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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 an' quick 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 plat

form one by one An' made it gradooally noo, 'fore folks know'd wut

wuz done, Till, furz I know, there aint an inch thet I could

lay my han' on, But I, or any Demmercrat, 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 hayI spose it's time now I should give my thoughts

ricks on.

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 an'

hearty; They aint not quite respectable, an’ wen a feller's

morrils Don't toe the straightest kin' o'mark, wy, him an

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 Tem

prunce 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'. I shou’dered queen’s-arm an’ stumped out, an' wen

I come t th’ swamp,

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