/ Charles G. Leland I hev a lot All sharply sot To eat them pidgings up,” said Boggs. “They are the chosen birds of wrath, They fly like arrers through the air, Or angels sent by orful Death— Jist fifty dollars fur a pair; An’ cheap to keep, because, you see, Upon the enemy they progs.” “Well, try it on, And now begone!” Said Mister Swain to Mister Boggs. The autumn morn was bright and fair, Fresh as a rose with recent rain. The pidgins tortled through the air, But nary one came home again. Some feathers dropped in Chestnut Street, Some bills and claws among the logs: Wipin’ a tear, “I greatly fear That all’s not right,” said Mr. Boggs. Into the Chronicle he went, Twice as mysterious as before, “And hev you heard the orful news?” He whispered as he shet the door. “ Oh, I hev come to tell a tale Of crime, which all creation flogs, Of wretchery And treachery That bangs tarnation sin,” said Boggs. “Them Ledger fellers with their tricks, Hev slopped clean over crime’s dark cup. They’ve bin an’ bought some pidging-horks, And they hev et our pidgings up. Oh, whut is life wuth livin’ fur When editors behave like hogs? An’ ragin’ crime Makes double time; Oh, darn setch villany!” cried Boggs.

doi:10.4324/9781351181563-32

Chapter

/ Charles G. Leland I hev a lot All sharply sot To eat them pidgings up,” said Boggs. “They are the chosen birds of wrath, They fly like arrers through the air, Or angels sent by orful Death— Jist fifty dollars fur a pair; An’ cheap to keep, because, you see, Upon the enemy they progs.” “Well, try it on, And now begone!” Said Mister Swain to Mister Boggs. The autumn morn was bright and fair, Fresh as a rose with recent rain. The pidgins tortled through the air, But nary one came home again. Some feathers dropped in Chestnut Street, Some bills and claws among the logs: Wipin’ a tear, “I greatly fear That all’s not right,” said Mr. Boggs. Into the Chronicle he went, Twice as mysterious as before, “And hev you heard the orful news?” He whispered as he shet the door. “ Oh, I hev come to tell a tale Of crime, which all creation flogs, Of wretchery And treachery That bangs tarnation sin,” said Boggs. “Them Ledger fellers with their tricks, Hev slopped clean over crime’s dark cup. They’ve bin an’ bought some pidging-horks, And they hev et our pidgings up. Oh, whut is life wuth livin’ fur When editors behave like hogs? An’ ragin’ crime Makes double time; Oh, darn setch villany!” cried Boggs.

Chapter

/ Charles G. Leland I hev a lot All sharply sot To eat them pidgings up,” said Boggs. “They are the chosen birds of wrath, They fly like arrers through the air, Or angels sent by orful Death— Jist fifty dollars fur a pair; An’ cheap to keep, because, you see, Upon the enemy they progs.” “Well, try it on, And now begone!” Said Mister Swain to Mister Boggs. The autumn morn was bright and fair, Fresh as a rose with recent rain. The pidgins tortled through the air, But nary one came home again. Some feathers dropped in Chestnut Street, Some bills and claws among the logs: Wipin’ a tear, “I greatly fear That all’s not right,” said Mr. Boggs. Into the Chronicle he went, Twice as mysterious as before, “And hev you heard the orful news?” He whispered as he shet the door. “ Oh, I hev come to tell a tale Of crime, which all creation flogs, Of wretchery And treachery That bangs tarnation sin,” said Boggs. “Them Ledger fellers with their tricks, Hev slopped clean over crime’s dark cup. They’ve bin an’ bought some pidging-horks, And they hev et our pidgings up. Oh, whut is life wuth livin’ fur When editors behave like hogs? An’ ragin’ crime Makes double time; Oh, darn setch villany!” cried Boggs.

ABSTRACT

All of such as come a-plummin’ when a puddin’s to be had; All against his best contractin’ counteractin’ mighty bad. Therefore when this edificial had got up his edifice, All who’d not been edifishing with him soon got up a hiss; Said the stuff upon the buildin’ was the worst that could be had, Likewise called the architexture architechnically bad. So it came one solemn evenin’ in a Presbyterian rain Mr. Scroper all in silence gently took the Northern train; All he left was one small message to a friend who shared his home, When the darned affair blows over, telegraph for me to com e . So he sat one summer mornin’, far away in Montreal, Musin’ on his recent patrons, while at heart he darned ’em all, When there came a little letter datin’ from his recent home,— “All the thing is quite blown over, back again we bid you com e . “For last night we had a tempest,— while the mighty thunder rang, Up there came a real guster, which blew down the whole shebang. (Shebang's a word from Hebrew, meanin’ Seven, sayeth Krupp, And applied to any shanty where they play at seven-up.) “Truly it was well blown over all to splinders in the night, And the winds o f heaven are blowing o'er the ruins as I write ” Gentlemen, the story’s over. It would last for many a day If it told of every buildin’ built upon the swindlin’ lay.