The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 48

It takes a mind like Dannel's, fact, ez big ez all ou' doors, To find out thet it looks like rain arter it fairly pours; I 'gree with him, it aint so dreffle troublesome to vote Fer Taylor arter all,--it's jest to go an' change your coat; 100 Wen he's once greased, you'll swaller him an' never know on 't, scurce, Unless he scratches, goin' down, with them 'ere Gin'ral's spurs.

I've ben a votin' Demmercrat, ez reg'lar as a clock, But don't find goin' Taylor gives my narves no gret 'f a shock; Truth is, the cutest leadin' Wigs, ever sence fust they found Wich side the bread gut b.u.t.tered on, hev kep' a edgin' round; They kin' o' slipt the planks frum out th' ole platform one by one An' made it gradooally noo, 'fore folks khow'd wut wuz done, Till, fur 'z I know, there aint an inch thet I could lay my han' on, But I, or any Demmercrat, feels comf'table to stan' on, 110 An' ole Wig doctrines act'lly look, their occ'pants bein' gone, Lonesome ez steddies on a mash without no hayricks on.

I spose it's time now I should give my thoughts upon the plan, Thet chipped the sh.e.l.l at Buffalo, o' settin' up ole Van.

I used to vote fer Martin, but, I swan, I'm clean disgusted,-- He aint the man thet I can say is fittin' to be trusted; He aint half antislav'ry 'nough, nor I aint sure, ez some be, He'd go in fer abolishin' the Deestrick o' Columby; An', now I come to recollec', it kin' o' makes me sick 'z A horse, to think o' wut he wuz in eighteen thirty-six. 120 An' then, another thing;--I guess, though mebby I am wrong, This Buff'lo plaster aint agoin' to dror almighty strong; Some folks, I know, hev gut th' idee thet No'thun dough'll rise, Though, 'fore I see it riz an 'baked, I wouldn't trust my eyes; 'Twill take more emptins, a long chalk, than this noo party's gut, To give sech heavy cakes ez them a start, I tell ye wut.

But even ef they caird the day, there wouldn't be no endurin'

To stan' upon a platform with sech critters ez Van Buren;-- An' his son John, tu, I can't think how thet 'ere chap should dare To speak ez he doos; wy, they say he used to cuss an' swear! 130 I spose he never read the hymn thet tells how down the stairs A feller with long legs wuz throwed thet wouldn't say his prayers.

This brings me to another pint: the leaders o' the party Aint jest sech men ez I can act along with free an' hearty; They aint not quite respectable, an' wen a feller's morrils Don't toe the straightest kin' o' mark, wy, him an' me jest quarrils.

I went to a free soil meetin' once, an' wut d'ye think I see?

A feller was aspoutin' there thet act'lly come to me, About two year ago last spring, ez nigh ez I can jedge, An' axed me ef I didn't want to sign the Temprunce pledge! 140 He's one o' them that goes about an' sez you hedn't oughter Drink nothin', mornin', noon, or night, stronger 'an Taunton water.

There's one rule I've ben guided by, in settlin' how to vote, ollers,-- I take the side thet _isn't_ took by them consarned teetotallers.

Ez fer the n.i.g.g.e.rs, I've ben South, an' thet hez changed my min'; A lazier, more ongrateful set you couldn't nowers fin', You know I mentioned in my last thet I should buy a n.i.g.g.e.r, Ef I could make a purchase at a pooty mod'rate figger; So, ez there's nothin' in the world I'm fonder of 'an gunnin', I closed a bargain finally to take a feller runnin'. 150 I shou'dered queen's-arm an' stumped out, an' wen I come t' th' swamp, 'Tworn't very long afore I gut upon the nest o' Pomp; I come acrost a kin' o' hut, an', playin' round the door, Some little woolly-headed cubs, ez many 'z six or more.

At fust I thought o' firin', but _think twice_ is safest ollers; There aint, thinks I, not one on 'em but's wuth his twenty dollars, Or would be, ef I hed 'em back into a Christian land,-- How temptin' all on 'em would look upon an auction-stand!

(Not but wut _I_ hate Slavery, in th' abstract, stem to starn,-- I leave it ware our fathers did, a privit State consarn.) 160 Soon 'z they see me, they yelled an' run, but Pomp wuz out ahoein'

A leetle patch o' corn he hed, or else there aint no knowin'

He wouldn't ha' took a pop at me; but I hed gut the start, An' wen he looked, I vow he groaned ez though he'd broke his heart; He done it like a wite man, tu, ez nat'ral ez a pictur, The imp'dunt, pis'nous hypocrite! wus 'an a boy constrictur.

'You can't gum _me_, I tell ye now, an' so you needn't try, I 'xpect my eye-teeth every mail, so jest shet up,' sez I.

'Don't go to actin' ugly now, or else I'll let her strip, You'd best draw kindly, seein' 'z how I've gut ye on the hip; 170 Besides, you darned ole fool, it aint no gret of a disaster To be benev'lently druv back to a contented master, Ware you hed Christian priv'ledges you don't seem quite aware on, Or you'd ha' never run away from bein' well took care on; Ez fer kin' treatment, wy, he wuz so fond on ye, he said, He'd give a fifty spot right out, to git ye, 'live or dead; Wite folks aint sot by half ez much; 'member I run away, Wen I wuz bound to Cap'n Jakes, to Mattysqumscot Bay; Don' know him, likely? Spose not; wal, the mean old codger went An' offered--wut reward, think? Wal, it worn't no _less_ 'n a cent.' 180

Wal, I jest gut 'em into line, an' druv 'em on afore me; The pis'nous brutes, I'd no idee o' the ill-will they bore me; We walked till som'ers about noon, an' then it grew so hot I thought it best to camp awile, so I chose out a spot Jest under a magnoly tree, an' there right down I sot; Then I unstrapped my wooden leg, coz it begun to chafe, An' laid it down 'longside o' me, supposin' all wuz safe; I made my darkies all set down around me in a ring, An' sot an' kin' o' ciphered up how much the lot would bring; But, wile I drinked the peaceful cup of a pure heart an' min' 190 (Mixed with some wiskey, now an' then), Pomp he snaked up behin', An' creepin' grad'lly close tu, ez quiet ez a mink, Jest grabbed my leg, an' then pulled foot, quicker 'an you could wink, An', come to look, they each on' em hed gut behin' a tree, An' Pomp poked out the leg a piece, jest so ez I could see, An' yelled to me to throw away my pistils an' my gun, Or else thet they'd cair off the leg, an' fairly cut an' run.

I vow I didn't b'lieve there wuz a decent alligatur Thet hed a heart so dest.i.toot o' common human natur; However, ez there worn't no help, I finally give in 200 An' heft my arms away to git my leg safe back agin.

Pomp gethered all the weapins up, an' then he come an' grinned, He showed his ivory some, I guess, an' sez, 'You're fairly pinned; Jest buckle on your leg agin, an' git right up an' come, 'T wun't du fer fammerly men like me to be so long frum hum.'

At fust I put my foot right down an' swore I wouldn't budge.

'Jest ez you choose,' sez he, quite cool, 'either be shot or trudge.'

So this black-hearted monster took an' act'lly druv me back Along the very feetmarks o' my happy mornin' track, An' kep' me pris'ner 'bout six months, an' worked me, tu, like sin, 210 Till I hed gut his corn an' his Carliny taters in; He made me larn him readin', tu (although the crittur saw How much it hut my morril sense to act agin the law), So'st he could read a Bible he'd gut; an' axed ef I could pint The North Star out; but there I put his nose some out o' jint, Fer I weeled roun' about sou'west, an', lookin' up a bit, Picked out a middlin' shiny one an' tole him thet wuz it.

Fin'lly he took me to the door, an' givin' me a kick, Sez, 'Ef you know wut's best fer ye, be off, now, double-quick; The winter-time's a comin' on, an' though I gut ye cheap, 220 You're so darned lazy, I don't think you're hardly woth your keep; Besides, the childrin's growin' up, an' you aint jest the model I'd like to hev 'em immertate, an' so you'd better toddle!'

Now is there anythin' on airth'll ever prove to me Thet renegader slaves like him air fit fer bein' free?

D' you think they'll suck me in to jine the Buff'lo chaps, an' them Rank infidels thet go agin the Scriptur'l cus o' Shem?

Not by a jugfull! sooner 'n thet, I'd go thru fire an' water; Wen I hev once made up my mind, a meet'nhus aint sotter; 229 No, not though all the crows thet flies to pick my bones wuz cawin',-- I guess we're in a Christian land,-- Yourn, BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.

[Here, patient reader, we take leave of each other, I trust with some mutual satisfaction. I say _patient_, for I love not that kind which skims dippingly over the surface of the page, as swallows over a pool before rain. By such no pearls shall be gathered. But if no pearls there be (as, indeed the world is not without example of books wherefrom the longest-winded diver shall bring up no more than his proper handful of mud), yet let us hope that an oyster or two may reward adequate perseverance. If neither pearls nor oysters, yet is patience itself a gem worth diving deeply for.

It may seem to some that too much s.p.a.ce has been usurped by my own private lucubrations, and some may be fain to bring against me that old jest of him who preached all his hearers out of the meeting-house save only the s.e.xton, who, remaining for yet a little s.p.a.ce, from a sense of official duty, at last gave out also, and, presenting the keys, humbly requested our preacher to lock the doors, when he should have wholly relieved himself of his testimony. I confess to a satisfaction in the self act of preaching, nor do I esteem a discourse to be wholly thrown away even upon a sleeping or unintelligent auditory. I cannot easily believe that the Gospel of Saint John, which Jacques Cartier ordered to be read in the Latin tongue to the Canadian savages, upon his first meeting with them, fell altogether upon stony ground. For the earnestness of the preacher is a sermon appreciable by dullest intellects and most alien ears. In this wise did Episcopius convert many to his opinions, who yet understood not the language in which he discoursed. The chief thing is that the messenger believe that he has an authentic message to deliver. For counterfeit messengers that mode of treatment which Father John de Plano Carpini relates to have prevailed among the Tartars would seem effectual, and, perhaps, deserved enough.

For my own part, I may lay claim to so much of the spirit of martyrdom as would have led me to go into banishment with those clergymen whom Alphonso the Sixth of Portugal drave out of his kingdom for refusing to shorten their pulpit eloquence. It is possible, that, I having been invited into my brother Biglow's desk, I may have been too little scrupulous in using it for the venting of my own peculiar doctrines to a congregation drawn together in the expectation and with the desire of hearing him.

I am not wholly unconscious of a peculiarity of mental organization which impels me, like the railroad-engine with its train of cars, to run backward for a short distance in order to obtain a fairer start. I may compare myself to one fishing from the rocks when the sea runs high, who, misinterpreting the suction of the undertow for the biting of some larger fish, jerks suddenly, and finds that he has _caught bottom_, hauling in upon the end of his line a trail of various _algae_, among which, nevertheless, the naturalist may haply find somewhat to repay the disappointment of the angler. Yet have I conscientiously endeavored to adapt myself to the impatient temper of the age, daily degenerating more and more from the high standard of our pristine New England. To the catalogue of lost arts I would mournfully add also that of listening to two-hour sermons. Surely we have been abridged into a race of pygmies.

For, truly, in those of the old discourses yet subsisting to us in print, the endless spinal column of divisions and subdivisions can be likened to nothing so exactly as to the vertebrae of the saurians, whence the theorist may conjecture a race of Anakim proportionate to the withstanding of these other monsters. I say Anakim rather than Nephelim, because there seem reasons for supposing that the race of those whose heads (though no giants) are constantly enveloped in clouds (which that name imports) will never become extinct. The attempt to vanquish the innumerable _heads_ of one of those aforementioned discourses may supply us with a plausible interpretation of the second labor of Hercules, and his successful experiment with fire affords us a useful precedent.

But while I lament the degeneracy of the age in this regard, I cannot refuse to succ.u.mb to its influence. Looking out through my study-window, I see Mr. Biglow at a distance busy in gathering his Baldwins, of which, to judge by the number of barrels lying about under the trees, his crop is more abundant than my own,--by which sight I am admonished to turn to those orchards of the mind wherein my labors may be more prospered, and apply myself diligently to the preparation of my next Sabbath's discourse.--H.W.]

MELIBOEUS-HIPPONAX

THE

Biglow Papers

SECOND SERIES

[Greek: 'Estin ar o idiotismos eniote tou kosmou parapolu emphanistkoteron.']

LONGIXUS.

'J'aimerois mieulx que mon fils apprinst aux tavernes a parler, qu'aux escholes de la parlerie.'

MONTAIGNE.

"Unser Sprach ist auch ein Sprach und fan so wohl ein Sad nennen als die Lateiner saccus."

FISCHART.

'Vim rebus aliquando ipsa verborum humilitas affert.'

QUINTILIa.n.u.s.

'O ma lengo, Plantarey une estelo a toun froun encrumit!'

JASMIN.

'Multos enim, quibus loquendi ratio non desit, invenias, quos curiose potius loqui dixeris quam Latine; quomodo et illa Attica a.n.u.s Theophrastum, hominem alioqui disertissimum, annotata unius affectatione verbi, hospitem dixit, nec alio se id deprehendisse interrogata respondit, quam quod nimium Attice loqueretur.'--QUINTILIa.n.u.s.

'Et Anglice sermonicari solebat populo, sed secundum linguam Norfolchie ubi natus et nutritus erat.'--CRONICA JOCELINI.

'La politique est une pierre attachee an cou de la litterature, et qui en moins de six mois la submerge.... Cette politique va offenser mortellement une moitie des lecteurs, et ennuyer l'autre qui l'a trouvee bien autrement speciale et energique dans le journal du matin.'--HENRI BEYLE.

[When the book appeared it bore a dedication to E.R. h.o.a.r, and was introduced by an essay of the Yankee form of English speech. This Introduction is so distinctly an essay that it has been thought best to print it as an appendix to this volume, rather than allow it to break in upon the pages of verse. There is, however, one pa.s.sage in it which may be repeated here, since it bears directly upon the poem which serves as a sort of prelude to the series.]

'The only attempt I had ever made at anything like a pastoral (if that may be called an attempt which was the result almost of pure accident) was in _The Courtin'_. While the introduction to the First Series was going through the press, I received word from the printer that there was a blank page left which must be filled. I sat down at once and improvised another fict.i.tious "notice of the press," in which, because verse would fill up s.p.a.ce more cheaply than prose, I inserted an extract from a supposed ballad of Mr. Biglow. I kept no copy of it, and the printer, as directed, cut it off when the gap was filled. Presently I began to receive letters asking for the rest of it, sometimes for the _balance_ of it. I had none, but to answer such demands, I patched a conclusion upon it in a later edition. Those who had only the first continued to importune me. Afterward, being asked to write it out as an autograph for the Baltimore Sanitary Commission Fair, I added other verses, into some of which I infused a little more sentiment in a homely way, and after a fashion completed it by sketching in the characters and making a connected story. Most likely I have spoiled it, but I shall put it at the end of this Introduction, to answer once for all those kindly importunings.'

THE COURTIN'

G.o.d makes sech nights, all white an' still Fur 'z you can look or listen, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten.