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'

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'

'Our Charles,' sez I, 'hez gut eight million necks.

The hardest question ain't the black man's

right,

The trouble is to 'mancipate the white;

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This 'ere rebellion 's nothing but the rettle,

You'll stomp on thet an' think you've won the bettle;

It's Slavery thet 's the fangs an' thinkin' head,

An' ef you want selvation, cresh it dead, An' cresh it suddin, or you'll larn by waitin'

Thet Chance wun't stop to listen to debatin'!'

'God's truth!' sez I,—‘an' ef I held the club,

An' knowed jes' where to strike, but

there's the rub!'

'Strike soon,' sez he, or you'll be deadly ailin',

Folks thet's afeared to fail are sure o' failin';

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God hates your sneakin' creturs thet believe

He'll settle things they run away an' leave!'

He brought his foot down fercely, ez he spoke,

An' give me sech a startle thet I woke.

Oh, Jon'than, ef you want to be
A rugged chap agin an' hearty,
Go fer wutever '11 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'.

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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.)

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,

Peaceful ez eyes o' pastur'd cattle, 70 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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