Fer ez to runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day, I'm 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! Then you can call me "Timbertoes,"-thet's wut the people likes; Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes; Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please,— I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees; "Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on, There's nothin' in 't the other side can any ways git hold on; It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy; It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind; Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 'em, Sech ez the ONE-EYED SLARTERER, the BLOODY BIRDOFREDUM: Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the masses, An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes. There's one thing I'm in doubt about; in order to be Presidunt, It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt; The Constitution settles thet, an' also thet a feller Must own a nigger o' some sort, jet black, or brown, or yeller. You might raise funds enough fer me to buy a low-priced baby, Yourn, BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN. -"Biglow Papers." The Courtin' GOD makes sech nights, all white an' still Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown A fireplace filled the room's one side There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out The chiny on the dresser. Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, The ole queen's-arm thet Gran'ther Young The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', An' she looked full ez rosy agin 'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look He was six foot o' man, A 1, He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spellsAll is, he couldn't love 'em. But long o' her his veins 'ould run She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made "Ole Hundred" ring, An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! She heered a foot, an' knowed it, tu, All ways to once her feelin's flew He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder. "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" "Wal-no-I come dasignin' "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." To say why gals act so or so, He stood a spell on one foot fust, Says he, "I'd better call agin;" An' |