' to be helpin' hands or wuss'n-nothin' cap'ns.

I've chose my side, an' 't ain't no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets,

Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes'

bagnets;

I've made my ch'ice, an' ciphered out, from all I see an' heard,

Th' ole Constitooshun never 'd git her decks for action cleared,

Long 'z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to go

Coz they can't seem to git their grub no otherways

than so,

An' let your bes' men stay to home coz they wun't show ez talkers,

Nor can't be hired to fool ye an' sof'-soap ye at a

caucus,

Long 'z ye set by Rotashun more 'n ye do by folks's merits,

Ez though experunce thriv by change o' sile, like corn an' kerrits,

Long 'z you allow a critter's "claims " coz, spite o' shoves an' tippins,

He's kep' his private pan jest where 't would ketch mos' public drippins',

Long 'z A. 'll turn tu an' grin' B. 's exe, ef B. 'll help him grin' hisn,

(An' thet's the main idee by which your leadin' men hev risen,)

Long 'z you let ary exe be groun', 'less 't is to cut the weasan'

O' sneaks thet dunno till they 're told wut is an' wut ain't Treason,

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 heard on,

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 kebbage into brain,

An' ary man thet 's pop'lar 's fit to drive a lightnin'-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 streetcars an' yer 'busses,

With ollers room for jes' one more o' your spiledin-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.

H. W.

Jes heavy 'nough to turn a scale thet 's doubtfle the

wrong way,

An' make their nat'ral arsenal o' bein' nasty

Long 'z 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

you see.

Yourn, (ez I 'xpec' to be nex' spring,)

B., MARKISS O' BIG BOOSY.

No. IV.

A MESSAGE OF JEFF DAVIS IN SECRET SESSION

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