The birds are here, for all the season's late;

They take the sun's height an' don' never wait:

Soon 'z he officially declares it 's spring Their light hearts lift 'em on a north'ard wing,

An' th' ain't an acre, fur ez you can hear, Can't by the music tell the time o' year; But thet white dove Carliny scared away, Five year ago, jes' sech an Aprul day; Peace, that we hoped 'ould come an' build last year

An' coo by every housedoor, is n't here, No, nor wun't never be, for all our jaw, Till we 're ez brave in pol'tics ez in war! O Lord, ef folks wuz made so 's 't they could see

The begnet-pint there is to an idee !

[Sensation.]

My frien's, you never gethered from my mouth,

No, nut one word ag'in the South ez South, Nor th' ain't a livin' man, white, brown, nor black,

Gladder 'n wut I should be to take 'em back;

But all I ask of Uncle Sam is fust

To write up on his door, "No goods on trust" ;

[Cries o' "Thet 's the ticket!"] Give us cash down in ekle laws for all, An' they'll be snug inside afore nex' fall. Give wut they ask, an' we shell hev Jamaker,

Wuth minus some consid'able an acre; Give wut they need, an' we shell git 'fore long

A nation all one piece, rich, peacefle, strong;

Make 'em Amerikin, an' they'll begin To love their country ez they loved their sin;

Let 'em stay Southun, an' you've kep' a

sore

Ready to fester ez it done afore.

No mortle man can boast of perfic' vision,
But the one moleblin' thing is Indecision,
An' th' ain't no futur' for the man nor state
Thet out of j-u-s-t can't spell great.
Some folks 'ould call thet reddikle; do
you?

'Twas commonsense afore the war wuz

thru;

Thet loaded all our guns an' made 'em speak

So 's 't Europe heared 'em clearn acrost the creek;

"They're drivin' o' their spiles down now," sez she,

"To the hard grennit o' God's fust idee;
Ef they reach thet, Democ'cy need n't fear
The tallest airthquakes we can git up here."
Some call 't insultin' to ask ary pledge,
An' say 't will only set their teeth on edge,
But folks you've jest licked, fur 'z I ever

To make a man a Man an' let him be.

[Gret applause.]

Ez for their l'yalty, don't take a goad to 't, But I do' want to block their only road to 't

By lettin' 'em believe thet they can git Mor 'n wut they lost, out of our little wit: I tell ye wut, I'm 'fraid we 'll drif' to leeward

'thout we can put more stiffenin' into Seward;

He seems to think Columby 'd better ect Like a scared widder with a boy stiffnecked

Thet stomps an' swears he wun't come in to supper;

She mus' set up for him, ez weak ez
Tupper,

Keepin' the Constitootion on to warm,
Tell he 'll eccept her 'pologies in forin:
The neighbors tell her he 's a cross-grained

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; [Laughter.]

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? 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 [Profoun' sensation.] Was 't he thet shou'dered all them million guns?

texes.

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?
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 reason

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 sov

ereign;

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.] the same superl'tive

Why, then, for jes'

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 dea

con,

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; Then dogs an' shepherds, after much hard dammin',

[Groan from Deac'n G.]

Turned tu an' give 'em a tormented lam

min',

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)

"Ask Mac ef tryin' to set the fence
Warn't like bein' rid upon a rail on 't,
Headin' your party with a sense
O' bein' tipjint in the tail on 't,
An' tryin' to think thet, on the whole,
You kin' o' quasi own your soul
When Belmont 's gut a bill o' sale on 't?
[Three cheers for Grant and Sherman.]

"Come peace, I sposed thet folks 'ould like

Their pol'tics done ag'in by proxy
Give their noo loves the bag an' strike
A fresh trade with their reg'lar doxy;

But the drag 's broke, now slavery's gone,
An' there's gret resk they'll blunder on,
Ef they ain't stopped, to real Democ'cy.

"We 've gut an awful row to hoe
In this 'ere job o' reconstructin';
Folks dunno skurce which way to go,

Where th' ain't some boghole to be ducked in;

But one thing's clear; there is a crack,
Ef we pry hard, 'twixt white an' black,
Where the ole makebate can be tucked in.

"No white man sets in airth's broad aisle
Thet I ain't willin' t' own ez brother,
An' ef he 's heppened to strike ile,
I dunno, fin❜ly, but I'd ruther;
An' Paddies, long 'z they vote all right,
Though they ain't jest a natʼral white,
I hold one on 'em good 'z another.

[Applause.]

"Wut is there lef' I'd like to know,
Ef 't ain't the defference o' color,
To keep up self-respec' an' show
The human natur' of a fullah?
Wut good in bein' white, onless
It's fixed by law, nut lef' to guess,
We're a heap smarter an' they duller?

"Ef we're to hev our ekle rights,
't wun't du to 'low no competition;
Th' ole debt doo us for bein' whites
Ain't safe onless we stop th' emission
O'these noo notes, whose specie base
Is human natur', 'thout no trace
O' shape, nor color, nor condition.

[Continood applause.]

"So fur I'd writ an' could n' jedge
Aboard wut boat I'd best take pessige,
My brains all mincemeat, 'thout no edge
Upon 'em more than tu a sessige,
But now it seems ez though I see
Sunthin' resemblin' an idee,

Sence Johnson's speech an' veto message.

"I like the speech best, I confess,
The logic, preudence, an' good taste on 't,
An' it's so mad, I ruther guess
There's some dependence to be placed on' t;
[Laughter.]

It's narrer, but 'twixt you an' me,
Out o' the allies o' J. D.
A temp'ry party can be based on 't.

"Oh, did it seem 'z ef Providunce
Could ever send a second Tyler?
To see the South all back to once,
Reapin' the spiles o' the Freesiler,
Is cute ez though an ingineer
Should claim th' old iron for his sheer
Coz 't was himself that bust the biler!"
[Gret laughter.]

Thet tells the story! Thet's wut we shall git

By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit;
For the day never comes when it'll du
To kick off Dooty like a worn-out shoe.
I seem to hear a whisperin' in the air,
A sighin' like, of unconsoled despair,
Thet comes from nowhere an' from every-
where,

An' seems to say, "Why died we? warn't it, then,

To settle, once for all, thet men wuz men? Oh, airth's sweet cup snetched from us barely tasted,

The grave's real chill is feelin' life wuz wasted!

Oh, you we lef', long-lingerin' et the door, Lovin' you best, coz we loved Her the

more,

Thet Death, not we, had conquered, we should feel

Ef she upon our memory turned her heel,
An' unregretful throwed us all away
To flaunt it in a Blind Man's Holiday!"

My frien's, I've talked nigh on to long enough.

I hain't no call to bore ye coz ye're tough; My lungs are sound, an' our own v'ice delights

Our ears, but even kebbige-heads hez rights.

It's the las' time thet I shell e'er address ye, But you'll soon fin' some new tormentor: bless ye!

[Tumult'ous applause and cries of "Go on!" "Don't stop ! '']