7. the Mason and Slidell case: Respectfully dedicated to Mr. Bigelow, of the Bigelow Papers.Goina abroad to sell yer country,
Was you, Gentlemen? Do tell!
Got tripped up afore you done it;--
My! 'Twas something of a “Sell.”
Folks that do sich dirty business,
Travelina on the devil's route,
O'rt to ask theirselves the question,
“Does your mother know you're out?”
Reckon we're a leetle smarter
Than they took us for afore;
Anyhow, my boys, we've nabbed 'em!
Show 'em in an' shet the door.
'Tis n't jest the kind oa quarters
They'd ‘ave chose, I tell you what;
Never mind, they're very welcome;
Jest as lives they'd stay as not.
Give 'em bread and water plenty,
May be it ‘ill bring 'em round;
‘Taint the beverage they're used to
Where they come from, I'll be bound.
Should'nt wonder if they're homesick;
Folks are apt to be, but still,
They've a mighty pleasant prospect,
Lookina out on Bunker Hill.
Wonder ef it ever strikes 'em
How their Fathers fought an' bled
Settina up the glorious Union
They're a knockina in the head.
Reckon 't must be quite refreshina,
Layina wide awake oa nights,
Callina back them grand old struggles,
Them old Revolution Fights.
Well, they say the world's progressina;
May be 'tis,--but ain't it queer,
While old Bunker Hill is standina,
We should have sich doins here?--
Rebels fighting 'gainst their country,
Traitors crossing ocean's wave,
All to damn the blessed Union
That their Fathers died to save!
I'm not over-cute in guessina,
But I reckon I can tell
Pretty nigh the bone you're after,
Messrs. Mason and Slidell.
It's “no go,” depend upon it.
You ca'n‘t come it quite — cause why?
We're as wide awake as you are;
Guess you'll learn it, by an' by.
Stranger, when yer suit of homespun
With its Yankee buttons blazed,1
Didn't think you'd come to this now,
Did you? ain't you some amazed?
Well, things do turn out the cutest,
And, for one, I'm mighty glad
Jest to welcome ye to Boston,
And, for two, you're mighty mad!
 Never mind, my boys, we've got 'em,
And I take it 'tis a sign
Of the blessed Futur‘ comina,
Only stand and toe the line.
Their “Peculiar Institution,”
Knock it into pi, and see
What a mighty power and plucky,
Lays in those two words, “be free!”
Mr. President, your pardon,
But to me it's plaguy clear,
Ef we'd meet 'em with that weapon,
It would settle all this ‘ere.
‘Taint no use to treat 'em tender;
Pitch right into 'em, I say,
Ef they call their black folks cattle,
Confiscate 'em, right away!
That's the talk: it's no use wastina
Words to prove the tother side;
God Almighty's in the business,
Ef we shirk it He'll decide.
And I tell you what, my hearties,
When He takes the matter up,
Whatsoever draught we mingle,
You and I must drink the cup.