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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 187 (search)
hus rudely chasina The pompous ambassador, C. S. A. Mason! Ah, the proud Minister Cometh to grief; With prospects so brilliant, How wonderful brief His life diplomatic-- All smoothly it runs, Till over his pathway It bloweth great guns! A sorry denouement This, brave F. F. V.; Thy fondest hopes blasted, Thy plans all at sea! You dreamed not of capture, While with Johnny Bull; You thought if we tried it, We'd have our hands full! But when Uncle Samuel Appeared on your track, And gave you his thunder, To which you knocked under, O! is it a wonder You were taken aback? O! poor Master Mason, There are sermons in stones-- Don't they speak to you yonder In eloquent tones? Howe'er mortar-fying To “go to the wall,” We think we've discovered Your Forte after all! We send you to Warren, Your station to fill, As Minister Foreign Nigh old Bunker Hill! You always was warrina In public, they say-- We hope you'll keep quiet Where Dimmick has sway. Williamsburgh, 1861. --Brooklyn Times, Dec. 3
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 241 (search)
A rebel Opinion of President Lincoln's Message of Dec. 3.--This document, which we spread before our readers on Saturday, came as near perfection, we conceive, as possible, in the art of deception. The Message was doubtless drawn up by Seward, (the cunning old fox,) who uses the English language to conceal his thoughts. We think our readers have, ere tis, come to the conclusion that they gained as little insight into the affairs of the Yankee nation by perusing that document, as they would have gained by reading a proclamation from the King of the Fejee Islands. Six mortal columns to conceal from the world that the boasting Yankee dynasty has been whipped in every battle they have undertaken, and would like to back out of the scrape if a decent pretext were to offer, is not such a bad production in these war times, with cotton at thirty cents a pound, and anarchy and starvation staring them in the face, and the almost certainty of having their own ports blockaded by an English fl