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No. IX.
A THIRD LETTER FROM B. SAWIN, Esq.

[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 would 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 background, 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 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 a v0a: et praeterea nihil, that 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 baulk our suffrages, we must content ourselves with what we can get, remembering lactucas non esse dandas, dum cardui sufficiant.—H. W.]

I SPOSE you recollect thet I explained my gennle Vie WS In the last billet thet I writ, 'way down frum Veery Cruze, Jest arter I’d a kind o' ben spontanously sot up To run unanimously fer the Presidential cup; O’ course it worn’t no wish o' mine, ’twuz ferfiely distressin', But poppiler enthusiasm gut so almighty pressin' Thet, though like sixty all along I fumed an’ fussed am’ 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 mime 'ould fit in, Besides 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, fur ez number one's consarned, I don’t make no objection.

I wuz agoin’ on to say thet wen at fust I saw

The masses would stick to"t I wuz the Country's father-in-law,

(They would ha’ hed it Father, but I told 'em 't wouldn’t du,

Coz thet wuz sutthin' of a sort they couldn't split

in tu, An' 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' moo an’ fresh, s

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 find Strong argimunts ez thick ez fleas to make me change my mind; - It's clear to any one whose brain ain’t fur gone in a phthisis, Thet hail Columby's happy land is goin’ thru a Crisis, An' 'twouldn't noways du to hev the people's mind distracted By 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 politishin

Begins to try et wut they call definin’ his posishin, Wal, I, fer one, feel sure he aint gut nothin’ to define ; It's so nine cases out o' ten, but jest that tenth is mine ; And 'taint no more’n is proper ‘n’ right in sech a sitooation To hint the course you think 'll be the savin’ o’ the nation ; To funk right out o' political 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 me To jest up killock, jam right down their hellum hard a lee, Haul the sheets taut, an’, laying out upon the Suthun tack, Make fer the safest port they can, wich, I think, is Ole Zack.

Next thing you'll want to know, I spose, wut argimunts I seem To see thet makes me think this ere’ll be the strongest team; Fust place, I’ve ben consid’ble round in bar-rooms an’ saloons Agethrin’ public sentiment, 'mongst Demmercrats and Coons, An' 'taint vely offen thet I meet a chap but wut goes in Fer Rough an’ Ready, fair an' square, huss, taller, horns, an’ skin; I don’t deny but wut, fer one, ez fur ez I could See, a didn’t like at fust the Pheladelphy nomernee :

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