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An' send the insines skootin' to the bar-room with their banners,

(Fear o' gittin' on 'em spotted,) an' a feller could cry quarter

Ef he fired away his ramrod arter tu much rum anʼ water.

Recollect wut fun we hed, you'n' I an' Ezry

Hollis,

Up there to Waltham plain last fall, along o' the Cornwallis? *

This sort o' thing aint jest like thet,-I wish thet I wuz furder,—†

Nimepunce a day fer killin' folks comes kind o' low fer murder,

(Wy I've worked out to slarterin' some fer Deacon Cephas Billins,

An' in the hardest times there wuz I ollers tetched ten shillins,)

There's sutthin' gits into my throat thet makes it hard to swaller,

It comes so nateral to think about a hempen col

lar;

It's glory, but, in spite o' all my tryin' to git callous,

I feel a kind o' in a cart, aridin' to the gallus.
But wen it comes to bein' killed, I tell ye I felt

streaked

The fust time 'tever I found out wy baggonets wuz peaked;

Here's how it wuz: I started out to go to a fandango,

The sentinul he ups an' sez," Thet's furder 'an you can go."

*i hait the Site of a feller with a muskit as I du pizn But their is fun to a cornwallis I aint agoin' to deny it.-H. B.

† he means Not quite so fur I guess.-H. B.

"None o' your sarse," sez I; sez he, “Stan' back ! "Aint you a buster?

Sez I, "I'm up to all thet air, I guess I've ben to muster;

I know wy sentinuls air sot; you aint agoin' to eat us;

Caleb haint no monopoly to court the seenoreetas ; 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 ef 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 why he didn'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,—

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

* the ignerant creeter means Sekketary; but he ollers stuck to his books like cobbler's wax to an ile-stone.-H. B.

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' cut hosanner,

An' how he (Mister B. himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky,

I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite hister

icky.

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 acom

in'

Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison)

An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico wuz hisn.*

This 'ere's about the meanest place a skunk could

wal diskiver

* 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.

(Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call

Salt-river);

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;

You see a feller peekin' out, an', fust you know, a lariat

Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, "Wut air ye at?"*

You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant

To say I've seen a scarabæus pilularius † big ez a year old elephant,)

The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug

From runnin' off with Cunnle Wright,―'t wuz jest a common cimex lectularius.

One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin,

* these fellers are verry proppilly called Rank Heroes, and the more tha kill, the ranker and more Herowick tha bekum.-H. B. † it wuz “tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the Latten instid. i sed tother maid better meeter, but he said tha was eddykated peepl to Boston and tha wouldn't stan' it no how. idnow as tha wood and idnow as tha wood.-H. B. VOL. II.

11

I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin,

His bellowses is sound enough,-ez I'm a livin'

creeter,

I felt a thing go thru my leg,-'twuz nothin' more 'n a skeeter!

Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito,

(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le❜ go my toe!

My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with't,

I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with't.)

Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong per

suasion

Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,*. an ourang outang nation,

A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on't arter,

No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter;

I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,

An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national;

But wen I jined I wornt so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby,

Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be,

An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions,

*he means human beins, that's wut he means. i spose ho kinder thought tha wuz human beans ware the Xisle Poles comes from.-II. B.

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