them, if at all. He holds our affections as hostages, the while he patches up a truce with our conscience. Meanwhile, let us not forget that the aim of the true satirist is not to be severe upon persons, but only upon falsehood, and, as Truth and Falsehood start from the same point, and sometimes even go along together for a little way, his business is to follow the path of the latter after it diverges, and to show her floundering in the bog at the end of it. Truth is quite beyond the reach of satire. There is so brave a simplicity in her, that she can no more be made ridiculous than an oak or a pine. The danger of the satirist is, that continual use may deaden his sensibility to the force of language. He becomes more and more liable to strike harder than he knows or intends. He may be careful to put on his boxing-gloves, and yet forget, that, the older they grow, the more plainly may the knuckles inside be felt. Moreover, in the heat of contest, the eye is insensibly drawn to the crown of victory, whose tawdry tinsel glitters through that dust of the ring which obscures Truth's wreath of simple leaves. I have sometimes thought that my young friend, Mr. Biglow, needed a monitory hand laid on his arm-aliquid sufflaminandus erat. I have never thought it good husbandry to water the tender plants of reform with aqua fortis, yet, where so much is to do in the beds, he were a sorry gardener who should wage a whole day's war with an iron scuffle on those ill weeds that make the garden-walks of life unsightly, when a sprinkle of Attic salt will wither them up. Est ars etiam maledicendi, says Scaliger, and truly it is a hard thing to say where the graceful gentleness of the lamb merges in downright sheepishness. We may conclude with worthy and wise Dr. Fuller, that 66 one may be a lamb in private wrongs, but in hearing general affronts to goodness they are asses which are not lions."-H. W.] GUVENER B.* is a sensible man ; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks ; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ;— Robinsont he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him, o' course,-thet 's flat; Guess we shall hev to come round, (don't you?) An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that; Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man : He's ben on all sides thet give places or pelf; * [Governor Briggs, of Massachusetts, who, apart from a considerable political notoriety, acquired additional renown by never wearing a shirt collar.-J. C. H.] † [A well-known politician connected with the government of Massachusetts, who advocated the doctrine of extension, and a war with Mexico.-J. C. H.] [Caleb Cushing, a distinguished Colonel of the United States army in Mexico, and at one period Minister to China. -J. C. H.] But consistency still wuz a part of his plan,— So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. General C. he goes in fer the war; He don't vally principle more 'n an old cud; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer, But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood? So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut 's right an' wut aint, We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint; But John P. Robinson he Sez this kind o' thing 's an exploded idee. The side of our country must ollers be took, An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country; An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry ; An' John P. Robinson he Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T. Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies; Is half on it ignorance, an' t' other half rum ; Robinson he Sez it aint no sech thing; an', of course, so must we. Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats, An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes ; But John P. Robinson he Sez they did n't know everythin' down in Judee. Wal, it's a marcy we 've gut folks to tell us The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers, To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough; Fer John P. Robinson he Sez the world 'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee! [The attentive reader will doubtless have perceived in the foregoing poem an allusion to that pernicious sentiment,“Our country, right or wrong.” It is an abuse of language to call a certain portion of land, much more, certain personages elevated for the time being to high station, our country. I would not sever nor loosen a single one of those ties by which we are united to the spot of our birth, nor minish by a tittle the respect due to the Magistrate. I love our own Bay State too well to do the one, and as for the other, I have myself for nigh forty years exercised, however unworthily, the function of Justice of the Peace, having been called thereto by the unsolicited kindness of that most excellent man and upright patriot, Caleb Strong. Patriæ fumus igne alieno luculentior is best qualified with this,-Ubi libertas, ibi patria. We are inhabitants of two worlds, and owe a double, but not a divided, allegiance. In virtue of our clay, this little ball of earth exacts a certain loyalty of us, while, in our capacity as spirits, we are admitted citizens of an invisible and holier fatherland. There is a patriotism of the soul whose claim absolves us from our other and terrene fealty. Our true country is that ideal realm which we represent to ourselves under the names of religion, duty, and |