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Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em,)

About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy

To du the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy),

About our patriotic pas an' our star-spangled banner,

Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin' out hosanner,

An' how he (Mister B. himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky,

I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite hister

icky.

I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o'

privilege

Atrampin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage;

I act❜lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin',

An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acom

in'

Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison)

An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico wuz hisn.*

This 'ere's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver

* it must be aloud that thare's a streak o' nater in lovin' sho, but it sartinly is 1 of the curusest things in nater to see a rispecktable dri goods dealer (deekon off a chutch mayby) a riggin' himself out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign aspilin' his trowsis and makin' wet goods of himself. Ef any thin's foolisher and moor dicklus than militerry gloary it is milishy gloary.-H. B.

(Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt-river);

The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater,

I'd give a year's pay fer a smell o' one good bluenose tater;

The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin'

Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin'.

He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all,

The holl on't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal;

You see a feller peekin' out, an', fust you know, a lariat

Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, "Wut air ye at?"*

You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant

To say I've seen a scarabæus pilularius † big ez a year old elephant,)

The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug

From runnin' off with Cunnle Wright,—'t wuz jest a common cimex lectularius.

One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin,

*these fellers are verry proppilly called Rank Heroes, and the more tha kill the ranker and more Herowick tha bekum.-H. B.

it wuz "tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the Latten instid. i sed tother maid better meeter, but he said tha was eddykated peepl to Boston and tha wouldn't stan' it no how. idnow as tha wood and idnow as tha wood.-H. B.

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I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin,

His bellowses is sound enough,-ez I'm a livin' creeter,

I felt a thing go thru my leg,—'twuz nothin' more 'n a skeeter!

Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito,

ye

(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell to l'e' go my toe! My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with't,

I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with't.)

Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong per

suasion

Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,* an ourang outang nation,

A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on't arter,

No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter;

I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,

An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national;

But wen I jined I wornt so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby,

Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be,

An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o'thir own dominions,

i spose he

*he means human beins, that's wut he means. kinder thought tha wuz human beans ware the Xisle Poles comes from.-H. B.

Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's

pinions,

Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis

An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses;

Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson!

It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo

saxon.

The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water,

An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' to;

Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper

An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez aint proper;

He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly,

(Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to git up airly,)

Thet our nation's bigger'n theirn an' so its rights.

air bigger,

An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin'

trigger,

Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to

pieces,

An' thet idee's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases;

Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can,

I know thet "every man" don't mean a nigger or a Mexican;

An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeturs,

Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State-prison feeturs,

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Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on't,

The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on't.

This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur,

An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter;

'O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef't worn't thet I wuz sartin

They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin!

I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to you I may state

Our ossifers aint wut they wuz afore they left the Bay-state;

Then it wuz "Mister Sawin, sir, you're middlin' well now, be ye?

Step up an' take a nipper, sir; I'm dreffle glad to see ye";

But now it's "Ware's my eppylet? here, Sawin, step an' fetch it!

An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' spry, or, damn ye, you shall ketch it!"

Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty,

Ef I hed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum

vity,

I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music follerin'

But I must close my letter here, fer one on' em's ahollerin',

These Anglosaxon ossifers,-wal, taint no use ajawin',

I'm safe enlisted fer the war,

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