“Frum the time that he was born Till he doubled round the Horn Of Death, all his measurements and pleasurements were odd; And odd his line will be, As you’re registered to see, Till his walnut case is underneath the gravel and the sod.” It was bitter winter weather When we all four got together At the depôt with the coffin in an extra packin’ box; And a friend with good intent, A cask of whisky sent, Just to keep our boats from wrackin’, as they say, upon the rocks. Then a ticket agent he Seein’ mournin’, says to me, “Can I get the cards, or help you in your trouble, Mister Brown?” So with solemn words I said, As I pinted to the dead, “There you’ll find, I guess, our pilgrimage and shrine is written down.” Then all night beneath the stars We sat grimly in the cars, Sometimes sleepin’, sometimes thinkin’, sometimes drinkin’, till the dawn; And each man went in his turn To the baggage-crate to learn If the box was keepin’ time with us, and how ’twas gettin’ on. Then all day beneath the sun Still the train went rushin’ on, While we still kep’ as silent as grave-stones as we went: Playing euchre solemnly, Which we kinder did agree With the stakes to build for Davis a decent monu_ment_. ’Bout once in every mile Some mourner took a smile, But we did no other smilin’ as we travelled day or night; And once in every hour Some one went into the bower, And reported the receptacle of Davis was all right. But when four days were past, Which we still were flyin’ fast, Goshen Wheeler, very solemn, with expression to us cries, “Where we are it should be freezin’ And our very breaths a-squeezin’, Whereas the air is hot enough to bake persimmon pies. “Don’t you smell a rich perfume As of summer flowers in bloom? ’Tis magnolias a-peddled by yon humble coloured boy: Now, I never yet did know That the sweet mag-no-li-o Grew in winter in the latitude of Northern Ellanoy.” Then said Ebenezer Dotton, “I behold a field of cotton, And I wonder how in thunder such a veg’table got here. I don’t know how we’re fixed, But the climate’s getting mixed, And it’s spilin’ very rapidly with warmness as I fear.” Spoke Mister Aaron Bland, “I perceive on yonder land That sugar-cane is bloomin’, correctly, all in rows, And not to make allusions To Republican delusions, But the niggers air a-gettin’ all around as thick as crows.”