But I've some letters here from t' other side, An' them's the sort thet helps me to decide; Tell me for wut the copper-comp❜nies hanker, An' I'll tell you jest where it's safe to anchor. [Faint hiss.] Fus'ly the Hon'ble B. O. Sawin writes Thet for a spell he could 'n sleep o' nights, Puzzlin' which side wuz preudentest to pin to, Which wuz th' ole homestead, which the temp'ry leanto; Et fust he jedged 't would right-side-up his pan To come out ez a 'ridge'nal Union man, "But now, so fresh ; The winnin' horse is goin' to be Secesh; "he sez, "I ain't nut quite You might, las' spring, hev easily walked the course, 'Fore we contrived to doctor th' Union horse; Now we're the ones to walk aroun' the nex' track : Jest you take hold an' read the follerin' extrac', Out of a letter I received last week From an ole frien' thet never sprung a leak, A Nothun Dem'crat o' th' ole Jarsey blue, Born copper-sheathed an' copper-fastened tu.' "These four years past it hez been tough To say which side a feller went for; Guideposts all gone, roads muddy 'n' rough, An' nothin' duin' wut 't wuz meant for: "Columby gut her back up so, It war n't no use a-tryin' to stop her,→ "Afore the war your mod'rit men "Ask Mac ef tryin' to set the fence [Three cheers for Grant and Sherman. 'Come peace, I sposed thet folks 'ovid like Their pol'tics done ag'in by proxy ? The country roun' to put in Out o' their eyes our Union wool "O, did it seem 'z ef Providunce Should claim th' old iron for his sheer Coz 't was himself that bust the biler!" [Gret laughter.] Thet tells the story! Thet 's wut we shall git By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit; For the day never comes when it 'l Ef she upon our memory turned her heel, An' unregretful throwed us all away To flaunt it in a Blind Man's Holiday!" My frien's, I've talked nigh on to long enough. I hain't no call to bore ye coz ye 're tough; My lungs are sound, an' our own v'ice delights Our ears, but even kebbige-heads hez rights. It's the las' time thet I shell e'er address ye, But you'll soon fin' some new tormentor : bless ye! [Tumult'ous applause and cries of "Go on !* "Don't stop!"] GLOSSARY. Buster, a roistering blade; used also as a general superlative. Darsn't, used indiscriminately, either in singular or plural number, for dare not, dares not, and dared not. Deacon off, to give the cue to; derived from a custom, once universal, but now extinct, in our New England Congregational churches. An important part of the office of deacon was to read aloud the hymns given out by the minister, one line at a time, the congregation singing each line as soon as read. Demmercrat, leadin', one in favor of extending slavery; a free-trade lecturer maintained in the customhouse. Desput, desperate. Doos, does. Doughface, a contented lick-spittle; a common variety of Northern politi cian. |