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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, for our sins,

Where ther' ollus is critters about with long pins

A-prickin' the bubbles we 've blowed with sech care,

An' provin' ther' 's nothin' inside but bad air:

They 're all Stuart Millses, poor-white trash, an' sneaks,

Without no more chivverlry 'n Choctaws or Creeks,

Who think a real gennleman's promise

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An' onless we can mennage in some way to stop it,

Why, the thing's a gone coon, an' we might ez wal drop it.

Brag works wal at fust, but it ain't jes' the thing

For a stiddy inves'ment the shiners to bring,

An' votin' we 're prosp'rous a hundred

times over

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,

I much ez half b'lieved in my own tallest lies,

An' conveyed the idee thet the whole Southun popperlace

Wuz Spartans all on the keen jump for Thermopperlies,

Thet set on the Lincolnites' bombs till they bust,

An' fight for the priv'lege o' dyin' the fust:

But Roanoke, Bufort, Millspring, an' the rest

Of our recent starn-foremost successes out West,

Hain't left us a foot for our swellin' to

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is idle,

But ef Lincoln would ha' hanged Mason 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 European 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:

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The same kin' o' cattle up North an' out West,

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

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JAALAM, 12th April, 1862.

GENTLEMEN, As I cannot but hope that the ultimate, if not speedy, success of the national arms is now sufficiently ascertained, sure as I am of the righteousness of our cause and its consequent claim on the blessing of God, (for I would not show a faith inferior to that of the pagan historian with his Facile evenit quod Dis cordi est,) it seems to me a suitable occasion to withdraw our minds a moment from the confusing din of battle to objects of peaceful and permanent interest. Let us not neglect the monuments of preterite history because what shall be history is so diligently making under our eyes. Cras ingens iterabimus æquor; to-morrow will be time enough for that stormy sea; to-day let me engage the attention of your readers with the Runick inscription to whose fortunate discovery I have heretofore alluded. Well may we say with the poet, Multa renascuntur quæ jam cecidere. And I would premise, that, although I can no longer resist the evidence of my own senses from the stone before me to the

ante-Columbian discovery of this continent by the Northmen, gens inclytissima, as they are called in a Palermitan inscription, written fortunately in a less debatable character than that which I am about to decipher, yet I would by no means be understood as wishing to vilipend the merits of the great Genoese, whose name will never be forgotten so long as the inspiring strains of "Hail Columbia" shall continue to be heard. Though he must be stripped also of whatever praise may belong to the experiment of the egg, which I find proverbially attributed by Castilian authors to a certain Juanito or Jack, (perhaps an offshoot of our giant-killing mythus,) his name will still remain one of the most illustrious of modern times. But the impartial historian owes a duty likewise to obscure merit, and my solicitude to render a tardy justice is perhaps quickened by my having known those who, had their own field of labour been less secluded, might have found a readier acceptance with the reading publick. I could give an example, but I forbear: forsitan nostris ex ossibus oritur ultor.

Touching Runick inscriptions, I find that they may be classed under three general heads: 1°. Those which are understood by the Danish Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries, and Professor Rafn, their Secretary; 2°. Those which are comprehensible only by Mr. Rafn; and 30. Those which neither the Society, Mr. Rafn, nor anybody else can be said in any definite sense to understand, and which accordingly offer peculiar temptations to enucleating sagacity. These last are naturally deemed the most valuable by intelligent antiquaries, and to this class the stone now in my possession fortunately belongs. Such give a picturesque variety to ancient events, because susceptible oftentimes of as many interpretations as there are individual archæologists; and since facts are only the pulp in which the Idea or eventseed is softly imbedded till it ripen, it is of little consequence what colour or flavour we attribute to them, provided

it be agreeable. Availing myself of the obliging assistance of Mr. Arphaxad Bowers, an ingenious photographick artist, whose house-on-wheels has now stood for three years on our MeetingHouse Green, with the somewhat contradictory inscription, -"our motto is onward," "I have sent accurate copies of my treasure to many learned men and societies, both native and European. I may hereafter communicate their different and (me judice) equally erroneous solutions. I solicit also, Messrs. Editors, your own acceptance of the copy herewith inclosed. I need only premise further, that the stone itself is a goodly block of metamorphick sandstone, and that the Runes resemble very nearly the ornithichnites or fossil bird-tracks of Dr. Hitchcock, but with less regularity or apparent design than is displayed by those remarkable geological monuments. These are rather the non bene junctarum discordia semina rerum. Resolved to leave no door open to cavil, I first of all attempted the elucidation of this remarkable example of lithick literature by the ordinary modes, but with no adequate return for my labour. I then considered myself amply justified in resorting to that heroick treatment the felicity of which, as applied by the great Bentley to Milton, had long ago enlisted my admiration. Indeed, I had already made up my mind, that, in case good fortune should throw any such invaluable record in my way, I would proceed with it in the following simple and satisfactory method. After a cursory examination, merely sufficing for an ap proximative estimate of its length, I would write down a hypothetical inscription based upon antecedent probabilities, and then proceed to extract from the characters engraven on the stone a meaning as nearly as possible conformed to this a priori product of my own ingenuity. The result more than justified my hopes, inasmuch as the two inscriptions were made without any great violence to tally in all essential particulars. I then proceeded, not without some anxiety, to my second

test, which was, to read the Runick letters diagonally, and again with the same success. With an excitement pardonable under the circumstances, yet tempered with thankful huminty, I now applied my last and severest trial, my experimentum crucis. I turned the stone, now doubly precious in my eyes, with scrupulous exactness upside down. The physical exertion so tar displaced my spectacles as to derange for a moment the focus of vision. I confess that it was with some tremulousness that I readjusted them upon my nose, and prepared my mind to bear with calmness any disappointment that might ensue. But, O albo dies notanda lapillo! what was my delight to find that the change of position had effected none in the sense of the writing, even by so much as a single letter! I was now, and justly, as I think, satisfied of the conscientious exactness of my interpretation. It is as follows:





that is, drew smoke through a reed stem. In other words, we have here a record of the first smoking of the herb Nicotiana Tabacum by an European on this continent. The probable results of this discovery are so vast as to baffle conjecture. If it be objected, that the smoking of a pipe would hardly justify the setting up of a memorial stone, I answer, that even now the Moquis Indian, ere he takes his first whiff, bows reverently toward the four quarters of the sky in succession, and that the loftiest monuments have been reared to perpetuate fame, which is the dream of the shadow of smoke. Saga, it will be remembered, leaves this Bjarna to a fate something like that of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on board a sinking ship in the "wormy sea," having generously given up his place in the boat to a certain Icelander. It is doubly pleasant, therefore, to meet with this proof that the brave old man arrived


safely in Vinland, and that his declining years were cheered by the respectful attentions of the dusky denizens of our then uninvaded forests. Most of all was I gratified, however, in thus linking forever the name of my native town with one of the most momentous occurrences of modern times. Hitherto Jaalam, though in soil, climate, and geographical position as highly qualified to be the theatre of remarkable historical incidents as any spot on the earth's surface, has been, if I may say it without seeming to question the wisdom of Providence, almost maliciously neglected, as it might appear, by occurrences of world-wide interest in want of a situation. And in matters of this nature it must be confessed that adequate events are as necessary as the vates sacer to record them. Jaalam stood always modestly ready, but circumstances made no fitting response to her generous intentions. Now, however, she assumes her place on the historick roll. I have hitherto been a zealous opponent of the Circean herb, but I shall now re-examine the question without bias.

I am aware that the Rev. Jonas Tutchel, in a recent communication to the Bogus Four Corners Weekly Meridian, has endeavoured to show that this is the sepulchral inscription of Thorwald Eriksson, who, as is well known, was slain in Vinland by the natives. But I think he has been misled by a preconceived theory, and cannot but feel that he has thus made an ungracious return for my allowing him to inspect the stone with the aid of my own glasses (he having by accident left his at home) and in my own study. The heathen ancients might have instructed this Christian minister in the rites of hospitality; but much is to be pardoned to the spirit of self-love. He must indeed be ingenious who can make out the words her hvílir from any characters in the inscription in question, which, whatever else it may be, is certainly not mortuary. And even should the reverend gentleman succeed in persuading some fantastical

wits of the soundness of his views, I do not see what useful end he will have gained. For if the English Courts of Law hold the testimony of grave-stones from the burial-grounds of Protestant dissenters to be questionable, even where it is essential in proving a de scent, I cannot conceive that the epitaphial assertions of heathens should be esteemed of more authority by any man of orthodox sentiments.

At this moment, happening to cast my eyes upon the stone, on which a transverse light from my southern window brings out the characters with singular distinctness, another interpretation has occurred to me, promising even more interesting results. I hasten

to close my letter in order to follow at once the clew thus providentially suggested.

I inclose, as usual, a contribution from Mr. Biglow, and remain, Gentlemen, with esteem and respect, Your Obedient Humble Servant, HOMER WILBUR, A. M.

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