His voice was cracked—it almost broke,—'If
work is scarce, and times are hard,
There's a large wood-pile in my yard;
Of that you may most freely use,
So go and get it when you choose.'
Then on he walked, serenely feeling
That there he'd put an end to stealing.
The accuser's sense of duty grew
The space 'twixt him and Governor too.
'The Anaconda is tightening its folds,' and at every fold the South cries aloud. The following bit of merry nonsense, which has the merit of being 'good to sing,' may possibly enliven more than one camp-fire, ere the last fold of the 'big sarpent' has given the final stifle to the un-fed-eralists.