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Fact it takes a sight o' cotton
To stuff out a soger's chest:
Sence we farmers hev to pay fer 't,

Ef you must wear humps like these, Sposin' you should try salt hay fer 't, It would du ez slick ez grease.

'T would n't suit them Southun fellers, They 're a dreffle graspin' set, We must ollers blow the bellers

Wen they want their irons het; May be it's all right ez preachin', But my narves it kind o' grates, Wen I see the overreachin'

O' them nigger-drivin' States.

Them thet rule us, them slave-traders,
Haint they cut a thunderin' swarth
(Helped by Yankee renegaders),
Thru the vartu o' the North
We begin to think it 's nater

To take sarse an' not be riled; -
Who'd expect to see a tater

All on eend at bein' biled?

Ez fer war, I call it murder, There you hev it plain an' flat; I don't want to go no furder

Than my Testyment fer that; God hez sed so plump an' fairly, It's ez long ez it is broad, An' you've gut to git up airly

Ef you want to take in God.

'Taint your eppyletts an' feathers
Make the thing a grain more right;
"Taint afollerin' your bell-wethers
Will excuse ye in His sight;
Ef you take a sword an' dror it,
An' go stick a feller thru,
Guv'ment aint to answer for it,
God 'll send the bill to you.

Wut's the use o' meetin'-goin'
Every Sabbath, wet or dry,
Ef it's right to go amowin'

Feller-men like oats an' rye?
I dunno but wut it's pooty
Trainin' round in bobtail coats,-
But it's curus Christian dooty

This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats.

They may talk o' Freedom's airy

Tell they're pupple in the face,

It's a grand gret cemetary

Fer the barthrights of our race;
They jest want this Californy

So's to lug new slave-states in
To abuse ye, an' to scorn ye,
An' to plunder ye like sin.

Aint it cute to see a Yankee
Take sech everlastin' pains,
All to git the Devil's thankee
Helpin' on 'em weld their chains?
Wy, it's jest ez clear ez figgers,
Clear ez one an' one make two,
Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers
Want to make wite slaves o' you.

Tell ye jest the eend I've come to
Arter cipherin' plaguy smart,
An' it makes a handy sum, tu,

Any gump could larn by heart;
Laborin' man an' laborin' woman
Hev one glory an' one shame,
Ev'y thin' thet 's done inhuman
Injers all on 'em the same.

'Taint by turnin' out to hack folks You're agoin' to git your right, Nor by lookin' down on black folks Coz you 're put upon by wite; Slavery aint o' nary color,

'Taint the hide thet makes it wus, All it keers fer in a feller

'S jest to make him fill its pus.

Want to tackle me in, du ye?

I expect you'll hev to wait; Wen cold lead puts daylight thru ye You'll begin to kal'late; S'pose the crows wun't fall to pickin' All the carkiss from your bones, Coz you helped to give a lickin'

To them poor half-Spanish drones?

Jest go home an' ask our Nancy
Wether I 'd be sech a goose
Ez to jine ye, guess you 'd fancy
The etarnal bung wuz loose!
She wants me fer home consumption,
Let alone the hay's to mow, —
Ef you 're arter folks o' gumption.
You 've a darned long row to hos.

Take them editors thet 's crowin'

Like a cockerel three months old,

Don't ketch any on 'em goin', Though they be so blasted bold; A int they a prime lot o' fellers? 'Fore they think on 't they will sprout (Like a peach thet 's got the yellers), With the meanness bustin' out. Wal, go 'long to help 'em stealin'

Bigger pens to cram with slaves, Help the men thet's ollers dealin'

Insults on your fathers' graves; Help the strong to grind the feeble, Help the many agin the few, Help the men thet call your people Witewashed slaves an' peddlin'

crew!

Massachusetts, God forgive her,
She's akneelin' with the rest,
She, thet ough' to ha' clung ferever
In her grand old eagle-nest;
She thet ough' to stand so fearless
Wile the wracks are round her hurled,
Holdin' up a beacon peerless

To the oppressed of all the world!
Haint they sold your colored seamen?
Haint they made your env'ys wiz?
Wut'll make ye act like freemen?
Wut'll git your dander riz?
Come, I'll tell ye wut I 'm thinkin'
Is our dooty in this fix,
They'd ha' done 't ez quick ez winkin'
In the days o' seventy-six.

Clang the bells in every steeple,
Call all true men to disown
The tradoocers of our people,

The enslavers o' their own;
Let our dear old Bay State proudly
Put the trumpet to her mouth,
Let her ring this messidge loudly
In the ears of all the South:-

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They take one way, we take t'other,-
Guess it would n't break my heart;
Man hed ough' to put asunder
Them thet God has noways jined;
An' I should n't gretly wonder

Ef there's thousands o' my mind.

[The first recruiting sergeant on record 1 conceive to have been that individual who is mentioned in the Book of Job as going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it. Bishop Latimer will have him to have been a bishop, but to me that other calling would appear more congenial. The sect of Cainites is not yet extinct, who esteemed the first-born of Adam to be the most worthy, not only because of that privilege of primogeniture, but inasmuch as he was able to overcome and slay his younger brother. That was a wise saying of the famous Marquis Pescara to the Papal Legate, that it was impossible for men to serve Mars and Christ at the same time. Yet in time past the profession of arms was judged to be κατ' ἐξοχήν that of a gentleman, nor does this opinion want for strenuous uphold. ers even in our day. Must we suppose, then, that the profession of Christianity was only intended for losels, or, at best, to afford an opening for plebeian ambition? Or shall we hold with that nicely metaphysical Pome. ranian, Captain Vratz, who was Count Konigsmark's chief instrument in the murder of Mr. Thynne, that the Scheme of Salvation has been arranged with an especial eye to the necessities of the upper classes, and that "God would consider a gentleman and deal with him suitably to the condition and profession he had placed him in"? It may be said of us all, Exemplo plus quam ratione vivimus.-H. W.]

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race. If leisure from other and more important avocations be granted, I will handle the matter more at large in an appendix to the present volume. In this place I will barely remark, that I have sometimes noticed in the unlanguaged prattlings of infants a fondness for alliteration, assonance, and even rhyme, in which natural predisposition we may trace the three degrees through which our Anglo-Saxon verse rose to its culmination in the poetry of Pope. I would not be understood as questioning in these remarks that pious theory which supposes that children, if left entirely to themselves, would naturally discourse in Hebrew. For this the authority of one experiment is claimed, and I could, with Sir Thomas Browne, desire its establishment, inasmuch as the acquirement of that sacred tongue would thereby be facilitated. I am aware that Herodotus states the conclusion of Psammeticus to have been in favor of a dialect of the Phrygian. But, beside the chance that a trial of this importance would hardly be blessed to a Pagan monarch whose only motive was curiosity, we have on the Hebrew side the comparatively recent investigation of James the Fourth of Scotland. I will add to this prefatory remark, that Mr. Sawin, though a native of Jaalam, has never been a stated attendant on the religious exercises of my congregation. I consider my humble efforts prospered in that not one of my sheep hath ever indued the wolf's clothing of war, save for the comparatively innocent diversion of a militia training. Not that my flock are backward to undergo the hardships of dejensive warfare. They serve cheerfully in the great army which fights even unto death pro aris et focis, accoutred with the spade, the axe, the plane, the sledge, the spellingbook, and other such effectual weapons against want and ignorance and unthrift. I have taught them (under God) to esteem our human institutions as but tents of a night, to be stricken whenever Truth puts the bugle to her lips and sounds a march to the heights of wider-viewed intelligence and more perfect organization.-H. W.]

MISTER BUCKINUM, the follerin Billet was writ hum by a Yung feller of our town that wuz cussed fool enuff to goe atrottin inter Miss Chiff arter a Drum and fife. it ain't Nater for a feller to let on that he 's sick o' any bizness that He went intu off his own free will and a Cord, but I rather cal'late he 's middlin tired o' voluntearin By this Time. I bleeve u may put dependunts on his statemence. For I never heered nothin bad on him let Alone his havin what Parson Wilbur cals a pongshong for cocktales, and he ses it wuz a

soshiashun of idees sot him agoin arter the Crootin Sargient cos he wore a cocktale onto his hat.

his Folks gin the letter to me and i shew it to parson Wilbur and he ses it oughter Bee printed. send It to mister Buckinum, ses he, i don't ollers agree with him, ses he, but by Time,* ses he, I du like a feller that aint a Feared.

I have intusspussed a Few refleckshuns hear and thair. We 're kind o' prest with Hayin.

Ewers respecfly

HOSEA BIGLOW.

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In relation to this expression, I cannot but think that Mr. Biglow has been too hasty in attributing it to me. Though Time be a comparatively innocent personage to swear by, and though Longinus in his discourse Περὶ Ύψους has commended timely oaths as not only a useful but sublime figure of speech, yet I have always kept my lips free from that abomination. Odi profanum val gus, I hate your swearing and hectoring fel lows. H. W.

ti hait the Site of a feller with a muskit as I du pizn But their is fun to a cornwallis I aint agoin' to deny it.-H. B.

B.

he means Not quite so fur I guess. — HL

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Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle,

(It's Mister Secondary Bolles,* thet writ the prize peace essay: ̧ Thet 's why he did n't list himself along o' us, I dessay,)

An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but don't put his foot in it,

Coz human life 's so sacred thet he 's principled agin it,

Though I myself can't rightly see it 's any wus achokin' on 'em, Than puttin' bullets thru their lights, or with a bagnet pokin' on 'em ;

the ignerant creeter means Sekketary; but he ollers stuck to his books like cobbler's wax to an ile-stone. H. B.

How dreffle slick he reeled it off (like Blitz at our lyceum

Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em), About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy

To du the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy),

About our patriotic pas an' our starspangled banner,

Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin' out hosanner,

An' how he (Mister B. himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky,

I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite histericky.

I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o' privilege

Atrampin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage; I act❜lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin',

An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acomin'

Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison)

An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico wuz hisn.*

This 'ere 's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver (Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt-river);

The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater,

I'd give a year's pay fer a smell o' one good blue-nose tater;

The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin' Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin'.

He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all, The holl on 't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal;

it must be aloud that thare 's a streak o nater in lovin' sho, but it sartinly is 1 of the curusest things in nater to see a rispecktable dri goods dealer (deekon off a chutch mayby) a riggin' himself out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign aspilin' his trowsis and makin' wet goods of himself. Ef any thin's foolisher and moor dicklus than militerry gloary it is milishy gloary.-H. B.

You see a feller peekin' out, an', fust you know, a lariat

Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, "Wut air ye at?"* You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant

To say I've seen a scarabæus pilulariust big ez a year old elephant), The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug

From runnin' off with Cunnle Wright, 't wuz jest a common cimex lectularius.

One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin,

I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the
fisherman hez come agin,
His bellowses is sound enough, -ez
I'm a livin' creeter,

't wuz

I felt a thing go thru my leg, nothin' more 'n a skeeter! Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito,

(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' go my toe! My gracious! it's a scorpion thet 's took a shine to play with 't,

1 darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't.)

Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion

Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,‡ -an ourang outang nation, A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter,

No more 'n a feller 'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter;

I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,

An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o' national;

these fellers are verry proppilly called Rank Heroes, and the more tha kill the ranker and more Herowick tha bekum.H. B.

it wuz "tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the Latten instid. i sed tother maid better meeter, but he said tha was eddykated peepl to Boston and tha would n't stan' it no how. idnow as tha wood and idnow as tha wood.-H. B.

the means human beins, that's wut he means. i spose he kinder thought tha wuz human beans ware the Xisle Poles comes from. H. B.

But wen I jined I wornt so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby,

Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be, An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions,

Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions,

Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis

An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses; Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson!

It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'. lar Anglo-saxon.

The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water,

An' du amazin' lots o' things thet is 't wut they ough' to;

Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez aint proper; He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly (Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he 'It hev to git up airly),

Thet our nation 's bigger 'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger,

An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin' trigger,

Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee 's abreakin' 'em to pieces,

An' thet idee 's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases: Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can, I know thet "every man "don't mean

a nigger or a Mexican; An' there's another thing I know, an thet is, ef these creeturs, Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State-prison feeturs,

Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on 't,

The gals 'ould count the silver spoons

the minnit they cleared out on 't.

This goin' ware glory waits ye haine one agreeable feetur,

An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter; O, would n't I be off, quick time, ef't worn't thet I wuz sartin

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