,
I'd bathe my sole in heggstacy In yonder fleasy klowd. Out poits' hiborn soles Must mix with vulger kru! Wudn't tha druther fli awa And hyde from mortel vu! Ah, yes! had I a pare of wings To go to yonder mune, I gues ide jest as lif sta thar From now until next June. And thar, a rovin' up and down, Threw perley flours ide go, Or listen to the tinklin rills Wat from the mountain flo. "Note.—The supposition is that the writer has got up among the 'klowds' and can't get down again."
2
Our Shultz Letter
From the Weekly Mercury, June 24, 1871
Bush's Paster,
June 23, 1871.
Editor Mercury:—Here I am yet living on strawberries. They got remarkable scarce down on the praree so I cum up here and find them plentier. Then this is a plesenter place and certain little reminicences cluster about the locality which make a feller kinder domesticated. But it don't be- come me to talk of life's pleasures while I am skulking around with this infernal peace of iron cleavin to my leg like a raw hide to a feller's back. Speaking of raw hides re- minds me of that letter in the Statesman referring to somebody Clark calls the "pawnbroker". Now Mr. Editor I never rit that letter. Clark rit it himself because he has an old grudge at the gentleman he calls pawnbroker, the particulars of which is not necessary to relate. But I am su
