The cat may have contracted his hatred of the dull and prosy from the men who worked in the Sun office when Amos Cummings smiled and swore and got out the greatest four-page paper ever seen, singing the while the song of Walker’s filibusters:
How would you like a soldier’s life
On the plains of Nicara-goo?
Marching away and fighting all day,
Nothing to eat and as much to pay—
We do it all for glory, they say,
On the plains of Nicara-goo.
Not a bit of breakfast did I see,
And dinner was all the same to me;
Two fried cats and three fried rats