OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 195 



A clerk in the War Department, says he would not lower the flag on the 

 death of Jefferson Davis. 



THE LITTLE PURP. 



Tliere is a little purp at Washington, 

 Don't know the size of his body ; 



W e'd bet he's got but little brain, 

 Yes, we'd bet a brandy toddy. 



This little thing, he turns loose, 

 The little fellow seems a talker ; 



This little fice, with noisy mouth, 

 Like all his breed, he's a barker. 



Like the purp that beyed the moon, 

 He tries to bark at Jefferson Davis. 



These fice purps will make a fuss ; 

 From fice purps, Lord, save us 



Borrowed wit from Old Beast Butler, 

 He would bury the Mexican leg ; 



Then would hang the Davis body — 

 Little purp, he'd suck an egg. 



This little would-be son of Mars — 

 Underling, they call him partridge — 



Without asking, tells what he would do, 

 And he's never smelt a cartridge. 



Dry up, dry up, you little purp. 

 Your bark, it sounds too ficey ; 



Better wait till you are asked, 

 You need both wit and policy. 



