Routledge Revivals: The Literary Humour of the Urban Northeast 1830-1890 (1983)
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The New Yankee Doodle / 185 Old Jonathan pricked up his ear, Said he, “What is this clatter, About the black man that I hear? It is a serious matter. And British sympathizers were All barking in accord, sir;5 For in perverted garbled guise The news had gone abroad, sir; And hints that looked like threats came back Across the briny water, That Johnny Bull his brains did rack To “stop the horrid slaughter.” And Jonathan had some bad boys, Unfriendly to the cause, sir; They rallied now, and raised a cry Of “Union as it was,” sir.6 They said the war perverted was If Sambo lost his collar; They wouldn’t “give another man, And not another dollar.” Said Jonathan, “My lads, look here, You set of wretched shirks! Your miserable rebel souls You’d bolster with such quirks. ’Tis such as you more mischief do Than Stonewall on the border. To block your, game, you coward crew, A speedy draft I’ll order.” Then Congress, just to show the rebs This spunky Yankee nation Ain’t scared at trifles, made by law An Act of Confiscation.7
/ Charles G. Leland Dat as Copdain Breitmann suited oos Egsockdly do an ounce, He vas ged de nomination, And need nod more eckshblain: Der Breitmann dink in silence, And denn roar aloudt, champagne! Den Mishder Twine, while trinken wein, Mitwhiles vent on do say, Dat long insdruckdions in dis age Vere nod de dime of tay; Und de only ding der Breitmann need To pe of any use Vas shoost to dell to afery mans He’s soundt oopon der coose. Und ash dis little frase berhops Vas nod do oos bekannt, He dakes de liberdy do make Dat ve shall oondershtand, And vouldt tell a liddle shdory Vitch dook blace pefore de wars: Here der Breitmann not to Trina, Und she bass aroundt cigars. “Id ish a longe dime, now here, In Bennsylvanien’s Shtate, All in der down of Horrisburg Dere rosed a vierce depate, ’Tween vamilies mit cooses, Und dose vhere none vere foundt— If cooses might, by common law, Go squanderin aroundt? “Dose who vere nod pe-gifted Mit gooses, und vere poor, All shvear de law forbid dis crime, Py shings and cerdain sure; But de coose-holders teklare a coose Greadt liberty tid need, And to pen dem oop vas gruel, Und a mosdt oon-Christian teed.
Pickpocket Training Poem on Credit / 291 best terms he could. He put spurs to his old mare, rode before the news, and sold to the widow Lowly and her two sons, who had just come of age, about fifty thousand acres of land, which lay the Lord knows where, and to which he knew he had no title, and took all their father, the old deacon’s farm in mortgage, and threatens to turn the poor widow upon the town, and her two boys upon the world; but this is the way of the world. The ’Squire is a great speculator, he is of the quorum, can sit on the sessions, and fine poor girls for natural misteps; but I am a little rogue, who speculated in only fifty acres of rocks, and must stand here in the pillory. Then there is the state of Georgia. They sold millions of acres, to which they had no more title, than I to David Dray’s land. Their great men pocketed the money; and their Honourable Assembly publicly burnt all the records of their conveyance, and are now selling the lands again. But Georgia is a great Honourable State. They can keep Negro slaves, race horses, gouge out eyes, send, members to fight duels at Congress, and cry out for France and the guillotine, and be honoured in the land; while poor I, who never murdered any one, who never fought a duel or gouged an eye; and had too much honour to burn my forged deed, when I had once been wicked enough to make it, must stand here in the pillory, for I am a little rogue. Take warning by my sad fate; and if you must speculate in lands, let it be in millions of acres; and if you must be rogues, take warning by my unhappy fate and become great rogues.—For as it is said in a pair of verses I read when I was a boy,
