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An' Uncle Sam I reverence,
Partic'larly his pockets.
I du believe in any plan
O'levyin' the taxes,
I git jest wut I axes:
Because it kind o'rouses
Our quiet custom-houses.
I du believe it's wise an' good
To sen' out furrin missions, Thet is, on sartin understood An' orthydox conditions ;
;I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann.,
Nine thousan' more fer outfit, An' me to recommend a man
The place 'ould jest about fit.
I du believe in special ways
O’ prayin' an' convartin'; The bread comes back in many days,
An' buttered, tu, fer sartin ; I mean in preyin' till one busts
On wut the party chooses, An' in con vartin' public trusts
To very privit uses.
I du believe hard coin the stuff
Fer 'lectioneers to spout on; The people's ollers soft enough
To make hard money out on ; Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,
An' gives a good-sized junk to all, I don't care how hard inoney is,
Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.
I du believe with all my soul
In the gret Press's freedom,
An' in the traces lead 'em;
At my fat contracts squintin',
Inter the govment printin'!
I du believe thet I should give
Wut's his'n unto Cæsar,
Frum him my bread an' cheese air;
Doth bear his superscription,
An' things o' thet description.
I ưu believe in prayer an' praise
To him that hez the grantin'
But most of all in CANTIN';
This lays all thought o'sin to rest,-
But 0, I du in interest.
I du believe in bein' this
Or thet, ez it may happen
To ketch the people nappin';
My preudunt course is steadied,
I scent wich pays the best, an' then
Go into it baldheaded.
I du believe thet holdin' slaves
Comes nat'ral tu a Presidunt,
To hev a wal-broke precedunt;
I couldn't ax with no face,
Th’unrizzest kind o' doughface.
I du believe wutever trash
'll keep the people in blindness,
Right inter brotherly kindness,
Air good-will's strongest magnets,
Must be druy in with bagnets.
In short, I firmly du believe
In Humbug generally,
To hev a solid vally;
In pasturs sweet heth led me,
To feed ez they hev fed me.
[I subjoin here another passage from my before-mentioned discourse.
“ Wonderful, to him that has eyes to see it rightly, is the newspaper. To me, for example, sitting on tho critical front bench of the pit, in my study here in Jaalam, the advent of my weekly journal is as that of a strolling theatre, or rather of a puppet-show, on whose stage, narrow as it is, the tragedy, comedy, and farce of life are played in little. Behold the whole huge earth sent to me hebdomadally in a brown-paper wrapper!
" Hither, to my obscure corner, by wind or steam, on horseback or dromedary-back, in the pouch of the Indian runner, or clicking over the magnetic wires, troop all the famous performers from the four quarters of the globe. Looked at from a point of criticism, tiny puppets they seem all, as the editor sets up his booth upon my desk and officiates as showman. Now I can truly see how little and transitory is life. The earth appears almost as a drop of vinegar, on which the solar microscope of the imagination must be brought to bear in order to make out any thing distinctly. That animalcule there, in the peajacket, is Louis Philippe, just landed on the coast of England. That other, in the gray surtout and cocked hat, is Napoleon Bonaparte Smith, assuring France that she need apprehend no interference from him in the present alarming juncture. At that spot, where you seem to see a speck of something in motion, is an immense massmeeting. Look sharper, and you will see a mite brandishing his mandibles in an excited manner. That is the great Mr. Soandso, defining his position amid tumultuous and irrepressible cheers. That infinitesimal creature, upon whom some score of others, as minute as he, are gazing in open-mouthed admiration, is a famous philosopher, expounding to a select audience their capacity for the Infinite. That scarce discernible pufflet of smoke and dust is a revolution. That speck there is a reformer, just arranging the lever with which he is to move the world. And lo, there creeps forward the shadow of a skeleton that blows one breath between its grinning teeth, and all our distinguished actors are whisked off the slippery stage into the dark Beyond.
“ Yes, the little show-box has its solemner suggestions. Now and then we catch a glimpse of a grim old man,
who lays down a scythe and hour-glass in the corner while he shifts the scenes. There, too, in the dim background, a weird shape is ever delving. Sometimes he leans upon his mattock, and gazes, as a coach whirls by, bearing the newly married on their wedding jaunt, or, glances carelessly at a babe brought home from christening. Suda denly (for the scene grows larger and larger as we look) a bony hand snatches back a performer in the midst of his part, and him, whom yesterday two infinities (past and future) would not suffice, a handful of dust is enough to cover and silence forever. Nay, we see the same fleshless fingers opening to clutch the showman himself,
not without a shudder, that they are lying in wait for spectator also.
" Think of it: for three dollars a year I buy a season. ticket to this great Globe Theatre, for which God would write the dramas (only that we like farces, spectacles, and the tragedies of Apollyon better), whose scene-shifter is Time, and whose curtain is rung down by Death.
“Such thoughts will occur to me sometimes as I am tearing off the wrapper of my newspaper.
Then suddenly that otherwise too often vacant sheet becomes invested for me with a strange kind of awe. Look! deaths and marriages, notices of inventions, discoveries, and books, lists of promotions, of killed, wounded, and missing, news of fires, accidents, of sudden wealth and as sudden poverty ;--I hold in my hand the ends of myriad invisible electric conductors, along which tremble the joys, sorrows, wrongs, triumphs, hopes, and despairs of as many men and women everywhere. So that upon that mood of mind which seems to isolate me from mankind as a spectator of their puppet-pranks, another supervenes, in which I feel that I, too, unknown and unheard of, am yet