Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 9.pdf/807

796 “ Smite ’em hip an’ thigh !” Actin’ ez ugly “ Sez gran’ther, an’ let every man-child die l Oh for three weeks o’ Crommle an’ the Lord ! O Israel, to your tents an’ grind the sword !” “ Thet kind o’ thing worked wal in ole Judee, But you forgit how long it ’s hen A. D. ; You think thet ’s ellerkence, —I call it shoddy, A thing,” sez I, “ wun’t cover soul nor body; like the plain all-wool o’ common-sense, Thet wamm ye now, an’ will a twelvemonth hence. You took to follerin’ where the Prophets beckoned, An’, fust you knowed on, back come Charles the Second; Now wut I want ’s to hev all we gain stick,

I

An’ not to start Millennium too quick ; We hain’t to punish only, but to keep, An’ the cure ’s gut to go a cent’ry deep.”

“ Wal, milk-an’-water ain’t a good cement,” Sez he, “ an’ so you ’ll ﬁnd it in th’ event;

Ef rcshness

venters sunthin’, shilly-shally

Loses ez often wut ’s ten times the vally. Thet exe of ourn, when Charles’s neck gut split,

Opened a gap thet ain’t bridged over yit : Slav'ry ’3 your Charles, the Lord hez gin the exe,”—— “ Our Charles,” sez I, “hez gut eight million necks. The hardest question ain’t the black man’s right,The trouble is to ’mancipate the white ; One ’s chained in body an’ can be sot free, The other ’s chained in soul to an idee:

It

’s a

Ef

long job, but we shall worry thru it;

bag’nets fail, the spellin’-book must do it.”

’ll

“ Hosee,” sez he, “ I think you ’re goin’ to fail: The rettlesnake ain’t dangerous in the tail; This 'ere rebellion ’s nothin’ but the rettle, — You ’ll stomp on thet an’ think you ’ve won the bottle ; It ’s Slavery thet ’s the fangs an’ thinkin’ head, An’ of you want selvation, eresh it dead,— An’ cresh it suddin, or you ’ll larn by waitin’ Thet Chance wun’t stop to listen to debatin’ l ”— “ God’s truth!” sez I,—“ an’ efI held the club, ” An’ knowedjes’ where to strike,— but there ’s the rub l “ Strike soon,” sez he, “ or you be deadly ailin’,—

Folks thet

give me sech

startle thet

I

An’

a

’ll

’s

o’

failin’; afeared to fail are sure God hates your sneakin’ cretuis thet believe settle things they run away an’ leave !” He He brought his foot down fercely, ez he spoke, woke.

[June.