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An' then don't never tech the under

pinnin': Th' older a guv'ment is, the better 't

suits ; New ones hunt folks's corns out like

new boots : Change jes' for change, is like them big

hotels Where they shift plates, an' let ye

live on smells.

THE BRIDGE.

You've gut to be in airnest, ef you

fight; Why, two-thirds o' the Rebbles 'ould

cut dirt, Ef they once thought thet Guv’ment

meant to hurt ; An' I du wish our Gin'rals hed in mind The folks in front more than the folks

behind; You wun't do much ontil you think it's

God, An' not constitoounts, thet holds the

rod; We want some more o'Gideon's sword,

1 jedge, For proclamations ha'n't no gret of

edge : There's nothin' for a cancer but the

knife, Onless you set by 't more than by your

life. I've seen hard times; I see a war be

gun Thet folks thet love their bellies never'd

won; Pharo's lean kine hung on for seven

long year; But when 't was done, we did n't count

it dear. Why, law an' order, honor, civil right, Ef they ain't wuth it, wut is wuth a

fight? I'm older ’n you : the plough, the axe,

the mill, All kin's o’labor an' all kin's o' skill, Would be a rabbit in a wile-cat's claw, Ef't warn’t for thet slow critter, 'stab

lished law; Onsettle thet, an' all the world goes

whiz, A screw's gut loose in everythin' there Good buttresses once settled, don't you

fret An' stir 'em; take a bridge's word for

thet! Young folks are smart, but all ain't

good thet 's new ; I guess the gran’thers they knowed sunthin', tu.

THE MONIMENT. Amen to thet! build sure in the begin

Wal, don't give up afore the ship goes

down : It's a stiff gale, but Providence wun't

drown ; An' God wun't leave us yit to sink or

swim, Ef we don't fail to du wut's right by

Him. This land o' ourn, I tell ye, 's gut to be A better country than man ever see. I feel my sperit swellin' with a cry Thet seems to say,

“ Break forth an' prophesy!” O strange New World, thet yit wast

never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin' need

was wrung, Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose

baby-bed Was prowled roun' by the Injun's crack

lin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an'

wants an' pains, Nussed by stern men with empires in

their brains, Who saw in vision their young Ishmel

strain With each hard hand a vassal ocean's

is :

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nin',

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Jest here some dogs begun to bark, So thet I lost old Concord's last re

mark : I listened long, but all I seemed to

hear Was dead leaves goss'pin' on some

birch-trees near; But ez they hed n't no gret things to

say, An' sed’em often, I come right away, An', walkin' home'ards, jest to pass

the time, I put some thoughts thet bothered me

in rhyme ; I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on, But here they be — It's

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

'T would kind o'rile J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!”
Who made the law thet hurts, John,

Heads I win, ditto tails?
7. B.was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails,

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,

(I'm good at thet)," sez he, “Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the

juice
For ganders with J. B.,

No more than you or me!”
When your rights was our wrongs,

John,
You did n't stop for fuss,
Britanny's trideni prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.“

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,

Though physic's good," sez he, “ It does n't foller thet he can swaller

Prescriptions signed “7. B.,'

Put up by you an' me !
We own the ocean, tu, John :

You mus' n' take it hard,
Ef we can't think with you, John,

It's jest your own back-yard.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,

Ef thet 's his claim," sez he, “The fencin'-stuff'll cost enough

To bust up friend J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an'me!”. Why talk so dreffle big, John,

Of honor when it meant
You did n't care a fig, John,
But jest for ten per cent ?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess
He's like the rest,

sez he: “When all is done, it's number one

Thet's nearest to J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!”
We give the critters back, John,

Cos Abrani thought 't was right;
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,
Provokin' us to fight.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess
We've a hard row,

sez he, "To hoe jest now; but thet somehow,

May happen to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!”

It don't seem hardly right, John,

When both my hands was full, To stump me to a fight, John, Your cousin, tu, John Bull!

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess

We know it now," sez he, “ The lion's paw is all the law,

Accordin' to J. B.,

Thet 's fit for you an' me !" You wonder why we're hot, John ?

Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
Our brothers an' our sons :
Ole Uncle S sez he, “I

guess There's human blood," sez he, By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,

Though ’t may surprise J. B.

More 'n it would you an' me." Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,

On your front-parlor stairs, Would it jest meet your views, John, To wait an' sue their heirs ?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “ I guess,

I on'y guess," sez he, “ Thet er Vattel on his toes fell,

Believe an’ understand, John,
The wuth o' bein' free.
Ole Uncle S. sez he,

I

guess, God's price is high,” sez he · “ But nothin' else than wut He sells

Wears long, an' thet Ş. B.
May larn, like you an' me!”

No. III.

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ.,

TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW.

With the following Letter from the REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A. M.

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,

With twenty million people,
An' close to every door, John,
A school-house an'a steeple.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess

It is a fact," sez he, “The surest plan to make a Man

Is, think him so, J. B.,

Ez much ez you or me!” Our folks believe in Law, John;

An' it's for her sake, now, They've left the axe an' saw, John, The anvil an' the plough.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,

Ef 't warn't for law," sez he, “There'd be one shindy from here to

Indy;
Anthet don't suit J. B.

(When't ain't 'twixt you an'me !)”. We know we've got a cause, John,

Thet 's honest, just, an' true ;
We thought 't would win applause,

John,
Ef nowheres else, from you.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, I

guess
His love of right,”' sez he,
Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton :

There's natur' in J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!” The South says, Poor folks down !

John, An'“All men up!say we, White, yaller, black, an' brown, John : Now which is your idee? Ole Uncle S. sez he, “ I guess,

John preaches wal,” sez he; “But, sermon thru, an' come to du,

Why, there's the old J. B.

A crowdin' you an' me!” Shall it be love, or hate, John?

It's you thet 's to decide ; Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside ?

Ole Uncle S. sez he,

Wise men forgive," sez le, “But not forget ; an' some time yet

Thet truth may strike J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!”
God means to make this land, John,

Clear thru, from sea to sea,

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC

MONTHLY.

JAALAM, 7th Feb., 1862. RESPECTED FRIENDS, — If I know myself, — and surely a man can hardly be supposed to have overpassed the liinit of fourscore years without attaining to some proficiency in that most useful branch of learning (e cælo descendit, says the pagan poet), -I have no great smack of that weakness which would press upon the publick attention any matter pertaining to my private affairs. But since the following letter of Mr. Sawin contains not only a direct allusion to myself, but that in connection with a topick of interest to all those engaged in the publick ministrations of the sanctuary, I may be pardoned for touching briefly thereupon. Mr. Sawin was never a stated attendant upon my preaching, - never, as I believe, even an occasional one, since the erection of the new house (where we now worship) in 1845. He did, indeed, for a time, supply a not unacceptable bass in the choir; but, whether on some umbrage (omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus) taken against the bass-viol, then, and till his decease in 1850 (æt. 77,) under the charge of Mr. Asaph Perley, or, as was reported by others, on account of an imininent subscription for a new bell, he thenceforth absenter Aims

"I guess

want sense,

from all outward and visible communion. Yet he seems to have preserved (altà mente repostuni), as it were, in the pickle of a mind soured by prejudice, a lasting scunner, as he would cail it, against our staid and decent form of worship; for I would rather in that wise interpret his fling, than suppose that any chance tares sown by my pulpit discourses should survive so long, while good seed too often tails to root itself. I humbly trust that I have no personal feeling in the matter; though I know that, if we sound any man deep enough, our lead shall bring up the mud of human nature at last. The Bretons believe in an evil spirit which they call arc'houskezik, whose office it is to make the congregation drowsy; and though I have never had reason to think that he was specially busy among my flock, yet have I seen enough to make me son,etimes regret the hinged seats of the ancient meeting-house, whose lively clatter, not unwillingly intensified by böys beyond eyeshot of the tithingman, served at intervals as a wholesome réveil, It is true, I have numbered among my parishioners some who are proof against the prophylactick fennel, nay, whose gift of somnolence rivalled that of the Cretan Rip Van Winkle, Epimenides, and who, nevertheless, complained not so much of the substance as of the length of my (by them unheard) discourses. Some ingenious persons of a philosophick turn have asSired us that our pulpits were set too high, and that the soporifick tendency increased with the ratio of the angle in which the hearer's eye was constrained to seek the preacher.

This were a curious topick for investigation. There can be no doubt that some sermons are pitched too high, and I remember many struggles with the drowsy fiend in my youth. Happy Saint Anthony of Padua, whose finny acolytes, however they might profit, could never murmur! Quare fremuerunt gentes? Who is he that can twice a week be inspired, or has eloquence (ut ita dicum) always on tap? A good man, and, next to David, a sacred poet (himself, haply,

not inexpert of evil in this particular), has said, “The worst speak something good: if all God takes a text and preacheth patience."

There are one or two other points in Mr. Sawin's letter which I would also briefly animadvert upon. And first, concerning the claim he sets up to a certain superiority of blood and lineage in the people of our Southern States, now unhappily in rebellion against lawful authority and their own better interests. There is a sort of opinions, anachronisms at once and anachorisms, foreign both to the age and the country, that maintain a feeble and buzzing existence, scarce to be called life, like winter flies, which in mild weather crawl out from obscure nooks and crannies to expatiate in the sun, and sometimes acquire vigor enough to disturb with their enforced familiarity the studious hours of the scholar. One of the most stupid and pertinacious of these is the theory that the Southern States were settled by a cla s of emigrants from the Old World socially superior to those who founded the institutions of New England. The Virginians especially lay claim to this generosity of lineage, which were of no possible account, were it not for the fact that such superstitions are sometimes not without their effect on the course of human affairs. The early adventurers to Massachusetts at least paid their passages ; no felons were ever shipped thither; and though it be true that many deboshed younger brothers of what are called good families may have sought refuge in Virginia, it is equally certain that a great part of the early deportations thither were the sweepings of the London streets and the leavings of the London stews. It was this my Lord Bacon had in mind when he wrote: “It is a shameful and unblessed thing to take the scum of people and wicked condemned men to be the people with whom you plant.” That certain names are found there is nothing to the purpose, for, even had an alias been beyond the invention of the knaves of

I con

that generation, it is known that servants were often called by their masters' names, as slaves are now. On what the heralds call the spindle side, some, at least, of the oldest Virginian families are descended from matrons who were exported and sold tor so many hogsheads of tobacco the head. So notorious was this, that it became one of the jokes of contemporary playwrights, not only that men bankrupt in purse and character were “food for the Plantations” (and this before the settlement of New England), but also that any drab would suffice to wive such pitiful adventurers. “Never choose a wife as if you were going to Virginia,' says Middleton in one of his comedies. The mule is apt to forget all but the equine side of his pedigree. How early the counterfeit nobility of the Old Dominion became a topick of ridicule in the Mother Country may be learned from a play of Mrs. Behn's, founded on the Rebellion of Bacon: for even these kennels of literature may yield a fact or two to pay the raking. Mrs. Flirt, the keeper of a Virginia ordinary, calls herself the daughter of a baronet “undone in the late rebellion," - her father having in truth been a tailor, -and three of the Council, assuming to themselves an equal splendour of origin, are shown to have been, one “a broken exciseman who came over a poor servant,” another a tinker transported for theft, and the third "a

'a common pickpocket often flogged at the cart's iail.” The ancestry of South Carolina will as little pass muster at the Herald's Visitation, though I hold them to have been more reputable, inasmuch as many of them were honest tradesmen and artisans, in some measure exiles for conscience' sake, who would have smiled at the high-flying nonsense of their descendants. Some of the more respectable were Jews. The absurdity of supposing a population of eight millions all sprung from gentle loins ir, the course of a century and a half is too manifest for confutation. But of what use to discuss the matter? An expert genealogist will provide any solvent man with

a genus et proavos to order. My Lora Burleigh said that “nobility was an. cient riches,” whence also the Spanish were wont to call their pobles ricos hombres, and the aristocracy of Amei. ica are the descendants of those who first became wealthy, by whatever means. Petroleum will in this wise be thr scurce of much good blood amorg our posterity. The aristocracy of the South, such as it is, has the shallowest of all foundations, for it is onl skindeep, — the most odious of all, for, while affecting to despise trade, it traces its origin to a successful traffick in men, women, and children, and still draws its chief revenues thence. And though, as Doctor Chamberlayne consolingly says in his Present State of England, “to become a Merchant of Foreign Commerce, without serving any Apprentisage, hath been allowed no disparagement to a Gentleman born, espe. cially to a younger Brother," yet ceive that he would hardly have made a like exception in favour of the particular trade in question. Oddly enough this trade reverses the ordinary standards of social respectability no less than of morals, for the retail and domestick is as creditable as the wholesale and foreign is degrading to him who follows it. Are our morals, then, no better than mores after all? I do not believe that such aristocracy as exists at the South (for I hold with Marius, fortissimum quemque generosissimum) will be found an element of anything like persistent strength in war, — thinking the saying of Lord Bacon (whom one quaintly called inductionis dominus et Verulamii) as true as it is pithy, that “the more gentlemen, ever the more books of subsidies.” It is odd enough as an historical precedent, that, while the fathers of New England were laying deep in religion, education, and freedom the basis of a polity which has substantially outlasted any then existing, the first work of the founders of Virginia, as may be seen in Wingfield's Memorial, was conspiracy and rebellion, - odder yet, as showing the changes which are wrought by circum

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