Abbildungen der Seite

Then to take the proceeds an' hold them ez security

For an issue o' bonds to be met at maturity With an issue o' notes to be paid in hard cash On the fus' Monday follerin' the 'tarnal Allsmash: This hez a safe air, an', once hold o' the gold, 'ud leave our vile plunderers out in the cold, An' might temp' John Bull, ef it warn't for the dip he

Once gut from the banks o' my own Massissippi. Some think we could make, by arrangin' the figgers,

A hendy home-currency out of our niggers;
But it wun't du to lean much on ary sech staff,
For they 're gittin' tu current a'ready, by half.

One gennleman says, ef we lef' our loan out Where Floyd could git hold on't he'd take it, no doubt;

But 't ain't jes' the takin, though 't hez a good look,

We mus' git sunthin' out on it arter it's took,
An' we need now more 'n ever, with sorrer I own,
Thet some one another should let us a loan,
Sence a soger wun't fight, on'y jes' while he draws


Pay down on the nail, for the best of all causes, 'thout askin' to know wut the quarrel's about,An' once come to thet, why, our game is played


It's ez true ez though I should n't never hev said it, Thet a hitch hez took place in our system o' credit;

I swear it's all right in my speeches an' messiges, But ther' 's idees afloat, ez ther' is about sessiges: Folks wun't take a bond ez a basis to trade on, Without nosin' round to find out wut it's made on, An' the thought more an' more thru the public min' crosses

Thet our Treshry hez gut 'mos' too many dead hosses.

Wut's called credit, you see, is some like a balloon, Thet looks while it's up 'most ez harnsome 'z a


But once git a leak in 't, an' wut looked so grand Caves righ' down in a jiffy ez flat ez your hand. Now the world is a dreffle mean place, for our sins, Where ther' ollus is critters about with long pins A-prickin' the bubbles we've blowed with sech


An' provin' ther' 's nothin' inside but bad air: They're all Stuart Millses, poor-white trash, an' sneaks,

Without no more chivverlry 'n Choctaws or Creeks,
Who think a real gennleman's promise to pay
Is meant to be took in trade's ornery way:
Them fellers an' I could n' never agree;
They're the nateral foes o' the Southun Idee;
I'd gladly take all of our other resks on me
To be red o' this low-lived politikle 'con'my!

Now a dastardly notion is gittin' about
Thet our bladder is bust an' the gas oozin' out,
An' onless we can mennage in some way to stop it,
Why, the thing's a gone coon, an' we might ez
.wal drop it.

Brag works wal at fust, but it ain't jes' the thing
For a stiddy inves'ment the shiners to bring,
An' votin' we're prosp'rous a hundred times over
Wun't change bein' starved into livin' in clover.
Manassas done sunthin' tow'rds drawin' the wool
O'er the green, antislavery eyes o' John Bull :
Oh, warn't it a godsend, jes' when sech tight fixes
Wuz crowdin' us mourners, to throw double-sixes!
I wuz tempted to think, an' it wuz n't no wonder,
Ther' wuz reelly a Providence, — over or under, —
When, all packed for Nashville, I fust ascertained
From the papers up North wut a victory we'd

't wuz the time for diffusin' correc' views abroad Of our union an' strength an' relyin' on God; An', fact, when I'd gut thru my fust big surprise, I much ez half b'lieved in my own tallest lies, An' conveyed the idee thet the whole Southun popperlace

Wuz Spartans all on the keen jump for Thermopperlies,

Thet set on the Lincolnites' bombs till they bust,
An' fight for the privilege o' dyin' the fust;
But Roanoke, Bufort, Millspring, an' the rest
Of our recent starn-foremost successes out West,
Hain't left us a foot for our swellin' to stand on, -
We've showed too much o' wut Buregard calls


For all our Thermopperlies (an' it's a marcy
We hain't hed no more) hev ben clean vicy-varsy,
An' wut Spartans wuz lef' when the battle wuz done
Wuz them thet wuz too unambitious to run.

Oh, ef we hed on'y jes' gut Reecognition,

Things now would ha' ben in a different position! You'd ha' hed all you wanted: the paper blockade

Smashed up into toothpicks; unlimited trade
In the one thing thet's needfle, till niggers, I


Hed ben thicker 'n provisional shin-plasters now; Quinine by the ton 'ginst the shakes when they seize ye;

Nice paper to coin into C. S. A. specie ;

The voice of the driver 'd be heerd in our land,
An' the univarse scringe, ef we lifted our hand:
Would n't thet be some like a fulfillin' the prophe-


With all the fus' fem'lies in all the fust offices? 't wuz a beautiful dream, an' all sorrer is idle, But ef Lincoln would ha' hanged Mason an' Slidell!

For would n't the Yankees hev found they 'd ketched Tartars,

Ef they'd raised two sech critters as them into martyrs ?

Mason wuz F. F. V., though a cheap card to win


But t' other was jes' New York trash to begin on;
They ain't o' no good in Európean pellices,
But think wut a help they'd ha' ben on their gal-
lowses !

They'd ha' felt they wuz truly fulfillin' their mission,

An', oh, how dog-cheap we'd ha' gut Reecognition!

But somehow another, wutever we 've tried,

Though the the'ry 's fust-rate, the facs wun't coincide:

Facs are contrary 'z mules, an' ez hard in the mouth,

An' they allus hev showed a mean spite to the South.

Sech bein' the case, we hed best look about For some kin' o' way to slip our necks out: Le''s vote our las' dollar, ef one can be found, (An', at any rate, votin' it hez a good sound.) Le''s swear thet to arms all our people is flyin', (The critters can't read, an' wun't know how we're lyin',)

Thet Toombs is advancin' to sack Cincinnater, With a rovin' commission to pillage an' slahter,— Thet we've throwed to the winds all regard for wut's lawfle,

An' gone in for sunthin' promiscu'sly awfle.

Ye see, hitherto, it's our own knaves an' fools

Thet we've used, (those for whetstones, an' t' others ez tools,)

An' now our las' chance is in puttin' to test
The same kin' o' cattle up North an' out West,
Your Belmonts, Vallandighams, Woodses, an' sech,
Poor shotes thet ye could n't persuade us to tech,
Not in ornery times, though we 're willin' to feed


With a nod now an' then, when we happen to need 'em;

Why, for my part, I'd ruther shake hands with a nigger

« ZurückWeiter »