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James Russell Lowell - Mr. Hosea Biglow`s Speech In March Meeting
Work rating: Low

I don`t much s`pose, hows`ever I should plen it,
I could git boosted into th` House or Sennit,--
Nut while the twolegged gab-machine`s so plenty,
`nablin` one man to du the talk o` twenty;
I`m one o` them thet finds it ruther hard
To mannyfactur` wisdom by the yard,
An` maysure off, accordin` to demand,
The piece-goods el`kence that I keep on hand,
The same ole pattern runnin` thru an` thru,
An` nothin` but the customer thet`s new.             
I sometimes think, the furder on I go,
Thet it gits harder to feel sure I know,
An` when I`ve settled my idees, I find
`twarn`t I sheered most in makin` up my mind;
`twuz this an` thet an` t`other thing thet done it,
Sunthin` in th` air, I couldn` seek nor shun it.
Mos` folks go off so quick now in discussion,
All th` ole flint-locks seems altered to percussion,
Whilst I in agin` sometimes git a hint,
Thet I`m percussion changin` back to flint;          
Wal, ef it`s so, I ain`t agoin` to werrit,
For th` ole Queen`s-arm hez this pertickler merit,--
It gives the mind a hahnsome wedth o` margin
To kin` o make its will afore dischargin`:
I can`t make out but jest one ginnle rule,--
No man need go an` _make_ himself a fool,
Nor jedgment ain`t like mutton, thet can`t bear
Cookin` tu long, nor be took up tu rare.

Ez I wuz say`n`, I hain`t no chance to speak
So`s`t all the country dreads me onct a week,        
But I`ve consid`ble o` thet sort o` head
Thet sets to home an` thinks wut _might_ be said,
The sense thet grows an` werrits underneath,
Comin` belated like your wisdom-teeth,
An` git so el`kent, sometimes, to my gardin
Thet I don` vally public life a fardin`.
Our Parson Wilbur (blessin`s on his head!)
`mongst other stories of ole times he hed,
Talked of a feller thet rehearsed his spreads
Beforehan` to his rows o` kebbige-heads,             
(Ef `twarn`t Demossenes, I guess `twuz Sisro,)
Appealin` fust to thet an` then to this row,
Accordin` ez he thought thet his idees
Their diff`runt ev`riges o` brains `ould please;
`An`,` sez the Parson, `to hit right, you must
Git used to maysurin` your hearers fust;
For, take my word for `t, when all`s come an` past,
The kebbige-heads`ll cair the day et last;
Th` ain`t ben a meetin` sence the worl` begun
But they made (raw or biled ones) ten to one.`      

I`ve allus foun` `em, I allow, sence then
About ez good for talkin` tu ez men;
They`ll take edvice, like other folks, to keep,
(To use it `ould be holdin` on `t tu cheap,)
They listen wal, don` kick up when you scold `em,
An` ef they`ve tongues, hev sense enough to hold `em;
Though th` ain`t no denger we shall lose the breed,
I gin`lly keep a score or so for seed,
An` when my sappiness gits spry in spring,
So`s`t my tongue itches to run on full swing,       
I fin` `em ready-planted in March-meetin`,
Warm ez a lyceum-audience in their greetin`,
An` pleased to hear my spoutin` frum the fence,--
Comin`, ez `t doos, entirely free `f expense.
This year I made the follerin` observations
Extrump`ry, like most other tri`ls o` patience,
An`, no reporters bein` sent express
To work their abstrac`s up into a mess
Ez like th` oridg`nal ez a woodcut pictur`
Thet chokes the life out like a boy-constrictor,     
I`ve writ `em out, an` so avide all jeal`sies
`twixt nonsense o` my own an` some one`s else`s.

(N.B. Reporters gin`lly git a hint
To make dull orjunces seem `live in print,
An`, ez I hev t` report myself, I vum,
I`ll put th` applauses where they`d _ough` to_ come!)


MY FELLER KEBBIGE-HEADS, who look so green,
I vow to gracious thet ef I could dreen
The world of all its hearers but jest you,
`twould leave `bout all tha` is wuth talkin` to,     
An` you, my ven`able ol` frien`s, thet show
Upon your crowns a sprinklin` o` March snow,
Ez ef mild Time had christened every sense
For wisdom`s church o` second innocence.
Nut Age`s winter, no, no sech a thing,
But jest a kin` o` slippin`-back o` spring,--
                  [Sev`ril noses blowed.]
We`ve gathered here, ez ushle, to decide
Which is the Lord`s an` which is Satan`s side,
Coz all the good or evil thet can heppen
Is `long o` which on `em you choose for Cappen.
                  [Cries o` `Thet`s so.`]

Aprul`s come back; the swellin` buds of oak         
Dim the fur hillsides with a purplish smoke;
The brooks are loose an`, singing to be seen,
(Like gals,) make all the hollers soft an` green;
The birds are here, for all the season`s late;
They take the sun`s height an` don` never wait;
Soon `z he officially declares it`s spring
Their light hearts lift `em on a north`ard wing,
An` th` ain`t an acre, fur ez you can hear,
Can`t by the music tell the time o` year;          
But thet white dove Carliny seared away,
Five year ago, jes` sech an Aprul day;
Peace, that we hoped `ould come an` build last year
An` coo by every housedoor, isn`t here,--
No, nor wun`t never be, for all our jaw,
Till we`re ez brave in pol`tics ez in war!
O Lord, ef folks wuz made so`s`t they could see
The begnet-pint there is to an idee!    [Sensation.]
Ten times the danger in `em th` is in steel;
They run your soul thru an` you never feel,         
But crawl about an` seem to think you`re livin`,
Poor shells o` men, nut wuth the Lord`s forgivin`,
Tell you come bunt ag`in a real live feet,
An` go to pieces when you`d ough` to ect!
Thet kin` o` begnet`s wut we`re crossin` now,
An` no man, fit to nevvigate a scow,
`ould stan` expectin` help from Kingdom Come,
While t`other side druv their cold iron home.

My frien`s, you never gethered from my mouth,
No, nut one word ag`in the South ez South,          
Nor th` ain`t a livin` man, white, brown, nor black,
Gladder `n wut I should be to take `em back;
But all I ask of Uncle Sam is fust
To write up on his door, `No goods on trust`;
                  [Cries o` `Thet`s the ticket!`]
Give us cash down in ekle laws for all,
An` they`ll be snug inside afore nex` fall.
Give wut they ask, an` we shell hev Jamaker,
Wuth minus some consid`able an acre;
Give wut they need, an` we shell git `fore long
A nation all one piece, rich, peacefle, strong;     
Make `em Amerikin, an` they`ll begin
To love their country ez they loved their sin;
Let `em stay Southun, an` you`ve kep` a sore
Ready to fester ez it done afore.
No mortle man can boast of perfic` vision,
But the one moleblin` thing is Indecision,
An` th` ain`t no futur` for the man nor state
Thet out of j-u-s-t can`t spell great.
Some folks `ould call thet reddikle, do you?
`Twas commonsense afore the war wuz thru;           
_Thet_ loaded all our guns an` made `em speak
So`s`t Europe heared `em clearn acrost the creek;
`They`re drivin` o` their spiles down now,` sez she,
`To the hard grennit o` God`s fust idee;
Ef they reach thet, Democ`cy needn`t fear
The tallest airthquakes _we_ can git up here.`
Some call `t insultin` to ask _ary_ pledge,
An` say `twill only set their teeth on edge,
But folks you`ve jest licked, fur `z I ever see,
Are `bout ez mad `z they wal know how to be;        
It`s better than the Rebs themselves expected
`fore they see Uncle Sam wilt down henpected;
Be kind `z you please, but fustly make things fast,
For plain Truth`s all the kindness thet`ll last;
Ef treason is a crime, ez _some_ folks say,
How could we punish it in a milder way
Than sayin` to `em, `Brethren, lookee here,
We`ll jes` divide things with ye, sheer an` sheer,
An` sence both come o` pooty strong-backed daddies,
You take the Darkies, ez we`ve took the Paddies;         
Ign`ant an` poor we took `em by the hand,
An` they`re the bones an` sinners o` the land,`
I ain`t o` them thet fancy there`s a loss on
Every inves`ment thet don`t start from Bos`on;
But I know this: our money`s safest trusted
In sunthin`, come wut will, thet _can`t_ be busted,
An` thet`s the old Amerikin idee,
To make a man a Man an` let him be.     [Gret applause.]

Ez for their l`yalty, don`t take a goad to `t,
But I do` want to block their only road to `t             
By lettin` `em believe thet they can git
Mor`n wut they lost, out of our little wit:
I tell ye wut, I`m `fraid we`ll drif` to leeward
`thout we can put more stiffenin` into Seward;
He seems to think Columby`d better ect
Like a scared widder with a boy stiff-necked
Thet stomps an` swears he wun`t come in to supper;
She mus` set up for him, ez weak ez Tupper,
Keepin` the Constitootion on to warm,
Tell he`ll eccept her `pologies in form:                 
The neighbors tell her he`s a cross-grained cuss
Thet needs a hidin` `fore he comes to wus;
`No,` sez Ma Seward, `he`s ez good `z the best,
All he wants now is sugar-plums an` rest;`
`He sarsed my Pa,` sez one; `He stoned my son,`
Another edds, `Oh wal, `twuz jes` his fun.`
`He tried to shoot our Uncle Samwell dead.`
``Twuz only tryin` a noo gun he hed.`
`Wal, all we ask`s to hev it understood
You`ll take his gun away from him for good;              
We don`t, wal, nut exac`ly, like his play,
Seem` he allus kin` o` shoots our way.
You kill your fatted calves to no good eend,
`thout his fust sayin`, "Mother, I hev sinned!"`
                  [`Amen!` frum Deac`n Greenleaf]

The Pres`dunt _he_ thinks thet the slickest plan
`ould be t` allow thet he`s our on`y man,
An` thet we fit thru all thet dreffle war
Jes` for his private glory an` eclor;
`Nobody ain`t a Union man,` sez he,
``thout he agrees, thru thick an` thin, with me;        
Warn`t Andrew Jackson`s `nitials jes` like mine?
An` ain`t thet sunthin` like a right divine
To cut up ez kentenkerous ez I please,
An` treat your Congress like a nest o` fleas?`
Wal, I expec` the People wouldn` care, if
The question now wuz techin` bank or tariff,
But I conclude they`ve `bout made up their min`
This ain`t the fittest time to go it blin`,
Nor these ain`t metters thet with pol`tics swings,
But goes `way down amongst the roots o` things;     
Coz Sumner talked o` whitewashin` one day
They wun`t let four years` war be throwed away.
`Let the South hev her rights?` They say, `Thet`s you!
But nut greb hold of other folks`s tu.`
Who owns this country, is it they or Andy?
Leastways it ough` to be the People _and_ he;
Let him be senior pardner, ef he`s so,
But let them kin` o` smuggle in ez Co;     [Laughter.]
Did he diskiver it? Consid`ble numbers
Think thet the job wuz taken by Columbus.           
Did he set tu an` make it wut it is?
Ef so, I guess the One-Man-power _hez_ riz.
Did he put thru the rebbles, clear the docket,
An` pay th` expenses out of his own pocket?
Ef thet`s the case, then everythin` I exes
Is t` hev him come an` pay my ennooal texes.
                  [Profoun` sensation.]
Was `t he thet shou`dered all them million guns?
Did he lose all the fathers, brothers, sons?
Is this ere pop`lar gov`ment thet we run
A kin` o` sulky, made to kerry one?                 
An` is the country goin` to knuckle down
To hev Smith sort their letters `stid o`Brown?
Who wuz the `Nited States `fore Richmon` fell?
Wuz the South needfle their full name to spell?
An` can`t we spell it in thet short-han` way
Till th` underpinnin`s settled so`s to stay?
Who cares for the Resolves of `,
Thet tried to coax an airthquake with a bun?
Hez act`ly nothin` taken place sence then
To larn folks they must hendle fects like men?      
Ain`t _this_ the true p`int? Did the Rebs accep` `em?
Ef nut, whose fault is `t thet we hevn`t kep `em?
Warn`t there _two_ sides? an` don`t it stend to reason
Thet this week`s `Nited States ain`t las` week`s treason?
When all these sums is done, with nothin` missed,
An` nut afore, this school `ll be dismissed.

I knowed ez wal ez though I`d seen `t with eyes
Thet when the war wuz over copper`d rise,
An` thet we`d hev a rile-up in our kettle
`twould need Leviathan`s whole skin to settle:     
I thought `twould take about a generation
`fore we could wal begin to be a nation,
But I allow I never did imegine
`twould be our Pres`dunt thet `ould drive a wedge in
To keep the split from closin` ef it could.
An` healin` over with new wholesome wood;
For th` ain`t no chance o` healin` while they think
Thet law an` gov`ment`s only printer`s ink;
I mus` confess I thank him for discoverin`
The curus way in which the States are sovereign;     
They ain`t nut _quite_ enough so to rebel,
But, when they fin` it`s costly to raise h----,
                  [A groan from Deac`n G.]
Why, then, for jes` the same superl`tive reason,
They`re `most too much so to be tetched for treason;
They _can`t_ go out, but ef they somehow _du_,
Their sovereignty don`t noways go out tu;
The State goes out, the sovereignty don`t stir,
But stays to keep the door ajar for her.
He thinks secession never took `em out,
An` mebby he`s correc`, but I misdoubt?             
Ef they warn`t out, then why, `n the name o` sin,
Make all this row `bout lettin` of `em in?
In law, p`r`aps nut; but there`s a diffurence, ruther,
Betwixt your mother-`n-law an` real mother,
                  [Derisive cheers.]
An` I, for one, shall wish they`d all ben _som`eres_,
Long `z U.S. Texes are sech reg`lar comers.
But, O my patience! must we wriggle back
Into th` ole crooked, pettyfoggin` track,
When our artil`ry-wheels a road hev cut
Stret to our purpose ef we keep the rut?            
War`s jes` dead waste excep` to wipe the slate
Clean for the cyph`rin` of some nobler fate.
                  [Applause.]
Ez for dependin` on their oaths an` thet,
`twun`t bind `em more `n the ribbin roun` my het:
I heared a fable once from Othniel Starns,
That pints it slick ez weathercocks do barns;
Onct on a time the wolves hed certing rights
Inside the fold; they used to sleep there nights,
An` bein` cousins o` the dogs, they took
Their turns et watchin`, reg`lar ez a book;         
But somehow, when the dogs hed gut asleep,
Their love o` mutton beat their love o` sheep,
Till gradilly the shepherds come to see
Things warn`t agoin` ez they`d ough` to be;
So they sent off a deacon to remonstrate
Along `th the wolves an` urge `em to go on straight;
They didn`t seem to set much by the deacon,
Nor preachin` didn` cow `em, nut to speak on;
Fin`ly they swore thet they`d go out an` stay,
An` hev their fill o` mutton every day;             
Then dogs an` shepherds, after much hard dammin`,
                  [Groan from Deac`n G.]
Turned tu an` give `em a tormented lammin`,
An` sez, `Ye sha`n`t go out, the murrain rot ye,
To keep us wastin` half our time to watch ye!`
But then the question come, How live together
`thout losin` sleep, nor nary yew nor wether?
Now there wuz some dogs (noways wuth their keep)
Thet sheered their cousins` tastes an` sheered the sheep;
They sez, `Be gin`rous, let `em swear right in,
An`, ef they backslide, let `em swear ag`in;        
Jes` let `em put on sheep-skins whilst they`re swearin`;
To ask for more `ould be beyond all bearin`.`
`Be gin`rous for yourselves, where _you_`re to pay,
Thet`s the best prectice,` sez a shepherd gray;
`Ez for their oaths they wun`t be wuth a button,
Long `z you don`t cure `em o` their taste for mutton;
Th` ain`t but one solid way, howe`er you puzzle:
Tell they`re convarted, let `em wear a muzzle.`
                  [Cries of `Bully for you!`]

I`ve noticed thet each half-baked scheme`s abetters
Are in the hebbit o` producin` letters              
Writ by all sorts o` never-heared-on fellers,
`bout ez oridge`nal ez the wind in bellers;
I`ve noticed, tu, it`s the quack med`cine gits
(An` needs) the grettest heaps o` stiffykits;
                  [Two pothekeries goes out.]
Now, sence I lef off creepin` on all fours,
I hain`t ast no man to endorse my course;
It`s full ez cheap to be your own endorser,
An` ef I`ve made a cup, I`ll fin` the saucer;
But I`ve some letters here from t`other side,
An` them`s the sort thet helps me to decide;        
Tell me for wut the copper-comp`nies hanker,
An` I`ll tell you jest where it`s safe to anchor.      [Faint hiss.]
Fus`ly the Hon`ble B.O. Sawin writes
Thet for a spell he couldn`t sleep o` nights,
Puzzlin` which side wuz preudentest to pin to,
Which wuz th` ole homestead, which the temp`ry leanto;
Et fust he jedged `twould right-side-up his pan
To come out ez a `ridge`nal Union man,
`But now,` he sez, `I ain`t nut quite so fresh;
The winnin` horse is goin` to be Secesh;            
You might, las` spring, hev eas`ly walked the course,
`fore we contrived to doctor th` Union horse;
Now _we_`re the ones to walk aroun` the nex` track:
Jest you take hol` an` read the follerin` extrac`,
Out of a letter I received last week
From an ole frien` thet never sprung a leak,
A Nothun Dem`crat o` th` ole Jarsey blue,
Born copper-sheathed an` copper-fastened tu.`

`These four years past it hez ben tough
To say which side a feller went for;                
Guideposts all gone, roads muddy `n` rough,
An` nothin` duin` wut `twuz meant for;
Pickets a-firin` left an` right,
Both sides a lettin` rip et sight,--
Life warn`t wuth hardly payin` rent for.

`Columby gut her back up so,
It warn`t no use a-tryin` to stop her,--
War`s emptin`s riled her very dough
An` made it rise an` act improper;
`Twuz full ez much ez I could du                   
To jes` lay low an` worry thru,
`Thout hevin` to sell out my copper.

`Afore the war your mod`rit men,
Could set an` sun `em on the fences,
Cyph`rin` the chances up, an` then
Jump off which way bes` paid expenses;
Sence, `twuz so resky ary way,
_I_ didn`t hardly darst to say
I `greed with Paley`s Evidences.
                  [Groan from Deac`n G.]

`Ask Mac ef tryin` to set the fence                
Warn`t like bein` rid upon a rail on `t,
Headin` your party with a sense
O` bein` tipjint in the tail on `t,
An` tryin` to think thet, on the whole,
You kin` o` quasi own your soul
When Belmont`s gut a bill o` sale on `t?
                  [Three cheers for Grant and Sherman.]

`Come peace, I sposed thet folks `ould like
Their pol`tics done ag`in by proxy;
Give their noo loves the bag an` strike
A fresh trade with their reg`lar doxy;             
But the drag`s broke, now slavery`s gone,
An` there`s gret resk they`ll blunder on,
Ef they ain`t stopped, to real Democ`cy.

`We`ve gut an awful row to hoe
In this `ere job o` reconstructin`;
Folks dunno skurce which way to go,
Where th` ain`t some boghole to be ducked in;
But one thing`s clear; there _is_ a crack,
Ef we pry hard, `twixt white an` black,
Where the ole makebate can be tucked in.           

`No white man sets in airth`s broad aisle
Thet I ain`t willin` t` own ez brother,
An` ef he`s happened to strike ile,
I dunno, fin`ly, but I`d ruther;
An` Paddies, long `z they vote all right,
Though they ain`t jest a nat`ral white,
I hold one on `em good `z another,
                  [Applause.]

`Wut _is_ there lef I`d like to know,
Ef `tain`t the defference o` color,
To keep up self-respec` an` show                   
The human natur` of a fullah?
Wut good in bein` white, onless
It`s fixed by law, nut lef` to guess,
We`re a heap smarter an` they duller?

`Ef we`re to hev our ekle rights,
`twun`t du to `low no competition;
Th` ole debt doo us for bein` whites
Ain`t safe onless we stop th` emission
O` these noo notes, whose specie base
Is human natur`, thout no trace                     
O` shape, nor color, nor condition.
                  [Continood applause.]

`So fur I`d writ an` couldn` jedge
Aboard wut boat I`d best take pessige,
My brains all mincemeat, `thout no edge
Upon `em more than tu a sessige,
But now it seems ez though I see
Sunthin` resemblin` an idee,
Sence Johnson`s speech an` veto message.

`I like the speech best, I confess,
The logic, preudence, an` good taste on `t;        
An` it`s so mad, I ruther guess
There`s some dependence to be placed on `t;     [Laughter.]
It`s narrer, but `twixt you an` me,
Out o` the allies o` J.D.
A temp`ry party can be based on `t.

`Jes` to hold on till Johnson`s thru
An` dug his Presidential grave is,
An` _then!_--who knows but we could slew
The country roun` to put in----?
Wun`t some folks rare up when we pull              
Out o` their eyes our Union wool
An` larn `em wut a p`lit`cle shave is!

`Oh, did it seem `z ef Providunce
_Could_ ever send a second Tyler?
To see the South all back to once,
Reapin` the spiles o` the Free-siler,
Is cute ez though an ingineer
Should claim th` old iron for his sheer
Coz `twas himself that bust the biler!`
                  [Gret laughter.]

Thet tells the story! Thet`s wut we shall git      
By tryin` squirtguns on the burnin` Pit;
For the day never comes when it`ll du
To kick off Dooty like a worn-out shoe.
I seem to hear a whisperin` in the air,
A sighin` like, of unconsoled despair,
Thet comes from nowhere an` from everywhere,
An` seems to say, `Why died we? warn`t it, then,
To settle, once for all, thet men wuz men?
Oh, airth`s sweet cup snetched from us barely tasted,
The grave`s real chill is feelin` life wuz wasted!     
Oh, you we lef`, long-lingerin` et the door,
Lovin` you best, coz we loved Her the more,
Thet Death, not we, had conquered, we should feel
Ef she upon our memory turned her heel,
An` unregretful throwed us all away
To flaunt it in a Blind Man`s Holiday!`

My frien`s, I`ve talked nigh on to long enough.
I hain`t no call to bore ye coz ye`re tough;
My lungs are sound, an` our own v`ice delights
Our ears, but even kebbige-heads hez rights.       
It`s the las` time thet I shell e`er address ye,
But you`ll soon fin` some new tormentor: bless ye!
    [Tumult`ous applause and cries of `Go on!` `Don`t stop!`]
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