O' wut 'll be in Heaven on Sabbath-mornin's,

An', mixed right in ez ef jest out o' spite,

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Sunthin' thet says your supper ain't gone right.

I'm gret on dreams, an' often when I wake, I've lived so much it makes my mem'ry ache,

An' can't skurce take a cat-nap in my cheer

'thout hevin' 'em, some good, some bad, all queer.

Now I wuz settin' where I 'd ben, it seemed,

An' ain't sure yit whether I r'ally dreamed, Nor, ef I did, how long I might ha' slep', When I hearn some un stompin' up the step,

An' lookin' round, ef two an' two make four,

I see a Pilgrim Father in the door.

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He wore a steeple-hat, tall boots, an' spurs With rowels to 'em big ez ches'nut-burrs, An' his gret sword behind him sloped away Long 'z a man's speech thet dunno wut to

Though mos' folks write ez ef they hoped jes' quickenin'

The churn would argoo skim-milk into thickenin';

But skim-milk ain't a thing to change its

view

O' wut it's meant for more 'n a smoky flue.

But du pray tell me, 'fore we furder go,
How in all Natur' did you come to know
'bout our affairs,' sez I, 'in Kingdom-
Come?'-

'Wal, I worked round at sperrit-rappin'

some,

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An' danced the tables till their legs wuz gone,

In hopes o' larnin' wut wuz goin' on,'
Sez he, but mejums lie so like all-split
Thet I concluded it wuz best to quit.
But, come now, ef you wun't confess to
knowin',

You've some conjectures how the thing's a-goin'.'

'Gran'ther,' sez I, 'a vane warn't never known

Nor asked to hev a jedgment of its own;
An' yit, ef 't ain't gut rusty in the jints,
It's safe to trust its say on certin pints: 250
It knows the wind's opinions to a T,
An' the wind settles wut the weather 'll be.'
'I never thought a scion of our stock
Could grow the wood to make a weather-
cock;

When I wuz younger 'n you, skurce more 'n a shaver,

No airthly wind,' sez he, 'could make me waver!'

(Ez he said this, he clinched his jaw an'

forehead,

A thing,' sez 1,' wun't cover soul nor body; I like the plain all-wool o' common-sense, Thet warms ye now, an' will a twelvemonth hence.

You took to follerin' where the Prophets beckoned,

An', fust you knowed on, back come Charles the Second;

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Now wut I want 's to hev all we gain stick, An' not to start Millennium too quick; We hain't to punish only, but to keep, An' the cure 's gut to go a cent'ry deep.' 'Wall, milk-an'-water ain't the best o' glue,' Sez he, 'an' so you'll find afore you're thru;

Ef reshness venters sunthin', shilly-shally Loses ez often wut 's ten times the vally. Thet exe of ourn, when Charles's neck gut split,

Opened a gap thet ain't bridged over yit: 300 Slav'ry's your Charles, the Lord hez gin

the exe'

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';

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 Guv'ment folks about? Tryin' to hope ther' 's nothin' doin', An' look ez though they did n't doubt Sunthin' pertickler wuz a-brewin'.

20

30

40

In six months where 'll the People be,
Ef leaders look on revolution
Ez though it wuz a cup o' tea, -

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Jest social el'ments in solution? This weighin' things doos wal enough When war cools down, an' comes to writin';

the Democratic party, and a bitter opponent of Lincoln. He had at this time been recently elected governor of New York on a platform that denounced almost every measure the government had found it necessary to adopt for the suppression of the Rebellion. His influence contributed not a little to the encouragement of that spirit which inspired the Draft Riot in the city of New York in July, 1863. (F. B. Williams, in Riverside and Cambridge Editions.)

Why, th' ain't a bird upon the tree
But half forgives my bein' human.

An' yit I love th' unhighschooled way
Ol' farmers hed when I wuz younger;
Their talk wuz meatier, an' 'ould stay,
While book-froth seems to whet your
hunger;

For puttin' in a downright lick

'twixt Humbug's eyes, ther' 's few can metch it,

An' then it helves my thoughts ez slick
Ez stret-grained hickory doos a hetchet.

But when I can't, I can't, thet 's all,
For Natur' won't put up with gullin';
Idees you hev to shove an' haul

30

Like a druv pig ain't wuth a mullein: Live thoughts ain't sent for; thru all rifts

O' sense they pour an' resh ye onwards, Like rivers when south-lyin' drifts

Feel thet th' old airth 's a-wheelin' sunwards.

40

I hev been gladder o' sech things
Than cocks o' spring or bees o' clover,
They filled my heart with livin' springs,
But now they seem to freeze 'em over;
Sights innercent ez babes on knee,

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Peaceful ez eyes o' pastur'd cattle, Jes' coz they be so, seem to me To rile me more with thoughts o' battle.

Indoors an' out by spells I try;
Ma'am Natur keeps her spin-wheel
goin',

But leaves my natur' stiff and dry
Ez fiel's o' clover arter mowin';
An' her jes' keepin' on the same,

Calmer 'n a clock, an' never carin',
An' findin' nary thing to blame,

Is wus than ef she took to swearin'.

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