THE LIVE MAN.
The Live Man iz like the little pig; he iz weaned young, and begins tew root arly.
He iz the pepper-sass ov creation—the all-spice ov the world.
One Live Man in a village is like a case ov itch in a distrikt skool—he sets evry boddy scratching at onst.
A man who kan draw New Orleans molasses in the month ov January, thru a half inch augur-hole, and sing “Home! sweet home!” while the molasis iz running, may be strictly honest, but he aint sudden enuff for this climate.
The Live Man iz az full ov bizness az the conducter ov a street kar—he iz often like a hornet, very bizzy, but about what, the Lord only knows.
He lights up like a cotton faktory, and haint got enny more time tew spare than a skool-boy has Saturday afternoons.
He is like a decoy duck, alwus above water, and lives at least 18 months each year.
He is like a runaway hoss; he gits the whole ov the road.
He trots when he walks, and lies down at night only bekauze everyboddy else duz.
The live man is not always a deep thinker; he jumps at conclusions, just as the frog duz, and don’t alwus land at the spot he is looking at.
He is the Amerikan pet, a perfekt mystery tew foreigners; but he has done more (with charcoal) tew work out the greatness of this country than any other man in it.
He is jist as necessary as the grease on an axle-tree.
He don’t alwus die ritch, but alwus dies bizzy, and meets death a good deal az an oyster duz, without making enny fuss.