Chapter III: The Song of Rejoicing

Now when the ambassadors, and they which bore the words of the king, had sailed.

Lo, there was great rejoicing in all Secessia,--there was naught heard save the voices of renegade Northern editors,--[for that the Southerners know not to write],--

Saying, 'Come, let us be glad; laugh, O thou my soul.

'For they have gone, they have escaped, they have got away, they have dodged, they have cut stick, they have vamosed the ranch.

'They have ripped it full chisel, they are off licketty-split, they have slid, they have made tracks, they have mizzled--they have absquatulated and clipped it; _abiit, evasit, crupit_! Hurrah for us!

'Lo, the Yankees are brought low--the nasty, mercenary, low-born, infernal mudsills are defiled, and become as a vain thing. _Gloria_!

'For our messengers are on the high seas; they are O.K.; they shall deliver us from the pit. _Victoria_!

'They will drive things chuck to the hub in slasher-gaff style; our foes shall become even as dead birds in the pit; they shall be euchred, and discounted, and we will rake down the pot.

'Come, let us take drinks, for who shall stand against us?'