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Volume 3 (1858-1859) (592 pages)
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Page: of 592
OUR SOCIAL CHAIR. 41
An enthusiastic friend, who never permits the Fourth of July to pass without
doing something patriotic, breathes forth
his admiration of the great WasHINGTON
in the following happy strain:
WASHINGTON.
BY G. W. BR.
All hallow’d be the patriot’s fame
Who kept unstained and bright
A mighty nation’s glorious name,
And put her foes to flight.
Remember'd bé the chieftain’s name
To Freedom’s sacred fane,
Who to the nation’s rescue came
And broke the tyrant’s chain.
What though the vital spark has fled
That once for-freemen shone,
The patriot lives:!—he is not dead,
For here his spirit's known.
And not a tyrant’s might
Can cause her sons to blush in shame
Who dare defend her right.
America! no other land
Could boast a Washington
Though patriots rose on every hand
Since ’erst the world begun.
Her standard sheet, so widely known,
In triumph’s now unfurled ;
The stars he planted there have grown
And shine o’er all the world.
Let freemen say with right good cheer,
And hand upon their breast,
His name doth find a dwelling here
And we are not oppress’d.
San Francisco, June 17th, 1858.
Ir our cousins over the water occasionally amuse themselves at the expense
of Yankeeisms, Westernisms, and Provincialisms, of Brother Jonathan, we can
at least console ourselves with the reflection that the transition of the eighth letter of the alphabet, and using it as a
prefix to the jirst, affords our people an
equally great source of ‘amusement, with
this difference: that Jonathan enjoys a
joke even at his own expense, while John
Bull is thin-skinned, his epidemics being
of the gold leaf attenuation—none are
more sensitive to ridicule—and no one
hates as badly to be laughed at.
Our good-natured friend Punch, who,
like the wind which blows where it listeth, is a privileged character, has on
many occasions shown up the cockney
propensity to abuse the Queen’s English,
in the particular referred to. His picture of the enraged John, indignantly
kicking out of doors the unfortunate letter “‘H,” is familiar to all, and has been
as much laughed at as the similar caricature of a polite gentleman handing a
lady the same /et¢ter (II) which she had
dropped at, but not in, the Post Office.
The story of the little girl sweeping the
carpet during the call of a Hinglish lady,
to find the H’s which the visitor had
dropped, is also well known.
We propose, for the fun of the thing,
to give a few specimens of this peculiarity of language, among those who, as a
buxom English woman expressed it,
“hexhasperated the haitch and dropped
the hay most haudaciously.”
Among the budget of anecdotes with
which poor Dan Marble (he deserves a
marble statue) used to regale his friends,
was one illustrating the misfortunes
which this class sometimes fell into simply by the misplacing of a letter. The
box office man of the Eagle Street Theatre, in Buffalo, happened at one time to
be a “bloody Britisher,” one of the sort
who said that ‘‘it cawnt be hexpected
that hale could be made in Haymerica,
because they ’avent got the ’ops.” His
dinner hour being strictly English, he
always carried his lunch with him to the
office in the morning, and in the winter
season this usually consisted of a mince
pie, of which homogenous conglomeration
he was remarkably fond. About twelve