Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive Part 35

Thus perished that truly great and good man, who lived and died for mankind. One more remark, Mr. President, and then I am done; and I lay it down as a particular pint in my argument. If it had not have been for Mr. Kerlumbus, Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton would never have been born; besides all this, Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton was a coward. With these remarks, I leave the floor to abler hands.

[Here Mr. SLABSIDES arose, much excited at hearing Mr.

Was.h.i.+ngton called a coward, and said:]

Mr. President: I, sir, for one, am sureptaciously surprised at the quiet manner in which you have listened to the base suspersions cast upon that glorious and good man. Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton a coward! Why, sir, lockjawed be the mouth that spoke it. Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton a coward! Mr.

President, my blood's a-bilin' at the idea. Why, sir, look at him at the battle of Tippecanoe! Look at him at the battle of Sarah Gordon!

Look at him at the battle of New Orleans! Did he display cowardice thar, sir, or at any of the similar battles that he fout? I ask you, sir, did he display cowardice at the battle of New Orleans?

[Mr. GARROTTE arose, and responded to the question. Said he:]

The gentleman will allow me to correct him, one moment. Mr.

Was.h.i.+ngton, sir, never fit the battle of New Orleans. He couldn't have fout that battle, for he'd been dead more'n _two weeks_ afore that ar battle was ever fout. He never fit the battle of New Orleans.

Mr. Slabsides.--Will the gentleman--will Mr. Garrotte please state who it was that fit the battle of New Orleans? The gentleman has seen fit to interrupt me; will he please to state who it was fit the battle of New Orleans?

Hon. Felix Garrotte.--If the gentleman will have patience to turn to Josephus, or read Benjamin Franklin's History of the Black-Hawk War, you will thar learn, sir, that it was General Douglas that fit the battle of New Orleans.

Mr. Slabsides.--I thank my very learned opponent, not only for his instructions, but more especially for his corrections, in which he has shown himself totally ignorant of history, men, and things. I contend, Mr. President, notwithstanding the gentleman's a.s.sertion to the contrary, that Mr. Was.h.i.+ngton not only fit the battle of New Orleans, but that he is _alive now_, sir! I have only to pint you, Mr.

President, and gentlemen of this lyceum, to his quiet and retired home at _Sandoval_, on the banks of the Tombigbee River, whar he now resides, conscious of his private worth and of the glorious achievements heaped upon his grateful brow by his aged countrymen; and allow me to call your attention to the fact that General Douglas never fit the battle of New Orleans. He couldn't have fout that battle, cause he was dead. Yes, sir, and I can prove it, if you'll have the patience to turn and look over Horace Greeley's History of the Kansas Hymn-book War; for there you will find that General Douglas, at the head of an army of negroes, made a desperate charge on Mason and Dixon's line, and Horace said he never breathed afterward.

[Hereupon the speaker left in disgust at the ignorance of his opponent.]

A SERMON FROM THE HARP OF A THOUSAND STRINGS.

Preached before General Rosecrans and Staff.

My Beluved Brethering:

I am a plain and unlarnt preacher, of whom you've no doubt heern on afore; and I now appear to expound the scripters, and pint out the narrow way which leads from a vain world to the streets of the Juroosalum; and my tex which I shall choose for the occasion is somewhar between the second Chronikills and the last chapter of Timothy t.i.tus, and when found you will find it in these words: "And they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

Now, my beluved brethering, as I have afore told you, I am an unedicated man, and know nothing about grammar talk and collidge highfaluting; but I'm a plain, unlarnt preacher of the Gospil, what's been foreordained, and called to expound the scripters to a dyin'

world, and prepare a perverse generation for the day of wrath; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

My beluved brethering, the text says "they shall gnaw a file." It don't say they _may_, but they _shall_. And now, there's more'n one kind of file: there's the hand-saw file, rat-tail file, single file, double file, and profile; but the kind of file spoken of here isn't one of them kind neither, because it's a figger of speech, my brethering, and means goin' it alone, getting ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

And now, there be some here with fine clothes on thar backs, bra.s.s rings on thar fingers, and lard on thar har, what goes it while they're young; and thar be brothers here what, as long as thar const.i.tutions and forty-cent whisky last, goes it blind; and thar be sisters here what, when they get sixteen years old, cut thar tiller-ropes and goes it with a rush. But I say, my brethering, take care you don't find, when Gabriel blows his last trump, that you've all went it alone and got ukered; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam."

And, my brethering, there's more dam beside Hepsidam: thar's Rotterdam, Haddam, Amsterdam, mill-dam, and don't-care-a-dam; the last of which, my dear brethering, is the worst of all, and reminds me of a circ.u.mstance I once knew in the State of Illinoy. There was a man what built him a mill on the east fork of Auger Creek, and it was a good mill, and ground a site of grain; but the man what built it was a miserable sinner, and never give any thing to the church; and, my brethering, one night thar come a dreadful storm of wind and rain, and the fountains of the great deep was broken up, and the waters rushed down and swept that man's mill-dam into kingdom come, and, lo, and behold! in the morning, when he got up, he found he was not worth a dam. Now, my young brethering, when storms of temptation overtake ye, take care you don't fall from grace, and become like that mill--not worth a dam; "for they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

"Whar the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born." This part of the tex, my brethering, is another figger of speech, and isn't to be taken as it says. It doesn't mean the howlin' wilderness whar John the Hard-sh.e.l.l Baptist was fed on locusts and wild a.s.ses; but it means, my brethering, the city of New Yorleans, whar corn is worth six bits a bushel one day, and nary red the next; whar gamblers, thieves, and pickpockets go skiting about the streets like weasels in a barnyard; whar they have cream-colored hosses, gilded carriages, marble saloons with brandy and sugar in 'em; whar honest men are scarcer than hens'

teeth; and whar a strange woman once tuk in your beluved preacher, and bamboozled him out of two hundred and twenty-seven dollars; but she can't do it again, hallelujah! For "they shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, whar the lion roareth and the whang-doodle mourneth for its first-born."

Brother Flint will please pa.s.s round the hat, and let every Hard-sh.e.l.l sh.e.l.l out.

THE END.