"Who sold the nutmegs made of wood--the clocks that wouldn't figure? Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark--the everlasting nigger? For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll kick That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coonfaced Colonel Slick!" The Colonel smiled--with frenzy wild,--his very beard waxed blue,-- His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew; He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat below-- He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe. "Oh! waken snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried, with ire elate; "Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my weight! Oh! 'tarnal death, I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and your chaffing,-- Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without laughing!" His knife he raised--with fury crazed, he sprang across the hall; He cut a caper in the air--he stood before them all: He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should do, But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar flew. They met--they closed--they sank--they rose,--in vain young Dollar strove-- For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate Colonel drove His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they rolled, And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in each other's hold. With fury dumb--with nail and thumb--they struggled and they thrust, The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the dust; He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sank and died, Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning by his side. Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave youth; The bowie-knife has quenched his life of valour and of truth; And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they tell How nobly Dollar gouged his man--how gallantly he fell. The Alabama Duel. "Young chaps, give ear, the case is clear. You, Silas Fixings, you Pay Mister Nehemiah Dodge them dollars as you're due. You are a bloody cheat,--you are. But spite of all your tricks, it Is not in you Judge Lynch to do. No! nohow you can fix it!" Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's forum, Around he gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before him; And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood beneath, Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth. It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the air, A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er his chair; All naked were his manly arms, and shaded by his hat, Like an old senator of Rome that simple Archon sat. "A bloody cheat?--Oh, legs and feet!" in wrath young Silas cried; And springing high into the air, he jerked his quid aside. "No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings trifle, As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle."