I don't care how hard money is,
Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.

I du believe with all my soul
In the gret Press's freedom,
To pint the people to the goal
An' in the traces lead 'em ;
Palsied the arm thet forges yokes
At my fat contracts squintin',
An' withered be the nose thet pokes
Inter the gov'ment printin'!

I du believe thet I should give
Wut's his'n unto Cæsar,
Fer it's by him I move an' live,

From him my bread an' cheese air; I du believe thet all o' me

Doth bear his souperscriptionWill, conscience, honour, honesty, An' things o' thet description.

I du believe in prayer an' praise
To him thet hez the grantin'
O' jobs-in every thin' thet pays,
But most of all in Cantin';
This doth my cup with marcies fill,
This lays all thought o' sin to rest :
I don't believe in princerple,

But, oh! I du in interest.

I du believe in bein' this

Or thet, ez it may happen
One way or t' other hendiest is
To ketch the people nappin' ;
It ain't by princerples nor men
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, Let 'lone the rowdedow it saves To hev a wal-broke precedunt; Fer any office, small or gret,

I couldn't ax with no face, Without I'd ben, thru dry an' wet, Th' unrizzest kind o' doughface.

I du believe wutever trash

'll keep the people in blindness;
Thet we the Mexicuns can thrash
Right inter brotherly kindness;
Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball
Air good-will's strongest magnets,
Thet peace, to make it stick at all,
Must be druv in with bagnets.

In short, I firmly du believe
In Humbug generally,

Fer it's a thing thet I perceive
To hev a solid vally;

This heth my faithful shepherd ben,

In pasturs sweet heth led me,

An' this 'll keep the people green

To feed ez they hev fed me.

-J. R. LowEll.

WHAT MR ROBINSON THINKS.

GUVENER B. is a sensible man;

He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks ; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,

An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes :

But John P.
Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

My! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we du?

We can't never choose him, o' course-thet's flat;
Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?),
An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that;
Fer John P.
Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man :

He's ben on all sides thet give places or pelf;
But consistency still wuz a part of his plan;
He's ben true to one party-an' thet is himself.
So John P.
Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. he goes in fer the war;

He don't vally principle more 'n an old cud;

Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer,
But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
So John P.
Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village,
With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't,
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage,
An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;
But John P.

Robinson he

Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our country must ollers be took,

An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country;
An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book
Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry;
An' John P.

Robinson he

Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.

Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies;
Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum;
An' thet all this big talk of our destinies

Is half on it ignorance, an' t' other half rum;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez it ain't no sech thing; an', of course, so must we.

Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life

Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,

To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes ;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Wal, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us

The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow—
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers,
To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
Fer John P.

Robinson he

Sez the world 'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!

-J. R. LOWELL.

MR BIGLOW ON THE CIVIL WAR (1862).

It's war we 're in, not politics;

It's systems wrastlin' now, not parties;
An' victory in the eend 'll fix

Where longest will an' truest heart is.
An' wut's the Guv'ment folks about?
Tryin' to hope ther' 's nothin' doin',
An' look ez though they didn't doubt
Sunthin' pertickler wuz a-brewin'.

Ther''s critters yit thet talk an' act
Fer wut they call Conciliation;
They'd hand a buff'lo-drove a tract
When they wuz madder than all Bashan.
Conciliate? it jest means be kicked,

No metter how they phrase an' tone it;
It means thet we're to set down licked,
Thet we're poor shotes an' glad to own it!

A war on tick's ez dear 'z the deuce,

But it wun't leave no lastin' traces,
Ez 'twould to make a sneakin' truce
Without no moral specie-basis:

Ef green-backs ain't nut jest the cheese,
guess ther''s evils thet's extremer :

I

Fer instance-shinplaster idees

Like them put out by Gov'nor Seymour.

Last year, the Nation, at a word,

When tremblin' Freedom cried to shield her,
Flamed weldin' into one keen sword

Waitin' an' longin' fer a wielder :

A splendid flash!-an' how'd the grasp
With sech a chance ez thet wuz tally?
Ther' warn't no meanin' in our clasp-
Half this, half thet, all shilly-shally.

More men? More Man! It's there we fail
Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthenin':
Wut use in addin' to the tail,

When it's the head's in need o' strengthenin'?
We wanted one thet felt all Chief

From roots o' hair to sole o' stockin',
Square-sot with thousan'-ton belief
In him an' us, ef earth went rockin'!

Ole Hick'ry wouldn't ha' stood see-saw
'Bout doin' things till they wuz done with;
He'd smashed the tables o' the Law

In time o' need to load his gun with ;
He couldn't see but jest one side-
Ef his, 'twuz God's, an' thet wuz plenty;
An' so his 'Forrards!' multiplied
An army's fightin' weight by twenty.

But this 'ere histin', creak, creak, creak,
Your cappen's heart up with a derrick,
This tryin' to coax a lightnin'-streak
Out of a half-discouraged hay-rick,
This hangin' on mont' arter mont'

Fer one sharp purpose 'mongst the twitter-
I tell ye, it doos kind o' stunt

The peth an' sperit of a critter.

In six months where 'll the People be,
Ef leaders look on revolution

Ez though it wuz a cup o' tea

Jest social el'ments in solution?

This weighin' things doos wal enough

When war cools down, an' comes to writin'; But while it's makin', the true stuff

Is pison-mad, pig-headed fightin'.

Democ'acy gives every man

A right to be his own oppressor;
But a loose Gov'ment ain't the plan,
Helpless ez spilled beans on à dresser :

I tell ye one thing we might larn

From them smart critters, the SecedersEf bein' right's the fust consarn,

The 'fore-the-fust 's cast-iron leaders.

But 'pears to me I see some signs

Thet we're a-goin' to use our senses:

Jeff druv us into these hard lines,

An' ough' to bear his half th' expenses;

Slavery's Secession's heart an' will,

South, North, East, West, where'er you find it,

An' ef it drors in the War's mill,

D'ye say them thunder-stones sha'n't grind it?

D'ye s'pose, ef Jeff giv him a lick,

Ole Hick'ry 'd tried his head to sof'n

So's 'twouldn't hurt thet ebony stick

Thet's made our side see stars so of'n?