A ginooine statesman should be on his guard, Ef he _must_ hev beliefs, nut to b'lieve 'em tu hard; For, ez sure ez he doos, he'll be blartin' 'em out 'Thout regardin' the natur' o' man more 'n a spout, Nor it don't ask much gumption to pick out a flaw In a party whose leaders are loose in the jaw: An' so in our own case I ventur' to hint Thet we'd better nut air our perceedins in print, Nor pass resserlootions ez long ez your arm Thet may, ez things heppen to turn, do us harm; For when you've done all your real meanin' to smother, The darned things'll up an' mean sunthin' or 'nother. Jeff'son prob'ly meant wal with his "born free an' ekle," But it's turned out a real crooked stick in the sekle; It's taken full eighty-odd year--don't you see?-- From the pop'lar belief to root out thet idee, An', arter all, sprouts on 't keep on buddin' forth In the nat'lly onprincipled mind o' the North. No, never say nothin' without you're compelled tu, An' then don't say nothin' thet you can be held tu, Nor don't leave no friction-idees layin' loose For the ign'ant to put to incend'ary use. You know I'm a feller thet keeps a skinned eye On the leetle events thet go skurryin' by, Coz it's of'ner by them than by gret ones you'll see Wut the p'litickle weather is likely to be. Now I don't think the South's more 'n begun to be licked, But I _du_ think, ez Jeff says, the wind-bag's gut pricked; It'll blow for a spell an' keep puffin' an' wheezin', The tighter our army an' navy keep squeezin',-- For they can't help spread-eaglein' long 'z ther's a mouth To blow Enfield's Speaker thru lef' at the South. But it's high time for us to be settin' our faces Towards reconstructin' the national basis, With an eye to beginnin' agin on the jolly ticks We used to chalk up 'hind the back-door o' politics; An' the fus' thing's to save wut of Slav'ry ther's lef' Arter this (I mus' call it) imprudence o' Jeff: For a real good Abuse, with its roots fur an' wide, Is the kin' o' thing _I_ like to hev on my side; A Scriptur' name makes it ez sweet ez a rose, An' it's tougher the older an' uglier it grows-- (I ain't speakin' now o' the righteousness of it, But the p'litickle purchase it gives, an' the profit).