To gret men, some on 'em, an' deacons, tu; 't ain't used no longer, coz the town hez gut A high-school, where they teach the Lord knows wut:

Three-story larnin' 's pop'lar now; I guess
We thriv' ez wal on jes' two stories less,
For it strikes me ther' 's sech a thing ez
sinnin'

By overloadin' children's underpinnin':
Wal, here it wuz I larned my A B C,
An' it's a kind o' favorite spot with me.

We're curus critters: Now ain't jes' the minute

150

Faith, Hope, an' sunthin', ef it is n't Cherrity,

It's want o' guile, an' thet 's ez gret a rerrity,

While Fancy's cushin', free to Prince and Clown,

Makes the hard bench ez soft ez milkweed-down.

Now, 'fore I knowed, thet Sabbath arter

noon

When I sot out to tramp myself in tune,
I found me in the school'us' on my seat, 170
Drummin' the march to No-wheres with
my feet.

Thinkin' o' nothin', I've heerd ole folks say

Is a hard kind o' dooty in its way:
It's thinkin' everythin' you ever knew,
Or ever hearn, to make your feelin's blue.
I sot there tryin' thet on for a spell:
I thought o' the Rebellion, then o' Hell,
Which some folks tell ye now is jest a met-
terfor

(A the'ry, p'raps, it wun't feel none the better for);

I thought o' Reconstruction, wut we'd

win

180

'twixt flesh an' sperrit boundin' on each side,

Where both shores' shadders kind o' mix an' mingle

In sunthin' thet ain't jes' like either single; An' when you cast off moorin's from Today,

An' down towards To-morrer drift away, The imiges thet tengle on the stream Make a new upside-down'ard world o' dream:

Sometimes they seem like sunrise-streaks an' warnin's

Two hundred an' three year ago this May
The ship I come in sailed up Boston Bay;
I'd been a cunnle in our Civil War, -
But wut on airth hev you gut up one for?
Coz we du things in England, 't ain't for
you

To git a notion you can du 'em tu:

I'm told you write in public prints: ef true,

It's nateral you should know a thing or two.'

'Thet air 's an argymunt I can't endorse,

't would prove, coz you wear spurs, you kep' a horse:

230

For brains,' sez I, 'wutever you may think, Ain't boun' to cash the drafs o' pen-an'ink,

some,

240

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,

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';

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 War

ren.

'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 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,

90

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.)