To be sure, we wuz under a contrac' jes' then To be dreffle forbearin' towards Southun men;

We hed to go sheers in preservin' the bellance :

An' ez they seemed to feel they wuz wastin' their tellents

'thout some un to kick, 't warn't more 'n proper, you know,

Each should funnish his part; an' sence they found the toe,

An' we wuz n't cherubs-wal, we found the buffer,

For fear thet the Compromise System should suffer.

An' felt kind o' 'z though they wuz havin' their wills,

Which kep' 'em ez harmless an' cherfle ez crickets,

While all we invested wuz names on the tickets:

Wal, ther' 's nothin', for folks fond o' lib'ral consumption

Free o' charge, like democ'acy tempered with gumption !

Now warn't thet a system wuth pains in presarvin',

Where the people found jints an' their frien's done the carvin',

Where the many done all o' their thinkin' by proxy,

An' were proud on 't ez long ez 't wuz christened Democ'cy,

Where the fow let us sap all o' Freedom's foundations,

Ef

you call it reformin' with prudence an' patience,

An' were willin' Jeff's snake-egg should hetch with the rest,

Ef you writ "Constitootional" over the nest?

But it's all out o' kilter, ('t wuz too good to last,)

An' all jes' by J. D.'s perceedin' too fast; Ef he 'd on'y hung on for a month or two more,

We'd ha' gut things fixed nicer 'n they hed ben before:

Afore he drawed off an' lef' all in confusion,

We wuz safely entrenched in the ole Constitootion,

With an outlyin', heavy-gun, casemated fort

To rake all assailants, — I mean th' S. J. Court.

Now I never 'll acknowledge (nut ef you should skin me)

't wuz wise to abandon sech works to the in'my,

An' let him fin' out thet wut scared him so long,

Our whole line of argyments, lookin' so strong,

All our Scriptur an' law, every the'ry an' fac',

Wuz Quaker -guns daubed with Pro-slavery black.

Why, ef the Republicans ever should git

Andy Johnson or some one to lend 'em the wit

An' the spunk jes' to mount Constitootion an' Court

With Columbiad guns, your real ekle-rights sort,

Or drill out the spike from the ole Declaration

Thet can kerry a solid shot clearn roun' creation,

We'd better take maysures for shettin' up shop,

An' put off our stock by a vendoo or swop.

But they wun't never dare tu; you'll see 'em in Edom

'fore they ventur' to go where their doctrines 'ud lead 'em :

They've ben takin' our princerples up ez we dropt 'em,

An' thought it wuz terrible 'cute to adopt 'em ;

But they'll fin' out 'fore long thet their hope's ben deceivin' 'em,

An' thet princerples ain't o' no good, ef you b'lieve in 'em ;

It makes 'em tu stiff for a party to use, Where they'd ough' to be easy 'z an ole pair o' shoes.

If we say 'n our pletform thet all men are brothers,

We don't mean thet some folks ain't more so 'n some others;

An' it's wal understood thet we make a selection,

An' thet brotherhood kin' o' subsides arter 'lection.

The fust thing for sound politicians to

larn is,

With the business-consarns o' the rest o' the year,

No more 'n they want Sunday to pry an' to peek

Into wut they are doin' the rest o' the week.

A ginooine statesman should be on his guard,

Ef he must hev beliefs, nut to b'lieve 'em tu hard;

For, ez sure ez he does, he'll be blartin' 'em out

'thout regardin' the natur' o' man more 'n a spout,

Nor it don't ask much gumption to pick out a flaw

In a party whose leaders are loose in the jaw:

An' so in our own case I ventur' to hint Thet we'd better nut air our perceedin's in print,

Nor pass resserlootions ez long ez your arm Thet may, ez things heppen to turn, du us harm;

For when you've done all your real meanin' to smother,

The darned things 'll up an' mean sunthin' or 'nother.

Jeff'son prob❜ly meant wal with his “born free an' ekle,"

But it's turned out a real crooked stick in the sekle;

It's taken full eighty-odd year — don't you see?

From the pop'lar belief to root out thet idee,

An', arter all, suckers on 't keep buddin' forth

In the nat❜lly onprincipled mind o' the North.

No, never say nothin' without you 're compelled tu,

An' then don't say nothin' thet you can be held tu,

Nor

don't leave no friction-idees layin' loose

For the ign'ant to put to incend'ary use.

You know I'm a feller thet keeps a skinned eye

On the leetle events thet go skurryin' by, Coz it's of'ner by them than by gret ones

you'll see

Wut the p'litickle weather is likely to be.

There's Phillips, for instance, hez jes' ketched a Tartar

In the Law-'n'-Order Party of ole Cincinnater;

An' the Compromise System ain't gone out o' reach,

Long 'z you keep the right limits on freedom o' speech.

'T warn't none too late, neither, to put on the gag,

For he 's dangerous now he goes in for the flag.

Nut thet I altogether approve o' bad eggs, They're mos' gin'lly argymunt on its las' legs,

An' their logic is ept to be tu indiscriminate,

Nor don't ollus wait the right objecs to 'liminate;

But there is a variety on 'em, you'll find, Jest ez usefle an' more, besides bein' refined,

I mean o' the sort thet are laid by the dictionary,

Sech ez sophisms an' cant, thet 'll kerry conviction ary

Way thet you want to the right class o'

talked longer now 'n I hed any idee, An' ther''s others you want to hear more 'n you du me;

So I'll set down an' give thet 'ere bottle a skrimmage,

For I've spoke till I'm dry ez a real graven image.

No. VI

SUNTHIN' IN THE PASTORAL LINE

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

JAALAM, 17th May, 1862.

GENTLEMEN, — At the special request of Mr. Biglow, I intended to inclose, together with his own contribution, (into which, at my suggestion, he has thrown a little more of pastoral sentiment than usual,) some passages from my sermon on the day of the National Fast, from the text, "Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them," Heb. xiii. 3. But I have not leisure sufficient at present for the copying of them, even were I altogether satisfied with the production as it stands. I should preI should prefer, I confess, to contribute the entire discourse to the pages of your respectable miscellany, if it should be found acceptable upon perusal, especially as I find the difficulty in selection of greater magnitude than I had anticipated. What passes without challenge in the fervour of oral delivery, cannot always stand the colder criticism of the closet. I am not so great an enemy of Eloquence as my friend Mr. Biglow would appear to be from some passages in his contribution for the current month. I would not, indeed, hastily suspect him of covertly glancing at myself in his somewhat caustick animadversions, albeit some of the phrases he girds at are not entire strangers to my lips. I am a more hearty admirer of the Puritans than seems now to be the fashion, and believe, that, if they Hebraized a little too much in their speech, they showed remarkable practical sagacity as statesmen and founders. But such phenomena as Puritanism are the results rather of great religious than of

merely social convulsions, and do not long survive them. So soon as an earnest conviction has cooled into a phrase, its work is over, and the best that can be done with it is to bury it. Ite, missa est. I am inclined to agree with Mr. Biglow that we cannot settle the great political questions which are now presenting themselves to the nation by the opinions of Jeremiah or Ezekiel as to the wants and duties of the Jews in their time, nor do I believe that an entire community with their feelings and views would be practicable or even agreeable at the present day. At the same time I could wish that their habit of subordinating the actual to the moral, the flesh to the spirit, and this world to the other, were more common. They had found out, at least, the great military secret that soul weighs more than body. But I am suddenly called to a sick-bed in the household of a valued parishioner.

With esteem and respect,
Your obedient servant,
HOMER WILBUR.

To holdin' seeds an' fifty things besides; But better days stick fast in heart an' husk, An' all you keep in 't gits a scent o' musk.

Jes' so with poets: wut they 've airly read Gits kind o' worked into their heart an' head,

So 's 't they can't seem to write but jest on sheers

With furrin countries or played-out ideers,
Nor hev a feelin', ef it doos n't smack
O' wut some critter chose to feel 'way

back:

This makes 'em talk o' daisies, larks, an' things,

Ez though we'd nothin' here that blows an' sings,

(Why, I'd give more for one live bobolink Than a square mile o' larks in printer's ink,)

This makes 'em think our fust o' May is May,

Which 't ain't, for all the almanicks can

say.

O little city-gals, don't never go it
Blind on the word o' noospaper or poet!
They 're apt to puff, an' May-day seldom
looks

Up in the country ez it doos in books;
They're no more like than hornets'-nests

an' hives,

Or printed sarmons be to holy lives.

I, with my trouses perched on cowhide boots,

Tuggin' my foundered feet out by the roots, Hev seen ye come to fling on April's hearse Your muslin nosegays from the milliner's, Puzzlin' to find dry ground your queen to choose,

An' dance your throats sore in morocker shoes:

I've seen ye an' felt proud, thet, come wut would,

Our Pilgrim stock wuz pethed with hardihood.

Pleasure doos make us Yankees kind o' winch,

Ez though 't wuz sunthin' paid for by the inch;

But yit we du contrive to worry thru,
Ef Dooty tells us thet the thing 's to du,
An' kerry a hollerday, ef we set out,
Ez stiddily ez though 't wuz a redoubt.

I, country-born an' bred, know where to find

Some blooms thet make the season suit the mind,

An' seem to metch the doubtin' bluebird's

notes,

Half-vent'rin' liverworts in furry coats, Bloodroots, whose rolled-up leaves ef you oncurl,

Each on 'em 's cradle to a baby-pearl, But these are jes' Spring's pickets; sure ez sin,

The rebble frosts 'll try to drive 'em in; For half our May 's so awfully like May n't, 't would rile a Shaker or an evrige saint;

Though I own up I like our back'ard springs

Thet kind o haggle with their greens an' things,

An' when you 'most give up, 'uthout more words

Toss the fields full o' blossoms, leaves, an' birds;

Thet 's Northun natur', slow an' apt to doubt,

But when it doos git stirred, ther''s no gin

out!

Fust come the blackbirds clatt'rin' in tall trees,

An' settlin' things in windy Congresses, — Queer politicians, though, for I'll be skinned

Ef all on 'em don't head aginst the wind. 'fore long the trees begin to show belief, The maple crimsons to a coral-reef, Then saffern swarms swing off from all the willers

So plump they look like yaller caterpillars,

Then gray hossches'nuts leetle hands unfold Softer 'n a baby's be at three days old: Thet 's robin - redbreast's almanick; he knows

Thet arter this ther' 's only blossom-snows; So, choosin' out a handy crotch an' spouse, He goes to plastʼrin' his adobe house.

Then seems to come a hitch, - things lag behind,

Till some fine mornin' Spring makes up her mind,

An' ez, when snow-swelled rivers cresh their dams

Heaped-up with ice thet dovetails in an' jams,

A leak comes spirtin' thru some pin-hole cleft,

Grows stronger, fercer, tears out right an'