I du believe thet I should give
Wut's his'n unto Cæsar,
Fer it's by him I move and live,
Frum him my bread an' cheese air;
I du believe thet all o' me

Doth bear his superscription,-
Will, conscience, honor, honesty,
An' things o' thet description.

I du believe in prayer an' praise
To him that hez the grantin'
O' jobs, -in everythin' thet pays,
But most of all in CANTIN';
This doth my cup with marcies fill,
This lays all thought o' sin to rest,-
I don't believe in princerple,

But O, I du in interest.

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 ain't by princerples nor men

My preudunt course is steadied,I scent which 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,Thet 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 that I perceive
To hev a solid vally;

This heth my faithful shepherd ben,
In pasturs sweet heth led me,
An' this'll keep the people green

To feed ez they hev fed me.

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

(From "Biglow Papers.")

GUVENER B. [Briggs] is a sensible man:

He stays to his home and looks arter his folks; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes; But John P.

Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote for Guvener B.

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. [Caleb Cushing] is a dreffle smart man:
He's ben on all sides that gives places or pelf;
But consistency still was a part of his plan,—
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 principle more'n an old cud

Wut did God makes us raytional creeturs fer,
But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
So John P.

Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village,
With good old idees o' wut's right and wut aint,
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage,
An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;
But John P.

Robinson he

Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our 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
Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry;
An' John P.
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 just fee, faw, fum;
And that all this big talk of our destinies

Is half on it ign'ance, an' t'other half rum;
But John P.
Robinson he

Sez it aint no sech thing; an', o' course, so must we.

Parson Wilber sez he never heerd in his life

Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats,

An' marched out in front of a drum an' a fife,

To git some on 'em office, and some on 'em votes;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez they didn't know everything down in Judee.

Wal, it's a mercy we've gut folks to tell us

The rights an' the wrongs o' the matters, I vow,
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers,
To start the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
Fer John P.
Robinson he

Sez the world'll go right ef he hollers out Gee!

ON THE CAPTURE OF FUGITIVE SLAVES NEAR

WASHINGTON.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Look on who will in apathy, and stifle they who can

The sympathies, the hopes, the words, that make man truly man;
Let those whose hearts are dungeoned up with interest or with ease
Consent to hear with quiet pulse of loathsome deeds like these!

I first drew in New England's air, and from her hardy breast
Sucked in the tyrant-hating milk that will not let me rest;
And if my words seem treason to the dullard and the tame,
'Tis but my Bay State dialect, our fathers spake the same!

Shame on the costly mockery of piling stone on stone
To those who won our liberty, the heroes dead and gone,
While we look coldly on and see law-shielded ruffians slay
The men who fain would win their own, the heroes of to-day!

Are we pledged to craven silence? Oh, fling it to the wind,
The parchment wall that bars us from the least of human kind,
That makes us cringe and temporize, and dumbly stand at rest,
While Pity's burning flood of words is red-hot in the breast!

Though we break our fathers' promise, we have nobler duties first;
The traitor to humanity is the traitor most accursed;

Man is more than Constitutions; better rot beneath the sod,
Than be true to Church and State, while we are doubly false to God!

We owe allegiance to the State; but deeper, truer, more,
To the sympathies that God hath set within our spirit's core;
Our country claims our fealty: we grant it so, but then,
Before Man made us citizens, great Nature made us men.

He's true to God who's true to man; wherever wrong is done
To the humblest and the weakest 'neath the all-beholding sun,
That wrong is also done to us; and they are slaves most base,
Whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race.

God works for all. Ye cannot hem the hope of being free
With parallels of latitude, with mountain range or sea.
Put golden padlocks on Truth's lips, be callous as ye will,-
From soul to soul, o'er all the world, leaps one electric thrill.

Chain down your slaves with ignorance, ye cannot keep apart,
With all your craft of tyranny, the human heart from heart;

VOL. XXIV. —25