My folks to hum air full ez good ez hisn be, by golly!" An' so ez I wuz goin' by, not thinkin' wut would folly, The everlastin' cus he stuck his one-pronged pitchfork in me An' made a hole right thru my close ez if I wuz an in'my. Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel* Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle, (It's Mister Secondary Bolles,† thet writ the prize peace essay; Thet's wy he did n't list himself along o' us, I dessay,) An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but don't put his foot in it, Coz human life 's so sacred thet he's principled agin' it, * [Fanueil Hall, the famous old Town Hall of Boston.J. C. H.] the ignerant creeter means Sekketary; but he ollers stuck to his books like cobbler's wax to an ile-stone.-H. B. [Robert Rantoul, a distinguished American orator, who advocated the abolition of capital punishment.-J. C. H.] Though I myself can't rightly see it 's any wus achokin' on 'em Than puttin' bullets thru their lights, or with a bagnet pokin' on 'em ; How dreffle slick he reeled it off, (like Blitz at our lyceum Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em,) About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy To du the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy), About our patriotic pas an' our star-spangled banner, Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin' out hosanner, An' how he (Mister B. himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky,— I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite histericky. I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o' privilege Atrampin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage; I act❜lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin', An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acomin' Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison) An' every feller felt ez though Mexico wuz hisu.* This 'ere 's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver (Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Saltriver). The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater, I'd give a year's pay fer a smell o' one good bluenose tater; The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin' Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin'. He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all, The holl on't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal; * it must be aloud that thare's a streak o' nater in lovin' sho, but it sartinly is 1 of the curusest things in nater to see a rispecktable dri goods dealer (deekon off a chutch mayby) a riggin' himself out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign aspilin' his trowsis and makin' wet goods of himself. Ef any thin's foolisher and moor dicklus than militerry gloary it is milishy gloary.—H. B. |