The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 41

To-day picked my Isabella grapes. Crop injured by attacks of rose-bug in the spring. Whether Noah was justifiable in preserving this cla.s.s of insects?

[Greek: d]. Concerning Mr. Biglow's pedigree. Tolerably certain that there was never a poet among his ancestors. An ordination hymn attributed to a maternal uncle, but perhaps a sort of production not demanding the creative faculty.

His grandfather a painter of the grandiose or Michael Angelo school.

Seldom painted objects smaller than houses or barns, and these with uncommon expression.

[Greek: e]. Of the Wilburs no complete pedigree. The crest said to be a _wild boar_, whence, perhaps, the name. (?) A connection with the Earls of Wilbraham (_quasi_ wild boar ham) might be made out. This suggestion worth following up. In 1677, John W.m. Expect----, had issue, 1. John, 2. Haggai, 3. Expect, 4. Ruhamah, 5. Desire.

'Here lyes y'e bodye of Mrs. Expect Wilber, Ye crewell salvages they kil'd her Together w'th other Christian soles eleaven, October y'e ix daye, 1707.

Y'e stream of Jordan sh' as crost ore And now expeacts me on y'e other sh.o.r.e: I live in hope her soon to join; Her earthlye yeeres were forty and nine.'

_From Gravestone in Pekussett, North Parish._

This is unquestionably the same John who afterward (1711) married Tabitha Hagg or Ragg.

But if this were the case, she seems to have died early; for only three years after, namely, 1714, we have evidence that he married Winifred, daughter of Lieutenant Tipping.

He seems to have been a man of substance, for we find him in 1696 conveying 'one undivided eightieth part of a salt-meadow' in Yabbok, and he commanded a sloop in 1702.

Those who doubt the importance of genealogical studies _fuste potius quam argumento erudiendi_.

I trace him as far as 1723, and there lose him. In that year he was chosen selectman.

No gravestone. Perhaps overthrown when new hea.r.s.e-house was built, 1802.

He was probably the son of John, who came from Bilham Comit. Salop.

circa 1642.

This first John was a man of considerable importance, being twice mentioned with the honorable prefix of _Mr._ in the town records. Name spelt with two _l-s_.

'Hear lyeth y'e bod [_stone unhappily broken_.]

Mr. Ihon Wilber [Esq.] [_I inclose this in brackets as doubtful.

To me it seems clear_.]

Ob't die [_illegible; looks like xviii_.].... iii [_prob. 1693_.]

... paynt ... deseased seinte: A friend and [fath]er untoe all y'e opreast, Hee gave y'e wicked familists noe reast, When Sat[an bl]ewe his Antinomian blaste.

Wee clong to [Willber as a steadf]ast maste.

[A]gaynst y'e horrid Qua[kers] ...'

It is greatly to be lamented that this curious epitaph is mutilated. It is said that the sacrilegious British soldiers made a target of the stone during the war of Independence. How odious an animosity which pauses not at the grave! How brutal that which spares not the monuments of authentic history! This is not improbably from the pen of Rev. Moody Pyram, who is mentioned by Hubbard as having been noted for a silver vein of poetry. If his papers be still extant, a copy might possibly be recovered.

THE BIGLOW PAPERS

No. I

A LETTER

FROM MR. EZEKIEL BIGLOW OF JAALAM TO THE HON. JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM, EDITOR OF THE BOSTON COURIER, INCLOSING A POEM OF HIS SON, MR. HOSEA BIGLOW

JAYLEM, june 1846.

MISTER EDDYTER:--Our Hosea wuz down to Boston last week, and he see a cruetin Sarjunt a struttin round as popler as a hen with 1 chicking, with 2 fellers a drummin and fifin arter him like all nater. the sarjunt he thout Hosea hedn't gut his i teeth cut cos he looked a kindo 's though he'd jest com down, so he cal'lated to hook him in, but Hosy woodn't take none o' his sa.r.s.e for all he hed much as 20 Rooster's tales stuck onto his hat and eenamost enuf bra.s.s a bobbin up and down on his shoulders and figureed onto his coat and trousis, let alone wut nater hed sot in his featers, to make a 6 pounder out on.

wal, Hosea he com home considerabal riled, and arter I'd gone to bed I heern Him a thrashin round like a short-tailed Bull in fli-time. The old Woman ses she to me ses she, Zekle, ses she, our Hosee's gut the chollery or suthin anuther ses she, don't you Bee skeered, ses I, he's oney amakin pottery[10] ses i, he's ollers on hand at that ere busynes like Da & martin, and shure enuf, c.u.m mornin, Hosy he c.u.m down stares full chizzle, hare on eend and cote tales flyin, and sot rite of to go reed his va.r.s.es to Parson Wilbur bein he haint aney grate shows o' book larnin himself, bimeby he c.u.m back and sed the parson wuz dreffle tickled with 'em as i hoop you will Be, and said they wuz True grit.

Hosea ses taint hardly fair to call 'em hisn now, cos the parson kind o'

slicked off sum o' the last va.r.s.es, but he told Hosee he didn't want to put his ore in to tetch to the Rest on 'em, bein they wuz verry well As thay wuz, and then Hosy ses he sed suthin a nuther about Simplex Mundishes or sum sech feller, but I guess Hosea kind o' didn't hear him, for I never hearn o' n.o.body o' that name in this villadge, and I've lived here man and boy 76 year c.u.m next tater diggin, and thair aint no wheres a kitting spryer 'n I be.

If you print 'em I wish you'd jest let folks know who hosy's father is, cos my ant Keziah used to say it's nater to be curus ses she, she aint livin though and he's a likely kind o' lad.

EZEKIEL BIGLOW.

Thrash away, you'll _hev_ to rattle On them kittle-drums o' yourn,-- 'Taint a knowin' kind o' cattle Thet is ketched with mouldy corn; Put in stiff, you fifer feller, Let folks see how spry you be,-- Guess you'll toot till you are yeller 'Fore you git ahold o' me!

Thet air flag's a leetle rotten, Hope it aint your Sunday's best;-- 10 Fact! it takes a sight o' cotton To stuff out a soger's chest: Sence we farmers hev to pay fer't, Ef you must wear humps like these, S'posin' you should try salt hay fer't, It would du ez slick ez grease.

'Twouldn't suit them Southun fellers, They're a dreffle graspin' set, We must ollers blow the bellers Wen they want their irons het; 20 May be it's all right ez preachin', But _my_ narves it kind o' grates, Wen I see the overreachin'

O' them n.i.g.g.e.r-drivin' States.

Them thet rule us, them slave-traders, Haint they cut a thunderin' swarth (Helped by Yankee renegaders), Thru the vartu o' the North!

We begin to think it's nater To take sa.r.s.e an' not be riled;-- 30 Who'd expect to see a tater All on eend at bein' biled?

Ez fer war, I call it murder,-- There you hev it plain an' flat; I don't want to go no furder Than my Testyment fer that; G.o.d hez sed so plump an' fairly, It's ez long ez it is broad, An' you've gut to git up airly Ef you want to take in G.o.d. 40

'Taint your eppyletts an' feathers Make the thing a grain more right; 'Taint afollerin' your bell-wethers Will excuse ye in His sight; Ef you take a sword an' dror it, An' go stick a feller thru, Guv'ment aint to answer for it, G.o.d'll send the bill to you.

Wut's the use o' meetin'-goin'

Every Sabbath, wet or dry, 50 Ef it's right to go amowin'

Feller-men like oats an' rye?

I dunno but wut it's pooty Trainin' round in bobtail coats,-- But it's curus Christian dooty This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats.

They may talk o' Freedom's airy Tell they're pupple in the face,-- It's a grand gret cemetary Fer the barthrights of our race; 60 They jest want this Californy So's to lug new slave-states in To abuse ye, an' to scorn ye, An' to plunder ye like sin.

Aint it cute to see a Yankee Take sech everlastin' pains, All to get the Devil's thankee Helpin' on 'em weld their chains?

Wy, it's jest ez clear ez figgers, Clear ez one an' one make two, 70 Chaps thet make black slaves o' n.i.g.g.e.rs Want to make wite slaves o' you.

Tell ye jest the eend I've come to Arter cipherin' plaguy smart, An' it makes a handy sum, tu.

Any gump could larn by heart; Laborin' man an' laborin' woman Hev one glory an' one shame.

Ev'y thin' thet's done inhuman Injers all on 'em the same. 80

'Taint by turnln' out to hack folks You're agoin' to git your right, Nor by lookin' down on black folks Coz you're put upon by wite; Slavery aint o' nary color, 'Taint the hide thet makes it wus, All it keers fer in a feller 'S jest to make him fill its pus.

Want to tackle _me_ in, du ye?