"Secesh!" I ansered. "I'm a Dissoluter. I'm in favor of Jeff
Davis, Bowregard, Pickens, Capt. Kidd, Bloobeard, Munro
Edards, the devil, Mrs. Cunningham and all the rest of 'em."

"You're in favor of the war?"

"Certingly. By all means. I'm in favor of this war and also
of the next war. I've been in favor of the next war for over
sixteen years!"

"War to the knife!" sed the man.

"Blud, Eargo, Blud!" sed I, tho them words isn't orrigernal
with me, them words was rit by Shakspeare, who is ded. His
mantle fell onto the author of "The Seven Sisters," who's goin
to hav a Spring overcoat made out of it.

We got under way at larst, an' proceeded on our jerney at
about the rate of speed which is ginrally obsarved by
properly-conducted funeral processions. A hansum yung gal,
with a red musketer bar on the back side of her hed, and a
sassy little black hat tipt over her forrerd, sot in the seat
with me. She wore a little Sesesh flag pin'd onto her hat,
and she was a goin for to see her troo love, who had jined the
Southern army, all so bold and gay. So she told me. She was
chilly and I offered her my blanket.

"Father livin?" I axed.