By the Manes of the Murdered Murray.
Abe L. is an able President,
His mind has a mighty reach;
Search all our cities and marts,
You won't find a man with better parts,
Excepting his parts of speech!
AMERICAN SOIL—ITS NATURAL RICHNESS.—460.
I took a handful of guano, that elixir of vegetation, and sowed a few cucumber seeds in it. Well, sir, I was considerable tired when I had done it, and so I just took a stretch for it under a great pine-tree, and took a nap. Stranger! as true as I am talking to you this here blessed minute, when I woke up, I was bound as tight as a sheep going to market on a butcher's cart, and tied fast to a tree. I thought I should never get out of that scrape; the cucumber vines had so grown and twisted round, and wound me and my legs while I was asleep! Fortunately, one arm was free, so I got out my jack knife, opened it with my teeth, and cut myself out, and off for Victoria again, hot foot. When I came into the town, says our captain to me, "Peabody, what in natur is that ere great yaller thing that's a sticking out of your pocket?" "Nothin'," sais I, looking as mazed as a puppy nine days old, when he first opens his eyes, and takes his first stare. Well, I put in my hand to feel, and I pulled out a great big ripe cucumber, a foot long, that had ripened and gone to seed there.—Sam Slick.
JOHN AND THE WIDDAH.—461.
It a'n't the feed—said the young man John—it's the old woman's looks when a fellah lays it in too strong. The feed's well enough. After geese have got tough, 'n' turkeys have got strong, 'n' lamb's got old, 'n' veal's pretty nigh beef, 'n' sparragrass's growin' tall 'n' slim, 'n' scattery about the head, 'n' peas are gettin' so big 'n' hard, they'd be dangerous if you fired them out of a revolver, we get hold of all them delicacies of the season. But it's too much like feedin' on live folks, and devourin' widdah's substance, to lay yourself out in the eatin' way, when a fellah's as hungry as the chap that said a turkey was too much for one, 'n' not enough for two. I can't help lookin' at the old woman. Corned-beef days she's tolerable calm; roastin'-days she worries some, 'n' keeps a sharp eye on the chap that carves. But when there's anything in the poultry line, it seems to hurt her feelin's so to see the knife goin' into the breast, and joints comin' to pieces, that ther's no comfort in eatin'. When I cut up an old fowl, and help the boarders, I always feel as if I ought to say, "Won't you have a slice of widdah?" instead of chicken.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
STRIKING RESEMBLANCE.—462.
An American, speaking of his niggers, said: "Cæsar and Pompey are so much alike that you can't tell the one from the other, 'specially Pompey."
UNDOUBTED COURAGE.—463.
"Sambo, you nigger, are you afraid of work?" "Bress you, massa, I no 'fraid of work; I'll lie down and go asleep close by him side."