My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him, o'course,-thet's flat; Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?) An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that; Fer John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man: He's ben on all sides that give places or pelf; Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. Gineral C. goes in fer the war; He don't vally principle more'n an old cud; Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee. The side of our country must ollers be took, Robinson he Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T. Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies, Is half on it ignorance, an' t'other half rum. Robinson he Sez it ain't no sech thing; an', of course, so must we. Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigg'd out in their swaller-tail coats, An' march'd round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on 'em office, and some on 'em votes; 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. Robinson he Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee! THE COURTIN'. GOD makes sech nights, all white an' still All silence an' all glisten. Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown A fireplace fill'd the room's one side N The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young The very room, coz she was in, "Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look He was six foot o' man, A 1, He'd spark'd it with full twenty gals, He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,— All is, he couldn't love 'em. But long o' her his veins 'ould run She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair Thet night, I tell ye, she look'd some! She heer'd a foot, an' know'd it tu, He kin' o' l'iter'd on the mat, An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk "You want to see my Pa, I s'pose? 66 Wal no I come dasignin"" "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." To say why gals act so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; He stood a spell on one fut fust, Says he "I'd better call agin; Says she" Think likely, Mister! That last word prick'd him like a pin, Wal, he up an' kist her. An' . The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young The very room, coz she was in, He was six foot o' man, A 1, He'd spark'd it with full twenty gals, He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,All is, he couldn't love 'em. But long o' her his veins 'ould run She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, |