And now all respectable England is wondering at our irritability, and sees a quite satisfactory explanation of it in our national vanity.Suave mari magno, it is pleasant, sitting in the easy-chairs of Downing Street, to sprinkle pepper on the raw wounds of a kindred people struggling for life, and philosophical to find in self-conceit the cause of our instinctive resentment. Surely we were of all nations the least liable to any temptation of vanity at a time when the gravest anxiety and the keenest sorrow were never absent from our hearts. Nor is conceit the exclusive attribute of any one nation. The earliest of English travellers, Sir John Mandeville, took a less provincial view of the matter when he said, 'For fro what partie of the erthe that men duellen, other aboven or beneathen, it semethe alweys to hem that duellen that thei gon more righte than any other folke.' The English have always had their fair share of this amiable quality. We may say of them still, as the authour of the 'Lettres Cabalistiques' said of them more than a century ago,'Ces derniers disent naturellement qu'il n'y a qu'eux qui soient estimables'. And, as he also says,'J'aimerois presque autant tomber entre les mains d'un Inquisiteur que d'un Anglois qui me fait sentir sans cesse combien il s'estime plus que moi, et qui ne daigne me parler que pour injurier ma Nation et pour m'ennuyer du récit des grandes qualités de la sienne.' OfthisBull we may safely say with Horace,habet fænum in cornu.What we felt to be especially insulting was the quiet assumption that the descendants of men who left the Old World for the sake of principle, and who had made the wilderness into a New World patterned after an Idea, could not possibly be susceptible of a generous or lofty sentiment, could have no feeling of nationality deeper than that of a tradesman for his shop. One would have thought, in listening to England, that we were presumptuous in fancying that we were a nation at all, or had any other principle of union than that of booths at a fair, where there is no higher notion of government than the constable, or better image of God than that stamped upon the current coin.
It is time for Englishmen to consider whether there was nothing in the spirit of their press and of their leading public men calculated to rouse a just indignation, and to cause a permanent estrangement on the part of any nation capable of self-respect, and sensitively jealous, as ours then was, of foreign interference. Was there nothing in the indecent haste with which belligerent rights were conceded to the Rebels, nothing in the abrupt tone assumed in the Trent case, nothing in the fitting out of Confederate privateers, that might stir the blood of a people already overcharged with doubt, suspicion, and terrible responsibility? The laity in any country do not stop to consider points of law, but they have an instinctive perception of theanimusthat actuates the policy of a foreign nation; and in our own case they remembered that the British authorities in Canada did not wait till diplomacy could send home to England for her slow official tinder-box to fire the 'Caroline.' Add to this, what every sensible American knew, that the moral support of England was equal to an army of two hundred thousand men to the Rebels, while it insured us another year or two of exhausting war. It was not so much the spite of her words (though the time might have been more tastefully chosen) as the actual power for evil in them that we felt as a deadly wrong. Perhaps the most immediate and efficient cause of mere irritation was, the sudden and unaccountable change of manner on the other side of the water. Only six months before, the Prince of Wales had come over to call us cousins; and everywhere it was nothing but 'our American brethren,' that great offshoot of British institutions in the New World, so almost identical with them in laws, language, and literature,—this last of the alliterative compliments being so bitterly true, that perhaps it will not be retracted even now. To this outburst of long-repressed affection we responded with genuine warmth, if with something of the awkwardness of a poor relation bewildered with the sudden tightening of the ties of consanguinity when it is rumored that he has come into a large estate. Then came the Rebellion, and,presto!a flaw in our titles was discovered, the plate we were promised at the family table is flung at our head, and we were again the scum of creation, intolerably vulgar, at once cowardly and overbearing,—no relations of theirs, after all, but a dreggy hybrid of the basest bloods of Europe. Panurge was not quicker to call Friar John hisformerfriend. I cannot help thinking of Walter Mapes's jingling paraphrase of Petronius,—
'Dummodo sim splendidis vestibus ornatus,Et multa familia sim circumvallatus,Prudens sum et sapiens et morigeratus,Et tuus nepos sum et tu meus cognatus,'—
which I may freely render thus:—
So long as I was prosperous, I'd dinners by the dozen,Was well-bred, witty, virtuous, and everybody's cousin;If luck should turn, as well she may, her fancy is so flexile,Will virtue, cousinship, and all return with her from exile?
There was nothing in all this to exasperate a philosopher, much to make him smile rather; but the earth's surface is not chiefly inhabited by philosophers, and I revive the recollection of it now in perfect good-humour, merely by way of suggesting to ourci-devantBritish cousins, that it would have been easier for them to hold their tongues than for us to keep our tempers under the circumstances.
The English Cabinet made a blunder, unquestionably, in taking it so hastily for granted that the United States had fallen forever from their position as a first-rate power, and it was natural that they should vent a little of their vexation on the people whose inexplicable obstinacy in maintaining freedom and order, and in resisting degradation, was likely to convict them of their mistake. But if bearing a grudge be the sure mark of a small mind in the individual, can it be a proof of high spirit in a nation? If the result of the present estrangement between the two countries shall be to make us more independent of British twaddle (Indomito nec dira ferens stipendia Tauro), so much the better; but if it is to make us insensible to the value of British opinion in matters where it gives us the judgment of an impartial and cultivated outsider, if we are to shut ourselves out from the advantages of English culture, the loss will be ours, and not theirs. Because the door of the old homestead has been once slammed in our faces, shall we in a huff reject all future advances of conciliation, and cut ourselves foolishly off from any share in the humanizing influences of the place, with its ineffable riches of association, its heirlooms of immemorial culture, its historic monuments, ours no less than theirs, its noble gallery of ancestral portraits? We have only to succeed, and England will not only respect, but, for the first time, begin to understand us. And let us not, in our justifiable indignation at wanton insult, forget that England is not the England only of snobs who dread the democracy they do not comprehend, but the England of history, of heroes, statesmen, and poets, whose names are dear, and their influence as salutary to us as to her.
Let us strengthen the hands of those in authority over us, and curb our own tongues, remembering that General Wait commonly proves in the end more than a match for General Headlong, and that the Good Book ascribes safety to a multitude, indeed, but not to a mob, of counsellours. Let us remember and perpend the words of Paulus Emilius to the people of Rome; that, 'if they judged they could manage the war to more advantage by any other, he would willingly yield up his charge; but if they confided in him,they were not to make themselves his colleagues in his office, or raise reports, or criticise his actions, but, without talking, supply him with means and assistance necessary to the carrying on of the war; for, if they proposed to command their own commander, they would render this expedition more ridiculous than the former.' (Vide Plutarchum in Vitâ P.E.) Let us also not forget what the same excellent authour says concerning Perseus's fear of spending money, and not permit the covetousness of Brother Jonathan to be the good fortune of Jefferson Davis. For my own part, till I am ready to admit the Commander-in-Chief to my pulpit, I shall abstain from planning his battles. If courage be the sword, yet is patience the armour of a nation; and in our desire for peace, let us never be willing to surrender the Constitution bequeathed us by fathers at least as wise as ourselves (even with Jefferson Davis to help us), and, with those degenerate Romans,tuta et præsentia quam vetera et periculosa malle.
And not only should we bridle our own tongues, but the pens of others, which are swift to convey useful intelligence to the enemy. This is no new inconvenience; for, under date, 3d June, 1745, General Pepperell wrote thus to Governor Shirley from Louisbourg: 'What your Excellency observes of thearmy's being made acquainted with any plans proposed, until ready to be put in execution, has always been disagreeable to me, and I have given many cautions relating to it. But when your Excellency considers thatour Council of War consists of more than twenty members, I am persuaded you will think itimpossible for me to hinder it, if any of them will persist in communicating to inferior officers and soldiers what ought to be kept secret. I am informed that the Boston newspapers are filled with paragraphs from private letters relating to the expedition. Will your Excellency permit me to say I think it may be of ill consequence? Would it not be convenient, if your Excellency should forbid the Printers' inserting such news?' Verily, iftempora mutantur, we may question theet nos mutamur in illis;and if tongues be leaky, it will need all hands at the pumps to save the Ship of State. Our history dotes and repeats itself. If Sassycus (rather than Alcibiades) find a parallel in Beauregard, so Weakwash, as he is called by the brave Lieutenant Lion Gardiner, need not seek far among our own Sachems for his anti-type.
With respect,Your ob't humble serv'tHomer Wilbur, A.M.
I love to start out arter night's begun,An' all the chores about the farm are done,The critters milked an' foddered, gates shet fast,Tools cleaned aginst to-morrer, supper past.An' Nancy darnin' by her ker'sene lamp,—I love, I say, to start upon a tramp,To shake the kinkles out o' back an' legs,An' kind o' rack my life off from the dregsThet's apt to settle in the buttery-hutchOf folks thet foller in one rut too much: 10Hard work is good an' wholesome, past all doubt;But 't ain't so, ef the mind gits tuckered out.Now, bein' born in Middlesex, you know,There's certin spots where I like best to go:The Concord road, for instance (I, for one,Most gin'lly ollers call itJohn Bull's Run).The field o' Lexin'ton where England triedThe fastest colours thet she ever dyed,An' Concord Bridge, thet Davis, when he came,Found was the bee-line track to heaven an' fame, 20Ez all roads be by natur', ef your soulDon't sneak thru shun-pikes so's to save the toll.
They're 'most too fur away, take too much timeTo visit of'en, ef it ain't in rhyme;But the' 's a walk thet's hendier, a sight,An' suits me fust-rate of a winter's night,—I mean the round whale's-back o' Prospect Hill.I love to l'iter there while night grows still,An' in the twinklin' villages about,Fust here, then there, the well-saved lights goes out, 30An' nary sound but watch-dogs' false alarms,Or muffled cock-crows from the drowsy farms,Where some wise rooster (men act jest thet way)Stands to 't thet moon-rise is the break o' day;(So Mister Seward sticks a three-months' pinWhere the war'd oughto eend, then tries agin:My gran'ther's rule was safer 'n 'tis to crow:Don't never prophesy—onless ye know.)I love to muse there till it kind o' seemsEz ef the world went eddyin' off in dreams; 40The northwest wind thet twitches at my bairdBlows out o' sturdier days not easy scared,An' the same moon thet this December shinesStarts out the tents an' booths o' Putnam's lines;The rail-fence posts, acrost the hill thet runs,Turn ghosts o' sogers should'rin' ghosts o' guns;Ez wheels the sentry, glints a flash o' light,Along the firelock won at Concord Fight,An', 'twixt the silences, now fur, now nigh,Rings the sharp chellenge, hums the low reply. 50
Ez I was settin' so, it warn't long sence,Mixin' the puffict with the present tense,I heerd two voices som'ers in the air,Though, ef I was to die, I can't tell where:Voices I call 'em: 'twas a kind o' soughLike pine-trees thet the wind's ageth'rin' through;An', fact, I thought itwasthe wind a spell,Then some misdoubted, couldn't fairly tell,Fust sure, then not, jest as you hold an eel,I knowed, an' didn't,—fin'lly seemed to feel 60'Twas Concord Bridge a talkin' off to killWith the Stone Spike thet's druv thru Bunker's Hill;Whether 'twas so, or ef I on'y dreamed,I couldn't say; I tell it ez it seemed.
Wal, neighbor, tell us wut's turned up thet's new?You're younger 'n I be,—nigher Boston, tu:An' down to Boston, ef you take their showin',Wut they don't know ain't hardly wuth the knowin'.There'ssunthin'goin' on, I know: las' nightThe British sogers killed in our gret fight 70(Nigh fifty year they hedn't stirred nor spoke)Made sech a coil you'd thought a dam hed broke:Why, one he up an' beat a revelleeWith his own crossbones on a holler tree,Till all the graveyards swarmed out like a hiveWith faces I hain't seen sence Seventy-five.Wutisthe news? 'T ain't good, or they'd be cheerin'.Speak slow an' clear, for I'm some hard o' hearin'.
I don't know hardly ef it's good or bad,—
At wust, it can't be wus than wut we've had. 80
You know them envys thet the Rebbles sent,An' Cap'n Wilkes he borried o' the Trent?
Wut! they ha'n't hanged 'em?Then their wits is gone!Thet's the sure way to make a goose a swan!
No: England shewouldhev 'em,Fee, Faw, Fum!(Ez though she hedn't fools enough to home,)So they've returned 'em—
Hevthey? Wal, by heaven, Thet's the wust news I've heerd sence Seventy-seven!By George, I meant to say, though I declare It's 'most enough to make a deacon swear. 90
Now don't go off half-cock: folks never gainsBy usin' pepper-sarse instid o' brains.Come, neighbor, you don't understan'—
How? Hey?Not understan'? Why, wut's to hender, pray?Must I go huntin' round to find a chapTo tell me when my face hez hed a slap?
See here: the British they found out a flawIn Cap'n Wilkes's readin' o' the law:(Theymakeall laws, you know, an' so, o' course,It's nateral they should understan' their force:) 100He'd oughto ha' took the vessel into port,An' hed her sot on by a reg'lar court;She was a mail-ship, an' a steamer, tu,An' thet, they say, hez changed the pint o' view,Coz the old practice, bein' meant for sails,Ef tried upon a steamer, kind o' fails;Youmaytake out despatches, but you mus'n'tTake nary man—
You mean to say, you dus'n't!Changed pint o'view! No, no,—it's overboardWith law an' gospel, when their ox is gored! 110I tell ye, England's law, on sea an' land,Hez ollers ben, 'I've gut the heaviest hand.'Take nary man? Fine preachin' fromherlips!Why, she hez taken hunderds from our ships,An' would agin, an' swear she had a right to,Ef we warn't strong enough to be perlite to.Of all the sarse thet I can call to mind,Englanddoosmake the most onpleasant kind:It's you're the sinner ollers, she's the saint;Wut's good's all English, all thet isn't ain't; 120Wut profits her is ollers right an' just,An' ef you don't read Scriptur so, you must;She's praised herself ontil she fairly thinksThere ain't no light in Natur when she winks;Hain't she the Ten Comman'ments in her pus?Could the world stir 'thout she went, tu, ez nus?She ain't like other mortals, thet's a fact:Shenever stopped the habus-corpus act,Nor specie payments, nor she never yetCut down the int'rest on her public debt; 130Shedon't put down rebellions, lets 'em breed,An' 's ollers willin' Ireland should secede;She's all thet's honest, honnable, an' fair,An' when the vartoos died they made her heir.
Wal, wal, two wrongs don't never make a right;Ef we're mistaken, own up, an' don't fight:For gracious' sake, ha'n't we enough to du'thout gettin' up a fight with England, tu?She thinks we're rabble-rid—
An' so we can'tDistinguish 'twixtYou oughtn'tan'You shan't!140She jedges by herself; she's no idearHow 't stiddies folks to give 'em their fair sheer:The odds 'twixt her an' us is plain's a steeple,—Her People's turned to Mob, our Mob's turned People.
She's riled jes' now—
Plain proof her cause ain't strong,—The one thet fust gits mad's 'most ollers wrong.Why, sence she helped in lickin' Nap the Fust,An' pricked a bubble jest agoin' to bust,With Rooshy, Prooshy, Austry, all assistin',Th' ain't nut a face but wut she's shook her fist in, 150Ez though she done it all, an' ten times more,An' nothin' never hed gut done afore,Nor never could agin, 'thout she wuz splicedOn to one eend an' gin th' old airth a hoist.Sheissome punkins, thet I wun't deny,(For ain't she some related to you 'n' I?)But there's a few small intrists here belowOutside the counter o' John Bull an' Co,An' though they can't conceit how 't should be so,I guess the Lord druv down Creation's spiles 160'thout nogrethelpin' from the British Isles,An' could contrive to keep things pooty stiffEf they withdrawed from business in a miff;I ha'n't no patience with sech swellin' fellers ezThink God can't forge 'thout them to blow the bellerses.
You're ollers quick to set your back aridge,Though 't suits a tom-cat more 'n a sober bridge:Don't you get het: they thought the thing was planned;They'll cool off when they come to understand.
Efthet's wut you expect, you'llhevto wait; 170Folks never understand the folks they hate:She'll fin' some other grievance jest ez good,'fore the month's out, to git misunderstood.England cool off! She'll do it, ef she seesShe's run her head into a swarm o' bees.I ain't so prejudiced ez wut you spose:I hev thought England was the best thet goes;Remember (no, you can't), whenIwas reared,God save the Kingwas all the tune you heerd:But it's enough to turn Wachuset roun' 180This stumpin' fellers when you think they're down.
But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law,The best way is to settle, an' not jaw.An' don't le' 's mutter 'bout the awfle bricksWe'll give 'em, ef we ketch 'em in a fix:That 'ere's most frequently the kin' o' talkOf critters can't be kicked to toe the chalk;Your 'You'll seenex'time!' an' 'Look out bumby!''Most ollers ends in eatin' umble-pie.'Twun't pay to scringe to England: will it pay 190To fear thet meaner bully, old 'They'll say'?Suppose theydusay; words are dreffle bores,But they ain't quite so bad ez seventy-fours.Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fitWhere it'll help to widen out our split:She's found her wedge, an' 'tain't for us to comeAn' lend the beetle thet's to drive it home.For growed-up folks like us 'twould be a scandle,When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle.England ain'tallbad, coz she thinks us blind: 200Ef she can't change her skin, she can her mind;An' we shall see her change it double-quick.Soon ez we've proved thet we're a-goin' to lick.She an' Columby's gut to be fas' friends:For the world prospers by their privit ends:'Twould put the clock back all o' fifty yearsEf they should fall together by the ears.
I 'gree to thet; she's nigh us to wut France is;But then she'll hev to make the fust advances;We've gut pride, tu, an' gut it by good rights, 210An' ketchmestoopin' to pick up the mitesO' condescension she'll be lettin' fallWhen she finds out we ain't dead arter all!I tell ye wut, it takes more'n one good weekAforemynose forgits it's hed a tweak.
She'll come out right bumby, thet I'll engage,Soon ez she gits to seein' we're of age;This talkin' down o' hers ain't wuth a fuss;It's nat'ral ez nut likin' 'tis to us; 220Ef we're agoin' to prove webegrowed-up.'Twun't be by barkin' like a tarrier pup,But turnin' to an' makin' things ez goodEz wut we're ollers braggin' that we could;We're boun' to be good friends, an' so we'd oughto,In spite of all the fools both sides the water.
I b'lieve thet's so; but hearken in your ear,—I'm older'n you,—Peace wun't keep house with Fear;Ef you want peace, the thing you've gut tu duIs jes' to show you're up to fightin', tu.Irecollect how sailors' rights was won, 230Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin' gun;Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet heHed gut a kind o' mortgage on the sea;You'd thought he held by Gran'ther Adam's will,An' ef you knuckle down,he'll think so still.Better thet all our ships an' all their crewsShould sink to rot in ocean's dreamless ooze,Each torn flag wavin' chellenge ez it went,An' each dumb gun a brave man's moniment,Than seek sech peace ez only cowards crave: 240Givemethe peace of dead men or of brave!
I say, ole boy, it ain't the Glorious Fourth:You'd oughto larned 'fore this wut talk wuz worth.It ain'tournose thet gits put out o' jint;It's England thet gives up her dearest pint.We've gut, I tell ye now, enough to duIn our own fem'ly fight, afore we're thru.I hoped, las' spring, jest arter Sumter's shame,When every flag-staff flapped its tethered flame,An' all the people, startled from their doubt, 250Come must'rin' to the flag with sech a shout,—I hoped to see things settled 'fore this fall,The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an' all;Then come Bull Run, an'sencethen I've ben waitin'Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin',Nothin' to du but watch my shadder's traceSwing, like a ship at anchor, roun' my base,With daylight's flood an' ebb: it's gittin' slow,An' I 'most think we'd better let 'em go.I tell ye wut, this war's a-goin' to cost— 260
An' I tellyouit wun't be money lost;Taxes milks dry, but, neighbor, you'll allowThet havin' things onsettled kills the cow:We've gut to fix this thing for good an' all;It's no use buildin' wut's a-goin' to fall.I'm older'n you, an' I've seen things an' men,An'myexperunce,—tell ye wut it's ben:Folks thet worked thorough was the ones thet thriv,But bad work follers ye ez long's ye live;You can't git red on 't; jest ez sure ez sin, 270It's ollers askin' to be done agin:Ef we should part, it wouldn't be a week'Fore your soft-soddered peace would spring aleak.We've turned our cuffs up, but, to put her thru,We must git mad an' off with jackets, tu;'Twun't du to think thet killin' ain't perlite,—You've gut to be to airnest, ef you fight;Why, two thirds o' the Rebbles 'ould cut dirt,Ef they once thought thet Guv'ment meant to hurt;An' Iduwish our Gin'rals hed in mind 280The 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, I 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 begunThet folks thet love their bellies never'd won;Pharo's lean kine hung on for seven long year; 290But when 'twas done, we didn't count it dear;Why, law an' order, honor, civil right,Ef theyain'twuth it, wutiswuth 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 'twarn't for thet slow critter, 'stablished law;Onsettlethet, an' all the world goes whiz,A screw's gut loose in eyerythin' there is:Good buttresses once settled, don't you fret 300An' 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.
Amen to thet! build sure in the beginnin':An' then don't never tech the underpinnin':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 hotelsWhere they shift plates, an' let ye live on smells.
Wal, don't give up afore the ship goes down: 310It'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 beA better country than man ever see.I feel my sperit swellin' with a cryThet 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 320Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' 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 strainWith each hard hand a vassal ocean's mane,Thou, skilled by Freedom an' by gret eventsTo pitch new States ez Old-World men pitch tents,Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah's planThet man's devices can't unmake a man,An' whose free latch-string never was drawed in 330Against the poorest child of Adam's kin,—The grave's not dug where traitor hands shall layIn fearful haste thy murdered corse away!I see—
Jest here some dogs begun to bark,So thet I lost old Concord's last remark:I listened long, but all I seemed to hearWas dead leaves gossipin' on some birch-trees near;But ez they hedn't no gret things to say,An' sed 'em often, I come right away,An', walkin' home'ards, jest to pass the time, 340I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme;I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on,But here they be—it's
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 guessWe know it now,' sez he,'The lion's paw is all the law,Accordin' to J.B.,Thet's fit for you an' me!' 9
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 guessThere'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.'
EfIturned mad dogs loose, John,Onyourfront-parlor stairs, 20Would 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 ef Vattel onhistoes fell,'Twould kind o' rile J.B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!'
Who made the law thet hurts, John,Heads I win,—ditto tails?'J.B.' was on his shirts, John, 30Onless my memory fails.Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess(I'm good at thet),' sez he,'Thet sauce for goose ain'tjestthe juiceFor ganders with J.B.,No more 'n with you or me!'
When your rights was our wrongs, John,You didn't stop for fuss,—Britanny's trident prongs, John,Was good 'nough law for us. 40Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess,Though physic's good,' sez he,'It doesn't foller thet he can swallerPrescriptions signed "J.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. 49Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess,Efthet'shis claim,' sez he,'The fencin' stuff'll cost enoughTo bust up friend J.B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!'
Why talk so dreffle big, John,Of honor when it meantYou didn't care a fig, John,But jest forten per cent?Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guessHe's like the rest,' sez he: 60'When all is done, it's number oneThet's nearest to J.B.,Ez wal ez t' you an' me!'
We give the critters back, John,Cos Abram thought 'twas right;It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,Provokin' us to fight.Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guessWe've a hard row,' sez he,'To hoe jest now; but thet, somehow, 70May happen to J.B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!'
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 ManIs, think him so, J.B., 80Ez 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 'twarn't for law,' sez he,'There'd be one shindy from here to Indy;An' thet don't suit J.B.(When't ain't 'twixt you an' me!) 90
We know we've got a cause, John,Thet's honest, just, an' true;We thought 'twould win applause, John,Ef nowheres else, from you.Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guessHis love of right,' sez he,'Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton:There's natur' in J.B.,Ez wal 'z in you an' me!'
The South says, 'Poor folks down!' John, 100An' '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 todu,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; 110Ain'tyourbonds held by Fate, John,Like all the world's beside?Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guessWise men forgive,' sez he,'But not forgit; an' some time yitThet truth may strike J.B.,Ez wal ez you an' me!'
God means to make this land, John,Clear thru, from sea to sea,Believe an' understand, John, 120Thewutho' bein' free.Ole Uncle S. sez he, 'I guess,God's price is high,' sez he;'But nothin' else than wut He sellsWears long, an' thet J.B.May larn, like you an' me!'
No. III
With the following Letter from theREVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A.M.
JAALAM, 7th Feb., 1862.
RESPECTED FRIENDS,—If I know myself,—and surely a man can hardly be supposed to have overpassed the limit of fourscore years without attaining to some proficiency in that most useful branch of learning (e coelo 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 imminent subscription for a new bell, he thenceforth absented himself from all outward and visible communion. Yet he seems to have preserved (altâ mente repostum), as it were, in the pickle of a mind soured by prejudice, a lastingscunner, as he would call 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 fails 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 callar c'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 sometimes regret the hinged seats of the ancient meeting-house, whose lively clatter, not unwillingly intensified by boys beyond eyeshot of the tithing-man, served at intervals as a wholesomeréveil. 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 assured 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 dicam) 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 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 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 class 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 analiasbeen beyond the invention of the knaves of 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 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 splendor 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. But of what use to discuss the matter? An expert genealogist will provide any solvent man with agenus et pro avosto order. My Lord Burleigh used to say, with Aristotle and the Emperor Frederick II. to back him, that 'nobility was ancient riches,' whence also the Spanish were wont to call their noblesricos hombres, and the aristocracy of America are the descendants of those who first became wealthy, by whatever means. Petroleum will in this wise be the source of much good blood among our posterity. 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 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, 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. 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 thanmoresafter 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 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's 'Memorial,' 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 onlyquadrumanousbutquidruminant.
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 towards 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.Fas est et ab hoste doceri: there is no reckoning without your host. 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, toNotre 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 Runick 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,
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,'Twun't seem no staler now than then, by th' time it gits where you be.You know up North, though secs an' things air plenty ez you please,Ther' warn't nut one on 'em thet come jes' square with my idees:They all on 'em wuz too much mixed with Covenants o' Works,An' would hev answered jest ez wal for Afrikins an' Turks,Fer where's a Christian's privilege an' his rewards eusuin',Ef 'taint perfessin' right and eend 'thout nary need o' doin'? 10I dessay they suit workin'-folks thet ain't noways pertic'lar,But nut your Southun gen'leman thet keeps his parpendic'lar;I don't blame nary man thet casts his lot along o'hisfolks,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; 20Nothun 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: 30He didn't 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; 39An' 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 'twuz wrote for black an' brown an' 'lasses-colored creaturs,Thet couldn' 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 didn' call, their p'rishioners might eat 'em?An' then, agin, wut airthly use? Nor 'twarn't our fault, in so furEz Yankee skippers would keep on atotin' on 'em over. 50'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? 60When 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 facs 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;An' ef you did dror off a spell, ther' wuzn't no occasionTo lose the thread, because, ye see, he bellered like all Bashan. 70It'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 gin out an' owned up thet he'd fetched me;An' when nine tenths o' th' perrish took to tumblin' roun' an' hollerin',I didn' 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; 80Arter I'd drawed sech heaps o' blanks, Fortin at last hez sent a prize,An' chose me for a shinin' light o' missionary entaprise.
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; 90An' 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 tell all is blue? 100Fact 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 'tis to givin' lickins,Can't measure votes with folks thet get their living 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 meTo git me a transplantable an' thrifty fem'ly-tree, 110An' 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 frum 'sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good's their note,Men thet can run their face for drinks, an' keep a Sunday coat, 120That they wuz all on 'em come down, an' come down pooty fur,From folks thet, 'thout their crowns wuz on, ou' doors wouldn' 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 'twuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show? 130
For all thet, I warn't jest at fust in favor o' secedin';I wuz for layin' low a spell to find out where 'twuz leadin',For hevin' South-Carliny try her hand at sepritnationin',She takin' resks an' findin' funds, an' we co-operationin',—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 recollected 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; 140(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, 150Which 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'ralkurnels. 160
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: 170Or ef he's a slow-moulded cuss thet can't seem quite t' 'gree,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; 180An' 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 cheerfle 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 nightThe breechin' o' the Univarse'll break afore it's light, 190Our 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 that's cheapdown 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 'tis 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: 200Ef 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, 210An' thet experunce, time 'n' agin, to Dixie's Land hez shownTher' 's nothin' like a powder-cask fer 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 itain't? 220
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, 239Jeff don't allow no jawin'-sprees for three mouths 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,) 240An' 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 tother.An'Itellyouyou've gut to larn thet War ain't one long teeterBetwixtI wan' toan''Twun'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. 250Jeff 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 Abe 'ud 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. 260
I've chose my side, an' 'tain'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, 269Ez though experunce 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 'twould ketch mos' publicdrippin's,—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 letaryexe be groun', 'less 'tis 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, 280An' 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 ostentashun to be showin' on 't about,When half his feller-citizens contrive to du 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' that 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 ollers room for jes' one more o' your spiled-in-bakin'cusses, 290Dough 'thout the emptins of a soul, an' yit with means about 'em(Like essence-peddlers[23]) thet'll make folks long to be without 'em,Jes 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'Idon't see no gret signs of improvin',)I sha'n't up stakes, not hardly yit, nor 'twouldn't pay for movin':For, 'fore you lick us, it'll be the long'st day everyousee.Yourn, (ez I 'xpec' to be nex' spring,)B., MARKISS O' BIG BOOSY.
No. IV
Conjecturally reported byH. BIGLOW
JAALAM, 10th March, 1862.
GENTLEMEN,—My leisure has been so entirely occupied with the hitherto fruitless endeavour to decypher the Runick inscription whose fortunate discovery I mentioned in my last communication, that I have not found time to discuss, as I had intended, the great problem of what we are to do with slavery,—a topick on which the publick mind in this place is at present more than ever agitated. What my wishes and hopes are I need not say, but for safe conclusions I do not conceive that we are yet in possession of facts enough on which to bottom them with certainty. Acknowledging the hand of Providence, as I do, in all events, I am sometimes inclined to think that they are wiser than we, and am willing to wait till we have made this continent once more a place where freemen can live in security and honour, before assuming any further responsibility. This is the view taken by my neighbour Habakkuk Sloansure, Esq., the president of our bank, whose opinion in the practical affairs of life has great weight with me, as I have generally found it to be justified by the event, and whose counsel, had I followed it, would have saved me from an unfortunate investment of a considerable part of the painful economies of half a century in the Northwest-Passage Tunnel. After a somewhat animated discussion with this gentleman a few days since, I expanded, on theaudi alteram partemprinciple, something which he happened to say by way of illustration, into the following fable.
Once on a time there was a poolFringed all about with flag-leaves coolAnd spotted with cow-lilies garish,Of frogs and pouts the ancient parish.Alders the creaking redwings sink on,Tussocks that house blithe Bob o' LincolnHedged round the unassailed seclusion,Where muskrats piled their cells Carthusian;And many a moss-embroidered log,The watering-place of summer frog,Slept and decayed with patient skill,As watering-places sometimes will.
Now in this Abbey of Theleme,Which realized the fairest dreamThat ever dozing bull-frog had,Sunned on a half-sunk lily-pad,There rose a party with a missionTo mend the polliwogs' condition,Who notified the selectmenTo call a meeting there and then.'Some kind of steps,' they said, 'are needed;They don't come on so fast as we did:Let's dock their tails; if that don't make 'emFrogs by brevet, the Old One take 'em!That boy, that came the other dayTo dig some flag-root down this way,His jack-knife left, and 'tis a signThat Heaven approves of our design:'Twere wicked not to urge the step on,When Providence has sent the weapon.'
Old croakers, deacons of the mire,That led the deep batrachian choir,Uk! Uk! Caronk!with bass that mightHave left Lablache's out of sight,Shook nobby heads, and said, 'No go!You'd better let 'em try to grow:Old Doctor Time is slow, but stillHe does know how to make a pill.'
But vain was all their hoarsest bass,Their old experience out of place,And spite of croaking and entreating,The vote was carried in marsh-meeting.
'Lord knows,' protest the polliwogs,'We're anxious to be grown-up frogs;But don't push in to do the workOf Nature till she prove a shirk;'Tis not by jumps that she advances,But wins her way by circumstances;Pray, wait awhile, until you knowWe're so contrived as not to grow;Let Nature take her own direction,And she'll absorb our imperfection;Youmightn't like 'em to appear with,But we must have the things to steer with.'
'No,' piped the party of reform,'All great results are ta'en by storm;Fate holds her best gifts till we showWe've strength to make her let them go;The Providence that works in history,And seems to some folks such a mystery,Does not creep slowly onincog.,But moves by jumps, a mighty frog;No more reject the Age's chrism,Your queues are an anachronism;No more the Future's promise mock,But lay your tails upon the block,Thankful that we the means have votedTo have you thus to frogs promoted.'
The thing was done, the tails were cropped.And home each philotadpole hopped,In faith rewarded to exult,And wait the beautiful result.Too soon it came; our pool, so longThe theme of patriot bull-frog's song,Next day was reeking, fit to smother,With heads and tails that missed each other,—Here snoutless tails, there tailless snouts;The only gainers were the pouts.
From lower to the higher next,Not to the top, is Nature's text;And embryo Good, to reach full stature,Absorbs the Evil in its nature.
I think that nothing will ever give permanent peace and security to this continent but the extirpation of Slavery therefrom, and that the occasion is nigh; but I would do nothing hastily or vindictively, nor presume to jog the elbow of Providence. No desperate measures for me till we are sure that all others are hopeless,—flectere si nequeoSUPEROS,Acheronta movebo. To make Emancipation a reform instead of a revolution is worth a little patience, that we may have the Border States first, and then the non-slaveholders of the Cotton States, with us in principle,—a consummation that seems to be nearer than many imagine.Fiat justitia, ruat coelum, is not to be taken in a literal sense by statesmen, whose problem is to get justice done with as little jar as possible to existing order, which has at least so much of heaven in it that it is not chaos. Our first duty toward our enslaved brother is to educate him, whether he be white or black. The first need of the free black is to elevate himself according to the standard of this material generation. So soon as the Ethiopian goes in his chariot, he will find not only Apostles, but Chief Priests and Scribes and Pharisees willing to ride with him.