Many changes has taken place, even durin' my short absence, & sum on um is Sollum to contempulate. The house in Varick street, where I used to Board, is bein' torn down. That house, which was rendered memoriable by my livin' into it, is "parsin' away! parsin' away!" But some of the timbers will be made into canes, which will be sold to my admirers at the low price of one dollar each. Thus is changes goin' on continerly. In the New World it is war—in the Old World Empires is totterin' & Dysentaries is crumblin'. These canes is cheap at a dollar.
Sammy Booth, Duane street, sculps my hanbills, & he's artist. He studid in Rome—State of New York.
I'm here to read the proof-sheets of my hanbils as fast as they're sculpt. You have to watch these ere printers pretty close, for they're jest as apt to spel a wurd rong as anyhow.
But I have time to look around sum & how do I find things? I return to the Atlantic States after a absence of ten months, & what State do I find the country in? Why I don't know what State I find it in. Suffice it to say, that I do not find it in the State of New Jersey.
There air other cheerin' signs for Ameriky. We don't, for instuns, lack great Gen'rals, and we certinly don't brave sojers—but there's one thing I wish we did lack, and that is our present Congress.
I venture to say that if you sarch the earth all over with a ten-hoss power mikriscope, you won't be able to find such another pack of poppycock gabblers as the present Congress of the United States of America would be able to find—find among their constituents.
Gentleman of the Senit & of the House, you've sot there and draw'd your pay and made summer-complaint speeches long enuff. The country at large, incloodin' the undersined, is disgusted with you. Why don't you show us a statesman—sumbody who can make a speech that will hit the pop'lar hart right under the great Public weskit? Why don't you show us a statesman who can rise up to the Emergency, and cave in the Emergency's head?
Congress, you won't do. Go home, you mizzerable devils—go home!
At a special Congressional 'lection in my district the other day I delib'ritly voted for Henry Clay. I admit that Henry is dead, but inasmuch as we don't seem to have a live statesman in our National Congress, let us by all means have a first-class corpse.
Them who think that a cane made from the timbers of the house I once boarded in is essenshall to their happiness, should not delay about sendin' the money right on for one.