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young friend to go out without a protest from me against a certain extremeness in his views, more pardonable in the poet than in 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 on 'em with Fort Warren.

'Bout long enough it's ben discussed

Who sot the magazine afire,
An' whether, ef Bob Wickliffe bust,

'T would scare us more or blow us higher. D'ye s’pose the Gret Foreseer's plan

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

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 Guy'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

Fer wut they call Conciliation; They 'd hand a buff’lo-drove a tract

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!

A war on tick 's ez dear 'z the deuce,

But it wun't leave no lastin' traces,
Ez 't would to make a sneakin' truce

Without no moral specie-basis :
Ef greenbacks ain't nut jest the cheese,

I guess ther''s evils thet 's extremer, -
Fer instance, - shinplaster idees

Like them put out by Gov'nor Seymour.

Last year, the Nation, at a word,

When tremblin' Freedom cried to shield her, Flamed weldin' into one keen sword

Waitin' an' longin' fer a wielder:
A splendid flash! — but how'd the grasp

With sech a chance ez thet wuz tally?
Ther' warn't no meanin' in our clasp, —

Half this, half thet, all shilly-shally.

More men ? More Man! It's there we fail;

Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthenin': Wut use in addin' to the tail, When it's the head 's in need o' strengthenWe wanted one thet felt all Chief


From roots o' hair to sole o' stockin', Square-sot with thousan’-ton belief

In him an' us, ef earth went rockin'!

Ole Hick'ry would n't ha' stood see-saw

'Bout doin' things till they wuz done with, He'd smashed the tables o' the Law

In time o' need to load his gun with; He could n't see but jest one side,

Ef his, 't wuz God's, an' thet wuz plenty An' so his “ Forrards ! multiplied

An army's fightin' weight by twenty.

But this 'ere histin', creak, creak, creak,

Your cappen's heart up with a derrick, This tryin' to coax a lightnin'-streak

Out of a half-discouraged hay-rick, This hangin' on mont' arter mont'

Fer one sharp purpose 'mongst the twitter, I tell ye, it doos kind o' stunt

The peth and sperit of a critter.

In six months where 'll the People be,

Ef leaders look on revolution Ez though it wuz a cup o' tea,

Jest social el'ments in solution ? This weighin' things doos wal enough

When war cools down, an' comes to writin'; But while it's makin', the true stuff

Is pison-mad, pig-headed fightin'.

Democ'acy gives every man

The right to be his own oppressor; But a loose Gov'ment ain't the plan,

Helpless ez spilled beans on a dresser : I tell ye one thing we might larn

From them smart critters, the Seceders, Ef bein' right ’s the fust consarn,

The 'fore-the-fust's cast-iron leaders.

But 'pears to me I see some signs

Thet we ’re a-goin' to use our senses : Jeff druv us into these hard lines,

An'ough' to bear his half th' expenses ; Slavery 's Secession's heart an’ will,

South, North, East, West, where'er you find it, An' ef it drors into War's mill,

D'ye say them thunder-stones sha'n't grind it?


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

Thet's made our side see stars so of'n? “No!” he'd ha' thundered, " on your knees,

An' own one flag, one road to glory! Soft-heartedness, in times like these,

Shows sof'ness in the upper story!”

An' why should we kick up a muss

About the Pres'dunt's proclamation ? It ain't a-goin' to lib’rate us,

Ef we don't like emancipation :

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