The Death of Jabez Dollar.

[Before the following poem, which originally appeared in "Fraser's Magazine," could have reached America, intelligence was received in this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to any one who observed the state of public manners in America, that such occurrences must happen sooner or later. The Americans apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country embodied in an American work on American manners, where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production; and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire by an American, of his countrymen's foibles!]

THE Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the chair, On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was there. With Moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his cheek His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose to

speak.

Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat,
And like a free American upon the floor he spat;

Then turning round to Clay, he said, and wiped his manly chin, "What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's skin!"

"Young man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick of Ten

nessee.

Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger he. He chews and spits as there he sits, and whittles at the chairs, And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he bears.

"Avoid that knife! In frequent strife its blade, so long and

thin,

Has found itself a resting-place his rival's ribs within.”

But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's heart, "Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!"

Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward the chair,

He saw the stately stripes and stars-our country's flag was there! His heart beat high, with savage cry upon the floor he sprang, Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his first harangue.

"Who sold the nutmegs made of wood-the clocks that wouldn't figure?

Who grinned the bark off gum trees dark,—the everlasting

nigger?

For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll kick That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coon-faced Colonel Slick!"

The colonel smiled-with frenzy wild,-his very beard waxed blue,

His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew;

He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat belowHe sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,

“Oh! waken, snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried, with

ire elate;

"Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my

weight!

Oh! 'tarnal death I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar and your chaffing,

Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without laughing!"

His knife he raised-with fury crazed, he sprang across the

hall

He cut a caper in the air-he stood before them all:

He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should do,
But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar flew.

They met they closed-they sunk-they rose-in vain young Dollar strove

For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate colonel

drove

His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they

rolled,

And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in each

other's hold.

With fury dumb-with nail and thumb-they struggled and

they thrust,—

The red blood ran from Dollar's side, like rain upon the dust; He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sunk and died,

Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning at his side.

Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave youth; The bowie-knife hath quenched his life of valour and of truth; And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they tell, How nobly Dollar gouged his man-how gallantly he fell!

して

The Alabama Duel.

"YOUNG chaps, give ear, the case is clear.

Fixings, you,

You, Silas

Pay Mister Nehemiah Dodge them dollars as you're due.
You are a bloody cheat,-you are. But, spite of all your

tricks, it

Is not in you, Judge Lynch to do. No! nohow you can

fix it!"

Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's forum, Around he gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before

him;

And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood beneath, Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth.

It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the air,
A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er his chair;
All naked were his manly arms, and, shaded by his hat,
Like an old senator of Rome that simple Archon sat.