The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1872-07-30

And truthful as myself;
30 won't yez, In Novimber,
Put Ulysses op The shelf

W "ohs ycl, III NOVlmDeTs
Put Ulysses op he shelf
Fal de raj, de raj, de raj,
It's easy for to see
That nobody can natther ye,
Oh, nobody but me.
sllevegammon sure, fought myself
And mildly let me ak,
When Wilson was Know Nothing
And fresh from cobbler's wax,
Did Horace ever fail you No.
But let that dead thing rest
And didn't tell yer emigrants
Most kindly to 60 West F.s~-
Fa DC raj, Do mi, De raj,
Hcsatch me- IN tickle you;
,s You do not care for oflces,
y ~ s But boys, agrah, / dol
The semi-somnolence 81 the irish patriot at the
close Of this insnuating melody must be entirely
attributed to Its lullaby effect. His glass had been
empty for at least five minutes before the song
commenced. The rapping on the tables aroused
him, and he Joined vigorously in the tribute to the
philosopher bard. He called for a fresh brew, and,
after slipping 1t, laid 1t dreamily before him.
THE coLoRED CONVERT
bounced to his feet and said:-
GEMMEN-Dar's no use talkin', ha hal but dis
whips eberyting. GOllyl II dar war one good old
hallelujah chorus for de plantation hands tno
offence In de world Massa D-s), we'd hop de
ticket all ober de Souf IKE possum up O gum tree
Glory glory goryl ~
The impassioned gesture OF this African sho wed
he was thoroughly in earnest and between the
songs and the rum sangaree It was little wonder
The philosopher caught the wild inspiration OF the
moment, and jumping on his chair swayed his noble
body to and fro in an almost natural ccstacy He
sang with marvellous vim and the banjo oblgato
was performed apparently with the hands, head and
heels Of the cOored convert
ODE vI.-AD FRATREs COLORATOs.
o lubly sons OF Ham,
Dat free as squirrels am,
Massa Greeley's talkn to you now
De reel ole abolition,
Dat sent unto perdtion
Z White folks dat raised de rebel row.
Look out dar now. H0w's You gwine to vOte2
Look out dar; don't you understand
De radicals am fallen Horace you am calm,
And he's gwlne to occupy de land.
De white folks way down South,
VIII honey In dar mouth
'TIme's come, Sambo quit his frens' dey say,
De war has changed dere stations,
And dere your blood relations,
De family votes one ticket lection day. "a
Look out dar now How's you gwine to voter
Look out dar; won't you understand
r De carpet Dag am fallen; Horace you am callin'
And he's gwine to occupy de land.
Ku Klux am sweet like, lasses
On nigs; while dere ole massas
WOudn' have a slave gin II dey could.
ALPS serene and brudderly,
Horace he feels mulberry,
Like hen VIII happy speckled brood. N.
Look out dar now. H0w's you gwine to voter
YOu see dat lash. Now dye understand
Horace you am CALM, sweetly, gently CALM.
And he's gwine to occupy de land.
When Horace jumped down after this remarkable
performance he snatched at the first glass that
came In his way. The Irish patriot on his left did
the same. The philosopher had
GULPED A STRONG wHIsxEY PUNCH
before ne knew what was the matter and the pa
trlot had engulfed pint of sarsaparilla torrent
OF basphemies nowed nom the philosopher az he
sputtered out the asphyxiating liquid while the
disgust OF the patriot at defling his mouth with
such STUFF vented itself in O decided but milder
form. In the midst OF this scene 1t was announced
that the guests must hurry to catch the train.
general rush followed down the HILL the philosopher
being left still swearing The last object however,
which caught the eye Of the happy fasteners was
the form Of the colOred convert on the brow OF a
hil still keeping up the refrain, "Holace, you am
Calling" In stentorian tones, while his huge feet
as they kicked and plunged around the horizon
occasionally cut or the little sunlight remaining
from the sinking orb Of day.