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A Reconstruction Letter.
9
At Delmonico's, once, I made sure he'd have spoke,
But his widest mouth-opening ended in smoke;
Now, they say that I love an Havana (indeed,
Old comrade, you know how I cling to my Weed),
But for Grant—though he seems to have joined our fraternity,
With his smoke-begrimed beard and his strange taciturnity—
In the end, my dear friend, we should sing rather small
If the warrior-chief were outflanking us all!
Well, the rest have just crossed to the Canada side,
To see where the Fenians raided and died—
(I'm afraid that we missed it in stepping between
The blue-nosed provincials and bold Boys in Green.
Somehow, in the cheering that's just now in vogue,
We don't hear so much of that sweet Irish brogue)—
While I sit in my chamber, inditing this letter
To my trusty companion and ancient abettor.
