I've chose my side, an' 't ain't no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets, Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes' bagnets; I've made my ch'ice, an' ciphered out, from all I see an' heard, Th' ole Constitooshun never'd git her decks for action cleared, Long 'z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to go Coz they can't seem to git their grub no otherways than so, An' let your bes' men stay to home coz they wun't show ez talkers, Nor can't be hired to fool ye an' sof'-soap ye at a caucus,-- Long 'z ye set by Rotashun more 'n ye do by folks's merits, Ez though experance thriv by change o' sile, like corn an' kerrits,-- Long 'z you allow a critter's "claims" coz, spite o' shoves an' tippins, He's kep' his private pan jest where't would ketch mos' public drippins,-- Long 'z A.'ll turn tu an' grin' B.'s exe, ef B.'ll help him grin' hisn, (An' thet's the main idee by which your leadin' men hev risen,)-- Long 'z you let ary exe be groun'; 'less 'L is to cut the weasan' O' sneaks thet dunno till they're told wut is an' wut ain't Treason,- Long 'z ye give out commissions to a lot o' peddlin' drones Thet trade in whiskey with their men an' skin 'em to their bones,-- Long 'z ye sift out "safe" canderdates thet no one ain't afeared on Coz they're so thund'rin' eminent for bein' never heard on, An' hain't no record, ez it's called, for folks to pick a hole in, Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in, An' it wuz ostenstashun to be showm' on't about, When half his feller-citizens contrive to do without,-- Long 'z you suppose your votes can turn biled kebbage into brain, An' ary man thet's pop'lar's fit to drive a lightnin'-train,-- Long 'z you believe democracy means _I'm ez good ez you be,_ An' thet a feller from the ranks can't be a knave or booby,-- Long 'z Congress seems purvided, like yer street-cars an' yer 'busses, With oilers room for jes' one more o' your spiled-in-bakin' cusses, Dough'thout the emptins of a soul, an' yit with means about 'em (Like essence-peddlers[A]) thet 'll make folks long to be without 'em, Jest heavy 'nough to turn a scale thet's doubtfle the wrong way, An' make their nat'ral arsenal o' bein' nasty pay,-- Long 'z them things last, (an' I don't see no gret signs of improvin',) I sha'n't up stakes, not hardly yit, nor't wouldn't pay for movin'; For, 'fore you lick us, it 'll be the long'st day ever you see. Yourn, (ez I 'xpec' to be nex' spring,) B., MARKISS O' BIG BOOSY. [Footnote A: A rustic euphemism for the American variety of the _Mephitis_.--H.W.] * * * * * TAXATION. Milton, in his superb sonnet to Sir Henry Vane the Younger, declares that Rome, in the most prosperous age of the Republic, never possessed a better senator,--