The Dead Moon. HE moon is dead-defunct-played out,- At any rate, she's most entrancing For one of such decrepit age; And on her radiant beauties glancing, And so the man upon her 's perished!— Poor wretch! No wife his bosom cherished, Yet she's adored by all the gypsies, And once she caught Endymion sleeping, Upon him very slyly creeping; He was her first and early love. But that's a very ancient story, And was a youthful indiscretion, When she was in her primal glory, Ere scandal-schools had held a session. Dear, darling moon! I doat upon her What Mr. Robinson Thinks. UVENER B. is a sensible man; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks; He draws his furrer ez strait ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes; But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him o' course,-thet's flat; For John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man: He's been on all sides thet give places or pelf, But consistency still was a part of his plan, He's been true to one party,-an' thet is himself;So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS. Gineral C., he goes in fer the war; He don't vally principle more'n an old cud; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer, But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an, blood? So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. 235 We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, Robinson he Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee. The side of your country must ollers be took, An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country; An' the angel that writes all our sins in a book Robinson he Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T. Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies; Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum; An' thet all this big talk of our destinies Is half ov it ign'ance, an' t'other half rum; But John P. Robinson he Sez it aint no sech thing; an', of course, so must we. 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; Robinson he Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee. Wal, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us. The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow,— God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers, To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough; Robinson he Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee! That Grumbling Old Woman. HERE was an old woman, and what do you think?- But though victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, MOTHER Goose. She had a nice cottage, a hen-house and barn, A large flock of geese, and a hive full of bees. Yet she grumbled and grumbled from morning till night, If cloudless and fair was the long summer day, If it don't rain soon, it will ruin the corn!" But when descended the gentle rain, She never gave aught to the needy and poor; |