I could ha' pinted to a man thet wuz, I guess, a peg Higher than him,—a soger, tu, an' with a wooden leg; But every day with more an' more o' Taylor zeal I'm burnin', Seein' wich way the tide thet sets to office is aturnin' Wy, into Bellers's we notched the votes down ou three sticks, "Twuz Birdofredum one, Cass aught, an' Taylor twenty-six, An' bein' the on'y canderdate thet wuz upon the ground, They said 'twuz no more'n right thet I should pay the drinks all round; Ef I'd expected sech a trick, I wouldn't ha' cut my foot By goin' an' votin' fer myself like a consumed coot; It didn't make no diff'rence, though; I wish I may be cust, Ef Bellers wuzn't slim enough to say he wouldn't trust! Another pint thet influences the minds o' sober jedges Is thet the Gin'ral hezn't gut tied hand an' foot with pledges; He hezn't told ye wut he is, an' so there aint no knowin' But wut he may turn out to be the best there is agoin'; This, at the on'y spot thet pinched, the shoe directly eases, Coz every one is free to 'xpect percisely wut he pleases: I want free-trade; you don't; the Gin'ral isn't bound to neither ; I vote my way; you, yourn; an' both air sooted to a T there. Ole Rough an' Ready, tu, 's a Wig, but without bein' ultry (He's like a holsome hayinday, thet's warm, but isn't sultry); He's jest wut I should call myself, a kin' o' scratch, ez 'tware, Thet aint exacly all a wig nor wholly your own hair; I've ben a Wig three weeks myself, jest o' this mod'rate sort, An' don't find them an' Demmercrats so different ez I thought; They both act pooty much alike, an' push an' scrouge an' cus; They're like two pickpockets in league fer Uncle Samwell's pus; Each takes a side, an' then they squeeze the old man in between 'em, Turn all his pockets wrong side out anʼquick ez lightnin' clean 'em; To nary one on'em I'd trust a secon'-handed rail No furder off 'an I could sling a bullock by the tail. Webster sot matters right in thet air Mashfiel❜ speech o' his'n ;— "Taylor," sez he, "aint nary ways the one thet I'd a chizzen, Nor he aint fittin' fer the place, an' like ez not he aint No more'n a tough ole bullethead, an' no gret of a saint; But then," sez he, "obsarve my pint, he's jest ez good to vote fer Ez though the greasin' on him worn't a thing to hire Choate fer; Aint it ez easy done to drop a ballot in a box Fer one ez't is fer t'other, fer the bulldog ez the fox?" It takes a mind like Dannel's, fact, ez big ez all ou' doors, To find out thet it looks like rain arter it fairly pours; I 'gree with him, it aint so dreffle troublesome to vote Fer Taylor arter all, it's jest to go an' change your coat; Wen he's once greased, you'll swaller him an' never know on't, scurce, Unless he scratches, goin' down, with them 'ere Gin'ral's spurs. I've ben a votin' Demmercrat, ez reg'lar ez a clock, But don't find goin' Taylor gives my narves no gret 'f a shock; Truth is, the cutest leadin' Wigs, ever sence fust they found Wich side the bread gut buttered on, hev kep' a edgin' round; They kin' o' slipt the planks frum out th' ole platform one by one An' made it gradooally noo, 'fore folks know'd wut wuz done, Till, fur'z I know, there aint an inch thet I could lay my han' on, But I, or any Demmererat, feels comf'table to stan' on, An' ole Wig doctrines act❜lly look, their occ'pants bein' gone, Lonesome ez staddles on a mash without no hayricks on. I spose it's time now I should give my thoughts upon the plan, Thet chipped the shell at Buffalo, o' settin' up ole Van. I used to vote fer Martin, but, I swan, I'm clean disgusted, He aint the man thet I can say is fittin' to be trusted; He aint half antislav'ry 'nough, nor I aint sure, ez some be, He'd go in fer abolishin' the Deestrick o' Columby; An', now I come to recollect, it kin' o' makes me sick'z A horse, to think o' wut he wuz in eighteen thirty-six. An' then, another thing;-I guess, though mebby I am wrong, This Buff'lo plaster aint agoin' to dror almighty strong; Some folks, I know, hev gut th' idee thet No'thun dough 'll rise, Though, 'fore I see it riz an' baked, I wouldn't trust my eyes; 'Twill take more emptins, a long chalk, than this noo party's gut, To give sech heavy cakes ez them a start, I tell ye wut. But even ef they caird the day, there wouldn't be no endurin' To stan' upon a platform with sech critters ez Van Buren; An' his son John, tu, I can't think how thet 'ere chap should dare To speak ez he doos; wy, they say he used to cuss an' swear! I spose he never read the hymn thet tells how down the stairs A feller with long legs wuz throwed thet wouldn't say his prayers. This brings me to another pint: the leaders o' the party Aint jest sech men ez I can act along with free anʼ hearty; They aint not quite respectable, an' wen a feller's morrils Don't toe the straightest kin' o' mark, wy, him anʼ me jest quarrils. I went to a free soil meetin' once, an' wut d'ye think I see? A feller was aspoutin' there thet act❜lly come to me, About two year ago last spring, ez nigh ez I can jedge, An' axed me ef I didn't want to sign the Temprunce pledge! He's one o' them that goes about an' sez you hedn't ough' ter Drink nothin', mornin', noon, or night, stronger 'an Taunton water. There's one rule I've ben guided by, in settlin' how to vote, ollers,— I take the side thet isn't took by them consarned teetotallers. Ez fer the niggers, I've ben South, an' thet hez changed my mind; A lazier, more ongrateful set you couldn't nowers find. You know I mentioned in my last thet I should buy a nigger, Ef I could make a purchase at a pooty mod❜rate figger; So, ez there's nothin' in the world I'm fonder of 'an gunnin', I closed a bargin finally to take a feller runnin'. |