AXE-GRINDER.
Story! God bless you! mine is sad to tell, sir;
The gratitude of great men drove me downward,
Reduced me to these shoddy coat and trowsers
So sad and seedy!
Listen! while I disclose the secrets of the
Mansion which standeth on Broadway, where strangers
Are taken in and done for at two dollars
And a half per diem.
There congregate Lord Thurlow, Alexander
The Wonder of the World, and they who pull the
Wool o'er the eyelids of the veteran Com-
Missary-general.
And there, while they within did manufacture
The ways and means to 'work' this foul rebellion,
I kept the door without, and turned the grindstone
Which ground their axes.
And daily to their private closet came one
Called Orsamus, of fame in all the churches,
Whose savory name smells sweetly to all lovers
Of public plunder.
'Twas queer the ex-(tra) congress man resorted
There; strange they were to all invisible when
His oily visage, like a magic lantern,
Lit the apartment.
It were a Matter-son or father might take
A note of; so I questioned of the key-hole,
And, lo! they would bestow warm raiment on our
Suffering soldiers.
I deemed the subject worthy of attention,
The more so as a very fat commission
Would be gained by it, so as almoner I
Tendered my service.
I looked for thanks; when, lo! they gave me none, sir,
But, calling eavesdroppers ungodly sinners,
Applied their patent-leathers to my tender
Unmentionables.