DEER SIR its gut to be the fashun now to rite letters to the candid 8s and i wus chose at a publick Meetin in Jaalam to du wut wus nessary fur that town. i writ to 271 ginerals and gut ansers to 209. tha air called candid 8s but I don't see nothin candid about em. this here 1 wich I send wus thought satty's factory. I dunno as it's ushle to print Poscrips, but as all the ansers I got hed the saim, I sposed it wus best. times has gretly changed. Formaly to knock a man into a cocked hat wus to use him up, but now it ony gives him a chance fur the cheef madgustracy.--H. B.
DEAR SIR,--You wish to know my notions On sartin pints thet rile the land; There 's nothin' thet my natur so shuns Ez bein' mum or underhand; I 'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur Thet blurts right out wut 's in his head, An' ef I 've one pecooler feetur, It is a nose thet wunt be led.
So, to begin at the beginnin', An' come direcly to the pint, I think the country's underpinnin' Is some consid'ble out o' jint; I aint agoin' to try your patience By tellin' who done this or thet, I don't make no insinooations, I jest let on I smell a rat.
Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so, But, ef the public think I 'm wrong, I wunt deny but wut I be so,-- An', fact, it don't smell very strong; My mind 's tu fair to lose its balance An' say wich party hez most sense; There may be folks o' greater talence Thet can't set stiddier on the fence.
I 'm an eclectic; ez to choosin' 'Twixt this an' thet, I 'm plaguy lawth; I leave a side thet looks like losin', But (wile there 's doubt) I stick to both; I stan' upon the Constitution, Ez preudunt statesmun say, who 've planned A way to git the most profusion O' chances ez to _ware_ they 'll stand.
Ez fer the war, I go agin it,-- I mean to say I kind o' du,-- Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it, The best way wuz to fight it thru; Not but wut abstract war is horrid,-- I sign to thet with all my heart,-- But civlyzation _doos_ git forrid Sometimes upon a powder-cart.
About thet darned Proviso matter I never hed a grain o' doubt, Nor I aint one my sense to scatter So 's no one could n't pick it out; My love fer North an' South is equil, So I 'll jest answer plump an' frank, No matter wut may be the sequil,-- Yes, Sir, I _am_ agin a Bank.