Nor e’er achieved aught in’t so worthy of praise
As the tribute of Holmes to the grand ‘Marseillaise.’
You went crazy, last year, over Bulwer’s ‘New Timon’;
Why, if B., to the day of his dying, should rhyme on,
Heaping verses on verses and tomes upon tomes,
He could ne’er reach the best point and vigour of Holmes.
His are just the fine hands, too, to weave you a lyric
Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satyric
In a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes
That are trodden upon are your own or your foes.”
James Russell Lowell.
THE PIOUS EDITOR’S CREED
I DU believe in Freedom’s cause,
Ez fur away ez Paris is;
I love to see her stick her claws
In them infarnal Pharisees;
It’s wal enough agin a king
To dror resolves an’ triggers,
But libbaty’s a kind o’ thing
That don’t agree with niggers.
I du believe the people want
A tax on teas an’ coffees;
Thet nothin’ aint extravygunt,
Purvidin’ I’m in office;
Fer I hev loved my country sence
My eye-teeth fill’d their sockets,
An’ Uncle Sam I reverence,
Partic’larly his pockets.
I du believe in any plan
O’ levyin’ the taxes,
Ez long, ez, like a lumberman,
I get jest wut I axes:
I go free-trade thru thick an’ thin,
Because it kind o’ rouses
The folks to vote – an’ keeps us in
Our quiet custom-houses.
I du believe it’s wise an’ good
To send out furrin missions,
Thet is, on sartin understood
An’ orthydox conditions —
I mean nine thousan’ dolls. per ann.,
Nine thousan’ more fer outfit,
An’ me to recommend a man
The place ’ould jest about fit.
I du believe in special ways
O’ prayin’ an’ convartin’;
The bread comes back in many days,
An’ butter’d, tu, fer sartin;
I mean in preyin’ till one busts
On wut the party chooses,
An’ in convartin’ public trusts
To very privit uses.
I du believe hard coin’s the stuff
Fer ’lectioneers to spout on;
The people’s ollers soft enough
To make hard money out on;
Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,
An’ gives a good-sized junk to all,
I don’t care how hard money is,
Ez long ez mine’s paid punctooal.
I du believe with all my soul
In the great Press’s freedom,
To p’int the people to the goal,
An’ in the traces lead ’em.
Palsied the arm thet forges yokes
At my fat contracts squintin’,
An’ wither’d be the nose thet pokes
Inter the Gov’ment printin’!
I du believe that I should give
Wut’s his’n unto Cæsar,
For it’s by him I move an’ live,
Frum him my bread an’ cheese air;
I du believe thet all o’ me
Doth bear his souperscription —
Will, conscience, honour, honesty,
An’ things o’ thet description.
I du believe in prayer an’ praise
To him thet hez the grantin’
O’ jobs – in everythin’ thet pays,
But most of all in Cantin’;
This doth my cup with marcies fill,
This lays all thought o’ sin to rest;
I don’t believe in princerple,
But, oh! I du in interest.
I du believe in bein’ this
Or thet, ez it may happen,
One way or t’other hendiest is
To ketch the people nappin’.