Feed your little
ones at home. I shan't snap you up unless I get very hungry. There
are Confederates enough. Why should I eat _you_?'
"This little creature--this _Trochilus obsidionalis_--this
blockade-running tomtit--is full of joy. He has rich food to eat
every day. He goes to the show every evening, when he is not on
duty. He has a fine shirt on his back; patent-leather boots on his
feet; the pick and choice of a dozen houses. He is of any
age--chiefly of the conscript age; ranges singly or in couples;
haunts auction houses; dodges enrolling officers; eats
canvass-backs; smells of greenbacks; swears allegiance to both
sides; keeps faith with neither; is hand and glove with ABE'S
detectives as well as with WINDER'S Plugs; smuggles in an ounce of
quinine for the Confederate Government, and smuggles out a pound of
gold for the Lincolnites; fishes in troubled waters; runs with the
hare and hunts with the hounds; sings Yankee Doodle through one
nostril, and My Maryland through the other; is on good terms with
everybody--especially with himself--and, withal, is as great a
rascal as goes unhung.
"He has sports of his own; roguish tricks of his own, of which a
hearty hatred of humdrum, honest people is the basis.
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