I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music fol

lerin'

But I must close my letter here, for one on 'em 's a-hollerin',
These Anglosaxon ossifers-wal, taint no use ajawin',

I'm safe enlisted fer the war,

Yourn,

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN.

A LETTER

FROM A CANDIDATE FOR THE PRESIDENCY IN ANSWER TO SUTTIN QUESTIONS PROPOSED BY MR. HOSEA BIGLOW, INCLOSED IN A NOTE FROM MR. BIGLOW TO S. H. GAY, ESQ., EDITOR OF THE NATIONAL ANTI-SLAVERY STANDARD.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

DEER SIR its gut to be the fashun now to rite letters to the candid 8s and i wus chose at a public Meetin in Jalaam to du wut wus nessary fur that town. i writ to 271 ginerals and gut ansers to 209. tha air called candid 8s but I don't see nothin candid about em. this here 1 which I send wus thought satty's factory. I dunno as it's ushle to print Poscrips, but as all the ansers I got hed the saim, I sposed it wus best. times has gretly changed. Formaly to knock a man into a cocked hat wus to use him up, but now it ony gives him a chance fur the cheef madgustracy.- II. B.

DEAR SIR-You wish to know my notions
On sartin pints thet rile the land;
There's nothin' thet my natur so shuns
Ez bein' mum or underhand;
I'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur

Thet blurts right out wut's in his head,

An' ef I've one pecooler feetur,
It is a nose thet wunt be led.

So, to begin at the beginnin';
An' come directly to the pint,
I think the country's underpinnin'
Is some consid❜ble out o' jint;
I aint agoin' to try your patience
By tellin' who done this or thet,
I don't make no insinooations,
I jest let on I smell a rat.

Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so,
But, ef the public think I'm wrong,
I wunt deny but wut I be so-

An', fact, it don't smell very strong;
My mind's tu fair to lose its balance

An' say wich party hez most sense; There may be folks o' greater talence Thet can't set stiddier on the fence.

I'm an eclectic: ez to choosin'

'Twixt this an' thet, I'm plaguy lawth;
I leave a side thet looks like losin',
But (wile there 's doubt) I stick to both;
I stan' upon the Constitution,

Ez preudunt statesmun say, who 've planned

A way to git the most profusion

O' chances ez to ware they 'll stand.

Ez fer the war, I go agin it

I mean to say I kind o' du—
Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it,

The best way wuz to fight it thru;
Not but wut abstract war is horrid,
I sign to thet with all my heart-
But civlyzation doos git forrid

Sometimes upon a powder-cart.

About thet darned Proviso matter
I never hed a grain o' doubt,
Nor I aint one my sense to scatter

So 's no one could n't pick it out;
My love fer North an' South is equil,
So I'll just answer plump an' frank,
No matter wut may be the sequil—
Yes, sir, I am agin a Bank.

Ez to the answerin' o' questions,
I'am an off ox at bein' druv,
Though I aint one thet ary test shuns
il give our folks a helpin' shove ;

Kind o' promiscoous I go it

Fer the holl country, an' the ground
I take, ez nigh ez I can show it,
Is pooty gen'ally all round.

I don't appruve o' givin' pledges;
You'd ough' to leave a feller free,
An' not go knockin' out the wedges
To ketch his fingers in the tree;
Pledges air awfle breachy cattle

Thet preudent farmers don't turn out-
Ez long 'z the people git their rattle,
Wut is there fer 'm to grout about?

Ez to the slaves, there's no confusion
In my idees consarnin' them-
I think they air an Institution,
A sort of-yes, jest so-ahem:
Do I own any? Of my merit

On thet pint you yourself may jedge;

All is, I never drink no sperit,
Nor I haint never signed no pledge.

Ez to my principles, I glory

In hevin' nothin' o' the sort;

I aint a Wig, I aint a Tory,

I'm jest a candidate, in short;
Thet's fair an' square an' parpendicler,
But, ef the Public cares a fig
To hev me an' thin' in particler,
Wy, I'm a kind o' peri-wig.

P. S.

Ez we're a sort o' privatcerin',

O' course, you know, it's sheer an' sheer, An' there is sutthin' wuth your hearin' I'll mention in your privit ear; Ef you git me inside the White House, Your head with ile I 'll kin' o''nint By gittin' you inside the Light-house Down to the eend o' Jaalam Pint.

An' ez the North hez took to brustlin'
At bein' scrouged frum off the roost,
I'll tell ye wut 'll save all tusslin'

An' give our side a harnsome boost-
Tell 'em thet on the Slavery question
I'm RIGHT, although to speak I'm lawth;
This gives you a safe pint to rest on,

An' leaves me frontin' South by North.

THE CANDIDATE'S CREED.

(BIGLOW PAPERS.)

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

I Du believe in Freedom's cause,

Ez fur away ez Paris is;
I love to see her stick her claws

In them infarnal Pharisees;

It's wal enough agin a king

To dror resolves and triggers,—

But libbaty's a kind o' thing

Thet don't agree with niggers.

I du believe the people want
A tax on teas and coffees,
Thet nothin' aint extravygunt,-
Purvidin' I'm in office;

For I hev loved my country sence

My eye-teeth filled their sockets, An' Uncle Sam I reverence,

Partic❜larly his pockets.

I du believe in any plan

O' levyin' the taxes,
Ez long ez, like a lumberman,
I git jest wut I axes:

I go free-trade thru thick an' thin,
Because it kind o' rouses

The folks to vote-and keep us in
Our quiet custom-houses.

I du believe it's wise an' good
To sen' out furrin missions,
Thet is, on sartin understood

An' orthydox conditions;-
I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann.,
Nine thousan' more fer outfit,
An' me to recommend a man

The place 'ould jest about fit.

I du believe in special ways
O' prayin' an' convartin';

The bread comes back in many days,
An' buttered, tu, fer sartin;-
I mean in preyin' till one busts
On wut the party chooses,
An' in convartin' public trusts
To very privit uses.

I do believe hard coin the stuff
Fer 'lectioneers to spout on;
The people's ollers soft enough

To make hard money out on;
Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,

An' gives a good-sized junk to allI 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;