---

James Russell Lowell - Mason And Slidell: A Yankee Idyll
Work rating: Low

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
I love to start out arter night`s begun,
An` all the chores about the farm are done,
The critters milked an` foddered, gates shet fast,
Tools cleaned aginst to-morrer, supper past.
An` Nancy darnin` by her ker`sene lamp,--
I love, I say, to start upon a tramp,
To shake the kinkles out o` back an` legs,
An` kind o` rack my life off from the dregs
Thet`s apt to settle in the buttery-hutch
Of folks thet foller in one rut too much:     
Hard work is good an` wholesome, past all doubt;
But `t ain`t so, ef the mind gits tuckered out.
Now, bein` born in Middlesex, you know,
There`s certin spots where I like best to go:
The Concord road, for instance (I, for one,
Most gin`lly ollers call it _John Bull`s Run_).
The field o` Lexin`ton where England tried
The fastest colours thet she ever dyed,
An` Concord Bridge, thet Davis, when he came,
Found was the bee-line track to heaven an` fame,     
Ez all roads be by natur`, ef your soul
Don`t sneak thru shun-pikes so`s to save the toll.

They`re `most too fur away, take too much time
To visit of`en, ef it ain`t in rhyme;
But the` `s a walk thet`s hendier, a sight,
An` suits me fust-rate of a winter`s night,--
I mean the round whale`s-back o` Prospect Hill.
I love to l`iter there while night grows still,
An` in the twinklin` villages about,
Fust here, then there, the well-saved lights goes out,      
An` nary sound but watch-dogs` false alarms,
Or muffled cock-crows from the drowsy farms,
Where some wise rooster (men act jest thet way)
Stands to `t thet moon-rise is the break o` day;
(So Mister Seward sticks a three-months` pin
Where the war`d oughto eend, then tries agin:
My gran`ther`s rule was safer `n `tis to crow:
_Don`t never prophesy--onless ye know_.)
I love to muse there till it kind o` seems
Ez ef the world went eddyin` off in dreams;     
The northwest wind thet twitches at my baird
Blows out o` sturdier days not easy scared,
An` the same moon thet this December shines
Starts out the tents an` booths o` Putnam`s lines;
The rail-fence posts, acrost the hill thet runs,
Turn ghosts o` sogers should`rin` ghosts o` guns;
Ez wheels the sentry, glints a flash o` light,
Along the firelock won at Concord Fight,
An`, `twixt the silences, now fur, now nigh,
Rings the sharp chellenge, hums the low reply.     

Ez I was settin` so, it warn`t long sence,
Mixin` the puffict with the present tense,
I heerd two voices som`ers in the air,
Though, ef I was to die, I can`t tell where:
Voices I call `em: `twas a kind o` sough
Like pine-trees thet the wind`s ageth`rin` through;
An`, fact, I thought it _was_ the wind a spell,
Then some misdoubted, couldn`t fairly tell,
Fust sure, then not, jest as you hold an eel,
I knowed, an` didn`t,--fin`lly seemed to feel          
`Twas Concord Bridge a talkin` off to kill
With the Stone Spike thet`s druv thru Bunker`s Hill;
Whether `twas so, or ef I on`y dreamed,
I couldn`t say; I tell it ez it seemed.


THE BRIDGE

Wal, neighbor, tell us wut`s turned up thet`s new?
You`re younger `n I be,--nigher Boston, tu:
An` down to Boston, ef you take their showin`,
Wut they don`t know ain`t hardly wuth the knowin`.
There`s _sunthin`_ goin` on, I know: las` night
The British sogers killed in our gret fight            
(Nigh fifty year they hedn`t stirred nor spoke)
Made sech a coil you`d thought a dam hed broke:
Why, one he up an` beat a revellee
With his own crossbones on a holler tree,
Till all the graveyards swarmed out like a hive
With faces I hain`t seen sence Seventy-five.
Wut _is_ the news? `T ain`t good, or they`d be cheerin`.
Speak slow an` clear, for I`m some hard o` hearin`.


THE MONIMENT

I don`t know hardly ef it`s good or bad,--


THE BRIDGE

At wust, it can`t be wus than wut we`ve had.        


THE MONIMENT

You know them envys thet the Rebbles sent,
An` Cap`n Wilkes he borried o` the Trent?


THE BRIDGE

Wut! they ha`n`t hanged `em?
Then their wits is gone!
Thet`s the sure way to make a goose a swan!


THE MONIMENT

No: England she _would_ hev `em, _Fee, Faw, Fum!_
(Ez though she hedn`t fools enough to home,)
So they`ve returned `em--


THE BRIDGE

                   _Hev_ they? Wal, by heaven,
Thet`s the wust news I`ve heerd sence Seventy-seven!
_By George_, I meant to say, though I declare
It`s `most enough to make a deacon swear.               


THE MONIMENT

Now don`t go off half-cock: folks never gains
By usin` pepper-sarse instid o` brains.
Come, neighbor, you don`t understan`--


THE BRIDGE

                                 How? Hey?
Not understan`? Why, wut`s to hender, pray?
Must I go huntin` round to find a chap
To tell me when my face hez hed a slap?


THE MONIMENT

See here: the British they found out a flaw
In Cap`n Wilkes`s readin` o` the law:
(They _make_ all laws, you know, an` so, o` course,
It`s nateral they should understan` their force                    
He`d oughto ha` took the vessel into port,
An` hed her sot on by a reg`lar court;
She was a mail-ship, an` a steamer, tu,
An` thet, they say, hez changed the pint o` view,
Coz the old practice, bein` meant for sails,
Ef tried upon a steamer, kind o` fails;
You _may_ take out despatches, but you mus`n`t
Take nary man--


THE BRIDGE

You mean to say, you dus`n`t!
Changed pint o`view! No, no,--it`s overboard
With law an` gospel, when their ox is gored!                         
I tell ye, England`s law, on sea an` land,
Hez ollers ben, `_I`ve gut the heaviest hand_.`
Take nary man? Fine preachin` from _her_ lips!
Why, she hez taken hunderds from our ships,
An` would agin, an` swear she had a right to,
Ef we warn`t strong enough to be perlite to.
Of all the sarse thet I can call to mind,
England _doos_ make the most onpleasant kind:
It`s you`re the sinner ollers, she`s the saint;
Wut`s good`s all English, all thet isn`t ain`t;                     
Wut profits her is ollers right an` just,
An` ef you don`t read Scriptur so, you must;
She`s praised herself ontil she fairly thinks
There ain`t no light in Natur when she winks;
Hain`t she the Ten Comman`ments in her pus?
Could the world stir `thout she went, tu, ez nus?
She ain`t like other mortals, thet`s a fact:
_She_ never stopped the habus-corpus act,
Nor specie payments, nor she never yet
Cut down the int`rest on her public debt;     
_She_ don`t put down rebellions, lets `em breed,
An` `s ollers willin` Ireland should secede;
She`s all thet`s honest, honnable, an` fair,
An` when the vartoos died they made her heir.


THE MONIMENT

Wal, wal, two wrongs don`t never make a right;
Ef we`re mistaken, own up, an` don`t fight:
For gracious` sake, ha`n`t we enough to du
`thout gettin` up a fight with England, tu?
She thinks we`re rabble-rid--


THE BRIDGE

                                   An` so we can`t
Distinguish `twixt _You oughtn`t_ an` _You shan`t!_      
She jedges by herself; she`s no idear
How `t stiddies folks to give `em their fair sheer:
The odds `twixt her an` us is plain`s a steeple,--
Her People`s turned to Mob, our Mob`s turned People.


THE MONIMENT

She`s riled jes` now--


THE BRIDGE

           Plain proof her cause ain`t strong,--
The one thet fust gits mad`s `most ollers wrong.
Why, sence she helped in lickin` Nap the Fust,
An` pricked a bubble jest agoin` to bust,
With Rooshy, Prooshy, Austry, all assistin`,
Th` ain`t nut a face but wut she`s shook her fist in,            
Ez though she done it all, an` ten times more,
An` nothin` never hed gut done afore,
Nor never could agin, `thout she wuz spliced
On to one eend an` gin th` old airth a hoist.
She _is_ some punkins, thet I wun`t deny,
(For ain`t she some related to you `n` I?)
But there`s a few small intrists here below
Outside the counter o` John Bull an` Co,
An` though they can`t conceit how `t should be so,
I guess the Lord druv down Creation`s spiles                      
`thout no _gret_ helpin` from the British Isles,
An` could contrive to keep things pooty stiff
Ef they withdrawed from business in a miff;
I ha`n`t no patience with sech swellin` fellers ez
Think God can`t forge `thout them to blow the bellerses.


THE MONIMENT

You`re ollers quick to set your back aridge,
Though `t suits a tom-cat more `n a sober bridge:
Don`t you get het: they thought the thing was planned;
They`ll cool off when they come to understand.


THE BRIDGE

Ef _thet_`s wut you expect, you`ll _hev_ to wait;      
Folks never understand the folks they hate:
She`ll fin` some other grievance jest ez good,
`fore the month`s out, to git misunderstood.
England cool off! She`ll do it, ef she sees
She`s run her head into a swarm o` bees.
I ain`t so prejudiced ez wut you spose:
I hev thought England was the best thet goes;
Remember (no, you can`t), when _I_ was reared,
_God save the King_ was all the tune you heerd:
But it`s enough to turn Wachuset roun`                            
This stumpin` fellers when you think they`re down.


THE MONIMENT

But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law,
The best way is to settle, an` not jaw.
An` don`t le` `s mutter `bout the awfle bricks
We`ll give `em, ef we ketch `em in a fix:
That `ere`s most frequently the kin` o` talk
Of critters can`t be kicked to toe the chalk;
Your `You`ll see _nex`_ time!` an` `Look out bumby!`
`Most ollers ends in eatin` umble-pie.
`Twun`t pay to scringe to England: will it pay                  
To fear thet meaner bully, old `They`ll say`?
Suppose they _du_ say; words are dreffle bores,
But they ain`t quite so bad ez seventy-fours.
Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fit
Where it`ll help to widen out our split:
She`s found her wedge, an` `tain`t for us to come
An` lend the beetle thet`s to drive it home.
For growed-up folks like us `twould be a scandle,
When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle.
England ain`t _all_ bad, coz she thinks us blind:         
Ef she can`t change her skin, she can her mind;
An` we shall see her change it double-quick.
Soon ez we`ve proved thet we`re a-goin` to lick.
She an` Columby`s gut to be fas` friends:
For the world prospers by their privit ends:
`Twould put the clock back all o` fifty years
Ef they should fall together by the ears.


THE BRIDGE

I `gree to thet; she`s nigh us to wut France is;
But then she`ll hev to make the fust advances;
We`ve gut pride, tu, an` gut it by good rights,               
An` ketch _me_ stoopin` to pick up the mites
O` condescension she`ll be lettin` fall
When she finds out we ain`t dead arter all!
I tell ye wut, it takes more`n one good week
Afore _my_ nose forgits it`s hed a tweak.


THE MONIMENT

She`ll come out right bumby, thet I`ll engage,
Soon ez she gits to seein` we`re of age;
This talkin` down o` hers ain`t wuth a fuss;
It`s nat`ral ez nut likin` `tis to us;                       
Ef we`re agoin` to prove we _be_ growed-up.
`Twun`t be by barkin` like a tarrier pup,
But turnin` to an` makin` things ez good
Ez wut we`re ollers braggin` that we could;
We`re boun` to be good friends, an` so we`d oughto,
In spite of all the fools both sides the water.


THE BRIDGE

I b`lieve thet`s so; but hearken in your ear,--
I`m older`n you,--Peace wun`t keep house with Fear;
Ef you want peace, the thing you`ve gut tu du
Is jes` to show you`re up to fightin`, tu.
_I_ recollect how sailors` rights was won,      
Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin` gun;
Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet he
Hed gut a kind o` mortgage on the sea;
You`d thought he held by Gran`ther Adam`s will,
An` ef you knuckle down, _he_`ll think so still.
Better thet all our ships an` all their crews
Should sink to rot in ocean`s dreamless ooze,
Each torn flag wavin` chellenge ez it went,
An` each dumb gun a brave man`s moniment,
Than seek sech peace ez only cowards crave:                   
Give _me_ the peace of dead men or of brave!


THE MONIMENT

I say, ole boy, it ain`t the Glorious Fourth:
You`d oughto larned `fore this wut talk wuz worth.
It ain`t _our_ nose thet gits put out o` jint;
It`s England thet gives up her dearest pint.
We`ve gut, I tell ye now, enough to du
In our own fem`ly fight, afore we`re thru.
I hoped, las` spring, jest arter Sumter`s shame,
When every flag-staff flapped its tethered flame,
An` all the people, startled from their doubt,                
Come must`rin` to the flag with sech a shout,--
I hoped to see things settled `fore this fall,
The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an` all;
Then come Bull Run, an` _sence_ then I`ve ben waitin`
Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin`,
Nothin` to du but watch my shadder`s trace
Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun` my base,
With daylight`s flood an` ebb: it`s gittin` slow,
An` I `most think we`d better let `em go.
I tell ye wut, this war`s a-goin` to cost--                  


THE BRIDGE

An` I tell _you_ it wun`t be money lost;
Taxes milks dry, but, neighbor, you`ll allow
Thet havin` things onsettled kills the cow:
We`ve gut to fix this thing for good an` all;
It`s no use buildin` wut`s a-goin` to fall.
I`m older`n you, an` I`ve seen things an` men,
An` _my_ experunce,--tell ye wut it`s ben:
Folks thet worked thorough was the ones thet thriv,
But bad work follers ye ez long`s ye live;
You can`t git red on `t; jest ez sure ez sin,                   
It`s ollers askin` to be done agin:
Ef we should part, it wouldn`t be a week
`Fore your soft-soddered peace would spring aleak.
We`ve turned our cuffs up, but, to put her thru,
We must git mad an` off with jackets, tu;
`Twun`t du to think thet killin` ain`t perlite,--
You`ve gut to be to airnest, ef you fight;
Why, two thirds o` the Rebbles `ould cut dirt,
Ef they once thought thet Guv`ment meant to hurt;
An` I _du_ wish our Gin`rals hed in mind                 
The folks in front more than the folks behind;
You wun`t do much ontil you think it`s God,
An` not constitoounts, thet holds the rod;
We want some more o` Gideon`s sword, I jedge,
For proclamations ha`n`t no gret of edge;
There`s nothin` for a cancer but the knife,
Onless you set by `t more than by your life.
_I_`ve seen hard times; I see a war begun
Thet folks thet love their bellies never`d won;
Pharo`s lean kine hung on for seven long year;                  
But when `twas done, we didn`t count it dear;
Why, law an` order, honor, civil right,
Ef they _ain`t_ wuth it, wut _is_ wuth a fight?
I`m older`n you: the plough, the axe, the mill,
All kin`s o` labor an` all kin`s o` skill,
Would be a rabbit in a wile-cat`s claw,
Ef `twarn`t for thet slow critter, `stablished law;
Onsettle _thet_, an` all the world goes whiz,
A screw`s gut loose in eyerythin` there is:
Good buttresses once settled, don`t you fret                    
An` stir `em; take a bridge`s word for thet!
Young folks are smart, but all ain`t good thet`s new;
I guess the gran`thers they knowed sunthin`, tu.


THE MONIMENT

Amen to thet! build sure in the beginnin`:
An` then don`t never tech the underpinnin`:
Th` older a guv`ment is, the better `t suits;
New ones hunt folks`s corns out like new boots:
Change jes` for change, is like them big hotels
Where they shift plates, an` let ye live on smells.


THE BRIDGE

Wal, don`t give up afore the ship goes down:                    
It`s a stiff gale, but Providence wun`t drown;
An` God wun`t leave us yit to sink or swim,
Ef we don`t fail to du wut`s right by Him,
This land o` ourn, I tell ye, `s gut to be
A better country than man ever see.
I feel my sperit swellin` with a cry
Thet seems to say, `Break forth an` prophesy!`
O strange New World, thet yit wast never young,
Whose youth from thee by gripin` need was wrung,
Brown foundlin` o` the woods, whose baby-bed                    
Was prowled roun` by the Injun`s cracklin` tread,
An` who grew`st strong thru shifts an` wants an` pains,
Nussed by stern men with empires in their brains,
Who saw in vision their young Ishmel strain
With each hard hand a vassal ocean`s mane,
Thou, skilled by Freedom an` by gret events
To pitch new States ez Old-World men pitch tents,
Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah`s plan
Thet man`s devices can`t unmake a man,
An` whose free latch-string never was drawed in                 
Against the poorest child of Adam`s kin,--
The grave`s not dug where traitor hands shall lay
In fearful haste thy murdered corse away!
I see--

  Jest here some dogs begun to bark,
So thet I lost old Concord`s last remark:
I listened long, but all I seemed to hear
Was dead leaves gossipin` on some birch-trees near;
But ez they hedn`t no gret things to say,
An` sed `em often, I come right away,
An`, walkin` home`ards, jest to pass the time,                
I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme;
I hain`t hed time to fairly try `em on,
But here they be--it`s
Source
The script ran 0.006 seconds.