Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1877-04-18
The Trapper's Opinion Of Az
fairs in the states.

fairs in the states.
"what no! it can't be possible! WAL durh my
onery skin
Eff hyar amt old Sam Allison back from the
States agin
When did ye strike the hills again Yer looking
jist rs gay
An full of nat'ral cussedness as when ye went
away.
Yes, it's Sam, as sure as shootin'. Put 'or thar,
ye burned old coon.
1 heven't felt good fur years. Why, man, I'd
just AS soon
Hev thought o. seein' my old dad out hyar; I
would, swnr TO joe
An he TUX sick an crossed the range moro'n
forty years ago.
Les see. 1t war in III when you LETT us up the
creek;
Or war 1t '72' Ny mem'ry isn't nigh so quick
As 'twar a dozen years ago. I'm gittin old ye see
Amt half the man war the day we struck the
Laramie.
Wal, what ye bin dom an whar all hev ye
binl
An what in the name o. goodness ever brought ye
back aginl
Black Hills, eh Coin to try yer hand at diggin'
aftcr gold
burned eff ! wouldn't foller yc ef want so tarnel
old.
But III hang on to the traps, guess, for haven't
long ter stay
Out o. the ground; an all needs my grub from
day TO day.
Won't banker arter riches fur I blieve it'd be
wrong
III list Jog on nm thank the Lord fur leavin' me
hyar so long.
An how are matters in the States 1 hear some
tough old tales
About the COINS on back thar III swur it knock
cd the scales
boomin' oTn my eyes to hear the folks com.
in in
An tellin' of frauds an wickedncss thct 'ud
double discount ain.
How they manyiactur whisky unbeknown to Un-
Gle sam,
An bank cashiers keep skippin' out Why, pardy,
I'll De dam
IF tisnt hard ter swaller all the stories thet We
hear.
They even say The preachers thar actin mighty
queer.
Especially some high toned ducks, who preach an
sing an shout,
Then play right inter satnn's hand as soon rs
meetiu's out.
Some on ems Christians, thct now; but then,
am inclined
Ter think thars lots o. prcacin' nowadays thets
all blind
Ter hide the outside skirmshin'; fur Tn tarnal
liar
t-rr NJ at..,
ter be some fire.
They tell me, too, thar's murder goin' on 'nongst
high an low,
An they alters find the murdercrs insane an let
em 90.
Pententiaries don't ketch em, an hangin's most
played out
Why, dog my buttons, Sam ! it's 'nuif to make the
devil shout!
Ef things keep a gittin' worse at this alarmin'
rate,
They'll stick a notice saying closed up over
Heavens gate;
Fur it'll never pay expenses TO run the place,
thet's clear;
They wouldn't ketch an average of ore good saint
ayear
II makes me sick I'm tryin' TO think thet it isn't
true.
Wal, by the junpin' Judas what are we comm
TO!
tell ye, Sam, I'm glad thet amt in thet coun-
try now;
I'll take these mountains ev'ry time in mine, 1
will, vow.
Thars no use tryin' to dodge it, pard some day
thar'll come crash,
An the whole Internal countryll go right plum
ter smash.
Fur the Boss thet rules all, up thar in Heavens
shiny land,
Amt goin' ter stand no sich game 'thout call
in fur hand;
An III bet my whole last seasons 'kotch' thet ef
He sets in the game,
He'll All thet Lrimstone country up as long as
thar's flame.
Wal, must be toddlin' back I've got my pelts
all sold.
Amt done so good this year as last it's been SO
orful cold
Thet couldn't git ter all my trapster tend em as
I'd ought;
But then, won't complain, but thank the Lord
fur what I've got.
Put 'er thar agin, old chum, an hope yen hev
good luck
But CT she don't pan out jist right an ye happen
to git stuck,
Tist come TO old Jacks cabin an ven find place
ter stop
Long as ye live. Bye, bye, old pard. No, thankee
not drop"