The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell Part 49

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown An' peeked in thru' the winder, An' there sot Huldy all alone, 'ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side With half a cord o' wood in-- There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, An' in amongst 'em rusted The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young Fetched back f'om Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin', An' she looked full ez rosy agin Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'Twas kin' o' kingdom come to look On sech a blessed cretur, A dogrose blus.h.i.+n' to a brook Ain't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1, Clear grit an' human natur', None couldn't quicker pitch a ton Nor dror a furrer straighter.

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells-- All is, he couldn't love 'em.

But long o' her his veins 'ould run All crinkly like curled maple, The side she breshed felt full o' sun Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, She _knowed_ the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, When her new meetin'-bunnet Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked _some!_ She seemed to've gut a new soul, For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, A-raspin' on the sc.r.a.per,-- All ways to once, her feelins flew Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, Some doubtfle o' the sekle, His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.

'You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?'

'Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'-- 'To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'.'

To say why gals acts so or so, Or don't, 'ould be persumin'; Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t'other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, 'I'd better call agin:'

Says she, 'Think likely, Mister:'

Thet last word p.r.i.c.ked him like a pin, An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind Whose naturs never vary, Like streams that keep a summer mind Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, An' gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide Down to the Bay o' Fundy, An' all I know is they was cried In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

THE BIGLOW PAPERS

SECOND SERIES

No. I

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ., TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW

LETTER FROM THE REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, M.A., ENCLOSING THE EPISTLE AFORESAID

JAALAM, 15th Nov., 1861.

It is not from any idle wish to obtrude my humble person with undue prominence upon the publick view that I resume my pen upon the present occasion. _Juniores ad labores_. But having been a main instrument in rescuing the talent of my young paris.h.i.+oner from being buried in the ground, by giving it such warrant with the world as could be derived from a name already widely known by several printed discourses (all of which I may be permitted without immodesty to state have been deemed worthy of preservation in the Library of Harvard College by my esteemed friend Mr. Sibley), it seemed becoming that I should not only testify to the genuineness of the following production, but call attention to it, the more as Mr. Biglow had so long been silent as to be in danger of absolute oblivion. I insinuate no claim to any share in the authors.h.i.+p (_vix ea nostra voco_) of the works already published by Mr. Biglow, but merely take to myself the credit of having fulfilled toward them the office of taster (_experto crede_), who, having first tried, could afterward bear witness (_credenzen_ it was aptly named by the Germans), an office always arduous, and sometimes even dangerous, as in the case of those devoted persons who venture their lives in the deglut.i.tion of patent medicines (_dolus latet in generalibus_, there is deceit in the most of them) and thereafter are wonderfully preserved long enough to append their signatures to testimonials in the diurnal and hebdomadal prints. I say not this as covertly glancing at the authors of certain ma.n.u.scripts which have been submitted to my literary judgment (though an epick in twenty-four books on the 'Taking of Jericho' might, save for the prudent forethought of Mrs. Wilbur in secreting the same just as I had arrived beneath the walls and was beginning a catalogue of the various horns and their blowers, too ambitiously emulous in longanimity of Homer's list of s.h.i.+ps, might, I say, have rendered frustrate any hope I could entertain _vacare Musis_ for the small remainder of my days), but only the further to secure myself against any imputation of unseemly forthputting. I will barely subjoin, in this connexion, that, whereas Job was left to desire, in the soreness of his heart, that his adversary had written a book, as perchance misanthropically wis.h.i.+ng to indite a review thereof, yet was not Satan allowed so far to tempt him as to send Bildad, Eliphaz, and Zophar each with an unprinted work in his wallet to be submitted to his censure. But of this enough. Were I in need of other excuse, I might add that I write by the express desire of Mr. Biglow himself, whose entire winter leisure is occupied, as he a.s.sures me, in answering demands for autographs, a labor exacting enough in itself, and egregiously so to him, who, being no ready penman, cannot sign so much as his name without strange contortions of the face (his nose, even, being essential to complete success) and painfully suppressed Saint-Vitus-dance of every muscle in his body. This, with his having been put in the Commission of the Peace by our excellent Governor (_O, si sic omnes!_) immediately on his accession to office, keeps him continually employed. _Haud inexpertus loquor_, having for many years written myself J.P., and being not seldom applied to for specimens of my chirography, a request to which I have sometimes over weakly a.s.sented, believing as I do that nothing written of set purpose can properly be called an autograph, but only those unpremeditated sallies and lively runnings which betray the fireside Man instead of the hunted Notoriety doubling on his pursuers. But it is time that I should bethink me of St.

Austin's prayer, _libera me a meipso_, if I would arrive at the matter in hand.

Moreover, I had yet another reason for taking up the pen myself. I am informed that 'The Atlantic Monthly' is mainly indebted for its success to the contributions and editorial supervision of Dr. Holmes, whose excellent 'Annals of America' occupy an honored place upon my shelves.

The journal itself I have never seen; but if this be so, it might seem that the recommendation of a brother-clergyman (though _par magis quam similis_) should carry a greater weight. I suppose that you have a department for historical lucubrations, and should be glad, if deemed desirable, to forward for publication my 'Collections for the Antiquities of Jaalam,' and my (now happily complete) pedigree of the Wilbur family from its _fons et origo_, the Wild Boar of Ardennes.

Withdrawn from the active duties of my profession by the settlement of a colleague-pastor, the Reverend Jeduthun Hitchc.o.c.k, formerly of Brutus Four-Corners, I might find time for further contributions to general literature on similar topicks. I have made large advances towards a completer genealogy of Mrs. Wilbur's family, the Pilc.o.xes, not, if I know myself, from any idle vanity, but with the sole desire of rendering myself useful in my day and generation. _Nulla dies sine linea_. I inclose a meteorological register, a list of the births, deaths, and marriages, and a few _memorabilia_ of longevity in Jaalam East Parish for the last half-century. Though spared to the unusual period of more than eighty years, I find no diminution of my faculties or abatement of my natural vigor, except a scarcely sensible decay of memory and a necessity of recurring to younger eyesight or spectacles for the finer print in Cruden. It would gratify me to make some further provision for declining years from the emoluments of my literary labors. I had intended to effect an insurance on my life, but was deterred therefrom by a circular from one of the offices, in which the sudden death of so large a proportion of the insured was set forth as an inducement, that it seemed to me little less than a tempting of Providence. _Neque in summa inopia levis esse senectus potest, ne sapienti quidem_.

Thus far concerning Mr. Biglow; and so much seemed needful (_brevis esse laboro_) by way of preliminary, after a silence of fourteen years. He greatly fears lest he may in this essay have fallen below himself, well knowing that, if exercise be dangerous on a full stomach, no less so is writing on a full reputation. Beset as he has been on all sides, he could not refrain, and would only imprecate patience till he shall again have 'got the hang' (as he calls it) of an accomplishment long disused.

The letter of Mr. Sawin was received some time in last June, and others have followed which will in due season be submitted to the publick. How largely his statements are to be depended on, I more than merely dubitate. He was always distinguished for a tendency to exaggeration,--it might almost be qualified by a stronger term.

_Fort.i.ter mentire, aliquid haeret_ seemed to be his favorite rule of rhetoric. That he is actually where he says he is the postmark would seem to confirm; that he was received with the publick demonstrations he describes would appear consonant with what we know of the habits of those regions; but further than this I venture not to decide. I have sometimes suspected a vein of humor in him which leads him to speak by contraries; but since, in the unrestrained intercourse of private life, I have never observed in him any striking powers of invention, I am the more willing to put a certain qualified faith in the incidents and the details of life and manners which give to his narratives some portion of the interest and entertainment which characterizes a Century Sermon.

It may be expected of me that I should say something to justify myself with the world for a seeming inconsistency with my well-known principles in allowing my youngest son to raise a company for the war, a fact known to all through the medium of the publick prints. I did reason with the young man, but _expellas naturam furca tamen usque recurrit_. Having myself been a chaplain in 1812, I could the less wonder that a man of war had sprung from my loins. It was, indeed, grievous to send my Benjamin, the child of my old age; but after the discomfiture of Mana.s.sas, I with my own hands did buckle on his armor, trusting in the great Comforter and Commander for strength according to my need. For truly the memory of a brave son dead in his shroud were a greater staff of my declining years than a living coward (if those may be said to have lived who carry all of themselves into the grave with them), though his days might be long in the land, and he should get much goods. It is not till our earthen vessels are broken that we find and truly possess the treasure that was laid up in them. _Migravi in animam meam_, I have sought refuge in my own soul; nor would I be shamed by the heathen comedian with his _Neqwam illud verb.u.m, bene vult, nisi bene facit_.

During our dark days, I read constantly in the inspired book of Job, which I believe to contain more food to maintain the fibre of the soul for right living and high thinking than all pagan literature together, though I would by no means vilipend the study of the cla.s.sicks. There I read that Job said in his despair, even as the fool saith in his heart there is no G.o.d,--'The tabernacles of robbers prosper, and they that provoke G.o.d are secure.' (Job xii. 6.) But I sought farther till I found this Scripture also, which I would have those perpend who have striven to turn our Israel aside to the wors.h.i.+p of strange G.o.ds.--'If I did despise the cause of my manservant or of my maid-servant, when they contended with me, what then shall I do when G.o.d riseth up? and when he visiteth, what shall I answer him?' (Job x.x.xi. 13, 14.) On this text I preached a discourse on the last day of Fasting and Humiliation with general acceptance, though there were not wanting one or two Laodiceans who said that I should have waited till the President announced his policy. But let us hope and pray, remembering this of Saint Gregory, _Vult Deus rogari, vult cogi, vult quadam importunitate vinci_.

We had our first fall of snow on Friday last. Frosts have been unusually backward this fall. A singular circ.u.mstance occurred in this town on the 20th October, in the family of Deacon Pelatiah Tinkham. On the previous evening, a few moments before family prayers,

[The editors of the 'Atlantic' find it necessary here to cut short the letter of their valued correspondent, which seemed calculated rather on the rates of longevity in Jaalam than for less favored localities. They have every encouragement to hope that he will write again.]

With esteem and respect, Your obedient servant, Homer Wilbur, A.M.

It's some consid'ble of a spell sence I hain't writ no letters, An' ther' 's gret changes hez took place in all polit'cle metters: Some canderdates air dead an' gone, an' some hez ben defeated, Which 'mounts to pooty much the same; fer it's ben proved repeated A betch o' bread thet hain't riz once ain't goin' to rise agin, An' it's jest money throwed away to put the emptins in: But thet's wut folks wun't never larn; they dunno how to go, Arter you want their room, no more 'n a bullet-headed bean; Ther' 's ollers chaps a-hangin' roun' thet can't see peatime's past, Mis'ble as roosters in a rain, heads down an' tails half-mast: 10 It ain't disgraceful bein' beat, when a holl nation doos it, But Chance is like an amberill,--it don't take twice to lose it.

I spose you're kin' o' cur'ous, now, to know why I hain't writ.

Wal, I've ben where a litt'ry taste don't somehow seem to git Th' encouragement a feller'd think, thet's used to public schools, An' where sech things ez paper 'n' ink air clean agin the rules: A kind o' vicyvarsy house, built dreffle strong an' stout, So 's 't honest people can't get in, ner t'other sort git out.

An' with the winders so contrived, you'd prob'ly like the view Better alookin' in than out, though it seems sing'lar, tu; 20 But then the landlord sets by ye, can't bear ye out o' sight, And locks ye up ez reg'lar ez an outside door at night.

This world is awfle contrary: the rope may stretch your neck Thet mebby kep' another chap frum was.h.i.+n' off a wreck; An' you may see the taters grow in one poor feller's patch, So small no self-respectin' hen thet vallied time 'ould scratch, So small the rot can't find 'em out, an' then agin, nex' door, Ez big ez wut hogs dream on when they're 'most too fat to snore.

But groutin' ain't no kin' o' use; an' ef the fust throw fails, Why, up an' try agin, thet's all,--the coppers ain't all tails, 30 Though I _hev_ seen 'em when I thought they hedn't no more head Than 'd sarve a nussin' Brigadier thet gits some Ink to shed.

When I writ last, I'd ben turned loose by thet blamed n.i.g.g.e.r, Pomp, Ferlorner than a musquash, ef you'd took an' dreened his swamp; But I ain't o' the meechin' kind, thet sets an' thinks fer weeks The bottom's out o' th' univa.r.s.e coz their own gillpot leaks.

I hed to cross bayous an' criks, (wal, it did beat all natur',) Upon a kin' o' corderoy, fust log, then alligator; Luck'ly, the critters warn't sharp-sot; I guess 'twuz overruled They 'd done their mornin's marketin' an' gut their hunger cooled; 40 Fer missionaries to the Creeks an' runaways are viewed By them an' folks ez sent express to be their reg'lar food; Wutever 'twuz, they laid an' snoozed ez peacefully ez sinners, Meek ez disgestin' deacons be at ordination dinners; Ef any on 'em turned an' snapped, I let 'em kin' o' taste My live-oak leg, an' so, ye see, ther' warn't no gret o' waste; Fer they found out in quicker time than ef they'd ben to college 'Twarn't heartier food than though 'twuz made out o' the tree o'

knowledge.