I du believe in bein’ this Or thet, ez it may happen One way or t’other hendiest is To ketch the people nappin’; It aint by principles nor men My preudunt course is steadied,— I scent wich pays the best, an’ then Go into it baldheaded. I du believe thet holdin’ slaves Comes nat’ral tu a Presidunt, Let ’lone the rowdedow it saves To hev a wal-broke precedunt; Fer any office, small or gret, I couldn’t ax with no face, Without I’d ben, thru dry an’ wet, Th’ unrizzest kind o’ doughface. I du believe wutever trash ’ll keep the people in blindness,— That we the Mexicuns can thrash Right inter brotherly kindness, Thet bombshells, grape, an’ powder ’n’ ball Air good-will’s strongest magnets, Thet peace, to make it stick at all, Must be druv in with bagnets. In short, I firmly du believe In Humbug generally, Fer it’s a thing thet I perceive To hev a solid vally; This heth my faithful leader ben, To browsing sweet heth led me, An’ this’ll keep the people green To feed ez they hev fed me. II. JOSH BEANPOLE’S COURTSHIP. “Mother!” exclaimed Josh Beanpole, “Mother, I say, I feel all over in a twitteration like. Huh! huh! Who’d have thought it?” “What ails ye, Josh?” asked the old woman, stopping her spinning-wheel at this exclamation. “What bug has bit you now?” “Can’t tell,” said Josh, in a drooping, dolorous tone, and hanging his head as if he had been caught stealing a sheep. “Can’t tell?” said Mrs. Beanpole, turning quite round, and giving Josh a wondering stare. “Can’t tell? what does the critter mean?” “Who’d ha’ thought it?” repeated Josh, fumbling in his pockets, twisting round his head and rolling up his eyes in a fashion most immensely sheepish.—“Hannah Downer’s courted!” Here Josh shuffled himself awkwardly into the settle in the chimney corner, and sunk upon one side, fixing his eyes with a most ludicro-dismal squint upon the lower extremity of a pot-hook that hung at the end of the crane. “Courted!” exclaimed Mrs. Beanpole, not exactly comprehending the state of her son’s intellectuals. “Well—what’s all that when it’s fried?” “Arter so many pails of water as I’ve pumped for her,” said Josh in a dismal whine,—“for to go for to let herself to be courted by another feller!” “Here’s a to-do!” ejaculated the old woman.