The southern press. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1850-1852, 1852-05-13

A Senator sae il his cushioned chair,
His head on it, back and his feet in the air,
The true Senatorial attitude
Grave and serene was his honored mein.
No sleeksr Senator was ever seen,
And he felt himself that he never had been
In greater state Of beatituds.
He thought of his good eight dollars a day,
OF the SIX good years he had there to stay.
OF his mileage and countless Prerequisites,
His pickings and other Congressional sweets
His last great speech and his next good dinner
And he thought to himself, As am sinner,
This Washington City's snug old town, -,
Anu mighty great man is Senator Brown
The hour was one, and all was stil,
When suddenly shook the Capitol ttiil'
Senators shook with fear as with cold,
The earthuuake shattered the nerves OF the bold
And upset the wits Of the weaker;
Some called out F" order :" and "silence!" some,
While others were struck by agony dumb,
And sat content to remain quite mum,
But implJfingly cycling the Speaker.
Down on his knees dropped Senator B.,
Disturbed 10 his dream Of felicity.
He thought that the final hour had come;
That the earthquakes roll was the roll OF the
drum
To summon sinners, to strike them dumb
And with terror dread appal them;
For he hadn't very distinct idse,
Whether drum or trumpet should be
The instrument to cali them.
While looking. in horror OF fears,
And expecting the walls about his ears,
Before his mind, like Sash, appears
vision Of all his misspent years
vision dim Of phantoms grim
Who had pressed their claims with prospects slim
or getting redress-in the interim,
They died worn out in patience
And now before his mind they swim.
Some shaking their private claims at hun,
And some French SpOatons
Each with grin the Senator mocks,
Each ruined Congressional claimant,
And he thought, il once get out of this box,
I'm 20 in for their speedy payment!
Rut little he thought, poor Senator b.,
That he should e'er be permitted to see
The bright to-morrow's sun come,
And he trembled to think, was he unnamed,
or his own little speech for the good Of the land,
And his ninety-nine for Buncombe
He trembled no one e'er can tell,
Az he tried to think if he had spent well
His loved eight dollars day
And he thought, with dread unspeakable,
or the little he'd done for principle,
And the vast amount for pay.
Mixed with his fears was a shade of regret,
For he could not altogether forget
His greatness in the nation;
But he somehow thought that there might be
found
Even in the world to which he was bound,
The honor and pay Of his station;
Still might he get his eight dollor fee,
And still be honorable Mr.. b.,
And mileage too-now, who could tell!
The journey was very long to-well
But then the earth gave another shake,
And set poor b. in terrible quake,
He sank in swoon, but the earth grew still,
And the Senator'S gathered in right good will
And stretched him out on pallet:
But by and by his senses got back,
And he woke to a speech of Senator Clack
And the noise of the Speakers mallet.
He rubbed his eyes and he rubbed his nose,
And an anxious glance around ne throws,
On the floor and up at the ladies';
For he fancied he smelt both sulphur and smoke,
And wasn't quite sure that he hadn't awoke
To morning session in Hades!
He rose to his feet an altered man,
Home to his lodgings he almost ram,
And TO Mrs. Brown he wrote tits said,
The lovngestIetter she e'er had read. g.