Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1869-05-28

by THE "FAT Contributor"

The man who wrote Home, sweet Home, never
had ahome.--ExcHAEGE.
No, of course not. All his folks al
home say be didn't. Nobody who
writes about anything ever has it. LII a
man is out of anything he Immediately
goes and writes about it. No mar
writes so many Headings" as the man
who is out of his head.
Certainly he didn't ever have any
home. The man who wrote " Old Arm
Chair" never had an arm chair in all
bis life. The best he had was an old
split bottom chair without any back to it.
The author of g Take Me Back to
Switzerland" never was in Switzerland.
The nearest no ever came to it was sit
ting in the William Tell saloon eating
Switzer kase-kase why, that was the
best lie could do.
Mother, I've Come Home to Die"
hasn't spoken to the old woman for
years, and wouldn't go near the house.
Besides, he is one of that class of spir-
itualists who don't believe they ever
will die. His health was never better.
His mother is nothing but a mother-in
law, and she is dead, anyhow.
There is the author "Old Oaken
Bucket" too. There wasn't bucket
on the whole farm, water being drawn
with tin pail and a cistern pole.
If / had but thousand year"
stated privately to his friends that he
would be perfectly contented with half
that sum, as he was doing chores just for
his board and three months schooling ip
the winter.
The author of champagne Charley"
never drank anything but ten cent whis
ky.
The man who wrote {" Mary had little
lamb" knew very well il was nothing but
title lamb fry.
"Shells of ocean" is humbug. The
plaintive poet who represents himself as
wandering one summers eve, with sea-
beat thought, on a pensive shore, was
raised in the interior of Pennsylvania,
and never was ten miles away from home
in all his life. Gathered Shells" did
he? All the shells he ever gathered
were some g-shells back of his mothers
kitchen.
"Hark hear the angels sing" spent
all his evenings in concert beer saloon.
Angels, indeed!
The man who wrote the Song
of the Shirt" hadn't shirt to his
back, wearing wampus for the most
part.
"Oft in the Silly Night" used TO get
on spree and make the Silly night howl
till day break.
The author of " We met by chance"
knew very well it was all arranged be-
forehand. He had been weeks in con-
irving it-and she admired his contriy.
auee.
The author of " / know a bank" etc.,
didn't know one where he could get his
note discounted. The only check he ev-
er held was white "check" on a faro
bank. He never had a red check in all
his life.
"What are the wild waves saying ~
knew very well they were approaching
him for running away from Long Branch
without paying his hotel bill.
"Who will care for mother now q
Who, indeed! You took the old-wo.
man to the poor-house just before
writing the song, and there is nobody
but the Poormaster to care for her now.
Shear me, Norma" was deaf and
dumb. He couldn't make his pa hear,
nor ma.
"My mother dear," used to thrash
the old woman within in an inch of her
life.
The author of Rain on the Roof"
always slept in the basement, except
when he slept out of doors.
I" Let me kiss him for his mother" got
mad because his mother wouldn't have
him, and whipped her little boy within
an inch of bis life.
L dreamt | lived in marble halls
used to cheat at marbles when a boy,
and his dream was a horrid night
mare, brought on by remorse at the
recollection of fraudulent marble hauls
"I'm saddest when sing" was tickIed
almost to death if invited to.
Happy be thy dreams" sold benzine
whisky. You can fancy what kind Of
"dreams" were produced.
:" No one to love-" having Just killed
off his fifth wife, naturally felt like the
devil ahout IL