Have left Lablache's out of sight,
Shook nobby heads, and said, "No go!
You'd better let 'em try to grow:
Old Doctor Time is slow, but still
He does know how to make a pill."

But vain was all their hoarsest bass,
Their old experience out of place,
And spite of croaking and entreating,
The vote was carried in marsh-meeting.

"Lord knows," protest the polliwogs,
"We're anxious to be grown-up frogs;
But do not undertake the work
Of Nature till she prove a shirk;
"T is not by jumps that she advances,
But wins her way by circumstances:
Pray, wait awhile, until you know
We're so contrived as not to grow;
Let Nature take her own direction,
And she 'll absorb our imperfection;
You might n't like 'em to appear with,
But we must have the things to steer with."

"No," piped the party of reform,
"All great results are ta'en by storm;
Fate holds her best gifts till we show
We've strength to make her let them go;
The Providence that works in history,
And seems to some folks such a mystery,
Does not creep slowly on incog.,
But moves by jumps, a mighty frog;
No more reject the Age's chrism,
Your queues are an anachronism;
No more the Future's promise mock,
But lay your tails upon the block,
Thankful that we the means have voted
To have you thus to frogs promoted."

The thing was done, the tails were cropped,
And home each philotadpole hopped,
In faith rewarded to exult,

And wait the beautiful result.

Too soon it came; our pool, so long
The theme of patriot bull-frog's song,
Next day was reeking, fit to smother,
With heads and tails that missed each other,-
Here snoutless tails, there tailless snouts;
The only gainers were the pouts.

MORAL.

From lower to the higher next,
Not to the top, is Nature's text;
And embryo Good, to reach full stature,
Absorbs the Evil in its nature.

I think that nothing will ever give permanent peace and security to this continent but the extirpation of Slavery therefrom, and that the occasion is nigh; but I would do nothing hastily or vindictively, nor presume to jog the elbow of Providence. No desperate

measures for me till we are sure that all others are hopeless, — flectere si nequeo SUPEROS, Acheronta movebo. To make Emancipation a reform instead of a revolution is worth a little patience, that we may have the Border States first, and then the non-slaveholders of the Cotton States, with us in principle, -a consummation that seems to be nearer than many imagine. Fiat justi tia, ruat cælum, is not to be taken in a literal sense by statesmen, whose problem is to get justice done with as little jar as possible to existing order, which has at least so much of heaven in it that it is not chaos. Our first duty toward our enslaved brother is to educate him, whether he be white or black. first need of the free black is to elevate himself according to the standard of this material generation. So soon as the Ethiopian goes in his chariot, he will find not only Apostles, but Chief Priests and Scribes and Pharisees willing to ride with him.

Nil habet infelix paupertas durius in se Quam quod ridiculos homines facit.

The

I rejoice in the President's late Message, which at last proclaims the Government on the side of freedom, justice, and sound policy.

As I write, comes the news of our disaster at Hampton Roads. I do not understand the supineness which, after fair warning, leaves wood to an unequal conflict with iron. It is not enough merely to have the right on our side, if we stick to the old flint-lock of tradition. I have observed in my parochial experience (haud ignarus mali) that the Devil is prompt to adopt the latest inventions of destructive warfare, and may thus take even such a three-decker as Bishop Butler at an advantage. It is curious, that, as gunpowder made armour useless on shore, so armour is having its revenge by baffling its old enemy at sea, and that, while gunpowder robbed land warfare of nearly all its picturesqueness to give even greater stateliness and sublimity to a sea-fight, armour bids fair to degrade th

latter imo a squabble between two ironshelled turtles.

Yours, with esteem and respect,

HOMER WILbur, A. M.

P. S.I had wellnigh forgotten to say that the object of this letter is to enclose a communication from the gifted pen of Mr. Biglow.

I SENT you a messige, my friens, t'other day,

To tell you I'd nothin' pertickler to say: "T wuz the day our new nation gut kin' o' stillborn,

So 't wuz my pleasant dooty t' acknowledge the corn,

An' I see clearly then, ef I did n't before,

Thet the augur in inauguration means bore.

I need n't tell you thet my messige wuz written

To diffuse correc' notions in France an' Gret Britten,

An' agin to impress on the poppylar mind

The comfort an' wisdom o' goin' it blind,

To say thet I did n't abate not a hooter O' my faith in a happy an' glorious

futur',

Ez rich in each soshle an' p❜litickle blessin'

Ez them thet we now hed the joy o' possessin'

With a people united, an' longin' to die For wut we call their country, without askin' why,

An' all the gret things we concluded to slope for

Ez much within reach now ez everto hope for.

We've gut all the ellerments, this very hour,

Thet make up a fus'-class, self-governin' power:

We've a war, an' a debt, an' a flag; an' ef this

Ain't to be inderpendunt, why, wut on airth is?

An' nothin' now henders our takin' our station

events

By the low Yankee stan'ard o' dollars an' cents:

They seem to forgit, thet, sence last year revolved,

We 've succeeded in gittin' seceshed an' dissolved,

An' thet no one can't hope to git thru dissolootion

'Thout some kin' o' strain on the best Constitootion.

Who asks for a prospec' more flettrin' an' bright,

When from here clean to Texas it 's all one free fight?

Hain't we rescued from Seward the gret leadin' featurs

Thet makes it wuth while to be reasonin' creaturs?

For the former you'll hev to consult on a plan, Though our fust want (an' this pint I

want your best views on)

Is plausible paper to print I. O. U.s on. Some gennlemen think it would cure all our cankers

In the way o' finance, ef we jes' hanged the bankers;

An' I own the proposle 'ud square with my views,

Ef their lives wuz n't all thet we'd left, 'em to lose.

Some say thet more confidence might be inspired,

Ef we voted our cities an' towns to be fired,

A plan thet 'ud suttenly tax our endurance,

Coz 't would be our own bills we should git for th' insurance;

But cinders, no metter how sacred we think 'em,

Might n't strike furrin minds ez good sources of income,

Nor the people, perhaps, would n't like the eclaw

O' bein' all turned into paytriots by law.

Some want we should buy all the cotton au' burn it,

On a pledge, when we 've gut thru the war, to return it, Then to take the proceeds an' hold them ez security

For an issue o' bonds to be met at maturity

With an issue o' notes to be paid in hard cash

On the fus' Monday follerin' the 'tarnal Allsmash :

This hez a safe air, an', once hold o' the gold,

'Ud leave our vile plunderers out in the cold,

An' might temp' John Bull, ef it warn't for the dip he

Once gut from the banks o' my own Massissippi.

Some think we could make, by arrangin' the figgers,

A hendy home-currency out of our niggers;

But it wun't du to lean much on ary sech staff,

For they're gittin' tu current a'ready, by half.

One gennleman says, ef we lef' our loan out

Where Floyd could git hold on 't, he'd take it, no doubt;

But 't ain't jes' the takin', though 't hez a good look,

We mus' git sunthin' out on it arter it's took,

An' we need now more 'n ever, with

sorrer I own,

Thet some one another should let us a loan,

Sence a soger wun't fight, on'y jes' while he draws his

Pay down on the nail, for the best of all causes,

about sessiges :

Folks wun't take a bond ez a basis to trade on,

Without nosin' round to find out wut it's made on,

An' the thought more an' more thru the public min' crosses Thet our Treshry hez gut 'mos' too many dead hosses.

Wut's called credit, you see, is some like a balloon,

Thet looks while it 's up 'most ez harnsome 'z a moon,

But once git a leak in 't an' wut looked so grand

Caves righ' down in a jiffy ez flat ez your hand.

Now the world is a dreffle mean place,

Wun't change bein' starved into livin' on clover.

Manassas done sunthin' tow'rds drawin' the wool

O'er the_green, antislavery eyes o' John Bull :

Oh, warn't it a godsend, jes' when sech tight fixes

Wuz crowdin' us mourners, to throw double-sixes !

I wuz tempted to think, an' it wuz n't no wonder,

Ther' wuz reelly a Providence, -over or under,

When, all packed for Nashville, I fust ascertained

From the papers up North wut a victory we'd gained.

'T wuz the time for diffusin' correc' views abroad

Of our union an' strength an' relyin' on God;

An', fact, when I'd gut thru my fust big surprise,

much ez half b'lieved in my own

We hain't hed no more) hev ben clean vicy-varsy,

An' wut Spartans wuz lef' when the battle wuz done

Wuz them thet wuz too unambitious to

run.

Oh, ef we hed on'y jes' gut Reecognition,

Things now would ha' ben in a different position!

You'd ha' hed all you wanted: the paper blockade

Smashed up into toothpicks, -unlimited trade

In the one thing thet's needfle, till

niggers, I swow,

Hed ben thicker 'n provisional shinplasters now, —

Quinine by the ton 'ginst the shakes when they seize ye,

Nice paper to coin into C. S. A. specie ; The voice of the driver 'd be heerd in our land,

An' the univarse scringe, ef we lifted our hand:

Would n't thet be some like a fulfillin' the prophecies,

With all the fus' fem'lies in all the fust offices?

'T wuz a beautiful dream, an' all sorrer is idle, But ef Lincoln would ha' hanged Ma

son an' Slidell !

For would n't the Yankees hev found

they'd ketched Tartars,

Ef they'd raised two sech critters as them into martyrs?

Mason wuz F. F. V., though a cheap card to win on,

But t'other was jes' New York trash to begin on;

They ain't o' no good in Európean pellices,

But think wut a help they 'd ha' ben on their gallowses!

They'd ha' felt they wuz truly fulfillin' their mission,

An', oh, how dog-cheap we'd ha' gut Reecognition !

But somehow another, wutever we 've tried,

Though the the'ry 's fust-rate, the facs wun't coincide:

Your Belmonts, Vallandighams, Woodses, an' sech,

Poor shotes thet ye could n't persuade us to tech,

Not in ornery times, though we 're willin' to feed 'em

With a nod now an' then, when we happen to need 'em ;

Why, for my part, I'd ruther shake hands with a nigger

Than with cusses that load an' don't darst dror a trigger;

They're the wust wooden nutmegs the Yankees produce,

Shaky everywheres else, an' jes' sound on the goose;

They ain't wuth a cuss, an' I set nothin' by 'em,

But we 're in sech a fix thet I s'pose we mus' try 'em.

I- But, Gennlemen, here's a do spatch jes' come in