TAXATION.

“The worst speak something good: if all want sense,God takes a text and preacheth patience.”

“The worst speak something good: if all want sense,

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 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 vigour 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 class of emigrants from the Old World socially superiour 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. 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 for 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 common pickpocket often flogged at the cart’s-tail.” 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 in the course of a century and a half is too manifest for confutation. The aristocracy of the South, such as it is, has the shallowest of all foundations, for it is only skin-deep,—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 says in hisPresent State of England, “to become a Merchant of Foreign Commerce, without serving any Apprentisage, hath been allowed no disparagement to a Gentleman born, especially to a younger Brother,” yet I conceive that he would hardly have made a like exception in favour of the particular trade in question. Nor do I 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 calledinductionis dominus et Verulamii) as true as it is pithy, that, “the more gentlemen, ever the lower 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’sMemorial, was conspiracy and rebellion,—odder yet, as showing the changes which are wrought by circumstance, that the first insurrection in South Carolina was against the aristocratical scheme of the Proprietary Government. I do not find that the cuticular aristocracy of the South has added anything to the refinements of civilization except the carrying of bowie-knives and the chewing of tobacco,—a high-toned Southern gentleman being commonly not onlyquadrumanous, butquidruminant.

I confess that the present letter of Mr. Sawin increases my doubts as to the sincerity of the convictions which he professes, and I am inclined to think that the triumph of the legitimate Government, sure sooner or later to take place, will find him and a large majority of his newly-adopted fellow-citizens (who hold with Dædalus, the primal sitter-on-the-fence, thatmedium tenere tutissimum) original Union men. The criticisms toward the close of his letter on certain of our failings are worthy to be seriously perpended, for he is not, as I think, without a spice of vulgar shrewdness. As to the good-nature in us which he seems to gird at, while I would not consecrate a chapel, as they have not scrupled to do in France, toNótre Dame de la Haine, Our Lady of Hate, yet I cannot forget that the corruption of good-nature is the generation of laxity of principle. Good-nature is our national characteristick; and though it be, perhaps, nothing more than a culpable weakness or cowardice, when it leads us to put up tamely with manifold impositions and breaches of implied contracts, (as too frequently in our publick conveyances,) it becomes a positive crime, when it leads us to look unresentfully on peculation, and to regard treason to the best Government that ever existed as something with which a gentleman may shake hands without soiling his fingers. I do not think the gallows-tree the most profitable member of ourSylva; but, since it continues to be planted, I would fain see a Northern limb ingrafted on it, that it may bear some other fruit than loyal Tennesseeans.

A relick has recently been discovered on the east bank of Bushy Brook in North Jaalam, which I conceive to be an inscription in Runic characters relating to the early expedition of the Northmen to this continent. I shall make fuller investigations, and communicate the result in due season.

Respectfully,Your obedient servant,HOMER WILBUR, A.M.

P.S. I inclose a year’s subscription from Deacon Tinkham.

I hed it on my min’ las’ time, when I to write ye started,To tech the leadin’ featurs o’ my gittin’ me convarted;But, ez my letters hez to go clearn roun’ by way o’ Cuby,’T wun’t seem no staler now than then, by th’ time it gits where you be.You know up North, though sees an’ things air plenty ez you please,Ther’ warn’t nut one on ’em thet come jes’ square with my idees:I dessay they suit workin’-folks thet ain’t noways pertic’lar,But nut your Southun gen’leman thet keeps his perpendic’lar;I don’t blame nary man thet casts his lot along o’ his folks,But ef you cal’late to saveme, ’t must be with folks thetisfolks;Cov’nants o’ works go ’ginst my grain, but down here I’ve found outThe true fus’-fem’ly A 1 plan,—here’s how it come about.When I fus’ sot up with Miss S., sez she to me, sez she,—“Without you git religion, Sir, the thing can’t never be;Nut but wut I respeck,” sez she, “your intellectle part,But you wun’t noways du for me athout a change o’ heart:Nothun religion works wal North, but it’s ez soft ez spruce,Compared to ourn, for keepin’ sound,” sez she, “upon the goose;A day’s experunce’d prove to ye, ez easy ’z pull a trigger,It takes the Southun pint o’ view to raise ten bales a nigger;You’ll fin’ thet human natur, South, ain’t wholesome more ’n skin-deep,An’ once’t a darkie’s took with it, he wun’t be wuth his keep.”“HowshellI git it, Ma’am?” sez I. “Attend the nex’ camp-meetin’,”Sez she, “an’ it’ll come to ye ez cheap ez onbleached sheetin’.”Wal, so I went along an’ hearn most an impressive sarmonAbout besprinklin’ Afriky with fourth-proof dew o’ Harmon:He did n’ put no weaknin’ in, but gin it tu us hot,’Z ef he an’ Satan’d ben two bulls in one five-acre lot:I don’t purtend to foller him, but give ye jes’ the heads;For pulpit ellerkence, you know, ’most ollers kin’ o’ spreads.Ham’s seed wuz gin to us in chairge, an’ shouldn’t we be li’bleIn Kingdom Come, ef we kep’ back their priv’lege in the Bible?The cusses an’ the promerses make one gret chain, an’ efYou snake one link out here, one there, how much on’t ud be lef’?All things wuz gin to man for’s use, his sarvice, an’ delight;An’ don’t the Greek an’ Hebrew words thet mean a Man mean White?Ain’t it belittlin’ the Good Book in all its proudes’ featursTo think ’t wuz wrote for black an’ brown an’ ’lasses-colored creaturs,Thet could n’ read it, ef they would, nor ain’t by lor allowed to,But ough’ to take wut we think suits their naturs, an’ be proud to?Warn’t it more prof’table to bring your raw materil thruWhere you can work it inta grace an’ inta cotton, tu,Than sendin’ missionaries out where fevers might defeat ’em,An’ ef the butcher did n’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em?An’ then, agin, wut airthly use? Nor ’t warn’t our fault, in so furEz Yankee skippers would keep on a-totin’ on ’em over.’T improved the whites by savin’ ’em from ary need o’ workin’,An’ kep’ the blacks from bein’ lost thru idleness an’ shirkin’;We took to ’em ez nat’ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,An’ hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o’ vice;It made us feel ez pop’lar ez a hen doos with one chicken,An’ fill our place in Natur’s scale by givin’ ’em a lickin’:For why should Cæsar git his dues more ’n Juno, Pomp, an’ Cuffy?It’s justifyin’ Ham to spare a nigger when he’s stuffy.Where’d their soles go tu, like to know, ef we should let ’em ketchFreeknowledgism an’ Fourierism an’ Speritoolism an’ sech?When Satan sets himself to work to raise his very bes’ muss,He scatters roun’ onscriptur’l views relatin’ to Ones’mus.You’d ough’ to seen, though, how his face an’ argymunce an’ figgersDrawed tears o’ real conviction from a lot o’ pen’tent niggers!It warn’t like Wilbur’s meetin’, where you’re shet up in a pew,Your dickeys sorrin’ off your ears, an’ bilin’ to be thru;Ther’ wuz a tent clost by thet hed a kag o’ sunthin’ in it,Where you could go, ef you wuz dry, an’ damp ye in a minute;Au’ ef you did dror off a spell, ther’ wuzn’t no occasionTo lose the thread, because, ye see, he bellered like all Bashan.It’s dry work follerin’ argymunce, an’ so, ’twix’ this an’ thet,I felt conviction weighin’ down somehow inside my hat;It growed an’ growed like Jonah’s gourd, a kin’ o’ whirlin’ ketched me,Ontil I fin’lly clean giv out an’ owned up thet he’d fetched me;An’ when nine-tenths the perrish took to tumblin’ roun’ an’ hollerin’,I did n’ fin’ no gret in th’ way o’ turnin’ tu an’ follerin’.Soon ez Miss S. see thet, sez she, “Thet’s wut I call wuth seein’!Thet’s actin’ like a reas’nable an’ intellectle bein’!”An’ so we fin’lly made it up, concluded to hitch hosses,An’ here I be ’n my ellermunt among creation’s bosses;Arter I’d drawed sech heaps o’ blanks, Fortin at last hez sent a prize,An’ chose me for a shinin’ light o’ missionary enterprise.This leads me to another pint on which I’ve changed my planO’ thinkin’ so ’s ’t I might become a straight-out Southun man.Miss S. (her maiden name wuz Higgs, o’ the fus’ fem’ly here)On her Ma’s side ’s all Juggernot, on Pa’s all Cavileer,An’ sence I’ve merried into her an’ stept into her shoes,It ain’t more ’n nateral thet I should modderfy my views:I’ve ben a-readin’ in Debow ontil I’ve fairly gutSo ’nlightened thet I’d full ez lives ha’ ben a Dook ez nut;An’ when we’ve laid ye all out stiff, an’ Jeff hez gut his crown,An’ comes to pick his nobles out,wun’tthis child be in town!We’ll hev an Age o’ Chivverlry surpassin’ Mister Burke’s,Where every fem’ly is fus’-best an’ nary white man works:Our system’s sech, the thing’ll root ez easy ez a tater;For while your lords in furrin parts ain’t noways marked by natur’,Nor sot apart from ornery folks in featurs nor in figgers,Ef ourn’ll keep their faces washed, you’ll know ’em from their niggers.Ain’tsechthings wuth secedin’ for, an’ gittin’ red o’ youThet waller in your low idees, an’ will till all is blue?Fact is, weaira diff’rent race, an’ I, for one, don’t see,Sech havin’ ollers ben the case, how w’ everdidagree.It’s sunthin’ thet you lab’rin’-folks up North hed ough’ to think on,Thet Higgses can’t bemean themselves to rulin’ by a Lincoln,—Thet men, (an’ guv’nors, tu,) thet hez sech Normal names ez Pickens,Accustomed to no kin’ o’ work, ’thout ’t is to givin’ lickins,Can’t masure votes with folks thet git their livins from their farmsAn’ prob’ly think thet Law ’s ez good ez hevin’ coats o’ arms.Sence I’ve ben here, I’ve hired a chap to look about for meTo git me a transplantable an’ thrifty fem’ly-tree,An’ he tellsmethe Sawins is ez much o’ Normal bloodEz Pickens an’ the rest on ’em, an’ older ’n Noah’s flood.Your Normal schools wun’t turn ye into Normals, for it’s clear,Ef eddykatin’ done the thing, they’d be some skurcer here.Pickenses, Boggses, Pettuses, Magoffins, Letchers, Polks,—Where can you scare up names like them among your mudsill folks?Ther’ ’s nothin’ to compare with ’em, you’d fin’, ef you should glance,Among the tip-top femerlies in Englan’, nor in France:I’ve hearn from ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat,Thet they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,From folks thet, ’thout their crowns wuz on, ou’doors would n’ never stir,Nor thet ther’ warn’t a Southun man but wut wuzprimy fashyO’ the bes’ blood in Europe, yis, an’ Afriky an’ Ashy:Sech bein’ the case, is ’t likely we should bend like cotton-wickin’,Or set down under anythin’ so low-lived ez a lickin’?More ’n this,—hain’t we the literatoor an’ science, tu, by gorry?Hain’t we them intellectle twins, them giants, Simms an’ Maury,Each with full twice the ushle brains, like nothin’ thet I know,’Thout ’t wuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show?For all thet, I warn’t jest at fast in favor o’ seeedin’;I wuz for layin’ low a spell to find out where’t wuz leadin’,For hevin’ South-Carliny try her hand at seprit-nationin’,She takin’ resks an’ findin’ funds, an’ we cooperationin’,—I mean a kin’ o’ hangin’ roun’ an’ settin’ on the fence,Till Prov’dunce pinted how to jump an’ save the most expense;I reccollected thet ’ere mine o’ lead to Shiraz CentreThet bust up Jabez Pettibone, an’ didn’t want to ventur’’Fore I wuz sartin wut come out ud pay for wut went in,For swappin’ silver off for lead ain’t the sure way to win;(An’, fact, itdooslook now ez though—but folks must live an’ larn—We should git lead, an’ more ’n we want, out o’ the Old Consarn;)But when I see a man so wise an’ honest ez BuchananA-lettin’ us hev all the forts an’ all the arms an’ cannon,Admittin’ we wuz nat’lly right an’ you wuz nat’lly wrong,Coz you wuz lab’rin’-folks an’ we wuz wut they callbong-tong,An’ coz there warn’t no fight in ye more ’n in a mashed potater,While two o’uscan’t skurcely meet but wut we fight by natur’,An’ th’ ain’t a bar-room here would pay for openin’ on ’t a night,Without it giv the priverlege o’ bein’ shot at sight,Which proves we’re Natur’s noblemen, with whom it don’t surpriseThe British aristoxy should feel boun’ to sympathize,—Seein’ all this, an’ seein’, tu, the thing wuz strikin’ rootsWhile Uncle Sam sot still in hopes thet some one ’d bring his boots,I thought th’ ole Union’s hoops wuz off, an’ let myself be sucked inTo rise a peg an’ jine the crowd thet went for reconstructin’,—Thet is, to hev the pardnership under th’ ole name continnerJest ez it wuz, we drorrin’ pay, you findin’ bone an’ sinner,—On’y to put it in the bond, an’ enter ’t in the journals,Thet you’re the nat’ral rank an’ file an’ we the nat’ral kurnels.Now this I thought a fees’ble plan, thet ’ud work smooth ez grease,Suitin’ the Nineteenth Century an’ Upper Ten idees,An’ there I meant to stick, an’ so did most o’ th’ leaders, tu,Coz we all thought the chance wuz good o’ puttin’ on it thru;But Jeff he hit upon a way o’ helpin’ on us forrardBy bein’ unannermous,—a trick you ain’t quite up to, Norrard.A baldin hain’t no more ’f a chance with them new apple-corersThan folks’s oppersition views aginst the Ringtail Roarers;They’ll take ’em out on him ’bout east,—one canter on a railMakes a man feel unannermous ez Jonah in the whale;Or ef he’s a slow-moulded cuss thet can’t seem quite t’ agree,He gits the noose by tellergraph upon the nighes’ tree:Their mission-work with Afrikins hez put ’em up, thet’s sartin,To all the mos’ across-lot ways o’ preachin’ an’ convartin’;I’ll bet my hat th’ ain’t nary priest, nor all on ’em together,Thet cairs conviction to the min’ like Reveren’ Taranfeather;Why, he sot up with me one night, an’ labored to sech purpose,Thet (ez an owl by daylight ’mongst a flock o’ teazin’ chirpersSees clearer ’n mud the wickedness o’ eatin’ little birds)I see my error an’ agreed to shen it arterwurds;An’ I should say, (to jedge our folks by facs in my possession,)Thet three’s Unannermous where one’s a ’Riginal Secession;So it’s a thing you fellers North may safely bet your chink on,Thet we’re all water-proofed agin th’ usurpin’ reign o’ Lincoln.Jeff’ssome. He’s gut another plan thet hez pertic’lar merits,In givin’ things a cherfle look an’ stiffnin’ loose-hung sperits;For while your million papers, wut with lyin’ an’ discussin’,Keep folks’s tempers all on eend a-fumin’ an’ a-fussin’,A-wondrin’ this an’ guessin’ thet, an’ dreadin’, every night,The breechin’ o’ the Univarse’ll break afore it’s light,Our papers don’t purtend to print on’y wut Guv’ment choose,An’ thet insures us all to git the very best o’ noose:Jeff hez it of all sorts an’ kines, an’ sarves it out ez wanted,So’s’t every man gits wut he likes an’ nobody ain’t scanted;Sometimes it’s vict’ries, (they’re ’bout all ther’ is thet’s cheap down here,)Sometimes it’s France an’ England on the jump to interfere.Fact is, the less the people know o’ wut ther’ is a-doin’,The hendier ’t is for Guv’ment, sence it henders trouble brewin’;An’ noose is like a shinplaster,—it’s good, ef you believe it,Or, wut’s all same, the other man thet’s goin’ to receive it:Ef you’ve a son in th’ army, wy, it’s comfortin’ to hearHe’ll hev no gretter resk to run than seein’ th’ in’my’s rear,Coz, ef an F.F. looks at ’em, they ollers break an’ run,Or wilt right down ez debtors will thet stumble on a dun(An’ this, ef an’thin’, proves the wuth o’ proper fem’ly pride,Fer sech mean shucks ez creditors are all on Lincoln’s side);Ef I hev scrip thet wun’t go off no more ’n a Belgin rifle,An’ read thet it’s at par on ’Change, it makes me feel deli’fle;It’s cheerin’, tu, where every man mus’ fortify his bed,To hear thet Freedom’s the one thing our darkies mos’ly dread,An’ thet experunce, time ’n’ agin, to Dixie’s Land hez shownTher’ ’s nothin’ like a powder-cask f’r a stiddy corner-stone;Ain’t it ez good ez nuts, when salt is sellin’ by the ounceFor its own weight in Treash’ry-bons, (ef bought in small amounts,)When even whiskey’s gittin’ skurce, an’ sugar can’t be found,To know thet all the ellerments o’ luxury abound?An’ don’t it glorify sal’-pork, to come to understandIt’s wut the Richmon’ editors call fatness o’ the land?Nex’ thing to knowin’ you’re well off isnutto know when y’ ain’t;An’ ef Jeff says all’s goin’ wal, who’ll ventur’ t’ say it ain’t?This cairn the Constitooshun roun’ ez Jeff doos in his hatIs hendier a dreffle sight, an’ comes more kin’ o’ pat.I tell ye wut, my jedgment is you’re pooty sure to fail,Ez long ’z the head keeps turnin’ back for counsel to the tail:Th’ advantiges of our consarn for bein’ prompt air gret,While, ’long o’ Congress, you can’t strike, ’f you git an iron het;They bother roun’ with argooin’, an’ var’ous sorts o’ foolin’,To make sure ef it’s leg’lly het, an’ all the while it’s coolin’,So ’s ’t when you come to strike, it ain’t no gret to wish ye j’y on,An’ hurts the hammer ’z much or more ez wut it doos the iron.Jeff don’t allow no jawin’-sprees for three months at a stretch,Knowin’ the ears long speeches suits air mostly made to metch;He jes’ ropes in your tonguey chaps an’ reg’lar ten-inch boresAn’ lets ’em play at Congress, ef they’ll du it with closed doors;So they ain’t no more bothersome than ef we’d took an’ sunk ’em,An’ yit enj’y th’ exclusive right to one another’s Buncombe’Thout doin’ nobody no hurt, an’ ’thout its costin’ nothin’,Their pay bein’ jes’ Confedrit funds, they findin’ keep an’ clothin’;They taste the sweets o’ public life, an’ plan their little jobs,An’ suck the Treash’ry, (no gret harm, for it’s ez dry ez cobs,)An’ go thru all the motions jest ez safe ez in a prison,An’ hev their business to themselves, while Buregard hez hisn:Ez long ’z he gives the Hessians fits, committees can’t make bother’Bout whether ’t’s done the legle way or whether ’t’s done the t’other.An’Itellyouyou’ve gut to larn thet War ain’t one long teeterBetwixtI wan’ toan’’T wun’t du, debatin’ like a skeeturAfore he lights,—all is, to give the other side a millin’,An’ arter thet’s done, th’ ain’t no resk but wut the lor’ll be willin’;No metter wut the guv’ment is, ez nigh ez I can hit it,A lickin’s constitooshunal, pervidin’Wedon’t git it.Jeff don’t stan’ dilly-dallyin’, afore he takes a fort,(With no one in,) to git the leave o’ the nex’ Soopreme Court,Nor don’t want forty-’leven ’weeks o’ jawin’ an’ expoundin’To prove a nigger hez a right to save him, ef he’s drowndin’;Whereas ole Abram’d sink afore he’d let a darkie boost him,Ef Taney shouldn’t come along an’ hedn’t interdooced him.It ain’t your twenty millions thet’ll ever block Jeff’s game,But one Man thet wun’t let ’em jog jest ez he’s takin’ aim:Your numbers they may strengthen ye or weaken ye, ez ’t heppensThey’re willin’ to be helpin.’ hands or wuss’n-nothin’ cap’ns.I’ve chose my side, an’ ’t ain’t no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets,Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes’ bagnets;I’ve made my ch’ice, an’ ciphered out, from all I see an’ heard,Th’ ole Constitooshun never’d git her decks for action cleared,Long ’z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to goCoz they can’t seem to git their grub no otherways than so,An’ let your bes’ men stay to home coz they wun’t show ez talkers,Nor can’t be hired to fool ye an’ sof’-soap ye at a caucus,—Long ’z ye set by Rotashun more ’n ye do by folks’s merits,Ez though experance thriv by change o’ sile, like corn an’ kerrits,—Long ’z you allow a critter’s “claims” coz, spite o’ shoves an’ tippins,He’s kep’ his private pan jest where’t would ketch mos’ public drippins,—Long ’z A.’ll turn tu an’ grin’ B.’s exe, ef B.’ll help him grin’ hisn,(An’ thet’s the main idee by which your leadin’ men hev risen,)—Long ’z you let ary exe be groun’; ’less ’L is to cut the weasan’O’ sneaks thet dunno till they’re told wut is an’ wut ain’t Treason,-Long ’z ye give out commissions to a lot o’ peddlin’ dronesThet trade in whiskey with their men an’ skin ’em to their bones,—Long ’z ye sift out “safe” canderdates thet no one ain’t afeared onCoz they’re so thund’rin’ eminent for bein’ never heard on,An’ hain’t no record, ez it’s called, for folks to pick a hole in,Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in,An’ it wuz ostenstashun to be showm’ on’t about,When half his feller-citizens contrive to do without,—Long ’z you suppose your votes can turn biled kebbage into brain,An’ ary man thet’s pop’lar’s fit to drive a lightnin’-train,—Long ’z you believe democracy meansI’m ez good ez you be,An’ thet a feller from the ranks can’t be a knave or booby,—Long ’z Congress seems purvided, like yer street-cars an’ yer ’busses,With oilers room for jes’ one more o’ your spiled-in-bakin’ cusses,Dough’thout the emptins of a soul, an’ yit with means about ’em(Like essence-peddlers25) thet ’ll make folks long to be without ’em,Jest heavy ’nough to turn a scale thet’s doubtfle the wrong way,An’ make their nat’ral arsenal o’ bein’ nasty pay,—Long ’z them things last, (an’ I don’t see no gret signs of improvin’,)I sha’n’t up stakes, not hardly yit, nor’t wouldn’t pay for movin’;For, ’fore you lick us, it ’ll be the long’st day ever you see.Yourn, (ez I ’xpec’ to be nex’ spring,)B., MARKISS O’ BIG BOOSY.

I hed it on my min’ las’ time, when I to write ye started,

To tech the leadin’ featurs o’ my gittin’ me convarted;

But, ez my letters hez to go clearn roun’ by way o’ Cuby,

’T wun’t seem no staler now than then, by th’ time it gits where you be.

You know up North, though sees an’ things air plenty ez you please,

Ther’ warn’t nut one on ’em thet come jes’ square with my idees:

I dessay they suit workin’-folks thet ain’t noways pertic’lar,

But nut your Southun gen’leman thet keeps his perpendic’lar;

I don’t blame nary man thet casts his lot along o’ his folks,

But ef you cal’late to saveme, ’t must be with folks thetisfolks;

Cov’nants o’ works go ’ginst my grain, but down here I’ve found out

The true fus’-fem’ly A 1 plan,—here’s how it come about.

When I fus’ sot up with Miss S., sez she to me, sez she,—

“Without you git religion, Sir, the thing can’t never be;

Nut but wut I respeck,” sez she, “your intellectle part,

But you wun’t noways du for me athout a change o’ heart:

Nothun religion works wal North, but it’s ez soft ez spruce,

Compared to ourn, for keepin’ sound,” sez she, “upon the goose;

A day’s experunce’d prove to ye, ez easy ’z pull a trigger,

It takes the Southun pint o’ view to raise ten bales a nigger;

You’ll fin’ thet human natur, South, ain’t wholesome more ’n skin-deep,

An’ once’t a darkie’s took with it, he wun’t be wuth his keep.”

“HowshellI git it, Ma’am?” sez I. “Attend the nex’ camp-meetin’,”

Sez she, “an’ it’ll come to ye ez cheap ez onbleached sheetin’.”

Wal, so I went along an’ hearn most an impressive sarmonAbout besprinklin’ Afriky with fourth-proof dew o’ Harmon:He did n’ put no weaknin’ in, but gin it tu us hot,’Z ef he an’ Satan’d ben two bulls in one five-acre lot:I don’t purtend to foller him, but give ye jes’ the heads;For pulpit ellerkence, you know, ’most ollers kin’ o’ spreads.Ham’s seed wuz gin to us in chairge, an’ shouldn’t we be li’bleIn Kingdom Come, ef we kep’ back their priv’lege in the Bible?The cusses an’ the promerses make one gret chain, an’ efYou snake one link out here, one there, how much on’t ud be lef’?All things wuz gin to man for’s use, his sarvice, an’ delight;An’ don’t the Greek an’ Hebrew words thet mean a Man mean White?Ain’t it belittlin’ the Good Book in all its proudes’ featursTo think ’t wuz wrote for black an’ brown an’ ’lasses-colored creaturs,Thet could n’ read it, ef they would, nor ain’t by lor allowed to,But ough’ to take wut we think suits their naturs, an’ be proud to?Warn’t it more prof’table to bring your raw materil thruWhere you can work it inta grace an’ inta cotton, tu,Than sendin’ missionaries out where fevers might defeat ’em,An’ ef the butcher did n’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em?An’ then, agin, wut airthly use? Nor ’t warn’t our fault, in so furEz Yankee skippers would keep on a-totin’ on ’em over.’T improved the whites by savin’ ’em from ary need o’ workin’,An’ kep’ the blacks from bein’ lost thru idleness an’ shirkin’;We took to ’em ez nat’ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,An’ hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o’ vice;It made us feel ez pop’lar ez a hen doos with one chicken,An’ fill our place in Natur’s scale by givin’ ’em a lickin’:For why should Cæsar git his dues more ’n Juno, Pomp, an’ Cuffy?It’s justifyin’ Ham to spare a nigger when he’s stuffy.Where’d their soles go tu, like to know, ef we should let ’em ketchFreeknowledgism an’ Fourierism an’ Speritoolism an’ sech?When Satan sets himself to work to raise his very bes’ muss,He scatters roun’ onscriptur’l views relatin’ to Ones’mus.

Wal, so I went along an’ hearn most an impressive sarmon

About besprinklin’ Afriky with fourth-proof dew o’ Harmon:

He did n’ put no weaknin’ in, but gin it tu us hot,

’Z ef he an’ Satan’d ben two bulls in one five-acre lot:

I don’t purtend to foller him, but give ye jes’ the heads;

For pulpit ellerkence, you know, ’most ollers kin’ o’ spreads.

Ham’s seed wuz gin to us in chairge, an’ shouldn’t we be li’ble

In Kingdom Come, ef we kep’ back their priv’lege in the Bible?

The cusses an’ the promerses make one gret chain, an’ ef

You snake one link out here, one there, how much on’t ud be lef’?

All things wuz gin to man for’s use, his sarvice, an’ delight;

An’ don’t the Greek an’ Hebrew words thet mean a Man mean White?

Ain’t it belittlin’ the Good Book in all its proudes’ featurs

To think ’t wuz wrote for black an’ brown an’ ’lasses-colored creaturs,

Thet could n’ read it, ef they would, nor ain’t by lor allowed to,

But ough’ to take wut we think suits their naturs, an’ be proud to?

Warn’t it more prof’table to bring your raw materil thru

Where you can work it inta grace an’ inta cotton, tu,

Than sendin’ missionaries out where fevers might defeat ’em,

An’ ef the butcher did n’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em?

An’ then, agin, wut airthly use? Nor ’t warn’t our fault, in so fur

Ez Yankee skippers would keep on a-totin’ on ’em over.

’T improved the whites by savin’ ’em from ary need o’ workin’,

An’ kep’ the blacks from bein’ lost thru idleness an’ shirkin’;

We took to ’em ez nat’ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,

An’ hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o’ vice;

It made us feel ez pop’lar ez a hen doos with one chicken,

An’ fill our place in Natur’s scale by givin’ ’em a lickin’:

For why should Cæsar git his dues more ’n Juno, Pomp, an’ Cuffy?

It’s justifyin’ Ham to spare a nigger when he’s stuffy.

Where’d their soles go tu, like to know, ef we should let ’em ketch

Freeknowledgism an’ Fourierism an’ Speritoolism an’ sech?

When Satan sets himself to work to raise his very bes’ muss,

He scatters roun’ onscriptur’l views relatin’ to Ones’mus.

You’d ough’ to seen, though, how his face an’ argymunce an’ figgersDrawed tears o’ real conviction from a lot o’ pen’tent niggers!It warn’t like Wilbur’s meetin’, where you’re shet up in a pew,Your dickeys sorrin’ off your ears, an’ bilin’ to be thru;Ther’ wuz a tent clost by thet hed a kag o’ sunthin’ in it,Where you could go, ef you wuz dry, an’ damp ye in a minute;Au’ ef you did dror off a spell, ther’ wuzn’t no occasionTo lose the thread, because, ye see, he bellered like all Bashan.It’s dry work follerin’ argymunce, an’ so, ’twix’ this an’ thet,I felt conviction weighin’ down somehow inside my hat;It growed an’ growed like Jonah’s gourd, a kin’ o’ whirlin’ ketched me,Ontil I fin’lly clean giv out an’ owned up thet he’d fetched me;An’ when nine-tenths the perrish took to tumblin’ roun’ an’ hollerin’,I did n’ fin’ no gret in th’ way o’ turnin’ tu an’ follerin’.Soon ez Miss S. see thet, sez she, “Thet’s wut I call wuth seein’!Thet’s actin’ like a reas’nable an’ intellectle bein’!”An’ so we fin’lly made it up, concluded to hitch hosses,An’ here I be ’n my ellermunt among creation’s bosses;Arter I’d drawed sech heaps o’ blanks, Fortin at last hez sent a prize,An’ chose me for a shinin’ light o’ missionary enterprise.

You’d ough’ to seen, though, how his face an’ argymunce an’ figgers

Drawed tears o’ real conviction from a lot o’ pen’tent niggers!

It warn’t like Wilbur’s meetin’, where you’re shet up in a pew,

Your dickeys sorrin’ off your ears, an’ bilin’ to be thru;

Ther’ wuz a tent clost by thet hed a kag o’ sunthin’ in it,

Where you could go, ef you wuz dry, an’ damp ye in a minute;

Au’ ef you did dror off a spell, ther’ wuzn’t no occasion

To lose the thread, because, ye see, he bellered like all Bashan.

It’s dry work follerin’ argymunce, an’ so, ’twix’ this an’ thet,

I felt conviction weighin’ down somehow inside my hat;

It growed an’ growed like Jonah’s gourd, a kin’ o’ whirlin’ ketched me,

Ontil I fin’lly clean giv out an’ owned up thet he’d fetched me;

An’ when nine-tenths the perrish took to tumblin’ roun’ an’ hollerin’,

I did n’ fin’ no gret in th’ way o’ turnin’ tu an’ follerin’.

Soon ez Miss S. see thet, sez she, “Thet’s wut I call wuth seein’!

Thet’s actin’ like a reas’nable an’ intellectle bein’!”

An’ so we fin’lly made it up, concluded to hitch hosses,

An’ here I be ’n my ellermunt among creation’s bosses;

Arter I’d drawed sech heaps o’ blanks, Fortin at last hez sent a prize,

An’ chose me for a shinin’ light o’ missionary enterprise.

This leads me to another pint on which I’ve changed my planO’ thinkin’ so ’s ’t I might become a straight-out Southun man.Miss S. (her maiden name wuz Higgs, o’ the fus’ fem’ly here)On her Ma’s side ’s all Juggernot, on Pa’s all Cavileer,An’ sence I’ve merried into her an’ stept into her shoes,It ain’t more ’n nateral thet I should modderfy my views:I’ve ben a-readin’ in Debow ontil I’ve fairly gutSo ’nlightened thet I’d full ez lives ha’ ben a Dook ez nut;An’ when we’ve laid ye all out stiff, an’ Jeff hez gut his crown,An’ comes to pick his nobles out,wun’tthis child be in town!We’ll hev an Age o’ Chivverlry surpassin’ Mister Burke’s,Where every fem’ly is fus’-best an’ nary white man works:Our system’s sech, the thing’ll root ez easy ez a tater;For while your lords in furrin parts ain’t noways marked by natur’,Nor sot apart from ornery folks in featurs nor in figgers,Ef ourn’ll keep their faces washed, you’ll know ’em from their niggers.Ain’tsechthings wuth secedin’ for, an’ gittin’ red o’ youThet waller in your low idees, an’ will till all is blue?Fact is, weaira diff’rent race, an’ I, for one, don’t see,Sech havin’ ollers ben the case, how w’ everdidagree.It’s sunthin’ thet you lab’rin’-folks up North hed ough’ to think on,Thet Higgses can’t bemean themselves to rulin’ by a Lincoln,—Thet men, (an’ guv’nors, tu,) thet hez sech Normal names ez Pickens,Accustomed to no kin’ o’ work, ’thout ’t is to givin’ lickins,Can’t masure votes with folks thet git their livins from their farmsAn’ prob’ly think thet Law ’s ez good ez hevin’ coats o’ arms.Sence I’ve ben here, I’ve hired a chap to look about for meTo git me a transplantable an’ thrifty fem’ly-tree,An’ he tellsmethe Sawins is ez much o’ Normal bloodEz Pickens an’ the rest on ’em, an’ older ’n Noah’s flood.Your Normal schools wun’t turn ye into Normals, for it’s clear,Ef eddykatin’ done the thing, they’d be some skurcer here.Pickenses, Boggses, Pettuses, Magoffins, Letchers, Polks,—Where can you scare up names like them among your mudsill folks?Ther’ ’s nothin’ to compare with ’em, you’d fin’, ef you should glance,Among the tip-top femerlies in Englan’, nor in France:I’ve hearn from ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat,Thet they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,From folks thet, ’thout their crowns wuz on, ou’doors would n’ never stir,Nor thet ther’ warn’t a Southun man but wut wuzprimy fashyO’ the bes’ blood in Europe, yis, an’ Afriky an’ Ashy:Sech bein’ the case, is ’t likely we should bend like cotton-wickin’,Or set down under anythin’ so low-lived ez a lickin’?More ’n this,—hain’t we the literatoor an’ science, tu, by gorry?Hain’t we them intellectle twins, them giants, Simms an’ Maury,Each with full twice the ushle brains, like nothin’ thet I know,’Thout ’t wuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show?

This leads me to another pint on which I’ve changed my plan

O’ thinkin’ so ’s ’t I might become a straight-out Southun man.

Miss S. (her maiden name wuz Higgs, o’ the fus’ fem’ly here)

On her Ma’s side ’s all Juggernot, on Pa’s all Cavileer,

An’ sence I’ve merried into her an’ stept into her shoes,

It ain’t more ’n nateral thet I should modderfy my views:

I’ve ben a-readin’ in Debow ontil I’ve fairly gut

So ’nlightened thet I’d full ez lives ha’ ben a Dook ez nut;

An’ when we’ve laid ye all out stiff, an’ Jeff hez gut his crown,

An’ comes to pick his nobles out,wun’tthis child be in town!

We’ll hev an Age o’ Chivverlry surpassin’ Mister Burke’s,

Where every fem’ly is fus’-best an’ nary white man works:

Our system’s sech, the thing’ll root ez easy ez a tater;

For while your lords in furrin parts ain’t noways marked by natur’,

Nor sot apart from ornery folks in featurs nor in figgers,

Ef ourn’ll keep their faces washed, you’ll know ’em from their niggers.

Ain’tsechthings wuth secedin’ for, an’ gittin’ red o’ you

Thet waller in your low idees, an’ will till all is blue?

Fact is, weaira diff’rent race, an’ I, for one, don’t see,

Sech havin’ ollers ben the case, how w’ everdidagree.

It’s sunthin’ thet you lab’rin’-folks up North hed ough’ to think on,

Thet Higgses can’t bemean themselves to rulin’ by a Lincoln,—

Thet men, (an’ guv’nors, tu,) thet hez sech Normal names ez Pickens,

Accustomed to no kin’ o’ work, ’thout ’t is to givin’ lickins,

Can’t masure votes with folks thet git their livins from their farms

An’ prob’ly think thet Law ’s ez good ez hevin’ coats o’ arms.

Sence I’ve ben here, I’ve hired a chap to look about for me

To git me a transplantable an’ thrifty fem’ly-tree,

An’ he tellsmethe Sawins is ez much o’ Normal blood

Ez Pickens an’ the rest on ’em, an’ older ’n Noah’s flood.

Your Normal schools wun’t turn ye into Normals, for it’s clear,

Ef eddykatin’ done the thing, they’d be some skurcer here.

Pickenses, Boggses, Pettuses, Magoffins, Letchers, Polks,—

Where can you scare up names like them among your mudsill folks?

Ther’ ’s nothin’ to compare with ’em, you’d fin’, ef you should glance,

Among the tip-top femerlies in Englan’, nor in France:

I’ve hearn from ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,

Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat,

Thet they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,

From folks thet, ’thout their crowns wuz on, ou’doors would n’ never stir,

Nor thet ther’ warn’t a Southun man but wut wuzprimy fashy

O’ the bes’ blood in Europe, yis, an’ Afriky an’ Ashy:

Sech bein’ the case, is ’t likely we should bend like cotton-wickin’,

Or set down under anythin’ so low-lived ez a lickin’?

More ’n this,—hain’t we the literatoor an’ science, tu, by gorry?

Hain’t we them intellectle twins, them giants, Simms an’ Maury,

Each with full twice the ushle brains, like nothin’ thet I know,

’Thout ’t wuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show?

For all thet, I warn’t jest at fast in favor o’ seeedin’;I wuz for layin’ low a spell to find out where’t wuz leadin’,For hevin’ South-Carliny try her hand at seprit-nationin’,She takin’ resks an’ findin’ funds, an’ we cooperationin’,—I mean a kin’ o’ hangin’ roun’ an’ settin’ on the fence,Till Prov’dunce pinted how to jump an’ save the most expense;I reccollected thet ’ere mine o’ lead to Shiraz CentreThet bust up Jabez Pettibone, an’ didn’t want to ventur’’Fore I wuz sartin wut come out ud pay for wut went in,For swappin’ silver off for lead ain’t the sure way to win;(An’, fact, itdooslook now ez though—but folks must live an’ larn—We should git lead, an’ more ’n we want, out o’ the Old Consarn;)But when I see a man so wise an’ honest ez BuchananA-lettin’ us hev all the forts an’ all the arms an’ cannon,Admittin’ we wuz nat’lly right an’ you wuz nat’lly wrong,Coz you wuz lab’rin’-folks an’ we wuz wut they callbong-tong,An’ coz there warn’t no fight in ye more ’n in a mashed potater,While two o’uscan’t skurcely meet but wut we fight by natur’,An’ th’ ain’t a bar-room here would pay for openin’ on ’t a night,Without it giv the priverlege o’ bein’ shot at sight,Which proves we’re Natur’s noblemen, with whom it don’t surpriseThe British aristoxy should feel boun’ to sympathize,—Seein’ all this, an’ seein’, tu, the thing wuz strikin’ rootsWhile Uncle Sam sot still in hopes thet some one ’d bring his boots,I thought th’ ole Union’s hoops wuz off, an’ let myself be sucked inTo rise a peg an’ jine the crowd thet went for reconstructin’,—Thet is, to hev the pardnership under th’ ole name continnerJest ez it wuz, we drorrin’ pay, you findin’ bone an’ sinner,—On’y to put it in the bond, an’ enter ’t in the journals,Thet you’re the nat’ral rank an’ file an’ we the nat’ral kurnels.

For all thet, I warn’t jest at fast in favor o’ seeedin’;

I wuz for layin’ low a spell to find out where’t wuz leadin’,

For hevin’ South-Carliny try her hand at seprit-nationin’,

She takin’ resks an’ findin’ funds, an’ we cooperationin’,—

I mean a kin’ o’ hangin’ roun’ an’ settin’ on the fence,

Till Prov’dunce pinted how to jump an’ save the most expense;

I reccollected thet ’ere mine o’ lead to Shiraz Centre

Thet bust up Jabez Pettibone, an’ didn’t want to ventur’

’Fore I wuz sartin wut come out ud pay for wut went in,

For swappin’ silver off for lead ain’t the sure way to win;

(An’, fact, itdooslook now ez though—but folks must live an’ larn—

We should git lead, an’ more ’n we want, out o’ the Old Consarn;)

But when I see a man so wise an’ honest ez Buchanan

A-lettin’ us hev all the forts an’ all the arms an’ cannon,

Admittin’ we wuz nat’lly right an’ you wuz nat’lly wrong,

Coz you wuz lab’rin’-folks an’ we wuz wut they callbong-tong,

An’ coz there warn’t no fight in ye more ’n in a mashed potater,

While two o’uscan’t skurcely meet but wut we fight by natur’,

An’ th’ ain’t a bar-room here would pay for openin’ on ’t a night,

Without it giv the priverlege o’ bein’ shot at sight,

Which proves we’re Natur’s noblemen, with whom it don’t surprise

The British aristoxy should feel boun’ to sympathize,—

Seein’ all this, an’ seein’, tu, the thing wuz strikin’ roots

While Uncle Sam sot still in hopes thet some one ’d bring his boots,

I thought th’ ole Union’s hoops wuz off, an’ let myself be sucked in

To rise a peg an’ jine the crowd thet went for reconstructin’,—

Thet is, to hev the pardnership under th’ ole name continner

Jest ez it wuz, we drorrin’ pay, you findin’ bone an’ sinner,—

On’y to put it in the bond, an’ enter ’t in the journals,

Thet you’re the nat’ral rank an’ file an’ we the nat’ral kurnels.

Now this I thought a fees’ble plan, thet ’ud work smooth ez grease,Suitin’ the Nineteenth Century an’ Upper Ten idees,An’ there I meant to stick, an’ so did most o’ th’ leaders, tu,Coz we all thought the chance wuz good o’ puttin’ on it thru;But Jeff he hit upon a way o’ helpin’ on us forrardBy bein’ unannermous,—a trick you ain’t quite up to, Norrard.A baldin hain’t no more ’f a chance with them new apple-corersThan folks’s oppersition views aginst the Ringtail Roarers;They’ll take ’em out on him ’bout east,—one canter on a railMakes a man feel unannermous ez Jonah in the whale;Or ef he’s a slow-moulded cuss thet can’t seem quite t’ agree,He gits the noose by tellergraph upon the nighes’ tree:Their mission-work with Afrikins hez put ’em up, thet’s sartin,To all the mos’ across-lot ways o’ preachin’ an’ convartin’;I’ll bet my hat th’ ain’t nary priest, nor all on ’em together,Thet cairs conviction to the min’ like Reveren’ Taranfeather;Why, he sot up with me one night, an’ labored to sech purpose,Thet (ez an owl by daylight ’mongst a flock o’ teazin’ chirpersSees clearer ’n mud the wickedness o’ eatin’ little birds)I see my error an’ agreed to shen it arterwurds;An’ I should say, (to jedge our folks by facs in my possession,)Thet three’s Unannermous where one’s a ’Riginal Secession;So it’s a thing you fellers North may safely bet your chink on,Thet we’re all water-proofed agin th’ usurpin’ reign o’ Lincoln.

Now this I thought a fees’ble plan, thet ’ud work smooth ez grease,

Suitin’ the Nineteenth Century an’ Upper Ten idees,

An’ there I meant to stick, an’ so did most o’ th’ leaders, tu,

Coz we all thought the chance wuz good o’ puttin’ on it thru;

But Jeff he hit upon a way o’ helpin’ on us forrard

By bein’ unannermous,—a trick you ain’t quite up to, Norrard.

A baldin hain’t no more ’f a chance with them new apple-corers

Than folks’s oppersition views aginst the Ringtail Roarers;

They’ll take ’em out on him ’bout east,—one canter on a rail

Makes a man feel unannermous ez Jonah in the whale;

Or ef he’s a slow-moulded cuss thet can’t seem quite t’ agree,

He gits the noose by tellergraph upon the nighes’ tree:

Their mission-work with Afrikins hez put ’em up, thet’s sartin,

To all the mos’ across-lot ways o’ preachin’ an’ convartin’;

I’ll bet my hat th’ ain’t nary priest, nor all on ’em together,

Thet cairs conviction to the min’ like Reveren’ Taranfeather;

Why, he sot up with me one night, an’ labored to sech purpose,

Thet (ez an owl by daylight ’mongst a flock o’ teazin’ chirpers

Sees clearer ’n mud the wickedness o’ eatin’ little birds)

I see my error an’ agreed to shen it arterwurds;

An’ I should say, (to jedge our folks by facs in my possession,)

Thet three’s Unannermous where one’s a ’Riginal Secession;

So it’s a thing you fellers North may safely bet your chink on,

Thet we’re all water-proofed agin th’ usurpin’ reign o’ Lincoln.

Jeff’ssome. He’s gut another plan thet hez pertic’lar merits,In givin’ things a cherfle look an’ stiffnin’ loose-hung sperits;For while your million papers, wut with lyin’ an’ discussin’,Keep folks’s tempers all on eend a-fumin’ an’ a-fussin’,A-wondrin’ this an’ guessin’ thet, an’ dreadin’, every night,The breechin’ o’ the Univarse’ll break afore it’s light,Our papers don’t purtend to print on’y wut Guv’ment choose,An’ thet insures us all to git the very best o’ noose:Jeff hez it of all sorts an’ kines, an’ sarves it out ez wanted,So’s’t every man gits wut he likes an’ nobody ain’t scanted;Sometimes it’s vict’ries, (they’re ’bout all ther’ is thet’s cheap down here,)Sometimes it’s France an’ England on the jump to interfere.Fact is, the less the people know o’ wut ther’ is a-doin’,The hendier ’t is for Guv’ment, sence it henders trouble brewin’;An’ noose is like a shinplaster,—it’s good, ef you believe it,Or, wut’s all same, the other man thet’s goin’ to receive it:Ef you’ve a son in th’ army, wy, it’s comfortin’ to hearHe’ll hev no gretter resk to run than seein’ th’ in’my’s rear,Coz, ef an F.F. looks at ’em, they ollers break an’ run,Or wilt right down ez debtors will thet stumble on a dun(An’ this, ef an’thin’, proves the wuth o’ proper fem’ly pride,Fer sech mean shucks ez creditors are all on Lincoln’s side);Ef I hev scrip thet wun’t go off no more ’n a Belgin rifle,An’ read thet it’s at par on ’Change, it makes me feel deli’fle;It’s cheerin’, tu, where every man mus’ fortify his bed,To hear thet Freedom’s the one thing our darkies mos’ly dread,An’ thet experunce, time ’n’ agin, to Dixie’s Land hez shownTher’ ’s nothin’ like a powder-cask f’r a stiddy corner-stone;Ain’t it ez good ez nuts, when salt is sellin’ by the ounceFor its own weight in Treash’ry-bons, (ef bought in small amounts,)When even whiskey’s gittin’ skurce, an’ sugar can’t be found,To know thet all the ellerments o’ luxury abound?An’ don’t it glorify sal’-pork, to come to understandIt’s wut the Richmon’ editors call fatness o’ the land?Nex’ thing to knowin’ you’re well off isnutto know when y’ ain’t;An’ ef Jeff says all’s goin’ wal, who’ll ventur’ t’ say it ain’t?

Jeff’ssome. He’s gut another plan thet hez pertic’lar merits,

In givin’ things a cherfle look an’ stiffnin’ loose-hung sperits;

For while your million papers, wut with lyin’ an’ discussin’,

Keep folks’s tempers all on eend a-fumin’ an’ a-fussin’,

A-wondrin’ this an’ guessin’ thet, an’ dreadin’, every night,

The breechin’ o’ the Univarse’ll break afore it’s light,

Our papers don’t purtend to print on’y wut Guv’ment choose,

An’ thet insures us all to git the very best o’ noose:

Jeff hez it of all sorts an’ kines, an’ sarves it out ez wanted,

So’s’t every man gits wut he likes an’ nobody ain’t scanted;

Sometimes it’s vict’ries, (they’re ’bout all ther’ is thet’s cheap down here,)

Sometimes it’s France an’ England on the jump to interfere.

Fact is, the less the people know o’ wut ther’ is a-doin’,

The hendier ’t is for Guv’ment, sence it henders trouble brewin’;

An’ noose is like a shinplaster,—it’s good, ef you believe it,

Or, wut’s all same, the other man thet’s goin’ to receive it:

Ef you’ve a son in th’ army, wy, it’s comfortin’ to hear

He’ll hev no gretter resk to run than seein’ th’ in’my’s rear,

Coz, ef an F.F. looks at ’em, they ollers break an’ run,

Or wilt right down ez debtors will thet stumble on a dun

(An’ this, ef an’thin’, proves the wuth o’ proper fem’ly pride,

Fer sech mean shucks ez creditors are all on Lincoln’s side);

Ef I hev scrip thet wun’t go off no more ’n a Belgin rifle,

An’ read thet it’s at par on ’Change, it makes me feel deli’fle;

It’s cheerin’, tu, where every man mus’ fortify his bed,

To hear thet Freedom’s the one thing our darkies mos’ly dread,

An’ thet experunce, time ’n’ agin, to Dixie’s Land hez shown

Ther’ ’s nothin’ like a powder-cask f’r a stiddy corner-stone;

Ain’t it ez good ez nuts, when salt is sellin’ by the ounce

For its own weight in Treash’ry-bons, (ef bought in small amounts,)

When even whiskey’s gittin’ skurce, an’ sugar can’t be found,

To know thet all the ellerments o’ luxury abound?

An’ don’t it glorify sal’-pork, to come to understand

It’s wut the Richmon’ editors call fatness o’ the land?

Nex’ thing to knowin’ you’re well off isnutto know when y’ ain’t;

An’ ef Jeff says all’s goin’ wal, who’ll ventur’ t’ say it ain’t?

This cairn the Constitooshun roun’ ez Jeff doos in his hatIs hendier a dreffle sight, an’ comes more kin’ o’ pat.I tell ye wut, my jedgment is you’re pooty sure to fail,Ez long ’z the head keeps turnin’ back for counsel to the tail:Th’ advantiges of our consarn for bein’ prompt air gret,While, ’long o’ Congress, you can’t strike, ’f you git an iron het;They bother roun’ with argooin’, an’ var’ous sorts o’ foolin’,To make sure ef it’s leg’lly het, an’ all the while it’s coolin’,So ’s ’t when you come to strike, it ain’t no gret to wish ye j’y on,An’ hurts the hammer ’z much or more ez wut it doos the iron.Jeff don’t allow no jawin’-sprees for three months at a stretch,Knowin’ the ears long speeches suits air mostly made to metch;He jes’ ropes in your tonguey chaps an’ reg’lar ten-inch boresAn’ lets ’em play at Congress, ef they’ll du it with closed doors;So they ain’t no more bothersome than ef we’d took an’ sunk ’em,An’ yit enj’y th’ exclusive right to one another’s Buncombe’Thout doin’ nobody no hurt, an’ ’thout its costin’ nothin’,Their pay bein’ jes’ Confedrit funds, they findin’ keep an’ clothin’;They taste the sweets o’ public life, an’ plan their little jobs,An’ suck the Treash’ry, (no gret harm, for it’s ez dry ez cobs,)An’ go thru all the motions jest ez safe ez in a prison,An’ hev their business to themselves, while Buregard hez hisn:Ez long ’z he gives the Hessians fits, committees can’t make bother’Bout whether ’t’s done the legle way or whether ’t’s done the t’other.An’Itellyouyou’ve gut to larn thet War ain’t one long teeterBetwixtI wan’ toan’’T wun’t du, debatin’ like a skeeturAfore he lights,—all is, to give the other side a millin’,An’ arter thet’s done, th’ ain’t no resk but wut the lor’ll be willin’;No metter wut the guv’ment is, ez nigh ez I can hit it,A lickin’s constitooshunal, pervidin’Wedon’t git it.Jeff don’t stan’ dilly-dallyin’, afore he takes a fort,(With no one in,) to git the leave o’ the nex’ Soopreme Court,Nor don’t want forty-’leven ’weeks o’ jawin’ an’ expoundin’To prove a nigger hez a right to save him, ef he’s drowndin’;Whereas ole Abram’d sink afore he’d let a darkie boost him,Ef Taney shouldn’t come along an’ hedn’t interdooced him.It ain’t your twenty millions thet’ll ever block Jeff’s game,But one Man thet wun’t let ’em jog jest ez he’s takin’ aim:Your numbers they may strengthen ye or weaken ye, ez ’t heppensThey’re willin’ to be helpin.’ hands or wuss’n-nothin’ cap’ns.

This cairn the Constitooshun roun’ ez Jeff doos in his hat

Is hendier a dreffle sight, an’ comes more kin’ o’ pat.

I tell ye wut, my jedgment is you’re pooty sure to fail,

Ez long ’z the head keeps turnin’ back for counsel to the tail:

Th’ advantiges of our consarn for bein’ prompt air gret,

While, ’long o’ Congress, you can’t strike, ’f you git an iron het;

They bother roun’ with argooin’, an’ var’ous sorts o’ foolin’,

To make sure ef it’s leg’lly het, an’ all the while it’s coolin’,

So ’s ’t when you come to strike, it ain’t no gret to wish ye j’y on,

An’ hurts the hammer ’z much or more ez wut it doos the iron.

Jeff don’t allow no jawin’-sprees for three months at a stretch,

Knowin’ the ears long speeches suits air mostly made to metch;

He jes’ ropes in your tonguey chaps an’ reg’lar ten-inch bores

An’ lets ’em play at Congress, ef they’ll du it with closed doors;

So they ain’t no more bothersome than ef we’d took an’ sunk ’em,

An’ yit enj’y th’ exclusive right to one another’s Buncombe

’Thout doin’ nobody no hurt, an’ ’thout its costin’ nothin’,

Their pay bein’ jes’ Confedrit funds, they findin’ keep an’ clothin’;

They taste the sweets o’ public life, an’ plan their little jobs,

An’ suck the Treash’ry, (no gret harm, for it’s ez dry ez cobs,)

An’ go thru all the motions jest ez safe ez in a prison,

An’ hev their business to themselves, while Buregard hez hisn:

Ez long ’z he gives the Hessians fits, committees can’t make bother

’Bout whether ’t’s done the legle way or whether ’t’s done the t’other.

An’Itellyouyou’ve gut to larn thet War ain’t one long teeter

BetwixtI wan’ toan’’T wun’t du, debatin’ like a skeetur

Afore he lights,—all is, to give the other side a millin’,

An’ arter thet’s done, th’ ain’t no resk but wut the lor’ll be willin’;

No metter wut the guv’ment is, ez nigh ez I can hit it,

A lickin’s constitooshunal, pervidin’Wedon’t git it.

Jeff don’t stan’ dilly-dallyin’, afore he takes a fort,

(With no one in,) to git the leave o’ the nex’ Soopreme Court,

Nor don’t want forty-’leven ’weeks o’ jawin’ an’ expoundin’

To prove a nigger hez a right to save him, ef he’s drowndin’;

Whereas ole Abram’d sink afore he’d let a darkie boost him,

Ef Taney shouldn’t come along an’ hedn’t interdooced him.

It ain’t your twenty millions thet’ll ever block Jeff’s game,

But one Man thet wun’t let ’em jog jest ez he’s takin’ aim:

Your numbers they may strengthen ye or weaken ye, ez ’t heppens

They’re willin’ to be helpin.’ hands or wuss’n-nothin’ cap’ns.

I’ve chose my side, an’ ’t ain’t no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets,Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes’ bagnets;I’ve made my ch’ice, an’ ciphered out, from all I see an’ heard,Th’ ole Constitooshun never’d git her decks for action cleared,Long ’z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to goCoz they can’t seem to git their grub no otherways than so,An’ let your bes’ men stay to home coz they wun’t show ez talkers,Nor can’t be hired to fool ye an’ sof’-soap ye at a caucus,—Long ’z ye set by Rotashun more ’n ye do by folks’s merits,Ez though experance thriv by change o’ sile, like corn an’ kerrits,—Long ’z you allow a critter’s “claims” coz, spite o’ shoves an’ tippins,He’s kep’ his private pan jest where’t would ketch mos’ public drippins,—Long ’z A.’ll turn tu an’ grin’ B.’s exe, ef B.’ll help him grin’ hisn,(An’ thet’s the main idee by which your leadin’ men hev risen,)—Long ’z you let ary exe be groun’; ’less ’L is to cut the weasan’O’ sneaks thet dunno till they’re told wut is an’ wut ain’t Treason,-Long ’z ye give out commissions to a lot o’ peddlin’ dronesThet trade in whiskey with their men an’ skin ’em to their bones,—Long ’z ye sift out “safe” canderdates thet no one ain’t afeared onCoz they’re so thund’rin’ eminent for bein’ never heard on,An’ hain’t no record, ez it’s called, for folks to pick a hole in,Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in,An’ it wuz ostenstashun to be showm’ on’t about,When half his feller-citizens contrive to do without,—Long ’z you suppose your votes can turn biled kebbage into brain,An’ ary man thet’s pop’lar’s fit to drive a lightnin’-train,—Long ’z you believe democracy meansI’m ez good ez you be,An’ thet a feller from the ranks can’t be a knave or booby,—Long ’z Congress seems purvided, like yer street-cars an’ yer ’busses,With oilers room for jes’ one more o’ your spiled-in-bakin’ cusses,Dough’thout the emptins of a soul, an’ yit with means about ’em(Like essence-peddlers25) thet ’ll make folks long to be without ’em,Jest heavy ’nough to turn a scale thet’s doubtfle the wrong way,An’ make their nat’ral arsenal o’ bein’ nasty pay,—Long ’z them things last, (an’ I don’t see no gret signs of improvin’,)I sha’n’t up stakes, not hardly yit, nor’t wouldn’t pay for movin’;For, ’fore you lick us, it ’ll be the long’st day ever you see.Yourn, (ez I ’xpec’ to be nex’ spring,)B., MARKISS O’ BIG BOOSY.

I’ve chose my side, an’ ’t ain’t no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets,

Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes’ bagnets;

I’ve made my ch’ice, an’ ciphered out, from all I see an’ heard,

Th’ ole Constitooshun never’d git her decks for action cleared,

Long ’z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to go

Coz they can’t seem to git their grub no otherways than so,

An’ let your bes’ men stay to home coz they wun’t show ez talkers,

Nor can’t be hired to fool ye an’ sof’-soap ye at a caucus,—

Long ’z ye set by Rotashun more ’n ye do by folks’s merits,

Ez though experance thriv by change o’ sile, like corn an’ kerrits,—

Long ’z you allow a critter’s “claims” coz, spite o’ shoves an’ tippins,

He’s kep’ his private pan jest where’t would ketch mos’ public drippins,—

Long ’z A.’ll turn tu an’ grin’ B.’s exe, ef B.’ll help him grin’ hisn,

(An’ thet’s the main idee by which your leadin’ men hev risen,)—

Long ’z you let ary exe be groun’; ’less ’L is to cut the weasan’

O’ sneaks thet dunno till they’re told wut is an’ wut ain’t Treason,-

Long ’z ye give out commissions to a lot o’ peddlin’ drones

Thet trade in whiskey with their men an’ skin ’em to their bones,—

Long ’z ye sift out “safe” canderdates thet no one ain’t afeared on

Coz they’re so thund’rin’ eminent for bein’ never heard on,

An’ hain’t no record, ez it’s called, for folks to pick a hole in,

Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in,

An’ it wuz ostenstashun to be showm’ on’t about,

When half his feller-citizens contrive to do without,—

Long ’z you suppose your votes can turn biled kebbage into brain,

An’ ary man thet’s pop’lar’s fit to drive a lightnin’-train,—

Long ’z you believe democracy meansI’m ez good ez you be,

An’ thet a feller from the ranks can’t be a knave or booby,—

Long ’z Congress seems purvided, like yer street-cars an’ yer ’busses,

With oilers room for jes’ one more o’ your spiled-in-bakin’ cusses,

Dough’thout the emptins of a soul, an’ yit with means about ’em

(Like essence-peddlers25) thet ’ll make folks long to be without ’em,

Jest heavy ’nough to turn a scale thet’s doubtfle the wrong way,

An’ make their nat’ral arsenal o’ bein’ nasty pay,—

Long ’z them things last, (an’ I don’t see no gret signs of improvin’,)

I sha’n’t up stakes, not hardly yit, nor’t wouldn’t pay for movin’;

For, ’fore you lick us, it ’ll be the long’st day ever you see.

Yourn, (ez I ’xpec’ to be nex’ spring,)

B., MARKISS O’ BIG BOOSY.

Return to Table of Contents

Milton, in his superb sonnet to Sir Henry Vane the Younger, declares that Rome, in the most prosperous age of the Republic, never possessed a better senator,—

“Whether to settle peace, or to unfoldThe hollow drift of States, hard to be spelled;Then to advise how war may, best upheld,Move byher two main nerves, iron and gold,In all her equipage.”

“Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The hollow drift of States, hard to be spelled;

Then to advise how war may, best upheld,

Move byher two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage.”

The list of his writings appended by Mr. Upham to his instructive biography of ourquondamfellow-citizen and governor26does not enable us to judge to which of his twenty-five works Milton particularly refers, in this magnificent commendation of Sir Henry Vane’s financial skill. It might be inferred, however, from the significant union of iron and gold, as the “main nerves” of war, that he understood the importance of a specie currency, which in fact, in those days, was the only currency known.

Our business, however, at present, is not with currency, but with taxes, which as long ago as Cicero’s time were pronounced “the nerves of the State,” and which, whether paid in gold or in what can in the present condition of the country be best substituted, must be allowed to be the great sympathetic nerve of the body-politic. Introduce a wise and efficient system of taxation, and life and energy will pervade the country. Without such a system it will soon sink into a general and fatal paralysis.

The country is engaged at this moment in a struggle of unexampled magnitude. The great wars of the last generation in Europe gathered no army equal in magnitude to that which the Government of the United States has, within little more than six months, called into being. Its naval operations, so far as concerns the extent of sea-coast effectively blockaded, and considering the condition of that branch of the service at the breaking out of the war, will not suffer in comparison with those of England in the wars of the French Revolution. England is now threatening to take part against us in this war, waged by the first State (according to Mr. Vice-president Stephens) ever avowedly founded on Slavery as its corner-stone, on the ground that our blockade of the Southern ports is not effectual,—forgetting, apparently, that our last war with her was in part to resist her pretended right to seal up with a paper blockade every port in the French Empire.

The great practical question which presses most heavily upon the mind, not only of every person responsible for the conduct of affairs, but of every intelligent and thoughtful citizen, is, in what way the vast expenditure is to be met, which is necessary to bring this gigantic struggle to a prompt and successful issue. It has been customary, from the first, to estimate this expenditure at a million and a half of dollarsper diem, and it will not be lessened while the war lasts. How is this frightful expenditure to be met?

The answer is simple, and is contained in the one little word “Taxation.” Without this, all else will be of no avail. Our civil rulers may have the wisdom of Solomon; our generals and admirals may equal in skill and courage the greatest captains of ancient or modern times; we may place in the field the bravest and best-disciplined armies that ever battled in a righteous cause,—but without an amount of taxation adequate to sustain the credit of the Government, all this show of counsel and strength will pass away, and that at no distant period, like a morning cloud and the early dew.

“Adequate to sustain the credit of the Government,”—for that is all that is required. It is by no means necessary, as it is by no means just, that the whole of this vast expenditure should fall upon the shoulders of the present generation. Engaged in a contest of which the result, for good or for evil, is, if possible, more important to posterity than to ourselves,—a struggle in which the great cause of civil liberty, as embodied and regulated by the Constitution and laws, is more deeply involved, not only for this, but for all future generations, than in any other war ever waged,—it is not right that the burden should fall exclusively on ourselves. Nor is it necessary. There is, perhaps, no feature in our modern civilization in which its beauty, flexibility, and strength, as compared with that of antiquity, is more signally displayed, than the well-organized credit-system of a prosperous State: the system which makes men not only willing, but desirous, to forego the actual possession of that darling property which has been the great object of desire through life,—which they have sought by all honest and, unhappily too often, dishonest means, to gain and accumulate,—provided only they can receive a fair equivalent for its use. By the wise application of this almost mysterious principle, the members of modern civilized States are not only, for the time being, much more effectually consociated in the joint life and action of the country than would have been possible without it, but even distant generations—men separated from each other by years, not to say ages—are brought into a noble partnership of effort in great and generous undertakings and sacrifices.

Dr. Johnson somewhat cynically says, that

“Mortgaged States, in everlasting debt,From age to age their grandsires’ wreaths regret.”

“Mortgaged States, in everlasting debt,

From age to age their grandsires’ wreaths regret.”

This may be true of debts incurred in wars of ambition and conquest; but what citizen of the United States, at the present day, would not, with a willing mind, if it were still necessary, bear his part of the pecuniary burdens of the American Revolution?

It is a well-established law of public credit, that it can be carried to any length to which it is sustained by an efficient system of taxation. So long as provision is made to secure in this way the regular payment of the interest on the sums borrowed, the Government holds the purse-strings of the capitalist, and has nothing to do but to call for whatever amount is needed for the public service. This, however, is the essential condition, and nothing else will, for any length of time, produce the desired result. In the first fervor of a great popular movement, and in confident reliance that effective provision to sustain it will eventually be made, a large loan may be obtained from the banks, from capitalists, or the mass of the people; but this will be a temporary, probably a solitary, effort. No Government can permanently sustain its credit, but by providing the means (independent of credit) to pay the interest on its public debt. To borrow more money in order to pay the interest on that already borrowed is bankruptcy in disguise.

With these general principles established and clearly borne in mind, we perceive the absurdity of the language which has been so freely used abroad and is even sometimes heard at home, since the suspension of specie-payments, that the United States are on the verge of bankruptcy. Let the expenses of the war in which we are now engaged against the “disappointed aspirants” of the South be estimated as high as six hundred millions of dollars. A loan to this amount implies, at the usual rate, the payment of an interest of thirty-six millions, certainly a large amount in addition to the ordinary expenditure of the Government, but not more than a fifth part of the annual interest on the public debt of England,—by no means a formidable percentage, allowing for a short war, on the annual surplus income of the country.

In fact, when we cast our eyes over the continent and contemplate the vast extent of fertile land already brought or capable of being readily brought into cultivation,—the productive agricultural, manufacturing, and commercial investments,—our internal and foreign trade,—our fisheries, and our mining operations,—the rapid increase of labor (the great creative source of wealth) by the growth of our own native population and the steady flow of immigration from abroad,—when we contemplate these things, the draughts which must be made upon the resources of the country in the successful prosecution of the war, great as they are, are really insignificant Let us take a single item, but one which may serve as a fair index of the resources of the loyal States. In the American Circular of Messrs. Hallett & Co. of New York, for the 6th of November last, the value of the tonnage of all kinds annually moved upon the public works (railroads and canals) of the Northern and Middle States is estimated in even figures at $4,620,000,000. This enormous sum, of course, represents only that part of the internal and foreign trade of the country which is moved upon the canals and railroads. All that portion of trade which is not transacted in this way,—all that moves exclusively on the lakes, rivers, and coastwise, without coming in contact with artificial communications,—the retail business of every kind in the large cities, and all that is transported in moderate parcels by animal power in the neighborhood of the places of production, is in addition to this vast amount.

The Secretary of the Treasury, in his patriotic appeal to the country last summer, calculates “the real and personal values, in the States now loyal to the Union, at eleven thousand millions of dollars,” while he remarks that “the yearly surplus earnings of the loyal people are estimated at more than four hundred millions of dollars.” A tax of nine per cent, on this surplus would pay an interest of six per cent, on a loan of six hundred millions. Now in this country, where we are so little accustomed to taxation, such a tax may seem to be a very serious affair; but the man who in times like these, and for objects like those for which we are struggling, is not willing to pay nine per cent—of hissurplus earnings, does not deserve to enjoy the blessings of a free government.

It is therefore a gross exaggeration to say that the country is bankrupt, or on the verge of bankruptcy. Nothing more is true than that the Government of the country—the legislative power—has not as yet shown the sagacity and vigor to apply a moderate portion of its abundant resources to the preservation of all we hold dear. The wealth is here,—not merely what is locked up in the vaults of the banks, (for this, though ample for all the purposes of these institutions, is but a very small portion of the wealth of the country, not much over one-half of the annual surplus earnings,) but the entire accumulations of town and country, the whole vast aggregate of the property having a marketable value or capable of being applied in kind or by exchange for its equivalent to the public service. All this fund belongs to the people, to be levied upon and appropriated to the service of the country by the people’s representatives and servants. It belongs onlysub modoto those who are commonly deemed its owners. They are the stewards to whom Providence has confided it, subject to the condition, in time of need, of being employed, under equitable and equal laws, to defend the life of the country. And when we consider how small a portion of it is required to answer the demands of the public service, we cannot but be amazed at the language of despondency which is sometimes uttered at the state of the public finances. We call the individual man of wealth a miser, who hoards his income, instead of spending a portion of it in deeds of charity and public spirit, or even on his own comforts and those of his family. This expressive use of that word, says Bishop South, is peculiar to the English language. Although the word is Latin, we have improved on the Romans, in the bitter sarcasm of this application. But a Government deserves the same stigma or worse, which, with the exuberant wealth of a loyal people at its command, wants the moral courage to apply a moderate portion of it to obtain ample means for feeding, clothing, and arming the brave men who, on the land and the water, are risking their lives in the public service.

We speak of “the moral courage” to establish an efficient system of taxation, more in deference to the traditionary unpopularity of the tax-gatherer than because, in the present state of affairs, there is any just cause to doubt the willingness of the people to make the necessary sacrifices for the support of the Government and the defence of the country. In peaceful times and in an ordinary state of affairs, it may be admitted that the tax-gatherer is an unwelcome visitant. Mr. Jefferson relied upon him in 1799 to bring about a change of parties and administrations. But the country was then poor, the parties equally divided, and the political issues matters of temper and theory, on which men delight to differ and to argue, rather than those stern realities in which, at the present time, the very being of the State is wrapt up. Accordingly, it is a most remarkable fact at the present day, and one certainly without example in this country, perhaps in any country, that the unanimous desire of the people is for taxation, adequate, efficient taxation. Although the emergencies of the service, and the large amounts which it requires, are daily commented on by the public journals, and are perfectly well understood, not a voice has been uttered on the subject which does not call for taxation. The Secretary of the Treasury is censured, the Committee of Ways and Means rebuked, the patriotism of Congress called in question, because the absolute necessity for heavy taxation is not urged with sufficient warmth by the Executive, and the requisite laws for laying the tax are delayed in their introduction and passage. And reason good; for, while the legislation required to impose a tax lingers, the whole mass of the country’s property is incurring the fearful peril of a prostration of the public credit.

But though the loyal people of the country are more than willing—are ardently desirous—to be taxed for the public service, they are not willing to be taxed for the benefit of fraudulent contractors, or to enrich the miscreants who, not content with plundering the Treasury by exorbitant prices, put the health and lives of our brave men in peril, and the success of the war at hazard, by furnishing arms that have been condemned as unserviceable, clothes and shoes that drop to pieces in a fortnight’s wear, water poisoned by filthy casks, horses too feeble to be ridden, and vessels known by their vendors to be of a draught too great for the intended service. It is not unlikely that there may be exaggeration in the accounts of this kind that find their way into the public journals; but if any reliance can be placed on the reports of our legislative committees, frauds like those alluded to have been carried to a stupendous length. If we mistake not, a bill has been introduced into Congress for the condign punishment of the wretches guilty of these abominable crimes. The offences which have filled Forts Lafayette and Warren with their inmates are venial, compared with the guilt of the man who is willing to fatten on the sufferings of the country and the health and lives of its patriotic defenders. But the evil, enormous as it is, admits of an easy remedy. If, on the one hand, one or two cases of gross fraud, highly prejudicial to the public service, were summarily dealt with by a court-martial, while, on the other hand, fifty per cent, of the contract-price were habitually retained for three or four months, till the value of the article furnished was ascertained by trial, the evil would soon be brought within manageable limits. A little of the wholesome severity with which Bonaparte, in 1797, carried on what he called “la guerre aux voleurs”27would not only save millions to the Treasury of the United States, but protect the country from consequences still more disastrous.

In fact, it will be one of the incidental benefits of an efficient system of taxation, that it will induce greater care in the expenditure of the public money. Fraudulent contracts are not the only, nor even the chief cause of our financial embarrassments. It may be hoped that what is extracted from it by downright swindling, however considerable in amount, does not cause the great drain upon the Treasury. But if money can be obtained by the simple issue of evidences of debt, and without any provision to sustain the credit of the Government by taxation, the process of supply is too facile. The funds so easily procured are in danger of being too profusely spent. Individual responsibility in money-matters, aided by direct self-interest, is usually more efficient in imposing limits to improvidence than a general sense of duty on the part of official personages. But if funds could be obtainedad libitumby the speculator, without the necessity of giving security for the payment of principal or interest, bankruptcy would soon become the rule and solvency the exception. Still more urgently, in the administration of the National Treasury, is the wholesome corrective of taxation required, to make economy a necessity as well as a virtue.

Much must be pardoned to the urgency of the public service, in a crisis like that of last summer, when the Government was compelled to improvise the forces, military and naval, required for the suppression of a gigantic rebellion, long concocted and matured in treacherous secrecy. With the capital of the country beleaguered by open foes without, swarming with hardly concealed traitors within, who privately thwarted and paralyzed when they could not openly defeat the measures of the Government, and conveyed information of them to the enemy with the regularity of official returns, some degree of improvident hurry in every branch of the service was inevitable, and must not be too severely scanned. You cannot stand chaffering at a bargain as to the cheapest mode of extinguishing a fire kindled by a red-hot cannon-ball at the door of the magazine. But the crisis and the necessity for precipitate action are past. The rebellion, dragged to the light of day, has assumed definite proportions. The means for its suppression are ample, and nothing is requisite but the firmness and sagacity to apply them. In other words, the one thing needful for the successful prosecution of the war is a judicious system of taxation.

With such a system, as we have already intimated, there is no limit to the credit of the Government With an efficient system of taxation to sustain its loans, the entire property of the country—that is, all that is needed of it—may be consecrated to the public service. We must not be terrified by the ghost of the paper-money with which the country was Hooded daring the Revolutionary War. It became worthless because there was no limit to its issue and no provision for its redemption or the payment of Interest. The Congress of the Confederation possessed no power to lay a tax, and the States which had the power were destitute of resources, without mutual concert, and often moved by influences at variance with each other. In this state of things taxation was out of the question, and the paper-money, which had been manufactured by wholesale rather than issued on any system of finance, steadily and at length rapidly sank to its intrinsic worthlessness. Its memory has left behind a wholesome dread of paper-money, but ought not to create a prejudice against a well-organized system of credit, sustained by efficient taxation.

No one will be better pleased than the writer of this article, if, before it sees the light, the vigorous action of Congress shall render its suggestions superfluous and unseasonable.

Return to Table of Contents

Back to Index Next