The Poetical Works of James Russel Lowell

Things war n't agoin' ez they'd ough' to be;

So they sent off a deacon to remonstrate Along 'th the wolves an' urge 'em to go on straight;

They did n' seem to set much by the deacon,

Nor preachin' did n' cow 'em, nut to speak on;

Fin'ly they swore thet they'd go out an' stay,

An' hev their fill o' mutton every day; Then dogs an' shepherds, after much hard dammin', [Groan from Deac'n G.] Turned tu an' give 'em a tormented lammin',

An' sez, "Ye sha' n't go out, the murrain rot ye,

To keep us wastin' half our time to watch ye!"

But then the question come, How live together

'thout losin' sleep, nor nary yew nor

wether?

Now there wuz some dogs (noways wuth their keep)

That sheered their cousins' tastes an' sheered the sheep;

They sez, "Be gin'rous, let 'em swear right in,

An', ef they backslide, let 'em swear ag'in ;

Jes' let 'em put on sheep-skins whilst they 're swearin';

To ask for more 'ould be beyond all bearin'."

"Be gin'rous for yourselves, where you 're to pay,

Thet 's the best prectice," sez a shepherd gray;

Ez for their oaths they wun't be wuth a button,

reason,

They're 'most too much so to be tetched for treason;

They can't go out, but ef they somehow du,

Their sovereignty don't noways go out tu;

The State goes out, the sovereignty don't
stir,

But stays to keep the door ajar for her.
He thinks secession never took 'em out,
An' mebby he's correc', but I misdoubt;
Ef they war n't out, then why, 'n the
name o' sin,

Make all this row 'bout lettin' of 'em
in?

In law, p'r'aps nut; but there's a dif-
furence, ruther,
Betwixt your mother-'n-law an' real
mother,
[Derisive cheers.]
An' I, for one, shall wish they'd all
been som'eres,

Long 'z U. S. Texes are sech reg'lar

comers.

But, O my patience! must we wriggle
back

Into th' ole crooked, pettyfoggin' track,
When our artil'ry-wheels a road hev cut
Stret to our purpose ef we keep the rut?
War's jes' dead waste excep' to wipe the

slate

Clean for the cyph'rin' of some nobler
fate.
[Applause.]

Ez for dependin' on their oaths an' thet,
't wun't bind 'em mor 'n the ribbin
roun' my het;

I heared a fable once from Othniel
Starns,

That pints it slick ez weathercocks do
barus:

Onet on a time the wolves hed certing rights

Inside the fold; they used to sleep there

nights.

An', bein' cousins o' the dogs, they took Their turns et watchin', reg'lar ez a book;

But somehow, when the dogs hed gut asleep,

Their love o' mutton beat their love o' sheep,

Till gradilly the shepherds come to see

Long 'z you don't cure 'em o' their taste

for mutton;

Th' ain't but one solid way, howe'er you puzzle:

Tell they're convarted, let 'em wear a muzzle." [Cries of "Bully for you!"]

I've noticed thet each half-baked scheme's abetters

Are in the hebbit o' producin' letters Writ by all sorts o' never-heared-on fellers,

'bout ez oridge'nal ez the wind in bellers;

I've noticed, tu, it's the quack med'- | War's emptin's riled her very dongh An' made it rise an' act improper; 't wuz full ez much ez I could du To jes' lay low an' worry thru, 'thout hevin' to sell out my copper.

cine gits (An' needs) the grettest heaps o' stiffykits; [Two apothekeries goes out. Now, sence I lef off creepin' on all fours, I hain't ast no man to endorse my course; It's full ez cheap to be your own endor

"Afore the war your mod'rit men
Could set an' sun 'em on the fences,
Cyph'rin' the chances up, an' then
Jump off which way bes' paid expenses;
Sence, 't wus so resky ary way,
I did n't hardly darst to say
I 'greed with Paley's Evidences.

[Groan from Deac'n G.]

Reapin' the spiles o' the Freesiler,
Is cute ez though an ingineer
Should claim th' old iron for his sheer
Coz 't was himself that bust the biler!"
[Gret laughter.]

Thet tells the story! Thet's wut we shall git

By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit;
For the day never comes when it 'll du
To kick off Dooty like a worn-out shoe.
I seem to hear a whisperin' in the air,
A sighin' like, of unconsoled despair,
Thet comes from nowhere an' from
everywhere,

An' seems to say, "Why died we? war n't it, then,

To settle, once for all, thet men wuz

men?

O, airth's sweet cup snetched from us barely tasted,

The grave's real chill is feelin' life wuz wasted!

O, you we lef', long-lingerin' et the door,

Lovin' you best, coz we loved Her the

more,

Thet Death, not we, had conquered, we should feel

Ef she upon our memory turned her

heel,

An' unregretful throwed us all away
To flaunt it in a Blind Man's Holiday!"

My frien's, I've talked nigh on to long enough.

I hain't no call to bore ye coz ye 're tough;

My lungs are sound, an' our own vice delights

Our ears, but even kebbige-heads hez rights.

It's the las' time thet I shell e'er ad

dress ye,

But you'll soon fin' some new tormentor: bless ye!

[Tumult'ous applause and cries of "Go on!" "Don't stop!"]

Caleb, a turncoat.

Callate, calculate.

Cass, a person with two lives. Close, clothes.

Cockerel, a young cock.

Cocktail, a kind of drink; also, an ornament peculiar to soldiers.

Convention, a place where people are imposed on a juggler's show.

Coons, a cant term for a now defunct party; derived, perhaps, from the fact of their being commonly up a tree.

Cornwallis, a sort of muster in masquerade; supposed to have had its origin soon after the Revolution, and to commemorate the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. It took the place of the old Guy Fawkes procession. Crooked stick, a perverse, froward person. Cunnle, a colonel.

Cus, a curse; also, a pitiful fellow.

Darsn't, used indiscriminately, either in singular or plural number, for dare not, dares not, and dared not.

Deacon off, to give the cue to; derived from a custom, once universal, but now extinct, in our New England Congregational churches. An important part of the office of deacon was