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But, wile I drinked the peaceful cup of a pure heart an' mind, (Mixed with some wiskey, now an' then,) Pomp he snaked up
behind, An' creepin' grad'lly close tu, ez quiet ez a mink, Jest grabbed my leg, and then pulled foot, quicker 'an you could
wink. An' come to look, they each on 'em hed gut behin' a tree; An' Pomp poked out the leg a piece, jest so ez I could see, An' yelled to me to throw away my pistils an' my gun, Or else thet they'd cair off the leg, an' fairly cut an' run. I vow I didn't b’lieve there wuz a decent alligatur Thet hed a heart so destitoot o' common hunian natur. However, ez there worn't no help, I finally give in, An' heft my arms away to git my leg safe back agin. Pomp gathered all the weapins up, an' then he come an' grinned, He showed his ivory some, I guess, an' sez, “You're fairly pinned; Jest buckle on your leg agin, an' git right up an' come,
Twun't du fer fammerly men like me to be so long from hum.” At fust I put my foot right down an' swore I wouldn't budge : “Jest ez you choose,” sez he, quite cool, “either be shot or
trudge.” So this black-hearted monster took an'act'lly druv me back Along the very feetmarks o' my happy mornin' track, An' kep' me pris'ner 'bout six months, an' worked me, tu, like sin, Till I hed gut his corn an' his Carliny taters in. He made me larn him readin', tu (although the crittur saw How much it hut my morril sense to act agin the law) So'st he could read a Bible he'd gut; an'axed ef I could pint The North Star out; but there I put his nose some out o' jint, Fer I weeled roun' about sou’west, an' lookin' up a bit, Picked out a middlin' shiny one, an' tole him thet wuz it. Fin’lly, he took me to the door, an', givin' me a kick, Sez,—Ef you know wut's best fer ye, be off
, now, double-quick ; The winter-time's a comin' on, an', though I gut ye cheap, You're so darned lazy I don't think you're hardly wuth your keep; Besides, the childrin's growin' up, an' you aint jest the model I'd like to hev 'em immertate, an' so you'd better toddle!" Now is there anythin' on airth'll ever prove to me Thet renegader slaves like him air fit fer bein' free? D'you think they'll suck me in to jine the Buff’lo chaps, an' them Rank infidels thet go agin the Scriptur'l cus o' Shem? Not by a jugfull! Sooner’n thet, I'd go thru fire an’ water; Wen I hev once made up my mind, a meet'nhus aint sotter ; No, not though all the crows thet flies to pick my bones wuz
cawin',I guess we're in a Christian land,
THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED.
Ez fur away ez Payris is;
In them infarnal Phayrisees ;
To dror resolves an' triggers, But libbaty's a kind o’thing
Thet don't agree with niggers. I du believe the people
Purvidin' I'm in office;
My eye-teeth filled their sockets,
Partic'larly his pockets.
O' levyin' the taxes,
I git jest wut I axes :
Because it kind o'rouses
Our quiet custom-houses.
To sen' out furrin missions,
An' orthydox conditions ; I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann.,
Nine thousan' more fer outfit, An me to recommend a man
The place 'ould jest about fit. I du believe in special ways
O'prayin' an' convartin';
An' buttered, tu, fer sartin
On wut the party chooses,
To very privit uses.
Fer 'lectioneers to spout on;
To make hard money out on;
Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,
An' gives a good-sized junk to all, I don't care how hard money is
Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.
I du believe with all
soul In the gret Press's freedom, To pint the people to the goal
An' in the traces lead 'em.
At my fat contracts squintin',
Inter the gov'ment printin'!
I du believe thet I should give
Wut's hisn unto Cæsar,
Frum him my bread an' cheese air ; I du believe that all o' me
'Doth bear his superscription,Will, conscience, honour, honesty,
An' things' o'thet description.
I du believe in prayer an' praise
To him that hez the grantin'
But most of all in cantin';
This lays all thought o'sin to rest, – I don't believe in princerple,
But oh I du in interest.
I du believe in bein' this
Or thet, ez it may happen One way or t’other hendiest is
To ketch the people nappin'.
My preudunt course is steadied ;
Go into it bald headed.
I du believe thet holdin' slaves
Comes nat’ral tu a Presidunt, Let ’lone the rowdedow it saves
To hev a wal-broke precedunt ; Fer any office, small or gret,
I couldn't ax with no face, Without I'd ben, thru dry an' wet,
Th’unrizzest kind o’ doughface.
I du believe wutever trash
'll keep the people in blindness,
Right inter brotherly kindness;
Air good-will's strongest magnets;
Must be druv in with bagnets.
In Humbug generally,
To hev a solid vally;
In pasturs sweet heth led me,
To feed ez they hev fed me.
SUNTHIN' IN THE PASTORAL LINE. ONCE git a smell o' musk into a draw, An' it clings hold like precerdents in law : Your gran'ma'am put it there, -when, goodness knows, – To jes' this-worldily her Sunday-clo'es; But the old chist wun't sarve her gran'son's wife, (For, 'thout new funnitoor, wut good in life?) An' so ole clawfoot, from the precinks dread O'the spare chamber, slinks into the shed, Where, dim with dust, it fust or last subsides To holdin' seeds an' fifty things besides ; But better days stick fast in heart an' husk, An' all you keep in't gets a scent o' musk. Jes' so with poets : wut they've airly read Gits kind o' worked into their heart an' head, So's 't they can't seem to write but jest on sheers With furrin countries or played-out ideers, Nor hev a feelin', ef it doosn't smack O' wut some critter chose to feel 'way back : This makes 'em talk o' daisies, larks, an' things, Ez though we'd nothin' here that blows an' sings,(Why, I'd give more for one live bobolink Than a square mile o' larks in printer's ink) This makes 'em think our fust © May is May, Which ’tain't, for all the almanicks can say. O little city-gals, don't never go it Blind on the word o'noospaper or poet ! They're apt to puff, an' May-day seldom looks Up in the country ez it doos in books ;
They're no more like than hornets'-nests an' hives,
hosschesnuts leetle hands unfold