I 've noticed thet each half-baked scheme's abetters Are in the hebbit o' producin' letters Writ by all sorts o' never-heared-on fellers, 'Bout ez oridge'nal ez the wind in bellers; I 've noticed, tu, it 's the quack med'cines gits (An' needs) the grettest heaps o' stiffykits; Now, sence I lef' off creepin' on all fours, I ha' n't ast no man to endorse my course; It 's full ez cheap to be your own endorser, An' ef I 've made a cup, I 'll fin' the saucer; But I 've some letters here from t' other side, An' them 's the sort thet helps me to decide; Tell me for wut the copper-comp'nies hanker, An' I 'll tell you jest where it 's safe to anchor. Fus'ly the Hon'ble B. O. Sawin writes Thet for a spell he could n' sleep o' nights, Puzzlin' which side wuz preudentest to pin to, Which wuz th' ole homestead, which the temp'ry leanto; Et fust he jedged 't would right-side-up his pan To come out ez a 'ridge'nal Union man, "But now," he sez, "I ain't nut quite so fresh; The winnin' horse is goin' to be Secesh; You might, las' spring, hev eas'ly walked the course, 'Fore we contrived to doctor th' Union horse; Now _we_ 're the ones to walk aroun' the nex' track: Jest you take hold an' read the follerin' extrac', Out of a letter I received last week From an ole frien' thet never sprung a leak, A Nothun Dem'crat o' th' ole Jarsey blue, Born coppersheathed an' copperfastened tu." "These four years past, it hez been tough To say which side a feller went for; Guideposts all gone, roads muddy 'n' rough, An' nothin' duin' wut 't wuz meant for; Pickets afirin' left an' right, Both sides a lettin' rip et sight,-- Life war n't wuth hardly payin' rent for. "Columby gut her back up so, It war n't no use a tryin' to stop her,-- War's emptin's riled her very dough An' made it rise an' act improper; 'T wuz full ez much ez I could du To jes' lay low an' worry thru', 'Thout hevin' to sell out my copper. "Afore the war your mod'rit men Could set an' sun 'em on the fences, Cyph'rin' the chances up, an' then Jump off which way bes' paid expenses; Sence, 't wuz so resky ary way, _I_ did n't hardly darst to say I 'greed with Paley's Evidences. "Ask Mac ef tryin' to set the fence War n't like bein' rid upon a rail on 't, Headin' your party with a sense O' bein' tipjint in the tail on 't, And tryin' to think thet, on the whole, You kin' o' quasi own your soul When Belmont's gut a bill o' sale on 't?