J. E. P. Doyle

“ My idea of Christianity Is of quite a different type, And all them supercillious ranters Who think for the Harvest thar ripe,
That, through thar pra’r and thar false prerfession, They have been cleans’d of all thar sin, Will find, when they apply for admission, They have a slim chance ter get in! ”

“ Then, chuck full of pork, they’d rertire Ter slumbers disturb’d by the dyin’ squeals Of swine they had slaughter’d for tea, ’Til they thought the devils had come back from Those Jesus druv inter the sea!
As I have told ye, I jin’d the bummers With my mule, my gun and canteen, And the days that I roam’d about with ’em War the jolliest I have seen; [43] But as we pars’d out of Berks one mornin’, Far erhead of the “acorn” corps, We soon diskiver’d a fine old homestead, And a fair young gal in the door. ”

“ For, ye see, thar war stray rebels erbout, Who would swing ’em up by the necks, When they cetch’d ’em totin’ erway the grub— And hundreds parsed in thar checks!
In them days I war not at all skeery— Impressin’ a mule, I lit out For the front, whar the bummers war raidin’ And scourin’ the country erbout— [42] Stealin’ chickens, or killin’ hogs by day, (Or goin’ through a trunk, perchance;) Then at night they would camp for ter eat ’em, With pickets thrown out in advance. ”

“ I BERLIEVE it’s cornceeded on all sides That of all the cute bipeds made Since the world war created, the Yankee Allers gets the best in a trade!
It’s a boast that no race can match ’em In expedients sure ter win: And all others must get up right early If they would n’t be taken in! [17]
As a proof of this ere declaration They tell of one up at Cape Cod, Who’s so all-fir’d smart he endeavor’d Ter play a trump kerd at his God!
He’s a fisherman by occerpation, Is this feller they call Bob Munn; And ter dry his fish he ask’d mandamus Ter sercure more light from the sun! ”

“ My Rerligion is not a prerfession That “I am holier than thou!” That a man can not serve his Creator If he don’t make a saintly bow! [30]
The follerers of the Blessed Jesus, Who war cradl’d in a menger, Will strive ter love thar neighbor as themselves, And gladden the lonely strenger—
With kindnesses what go home ter the heart In hour of his greatest need, And act the part of the Sermaritan, Of whom we all derlight ter read.
I may be a sinner, and I doubt not Have done heaps of things that war wrong ”

“ In them, Commandments ye get the essence Of the Truth as given ter man; And if a poor sinner lives up ter ’em, And labors the best that he can— No matter if he is out of the church, Whar the wicked ones are cryin’ For mercy! ”

“ Hank Rowland, I’m ershem’d Ter admit it; but, still, It may do another good Ter warn him of what’ll kill, And I swow that I will; For, ye see, thar is many Jist like me ’round here Turnin’ erway from thar homes When the smiles diserpear, ’Cause thar wedded ter beer! [62]
Wal, down here ter the tavern, As a matter of course I found many good fellers Who’d not any rermorse, And did not seem advarse Ter a toddy or a smoke, A yarn or a story, Of Ingen fights on the Plains, And conflicts quite gory, In sarch of mere glory. ”

“ Then over on his back we turn’d him, And bergun ter rermove his hide.
While this war doin’ I heer’d a bark Of a dorg, what appear’d quite near! ’Twar so much like Fanny’s, with my sleeve I—jist brush’d from my cheek a tear! Wal, when we had cut the varment open— Ye won’t berlieve it, but it’s true As any story I’ve ever told, My Fanny jump’d squar inter view!
Then, arter her came three pretty purps— Exact picters of thar mother! We ply’d our knives agin in the flesh, And then unkiver’d another! [56] Ye see, I had rerkiver’d my pet, What brought back a numerous crop Of young dogs ”

“ But the fellers jist snickered right out, And told me ter go comb my ha’r— [44] And dry up, for they would have them hives If they had ter eat bees berside, And if I did not like it I could jist Crawl out of my pesky old hide.
Objections war no use erbout them days; And, like a cornsumate old fool, I drew rein at the gate ef the house, and Watch’d ’em from the back of my mule. Then them soldiers made a sortie on the bees With thar ponchos, and tuk ’em quick Ter the stream near by whar they drowned them, And lifted the hives from the creek. ”

“ But Polly, she kiss’d me so kind-like, And prertested that she had been true, That I tuk “Little Boots” ter my arms,— Why, strenger, what else could I do?
Since then I’ve been thinkin’ it over: How this youngster chanc’d inter life,— Durn me, if I don’t fear it’s the fault Of Tom Smart and Polly, my wife!
I don’t like ter suspicion my Polly Who’s jist now appearin’ in view; But, somehow, I don’t think it’s nat’ral That our “Boots” should come thus. Do you? ”

“ It war on that march the ervent tuk place Of which I am goin’ ter tell, Of how I ran inter a nest ef bees, And thar got a foretaste of hell! [41] On the sixth day out we had got well down In Berks county, n’ar the borders, And on that ere raid, ye may bet yer pile, We did not car’ much for orders!
But each man dug out upon his own hook, And rush’d for the front and plunder: N’arly all of ’em got thar full of it, But some of the boys went under ”