Sinopsis

We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more, Supposin' we wuz goin' to get the nominashin, shore; For Col. New assured us (in that noospaper o' his) That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz. But here we've been a-slavin' more like bosses than like men To diskiver that the people do not hanker arter Ben; It is fur Jeems G. Blaine an' not for Harrison they shout— And the gobble-uns 'el git us Ef we Don't Watch Out! When I think of the fate that is waiting for Ben, I pine for the peace of my childhood again; I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul And hop off once more in the old swimmin' hole!