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O' wut it's meant for more 'n a smoky | Coz there the men ain't nothin' more 'n flue.

But du pray tell me, 'fore we furder go, How in all Natur' did you come to know 'bout our affairs," sez I, "in KingdomCome?"

"Wal, I worked round at sperrit-rappin' some,

An' danced the tables till their legs wuz gone,

In hopes o' larnin' wut wuz goin' on," Sez he, "but mejums lie so like all-split Thet I concluded it wuz best to quit. But, come now, ef you wun't confess to knowin',

You 've some conjectures how the thing's a-goin'.'

"Gran'ther," sez I, "a vane warn't never known

Nor asked to hev a jedgment of its own;
An' yit, ef 't ain't gut rusty in the jints,
It's safe to trust its say on certin pints:
It knows the wind's opinions to a T,
An' the wind settles wut the weather 'll
be."

"I never thought a scion of our stock Could grow the wood to make a weather

cock;

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nor you,

The pinch comes in decidin' wut to du; Ef you read History, all runs smooth ez

grease,

idees,

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Thet warms ye now, an' will a twelvemonth hence.

You took to follerin' where the Prophets beckoned,

An', fust you knowed on, back come Charles the Second;

Now wut I want 's to hev all we gain stick,

An' not to start Millennium too quick ; We hain't to punish only, but to keep, An' the cure 's gut to go a cent'ry deep." "Wal, milk-an'-water ain't the best o' glue,"

Sez he, "an' so you'll find before you're thru ;

Ef reshness venters sunthin', shilly

shally

Loses ez often wut's ten times the vally. Thet exe of ourn, when Charles's neck gut split,

Opened a gap thet ain't bridged over yit: Slav'ry's your Charles, the Lord hez gin the exe

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"Our Charles," sez I, "hez gut eight million necks.

The hardest question ain't the black man's right,

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"Strike soon," sez he, "or you'll be deadly ailin',

Folks thet 's afeared to fail are sure o' failin';

God hates your sneakin' creturs thet

believe

He'll settle things they run away an'

leave!"

He brought his foot down fercely, ez he spoke,

An' give me sech a startle thet I woke.

No. VII.

LATEST VIEWS OF MR. BIGLOW.

PRELIMINARY NOTE.

[IT is with feelings of the liveliest pain that we inform our readers of the death of the Reverend Homer Wilbur, A. M., which took place suddenly, by an apoplectic stroke, on the afternoon of Christinas day, 1862. Our venerable friend (for so we may venture to call him, though we never enjoyed the high privilege of his personal acquaintance) was in his eighty-fourth year, having been born June 12, 1779, at

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We regret that we have not room at present for the whole of Mr. Hitchcock's exceedingly valuable communication. We hope to lay more liberal extracts from it before our readers at an early day. summary of its contents will give some It contains: 1st, A biographical sketch of notion of its importance and interest. Mr. Wilbur, with notices of his predecessors in the pastoral office, and of eminent clerical contemporaries; 21, An obituary of deceased, from the Punkin-Falls "Weekly Parallel"; 3d, A list of his printed and manuscript productions and of projected works; 4th, Personal anecdotes and recollections, with specimens of table-talk; 5th, A tribute to his relict, Mrs. Dorcas (Pilcox) Wilbur; 6th, A list of graduates fitted for different colleges by Mr. Wilbur, with biographical memoranda touching the more distinguished; 7th, Concerning learned, charitable, and other societies, of which Mr. Wilbur was a member, and of those with which, had his life been prolonged, he would doubtless have been associated, with a complete catalogue of such Americans as have been Fellows of the Royal Society; 8th, A brief summary of Mr. Wilbur's latest conclusions concerning the Tenth Horn of the Beast in its special application to recent events for which the public, as Mr. Hitch

time, wholesome as I deem it for the mind to apricate in the shelter of epistolary coufidence, were it not that a considerable, I might even say a large, number of individ

cock assures us, have been waiting with feelings of lively anticipation; 9th, Mr. Hitchcock's own views on the same topic; and, 10th, A brief essay on the importance of local histories. It will be appar-uals in this parish expect from their pasent that the duty of preparing Mr. Wilbur's biography could not have fallen into more sympathetic hands.

tor some publick expression of sentimient at this crisis. Moreover, Qui tacitus ardet magis uritur. In trying times like these, the besetting sin of undisciplined minds is to seek refuge from inexplicable realities in the dangerous stimulant of angry partisanship or the indolent narcotick of vagne and hopeful vaticination: fortnamque suo temperat arbitrio. Both by reason of my age and my natural temperament, I an unfitted for either. Unable to penetrate the inscrutable judgments of God, I am more than ever thankful that my life has been prolonged till I could in some small measure comprehend His mercy. As there is no man who does not at some time render himself amenable to the one, — quum vix justus sit securus, —— so there is none that does not feel himself in daily need of the other.

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In a private letter with which the reverend gentleman has since favored us, he expresses the opinion that Mr. Wilbur's life was shortened by our unhappy civil war. It disturbed his studies, dislocated all his habitual associations and trains of thought, and unsettled the foundations of a faith, rather the result of habit than conviction, in the capacity of man for self-government. "Such has been the felicity of my life," he said to Mr. Hitchcock, on the very morning of the day he died, "that, through the divine mercy, I could always say, Summum nec metuo diem, nec opto. It has been my habit, as you know, on every recurrence of this blessed anniversary, to read Milton's Hymn of the Nativity' till its sublime I confess I cannot feel, as some do, a harmonies so dilated my soul and quick-personal consolation for the manifest evils ened its spiritual sense that I seemed to hear that other song which gave assurance to the shepherds that there was One who would lead them also in green pastures and beside the still waters. But to-day I have been unable to think of anything but that mournful text, 'I came not to send peace, but a sword,' and, did it not smack of pagan presumptuousness, could almost wish I had never lived to see this day."

Mr. Hitchcock also informs us that his friend "lies buried in the Jaalam graveyard, under a large red-cedar which he specially admired. A neat and substantial monument is to be erected over his remains, with a Latin epitaph written by himself; for he was accustomed to say, pleasantly, that there was at least one occasion in a scholar's life when he might show the advantages of a classical training."

The following fragment of a letter addressed to us, and apparently intended to accompany Mr. Biglow's contribution to the present number, was found upon his table after his decease. EDITORS ATLANTIC MONTHLY.]

of this war in any remote or contingent advantages that may spring from it. I am old and weak, I can bear little, and can scarce hope to see better days; nor is it any adequate compensation to know that Nature is old and strong and can bear much. Old men philosophize over the past, but the present is only a burthen and a weariness. The one lies before them like a placid evening landscape; the other is full of the vexations and anxieties of housekeeping. It may be true enough that miscet hæc illis, prohibetque Clotho fortunam store, but he who said it was fain at last to call in Atropos with her shears before her time; and I cannot help selfishly mourning that the fortune of our Republick could not at least stand till my days were numbered.

Tibullus would find the origin of wars in the great exaggeration of riches, and does not stick to say that in the days of the beechen trencher there was peace. But averse as I am by nature from all wars, the more as they have been especially fatal to libraries, I would have this one go on till we are reduced to wooden platters again, rather than surrender the principle to defend which it was undertaken. Though

ΤΟ THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC I believe Slavery to have been the cause of

MONTHLY.

JAALAM, 24th Dec., 1862. RESPECTED SIRS, - The infirm state of my bodily health would be a sufficient apology for not taking up the pen at this

it, by so thoroughly demoralizing Northern politicks for its own purposes as to give opportunity and hope to treason, yet I would not have our thought and purpose diverted from their true object, maintenance of the idea of Government,

the

'T would scare us more or blow us

higher.

We are not merely suppressing an enor- | An' whether, ef Bob Wickliffe bust, mous riot, but contending for the possibility of permanent order coexisting with democratical fickleness; and while I would not superstitiously venerate form to the sacrifice of substance, neither would I forget that an adherence to precedent and prescription can alone give that continuity and co..erence under a democratical constitution which are inherent in the person of a despotick monarch and the selfishness of an aristocratical class. Stet pro ratione voluntas is as dangerous in a majority as in a tyrant.

D'ye s'pose the Gret Foreseer's plan

Or thet ther' 'd ben no Fall o' Man,
Wuz settled fer him in town-meetin'?

I cannot allow the present production of my young friend to go out without a protest from me against a certain extremeness in his views, more pardonable in the poet than the philosopher. While I agree with him, that the only cure for rebellion is suppression by force, yet I must animadvert upon certain phrases where I seem to see a coincidence with a popular fallacy on the subject of compromise. On the one hand there are those who do not see that the vital principle of Government and the seminal principle of Law cannot properly be made a subject of compromise at all, and on the other those who are equally blind to the truth that without a compromise of individual opinions, interests, and even rights, no society would be possible. In medio tutissimus. For my own part, I would gladly

Ef I a song or two could make

Like rockets druv by their own burnin',

All leap an' light, to leave a wake

Men's hearts an' faces skyward
turnin'!

But, it strikes me, 't ain't jest the time
Fer stringin' words with settisfaction:
Wut 's wanted now's the silent rhyme
Twixt upright Will an' downright
Action.

Words, ef you keep 'em, pay their keep,
But gabble's the short cut to ruin;
It's gratis, (gals half-price,) but cheap
At no rate, ef it henders doin';
Ther' 's nothin' wuss, 'less 't is to set
A martyr-prem'um upon jawrin':
Teapots git dangerous, ef you shet

Their lids down cn 'em with Fort
Warren.

'Bout long enough it's ben discussed
Who sot the magazine afire,

Ef Adam 'd on'y bit a sweetin'?

Oh, Jon'than, ef you want to be
A rugged chap agin an' hearty,
Go fer wutever 'll hurt Jeff D.,

Nut wut 'll boost up ary party.
Here's hell broke loose, an' we lay flat
With half the univarse a-singein',
Till Sen'tor This an' Gov'nor Thet
Stop squabblin' fer the garding-ingin.

It's war we 're in, not politics;
It's systems wrastlin'now, not parties;
An' victory in the eend 'll fix

Where longest will an' truest heart is.
An' wut 's the Guv'ment folks about?
Tryin' to hope ther''s nothin' doin',
An' look ez though they did n't doubt
Sunthin' pertickler wuz a-brewin'.

Ther''s critters yit thet talk an' act
They'd hand a buff'lo-drove a tract
Fer wut they call Conciliation;
When they wuz madder than all
Bashan.

Conciliate it jest means be kicked,

No metter how they phrase an' tone it; It means thet we 're to set down licked, Thet we're poor shotes an' glad to own it!

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fail ;

you find it,

More men ? More Man! It's there we ! Jeff druv us into these hard lines,

An' ough' to bear his half th' exWeak plans grow weaker yit by penses ; lengthenin' :

Slavery's Secession's heart an' will, Wut use in addin' to the tail,

South, North, East, West, where'er When it's the head 's in need o' strengthenin'?

An' ef it drors into War's mill, We wanted one thet felt all Chief

D'ye say them thunder-stoues sha'nı't Froin roots o' hair to sole o' stockin',

grind it? Square-sot with thousau’-ton belief In him an' us, ef earth went rockin' ! D'ye s'pose, ef Jeff giv him a lick,

Ole Hick'ry 'd tried his head to sof'n

So's 't would n't hurt thet ebony stick Ole Hick'ry would n't ha' stood see-saw Thet 's inade our side see stars so of'n? 'Bout doin' things till they wuz done "No!” he 'u ha' thundered, “On your with,

knees, He'd smashed the tables o' the Law

An' own one flag, one road to glory! In time o' need to load his gun with ; Soft-heartedness, in times like these, He could n't see but jest one side,

Shows sof'ness in the upper story!" Ef his, 't wiz God's, an' thet wuz plenty ;

An' why should we kick up a muss An' so his • Forrards !" multiplied About the Pres'dunt's proclamation ? Au army's fightin' weight by twenty. It ain't a-goin' to lib'rate us,

Ef we don't like emancipation : But this 'ere histin', creak, creak, creak, The right to be a cnssed fool

ls safe from all devices human, Your cappen's heart .!!

with a derrick, This tryin' to coax a lightnin'-streak

It's common (ez a gin'l rule) Out of a half-discouraged hay-rick,

To every critter born o' woman. This hangin' on mont' arter mont'

So we're all right, an' I, fer one, Fer one sharp purpose 'mongst the Don't think our cause 'll lose in vally twitter,

By rammin' Scriptur' in our gun, I tell ye, it doos kind o' stunt

Au' gittin' Natur' fer an ally: The peth and sperit of a critter.

Thank God, say I, fer even a plan

To lift one human bein's level,
In six months where 'll the People be, Give one more chance to make a man,
Ef leaders look on revolution

Or, anyhow, to spile a devil!
Ez though it wuz a cup o' tea,
Jest social el'ments in solution ?

Not thet I'm one thet much expee'
This weighin' things doos wal enough

Millenniuin by express to-morrer; When war cools down, an' comes to They will miscarry, — I rec'lec' writin' ;

Tu many on 'em, to my sorrer: But while it's makin', the true stuff

Men ain't made angels in a day, ls pison-mad, pig-headed fightin'. No matter how you mould an' labor

’em, Democ'acy gives every man

Nor 'riginal ones, I guess, don't stay The right to be his own oppressor;

With Abe so of'n ez with Abraham. But a loose Gov'ment ain't the plan, Helpless ez spilled beans on a dresser :

The’ry thinks Fact a pooty thing,

An' wants the banns read right en. I tell ye one thing we might larn From them smart critters, the Seced. But fact wun't noways wear the ring,

ers, Ef bein' right's the fust consarn,

"Thout years o' settin' up an' wooin':

Though, arter all, Time's dial-plate The 'fore-the-fust 's cast-iron leaders.

Marks centries with the minute-fin

ger, But 'pears to me I see some signs An' Good can't never come tn late,

Thet we're a-goin' to use our senses : Though it doos seem to try an' linger.

suin';

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