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They kan klime ennything but a greast pole, and kno the way up a rock, az natral az a woodbine.

They are az certain tew raize az yung ones, sum familys are haff gotes, and the other haff children. They are good eating when they are yung, but they leave it oph az they git stronger.

They are alwus poor in the boddy, but phatt in the stumick, what they eat seems to all go to appetight, yu mite az well agree tew phatt an injun-rubber over shew bi filling it with klam shells, az tew raize enny adipoze membrane on the outside bust ov a gote.

A phatt gote would be a literary curiosity.

They use the same dialekt az the sheep, and the yung ones speak the language more fluently than the parients do.

Thare iz only two animals ov the earth that will eat tobakko -one iz a man and tuther iz a gote, but the gote understands it the most, for he swallers the spit, chaw and all.

The male gote, when he iz pensiv, iz a venerable and philosophy looking old cuss, and wouldn't make a bad proffessor ov arithmetik in sum ov our colleges.

They are handy at living a long time, reaching an advanced age without arriving at enny definite konklusion.

How long a gote livs without giving it up, thare iz no man now old enuff tew tell.

Methuzeler, if hiz memory waz bad at forgetting, mite giv a good-sized guess, but unfortunately for science and this essa, Methuzeler aint here.

Gotes will liv in enny klimate, and on enny vittles, except tanbark, and if they ever cum to a square death, it iz a profound sekret, in the hands of a few, to this day.

I wouldn't like tew beleave enny man under oath who had ever seen a maskuline gote acktually die, and stay so.

Speaking ov Methuzeler, puts me in mind ov the fackt, if a man should liv now daze, as mutch az he did, and only hav one eye tew see things with, he would hav to hav an addishun bilt onto the back ov hiz head tew sto away things into.

The femail gote iz either the mother, or sister, or cuzzin ov the male gote, ackording tew the prevailing circumstansis in the case, or else i labour under a delusion, i forget witch.

They giv milk intuitively about a quart, before it iz watered, in twelve hours, which iz the subjickt ov nourishment in various ways.

This milk, whitch is extrakted from the female gote, iz excellent tew finish up yung ones on, but is apt to make them bellycose, and fightful.

It iz not unkommon for a babe, while inhaleing this pugnashus fluid, to let oph hiz left colleckshun or diggit and ketch the nurse on the pinnakle ov the smeller, and tap it for claret.

This iz a kommon fakt amung irish babes, and explains the reazon whi, in after life, these same babes make such brilliant hits.

In writing the history ov the male and female gote tew adorn the pages ov futer times, i flatter miself that i hav stuck tew the truth, and haven't allowed mi imaginashun tew boss the job.

A grate menny ov our best bilt historians are apt tew mistake opinyuns for facts, this iz an eazy mistake tew make, but when i strike a goose, or bed bugg, or gote, yu notis one thing, i stay with them.-Finis.-"Complete Works."

James Russell Lowell

A Letter from Mr. Ezekiel Biglow

THRASH away, you'll hev to rattle

On them kittle-drums o' yourn,
'Tain't a knowin' kind o' cattle

Thet is ketched with moldy corn;
Put in stiff, you fifer feller,

Let folks see how spry you be-
Guess you'll toot till you are yeller
'Fore you git a-hold o' me!

Thet air flag's a leetle rotten,
Hope it ain't your Sunday's best-
Fact! it takes a sight o' cotton
To stuff out a soger's chest;
Sence we farmers hev to pay fer't,

Ef you must wear humps like these
S'posin' you should try salt hay fer't,
It would du ez slick ez grease.

'Twouldn't suit them Southun fellers,
They're a dreffle graspin' set,
We must ollers blow the bellers

Wen they want their irons het;
Maybe it's all right ez preachin',

But my narves it kind o' grates,
Wen I see the overreachin'

O' them nigger-drivin' States.

Them that rule us, them slave-traders, Hain't they cut a thunderin' swath (Helped by Yankee renegaders),

Thru the vartu o' the North!

We begin to think it's natur

To take sarse an' not be riled—

Who'd expect to see a tater

All on eend at bein' biled?

Ez fer war, I call it murder-
There you hev it plain an' flat;
I don't want to go no furder

Than my Testament fer that;
God hez sed so plump an' fairly,
It's ez long ez it is broad,
An' you've gut to git up airly
Ef you want to take in God.

'Tain't your eppyletts an' feathers
Make the thing a grain more right;
"Tain't a-follerin' your bell-wethers
Will excuse ye in His sight;
Ef you take a sword an' dror it,
An' go stick a feller thru,
Guv'ment ain't to answer for it,
God'll send the bill to you.

Wut's the use o' meetin'-goin'
Every Sabbath, wet or dry,
Ef it's right to go a-mowin'
Feller-men like oats an' rye?

I dunno but wut it's pooty

Trainin' round in bobtail coats-
But it's curus Christian dooty
This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats.

They may talk o' Freedom's airy
Tell they're pupple in the face-
It's a grand gret cemetary

Fer the barthrights of our race;
They jest want this Californy
So's to lug new slave States in
To abuse ye, an' to scorn ye,
An' to plunder ye like sin.

Ain't it cute to see a Yankee
Take sech everlastin' pains,
All to git the Devil's thankee
Helpin' on 'em weld their chains?
Wy, it's jest ez clear ez figures,

Clear ez one an' one make two, Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers Want to make wite slaves o' you.

Tell ye jest the eend I've come to
Arter cipherin' plaguy smart,
An' it makes a handy sum, tu,

Any gump could larn by heart;
Laborin' man an' laborin' woman

Hev one glory an' one shame. Ev'ythin' thet's done inhuman Injers all on 'em the same.

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