The White House

H. DE MARSAN . Songs, Ballads, toy books. 54 Chatham Street, N.Y.

The White House.

should you ever take a ramble, and go to Washington,
Just call at the White House, before you leave the town,
And see Old Abe’s big family around the table sit,
And eating up Old Uncle Sam in morsels, bit by bit;
And, if you’ll pay attention to this little song of mine,
I’ll give you all particulars in a simple bit of rhyme.

There are lawyers, statesmen, soldiers, contractors by the score,
With, shamming politicians, and every kind of bore:
From Barnum down to Cassius Clay, they round Old Abe do stand,
A-listening to the anecdotes he’s got at his command.
And I’ll tell you the experience I got, the other day,
And the folks who were assembled, when I did pass that way.

There was Thurlow Weed and Beecher with H. Greely playing whist,
There was Chase and Charley Sumner setting too with naked fist,
While Fernando Wood was looking on and laughing at the fun:
While Welles wan winking at a girl, and Seward drinking rum;
And none refused Old Abe’s champagne when asked once to quaff,
While at his quaint and funny tales all present they did laugu.

Tom Corwing, fresh from Mexico, a-blowing of his nose:
And Fremont telling Abram the cause of all his woes;
And Ben Wood studying policy, with Lovejoy talking nig;
And Wade, from sweet Ohio, strutting out in chalk-a-pig;
And Valandingham, the orator, a-pumping round the place:
And Stanton swearing at them all for entailing suck disgrace.

A Wall-street broker peddling gold if the Country sink or swim..
Why need he care a d—n for that? the cash is all to him;
Five-hundred Brigadiers in all with nothing for to do;
Attorney Bates laying down the law where best to put the screw;
With Blair and Smith a-fighting: and the devil lookup on,
Thinking what a haul he’d have of souls from Washington!
And such is life at Abram’s; should you go that way,
You’ll find it just as I have sung, on each reception-day.

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