"No," said MARK. "That wouldn't do for me, Sir. I should want to draw it like a Bat, for its short-sightedness; like a Bantam, for its bragging; like a Magpie, for its honesty; like a Peacock, for its vanity; like an Ostrich, for its putting its head in the sand, and thinking nobody sees it----"
"And like a Ph[oe]nix, for its power of springing from the ashes of its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky!" said MARTIN.
He was prejudiced, that _Mark_, a Eur[=o]pian, in the dark, Concernin' of our Glorious Institutions. _He_ paint our Bird o' Freedom? Lots have tried, but we don't heed 'em; And revolvin' years bring curus retributions. _We_ don't care a brass farden! DICKENS had to beg our pardon, And that MAX O'RELL will eat his words one day, Sir! The real Yankee Eagle is as strong-winged as a Sea-gull, With a beak as sharp as any Sheffield razor.
Still, he's been a trifle pippy, and has looked a little chippy-- By the mighty Mississippi yes, Sir!--lately. Kinder moulty as to feathers, as though blizzards and bad weathers Of every blamed big sort had tried him greatly. Good Jee-rusulum! No wonder! for great snakes and buttered thunder! Our blasts have been fair busters for his pinions. In the words of Mister _Chollop_, all creation he can wallop,-- But tornaders _have_ been sweepin' his dominions!
As to that _Mark Tapley's_ twaddle, why the Peacock ain't the model, _Nor_ the Bantam, _nor_ the Ostrich, I'd be pickin' For the finest fowl in Natur. Better dub him Alligator, A Whangdoodle, or a Cincinnati Chicken! Like the Ph[oe]nix he's immortal, and he soars to the Sun's portal, But--the Ph[oe]nix has sick spells, like lesser poultry. Wants fresh fixing up, I reckon, then the dawn once more he'll beckon, And sprint--from Memnon's statue to Fort Moultrie.
BULL ain't an Eagle builder, but he makes a bully gilder, And I reckon, guess, and calc'late I'll jest try him. If I git from the old fellow a good coat of British Yellow-- A sort o' paint J. B. keeps always by him-- My Bird o' Freedom soaring, where the blizzards are a roaring, And the cloud-bursts are out-pouring, will jest flicker Real rollicking and regal, like a genu-ine Golden Eagle.-- _Wal!--you've fixed him real smart, JOHN! Let us liquor!_