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It ’ll blow for a spell an' keep puffin' an' wheezin',
The tighter our army an' navy keep squeezin',
For they can't help spread-eaglein' long ’z ther' 's

a mouth
To blow Enfield's Speaker thru lef' at the South.
But it's high time for us to be settin' our faces
Towards reconstructin' the national basis,
With an eye to beginnin' agin on the jolly ticks
We used to chalk up 'hind the back-door o'poli-

tics; An' the fus' thing 's to save wut of Slav'ry ther' 's

lef' Arter this (I mus' call it) imprudence o' Jeff : For a real good Abuse, with its roots fur an' wide, Is the kin' o' thing I like to hev on my side ; A Scriptur' name makes it ez sweet ez a rose, An' it's tougher the older an' uglier it grows (I ain't speakin' now o' the righteousness of it, But the p’litickle purchase it gives an' the profit).

Things look pooty squally, it must be allowed,
An' I don't see much signs of a bow in the cloud :
Ther''s too many Deemocrats leaders wut's

wuss

Thet

go

for the Union 'thout carin' a cuss Ef it helps ary party thet ever wuz heard on, So our eagle ain't made a split Austrian bird on. But ther' 's still some consarvative signs to be

found Thet shows the gret heart o' the People is sound: (Excuse me for usin' a stump-phrase agin, But, once in the way on 't, they will stick like sin :)

There's Phillips, for instance, hez jes' ketched a

Tartar In the Law-’n’-Order Party of ole Cincinnater; An' the Compromise System ain't gone out o’

reach, Long 'z you keep the right limits on freedom o'

speech. 'T warn't none too late, neither, to put on the gag, For he 's dangerous now he goes in for the flag. Nut thet I altogether approve o' bad eggs, They ’re mos' gin'lly argymunt on its las' legs, An' their logic is ept to be tu indiscriminate, Nor don't ollus wait the right objecs to 'liminate ; But there is a variety on 'em, you 'll find, Jest ez usefle an' more, besides bein' refined, I mean o' the sort thet are laid by the dictionary, Sech ez sophisms an' cant, thet 'll kerry conviction

ary Way thet you want to the right class o' men, An' are staler than all 't ever come from a hen: " Disunion” done wal till our resh Southun friends Took the savor all out on 't for national ends; But I guess “ Abolition " 'll work a spell yit, When the war 's done, an' so will “ Forgive-an’

forgit.” Times mus' be pooty thoroughly out o' all jint, Ef we can't make a good constitootional pint; An' the good time 'll come to be grindin' our exes, When the war goes to seed in the nettle o' texes: Ef Jon'than don't squirm, with sech helps to assist

him, I give up my faith in the free-suffrage system;

Democ'cy wun't be nut a mite interestin',
Nor p’litikle capital much wuth investin’;
An' my notion is, to keep dark an' lay low
Till we see the right minute to put in our blow.

But I've talked longer now 'n I hed any idee,
An' ther''s others you want to hear more ’n you

du me;

So I'll set down an' give thet ’ere bottle a skrim

mage, For I've spoke till I'm dry ez a real graven image.

No. VI.

SUNTHIN' IN THE PASTORAL LINE

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

JAALAM, 17th May, 1862. GENTLEMEN, At the special request of Mr. Biglow, I intended to inclose, together with his own contribution, (into which, at my suggestion, he has thrown a little more of pastoral sentiment than usual,) some passages

my sermon on the day of the National Fast, froin the text, “Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them," Heb. xiii. 3. But I have not leisure sufficient at present for the copying of them, even were I altogether satisfied with the production as it stands. I should prefer, I confess, to contribute the entire discourse to the pages of your respectable miscellany, if it should be found acceptable upon perusal, especially as I find the difficulty in selection of greater magnitude than I had anticipated. What passes without challenge in the fervour of oral delivery, cannot always stand the colder criticism of the closet. I am not so great an enemy of Eloquence as my friend Mr. Biglow would appear to be from some passages in his contribution for the current month. I would not, indeed, hastily suspect him of covertly glancing at myself in his somewhat caustick animadversions, albeit some of the phrases he girds at are not entire strangers to my lips. I am a more hearty admirer of the Puritans than seems now to be the fashion, and believe, that, if they Hebraized a little too much in their speech, they showed remarkable practical sagacity as statesmen and founders. But such phenomena as Puritanism are the results rather of great religious than of merely social convulsions, and do not long survive them. So soon as an earnest conviction has cooled into a phrase, its work is over, and the best that can be done with it is to bury it. Ite, missa est. I am inclined to agree with Mr. Biglow that we cannot settle the great political questions which are now presenting themselves to the nation by the opinions of Jeremiah or Ezekiel as to the wants and duties of the Jews in their time, nor do I believe that an entire community with their feelings and views would be practicable or even agreeable at the present day. At the same time I could wish that their habit of subordinating the actual to the moral, the flesh to the spirit, and this world to the other, were more common. They had found out, at least, the great military secret that soul weighs more than body. – But I am suddenly called to a sick-bed in the household of a valued arishioner.

from

With esteem and respect,
Your obedient servant,

HOMER WILBUR.

ONCE git a smell o’musk into a draw, - 1
An' it clings hold like precerdents in law :
Your gra’ma'am put it there, —- when, goodness

knows, -
To jes' this-worldify her Sunday-clo'es;
But the old chist wun't sarve her gran’son's wife,
(For, 'thout new funnitoor, wut good in life ?)
An' so ole clawfoot, from the precinks dread
O'the spare chamber, slinks into the shed,
Where, dim with dust, it fust or last subsides
To holdin' seeds an' fifty things besides ;
But better days stick fast in heart an' husk,
An' all you keep in 't gits a scent o' musk.

/

Jes’ so with poets : wut they ’ve airly read
Gits kind o' worked into their heart an' head,
So 's 't they can't seem to write but jest on sheers
With furrin countries or played-out ideers,
Nor hev a feelin', ef it doos n't smack
O’wut some critter chose to feel ’way back:
This makes 'em talk o’ daisies, larks, an' things,
Ez though we'd nothin' here that blows an'

sings, -

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