ar is over. Some of us want to be presidents,
some governors, some go to congress, and be big ministers to 'Urup,' and
all those kind of things, Johnny, you know. Just go back to your camp,
Johnny, chase round, put on a bold front, flourish your trumpets, blow
your horns. And, Johnny, we don't want to be hard on you, and we'll tell
you what we'll do for you. Away back in your territory, between Columbia
and Nashville, is the most beautiful country, and the most fertile,
and we have lots of rations up there, too. Now, you just go up there,
Johnny, and stay until we want you. We ain't done with you yet, my boy--
O, no, Johnny. And, another thing, Johnny; you will find there between
Mt. Pleasant and Columbia, the most beautiful country that the sun of
heaven ever shone upon; and half way between the two places is St. John's
Church. Its tower is all covered over with a beautiful vine of ivy; and,
Johnny, you know that in olden times it was the custom to entwine a
wreath of ivy around the brows of victorious generals. We have no doubt
that many of your brave generals will express a wish, when they pass by,
to be buried beneath the ivy vine that shades so gracefully and
beautifully the wall of this grand old church. And, Johnny, you will
find a land of beauty and plenty, and when you get there, just put on as
much style as you like; just pretend, for our sake, you know, that you
are a bully boy with a glass eye, and that you are the victorious army
that has returned to free an oppressed people. We will allow you this,
Johnny, so that we will be the greater when we want you, Johnny. And now,
Johnny, we did not want to tell you what we are going to say to you now,
but will, so that you'll feel bad. Sherman wants to 'march to the sea,
while the world looks on and wonders.' He wants to desolate the land
and burn up your towns, to show what a coward he is, and how dastardly,
and one of our boys wants to write a piece of poetry about it. But that
ain't all, Johnny. You know that you fellows have got a great deal of
cotton at Augusta, Savannah, Charleston, Mobile, and other places,
and cotton is worth two dollars a pound in gold, and as Christmas is
coming, we want to go down there for some of that cotton to make a
Christmas gift to old Abe and old Clo, don't you see? O, no, Johnny,
we don't want to end the war just yet awhile. The sugar is mighty sweet
in the teat, and we want to suck a while longer. Why, sir, we wa