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Grange (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 255
88. the Devil's visit to old Abe. by Rev. E. P. Birch, of la Grange, Ga. Written on the occasion of Lincoln's proclamation for prayer and fasting after the battle of Manassas. Revised and improved by the author. Old Abe was sitting in his chair of state, With one foot on the mantel, and one on the grate, Now smoking his pipe, and then scratching his pate; For he had heard some disastrous news of late, As fearful as death, and as cruel as fate. In an old earthen jug, on a table near by, Was a gallon of “Buckeye,” or “choice old rye,” To cheer up his hopes, which were ready to die, Under whose potent charms old Abe would be able To lay all his griefs, like a bill, “on the table ;” Or, shut up his woe, like a horse, in a stable. He sat in his chair, With a woe-begone air, Gazing at nothing with a meaningless stare, And looked like a wild beast just “skeered” in his lair. His cheek-bones were high, and his visage was rough, Like a middling of bacon, all wrinkled and tou
Illinois (Illinois, United States) (search for this): chapter 255
which were ready to die, Under whose potent charms old Abe would be able To lay all his griefs, like a bill, “on the table ;” Or, shut up his woe, like a horse, in a stable. He sat in his chair, With a woe-begone air, Gazing at nothing with a meaningless stare, And looked like a wild beast just “skeered” in his lair. His cheek-bones were high, and his visage was rough, Like a middling of bacon, all wrinkled and tough; His nose was as long, and as ugly and big, As the snout of a half-starved Illinois pig; He was long in the legs, and long in the face, A Longfellow born of a long-legged race, Yet longing through grace for a much longer space, Till he'd finished his political wild-goose chase-- Bringing wreck on his country, and endless disgrace On the blockheads who'd placed him in “the very wrong place.” The news had just reached him of rout and defeat, Of his “Grand Army” broken — of disastrous retreat ; His best men were slain on the field of the fight; His legions were sca
Washington (United States) (search for this): chapter 255
he hurricane's thunder, Nor the earthquake that cleaves the tall mountains asunder; 'Twas not like the storms which tumultuously sweep O'er the lone bending woods and the dark rolling deep; But a sharp, angry crashing, A confusion and clashing, Like things in general, promiscuously smashing. “It's the Devil!” thought Abe, in the sorest of frights, Or a rebel “masked battery” on “Arlington Heights.” On the wings of the midnight winds it flew, And nearer it came, and louder it grew, Till Washington City seemed all in a stew. It paused just before The “White House” door, And then died away with an explosive roar. “It's the devil!” said Lincoln; and sure he's right, For just at that moment there gleamed on his sight The glare of a horrible sulphurous light, Encircling a form so ghastly and grim, That his heart ceased to beat, and his eyes grew dim. That form stood before him, majestic and dread, With large cloven feet, and huge horns on his head. Mr. Lincoln was seized with
Arlington Heights (Utah, United States) (search for this): chapter 255
ng breathless to hear, With his mind full of dread, and his heart full of fear; 'Twas not like the roll of the hurricane's thunder, Nor the earthquake that cleaves the tall mountains asunder; 'Twas not like the storms which tumultuously sweep O'er the lone bending woods and the dark rolling deep; But a sharp, angry crashing, A confusion and clashing, Like things in general, promiscuously smashing. “It's the Devil!” thought Abe, in the sorest of frights, Or a rebel “masked battery” on “Arlington Heights.” On the wings of the midnight winds it flew, And nearer it came, and louder it grew, Till Washington City seemed all in a stew. It paused just before The “White House” door, And then died away with an explosive roar. “It's the devil!” said Lincoln; and sure he's right, For just at that moment there gleamed on his sight The glare of a horrible sulphurous light, Encircling a form so ghastly and grim, That his heart ceased to beat, and his eyes grew dim. That form stood bef
Tunstall (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 255
l mountains asunder; 'Twas not like the storms which tumultuously sweep O'er the lone bending woods and the dark rolling deep; But a sharp, angry crashing, A confusion and clashing, Like things in general, promiscuously smashing. “It's the Devil!” thought Abe, in the sorest of frights, Or a rebel “masked battery” on “Arlington Heights.” On the wings of the midnight winds it flew, And nearer it came, and louder it grew, Till Washington City seemed all in a stew. It paused just before The “White House” door, And then died away with an explosive roar. “It's the devil!” said Lincoln; and sure he's right, For just at that moment there gleamed on his sight The glare of a horrible sulphurous light, Encircling a form so ghastly and grim, That his heart ceased to beat, and his eyes grew dim. That form stood before him, majestic and dread, With large cloven feet, and huge horns on his head. Mr. Lincoln was seized with a terrible quaking, And the bones in his skin were rattling an
Cameron (search for this): chapter 255
he top of this platform — outstretching below, I showed you the kingdoms which I would bestow, If you and your party would only agree To fall down in worship and homage to me; Obey my directions, fulfil my commands, Spread carnage and death over all these lands, By a horrible warfare, such as would win Success to my cause, and a triumph to sin. To all of these terms you most promptly agreed, And made them your grounds of political creed; I gave you my subjects — the best I have got, Such as Cameron, and Seward, and Old Granny Scott; Assisted by Greeley, and Bennett, and Weed, As miserable scoundrels as Tophet could breed, To fix up a plan for preserving the Union, In the bonds of a happy fraternal communion, By a terrible warfare of conquest and blood, Such as never was known since the day of the flood. I gave you my minions from the purlieus of hell, The ranks of your fearful grand army to swell; I stirred up the North with its vagabond crew, And set witch-burning Yankeedom all in
E. P. Birch (search for this): chapter 255
88. the Devil's visit to old Abe. by Rev. E. P. Birch, of la Grange, Ga. Written on the occasion of Lincoln's proclamation for prayer and fasting after the battle of Manassas. Revised and improved by the author. Old Abe was sitting in his chair of state, With one foot on the mantel, and one on the grate, Now smoking his pipe, and then scratching his pate; For he had heard some disastrous news of late, As fearful as death, and as cruel as fate. In an old earthen jug, on a table near by, Was a gallon of “Buckeye,” or “choice old rye,” To cheer up his hopes, which were ready to die, Under whose potent charms old Abe would be able To lay all his griefs, like a bill, “on the table ;” Or, shut up his woe, like a horse, in a stable. He sat in his chair, With a woe-begone air, Gazing at nothing with a meaningless stare, And looked like a wild beast just “skeered” in his lair. His cheek-bones were high, and his visage was rough, Like a middling of bacon, all wrinkled and toug
Seward (search for this): chapter 255
“legal decision.” “How's your health, Mr. Lincoln?” said Old Nick, with a grin; “I have only stepped in To renew old acquaintance with your honor ag'in. How are Seward, and Scott, and good Mrs. L.? I hope all your friends are still hearty and well.” Thus saying, he seated himself in a chair, And gazed at Old Abe with an impudent To all of these terms you most promptly agreed, And made them your grounds of political creed; I gave you my subjects — the best I have got, Such as Cameron, and Seward, and Old Granny Scott; Assisted by Greeley, and Bennett, and Weed, As miserable scoundrels as Tophet could breed, To fix up a plan for preserving the Union, In and reaping the chaff.” “What say you to this?” cried Old Nick, waxing hot. Quoth President Lincoln, “You must ask General Scott.” “Old Scott's an old ass, and Seward to boot; And as for yourself, you're a pitiful brute, Too mean to let live, and too worthless to shoot. “But to come to the point more direct
Abe Lincoln (search for this): chapter 255
ld Abe. by Rev. E. P. Birch, of la Grange, Ga. Written on the occasion of Lincoln's proclamation for prayer and fasting after the battle of Manassas. Revised aouse” door, And then died away with an explosive roar. “It's the devil!” said Lincoln; and sure he's right, For just at that moment there gleamed on his sight The ghim, majestic and dread, With large cloven feet, and huge horns on his head. Mr. Lincoln was seized with a terrible quaking, And the bones in his skin were rattling ion” Of his body and members, without “legal decision.” “How's your health, Mr. Lincoln?” said Old Nick, with a grin; “I have only stepped in To renew old acquaintss momentously great, Which deeply involves your political fate. What means, Mr. Lincoln, this strange proclamation, In which you've invited the whole Yankee nation ng the chaff.” “What say you to this?” cried Old Nick, waxing hot. Quoth President Lincoln, “You must ask General Scott.” “Old Scott's an ol
Bennett (search for this): chapter 255
oms which I would bestow, If you and your party would only agree To fall down in worship and homage to me; Obey my directions, fulfil my commands, Spread carnage and death over all these lands, By a horrible warfare, such as would win Success to my cause, and a triumph to sin. To all of these terms you most promptly agreed, And made them your grounds of political creed; I gave you my subjects — the best I have got, Such as Cameron, and Seward, and Old Granny Scott; Assisted by Greeley, and Bennett, and Weed, As miserable scoundrels as Tophet could breed, To fix up a plan for preserving the Union, In the bonds of a happy fraternal communion, By a terrible warfare of conquest and blood, Such as never was known since the day of the flood. I gave you my minions from the purlieus of hell, The ranks of your fearful grand army to swell; I stirred up the North with its vagabond crew, And set witch-burning Yankeedom all in a stew, With its isms and schisms — fanatical trappings-- Its free-lo
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