nat'lly wrong,

Coz you wuz lab'rin'-folks an' we wuz wut they call bong-tong,

An' coz there warn't no fight in ye more 'n in a mashed potater,

While two o' us can't skurcely meet but wut we fight by natur',

An' th' ain't a bar-room here would pay for openin' on 't a night,

Without it giv the priverlege o' bein' shot at sight,

Which proves we 're Natur's noblemen, with whom it don't surprise The British aristoxy should feel boun' to sympathize,

Seein' all this, an' seein', tu, the thing wuz

strikin' roots

While Uncle Sam sot still in hopes thet

some one 'd bring his boots,

I thought th' ole Union's hoops wuz off, an' let myself be sucked in To rise a peg an' jine the crowd thet went for reconstructin',

Thet is to hev the pardnership under th' ole name continner

Jest ez it wuz, we drorrin' pay, you findin' bone an' sinner,

On'y to put it in the bond, an' enter 't in the journals,

Thet you 're the nat'ral rank an' file, an' we the natʼral kurnels.

Now this I thought a fees'ble plan, thet 'ud work smooth ez grease,

Suitin' the Nineteenth Century an' Upper Ten idees,

An' there I meant to stick, an' so did most o' th' leaders, tu,

Coz we all thought the chance wuz good o' puttin' on it thru ;

But Jeff he hit upon a way o' helpin' on us forrard

By bein' unannermous, -a trick you ain't quite up to, Norrard.

A Baldin hain't no more 'f a chance with them new apple-corers

Than folks's oppersition views aginst the Ringtail Roarers ;

They'll take 'em out on him 'bout east, one canter on a rail

Makes a man feel unannermous ez Jonah in the whale;

Or ef he's a slow-moulded cuss thet can't seem quite t' 'gree,

He gits the noose by tellergraph upon the nighes' tree:

Their mission-work with Afrikins hez put 'em up, thet 's sartin,

To all the mos' across-lot ways o' preachin' an' convartin';

I'll bet my hat th' ain't nary priest, nor all on 'em together,

Thet cairs conviction to the min' like Reveren' Taranfeather;

Why, he sot up with me one night, an' labored to sech purpose,

Thet (ez an owl by daylight 'mongst a flock o' teazin' chirpers

Sees clearer 'n mud the wickedness o' eatin' little birds)

I see my error an' agreed to shen it arterwurds;

An' I should say, (to jedge our folks by facs in my possession,)

Thet three's Unannermous where one 's a 'Riginal Secession ;

So it's a thing you fellers North may safely bet your chink on,

Thet we're all water-proofed agin th' usurpin' reign o' Lincoln.

Jeff's some. He's gut another plan thet bez pertic'lar merits,

In givin' things a cheerfle look an' stiffnin' loose-hung sperits;

For while your million papers, wut with lyin' an' discussin',

Keep folks's tempers all on eend a-fumin' an' a-fussin',

break an' run,

Or wilt right down ez debtors will thet stumble on a dun,

(An' this, ef an'thin', proves the wuth o' proper fem❜ly pride,

Fer sech mean shucks ez creditors are all on Lincoln's side);

Ef I hev scrip thet wun't go off no more 'n a Belgin rifle,

An' read thet it's at par on 'Change, it makes me feel deli'fle;

It's cheerin', tu, where every man mus' fortify his bed,

To hear thet Freedom's the one thing our

darkies mos'ly dread,

An' thet experunce, time 'n' agin, to Dixie's Land hez shown

Ther' 's nothin' like a powder-cask fer a stiddy corner-stone ;

Ain't it ez good ez nuts, when salt is sellin' by the ounce

For its own weight in Treash'ry-bons, (ef bought in small amounts,) When even whiskey's gittin' skurce an sugar can't be found,

To know thet all the ellerments o' luxury abound?

An' don't it glorify sal'-pork, to come to understand

It's wut the Richmon' editors call fatness o' the land!

Nex' thing to knowin' you 're well off is nut to know when y' ain't; An' ef Jeff says all's goin' wal, who'll ventur' t' say it ain't?

This cairn the Constitooshun roun' ez Jeff doos in his hat

Is hendier a dreffle sight, an' comes more kin' o' pat.

I tell ye wut, my jedgment is you 're pooty sure to fail,

Ez long 'z the head keeps turnin' back for counsel to the tail :

Th' advantiges of our consarn for bein' prompt air gret,

While, 'long o' Congress, you can't strike, 'f you git an iron het; They bother roun' with argooin', an' var'ous sorts o' foolin',

To make sure ef it 's leg'lly het, an' all the while it's coolin',

So's 't when you come to strike, it ain't no gret to wish ye j'y on,

An' hurts the hammer 'z much or more ez wut it doos the iron,

Jeff don't allow no jawin'-sprees for three months at a stretch,

Knowin' the ears long speeches suits air mostly made to metch; He jes' ropes in your tonguey chaps an' reg'lar ten-inch bores

An'

lets 'em play at Congress, ef they'll du it with closed doors; So they ain't no more bothersome than ef we 'd took an' sunk 'em,

An' yit enj'y th' exclusive right to one another's Buncombe

'thout doin' nobody no hurt, an' 'thout its costin' nothin',

Their pay bein' jes' Confedrit funds, they findin' keep an' clothin';

They taste the sweets o' public life, an' plan their little jobs,

An' suck the Treash'ry (no gret harm, for it's ez dry ez cobs,)

An' go thru all the motions jest ez safe ez in a prison,

An' hev their business to themselves, while Buregard hez hisn:

Ez long 'z he gives the Hessians fits, committees can't make bother

'bout whether 't's done the legle way or whether 't 's done tother.

An' I tell you you've gut to larn thet War ain't one long teeter

Betwixt I wan' to an' 'T wun't du, debatin' like a skeetur

Afore he lights,—all is, to give the other side a millin',

An' arter thet 's done, th' ain't no resk but wut the lor 'll be willin';

No metter wut the guv'ment is, ez nigh ez I can hit it,

A lickin''s constitooshunal, pervidin' We don't git it.

Jeff don't stan' dilly-dallyin', afore he takes a fort,

(With no one in,) to git the leave o' the

nex' Soopreme Court,

Nor don't want forty-'leven weeks o' jawin' an' expoundin',

To prove a nigger hez a right to save him, ef he 's drowndin';

Whereas ole Abe 'ud sink afore he 'd let a darkie boost him,

Ef Taney should n't come along an' hed n't interdooced him.

It ain't your twenty millions thet 'll ever block Jeff's game,

But one Man thet wun't let 'em jog jest ez he's takin' aim:

Your numbers they may strengthen ye or weaken ye, ez 't heppens They're willin' to be helpin' hands or wuss-'n-nothin' cap'ns.

I've chose my side, an' 't ain't no odds ef I wuz drawed with magnets,

Or ef I thought it prudenter to jine the nighes' bagnets;

I've made my ch'ice, an' ciphered out, from all I see an' heard,

Th' ole Constitooshun never 'd git her decks for action cleared,

Long 'z you elect for Congressmen poor shotes thet want to go

Coz they can't seem to git their grub no otherways than so,

An' let your bes' men stay to home coz they wun't show ez talkers,

Nor can't be hired to fool ye an' sof'-soap ye at a caucus,

Long'z ye set by Rotashun more 'n ye by folks's merits,

do

hain't no record, ez it's called, for folks to pick a hole in,

Ez ef it hurt a man to hev a body with a soul in,

An' it wuz ostentashun to be showin' on 't about,

When half his feller-citizens contrive to du without,

Long 'z you suppose your votes can turn biled kebbage into brain,

An' ary man thet 's pop'lar 's fit to drive a lightnin'-train,

Long 'z you believe democracy means I'm ez good ez you be,

An' that a feller from the ranks can't be a knave or booby,

Long 'z Congress seems purvided, like yer street-cars an' yer 'busses,

With ollers room for jes' one more o' your spiled-in-bakin' cusses,

Dough 'thout the emptins of a soul, an' yit with means about 'em

(Like essence-peddlers 1) thet 'll make folks long to be without 'em, Jes heavy 'nough to turn a scale thet 's doubtfle the wrong way,

An' make their natʼral arsenal o' bein' nasty pay,

Long 'z them things last, (an' I don't see no gret signs of improvin',)

1 A rustic euphemism for the American var the Mephitis.

I sha'n't up stakes, not hardly yit, nor 't would n't pay for movin';

For, 'fore you lick us, it'll be the long'st day ever you see.

Yourn, (ez I'xpec' to be nex' spring,)
B., MARKISS o' BIG BOOSY.

No. IV

A MESSAGE OF JEFF DAVIS IN SECRET SESSION

Conjecturally reported by H. BIGLOW

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

JAALAM, 10 March, 1862.

GENTLEMEN, -My leisure has been so entirely occupied with the hitherto fruitless endeavour to decypher the Runick inscription whose fortunate discovery I mentioned in my last communication, that I have not found time to discuss, as I had intended, the great problem of what we are to do with slavery, a topick on which the publick mind in this place is at present more than ever agitated. What my wishes and hopes are I need not say, but for safe conclusions I do not conceive that we are yet in possession of facts enough on which to bottom them with certainty. Acknowledging the hand of Providence, as I do, in all events, I am sometimes inclined to think that they are wiser than we, and am willing to wait till we have made this continent once more a place where freemen can live in security and honour, before assuming any further responsibility. This is the view taken by my neighbour Habakkuk Sloansure, Esq., the president of our bank, whose opinion in the practical affairs of life has great weight with me, as I have generally found it to be justified by the event, and whose counsel, had I followed it, would have saved me from an unfortunate investment of a considerable part of the painful economies of half a century in the Northwest-Passage Tunnel. After a somewhat animated discussion with this gentleman a few days since, I expanded, on the audi alteram partem principle, something which he happened to say by way of illustration, into the following fable.

FESTINA LENTE

ONCE on a time there was a pool
Fringed all about with flag-leaves cool
And spotted with cow-lilies garish,
Of frogs and pouts the ancient parish.
Alders the creaking redwings sink on,
Tussocks that house blithe Bob o' Lincoln
Hedged round the unassailed seclusion,
Where muskrats piled their cells Carthusian;
And many a moss-embroidered log,
The watering-place of summer frog,
Slept and decayed with patient skill,
As watering-places sometimes will.

Now in this Abbey of Theleme,
Which realized the fairest dream
That ever dozing bull-frog had,
Sunned on a half-sunk lily-pad,
There rose a party with a mission
To mend the polliwogs' condition,
Who notified the sélectmen

To call a meeting there and then.
"Some kind of steps," they said, "are needed;
Let's dock their tails; if that don't make 'em
They don't come on so fast as we did:
Frogs by brevet, the Old One take 'em!
That boy, that came the other day
To dig some flag-root down this way,
His jack-knife left, and 't is a sign
That Heaven approves of our design:
'T were wicked not to urge the step on,
When Providence has sent the weapon.'

Old croakers, deacons of the mire,
That led the deep batrachian choir,
Uk! Uk! Caronk! with bass that might
Have left Lablache's out of sight,
Shook nobby heads, and said, "No go!
You'd better let 'em try to grow:
Old Doctor Time is slow, but still
He does know how to make a pill."

But vain was all their hoarsest bass,
Their old experience out of place,
And spite of croaking and entreating,
The vote was carried in marsh-meeting.

"Lord knows," protest the polliwogs,
"We 're anxious to be grown-up frogs;
But don't push in to do the work
Of Nature till she prove a shirk;
'T is not by jumps that she advances,
But wins her way by circumstances:
Pray, wait awhile, until you know
We're so contrived as not to grow;
Let Nature take her own direction,
And she 'll absorb our imperfection;
You might n't like 'em to appear with,
But we must have the things to steer with."

"No," piped the party of reform,

All great results are ta'en by storm; Fate holds her best gifts till we show We 've strength to make her let them go; The Providence that works in history,

And seems to some folks such a mystery,
Does not creep slowly on incog.,
But moves by jumps, a mighty frog;
No more reject the Age's chrism,
Your queues are an anachronism;
No more the Future's promise mock,
But lay your tails upon the block,
Thankful that we the means have voted
To have you thus to frogs promoted."

The thing was done, the tails were cropped,
And home each philotadpole hopped,
In faith rewarded to exult,

And wait the beautiful result.

Too soon it came; our pool, so long

The theme of patriot bull-frog's song,
Next day was reeking, fit to smother,

With heads and tails that missed each other,
Here snoutless tails, there tailless snouts;
The only gainers were the pouts.

MORAL

From lower to the higher next,
Not to the top, is Nature's text;
And embryo Good, to reach full stature,
Absorbs the Evil in its nature.

I think that nothing will ever give permanent peace and security to this continent but the extirpation of Slavery therefrom, and that the occasion is nigh; but I would do nothing hastily or vindictively, nor presume to jog the elbow of Providence. No desperate measures for me till we are sure that all others are hopeless,-flectere si nequeo SUPEROS, Acheronta movebo. To make Emancipation a reform instead of a revolution is worth a little patience, that we may have the Border States first, and then the non-slaveholders of the Cotton States, with us in principle, -a consummation that seems to be nearer than many imagine. Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum, is not to be taken in a literal sense by statesmen, whose problem is to get justice done with as little jar as possible to existing order, which has at least so much of heaven in it that it is not chaos. Our first duty toward our enslaved brother is to educate him, whether he be white or black. The first need of the free black is to elevate himself according to the standard of this material generation. So soon as the Ethiopian goes in his chariot, he will find not only Apostles, but Chief Priests and Scribes and Pharisees willing to ride with him.

which at last proclaims the Government on the side of freedom, justice, and sound policy.

As I write, comes the news of our disaster at Hampton Roads. I do not understand the supineness which, after fair warning, leaves wood to an unequal conflict with iron. It is not enough merely to have the right on our side, if we stick to the old flint-lock of tradition. I have observed in my parochial experience (haud ignarus mali) that the Devil is prompt to adopt the latest inventions of destructive warfare, and may thus take even such a three-decker as Bishop Butler at an advantage. It is curious, that, as gunpowder made armour useless on shore, so armour is having its revenge by baffling its old enemy at sea; and that, while gunpowder robbed land warfare of nearly all its picturesqueness to give even greater stateliness and sublimity to a sea-fight, armour bids fair to degrade the latter into a squabble between two iron-shelled turtles.

Yours, with esteem and respect,

HOMER WILBUR, A. M.