But leaves my natur' stiff and dry

Ez fiel's o' clover arter mowin'; An' her jes' keepin' on the same, Calmer 'n a clock, an' never carin', An' findin' nary thing to blame,

Is wus than ef she took to swearin'.

Snow-flakes come whisperin' on the pane

The charm makes blazin' logs so pleasant,

But I can't hark to wut they 're say'n', With Grant or Sherman ollers pres

ent;

The chimbleys shudder in the gale, Thet lulls, then suddin takes to flappin'

Like a shot hawk, but all 's ez stale
To me ez so much sperit-rappin'.

Under the yaller-pines I house,

When sunshine makes 'em all sweetscented,

An' hear among their furry boughs

The baskin' west-wind purr contented,

While 'way o'erhead, ez sweet an' low

Ez distant bells thet ring for meetin', The wedged wil'geese their bugles blow, Further an' further South retreatin'.

Or up the slippery knob I strain

An' see a hundred hills like islan's Lift their blue woods in broken chain Out o' the sea o' snowy silence; The farm-smokes, sweetes' sight on airth,

Slow thru the winter air a-shrinkin' Seem kin' o' sad, an' roun' the hearth Of empty places set me thinkin'.

Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows,

An' rattles di'mon's from his granite; Time wuz, he snatched away my prose, An' into psalms or satires ran it; But he, nor all the rest thet once

Started my blood to country-dances, Can't set me goin' more 'n a dunce Thet hain't no use for dreams an fancies.

Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street

I hear the drummers makin' riot,

metal,

Who ventered life an' love an' youth

For the gret prize o' death in battle? To him who, deadly hurt, agen

Flashed on afore the charge's thunder,

Tippin' with fire the bolt of men

Thet rived the Rebel line asunder? 'T ain't right to hev the young go fust, All throbbin' full o' gifts an' graces, Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust To try an' make b'lieve fill their places:

Nothin' but tells us wut we miss,

Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never

fay in,

An' thet world seems so fur from this Lef' for us loafers to grow gray in!

(an' noticin' by your kiver thet you 're some dearer than wut you wuz, I enclose the deffrence) I dunno ez I know jest how to interdroce this las' perduction of my mews, ez Parson Willber allus called 'em, which is goin' to be the last an' stay the last onless sunthin' pertikler sh'd interfear which I don't expec' ner I wun't yield tu ef it wuz ez pressin' ez a deppity Shiriff. Sence Mr. Wilbur's disease I hev n't hed no one thet could dror out my talons. He ust to kind o' wine me up an' set the penderlum agoin' an' then somehow I seemed to go on tick as it wear tell I run down, but the noo minister ain't of the same brewin' nor I can't seem to git ahold of no kine of huming nater

He

in him but sort of slide rite off as you du on the eedge of a mow. Minnysteeri natur is wal enough an' a site better 'n most other kines I know on. but the other sort sech as Welbor hed wuz of the Lord's makin' an' naterally more wonderfle an' sweet tastin' leastways to me so fur as heerd from. used to interdooce 'em smooth ez ile athout sayin' nothin' in pertickler an' I misdoubt he did n't set so much by the sec'nd Ceres as wut he done by the Fust, fact, he let on onct thet his mine misgive him of a sort of fallin' off in spots. He wuz as outspoken as a norwester he wuz, but I tole him I hoped the fall wuz from so high up thet a feller could ketch a good many times fust afore comin' bunt onto the ground as I see Jethro C. Swett from the meetin' house steeple up to th' old perrish, an' took up for dead but he 's alive now an' spry as wut you be. Turnin' of it over I recclected how they ust to put wut they called Argymunce onto the frunts of poymns, like poorches afore housen whare you could rest ye a spell whilst you wuz concludin' whether you'd go in or nut espeshully ware tha wuz darters, though I most allus found it the best plen to go in fust an' think afterwards an' the gals likes it best tu. dno as speechis ever hez any argimunts to 'em, I never see none thet hed an' I guess they never du but tha must allus be a B'ginnin' to everythin' athout it is Etarnity so I'll begin rite away an' anybody may put it afore any of his speeches ef it soots an' welcome. don't claim no paytent.

THE ARGYMUNT.

I

I

Interducshin, w'ich may be skipt. Begins by talkin' about himself: thet 's jest natur an' most gin'ally allus pleasin', I b'leeve I've notist, to one of the cumpany, an' thet 's more than wut you can say of most speshes of talkin'. Nex' comes the gittin' the goodwill of the orjunce by lettin' 'em gether from wut you kind of ex'dentally let drop thet they air about East, A one, an' no mistaik, skare 'em up an' take 'em as

they rise. Spring interdooced with a fiew approput flours. Speach finally begins witch nobuddy need n't feel obolygated to read as I never read 'em an' never shell this one ag'in. Subjick staited; expanded; delayted; extended. Pump lively. Subjick staited ag'in so 's to avide all mistaiks. Ginnle remarks; continooed; kerried on; pushed furder kind o' gin out. Subjick restaited; dielooted; stirred up permiscoous. Pump ag'in. Gits back to where he sot out. Can't seem to stay thair. Ketches into Mr. Seaward's hair. Breaks loose ag'in an' staits his subjick; stretches it; turns it; folds it; onfolds it; folds it ag'in so's 't no one can't find it. Argoos with an imedginary bean thet ain't aloud to say nothin' in repleye. Gives him a real good dressin' an' is settysfide he 's rite. Gits into Johnson's hair. No use tryin' to git into his head. Gives it up. Hez to stait his subjick ag'in; doos it back'ards, sideways, eendways, criss-cross, bevellin', noways. Gits finally red on it. Concloods. Concloods more. Reads some xtrax. Sees his subjick a-nosin' round arter him ag'in. Tries to avide it. Wun't du. Misstates it. Can't conjectur' no other plawsable way of staytin' on it. Tries pump. No fx. Finely concloods to conclood. Yeels the flore.

You kin spall an' punctooate thet as you please. I allus do, it kind of puts a noo soot of close onto a word, thisere funattick spellin' doos an' takes 'em out of the prissen dress they wair in the Dixonary. Ef I squeeze the cents out of 'em it's the main thing, an' wut they wuz made for; wut 's left 's jest pummis.

Mistur Wilbur sez he to me onct, sez he, "Hosee, sez he, "in litterytoor the only good thing is Natur. It's amazin' hard to come at,' sez he, "but onct git it an' you've gut everythin'. Wut's the sweetest small on airth?”

sez he. "Noomone hay," sez I, pooty bresk, for he wuz allus hankerin' round in hayın "Nawthin' of the kine," sez he. My leetle Huldy's breath," sez I ag'in." You 're a good lad," sez

he, his eyes sort of ripplin' like, for he
lost a babe onct nigh about her age, —
"You're a good lad; but 't ain't thet
nuther," sez he. "Ef you want to
know," sez he, " open your winder of a
mornin' et ary season, and you'll larn
thet the best of perfooms is jest fresh
air, fresh air," sez he, emphysizin',
"athout no mixtur. Thet 's wut I call
natur in writin', and it bathes my lungs
and washes 'em sweet whenever i git a
whiff on 't," sez he. I offen think o'
thet when I set down to write, but the
winders air so ept to git stuck, an'
breakin' a pane costs sunthin'.
Yourn for the last time,

Nut to be continooed,
HOSEA BIGLOW.

But they made (raw or bile ones) ten to one."

I've allus foun' 'em, I allow, sence then

About ez good for talkin' to ez men ; They'll take edvice, like other folks, to keep,

(To use it 'ould be holdin' on 't tu cheap,)

They listen wal, don' kick up when you scold 'em,

An' ef they've tongues, hev sense enough to hold 'em ;

Though th' ain't no denger we shall lose the breed,

I gin❜lly keep a score or so for seed, An' when my sappiness gits spry in spring,

So's 't my tongue itches to run on full swing,

I fin' 'em ready-planted in Marchmeetin',

Warm ez a lyceum-audience in their greetin',

An' pleased to hear my spoutin' frum the fence,

Comin', ez 't doos, entirely free 'f expense.

This year

tions

I made the follerin' observa

Extrump'ry, like most other tri'ls o' patience,

An',

no reporters bein' sent express To work their abstrac's up into a mess Ez like th' oridg'nal ez a woodcut pictur'

Thet chokes the life out like a boyconstrictor,

I've writ 'em out, an' so avide all jeal'sies

'Twixt nonsense o' my own an' some one's else's.

(N. B. Reporters gin❜lly git a hint To make dull orjunces seem 'live in print,

An', ez I hev t' report myself, I vum, I'll put th' applauses where they'd ough' to come!)

MY FELLER KEBBIGE-HEADS, who look so green,

I vow to gracious thet ef I could dreca

away,

Five year ago, jes' sech an Aprul day; Peace, that we hoped 'ould come an' build last year

An' coo by every housedoor, is n't here,

No, nor wun't never be, for all our jaw, Till we 're ez brave in pol'tics ez in war! O Lord, ef folks wuz made so 's 't they could see

The begnet-pint there is to an idee ! [Sensation.] Ten times the danger in 'em th' is in steel;