"Dere ish drunks all full mit money,

In ships dot vent down of old; Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder! To shimmerin crowns of gold.

"Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches! Shoost see dese diamant rings!

Coom down und fill your bockets,

Und I'll giss you like avery dings.

"Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager? Coom down into der Rhine! Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne

Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"

Dat fetched him- he shtood all shpell-pound;
She pooled his coat-tails down,
She drawed him oonder der wasser,
De maiden mit nodings on.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

What Mr. Robinson Thinks.

GUVENER 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.

Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

My! ain't 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 thet give places or pelf; But consistency still wuz 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 for Gineral C.

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.

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old ideas o' wut's right an' wut ain't, We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage, An' thet eppyletts wor n'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 thet 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 jest fee, faw, fum:
An' 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 ain't 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;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez they did n'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 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!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.