kees — destined to become the personal property of a lank man, attached to a long nose, and to hoe his corn or drive his chariot, whilst Mrs. Snooks does the cooking in the kitchen.
The ears of Snooks are always pricked up to hear if any Confederate town or garrison has fallen, in which case he indulges himself in an entertainment of profound despair.
A perfect luxury of woe was the fall of New Orleans, only surpassed by that of Vicksburg.
Then the falling back of Lee from Gettysburg, of Johnston to Atlanta — never was anything so gloriously melancholy.
Snooks thinks of commemorating these performances by falling back himself from a third-story window, leaving forever a land where the coffee is of rye, and the tea is the only thing that does not smell of gun-powder. "Isn't there something," he exclaims, in the bitterness of his soul, "that will never fall?" Rejoice, oh disconsolate mortal, there is. Beef and bacon, bread and clothing, rent and servants' hire, fuel and whiskey, will