then preceptor of our academy, and in other particulars a very deserving and sensible young man, though possessing a somewhat limited knowledge of the Greek tongue. But his heresy struck down no deep root, and, he having been lately removed by the hand of Providence, I had the satisfaction of reaffirming my cherished sentiments in a sermon preached upon the Lord's day immediately succeeding his funeral. This might seem like taking an unfair advantage, did I not add that he had made provision in his last will (being celibate) for the publication of a posthumous tractate in support of his own dangerous opinions. I know of nothing in our modern times which approaches so nearly to the ancient oracle as the letter of a Presidential candidate. Now, among the Greeks, the eating of beans was strictly forbidden to all such as had it in mind to consult those expert amphibologists, and this same prohibition on the part of Pythagoras to his disciples is understood to imply an abstinence from politics, beans having been used as ballots. That other explication, quod videlicet sensus eo cibo obtundi existimaret, though supported pugnis et calcibus by many of the learned, and not wanting the countenance of Cicero, is confuted by the larger experience of New England. On the whole, I think it safer to apply here the rule of interpretation which now generally obtains in regard to antique cosmogonies, myths, fables, proverbial expressions, and knotty points generally, which is, to find a common-sense meaning, and then select whatever can be imagined the most opposite thereto. In this way we arrive at the conclusion, that the Greeks objected to the questioning of candidates. And very properly, if, as I conceive, the chief point be not to discover what a person in that position is, or what he will do, but whether he can be elected. Vos exemplaria Græca nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.

But, since an imitation of the Greeks in this particular (the asking of questions being one chief privilege of freemen) is hardly to be hoped for, and our candidates will answer, whether they are questioned or not, I would recommend that these ante-electionary dialogues should be carried on by symbols, as were the diplomatic correspondences of the Scythians and Macrobii, or confined to the language of signs, like the famous interview of Panurge and Goatsnose. A candidate might then convey a suitable reply to all committees of inquiry by closing one eye, or by presenting them with a phial of Egyptian darkness to be speculated upon by their respective constituencies. These answers would be susceptible of whatever retrospective construction the exigencies of the political campaign might seem to demand, and the candidate could take his position on either side of the fence with entire consistency. Or, if letters must be written, profitable use might be made of the Dighton rock hieroglyphic or the cuneiform script, every fresh decipherer of which is enabled to educe a different meaning, whereby a sculptured stone or two supplies us, and will probably continue to supply posterity, with a very vast and various body of authentic history. For even the briefest epistle in the ordinary chirography is dangerous. There is scarce any

style so compressed that superfluous words may not be detected in it. A severe critic might curtail that famous brevity of Cæsar's by two thirds, drawing his pen through the supererogatory veni and vidi. Perhaps, after all, the surest footing of hope is to be found in the rapidly increasing tendency to demand less and less of qualification in candidates. Already have statesmanship, experience, and the possession (nay, the profession, even) of principles been rejected as superfluous, and may not the patriot reasonably hope that the ability to write will follow? At present, there may be death in pot-hooks as well as pots, the loop of a letter may suffice for a bow-string, and all the dreadful heresies of Antislavery may lurk in a flourish. — H. W.]

No. VIII.

A SECOND LETTER FROM B. SAWIN, ESQ.

He

[IN the following epistle, we behold Mr. Sawin returning, a miles emeritus, to the bosom of his family. Quantum mutatus! The good Father of us all had doubtless intrusted to the keeping of this child of his certain faculties of a constructive kind. He had put in him a share of that vital force, the nicest economy of every minute atom of which is necessary to the perfect development of Humanity. had given him a brain and heart, and so had equipped his soul with the two strong wings of knowledge and love, whereby it can mount to hang its nest under the eaves of heaven. And this child, so dowered, he had intrusted to the keeping of his vicar, the State. How stands the account of that stewardship? The State, or Society (call her by what name you will), had taken no manner of tho ht of him till she saw him swept out into the street, the pitiful leavings of last night's debauch, with cigarends, lemon-parings, tobacco-quids, slops, vile stenches, and the whole loathsome next-morning of the bar-room, an own child of the Almighty God! I remember him as he was brought to be christened, a ruddy, rugged babe; and now there he wallows, reeking, seething, the dead corpse, not of a man, but of a soul, a putrefying lump, horrible for the life that is in it. Comes the wind of heaven, that good Samaritan, and parts the hair upon his forehead, nor is too nice to kiss those parched, cracked lips; the morning opens upon him her eyes full of pitying sunshine, the sky yearns down to him, and there he lies fermenting. O sleep! let me not profane thy holy name by calling that stertorous unconsciousness a slumber! By and by comes along the State, God's vicar. Does she say, " My poor, forlorn foster-child! Behold here a force which I will make dig and plant and build for me"? Not so, but, "Here is a recruit readymade to my hand, a piece of destroying energy lying unprofitably idle." So she claps an ugly gray suit on him, puts a musket in his grasp, and sends him off, with Gubernatorial and other godspeeds, to do duty as a destroyer. I made one of the crowd at the last Mechan

ics' Fair, and, with the rest, stood gazing in wonder at a perfect machine, with its soul of fire, its boiler-heart that sent the hot blood

pulsing along the iron arteries, and its thews of steel. And while I was admiring the adaptation of means to end, the harmonious involu

tions of contrivance, and the never-bewildered complexity, I saw a grimed and greasy fellow, the imperious engine's lackey and drudge, whose sole office was to let fall, at intervals, a

drop or two of oil upon a certain joint. Then my soul said within me, See there a piece of mechanism to which that other you marvel at is but as the rude first effort of a child, - -a force which not merely suffices to set a few wheels in motion, but which can send an im

pulse all through the infinite future, a contrivance, not for turning out pins, or stitching buttonholes, but for making Hamlets and Lears. And yet this thing of iron shall be housed, waited on, guarded from rust and dust, and it shall be a crime but so much as to scratch it with a pin; while the other, with its

fire of God in it, shall be buffeted hither and thither, and finally sent carefully a thousand miles to be the target for a Mexican cannonball. Unthrifty Mother State! My heart burned within me for pity and indignation, and I renewed this covenant with my own soul, In aliis mansuetus ero, at, in blasphemiis contra Christum, non ita. -H. W.]

I SPOSE you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me,

Exacly ware I be myself,

meanin' by

thet the holl o' me. Wen I left hum, I hed two legs, an' they worn't bad ones neither,

(The scaliest trick they ever played wuz

bringin' on me hither,)

Now one on 'em 's I dunno ware;

they thought I wuz adyin', An' sawed it off because they said 't wuz kin' o' mortifyin';

I'm willin' to believe it wuz, an' yit I don't see, nuther,

Wy one shoud take to feelin' cheap a minnit sooner 'n t' other,

Sence both wuz equilly to blame; but

things is ez they be;

It took on so they took it off, an' thet's enough fer me :

-

There's one good thing, though, to be said about my wooden new one, The liquor can't git into it ez't used to

I've lost one eye, but thet 's a loss it's easy to supply

Out o' the glory that I've gut, fer thet is all my eye;

An' one is big enough, I guess, by diligently usin' it,

To see all I shall ever git by way o' pay fer losin' it;

Off'cers I notice, who git paid fer all our thumps an' kickins,

Du wal by keepin' single eyes arter the fattest pickins;

So, ez the eye 's put fairly out, I'll larn to go without it,

An' not allow myself to be no gret put out about it.

Now, le' me see, thet is n't all; I used, 'fore leavin' Jaalam,

To count things on my finger-eends, but sutthin' seems to ail 'em :

Ware 's my left hand? O, darn it, yes, I recollect wut's come on 't;

I haint no left arm but my right, an' thet 's gut jest a thumb on 't;

It aint so hendy ez it wuz to cal'late a sum on 't.

I've hed some ribs broke,-six (I bl'ieve), I haint kep' no account on 'em ; Wen pensions git to be the talk, I'll settle the amount on 'em. An' now I'm speakin' about ribs, it kin' o' brings to mind

One thet I could n't never break, - the

one I lef' behind;

Ef you should see her, jest clear out the spout o' your invention

An' pour the longest sweetnin' in about an annooal pension,

An' kin' o' hint (in case, you know, the

critter should refuse to be Consoled) I aint so 'xpensive now to keep ez wut I used to be;

There's one arm less, ditto one eye, an'

then the leg thet 's wooden

Can be took off an' sot away wenever ther's a puddin'.

I spose you think I'm comin' back ez opperlunt ez thunder,

With shiploads o' gold images an' varus sorts o' plunder;

Wal, 'fore I vullinteered, I thought this country wuz a sort o'

Canaan, a reg'lar Promised Land flowin' with rum an' water,

Ware propaty growed up like time, without no cultivation,

An' gold wuz dug ez taters be among our Yankee nation,

Ware nateral advantages were pufficly amazin',

Ware every rock there wuz about with

precious stuns wuz blazin', Ware mill-sites filled the country up ez thick ez you could cram em' An' desput rivers run about a beggin' folks to dam 'em ;

Then there were meetinhouses, tu,

chock ful o' gold an' silver Thet you could take, an' no one could n't hand ye in no bill fer; Thet's wut I thought afore I went, thet's wut them fellers told us Thet stayed to hum an' speechified an' to the buzzards sold us;

I thought thet gold-mines could be gut
cheaper than Chiny asters,
An' see myself acomin' back like sixty
Jacob Astors;

But sech idees soon melted down an' did n't leave a grease-spot;

I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles would n't come nigh a V spot; Although, most anywares we've ben, you need n't break no locks, Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o' rocks.

I 'xpect I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral feeturs

O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle creeturs,

But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded) How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git drownded. The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o' pewter

Our Prudence hed, thet would n't pour

(all she could du) to suit her; Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so 's not a drop 'ould dreen out,

Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean out, The kiver-hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an' kiver

'ould all come down kerswosh! ez though the dam broke in a river. Jest so 't is here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather, An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be a layin' heads together

Ez t' how they'd mix their drink at sech a milingtary deepot,

'T would pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot.

The cons'quence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave here, One piece o' propaty along, an' thet's the shakin' fever;

It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm one, Nor 't aint so tiresome ez it wuz with t' other leg an' arm on; An' it's a consolation, tu, although it doos n't pay,

To hev it said you 're some gret shakes in any kin' o' way.

'T worn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin', One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',— One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,

Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess hacks an' smashes.

But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,

Thet's an investment, arter all, thet may n't turn out so bad; But somehow, wen we'd fit an' licked, I ollers found the thanks Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks;

The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' so on,

We never gut a blasted mite o' glory ez I know on;

An' spose we hed, I wonder how you 're goin' to contrive its

Division so 's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits;

Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the brav'st one, You would n't git more 'n half enough to

speak of on a grave-stun; We git the licks, we 're jest the grist thet 's put into War's hoppers; Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers.

It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul in 't,

An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in 't ;

But glory is a kin' o' thing I sha' n't pursue no furder,

Coz thet 's the officers parquisite, yourn's on'y jest the murder.

Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's one

Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may

persume we

All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy.

I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em ;

We never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever I come

Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it seemed a cent'ry)

A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry,

An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' repasses,

A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' glasses:

I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Ginrals hed inside;

All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz fried,

An' not a hunderd miles away frum ware this child wuz posted,

A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an' roasted;

The only thing like revellin' thet ever

come to me

Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel 's settled now; fer

my part I've some doubt on 't, 't'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean out on 't; At any rate I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin',

The on'y chance thet 's left to me is politics or writin';

Now, ez the people's gut to hev a mil

ingtary man,

An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a plan;

The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to a T,

An' ef I lose, 't wunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea;

So I'll set up ez can'idate fer any kin' o' office,

(I mean fer any thet includes good easycheers an' soffies;

Fer ez tu runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day,

You know thet 's wut I never did,

except the other way;)

up with my one?

Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find 'll answer to a charm,

An' wen you 're druv tu nigh the wall,

hol' up my missin' arm;

Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look An' tell 'em thet 's percisely wut I never gin nor - took!

Then you can call me

"Timbertoes," thet 's wut the people likes; Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes ; Some say the people's fond o’this, or thet, or wut you please,

I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees;

"Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on, There's nothin' in 't the other side can any ways git hold on ;

It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody

Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy;

It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind

Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind;

I'd better run,

dror on ez you need 'em,