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afore agin agoin ain't airth arter bein BIGLOW PAPERS Boston Boston Courier Caleb Caleb Cushing Calhoun candidate cocktale darned Demmercrats discourse Dixon H doos doughface dreffle editor eend Faneuil Hall feller folks frum furder fust glory goin gret guess Hannegan holl HOMER WILBUR Hosea idee Isrel Jaalam JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL jine kind letters look Massachusetts Mexican mind Mister nater never North nothin ollers on'y ough ould party pint pooty Presidunt princerples Rantoul reader Robinson he Sez round Sawin sech Senator sermon Sez John slavery slaves soul South speech spiled spose sutthin t'other tell ye wut thet air thet's thing thought thru tion vote fer Ware Whig Whig party wich Wilmot Proviso worn't wun't wuth Yankee yourn
87. oldal - He's ben true to one party, — an' thet is himself; — So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. Gineral C. he goes in fer the war; He don't vally princerple more 'n an old cud ; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer. But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an
63. oldal - An' to plunder ye like sin. Aint it cute to see a Yankee Take sech everlastin' pains, All to git the Devil's thankee Helpin' on 'em weld their chains ? Wy, it 's jest ez clear ez figgers, Clear ez one an' one make two, Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers Want to make wite slaves o
88. oldal - Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats, An" marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on "em office, an' some on 'em votes; But John P.
15. oldal - He kin' o' 1'itered on the mat, Some doubtfle o' the sekle, His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity Zekle. An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin
66. oldal - d ha' done 't ez quick ez winkin' In the days o' seventy-six. Clang the bells in every steeple, Call all true men to disown The tradoocers of our people, The enslavers o' their own; Let our dear old Bay State proudly Put the trumpet to her mouth, Let her ring this messidge loudly In the ears of all the South: — "I'll return ye good fer evil Much ez we frail mortils can, But I wun't go help the Devil Makin...
59. oldal - Hosy wood n't take none o" his sarse for all he hed much as 20 Rooster's tales stuck onto his hat and eenamost enuf brass a bobbin up and down on his shoulders and figureed onto his coat and trousis, let alone wut nater hed sot in his featers, to make a 6 pounder out on. wal, Hosea he com home considerabal riled, and arter I 'd gone to bed I heern Him a thrashin round like a short-tailed Bull in fli-time.
61. oldal - Taint a knowin' kind o' cattle Thet is ketched with mouldy corn; Put in stiff, you fifer feller, Let folks see how spry you be, — Guess you'll toot till you are yeller 'Fore you git ahold o
101. oldal - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for not without dust and heat.
86. oldal - B. is a sensible man ; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks, He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ; — But John P.