An' God wun't leave us yit to sink or swim, O strange New World, thet yit was never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung, Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose babybed Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an' wants an' pains, Nussed by stern men with empires in their brains, Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain With each hard hand a vassal ocean's mane, Thou, skilled by Freedom an' by gret events To pitch new States ez Old-World men pitch tents, Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah's plan Thet man's devices can't unmake a man, An' whose free latch-string never was drawed in Against the poorest child of Adam's kin, The grave's not dug where traitor hands shall lay In fearful haste thy murdered corse away! I see Jest here some dogs begun to bark, But ez they hed n't no gret things to say, I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme; I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on, But here they be - it's JONATHAN TO JOHN Ir don't seem hardly right, John, When both my hands was full, To stump me to a fight, John, Your cousin, tu, John Bull! guess Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I We know it now," sez he, "The lion's paw is all the law, Accordin' to J. B., Thet's fit for you an' me!" You wonder why we 're hot, John? Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, Who made the law thet hurts, John, Heads I win, ditto tails? "J. B." was on his shirts, John, Onless my memory fails. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess (I'm good at thet)," sez he, "Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice For ganders with J. B., No more 'n with you or me!" When your rights was our wrongs, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, We own the ocean, tu, John: Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, Our folks believe in Law, John; An' it's for her sake, now, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, An' thet don't suit J. B. (When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me !)" We know we've got a cause, John, Thet 's honest, just, an' true; We thought 't would win applause, John, Ef nowheres else, from you. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess His love of right," sez he, "Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton : There 's natur' in J. B., Ez wal 'z in you an' me!" Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess, John preaches wal," sez he; "But, sermon thru, an' come to du, Why, there's the old J. B. A-crowdin' you an' me!" Shall it be love, or hate, John? It's you thet 's to decide; God means to make this land, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, No. III BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ., TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW With the following Letter from the REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A. M. TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY JAALAM, 7th Feb., 1862. RESPECTED FRIENDS, - If I know myself, and surely a man can hardly be supposed to have overpassed the limit of fourscore years without attaining to some proficiency in that most useful branch of learning (e cœlo descendit, says the pagan poet), I have no great smack of that weakness which would press upon the publick attention any matter pertaining to my private affairs. But since the following letter of Mr. Sawin contains not only a direct allusion to myself, but that in connection with a topick of interest to all those engaged in the publick ministrations of the sanctuary, I may be pardoned for touching briefly thereupon. Mr. Sawin was never a stated attendant upon my preaching, never, as I believe, even an occasional one, since the erection of the new house (where we now worship) in 1845. He did, indeed, for a time, supply a not unacceptable bass in the choir; but, whether on some umbrage (omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus) taken against the bass-viol, then, and till his decease in 1850 (at. 77,) under the charge of Mr. Asaph Perley, or, as was reported by others, on account of an imminent subscription for a new bell, he thenceforth absented himself from all outward and visible communion. Yet he seems to have preserved (altâ mente repostum), as it were, in the pickle of a mind soured by prejudice, a lasting scunner, as he would call it, against our staid and decent form of worship; for I would rather in that wise interpret his fling, than suppose that any chance tares sown by my pulpit discourses should survive so long, while good seed too often fails to root itself. I humbly trust that I have no personal feeling in the matter; though I know that, if we sound any man deep enough, our lead shall bring up the mud of human nature at last. The Bretons believe in an evil spirit which they call ar c'houskezik, whose office it is to make the congregation drowsy; and though I have never had reason to think that he was specially busy among my flock, yet have I seen enough to make me sometimes regret the hinged seats of the ancient meeting-house, whose lively clatter, not unwillingly intensified by boys beyond eyeshot of the tithing-man, served at intervals as a wholesome réveil. It is true, I have numbered among my parishioners some who are proof against the prophylactick fennel, nay, whose gift of somnolence rivalled that of the Cretan Rip Van Winkle, Epimenides, and who, nevertheless, complained not so much of the substance as of the length of my (by them unheard) discourses. Some ingenious persons of a philosophick turn have assured us that our pulpits were set too high, and that the soporifick tendency increased with the ratio of the angle in which the hearer's eye was constrained to seek the preacher. This were a curious topick for investigation. There can be no doubt that some sermons are pitched too high, and I remember many struggles with the drowsy fiend in There are one or two other points in Mr. Sawin's letter which I would also briefly animadvert upon. And first, concerning the claim he sets up to a certain superiority of blood and lineage in the people of our Southern States, now unhappily in rebellion against lawful authority and their own better interests. There is a sort of opinions, anachronisms at once and anachorisms, foreign both to the age and the country, that maintain a feeble and buzzing existence, scarce to be called life, like winter flies, which in mild weather crawl out from obscure nooks and crannies to expatiate in the sun, and sometimes acquire vigor enough to disturb with their enforced familiarity the studious hours of the scholar. One of the most stupid and pertinacious of these is the theory that the Southern States were settled by a class of emigrants from the Old World socially superior to those who founded the institutions of New England. The Virginians especially lay claim to this generosity of lineage, which were of no possible account, were it not for the fact that such superstitions are sometimes not without their effect on the course of human affairs. The early adventurers to Massachusetts at least paid their passages; no felons were ever shipped thither and though it be true that many deboshed younger brothers of what are called good families may have sought refuge in Virginia, it is equally certain that a great part of the early deportations thither were the sweepings of the London streets and the leavings of the London stews. It was this my Lord Bacon had in mind when he wrote: "It is a shameful and unblessed thing to take the scum of people and wicked condemned men to be the people with whom you plant." That certain names are found there is nothing to the purpose, for, even had an alias been beyond the invention of the knaves of that generation, it is known that servants were often called by their masters' names, as slaves are now. On what the heralds call the spindle side, some, at least, of the oldest Virginian families are descended from matrons who were exported and sold for so many hogsheads of tobacco the head. So notorious was this, that it became one of the jokes of contemporary playwrights, not only that men bankrupt in purse and character were "food for the Plantations " (and this before the settlement of New England), but also that any drab would suffice to wive such pitiful adventurers. "Never choose a wife as if you were going to Virginia," says Middleton in one of his comedies. The mule is apt to forget all but the equine side of his pedigree. How early the counterfeit nobility of the Old Dominion became a topick of ridicule in the Mother Country may be learned from a play of Mrs. Behn's, founded on the Rebellion of Bacon: for even these kennels of literature may yield a fact or two to pay the raking. Mrs. Flirt, the keeper of a Virginia ordinary, calls herself the daughter of a baronet, " undone in the late rebellion," — her father having in truth been a tailor, and three of the Council, assuming to themselves an equal splendor of origin, are shown to have been, one "a broken exciseman who came over a poor servant," another a tinker transported for theft, and the third "a common pickpocket often flogged at the cart's tail." ancestry of South Carolina will as little pass muster at the Herald's Visitation, though I hold them to have been more reputable, inasmuch as many of them were honest tradesmen and artisans, in some measure exiles for conscience' sake, who would have smiled at the high-flying nonsense of their descendants. Some of the more respectable were Jews. The absurdity of supposing a population of eight millions all sprung from gentle loins in the course of a century and a half is too manifest for confutation. But of what use to discuss the matter? An expert genealogist will provide any solvent man with a genus et proavos to order. My Lord Burleigh used to say, with Aristotle and the Emperor Frederick II. to back him, that The 9966 "nobility was ancient riches," whence also the Spanish were wont to call their nobles ricos hombres, and the aristocracy of America are the descendants of those who first became wealthy, by whatever means. Petroleum will in this wise be the source of much good blood among our posterity. The aristocracy of the South, such as it is, has the shallowest of all foundations, for it is only skin-deep, - the most odious of all, for, while affecting to despise trade, it traces its origin to a successful traffick in men, women, and children, and still draws its chief revenues thence. And though, as Doctor Chamberlayne consolingly says in his "Present State of England," to become a Merchant of Foreign Commerce, without serving any Apprentisage, hath been allowed no disparagement to a Gentleman born, especially to a younger Brother," yet I conceive that he would hardly have made a like exception in favour of the particular trade in question. Oddly enough this trade reverses the ordinary standards of social respectability no less than of morals, for the retail and domestick is as creditable as the wholesale and foreign is degrading to him who follows it. Are our morals, then, no better than mores after all? I do not believe that such aristocracy as exists at the South (for I hold with Marius, fortissimum quemque generosissimum) will be found an element of anything like persistent strength in war, thinking the saying of Lord Bacon (whom one quaintly called inductionis dominus et Verulamii) as true as it is pithy, that "the more gentlemen, ever the lower books of subsidies." It is odd enough as an historical precedent, that, while the fathers of New England were laying deep in religion, education, and freedom the basis of a polity which has substantially outlasted any then existing, the first work of the founders of Virginia, as may be seen in Wingfield's "Memorial," was conspiracy and rebellion, - odder yet, as showing the changes which are wrought by circumstance, that the first insurrection in South Carolina was against the aristocratical scheme of the Proprietary Government. I do not find that the cuticular aristocracy of the South has added anything to the refinements of civilization except the carrying of bowie-knives and the chewing of tobacco, a high-toned Southern gentleman being commonly not only quadrumanous but quidruminant. I confess that the present letter of Mr. Sawin increases my doubts as to the sincerity of the convictions which he professes, and I am inclined to think that the triumph of the legitimate Government, sure sooner or later to take place, will find him and a large majority of his newly adopted fellowcitizens (who hold with Dædalus, the primal sitter-on-the-fence, that medium tenere tutissimum) original Union men. The criticisms towards the close of his letter on certain of our failings are worthy to be seriously perpended; for he is not, as I think, without a spice of vulgar shrewdness. Fas est et ab hoste doceri: there is no reckoning without your host. As to the good-nature in us which he seems to gird at, while I would not consecrate a chapel, as they have not scrupled to do in France, to Notre Dame de la Haine (Our Lady of Hate), yet I cannot forget that the corruption of good-nature is the generation of laxity of principle. Good-nature is our national characteristick; and though it be, perhaps, nothing more than a culpable weakness or cowardice, when it leads us to put up tamely with manifold impositions and breaches of implied contracts (as too frequently in our publick conveyances) it becomes a positive crime when it leads us to look unresentfully on peculation, and to regard treason to the best Government that ever existed as something with which a gentleman may shake hands without soiling his fingers. I do not think the gallowstree the most profitable member of our Sylva; but, since it continues to be planted, I would fain see a Northern limb ingrafted on it, that it may bear some other fruit than loyal Tennesseeans. A relick has recently been discovered on the east bank of Bushy Brook in North Jaalam, which I conceive to be an inscription in Runick characters relating to the early expedition of the Northmen to this continent. I shall make fuller investigations, and communicate the result in due season. Respectfully, Your obedient servant, P. S.-I inclose a year's subscription from Deacon Tinkham. I HED it on my min' las' time, when I to write ye started, To tech the leadin' featurs o' my gittin' me convarted; But, ez my letters hez to go clearn roun' by way o' Cuby, 'T wun't seem no staler now than then, by th' time it gits where you be. You know up North, though secs an' things air plenty ez you please, Ther' warn't nut one on 'em thet come jes' square with my idees : They all on 'em wuz too much mixed with Covenants o' Works, An' would hev answered jest ez wal for Afrikins an' Turks, Fer where's a Christian's privilege an' his rewards ensuin', Ef 't ain't perfessin' right and eend 'thout nary need o' doin'? I dessay they suit workin'-folks thet ain't noways pertic'lar, But nut your Southun gen'leman thet keeps his parpendic❜lar; I don't blame nary man thet casts his lot along o' his folks, But ef you cal'late to save me, 't must be with folks thet is folks; Cov'nants o' works go 'ginst my grain, but down here I've found out The true fus'-fem'ly A 1 plan, - here 's how it come about. When I fus' sot up with Miss S., sez she to me, sez she, "Without you git religion, Sir, the thing can't never be ; Nut but wut I respeck," sez she, “your intellectle part, But you wun't noways du for me athout a change o' heart: Nothun religion works wal North, but it's ez soft ez spruce, Compared to ourn, for keepin' sound,” sez she, "upon the goose; A day's experunce 'd prove to ye, ez easy 'z pull a trigger, It takes the Southun pint o' view to raise ten bales a nigger; You'll fin' thet human natur', South, ain't wholesome more 'n skin-deep, An' once 't a darkie 's took with it, he wun't be wuth his keep." "How shell I git it, Ma'am? - sez I. "Attend the nex' camp-meetin'," |