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b'leeve I've notist, to one of the cumpany, breath,

sez I ag'in. “ You 're a good an' thet 's more than wut you can say of lad,” sez he, his eyes sort of ripplin' like, most speshes of talkin'. Nex' comes the for he lost a babe onct nigh about her age, gittin' the goodwill of the orjunce by lettin' --"you 're a good lad; but 't ain't thet 'em gether from wut you kind of ex'den- nuther," sez be. “Ef you want to know," tally let drop thet they air about East, A sez he, “open your winder of a mornin' et one, an' no mistaik, skare 'em up an' take ary season, and you 'll larn thet the best of 'em as they rise. Spring interdooced with perfooms is jest fresh air, fresh air," sez a fiew approput flours. Speach finally he, enıpbysizin', “athout no mixtur. Tbet's begins witch nobuddy need n't feel oboly- wut I call natur in writin', and it bathes gated to read as I never read 'em an'never my lungs and washes 'em sweet whenever shell this one ag'in. Subjick staited ; ex- I git a whiff on't," sez he. I offen think panded; delayted; extended. Pump lively. o'thet when I set down to write, but the Subjick staited ag'in so 's to avide all mis- winders air so ept to git stuck, an' breakin' taiks. Ginnle remarks ; continooed ; ker- a pane costs sunthin'. ried on; pushed furder; kind o'gin out. Yourn for the last time, Subjick restaited ; dielooted ; stirred up 1

Nut to be continooed, permiscoous. Pump ag'in. Gits back to

HOSEA BIGLOW. where he sot out. Can't seem to stay thair. Ketches into Mr. Seaward's hair. Breaks I don't much s’pose, hows’ever I should loose ag'in an' staits his subjick ; stretches plen it, it ; turns it; folds it ;

onfolds it; folds it I could git boosted into th' House or Senag'in so's 't no one can't find it. Argoos nit, with an imedginary bean thet ain't aloud to Nut while the twolegged gab-machine's so say nothin' in repleye. Gives him a real plenty, good dressin' an' is settysfide he's rite. 'nablin' one man to du the talk o'twenty ; Gits into Johnson's hair. No use tryin' to I'm one o' them thet finds it ruther bard git into his head. Gives it up: Hez to To mannyfactur' wisdom by the yard, stait his subjick ag'in ; doos it back'ards, An’ maysure off, accordin' to demand, sideways, eend ways, criss-cross, bevellin', The piece-goods el'kence that I keep on noways. Gits finally red on it. Concloods.

hand, Concloods more. Reads some xtrax. Sees The same ole pattern runnin' thru an' his subjick a-nosin' round arter him ag'in.

thru, Tries to avide it. Wun't du. Misstates An' nothin' but the customer thet's new. it. Can't conjectur' no other plawsable I sometimes think, the furder on I go, way of staytin' on it. Tries pump. No Thet it gits harder to feel sure I know, fx. Finely concloods to conclood. * Yeels An' when I've settled my idees, I find the flore.

't warn’t I sheered most in makin' up my You kin spall an' punctooate thet as you

mind; please. I allus do, it kind of puts a noo 't wuz this an' thet an' t other thing thet soot of close onto a word, thisere funattick

done it, spellin' doos an' takes 'em out of the pris- Sunthin' in th' air, I could n' seek nor shun sen dress they wair in the Dixonary. Ef I

it. squeeze the cents out of 'em it's the main Mos' folks go off so quick now in discusz thing, an' wut they wuz made for ; wut's

sion, left 's jest pummis.

All th' ole flint-locks seems altered to perMistur Wilbur sez he to me onct, sez he,

cussion, “Hosee," sez be, “in litterytoor the only Whilst I in agin' sometimes git a hint, good thing is Natur. It's amazin' hard Thet I'm percussion changin' back to flint; to come at," sez be, “but onct git it an' Wal, ef it's so, I ain't agoin' to werrit, you've gut everythin'. Wut's the sweet- For th' ole Queen's-arm hez this pertickler est small on airth ? ” sez he. “Noomone

merit, hay," sez I, pooty bresk, for he wuz allus It gives the mind a bahnsome wedth o' hankerin' round in hayin'. “ Nawthin' of

margin the kine," sez he. "My leetle Huldy's | To kin'o make its will afore dischargin':

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I can't make out but jest one ginnle

rule, No man need go an’ make himself a fool, Nor jedgment ain't like mutton, thet can't

bear Cookin' tu long, nor be took up tu rare. Ez I wuz say'n', I hain't no chance to

speak So's 't all the country dreads me onct a

week, But I've consid'ble o’thet sort o' head Thet sets to home an' thinks wut might be

said, The sense thet grows an’ werrits under

neath, Comin' belated like your wisdom-teeth, An' git so el’kent, sometimes, to my gardin Thet I don' vally public life a fardin'. Our Parson Wilbur (blessin's on his head !) 'mongst other stories of ole times he hed, Talked of a feller thet rehearsed his

spreads Beforeban’ to his rows o' kebbige-heads, (Ef 't warn't Demossenes, I guess 't woz

Sisro,) Appealin' fust to thet an' then to this

row, Accordin' ez he thought thet his idees Their diff'runt ev'riges o' brains 'ould

please ; “ An'," sez the Parson, “to hit right, you

must Git used to maysurin' your hearers fust; For, take my word for 't, when all's come

So 's 't my tongue itches to run on full

swing, I fin''em ready-planted in March-meetin', Warm ez

a lýceum - audience in their

greetin', An' pleased to hear my spoutin' frum the

fence, Comin', ez 't doos, entirely free 'f expense. This year

I made the follerin' observations Extrump’ry, like most other tri’ls o'pa

tience, An', no reporters bein' sent express To work their abstrac's up into a mess Ez like th' oridg’nal ez a woodcut pictur' Thet chokes the life out like a boy-constric

tor, I've writ 'em out, an' so avide all jeal'sies 'twixt nonsense o' my own an' some one's



(N. B. Reporters gin'lly git a hint ìo make dull orjunces seem 'live in print, An', ez I hev t report myself, I vum, I'll put th' applauses where they'd ough?

to come !)

an' past,

The kebbige-heads 'll cair the day et last; Th' ain't ben a meetin' sence the worl'

begun But they made (raw or biled ones) ten to



green, I vow to gracious thet ef I could dreen The world of all its hearers but jest you, 't would leave 'bout all tha' is wuth talkin'

to, An' you, my ven’able ol' frien’s, thet show Upon your crowns a sprinklin' o' March

snow, Ez ef mild Time bad christened every sense For wisdom's church o' second innocence, Nut Age's winter, no, no sech a thing, But jest a kin' o' slippin’-back o' spring,

[Sev'ril noses blowed.] We've gathered here, ez ushle, to decide Which is the Lord's an' which is Satan's

side, Coz all the good or evil thet can beppen Is 'long o' which on 'em you choose for Cappen.

(Cries o' "Thet 's so.''] Aprul's come back ; the swellin' buds of

oak Dim the fur hillsides with a purplish

smoke ; The brooks are loose an', singing to be seen, (Like gals,) make all the hollers soft an

green ;

I've allus foun' 'em, I allow, sence then
About ez good for talkin' tu ez men ;
They 'll take edvice, like other folks, to

keep, (To use it 'ould be holdin' on 't tu cheap,) They listen wal, don' kick up when you

scold 'em, An' ef they've tongues, hev sense enough

to hold 'em; Though th’ain't no denger we shall lose

the breed, I gin'lly keep a score or so for seed, An' when my sappiness gits spry in spring,

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you ?

last year

The birds are here, for all the season's

late; They take the sun's height an' don' never

wait; Soon 'z he officially declares it's spring, Their light hearts lift 'em on a north’ard

wing, An' th' ain't an acre, fur ez you can hear, Can't by the music tell the time o' year; But thet white dove Carliny scared away, Five year ago, jes' sech an Aprul day; Peace, that we hoped 'ould come an' build An'coo by every housedoor, is n't here, No, nor wun't never be, for all our jaw, Till we ’re ez brave in pol'tics ez in war ! O Lord, ef folks wuz made so's 't they

could see The begnet-pint there is to an idee !

[Sensation.] Ten times the danger in 'em th' is in steel; They run your soul thru an' you never feel, But crawl about an' seem to think you 're

livin', Poor shells o' men, nut wuth the Lord's

forgivin', Tell you come bunt ag'in a real live fect, An' go to pieces when you 'd ough' to ect! Thet kin' o' begnet 's wut we 're crossin'

now, An' no man, fit to nevvigate a scow, 'ould stan' expectin' help from Kingdom

Come, While t'other side druv their cold iron


'T was commonsense afore the war wuz

thru; Thet loaded all our guns an' made 'em

speak So's 't Europe heared 'em clearn acrost

the creek; “ They're drivin' o'their spiles down now,"

sez she, “To the hard grennit o' God's fust idee ; Ef they reach thet, Democ'cy need n't fear The tallest airthquakes we can git up here." Some call 't insultin' to ask ary pledge, An' say 't will only set their teeth on edge, But folks you've jest licked, fur 'z I ever

see, Are 'bout ez mad 'z they wal know how to be; It's better than the Rebs themselves ex

pected 'fore they see Uncle Sam wilt down hen

pected; Be kind 'z you please, but fustly make

things fast, For plain Truth 's all the kindness thet 'll

last; Ef treason is a crime, ez some folks say, How could we punish it in a milder way Than sayin' to 'em,“ Brethren, lookee here, We'll jes' divide things with ye, sheer an'

sheer, An’sence both come o' pooty strong-backed

daddies, You take the Darkies, ez we've took the

Paddies; Ign'ant an' poor we took 'em by the band, An' they're the bones an' sinners o' the

land.” I ain't o' them thet fancy there's a loss on Every inves'ment thet don't start from

Bos'on; But I know this: our money 's safest trusted In sunthin', come wut will, thet can't be

busted, An' thet 's the old Amerikin idee,

My frien's, you never gethered from my

mouth, No, nut one word ag'in the South ez South, Nor th' ain't a livin' man, white, brown,

nor black, Gladder 'n wut I should be to take 'em

back; But all I ask of Uncle Sam is fust To write up on his door, “ No goods on trust” ;

[Cries O' "Thet 's the ticket!”] Give us cash down in ekle laws for all, An' they 'll be snug inside afore nex' fall. Give wut they ask, an' we shell hev Jama

ker, Wuth minus some consid'able an acre ; Give wut they need, an' we shell git 'fore

long A nation all one piece, rich, peacefle, strong;

To make a man a Man an' let him be.

[Gret applause.) Ez for their l’yalty, don't take a goad to't, But I do? want to block their only road

to 't By lettin' 'em believe thet they can git Mor 'n wut they lost, out of our little wit: I tell ye wut, I'm 'fraid we 'll drif' to lee

ward 'thout we can put more stiffenin' into

Seward; He seems to think Columby 'd better ect Like a scared widder with a boy stiff

necked Thet stomps an' swears he wun't come in

to supper; She mus' set up for him, ez weak ez

Tupper, Keepin' the Constitootion on to warm, Tell he 'll eccept her 'pologies in forin: The neighbors tell her he's a cross-grained

cuss Thet needs a hidin' 'fore he comes to wus; “ No," sez Ma Seward, “he 's ez good 'z

the best, All he wants now is sugar-plums an' rest; “He sarsed my Pa,” sez one; "He stoned

my son, Another edds. “Oh wal, 't wus jes' his

fun." “He tried to shoot our Uncle Samwell

dead.” “'T wuz only tryin' a noo gun he hed.”. “ Wal, all we ask 's to hev it understood You'll take his gun away from him for

good; We don't, wal, nut exac'ly, like his play, Seein' he allus kin' o' shoots our way. You kill your fatted calves to no good

eend, 'thout his fust sayin', Mother, I hev sinned!'"

[" Amen!” frum Deac'n Greenleaf.]

To cut up ez kentenkerous ez I please,
An' treat your Congress like a nest o'

fleas?Wal, I expec' the People would n' care, if The question now wuz techin' bank or

tariff, But I conclude they've 'bout made up

their min' This ain't the fittest time to go it blin', Nor these ain't metters thet with pol'tios

swings, But goes 'way down amongst the roots o'

things; Coz Sumner talked o' whitewashin' one

day They wun't let four years' war be throwed

away. “Let the South hev her rights ?” They


“ Thet's you ! But nut greb hold of other folks's tu.” Who owns this country, is it they or Andy ? Leastways it ough' to be the People and

he; Let him be senior pardner, ef he's so, But let them kin' o'smuggle in ez Co;

[Laughter.] Did he diskiver it? Consid'ble numbers Think thet the job wuz taken by Columbus. Did he set tu an' make it wut it is ? Ef so, I

guess the One-Man-power hez riz. Did he put thru the rebbles, clear the

docket, An' pay th'expenses out of his own pocket? Ef thet 's the case, then everythin' I exes Is t'hev him come an' pay my ennooal texes.

(Profoun' sensation.] Was 't be thet shou’dered all them million


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The Pres'dunt he thinks thet the slickest

plan 'ould be t' allow thet he's our on'y man, An' thet we fit thru all thet dreffle war Jes' for his private glory an' eclor; “Nobody ain't a Union man,” sez he, “ 'thout he agrees, thru thick an' thin, with

me; Warn't Andrew Jackson's 'nitials jes' like

mine ? An' ain't thet sunthin like a right divine

Did he lose all the fathers, brothers, sons ?
Is this ere pop'lar gov'ment thet we run
A kin' o' sulky, made to kerry one ?
An' is the country goin' to knuckle down
To hev Smith sort their letters 'stid o'

Who wnz the 'Nited States 'fore Richmon'

fell ? Wuz the South needfle their full name to

spell? An' can't we spell it in thet short-han' way Till th' underpinnin' 's settled so 's to

stay? Who cares for the Resolves of '61, Thet tried to coax an airthquake with a

ban? Hez act’ly nothin' taken place sence then

my het:


To larn folks they must hendle fects like An' I, for one, shall wish they 'd all ben men ?

som'eres, Ain't this the true p'int? Did the Rebs Long 'z U. S. Texes are sech reg'lar comers. accep''em ?

But, O my patience ! must we wriggle Ef nut, whose fault is 't thet we hev n't

back kep 'em ?

Into th' ole crooked, pettyfoggin' track, War n't there two sides ? an' don't it stend When our artil'ry-wheels a road hev cut to reason

Stret to our purpose ef we keep the rut? Thet this week's 'Nited States ain't las' War 's jes' dead waste excep' to wipe the week's treason ?

slate When all these sums is done, with nothin' Clean for the cyph'rin' of some nobler fate. missed,

[Applause.) An' nut afore, this school 'll be dismissed. Ez for dependin' on their oaths an' thet,

't wun't bind 'em mor 'n the ribbin roun' I knowed ez wal ez though I'd seen 't with eyes

I heared a fable once from Othniel Starns, Thet when the war wuz over copper 'd That pints it slick ez weathercocks do rise,

barns: An' thet we'd hev a rile-up in our kettle Onct on a time the wolves hed certing 't would need Leviathan's whole skin to

rights settle:

Inside the fold ; they used to sleep there I thought 't would take about a generation nights, 'fore we could wal begin to be a nation, An', bein' cousins o' the dogs, they took But I allow I never did imegine

Their turns et watchin', reg'lar ez a book; 't would be our Pres'dunt thet 'ould drive But somehow, when the dogs bed gut a wedge in

asleep, To keep the split from closin' ef it could, Their love o' mutton beat their love o' An' healin' over with new wholesome wood;

sheep, For th' ain't no chance o' healin' while they Till gradilly the shepherds come to see think

Things war'n't agoin' ez they'd ough' to be; Thet law an' gov'ment 's only printer's ink; So they sent off a deacon to remonstrate I mus' confess I thank him for discoverin' Along 'th the wolves an' urge 'em to go on The curus way in which the States are sov- straight; ereign;

They did n' seem to set much by the deaThey ain't nut quite enough so to rebel,

con, But, when they fin' it's costly to raise h, Nor preachin' did n' cow 'em, nut to speak [A groan from Deac'n G.]

on; Why, then, for jes’ the same superl'tive Fin’ly they swore thet they 'd go out an' reason,

stay, They're 'most too much so to be tetched An' hev their fill o' mutton every day; for treason;

Then dogs an' shepherds, after much hard They can't go out, but ef they somehow du, dammin', Their sovereignty don't noways go out tu;

[Groan from Deac'n G.) The State goes out, the sovereignty don't Turned tu an' give 'em a tormented lamstir,

min', But stays to keep the door ajar for her.

“ Ye sha'n't go out, the murrain He thinks secession never took 'em out, An' mebby he's correc', but I misdoubt; To keep us wastin' half our time to watch Ef they war'n't out, then why, ’n the name

But then the question come, How live toMake all this row 'bout lettin' of 'em in ?

gether In law, p'r’aps nut; but there 's a diffur- 'thout losin' sleep, nor nary yew por ence, ruther,

wether? Betwixt your mother-'n-law an' real mother, Now there wuz some dogs (noways wath

[Derisive cheers.)

their keep)


An' sez,

rot ye,



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