Having glanced at the ledger of Glory under the titleSawin, B., let us extend our investigations, and discover if that instructive volume does not contain some charges more personally interesting to ourselves. I think we should be more economical of our resources, did we thoroughly appreciate the fact, that, whenever Brother Jonathan seems to be thrusting his hand into his own pocket, he is, in fact, picking ours. I confess that the latemuckwhich the country has been running has materially changed my views as to the best method of raising revenue. If, by means of direct taxation, the bills for every extraordinary outlay were brought under our immediate eye, so that, like thrifty housekeepers, we could see where and how fast the money was going, we should be less likely to commit extravagances. At present, these things are managed in such a hugger-mugger way, that we know not what we pay for; the poor man is charged as much as the rich; and, while we are saving and scrimping at the spigot, the government is drawing off at the bung. If we could know that a part of the money we expend for tea and coffee goes to buy powder and balls, and that it is Mexican blood which makes the clothes on our backs more costly, it would set some of us athinking. During the present fall, I have often pictured to myself a government official entering my study and handing me the following bill:—
WASHINGTON, Sept. 30, 1848,REV. HOMER WILBUR toUncle Samuel,
Dr.To his share of work done in Mexicoon partnership account, sundryjobs, as below."killing, maiming and woundingabout 5000 Mexicans. . . . . . . . $2.00"slaughtering one woman carryingwater to wounded. . . . . . . . . . .10"extra work on two different Sabbaths(one bombardment and one assault),whereby the Mexicans were preventedfrom defiling themselves with theidolatries of high mass . . . . . . 3.50"throwing an especially fortunate andProtestant bomb-shell into theCathedral at Vera Cruz, wherebyseveral female Papists were slainat the altar. . . . . . . . . . . . .50"his proportion of cash paid forconquered territory. . . . . . . . 1.75"do. do. for conquering do . . . . . 1.50"manuring do. with new superiorcompost called 'American Citizen'. .50"extending the area of freedom andProtestantism. . . . . . . . . . . .01"glory. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .01_____$9.87Immediate payment is requested.
N.B. Thankful for former favors, U.S. requests a continuance of patronage. Orders executed with neatness and despatch. Terms as low as those of any other contractor for the same kind and style of work.
I can fancy the official answering my look of horror with—'Yes, Sir, it looks like a high charge. Sir; but in these days slaughtering is slaughtering.' Verily, I would that every one understood that it was; for it goes about obtaining money under the false pretence of being glory. For me, I have an imagination which plays me uncomfortable tricks. It happens to me sometimes to see a slaughterer on his way home from his day's work, and forthwith my imagination puts a cocked-hat upon his head and epaulettes upon his shoulders, and sets him up as a candidate for the Presidency. So, also, on a recent public occasion, as the place assigned to the 'Reverend Clergy' is just behind that of 'Officers of the Army and Navy' in processions, it was my fortune to be seated at the dinner-table over against one of these respectable persons. He was arrayed as (out of his own profession) only kings, court-officers, and footmen are in Europe, and Indians in America. Now what does my over-officious imagination but set to work upon him, strip him of his gay livery, and present him to me coatless, his trousers thrust into the tops of a pair of boots thick with clotted blood, and a basket on his arm out of which lolled a gore-smeared axe, thereby destroying my relish for the temporal mercies upon the board before me! —H.W.]
No. IX
[Upon the following letter slender comment will be needful. In what river Selemnus has Mr. Sawin bathed, that he has become so swiftly oblivious of his former loves? From an ardent and (as befits a soldier) confident wooer of that coy bride, the popular favor, we see him subside of a sudden into the (I trust not jilted) Cincinnatus, returning to his plough with a goodly sized branch of willow in his hand; figuratively returning, however, to a figurative plough, and from no profound affection for that honored implement of husbandry (for which, indeed, Mr. Sawin never displayed any decided predilection), but in order to be gracefully summoned therefrom to more congenial labors. It should seem that the character of the ancient Dictator had become part of the recognized stock of our modern political comedy, though, as our term of office extends to a quadrennial length, the parallel is not so minutely exact as could be desired. It is sufficiently so, however, for purposes of scenic representation. An humble cottage (if built of logs, the better) forms the Arcadian background of the stage. This rustic paradise is labelled Ashland, Jaalam, North Bend, Marshfield, Kinderhook, or Bâton Rouge, as occasion demands. Before the door stands a something with one handle (the other painted in proper perspective), which represents, in happy ideal vagueness, the plough. To this the defeated candidate rushes with delirious joy, welcomed as a father by appropriate groups of happy laborers, or from it the successful one is torn with difficulty, sustained alone by a noble sense of public duty. Only I have observed, that, if the scene be laid at Bâton Rouge or Ashland, the laborers are kept carefully in the backgrouud, and are heard to shout from behind the scenes in a singular tone resembling ululation, and accompanied by a sound not unlike vigorous clapping. This, however, may be artistically in keeping with the habits of the rustic population of those localities. The precise connection between agricultural pursuits and statesmanship I have not been able, after diligent inquiry, to discover. But, that my investigations may not be barren of all fruit, I will mention one curious statistical fact, which I consider thoroughly established, namely, that no real farmer ever attains practically beyond a seat in the General Court, however theoretically qualified for more exalted station.
It is probable that some other prospect has been opened to Mr. Sawin, and that he has not made this great sacrifice without some definite understanding in regard to a seat in the cabinet or a foreign mission. It may be supposed that we of Jaalam were not untouched by a feeling of villatic pride in beholding our townsman occupying so large a space in the public eye. And to me, deeply revolving the qualifications necessary to a candidate in these frugal times, those of Mr. S. seemed peculiarly adapted to a successful campaign. The loss of a leg, an arm, an eye, and four fingers reduced him so nearly to the condition of avox et præterea nihilthat I could think of nothing but the loss of his head by which his chance could have been bettered. But since he has chosen to balk our suffrages, we must content ourselves with what we can get, rememberinglactucas non esse dandas, dum cardui sufficiant,—H.W.]
I spose you recollect thet I explained my gennle viewsIn the last billet thet I writ, 'way down frum Veery Cruze,Jest arter I'd a kin' o' ben spontanously sot upTo run unannermously fer the Preserdential cup;O' course it worn't no wish o' mine, 'twuz ferflely distressin',But poppiler enthusiasm gut so almighty pressin'Thet, though like sixty all along I fumed an' fussed an' sorrered,There didn't seem no ways to stop their bringin' on me forrerd:Fact is, they udged the matter so, I couldn't help admittin'The Father o' his Country's shoes no feet but mine 'ould fit in, 10Besides the savin' o' the soles fer ages to succeed,Seein' thet with one wannut foot, a pair'd be more 'n I need;An', tell ye wut, them shoes'll want a thund'rin sight o' patchin',Ef this ere fashion is to last we've gut into o' hatchin'A pair o' second Washintons fer every new election,—Though, fer ez number one's consarned, I don't make no objection.
I wuz agoin' on to say thet wen at fust I sawThe masses would stick to 't I wuz the Country's father-'n-law,(They would ha' hed itFather, but I told 'em 'twouldn't du,Coz thet wuz sutthin' of a sort they couldn't split in tu, 20An' Washinton hed hed the thing laid fairly to his door,Nor darsn't say 'tworn't his'n, much ez sixty year afore,)But 'taint no matter ez to thet; wen I wuz nomernated,'Tworn't natur but wut I should feel consid'able elated,An' wile the hooraw o' the thing wuz kind o' noo an' fresh,I thought our ticket would ha' caird the country with a resh.
Sence I've come hum, though, an' looked round, I think I seem to findStrong argimunts ez thick ez fleas to make me change my mind;It's clear to any one whose brain aint fur gone in a phthisis,Thet hail Columby's happy land is goin' thru a crisis, 30An' 'twouldn't noways du to hev the people's mind distractedBy bein' all to once by sev'ral pop'lar names attackted;'Twould save holl haycartloads o' fuss an' three four months o' jaw,Ef some illustrous paytriot should back out an' withdraw;So, ez I aint a crooked stick, jest like—like ole (I swow,I dunno ez I know his name)—I'll go back to my plough.Wenever an Amerikin distinguished politishinBegins to try et wut they call definin' his posishin,Wal, I, fer one, feel sure he ain't gut nothin' to define;It's so nine cases out o' ten, but jest thet tenth is mine; 40An' 'taint no more 'n proper 'n' right in sech a sitooationTo hint the course you think'll be the savin' o' the nation;To funk right out o' p'lit'cal strife aint thought to be the thing,Without you deacon off the toon you want your folks should sing;So I edvise the noomrous friends thet's in one boat with meTo jest up killick, jam right down their hellum hard alee,Haul the sheets taut, an', layin' out upon the Suthun tack,Make fer the safest port they can, wich,Ithink, is Ole Zack.
Next thing you'll want to know, I spose, wut argimunts I seemTo see thet makes me think this ere'll be the strongest team; 50Fust place, I've ben consid'ble round in bar-rooms an' saloonsAgetherin' public sentiment, 'mongst Demmercrats and Coons,An' 'taint ve'y offen thet I meet a chap but wut goes inFer Rough an' Ready, fair an' square, hufs, taller, horns, an' skin;I don't deny but wut, fer one, ez fur ez I could see,I didn't like at fust the Pheladelphy nomernee:I could ha' pinted to a man thet wuz, I guess, a pegHigher than him,—a soger, tu, an' with a wooden leg;But every day with more an' more o' Taylor zeal I'm burnin',Seein' wich way the tide thet sets to office is aturnin'; 60Wy, into Bellers's we notched the votes down on three sticks,—'Twuz Birdofredumone, Cassaughtan Taylortwenty-six,An' bein' the on'y canderdate thet wuz upon the ground,They said 'twuz no more 'n right thet I should pay the drinks all round;Ef I'd expected sech a trick, I wouldn't ha' cut my footBy goin' an' votin' fer myself like a consumed coot;It didn't make no deff'rence, though; I wish I may be cust,Ef Bellers wuzn't slim enough to say he wouldn't trust!
Another pint thet influences the minds o' sober jedgesIs thet the Gin'ral hezn't gut tied hand an' foot with pledges; 70He hezn't told ye wut he is, an' so there aint no knowin'But wut he may turn out to be the best there is agoin';This, at the on'y spot thet pinched, the shoe directly eases,Coz every one is free to 'xpect percisely wut he pleases:I want free-trade; you don't; the Gin'ral isn't bound to neither;—I vote my way; you, yourn; an' both air sooted to a T there.Ole Rough an' Ready, tu, 's a Wig, but without bein' ultry;He's like a holsome hayin' day, thet's warm, but isn't sultry;He's jest wut I should call myself, a kin' ofscratchez 'tware,Thet aint exacly all a wig nor wholly your own hair; 80I 've ben a Wig three weeks myself, jest o' this mod'rate sort,An' don't find them an' Demmercrats so defferent ez I thought;They both act pooty much alike, an' push an' scrouge an' cus;They're like two pickpockets in league fer Uncle Samwells pus;Each takes a side, an' then they squeeze the ole man in between 'em,Turn all his pockets wrong side out an' quick ez lightnin' clean 'em;To nary one on 'em I'd trust a secon'-handed railNo furder off 'an I could sling a bullock by the tail.
Webster sot matters right in thet air Mashfiel' speech o' his'n;'Taylor,' sez he, 'aint nary ways the one thet I'd a chizzen, 90Nor he aint fittin' fer the place, an' like ez not he aintNo more 'n a tough ole bullethead, an' no gret of a saint;But then,' sez he, 'obsarve my pint, he's jest ez good to vote ferEz though the greasin' on him worn't a thing to hire Choate fer;Aint it ez easy done to drop a ballot in a boxFer one ez 'tis fer t'other, fer the bull-dog ez the fox?'It takes a mind like Dannel's, fact, ez big ez all ou' doors,To find out thet it looks like rain arter it fairly pours;I 'gree with him, it aint so dreffle troublesome to voteFer Taylor arter all,—it's jest to go an' change your coat; 100Wen he's once greased, you'll swaller him an' never know on 't, scurce,Unless he scratches, goin' down, with them 'ere Gin'ral's spurs.I've ben a votin' Demmercrat, ez reg'lar as a clock,But don't find goin' Taylor gives my narves no gret 'f a shock;Truth is, the cutest leadin' Wigs, ever sence fust they foundWich side the bread gut buttered on, hev kep' a edgin' round;They kin' o' slipt the planks frum out th' ole platform one by oneAn' made it gradooally noo, 'fore folks khow'd wut wuz done,Till, fur 'z I know, there aint an inch thet I could lay my han' on,But I, or any Demmercrat, feels comf'table to stan' on, 110An' ole Wig doctrines act'lly look, their occ'pants bein' gone,Lonesome ez steddies on a mash without no hayricks on.
I spose it's time now I should give my thoughts upon the plan,Thet chipped the shell at Buffalo, o' settin' up ole Van.I used to vote fer Martin, but, I swan, I'm clean disgusted,—He aint the man thet I can say is fittin' to be trusted;He aint half antislav'ry 'nough, nor I aint sure, ez some be,He'd go in fer abolishin' the Deestrick o' Columby;An', now I come to recollec', it kin' o' makes me sick 'zA horse, to think o' wut he wuz in eighteen thirty-six. 120An' then, another thing;—I guess, though mebby I am wrong,This Buff'lo plaster aint agoin' to dror almighty strong;Some folks, I know, hev gut th' idee thet No'thun dough'll rise,Though, 'fore I see it riz an 'baked, I wouldn't trust my eyes;'Twill take more emptins, a long chalk, than this noo party's gut,To give sech heavy cakes ez them a start, I tell ye wut.But even ef they caird the day, there wouldn't be no endurin'To stan' upon a platform with sech critters ez Van Buren;—An' his son John, tu, I can't think how thet 'ere chap should dareTo speak ez he doos; wy, they say he used to cuss an' swear! 130I spose he never read the hymn thet tells how down the stairsA feller with long legs wuz throwed thet wouldn't say his prayers.This brings me to another pint: the leaders o' the partyAint jest sech men ez I can act along with free an' hearty;They aint not quite respectable, an' wen a feller's morrilsDon't toe the straightest kin' o' mark, wy, him an' me jest quarrils.I went to a free soil meetin' once, an' wut d'ye think I see?A feller was aspoutin' there thet act'lly come to me,About two year ago last spring, ez nigh ez I can jedge,An' axed me ef I didn't want to sign the Temprunce pledge! 140He's one o' them that goes about an' sez you hedn't oughterDrink nothin', mornin', noon, or night, stronger 'an Taunton water.There's one rule I've ben guided by, in settlin' how to vote, ollers,—I take the side thetisn'ttook by them consarned teetotallers.
Ez fer the niggers, I've ben South, an' thet hez changed my min';A lazier, more ongrateful set you couldn't nowers fin',You know I mentioned in my last thet I should buy a nigger,Ef I could make a purchase at a pooty mod'rate figger;So, ez there's nothin' in the world I'm fonder of 'an gunnin',I closed a bargain finally to take a feller runnin'. 150I shou'dered queen's-arm an' stumped out, an' wen I come t' th' swamp,'Tworn't very long afore I gut upon the nest o' Pomp;I come acrost a kin' o' hut, an', playin' round the door,Some little woolly-headed cubs, ez many 'z six or more.At fust I thought o' firin', butthink twiceis safest ollers;There aint, thinks I, not one on 'em but's wuth his twenty dollars,Or would be, ef I hed 'em back into a Christian land,—How temptin' all on 'em would look upon an auction-stand!(Not but wutIhate Slavery, in th' abstract, stem to starn,—I leave it ware our fathers did, a privit State consarn.) 160Soon 'z they see me, they yelled an' run, but Pomp wuz out ahoein'A leetle patch o' corn he hed, or else there aint no knowin'He wouldn't ha' took a pop at me; but I hed gut the start,An' wen he looked, I vow he groaned ez though he'd broke his heart;He done it like a wite man, tu, ez nat'ral ez a pictur,The imp'dunt, pis'nous hypocrite! wus 'an a boy constrictur.'You can't gumme, I tell ye now, an' so you needn't try,I 'xpect my eye-teeth every mail, so jest shet up,' sez I.'Don't go to actin' ugly now, or else I'll let her strip,You'd best draw kindly, seein' 'z how I've gut ye on the hip; 170Besides, you darned ole fool, it aint no gret of a disasterTo be benev'lently druv back to a contented master,Ware you hed Christian priv'ledges you don't seem quite aware on,Or you'd ha' never run away from bein' well took care on;Ez fer kin' treatment, wy, he wuz so fond on ye, he said,He'd give a fifty spot right out, to git ye, 'live or dead;Wite folks aint sot by half ez much; 'member I run away,Wen I wuz bound to Cap'n Jakes, to Mattysqumscot Bay;Don' know him, likely? Spose not; wal, the mean old codger wentAn' offered—wut reward, think? Wal, it worn't noless'na cent.' 180
Wal, I jest gut 'em into line, an' druv 'em on afore me;The pis'nous brutes, I'd no idee o' the ill-will they bore me;We walked till som'ers about noon, an' then it grew so hotI thought it best to camp awile, so I chose out a spotJest under a magnoly tree, an' there right down I sot;Then I unstrapped my wooden leg, coz it begun to chafe,An' laid it down 'longside o' me, supposin' all wuz safe;I made my darkies all set down around me in a ring,An' sot an' kin' o' ciphered up how much the lot would bring;But, wile I drinked the peaceful cup of a pure heart an' min' 190(Mixed with some wiskey, now an' then), Pomp he snaked up behin',An' creepin' grad'lly close tu, ez quiet ez a mink,Jest grabbed my leg, an' then pulled foot, quicker 'an you could wink,An', come to look, they each on' em hed gut behin' a tree,An' Pomp poked out the leg a piece, jest so ez I could see,An' yelled to me to throw away my pistils an' my gun,Or else thet they'd cair off the leg, an' fairly cut an' run.I vow I didn't b'lieve there wuz a decent alligaturThet hed a heart so destitoot o' common human natur;However, ez there worn't no help, I finally give in 200An' heft my arms away to git my leg safe back agin.
Pomp gethered all the weapins up, an' then he come an' grinned,He showed his ivory some, I guess, an' sez, 'You're fairly pinned;Jest buckle on your leg agin, an' git right up an' come,'T wun't du fer fammerly men like me to be so long frum hum.'At fust I put my foot right down an' swore I wouldn't budge.'Jest ez you choose,' sez he, quite cool, 'either be shot or trudge.'So this black-hearted monster took an' act'lly druv me backAlong the very feetmarks o' my happy mornin' track,An' kep' me pris'ner 'bout six months, an' worked me, tu, like sin, 210Till I hed gut his corn an' his Carliny taters in;He made me larn him readin', tu (although the crittur sawHow much it hut my morril sense to act agin the law),So'st he could read a Bible he'd gut; an' axed ef I could pintThe North Star out; but there I put his nose some out o' jint,Fer I weeled roun' about sou'west, an', lookin' up a bit,Picked out a middlin' shiny one an' tole him thet wuz it.Fin'lly he took me to the door, an' givin' me a kick,Sez, 'Ef you know wut's best fer ye, be off, now, double-quick;The winter-time's a comin' on, an' though I gut ye cheap, 220You're so darned lazy, I don't think you're hardly woth your keep;Besides, the childrin's growin' up, an' you aint jest the modelI'd like to hev 'em immertate, an' so you'd better toddle!'
Now is there anythin' on airth'll ever prove to meThet renegader slaves like him air fit fer bein' free?D' you think they'll suck me in to jine the Buff'lo chaps, an' themRank infidels thet go agin the Scriptur'l cus o' Shem?Not by a jugfull! sooner 'n thet, I'd go thru fire an' water;Wen I hev once made up my mind, a meet'nhus aint sotter; 229No, not though all the crows thet flies to pick my bones wuz cawin',—I guess we're in a Christian land,—Yourn,BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.
[Here, patient reader, we take leave of each other, I trust with some mutual satisfaction. I saypatient, for I love not that kind which skims dippingly over the surface of the page, as swallows over a pool before rain. By such no pearls shall be gathered. But if no pearls there be (as, indeed the world is not without example of books wherefrom the longest-winded diver shall bring up no more than his proper handful of mud), yet let us hope that an oyster or two may reward adequate perseverance. If neither pearls nor oysters, yet is patience itself a gem worth diving deeply for.
It may seem to some that too much space has been usurped by my own private lucubrations, and some may be fain to bring against me that old jest of him who preached all his hearers out of the meeting-house save only the sexton, who, remaining for yet a little space, from a sense of official duty, at last gave out also, and, presenting the keys, humbly requested our preacher to lock the doors, when he should have wholly relieved himself of his testimony. I confess to a satisfaction in the self act of preaching, nor do I esteem a discourse to be wholly thrown away even upon a sleeping or unintelligent auditory. I cannot easily believe that the Gospel of Saint John, which Jacques Cartier ordered to be read in the Latin tongue to the Canadian savages, upon his first meeting with them, fell altogether upon stony ground. For the earnestness of the preacher is a sermon appreciable by dullest intellects and most alien ears. In this wise did Episcopius convert many to his opinions, who yet understood not the language in which he discoursed. The chief thing is that the messenger believe that he has an authentic message to deliver. For counterfeit messengers that mode of treatment which Father John de Plano Carpini relates to have prevailed among the Tartars would seem effectual, and, perhaps, deserved enough. For my own part, I may lay claim to so much of the spirit of martyrdom as would have led me to go into banishment with those clergymen whom Alphonso the Sixth of Portugal drave out of his kingdom for refusing to shorten their pulpit eloquence. It is possible, that, I having been invited into my brother Biglow's desk, I may have been too little scrupulous in using it for the venting of my own peculiar doctrines to a congregation drawn together in the expectation and with the desire of hearing him.
I am not wholly unconscious of a peculiarity of mental organization which impels me, like the railroad-engine with its train of cars, to run backward for a short distance in order to obtain a fairer start. I may compare myself to one fishing from the rocks when the sea runs high, who, misinterpreting the suction of the undertow for the biting of some larger fish, jerks suddenly, and finds that he hascaught bottom, hauling in upon the end of his line a trail of variousalgæ, among which, nevertheless, the naturalist may haply find somewhat to repay the disappointment of the angler. Yet have I conscientiously endeavored to adapt myself to the impatient temper of the age, daily degenerating more and more from the high standard of our pristine New England. To the catalogue of lost arts I would mournfully add also that of listening to two-hour sermons. Surely we have been abridged into a race of pygmies. For, truly, in those of the old discourses yet subsisting to us in print, the endless spinal column of divisions and subdivisions can be likened to nothing so exactly as to the vertebræ of the saurians, whence the theorist may conjecture a race of Anakim proportionate to the withstanding of these other monsters. I say Anakim rather than Nephelim, because there seem reasons for supposing that the race of those whose heads (though no giants) are constantly enveloped in clouds (which that name imports) will never become extinct. The attempt to vanquish the innumerableheadsof one of those aforementioned discourses may supply us with a plausible interpretation of the second labor of Hercules, and his successful experiment with fire affords us a useful precedent.
But while I lament the degeneracy of the age in this regard, I cannot refuse to succumb to its influence. Looking out through my study-window, I see Mr. Biglow at a distance busy in gathering his Baldwins, of which, to judge by the number of barrels lying about under the trees, his crop is more abundant than my own,—by which sight I am admonished to turn to those orchards of the mind wherein my labors may be more prospered, and apply myself diligently to the preparation of my next Sabbath's discourse.—H.W.]
* * * * *
Biglow Papers
[Greek: 'Estin ar o idiotismos eniote tou kosmou parapolu emphanistkoteron.']
'J'aimerois mieulx que mon fils apprinst aux tavernes à parler, qu'aux escholes de la parlerie.'
"Unser Sprach ist auch ein Sprach und fan so wohl ein Sad nennen als die Lateiner saccus."
'Vim rebus aliquando ipsa verborum humilitas affert.'
'O ma lengo,Plantarèy une estèlo à toun froun encrumit!'
* * * * *
'Multos enim, quibus loquendi ratio non desit, invenias, quos curiose potius loqui dixeris quam Latine; quomodo et illa Attica anus Theophrastum, hominem alioqui disertissimum, annotata unius affectatione verbi, hospitem dixit, nec alio se id deprehendisse interrogata respondit, quam quod nimium Attice loqueretur.'—QUINTILIANUS.
'Et Anglice sermonicari solebat populo, sed secundum linguam Norfolchie ubi natus et nutritus erat.'—CRONICA JOCELINI.
'La politique est une pierre attachée an cou de la littérature, et qui en moins de six mois la submerge…. Cette politique va offenser mortellement une moitié des lecteurs, et ennuyer l'autre qui l'a trouvée bien autrement spéciale et énergique dans le journal du matin.'—HENRI BEYLE.
[When the book appeared it bore a dedication to E.R. Hoar, and was introduced by an essay of the Yankee form of English speech. This Introduction is so distinctly an essay that it has been thought best to print it as an appendix to this volume, rather than allow it to break in upon the pages of verse. There is, however, one passage in it which may be repeated here, since it bears directly upon the poem which serves as a sort of prelude to the series.]
'The only attempt I had ever made at anything like a pastoral (if that may be called an attempt which was the result almost of pure accident) was inThe Courtin'. While the introduction to the First Series was going through the press, I received word from the printer that there was a blank page left which must be filled. I sat down at once and improvised another fictitious "notice of the press," in which, because verse would fill up space more cheaply than prose, I inserted an extract from a supposed ballad of Mr. Biglow. I kept no copy of it, and the printer, as directed, cut it off when the gap was filled. Presently I began to receive letters asking for the rest of it, sometimes for thebalanceof it. I had none, but to answer such demands, I patched a conclusion upon it in a later edition. Those who had only the first continued to importune me. Afterward, being asked to write it out as an autograph for the Baltimore Sanitary Commission Fair, I added other verses, into some of which I infused a little more sentiment in a homely way, and after a fashion completed it by sketching in the characters and making a connected story. Most likely I have spoiled it, but I shall put it at the end of this Introduction, to answer once for all those kindly importunings.'
God makes sech nights, all white an' stillFur 'z you can look or listen,Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,All silence an' all glisten.
Zekle crep' up quite unbeknownAn' peeked in thru' the winder,An' there sot Huldy all alone,'ith no one nigh to hender.
A fireplace filled the room's one sideWith half a cord o' wood in—There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)To bake ye to a puddin'.
The wa'nut logs shot sparkles outTowards the pootiest, bless her,An' leetle flames danced all aboutThe chiny on the dresser.
Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,An' in amongst 'em rustedThe ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther YoungFetched back f'om Concord busted.
The very room, coz she was in,Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin',An' she looked full ez rosy aginEz the apples she was peelin'.
'Twas kin' o' kingdom come to lookOn sech a blessed cretur,A dogrose blushin' to a brookAin't modester nor sweeter.
He was six foot o' man, A 1,Clear grit an' human natur',None couldn't quicker pitch a tonNor dror a furrer straighter.
He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells—All is, he couldn't love 'em.
But long o' her his veins 'ould runAll crinkly like curled maple,The side she breshed felt full o' sunEz a south slope in Ap'il.
She thought no v'ice hed sech a swingEz hisn in the choir;My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,Sheknowedthe Lord was nigher.
An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,When her new meetin'-bunnetFelt somehow thru' its crown a pairO' blue eyes sot upon it.
Thet night, I tell ye, she lookedsome!She seemed to've gut a new soul,For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,Down to her very shoe-sole.
She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,A-raspin' on the scraper,—All ways to once, her feelins flewLike sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,Some doubtfle o' the sekle,His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,But hern went pity Zekle.
An' yit she gin her cheer a jerkEz though she wished him furder,An' on her apples kep' to work,Parin' away like murder.
'You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?''Wal … no … I come dasignin'—'To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'esAgin to-morrer's i'nin'.'
To say why gals acts so or so,Or don't, 'ould be persumin';Mebby to meanyesan' saynoComes nateral to women.
He stood a spell on one foot fust,Then stood a spell on t'other,An' on which one he felt the wustHe couldn't ha' told ye nuther.
Says he, 'I'd better call agin:'Says she, 'Think likely, Mister:'Thet last word pricked him like a pin,An' … Wal, he up an' kist her.
When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,Huldy sot pale ez ashes,All kin' o' smily roun' the lipsAn' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jes' the quiet kindWhose naturs never vary,Like streams that keep a summer mindSnowhid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt gluedToo tight for all expressin',Tell mother see how metters stood,An' gin 'em both her blessin'.
Then her red come back like the tideDown to the Bay o' Fundy,An' all I know is they was criedIn meetin' come nex' Sunday.
No. I
JAALAM, 15th Nov., 1861.
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It is not from any idle wish to obtrude my humble person with undue prominence upon the publick view that I resume my pen upon the present occasion.Juniores ad labores. But having been a main instrument in rescuing the talent of my young parishioner from being buried in the ground, by giving it such warrant with the world as could be derived from a name already widely known by several printed discourses (all of which I may be permitted without immodesty to state have been deemed worthy of preservation in the Library of Harvard College by my esteemed friend Mr. Sibley), it seemed becoming that I should not only testify to the genuineness of the following production, but call attention to it, the more as Mr. Biglow had so long been silent as to be in danger of absolute oblivion. I insinuate no claim to any share in the authorship (vix ea nostra voco) of the works already published by Mr. Biglow, but merely take to myself the credit of having fulfilled toward them the office of taster (experto crede), who, having first tried, could afterward bear witness (credenzenit was aptly named by the Germans), an office always arduous, and sometimes even dangerous, as in the case of those devoted persons who venture their lives in the deglutition of patent medicines (dolus latet in generalibus, there is deceit in the most of them) and thereafter are wonderfully preserved long enough to append their signatures to testimonials in the diurnal and hebdomadal prints. I say not this as covertly glancing at the authors of certain manuscripts which have been submitted to my literary judgment (though an epick in twenty-four books on the 'Taking of Jericho' might, save for the prudent forethought of Mrs. Wilbur in secreting the same just as I had arrived beneath the walls and was beginning a catalogue of the various horns and their blowers, too ambitiously emulous in longanimity of Homer's list of ships, might, I say, have rendered frustrate any hope I could entertainvacare Musisfor the small remainder of my days), but only the further to secure myself against any imputation of unseemly forthputting. I will barely subjoin, in this connexion, that, whereas Job was left to desire, in the soreness of his heart, that his adversary had written a book, as perchance misanthropically wishing to indite a review thereof, yet was not Satan allowed so far to tempt him as to send Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar each with an unprinted work in his wallet to be submitted to his censure. But of this enough. Were I in need of other excuse, I might add that I write by the express desire of Mr. Biglow himself, whose entire winter leisure is occupied, as he assures me, in answering demands for autographs, a labor exacting enough in itself, and egregiously so to him, who, being no ready penman, cannot sign so much as his name without strange contortions of the face (his nose, even, being essential to complete success) and painfully suppressed Saint-Vitus-dance of every muscle in his body. This, with his having been put in the Commission of the Peace by our excellent Governor (O, si sic omnes!) immediately on his accession to office, keeps him continually employed.Haud inexpertus loquor, having for many years written myself J.P., and being not seldom applied to for specimens of my chirography, a request to which I have sometimes over weakly assented, believing as I do that nothing written of set purpose can properly be called an autograph, but only those unpremeditated sallies and lively runnings which betray the fireside Man instead of the hunted Notoriety doubling on his pursuers. But it is time that I should bethink me of St. Austin's prayer,libera me a meipso, if I would arrive at the matter in hand.
Moreover, I had yet another reason for taking up the pen myself. I am informed that 'The Atlantic Monthly' is mainly indebted for its success to the contributions and editorial supervision of Dr. Holmes, whose excellent 'Annals of America' occupy an honored place upon my shelves. The journal itself I have never seen; but if this be so, it might seem that the recommendation of a brother-clergyman (thoughpar magis quam similis) should carry a greater weight. I suppose that you have a department for historical lucubrations, and should be glad, if deemed desirable, to forward for publication my 'Collections for the Antiquities of Jaalam,' and my (now happily complete) pedigree of the Wilbur family from itsfons et origo, the Wild Boar of Ardennes. Withdrawn from the active duties of my profession by the settlement of a colleague-pastor, the Reverend Jeduthun Hitchcock, formerly of Brutus Four-Corners, I might find time for further contributions to general literature on similar topicks. I have made large advances towards a completer genealogy of Mrs. Wilbur's family, the Pilcoxes, not, if I know myself, from any idle vanity, but with the sole desire of rendering myself useful in my day and generation.Nulla dies sine lineâ. I inclose a meteorological register, a list of the births, deaths, and marriages, and a fewmemorabiliaof longevity in Jaalam East Parish for the last half-century. Though spared to the unusual period of more than eighty years, I find no diminution of my faculties or abatement of my natural vigor, except a scarcely sensible decay of memory and a necessity of recurring to younger eyesight or spectacles for the finer print in Cruden. It would gratify me to make some further provision for declining years from the emoluments of my literary labors. I had intended to effect an insurance on my life, but was deterred therefrom by a circular from one of the offices, in which the sudden death of so large a proportion of the insured was set forth as an inducement, that it seemed to me little less than a tempting of Providence.Neque in summâ inopiâ levis esse senectus potest, ne sapienti quidem.
Thus far concerning Mr. Biglow; and so much seemed needful (brevis esse laboro) by way of preliminary, after a silence of fourteen years. He greatly fears lest he may in this essay have fallen below himself, well knowing that, if exercise be dangerous on a full stomach, no less so is writing on a full reputation. Beset as he has been on all sides, he could not refrain, and would only imprecate patience till he shall again have 'got the hang' (as he calls it) of an accomplishment long disused. The letter of Mr. Sawin was received some time in last June, and others have followed which will in due season be submitted to the publick. How largely his statements are to be depended on, I more than merely dubitate. He was always distinguished for a tendency to exaggeration,—it might almost be qualified by a stronger term.Fortiter mentire, aliquid hæretseemed to be his favorite rule of rhetoric. That he is actually where he says he is the postmark would seem to confirm; that he was received with the publick demonstrations he describes would appear consonant with what we know of the habits of those regions; but further than this I venture not to decide. I have sometimes suspected a vein of humor in him which leads him to speak by contraries; but since, in the unrestrained intercourse of private life, I have never observed in him any striking powers of invention, I am the more willing to put a certain qualified faith in the incidents and the details of life and manners which give to his narratives some portion of the interest and entertainment which characterizes a Century Sermon.
It may be expected of me that I should say something to justify myself with the world for a seeming inconsistency with my well-known principles in allowing my youngest son to raise a company for the war, a fact known to all through the medium of the publick prints. I did reason with the young man, butexpellas naturam furcâ tamen usque recurrit. Having myself been a chaplain in 1812, I could the less wonder that a man of war had sprung from my loins. It was, indeed, grievous to send my Benjamin, the child of my old age; but after the discomfiture of Manassas, I with my own hands did buckle on his armor, trusting in the great Comforter and Commander for strength according to my need. For truly the memory of a brave son dead in his shroud were a greater staff of my declining years than a living coward (if those may be said to have lived who carry all of themselves into the grave with them), though his days might be long in the land, and he should get much goods. It is not till our earthen vessels are broken that we find and truly possess the treasure that was laid up in them.Migravi in animam meam, I have sought refuge in my own soul; nor would I be shamed by the heathen comedian with hisNeqwam illud verbum, bene vult, nisi bene facit. During our dark days, I read constantly in the inspired book of Job, which I believe to contain more food to maintain the fibre of the soul for right living and high thinking than all pagan literature together, though I would by no means vilipend the study of the classicks. There I read that Job said in his despair, even as the fool saith in his heart there is no God,—'The tabernacles of robbers prosper, and they that provoke God are secure.' (Job xii. 6.) But I sought farther till I found this Scripture also, which I would have those perpend who have striven to turn our Israel aside to the worship of strange gods.—'If I did despise the cause of my manservant or of my maid-servant, when they contended with me, what then shall I do when God riseth up? and when he visiteth, what shall I answer him?' (Job xxxi. 13, 14.) On this text I preached a discourse on the last day of Fasting and Humiliation with general acceptance, though there were not wanting one or two Laodiceans who said that I should have waited till the President announced his policy. But let us hope and pray, remembering this of Saint Gregory,Vult Deus rogari, vult cogi, vult quâdam importunitate vinci.
We had our first fall of snow on Friday last. Frosts have been unusually backward this fall. A singular circumstance occurred in this town on the 20th October, in the family of Deacon Pelatiah Tinkham. On the previous evening, a few moments before family prayers,
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[The editors of the 'Atlantic' find it necessary here to cut short the letter of their valued correspondent, which seemed calculated rather on the rates of longevity in Jaalam than for less favored localities. They have every encouragement to hope that he will write again.]
With esteem and respect, Your obedient servant, Homer Wilbur, A.M.
It's some consid'ble of a spell sence I hain't writ no letters,An' ther' 's gret changes hez took place in all polit'cle metters:Some canderdates air dead an' gone, an' some hez ben defeated,Which 'mounts to pooty much the same; fer it's ben proved repeatedA betch o' bread thet hain't riz once ain't goin' to rise agin,An' it's jest money throwed away to put the emptins in:But thet's wut folks wun't never larn; they dunno how to go,Arter you want their room, no more 'n a bullet-headed bean;Ther' 's ollers chaps a-hangin' roun' thet can't see peatime's past,Mis'ble as roosters in a rain, heads down an' tails half-mast: 10It ain't disgraceful bein' beat, when a holl nation doos it,But Chance is like an amberill,—it don't take twice to lose it.
I spose you're kin' o' cur'ous, now, to know why I hain't writ.Wal, I've ben where a litt'ry taste don't somehow seem to gitTh' encouragement a feller'd think, thet's used to public schools,An' where sech things ez paper 'n' ink air clean agin the rules:A kind o' vicyvarsy house, built dreffle strong an' stout,So 's 't honest people can't get in, ner t'other sort git out.An' with the winders so contrived, you'd prob'ly like the viewBetter alookin' in than out, though it seems sing'lar, tu; 20But then the landlord sets by ye, can't bear ye out o' sight,And locks ye up ez reg'lar ez an outside door at night.
This world is awfle contrary: the rope may stretch your neckThet mebby kep' another chap frum washin' off a wreck;An' you may see the taters grow in one poor feller's patch,So small no self-respectin' hen thet vallied time 'ould scratch,So small the rot can't find 'em out, an' then agin, nex' door,Ez big ez wut hogs dream on when they're 'most too fat to snore.But groutin' ain't no kin' o' use; an' ef the fust throw fails,Why, up an' try agin, thet's all,—the coppers ain't all tails, 30Though Ihevseen 'em when I thought they hedn't no more headThan 'd sarve a nussin' Brigadier thet gits some Ink to shed.
When I writ last, I'd ben turned loose by thet blamed nigger, Pomp,Ferlorner than a musquash, ef you'd took an' dreened his swamp;But I ain't o' the meechin' kind, thet sets an' thinks fer weeksThe bottom's out o' th' univarse coz their own gillpot leaks.I hed to cross bayous an' criks, (wal, it did beat all natur',)Upon a kin' o' corderoy, fust log, then alligator;Luck'ly, the critters warn't sharp-sot; I guess 'twuz overruledThey 'd done their mornin's marketin' an' gut their hunger cooled; 40Fer missionaries to the Creeks an' runaways are viewedBy them an' folks ez sent express to be their reg'lar food;Wutever 'twuz, they laid an' snoozed ez peacefully ez sinners,Meek ez disgestin' deacons be at ordination dinners;Ef any on 'em turned an' snapped, I let 'em kin' o' tasteMy live-oak leg, an' so, ye see, ther' warn't no gret o' waste;Fer they found out in quicker time than ef they'd ben to college'Twarn't heartier food than though 'twuz made out o' the tree o'knowledge.But I tellyoumy other leg hed larned wut pizon-nettle meant,An' var'ous other usefle things, afore I reached a settlement, 50An' all o' me thet wuzn't sore an' sendin' prickles thru meWuz jest the leg I parted with in lickin' Montezumy:A useful limb it's ben to me, an' more of a supportThan wut the other hez ben,—coz I dror my pension for 't.
Wal, I gut in at last where folks wuz civerlized an' white,Ez I diskivered to my cost afore 'twarn't hardly night;Fer 'z I wuz settin' in the bar a-takin' sunthin' hot,An' feelin' like a man agin, all over in one spot,A feller thet sot oppersite, arter a squint at me,Lep' up an' drawed his peacemaker, an', 'Dash it, Sir,' suz he, 60'I'm doubledashed ef you ain't him thet stole my yaller chettle,(You're all the stranger thet's around,) so now you've gut to settle;It ain't no use to argerfy ner try to cut up frisky,I know ye ez I know the smell of ole chain-lightnin' whiskey;We're lor-abidin' folks down here, we'll fix ye so's 't a barWouldn' tech ye with a ten-foot pole; (Jedge, you jest warm the tar;)You'll think you'd better ha' gut among a tribe o' Mongrel Tartars,'fore we've done showin' how we raise our Southun prize tar-martyrs;A moultin' fallen cherubim, ef he should see ye, 'd snicker,Thinkin' he warn't a suckemstance. Come, genlemun, le' 's liquor; 70An', Gin'ral, when you've mixed the drinks an' chalked 'em up, tote roun'An' see ef ther' 's a feather-bed (thet's borryable) in town.We'll try ye fair, ole Grafted-Leg, an' ef the tar wun't stick,Th' ain't not a juror here but wut'll 'quit ye double-quick,'To cut it short, I wun't say sweet, they gi' me a good dip,(They ain'tperfessin'Bahptists here,) then give the bed a rip,—The jury'd sot, an' quicker 'n a flash they hetched me out, a livin'Extemp'ry mammoth turkey-chick fer a Fejee Thanksgivin'.Thet I felt some stuck up is wut it's nat'ral to suppose,When poppylar enthusiasm hed funnished me sech clo'es; 80(Ner 'tain't without edvantiges, this kin' o' suit, ye see,It's water-proof, an' water's wut I like kep' out o' me;)But nut content with thet, they took a kerridge from the fenceAn' rid me roun' to see the place, entirely free 'f expense,With forty-'leven new kines o' sarse without no charge acquainted me,Gi' me three cheers, an' vowed thet I wuz all their fahncy painted me;They treated me to all their eggs; (they keep 'em I should think,Fer sech ovations, pooty long, for they wuz mos' distinc');They starred me thick 'z the Milky-Way with indiscrim'nit cherity,Fer wut we call reception eggs air sunthin' of a rerity; 90Green ones is plentifle anough, skurce wuth a nigger's getherin',But your dead-ripe ones ranges high fer treatin' Nothun bretherin;A spotteder, ring-streakeder child the' warn't in Uncle Sam'sHoll farm,—a cross of striped pig an' one o' Jacob's lambs;'Twuz Dannil in the lions' den, new an' enlarged edition,An' everythin' fust-rate o' 'ts kind; the' warn't no impersition.People's impulsiver down here than wut our folks to home be,An' kin' o' go it 'ith a resh in raisin' Hail Columby:Thet'sso:an' they swarmed out like bees, for your real Southun men'sTime isn't o' much more account than an ole settin' hen's; 100(They jest work semioccashnally, or else don't work at all,An' so their time an' 'tention both air at saci'ty's call.)Talk about hospatality! wut Nothun town d' ye knowWould take a totle stranger up an' treat him gratis so?You'd better b'lleve ther' 's nothin' like this spendin' days an' nightsAlong 'ith a dependent race fer civerlizin' whites.
But this wuz all prelim'nary; it's so Gran' Jurors hereFin' a true bill, a hendier way than ourn, an' nut so dear;So arter this they sentenced me, to make all tight 'n' snug,Afore a reg'lar court o' law, to ten years in the Jug. 110I didn't make no gret defence: you don't feel much like speakin',When, ef you let your clamshells gape, a quart o' tar will leak in:Ihevhearn tell o' winged words, but pint o' fact it tethersThe spoutin' gift to hev your wordstuthick sot on with feathers,An' Choate ner Webster wouldn't ha' made an A 1 kin' o' speechAstride a Southun chestnut horse sharper 'n a baby's screech.Two year ago they ketched the thief, 'n' seein' I wuz innercent,They jest uncorked an' le' me run, an' in my stid the sinner sentTo see howheliked pork 'n' pone flavored with wa'nut saplin',An' nary social priv'ledge but a one-hoss, starn-wheel chaplin. 120When I come out, the folks behaved mos' gen'manly an' harnsome;They 'lowed it wouldn't be more 'n right, ef I should cuss 'n' darn some:The Cunnle he apolergized; suz he, 'I'll du wut's right,I'll give ye settisfection now by shootin' ye at sight,An' give the nigger (when he's caught), to pay him fer his trickin'In gittin' the wrong man took up, a most H fired lickin',—It's jest the way with all on 'em, the inconsistent critters,They're 'most enough to make a man blaspheme his mornin' bitters;I'll be your frien' thru thick an' thin an' in all kines o' weathers,An' all you'll hev to pay fer's jest the waste o' tar an'feathers: 130A lady owned the bed, ye see, a widder, tu, Miss Shennon;It wuz her mite; we would ha' took another, ef ther' 'd ben one:We don't makenocharge for the ride an' all the other fixins.Le' 's liquor; Gin'ral, you can chalk our friend for all the mixins.'A meetin' then wuz called, where they 'RESOLVED, Thet we respec'B.S. Esquire for quallerties o' heart an' intellec'Peculiar to Columby's sile, an' not to no one else's,Thet makes European tyrans scringe in all their gilded pel'ces,An' doos gret honor to our race an' Southun institootions:'(I give ye jest the substance o' the leadin' resolootions:) 140'RESOLVED, Thet we revere In him a soger 'thout a flor,A martyr to the princerples o' libbaty an' lor:RESOLVED, Thet other nations all, ef sot 'longside o' us,For vartoo, larnin', chivverlry, ain't noways wuth a cuss.'They got up a subscription, tu, but no gret come o'thet;I 'xpect in cairin' of it roun' they took a leaky hat;Though Southun genelmun ain't slow at puttin' down their name,(When they can write,) fer in the eend it comes to jes' the same,Because, ye see, 't 's the fashion here to sign an' not to thinkA critter'd be so sordid ez to ax 'em for the chink: 150I didn't call but jest on one, an'hedrawed tooth-pick on me,An' reckoned he warn't goin' to stan' no sech dog-gauned econ'my:So nothin' more wuz realized, 'ceptin' the good-will shown,Than ef 't had ben from fust to last a regular Cotton Loan.It's a good way, though, come to think, coz ye enjy the senseO' lendin' lib'rally to the Lord, an' nary red o' 'xpense:Sence then I've gut my name up for a gin'rous-hearted manBy jes' subscribin' right an' left on this high-minded plan;I've gin away my thousans so to every Southun sortO' missions, colleges, an' sech, ner ain't no poorer for 't. 160
I warn't so bad off, arter all; I needn't hardly mentionThat Guv'ment owed me quite a pile for my arrears o' pension,—I mean the poor, weak thing wehed:we run a new one now,Thet strings a feller with a claim up ta the nighes' bough,An'prectisesthe rights o' man, purtects down-trodden debtors,Ner wun't hev creditors about ascrougin' o' their betters:Jeff's gut the last idees ther' is, poscrip', fourteenth edition,He knows it takes some enterprise to run an oppersition;Ourn's the fust thru-by-daylight train, with all ou'doors for deepot;Yourn goes so slow you'd think 'twuz drawed by a las' cent'ryteapot;— 170Wal, I gut all on 't paid in gold afore our State seceded,An' done wal, for Confed'rit bonds warn't jest the cheese I needed:Nut but wut they're ezgoodez gold, but then it's hard a-breakin'on 'em,An' ignorant folks is ollers sot an' wun't git used to takin' on 'em;They're wuth ez much ez wut they wuz afore ole Mem'nger signed 'em,An' go off middlin' wal for drinks, when ther' 's a knife behind 'em;Wedumiss silver, jes' fer thet an' ridin' in a bus,Now we've shook off the desputs thet wuz suckin' at our pus;An' it'sbecausethe South's so rich; 'twuz nat'ral to expec'Supplies o' change wuz jes' the things we shouldn't recollec'; 180We'd ough' to ha' thought aforehan', though, o' thet good rule o'Crockett's,For 't 's tiresome cairin' cotton-bales an' niggers in your pockets,Ner 'tain't quite hendy to pass off one o' your six-foot GuineasAn' git your halves an' quarters back in gals an' pickaninnies:Wal, 'tain't quite all a feller'd ax, but then ther's this to say,It's on'y jest among ourselves thet we expec' to pay;Our system would ha' caird us thru in any Bible cent'ry,'fore this onscripterl plan come up o' books by double entry;We go the patriarkle here out o' all sight an' hearin',For Jacob warn't a suckemstance to Jeff at financierin'; 190Henever'd thought o' borryin' from Esau like all naterAn' then cornfiscatin' all debts to sech a small pertater;There's p'litickle econ'my, now, combined 'ith morril beautyThet saycrifices privit eends (your in'my's, tu) to dooty!Wy, Jeff 'd ha' gin him five an' won his eye-teeth 'fore he knowed it,An', stid o' wastin' pottage, he'd ha' eat it up an' owed it.But I wuz goin' on to say how I come here to dwall;—'Nough said, thet, arter lookin' roun', I liked the place so wal,Where niggers doos a double good, with us atop to stiddy 'em,By bein' proofs o' prophecy an' suckleatin' medium, 200Where a man's sunthin' coz he's white, an' whiskey's cheap ez fleas,An' the financial pollercy jes' sooted my idees,Thet I friz down right where I wuz, merried the Widder Shennon,(Her thirds wuz part in cotton-land, part in the curse o' Canaan,)An' here I be ez lively ez a chipmunk on a wall,With nothin' to feel riled about much later 'n Eddam's fall.
Ez fur ez human foresight goes, we made an even trade:She gut an overseer, an' I a fem'ly ready-made,The youngest on 'em 's 'mos' growed up, rugged an' spry ez weazles,So 's 't ther' 's no resk o' doctors' bills fer hoopin'-cough an' measles.Our farm's at Turkey-Buzzard Roost, Little Big Boosy River, 211Wal located in all respex,—fer 'tain't the chills 'n' feverThet makes my writin' seem to squirm; a Southuner'd allow I'dSome call to shake, for I've jest hed to meller a new cowhide.Miss S. is all 'f a lady; th' ain't no better on Big BoosyNer one with more accomplishmunts 'twist here an' Tuscaloosy;She's an F.F., the tallest kind, an' prouder 'n the Gran' Turk,An' never hed a relative thet done a stroke o' work;Hern ain't a scrimpin' fem'ly sech ezyougit up Down East,Th' ain't a growed member on 't but owes his thousuns et the least:Sheissome old; but then agin ther' 's drawbacks in my sheer: 221Wut's left o' me ain't more 'n enough to make a Brigadier:Wust is, thet she hez tantrums; she's like Seth Moody's gun(Him thet wuz nicknamed from his limp Ole Dot an' Kerry One);He'd left her loaded up a spell, an' hed to git her clear,So he onhitched,—Jeerusalem! the middle o' last yearWuz right nex' door compared to where she kicked the critter tu(Thoughjestwhere he brought up wuz wut no human never knew);His brother Asaph picked her up an' tied her to a tree,An' then she kicked an hour 'n' a half afore she'd let it be: 230Wal, Miss S.dooshev cuttins-up an' pourins-out o' vials,But then she hez her widder's thirds, an' all on us hez trials.My objec', though, in writin' now warn't to allude to sech,But to another suckemstance more dellykit to tech,—I want thet you should grad'lly break my merriage to Jerushy,An' there's a heap of argymunts thet's emple to indooce ye:Fust place, State's Prison,—wal, it's true it warn't fer crime,o' course,But then it's jest the same fer her in gittin' a disvorce;Nex' place, my State's secedin' out hez leg'lly lef' me freeTo merry any one I please, pervidin' it's a she; 240Fin'lly, I never wun't come back, she needn't hev no fear on 't,But then it's wal to fix things right fer fear Miss S. should hear on 't;Lastly, I've gut religion South, an' Rushy she's a paganThet sets by th' graven imiges o' the gret Nothun Dagon;(Now I hain't seen one in six munts, for, sence our Treashry Loan,Though yaller boys is thick anough, eagles hez kind o' flown;)An' ef J wants a stronger pint than them thet I hev stated,Wy, she's an aliun in'my now, an' I've been cornfiscated,—For sence we've entered on th' estate o' the late nayshnul eagle,She hain't no kin' o' right but jes' wut I allow ez legle: 250WutdoosSecedin' mean, ef 'tain't thet nat'rul rights hez riz, 'n'Thet wut is mine's my own, but wut's another man's ain't his'n?
Besides, I couldn't do no else; Miss S. suz she to me,'You've sheered my bed,' [thet's when I paid my interduction feeTo Southun rites,] 'an' kep' your sheer,' [wal, I allow it stickedSo 's 't I wuz most six weeks in jail afore I gut me picked,]'Ner never paid no demmiges; but thet wun't do no harm,Pervidin' thet you'll ondertake to oversee the farm;(My eldes' boy he's so took up, wut with the Ringtail RangersAn' settin' in the Jestice-Court for welcomin' o' strangers;') 260[He sot onme;] 'an' so, ef you'll jest ondertake the careUpon a mod'rit sellery, we'll up an' call it square;But ef youcan'tconclude,' suz she, an' give a kin' o' grin,'Wy, the Gran' Jurymen, I 'xpect, 'll hev to set agin.'That's the way metters stood at fust; now wut wuz I to du,But jes' to make the best on 't an' off coat an' buckle tu?Ther' ain't a livin' man thet finds an income necessarierThan me,—bimeby I'll tell ye how I fin'lly come to merry her.She hed another motive, tu: I mention of it hereT' encourage lads thet's growin' up to study 'n' persevere, 270An' show 'em how much better 't pays to mind their winter-schoolin'Than to go off on benders 'n' sech, an' waste their time in foolin';Ef 'twarn't for studyin' evenins, why, I never 'd ha' ben hereA orn'ment o' saciety, in my approprut spear:She wanted somebody, ye see, o' taste an' cultivation,To talk along o' preachers when they stopt to the plantation;For folks in Dixie th't read an' rite, onless it is by jarks,Is skurce ez wut they wuz among th' origenle patriarchs;To fit a feller f' wut they call the soshle higherarchy,All thet you've gut to know is jes' beyond an evrage darky; 280Schoolin' 's wut they can't seem to stan', they 're tu consarnedhigh-pressure,An' knowin' t' much might spile a boy for hem' a Secesher.We hain't no settled preachin' here, ner ministeril taxes;The min'ster's only settlement's the carpet-bag he packs hisRazor an' soap-brush intu, with his hym-book an' his Bible,—But theydupreach, I swan to man, it's puf'kly indescrib'le!They go it like an Ericsson's ten-hoss-power coleric ingine,An' make Ole Split-Foot winch an' squirm, for all he's used to singein';Hawkins's whetstone ain't a pinch o' primin' to the innardsTo hearin' on 'em put free grace t' a lot o' tough old sinhards! 290But I must eend this letter now: 'fore long I'll send a fresh un;I've lots o' things to write about, perticklerly Seceshun:I'm called off now to mission-work, to let a leetle law inTo Cynthy's hide: an' so, till death,Yourn,BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.
No. II
JAALAM, 6th Jan., 1862.
Gentlemen,—I was highly gratified by the insertion of a portion of my letter in the last number of your valuable and entertaining Miscellany, though in a type which rendered its substance inaccessible even to the beautiful new spectacles presented to me by a Committee of the Parish on New Year's Day. I trust that I was able to bear your very considerable abridgment of my lucubrations with a spirit becoming a Christian. My third granddaughter, Rebekah, aged fourteen years, and whom I have trained to read slowly and with proper emphasis (a practice too much neglected in our modern systems of education), read aloud to me the excellent essay upon 'Old Age,' the author of which I cannot help suspecting to be a young man who has never yet known what it was to have snow (canities morosa) upon his own roof.Dissolve frigus, large super foco ligna reponens, is a rule for the young, whose woodpile is yet abundant for such cheerful lenitives. A good life behind him is the best thing to keep an old man's shoulders from shivering at every breath of sorrow or ill-fortune. But methinks it were easier for an old man to feel the disadvantages of youth than the advantages of age. Of these latter I reckon one of the chiefest to be this: that we attach a less inordinate value to our own productions, and, distrusting daily more and more our own wisdom (with the conceit whereof at twenty we wrap ourselves away from knowledge as with a garment), do reconcile ourselves with the wisdom of God. I could have wished, indeed, that room might have been made for the residue of the anecdote relating to Deacon Tinkham, which would not only have gratified a natural curiosity on the part of the publick (as I have reason to know from several letters of inquiry already received), but would also, as I think, have largely increased the circulation of your Magazine in this town.Nihil humani alienum, there is a curiosity about the affairs of our neighbors which is not only pardonable, but even commendable. But I shall abide a more fitting season.
As touching the following literary effort of Esquire Biglow, much might be profitably said on the topick of Idyllick and Pastoral Poetry, and concerning the proper distinctions to be made between them, from Theocritus, the inventor of the former, to Collins, the latest authour I know of who has emulated the classicks in the latter style. But in the time of a Civil War worthy a Milton to defend and a Lucan to sing, it may be reasonably doubted whether the publick, never too studious of serious instruction, might not consider other objects more deserving of present attention. Concerning the title of Idyll, which Mr. Biglow has adopted at my suggestion, it may not be improper to animadvert, that the name properly signifies a poem somewhat rustick in phrase (for, though the learned are not agreed as to the particular dialect employed by Theocritus, they are universanimous both as to its rusticity and its capacity of rising now and then to the level of more elevated sentiments and expressions), while it is also descriptive of real scenery and manners. Yet it must be admitted that the production now in question (which here and there bears perhaps too plainly the marks of my correcting hand) does partake of the nature of a Pastoral, inasmuch as the interlocutors therein are purely imaginary beings, and the whole is little better than [Greek: kapnou skias onar]. The plot was, as I believe, suggested by the 'Twa Brigs' of Robert Burns, a Scottish poet of the last century, as that found its prototype in the 'Mutual Complaint of Plainstanes and Causey' by Fergusson, though, the metre of this latter be different by a foot in each verse. Perhaps the Two Dogs of Cervantes gave the first hint. I reminded my talented young parishioner and friend that Concord Bridge had long since yielded to the edacious tooth of Time. But he answered me to this effect: that there was no greater mistake of an authour than to suppose the reader had no fancy of his own; that, if once that faculty was to be called into activity, it werebetterto be in for the whole sheep than the shoulder; and that he knew Concord like a book,—an expression questionable in propriety, since there are few things with which he is not more familiar than with the printed page. In proof of what he affirmed, he showed me some verses which with others he had stricken out as too much delaying the action, but which I communicate in this place because they rightly define 'punkin-seed' (which Mr. Bartlett would have a kind of perch,—a creature to which I have found a rod or pole not to be so easily equivalent in our inland waters as in the books of arithmetic) and because it conveys an eulogium on the worthy son of an excellent father, with whose acquaintance (eheu, fugaces anni!) I was formerly honoured.
'But nowadays the Bridge ain't wut they show,So much ez Em'son, Hawthorne, an' Thoreau.I know the village, though; was sent there onceA-schoolin', 'cause to home I played the dunce;An' I 've ben sence a visitin' the Jedge,Whose garding whispers with the river's edge,Where I 've sot mornin's lazy as the bream,Whose on'y business is to head upstream,(We call 'em punkin-seed,) or else in chatAlong 'th the Jedge, who covers with his hatMore wit an' gumption an' shrewd Yankee senseThan there is mosses on an ole stone fence.'
Concerning the subject-matter of the verses. I have not the leisure at present to write so fully as I could wish, my time being occupied with the preparation of a discourse for the forthcoming bicentenary celebration of the first settlement of Jaalam East Parish. It may gratify the publick interest to mention the circumstance, that my investigations to this end have enabled me to verify the fact (of much historick importance, and hitherto hotly debated) that Shearjashub Tarbox was the first child of white parentage born in this town, being named in his father's will under date August 7th, or 9th, 1662. It is well known that those who advocate the claims of Mehetable Goings are unable to find any trace of her existence prior to October of that year. As respects the settlement of the Mason and Slidell question, Mr. Biglow has not incorrectly stated the popular sentiment, so far as I can judge by its expression in this locality. For myself, I feel more sorrow than resentment: for I am old enough to have heard those talk of England who still, even after the unhappy estrangement, could not unschool their lips from calling her the Mother-Country. But England has insisted on ripping up old wounds, and has undone the healing work of fifty years; for nations do not reason, they only feel, and thespretæ injuria formærankles in their minds as bitterly as in that of a woman. And because this is so, I feel the more satisfaction that our Government has acted (as all Governments should, standing as they do between the people and their passions) as if it had arrived at years of discretion. There are three short and simple words, the hardest of all to pronounce in any language (and I suspect they were no easier before the confusion of tongues), but which no man or nation that cannot utter can claim to have arrived at manhood. Those words are,I was wrong;and I am proud that, while England played the boy, our rulers had strength enough from the People below and wisdom enough from God above to quit themselves like men.
The sore points on both sides have been skilfully exasperated by interested and unscrupulous persons, who saw in a war between the two countries the only hope of profitable return for their investment in Confederate stock, whether political or financial. The always supercilious, often insulting, and sometimes even brutal tone of British journals and publick men has certainly not tended to soothe whatever resentment might exist in America.
'Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love,But why did you kick me down stairs?'
We have no reason to complain that England, as a necessary consequence of her clubs, has become a great society for the minding of other people's business, and we can smile good-naturedly when she lectures other nations on the sins of arrogance and conceit: but we may justly consider it a breach of the politicalconvenanceswhich are expected to regulate the intercourse of one well-bred government with another, when men holding places in the ministry allow themselves to dictate our domestic policy, to instruct us in our duty, and to stigmatize as unholy a war for the rescue of whatever a high-minded people should hold most vital and most sacred. Was it in good taste, that I may use the mildest term, for Earl Russell to expound our own Constitution to President Lincoln, or to make a new and fallacious application of an old phrase for our benefit, and tell us that the Rebels were fighting for independence and we for empire? As if all wars for independence were by nature just and deserving of sympathy, and all wars for empire ignoble and worthy only of reprobation, or as if these easy phrases in any way characterized this terrible struggle,—terrible not so truly in any superficial sense, as from the essential and deadly enmity of the principles that underlie it. His Lordship's bit of borrowed rhetoric would justify Smith O'Brien, Nana Sahib, and the Maori chieftains, while it would condemn nearly every war in which England has ever been engaged. Was it so very presumptuous in us to think that it would be decorous in English statesmen if they spared time enough to acquire some kind of knowledge, though of the most elementary kind, in regard to this country and the questions at issue here, before they pronounced so off-hand a judgment? Or is political information expected to come Dogberry-fashion in England, like reading and writing, by nature?