JEMMY CHATTERBOX TO THE EDITOR.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 22, 1 June 1867, Page 3

JEMMY CHATTERBOX TO THE EDITOR.

Sue. —During the last fortnight my Missus has been dropping into my eers some “ oracle drops,” and behind ’em she has been rubbing in Professor ilaulawa3'’s ointment. The effect has been trooly astonishing. Wether it be owing to the drops, or wether it be owing to the ointment I can’t say, but I shall send an account of it to the Professor with a certificate signed by the Magistrate. My wife sed as she was rubbin it in that she could sec the defuess departing, so that if that be the case it is only fare that the devil should have his dew. At the end of a week I could beer my dear wife sing the following song, and I must tell you that when she does chuse to sing, she has one of the sweetest voices that ever were heerd in Greytown or in the valley of Wairap. From

being like Triztam Sappy as dry as a post, I can now beer enuff to make me a number of our Parliament, when instead of putting a trumpet to my eers as I used to do, I could put it to my mouth, and, like our miller at Masterton, and many others, blow my own praise and qualifications. Before Igo any further my wife says I must give you the song, so here goes— Farewell to Euamahunga’s stream and Wairarapa vale A cottage by the river bank, and garden scented gale, Farewell to long familiar friends, so generous and free,

But the saddest of sad farewells, is Nora dear to tbee.' •Tis a painful sorrowing to leave the place we love, To leave behind for many a day, a mild and meek-eyed dove Whose voice is by the heart attuned to loving melody, So when I say farewell “my dove,” its Nora dear to thee.

The sweetest summer fades away, but summer comes again, With bud and blossom in her face, and fragrance in her train, So like the summer bird I’ll come across the rolling sea, No more to sigh or weep farewell, my Nora dear to thee.

Now let no more a sorrow dim the fervour of thy breast, Nor shed a silent secret tear to stir thy pillow’s rest, Eevolving time will bring back joy of every degree, ‘Till then, farewell to Wairap vale, and Nora dear to thee.

Depend upon it, Nora dear, my he art will not forget, The pretty cot that shelters thee, and places where we met, I’ll prove I’m not the running stream you fear’d that I should he, For I’ll come back my pretty dove, my Nora dear to thee.

There sir, what do you and the " Wandering Minstrel" think of that, I should like to know? Says I to my wife, "if you were to sing that ere at a conceit at Greytown, your fortin is made." " D'ye think so Jemmy ?" " sartin," says I, " don't all the people that go about singing and drinking about public houses make their fortins, else why are there so many on 'em ?" "Oh Jemmy, you be a quizzing your loving wife, and that you should'nt do, by no manner of means. It's not genteel neither at home or abroad, now I won't sing to you again, there nqws,that I won't, and i've learnt some expressly? to put you in mind of old times, you shall hot say to me' Jenny, Jenny, you're a ninny,' though the poit says so. My advice now Jemmy is, for you to mind yonr own affairs, and I wiil mind mine, and if we do that, its as much as the Wairap people can be expected to do, perhaps more." Now Mr Editur, I should mind my own affairs as all the Greytown people do, but when I heerd that Mr Bunny was no longer a Volunteer, I came to the conclusion that we shall have a civil war in the Wairap, not with the captains, but with the Maories, and then what will become of us ? When I heerd on it, says I. " What's up now ? Did'nt our wives in the last war, that was & going to be, bolt off at a wonderful rate, and leave their husbands to fight it out as they could ? Did'nt my wife Jenny go off' in a tantrum, like the devil upon two sticks, and put on my uniform to make the inimy believe she was a sodger going down to town for ammunition ? That she did. And is this going to take place agin ? The heavens forbid, for as sure as my name' 3 Jemmy, my wife shan't stir agin, if we gets a inimy and a hearthquake along with him at the same time. Then what shall we do with the loss of our brave commanders staring us in the face, and the valiant captains that won't be Volunteers any longer laying down their harms? " Jenny," says I to my wife one day, when 1 heerd on it, " d'ye think I should do for a Cappen of Volunteers ?" " Turn about, and let me see how you look behind, says she." "Oh," says I, ' that's what the Volunteers never do, they never turn tail, and why shculd I?" " Jemmy, you are a fool, can't you show your behind without running away ?" "To be sure I can," says I. " Then let's have a look at 'e, for I don't know the stuff exactly they great men ought to be made out of." Now it's very curious that I have been married ten years, and my wife did'nt know what I was fit for, without examination. Did the other captains undergo this trial, I wonder, or did the people take 'em upon their own recommendation? Did they fight their way up from the ranks? if so, the legal execution that Mr Bunny must have done must be terrible. Now Sur, there no doubt be many captains among the volunteers, and I don't see why I and the rest should give out, because " the hat" won't fit. I shall offer my sarviees that's poz, and then if I get the appointment with the Major's hat in the distance for brave men to win, ,'let the Maories look out for their bread and butter. My opinion is that the Captains ought to have stuck to their situations, and not leave us to'fight by ourselves. We be men, men with wives and families, sometimes big uns, and I have six youngChatterboxes I be eddicating for the military purfession. There shall be no want of captains I can tell ye, if there should be, don't say its the fault of Jenny and JEMMY CHATTERBOX.