Part 21 (1/2)

(MUD FLAT, 1860)

So you're back from your travels, old fellow, And you left but a twelvemonth ago; You've hobn.o.bbed with Louis Napoleon, Eugenie, and kissed the Pope's toe.

By Jove, it is perfectly stunning, Astounding,--and all that, you know; Yes, things are about as you left them In Mud Flat a twelvemonth ago.

The boys!--they're all right,--Oh! d.i.c.k Ashley, He's buried somewhere in the snow; He was lost on the Summit last winter, And Bob has a hard row to hoe.

You know that he's got the consumption?

You didn't! Well, come, that's a go; I certainly wrote you at Baden,-- Dear me! that was six months ago.

I got all your outlandish letters, All stamped by some foreign P. O.

I handed myself to Miss Mary That sketch of a famous chateau.

Tom Saunders is living at 'Frisco,-- They say that he cuts quite a show.

You didn't meet Euchre-deck Billy Anywhere on your road to Cairo?

So you thought of the rusty old cabin, The pines, and the valley below, And heard the North Fork of the Yuba As you stood on the banks of the Po?

'Twas just like your romance, old fellow; But now there is standing a row Of stores on the site of the cabin That you lived in a twelvemonth ago.

But it's jolly to see you, old fellow,-- To think it's a twelvemonth ago!

And you have seen Louis Napoleon, And look like a Johnny c.r.a.paud.

Come in. You will surely see Mary,-- You know we are married. What, no?

Oh, ay! I forgot there was something Between you a twelvemonth ago.

FURTHER LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES

(NYE'S FORD, STANISLAUS, 1870)

Do I sleep? do I dream?

Do I wonder and doubt?

Are things what they seem?

Or is visions about?

Is our civilization a failure?

Or is the Caucasian played out?

Which expressions are strong; Yet would feebly imply Some account of a wrong-- Not to call it a lie-- As was worked off on William, my pardner, And the same being W. Nye.

He came down to the Ford On the very same day Of that lottery drawed By those sharps at the Bay; And he says to me, ”Truthful, how goes it?”

I replied, ”It is far, far from gay;

”For the camp has gone wild On this lottery game, And has even beguiled 'Injin d.i.c.k' by the same.”

Then said Nye to me, ”Injins is pizen: But what is his number, eh, James?”

I replied, ”7, 2, 9, 8, 4, is his hand;”

When he started, and drew Out a list, which he scanned; Then he softly went for his revolver With language I cannot command.

Then I said, ”William Nye!”

But he turned upon me, And the look in his eye Was quite painful to see; And he says, ”You mistake; this poor Injin I protects from such sharps as YOU be!”

I was shocked and withdrew; But I grieve to relate, When he next met my view Injin d.i.c.k was his mate; And the two around town was a-lying In a frightfully dissolute state.