I thought thet gold mines could be gut cheaper than Chiny asters,

An' see myself acomin' back like sixty Jacob Astors;

But sech idees soon melted down an' didn't leave a grease-spot;

I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles wouldn't come nigh a V spot;

Although, most any wares we've ben,

break no locks,

you needn't

Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o'

rocks.

I guess I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral

feeturs

O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle creeturs,

But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded)

How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git drownded.

The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o' pewter

Our Prudence hed, thet wouldn't pour (all she could du) to suit her;

Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so's not a drop 'ould dreen out,

Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean out,

The kiver-hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an' kiver

'ould all come down kerswosh! ez though the dam broke in a river.

Jest so 't is here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather,

An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be alayin' heads to gether

Ez t' how they'd mix their drink at sech a milingtary deepot,

'T'ould pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot.

The cons'quence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave here,

One piece o' propaty along,-an' thet's the shakin' fever;

It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm one,

Nor 't aint so tiresome ez it wuz with t'other leg an' arm on;

An' it's a consolation, tu, although it doosn't pay, To hev it said you're some gret shakes in any kin'

o' way.

'Tworn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin',

One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',

One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,

Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess o' hacks an' smashes.

But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,

Thet's an investment, arter all, thet mayn't turn out so bad;

But somehow, wen we'd fit an' licked, I ollers found the thanks

Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down.ez the ranks;

The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' so on,—

We never gut a blasted mite o' glory ez I know

on;

An' spose we hed, I wonder how you're goin' to contrive its

Division, so's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits;

Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the bray'st one,

You wouldn't git more'n half enough to speak of on a grave-stun;

We git the licks, we're jest the grist thet's put into War's hoppers;

Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers.

It may suit folks thet go-agin a body with a soul in't,

An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in't;

But glory is a kin' o' thing I shan't pursue no furder,

Coz thet's the off'cers parquisite,-yourn's on'y jest the murder.

Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's

one

Thing in the bills we aint hed yit, an' thet's the

GLORIOUS FUN;

Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume

we

All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Monte

zumy.

I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em;

We never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever 1

come

Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it seemed a cent❜ry)

A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry,

An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' re

passes,

A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o'

glasses:

I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed in

side;

All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz

fried,

An' not a hunderd miles away frum ware this child wuz posted,

A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an'

roasted;

The on'y thing like revellin' thet ever come to me Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel's settled now; fer my part I've some doubt on't,

'T'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean out on't;

At any rate, I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin',

The only chance thet's left to me is politics or writin';

Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary

man,

An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a

plan;

The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to

a T,

An' ef I lose, 'twunt hurt my ears to lodge another

flea;

So I'll set up ez canʼidate fer any kin' o' office, (I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an'

soffies;

Fer ez to runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day,

You know thet's wut I never did,-except the other way ;)

Ef it's the Presidential cheer fer wich I'd better

run,

Wut two legs anywares about could keep up

my one?

with

There aint no kin' o' quality in can’idates, it's said, So useful ez a wooden leg,—except a wooden head; There's nothin' aint so poppylar—(wy, it's a parfect sin

To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny's pin ;)—

Then I haint gut no princerples, an', sence I wuz

knee-high,

I never did hev any gret, ez you can testify;
I'm a decided peace-man, tu, an' go agin the war,-
Fer now the holl on't's gone an' past, wut is there
to go for?

Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should beg

To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer

WOODEN LEG!

Ef they aint settisfied with thet, an' kin' o' pry an' doubt.

An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say ONE EYE PUT

OUT!

Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find'll answer to a charm,

An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hol' up my missin' arm;

Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look

An' tell 'em thet's percisely wut I never gin nor— took!

Then you can call me "Timbertoes,”—thet's wut the people likes;

Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes ;