“But to get back to what we was a talkin’ of, did you ever hear such bad speakin’ in your life, now tell me candid? because if you have, I never did, that’s all. Both sides was bad, it aint easy to say which is wus, six of one and half a dozen of t’other, nothin to brag of nary way. That government man, that spoke in their favour, warn’t his speech rich?
“Lord love you! I aint no speaker, I never made but one speech since I was raised, and that was afore a Slickville legislatur, and then I broke down. I know’d who I was a talkin’ afore; they was men that had cut their eye-teeth, and that you could’nt pull the wool over their eyes, nohow you could fix it, and I was young then. Now I’m growed up, I guess, and I’ve got my narves in the right place, and as taught as a drum; and I could speak if I was in the House o’ Commons, that’s a fact. If a man was to try there, that was worth any thin’, he’d find he was a flute without knowin’ it. They don’t onderstand nothin’ but Latin and Greek, and I’d buoy out them sand banks, keep the lead agoin’, stick to the channel, and never take ground, I know. The way I’d cut water aint no matter. Oh Solomon! what a field for good speakin’ that question was to-night, if they only had half an eye, them fellers, and what a’most a beautiful mess they made of it on both sides!
“I ain’t a vain man, and never was. You know, Squire, I hante a mossel of it in my composition; no, if you was to look at me with a ship’s glass you wouldn’t see a grease spot of it in me. I don’t think any of us Yankees is vain people; it’s a thing don’t grow in our diggins. We have too much sense in a giniral way for that; indeed if we wanted any, we couldn’t get none for love nor money, for John Bull has a monopoly of it. He won’t open the trade. It’s a home market he looks to, and the best of it is, he thinks he hante none to spare.
“Oh, John Bull, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your white cravat and white waistcoat like Young England, and have got your go-to-meetin’ clothes on, if you ain’t a sneezer, it’s a pity, that’s all. No, I ain’t a vain man, I despise it, as I do a nigger; but, Squire, what a glorious field the subject to-night is for a man that knows what’s what, and was up to snuff, ain’t it? Airth and seas! if I was there, I could speak on either side; for like Waterloo it’s a fair field; it’s good ground for both parties. Heavens what a speech I could make! I’d electrify ‘em and kill ‘em dead like lightnin’, and then galvanise ‘em and fetch’ em to life agin, and then give them exhiliratin’ gass and set ‘em a larfin’, till they fairly wet themselves agin with cryin’. Wouldn’t it be fun, that’s all? I could sting Peel so if I liked, he’d think a galley nipper had bit him, and he’d spring right off the floor on to the table at one jump, gout or no gout, ravin’ mad with pain and say, ‘I’m bit thro’ the boot by Gosh;’ or if I was to take his side, for I care so little about the British, all sides is alike to me, I’d make them Irish members dance like ravin’, distractin’ bed bugs. I’d make ‘em howl, first wicked and then dismal, I know.
“But they can’t do it, to save their souls alive; some has it in ‘em and can’t get it out, physic ‘em as you would, first with vanity, and then with office; others have got a way out, but have nothin’ to drive thro’ the gate; some is so timid, they can’t go ahead; and others are in such an infarnal hurry, they spend the whole time in false starts.
“No, there, is no good oratory to parliament now, and the English brag so, I doubt if it ever was so good, as they say it was in old times. At any rate, it’s all got down to “Bunkum” now. It’s makin’ a speech for newspapers and not for the House. It’s to tell on voters and not on members. Then, what a row they make, don’t they? Hear, hear, hear; divide, divide, divide; oh, oh, oh; haw, haw, haw. It tante much different from stump oratory in America arter all, or speakin’ off a whiskey barrel, is it? It’s a sort of divil me-kear-kind o’ audience; independent critters, that look at a feller full in the face, as sarcy as the divil; as much as to say, ‘Talk away, my old ‘coon, you won’t alter me, I can tell you, it’s all Bunkum.’
“Lord, I shall never forget poor old Davy Crocket’s last speech; there was no “bunkum” in that. He despised it; all good shots do, they aim right straight for the mark and hit it. There’s no shootin’ round the ring, with them kinder men. Poor old feller, he was a great hunter; a great shot with the rifle, a great wit, and a great man. He didn’t leave his span behind him, when he slipt off the handle, I know.
“Well he stood for an election and lost it, just afore he left the States; so when it was over, he slings his powder horn on, over his shoulders, takes his “Betsey,” which was his best rifle, onder his arm, and mounts on a barrel, to talk it into his constituents, and take leave of ‘em.
“‘Feller citizens,’ sais he, ‘we’ve had a fair stand-up fight for it, and I’m whipped, that are a fact; and thar is no denyin’ of it. I’ve come now to take my leave of you. You may all go to H—l, and I’ll go to Texas.’
“And he stepped right down, and went over the boundary, and jined the patriots agin Mexico, and was killed there.