properly have been dedicated to those trichinæ-frightened twins,
Bismarck and Paul Bert.

Sing, heavenly muse, the noble quadruped,
Whom Orientals oft presume to scorn,
Who glorifies the food that he is fed,
Extracting carbon from convenient corn.

Peaceful his life, his death almost sublime,
His end a grand effect of modern art;
Scarce has he bid a sharp adieu to time,
When he is packed and ready for the mart.

He goes abroad, our land to represent;
The earth, from pole to tropic, is his range;
He fills the bill for use and ornament,
Greases the world, and regulates exchange.

Though ministers abroad may lightly treat
The rights that only appertain to men,
They must protect our Western corn-fed meat,
Defending our four-footed citizen.

If Bismarck bars our barrels, tubs, or cans,
Forcing our pork to make its way incog,
Upset his schemes, and overthrow his plans,
And clear a pathway for the native hog.

* * * * *