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Fer a coat thet sets wal here in ole Massachusetts, Wen it gits on to Washinton, somehow askew sets. Resolves, do you say, o' the Springfield Conven

tion ? Thet's percisely the pint I was goin' to mention ; Resolves air a thing we most gen’ally keep ill, They're a cheap kind o’ dust fer the eyes o’the

people ; A parcel o' delligits jest get together An' chat fer a spell o' the crops an’ the weather, Then, comin' to order, they squabble awile An' let off the speeches they're ferful 'll spile ; Then-Resolve,—Thet we wunt hev an inch o’

slave territory; Thet President Polk's holl perceedins air very

tory; Thet the war is a damned war, an' them thet en

list in it Should hev a cravat with a dreffle tight twist in Thet the war is a war fer the spreadin' o' slavery; Thet our army desarves our best thạnks fer their

bravery ; Thet we're the original friends o' the nation, All the rest air a paltry an' base fabrication ; Thet we highly respect Messrs. A, B, an' C, An' ez deeply despise Messrs. E, F, an’ G. In this way they go to the eend o' the chapter, An' then they bust out in a kind of a raptur About their own vartoo, an' folks's stone-blindness To the men thet 'ould actilly do 'em a kindness, -The American eagle,--the Pilgrims thet landed, Till on ole Plymouth Rock they git finally stranded. Wal, the people they listen and say, 66 Thet's the

ticket; Ez fer Mexico, t'aint no great glory to lick it,

it ;

But 'twould be a darned shame to go pullin' o'

triggers To extend the aree of abusin’ the niggers.” So they march in percessions, an' git up hooraws, An’tramp thru the mud fer the good o' the cause, An' think they're a kind o’ fulfillin' the prophecies, Wen they're on’y jest changin' the holders of

offices; Ware A sot afore, B is comf’tably seated, One humbug's victorious, an' t'other defeated, Each honnable doughface gits jest wut he axes, An' the people—their annooal soft-sodder an’

taxes.

Now, to keep unimpaired all these glorious feeturs
Thet characterize morril an' reasonin' creeturs,
Thet give every paytriot all he can cram,
Thet oust the untrustworthy Presidunt Flam,
And stick honest Presidunt Sham in his place,
To the manifest gain the holl human race,
An' to some indervidgewals on’t in partickler,
Who love Public Opinion an' know how to tickle

her,-
I say thet a party with great aims like these
Must stick jest ez close ez a hive full o’ bees.
I'm willin' a man should go tollable strong
Agin wrong in the abstract, fer thet kind o’ wrong
Is ollers unpop'lar an' never gits pitied,
Because it's a crime no one never committed;
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

left yet ;)

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
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; * Fer the silver spoon born in Dermocracy'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; 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,

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

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

knees on,

Some stuffy old codger would holler out,

66 Treason ! 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 theť 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 Com

mitty. 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 depend

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',

fresh ones;

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 couldn't tell wich one, So, wutever side wipped, we'd a chance at the

plunder An' could sue fer infringin' our paytented thunder; 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 Besides, ef we did, 'twas our business alone, Fer couldn'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,

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