It was to gratify the two great pa.s.sions of asking and answering that epistolary correspondence was first invented.

Letters (for by this usurped t.i.tle epistles are now commonly known) are of several kinds. First, there are those which are not letters at all,--as letters-patent, letters dismissory, letters enclosing bills, letters of administration, Pliny's letters, letters of diplomacy, of Cato, of Mentor, of Lords Lyttleton, Chesterfield, and Orrery, of Jacob Behmen, Seneca (whom St. Jerome includes in his list of sacred writers), letters from abroad, from sons in college to their fathers, letters of marque, and letters generally, which are in nowise letters of mark. Second, are real letters, such as those of Gray, Cowper, Walpole, Howel, Lamb, D. Y., the first letters from children, (printed in staggering capitals,) Letters from New York, letters of credit, and others, interesting for the sake of the writer or the thing written. I have read also letters from Europe by a gentleman named Pinto, containing some curious gossip, and which I hope to see collected for the benefit of the curious. There are, besides, letters addressed to posterity,--as epitaphs, for example, written for their own monuments by monarchs, whereby we have lately become possessed of the names of several great conquerors and kings of kings, hitherto unheard of and still unp.r.o.nounceable, but valuable to the student of the entirely dark ages. The letter which St. Peter sent to King Pepin in the year of grace 755, that of the Virgin to the magistrates of Messina, that of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus to the D--l, and that of this last-mentioned active police-magistrate to a nun of Girgenti, I would place in a cla.s.s by themselves, as also the letters of candidates, concerning which I shall dilate more fully in a note at the end of the following poem. At present, _sat prata biberunt_. Only, concerning the shape of letters, they are all either square or oblong, to which general figures circular letters and round-robins also conform themselves.--H. W.]

Deer sir

its gut to be the fashun now to rite letters to the candid 8s and i wus chose at a publick Meetin in Jaalam to du wut wus nessary fur that town. i writ to 271 ginerals and gut ansers to 209. tha air called candid 8s but I don't see nothin candid about em. this here I wich I send wus thought satty's factory. I dunno as it's ushle to print Poscrips, but as all the ansers I got hed the saim, I sposed it wus best. times has gretly changed. Formaly to knock a man into a c.o.c.ked hat wus to use him up, but now it ony gives him a chance fur the cheef madgustracy.--H. B.

Dear Sir

,--You wish, to know my notions On sartin pints thet rile the land; There's nothin' thet my natur so shuns Ez bein' mum or underhand; I'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur Thet blurts right out wut's in his head, An' ef I've one pecooler feetur, It is a nose thet wunt be led.

So, to begin at the beginnin', An' come direcly to the pint, I think the country's underpinnin'

Is some consid'ble out o' jint; I aint agoin' to try your patience By tellin' who done this or thet, I don't make no insinooations, I jest let on I smell a rat.

Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so, But, ef the public think I'm wrong, I wunt deny but wut I be so,-- An', fact, it don't smell very strong; My mind's tu fair to lose its balance An' say wich party hez most sense; There may be folks o' greater talence Thet can't set stiddier on the fence.

I'm an eclectic; ez to choosin'

'Twixt this an' thet, I'm plaguy lawth; I leave a side thet looks like losin', But (wile there's doubt) I stick to both; I stan' upon the Const.i.tution, Ez preudunt statesmun say, who've planned A way to git the most profusion O' chances ez to _ware_ they'll stand.

Ez fer the war, I go agin it,-- I mean to say I kind o' du,-- Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it, The best way wuz to fight it thru; Not but wut abstract war is horrid, I sign to thet with all my heart,-- But civlyzation _doos_ git forrid Sometimes upon a powder-cart.

About thet darned Proviso matter I never hed a grain o' doubt, Nor I aint one my sense to scatter So'st no one couldn't pick it out; My love fer North an' South is equil, So I'll jest answer plump an' frank,-- No matter wut may be the sequil,-- Yes, Sir, I _am_ agin a Bank.

Ez to the answerin' o' questions, I'm an off ox at bein' druv, Though I aint one thet ary test shuns 'll give our folks a helpin' shove; Kind o' pr'miscoous I go it Fer the holl country, an' the ground I take, ez nigh ez I can show it, Is pooty gen'ally all round.

I don't appruve o' givin' pledges; You'd ough' to leave a fellar free, An' not go knockin' out the wedges To ketch his fingers in the tree; Pledges air awfle breachy cattle Thet preudunt farmers don't turn out,-- Ez long 'z the people git their rattle, Wut is there fer 'm to grout about?

Ez to the slaves, there's no confusion In _my_ idees consarnin' them,-- _I_ think they air an Inst.i.tution, A sort of--yes, jest so,--ahem: Do _I_ own any? Of my merit On thet pint you yourself may jedge.

All is, I never drink no sperit, Nor I haint never signed no pledge.

Ez to my princerples, I glory In hevin' nothin' o' the sort; I aint a Wig, I aint a Tory, I'm jest a candidate, in short; Thet's fair an' square an' parpendicler, But, ef the Public cares' a fig To hev me an'thin' in particler, Wy, I'm a kind o' peri-wig.

P. S.

Ez we're a sort o' privateerin', O' course, you know, it's sheer an' sheer, An' there is sutthin' wuth your hearin'

I'll mention in _your_ privit ear; Ef you git me inside the White House, Your head with ile I'll kin' o' 'nint By gittin' you inside the Light-house Down to the eend o' Jaalam Pint.

An' ez the North hez took to brustlin'

At bein' scrouged frum off the roost, I'll tell ye wut'll save all tusslin'

An' give our side a harnsome boost,-- Tell 'em thet on the Slavery question I'm

right

, although to speak I'm lawth; This gives you a safe pint to rest on, An' leaves me frontin' South by North.

[And now of epistles candidatial, which are of two kinds,--namely, letters of acceptance, and letters definitive of position. Our republic, on the eve of an election, may safely enough be called a republic of letters.

Epistolary composition becomes then an epidemic, which seizes one candidate after another, not seldom cutting short the thread of political life. It has come to such a pa.s.s, that a party dreads less the attacks of its opponents than a letter from its candidate. _Litera scripta manet_, and it will go hard if something bad can not be made of it. General Harrison, it is well understood, was surrounded, during his candidacy, with the _cordon sanitaire_ of a vigilance committee. No prisoner in Spielberg was ever more cautiously deprived of writing materials. The soot was sc.r.a.ped carefully from the chimney-places; outposts of expert rifle-shooters rendered it sure death for any goose (who came clad in feathers) to approach within a certain limited distance of North Bend; and all domestic fowls about the premises were reduced to the condition of Plato's original man. By these precautions the General was saved. _Parva componere magnis_, I remember, that, when party-spirit once ran high among my people, upon occasion of the choice of a new deacon, I, having my preferences, yet not caring too openly to express them, made use of an innocent fraud to bring about that result which I deemed most desirable. My stratagem was no other than the throwing a copy of the Complete Letter-Writer in the way of the candidate whom I wished to defeat. He caught the infection, and addressed a short note to his const.i.tuents, in which the opposite party detected so many and so grave improprieties, (he had modelled it upon the letter of a young lady accepting a proposal of marriage,) that he not only lost his election, but, falling under a suspicion of Sabellianism and I know not what, (the widow Endive a.s.sured me that he was a Paralipomenon, to her certain knowledge,) was forced to leave the town. Thus it is that the letter killeth.

The object which candidates propose to themselves in writing is to convey no meaning at all. And here is a quite unsuspected pitfall into which they successively plunge headlong. For it is precisely in such cryptographies that mankind are p.r.o.ne to seek for and find a wonderful amount and variety of significance. _Omne ignotum pro mirifico._ How do we admire at the antique world striving to crack those oracular nuts from Delphi, Hammon, and elsewhere, in only one of which can I so much as surmise that any kernel had ever lodged; that, namely, wherein Apollo confessed that he was mortal. One Didymus is, moreover, related to have written six thousand books on the single subject of grammar, a topic rendered only more tenebrific by the labors of his successors, and which seems still to possess an attraction for authors in proportion as they can make nothing of it. A singular loadstone for theologians, also, is the Beast in the Apocalypse, whereof, in the course of my studies, I have noted two hundred and three several interpretations, each lethiferal to all the rest. _Non nostrum est tantas componere lites_, yet I have myself ventured upon a two hundred and fourth, which I embodied in a discourse preached on occasion of the demise of the late usurper, Napoleon Bonaparte, and which quieted, in a large measure, the minds of my people. It is true that my views on this important point were ardently controverted by Mr. Shearjashub Holden, the then preceptor of our academy, and in other particulars a very deserving and sensible young man, though possessing a somewhat limited knowledge of the Greek tongue. But his heresy struck down no deep root, and, he having been lately removed by the hand of Providence, I had the satisfaction of reaffirming my cherished sentiments in a sermon preached upon the Lord's day immediately succeeding his funeral. This might seem like taking an unfair advantage, did I not add that he had made provision in his last will (being celibate) for the publication of a posthumous tractate in support of his own dangerous opinions.

I know of nothing in our modern times which approaches so nearly to the ancient oracle as the letter of a Presidential candidate. Now, among the Greeks, the eating of beans was strictly forbidden to all such as had it in mind to consult those expert amphibologists, and this same prohibition on the part of Pythagoras to his disciples is understood to imply an abstinence from politics, beans having been used as ballots. That other explication, _quod videlicet sensus eo cibo obtundi existimaret_, though supported _pugnis et calcibus_ by many of the learned, and not wanting the countenance of Cicero, is confuted by the larger experience of New England. On the whole, I think it safer to apply here the rule of interpretation which now generally obtains in regard to antique cosmogonies, myths, fables, proverbial expressions, and knotty points generally, which is, to find a common-sense meaning, and then select whatever can be imagined the most opposite thereto. In this way we arrive at the conclusion, that the Greeks objected to the questioning of candidates. And very properly, if, as I conceive, the chief point be not to discover what a person in that position is, or what he will do, but whether he can be elected. _Vos exemplaria Graeca nocturna versate manu, versate diurna._

But, since an imitation of the Greeks in this particular (the asking of questions being one chief privilege of freemen) is hardly to be hoped for, and our candidates will answer, whether they are questioned or not, I would recommend that these ante-electionary dialogues should be carried on by symbols, as were the diplomatic correspondences of the Scythians and Macrobii, or confined to the language of signs, like the famous interview of Panurge and Goatsnose. A candidate might then convey a suitable reply to all committees of inquiry by closing one eye, or by presenting them with a phial of Egyptian darkness to be speculated upon by their respective const.i.tuencies.

These answers would be susceptible of whatever retrospective construction the exigencies of the political campaign might seem to demand, and the candidate could take his position on either side of the fence with entire consistency. Or, if letters must be written, profitable use might be made of the Dighton rock hieroglyphic or the cuneiform script, every fresh decipherer of which is enabled to educe a different meaning, whereby a sculptured stone or two supplies us, and will probably continue to supply posterity, with a very vast and various body of authentic history. For even the briefest epistle in the ordinary chirography is dangerous. There is scarce any style so compressed that superfluous words may not be detected in it. A severe critic might curtail that famous brevity of Caesar's by two thirds, drawing his pen through the supererogatory _veni_ and _vidi_. Perhaps, after all, the surest footing of hope is to be found in the rapidly increasing tendency to demand less and less of qualification in candidates. Already have statesmanship, experience, and the possession (nay, the profession, even) of principles been rejected as superfluous, and may not the patriot reasonably hope that the ability to write will follow? At present, there may be death in pot-hooks as well as pots, the loop of a letter may suffice for a bowstring, and all the dreadful heresies of Anti-slavery may lurk in a flourish.--H. W.]

No. VIII.

A SECOND LETTER FROM B. SAWIN, ESQ.

[In the following epistle, we behold Mr. Sawin returning, a _miles emeritus_, to the bosom of his family. _Quantum mutatus!_ The good Father of us all had doubtless intrusted to the keeping of this child of his certain faculties of a constructive kind. He had put in him a share of that vital force, the nicest economy of every minute atom of which is necessary to the perfect development of Humanity. He had given him a brain and heart, and so had equipped his soul with the two strong wings of knowledge and love, whereby it can mount to hang its nest under the eaves of heaven. And this child, so dowered, he had intrusted to the keeping of his vicar, the State. How stands the account of that stewardship? The State, or Society, (call her by what name you will,) had taken no manner of thought of him till she saw him swept out into the street, the pitiful leavings of last night's debauch, with cigar-ends, lemon-parings, tobacco-quids, slops, vile stenches, and the whole loathsome next-morning of the bar-room,--an own child of the Almighty G.o.d! I remember him as he was brought to be christened, a ruddy, rugged babe; and now there he wallows, reeking, seething,--the dead corpse, not of a man, but of a soul,--a putrefying lump, horrible for the life that is in it. Comes the wind of heaven, that good Samaritan, and parts the hair upon his forehead, nor is too nice to kiss those parched, cracked lips; the morning opens upon him her eyes full of pitying sunshine, the sky yearns down to him,--and there he lies fermenting. O sleep! let me not profane thy holy name by calling that stertorous unconsciousness a slumber! By and by comes along the State, G.o.d's vicar. Does she say,--"My poor, forlorn foster-child! Behold here a force which I will make dig and plant and build for me?" Not so, but,--"Here is a recruit ready-made to my hand, a piece of destroying energy lying unprofitably idle." So she claps an ugly gray suit on him, puts a musket in his grasp, and sends him off, with Gubernatorial and other G.o.dspeeds, to do duty as a destroyer.

I made one of the crowd at the last Mechanics' Fair, and, with the rest, stood gazing in wonder at a perfect machine, with its soul of fire, its boiler-heart that sent the hot blood pulsing along the iron arteries, and its thews of steel. And while I was admiring the adaptation of means to end, the harmonious involutions of contrivance, and the never-bewildered complexity, I saw a grimed and greasy fellow, the imperious engine's lackey and drudge, whose sole office was to let fall, at intervals, a drop or two of oil upon a certain joint. Then my soul said within me, See there a piece of mechanism to which that other you marvel at is but as the rude first effort of a child,--a force which not merely suffices to set a few wheels in motion, but which can send an impulse all through the infinite future,--a contrivance, not for turning out pins, or st.i.tching b.u.t.ton-holes, but for making Hamlets and Lears. And yet this thing of iron shall be housed, waited on, guarded from rust and dust, and it shall be a crime but so much as to scratch it with a pin; while the other with its fire of G.o.d in it, shall be buffeted hither and thither, and finally sent carefully a thousand miles to be the target for a Mexican cannon-ball. Unthrifty Mother State! My heart burned within me for pity and indignation, and I renewed this covenant with my own soul,--_In aliis mansuetus ero, at, in blasphemiis contra Christum, non ita._--H. W.]

I spose you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me, Exacly ware I be myself,--meanin' by thet the holl o' me.

Wen I left hum, I hed two legs, an' they worn't bad ones neither, (The scaliest trick they ever played wuz bringin' on me hither,) Now one on 'm's I dunno ware;--they thought I wuz adyin', An' sawed it off because they said 'twuz kin' o' mortifyin'; I'm willin' to believe it wuz, an' yit I don't see, nuther, Wy one should take to feelin' cheap a minnit sooner'n t' other, Sence both wuz equilly to blame; but things is ez they be; It took on so they took it off, an' thet's enough fer me: There's one good thing, though, to be said about my wooden new one,-- The liquor can't git into it ez't used to in the true one; So it saves drink; an' then, besides, a feller couldn't beg A gretter blessin' then to hev one ollers sober peg; It's true a chap's in want o' two fer follerin' a drum, But all the march I'm up to now is jest to Kingdom Come.

I've lost one eye, but thet's a loss it's easy to supply Out o' the glory that I've gut, fer thet is all my eye; An' one is big enough, I guess, by diligently usin' it, To see all I shall ever git by way o' pay fer losin' it; Off'cers, I notice, who git paid fer all our thumps an' kickins, Du wal by keepin' single eyes arter the fattest pickins; So, ez the eye's put fairly out, I'll larn to go without it, An' not allow _myself_ to be no gret put out about it.

Now, le' me see, thet isn't all; I used, 'fore leavin' Jaalam, To count things on my finger-eends, but sutthin' seems to ail 'em: Ware's my left hand? O, darn it, yes, I recollect wut's come on't; I haint no left arm but my right, an' thet's gut jest a thumb on't; It aint so hendy ez it wuz to cal'late a sum on't.

I've hed some ribs broke,--six (I b'lieve),--I haint kep' no account on 'em; Wen pensions git to be the talk, I'll settle the amount on 'em.

An' now I'm speakin' about ribs, it kin' o' brings to mind One thet I couldn't never break,--the one I lef' behind; Ef you should see her, jest clear out the spout o' your invention An' pour the longest sweetnin' in about an annooal pension, An' kin' o' hint (in case, you know, the critter should refuse to be Consoled) I aint so 'xpensive now to keep ez wut I used to be; There's one arm less, ditto one eye, an' then the leg thet's wooden Can be took off an' sot away wenever ther's a puddin'.

I spose you think I'm comin' back ez opperlunt ez thunder, With shiploads o' gold images an' varus sorts o' plunder; Wal, 'fore I vullinteered, I thought this country wuz a sort o'

Canaan, a reg'lar Promised Land flowin' with rum an' water, Ware propaty growed up like time, without no cultivation, An' gold wuz dug ez taters be among our Yankee nation, Ware nateral advantages were pufficly amazin', Ware every rock there wuz about with precious stuns wuz blazin', Ware mill-sites filled the country up ez thick ez you could cram 'em, An' desput rivers run about abeggin' folks to dam 'em; Then there were meetinhouses, tu, chockful o' gold an' silver Thet you could take, an' no one couldn't hand ye in no bill fer;-- Thet's wut I thought afore I went, thet's wut them fellers told us Thet stayed to hum an' speechified an' to the buzzards sold us; I thought thet gold mines could be gut cheaper than Chiny asters, An' see myself a comin' back like sixty Jacob Astors; But sech idees soon melted down an' didn't leave a grease-spot; I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles wouldn't come nigh a V spot; Although, most anywares we've ben, you needn't break no locks, Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o' rocks.

I guess I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral feeturs O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle creeturs, But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded) How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git drownded.

The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o' pewter Our Prudence hed, thet wouldn't pour (all she could du) to suit her; Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so's not a drop 'ould dreen out, Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean out, The kiver-hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an' kiver 'ould all come down _kerswosh_! ez though the dam broke in a river.

Jest so 'tis here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather, An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be alayin' heads together Ez t' how they'd mix their drink at sech a milingtary deepot,-- 'T'ould pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot.

The cons'quence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave here, One piece o' propaty along,--an' thet's the shakin' fever; It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm one, Nor 'taint so tiresome ez it wuz with t'other leg an' arm on; An' it's a consolation, tu, although it doosn't pay, To hev it said you're some gret shakes in any kin' o' way.

'T worn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin',-- One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',-- One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,-- Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess o' hacks an' smashes.

But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,-- Thet's an investment, arter all, thet mayn't turn out so bad; But somehow, wen we'd fit an' licked, I ollers found the thanks Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks; The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' so on,-- _We_ never gut a blasted mite o' glory ez I know on; An' spose we hed, I wonder how you're goin' to contrive its Division so's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits; Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the brav'st one, You wouldn't git more 'n half enough to speak of on a grave-stun; We git the licks,--we're jest the grist thet's put into War's hoppers; Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers.

It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul in't, An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in't; But glory is a kin' o' thing _I_ shan't pursue no furder, Coz thet's the off'cers parquisite,--yourn's on'y jest the murder.

Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's one Thing in the bills we aint hed yit, an' thet's the

GLORIOUS FUN

; Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume we All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy.

I'll tell ye wut _my_ revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em; _We_ never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever _I_ come Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it _seemed_ a cent'ry) A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry, An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my pa.s.ses an' repa.s.ses, A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' gla.s.ses: I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed inside; All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz fried, An' not a hunderd miles away frum ware this child wuz posted, A Ma.s.sachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an' roasted; The on'y thing like revellin' thet ever come to me Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel's settled now; fer my part I've some doubt on't, 'T 'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean out on't; At any rate, I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin', The on'y chance thet's left to me is politics or writin'; Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man, An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a plan; The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to a T, An' ef I lose, 't wunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea; So I'll set up ez can'idate fer any kin' o' office, (I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an' soffies; Fer ez to runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day, You know thet's wut I never did,--except the other way;) Ef it's the Presidential cheer fer wich I'd better run, Wut two legs anywares about could keep up with my one?

There aint no kin' o' quality in can'idates, it's said, So useful ez a wooden leg,--except a wooden head; There's nothin' aint so poppylar--(wy, it's a parfect sin To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny's pin;)-- Then I haint gut no princerples, an', sence I wuz knee-high, I never _did_ hev any gret, ez you can testify; I'm a decided peace man, tu, an' go agin the war,-- Fer now the holl on 't 's gone an' past, wut is there to go _for_?

Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should beg To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer

WOODEN LEG

!

Ef they aint settisfied with thet, an' kin' o' pry an' doubt An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say

ONE EYE PUT OUT

!

Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find'll answer to a charm, An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hol' up my missin' arm; Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look An' tell 'em thet's percisely wut I never gin nor--took!

Then you can call me "Timbertoes,"--thet's wut the people likes; Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes; Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please,-- I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees; "Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on, There's nothin' in't the other side can any ways git hold on; It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody Thet valooable cla.s.s o' men who look thru brandy-toddy; It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind; Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 'em, Sech ez the

one-eyed Slarterer

, the

b.l.o.o.d.y Birdofredum

; Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the ma.s.ses, An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all cla.s.ses.

There's one thing I'm in doubt about; in order to be Presidunt, It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt; The Const.i.tution settles thet, an' also thet a feller Must own a n.i.g.g.e.r o' some sort, jet black, or brown, or yeller.

Now I haint no objections agin particklar climes, Nor agin ownin' anythin' (except the truth sometimes), But, ez I haint no capital, up there among ye, maybe, You might raise funds enough fer me to buy a low-priced baby, An' then, to suit the No'thern folks, who feel obleeged to say They hate an' cuss the very thing they vote fer every day, Say you're a.s.sured I go full b.u.t.t fer Liberty's diffusion An' made the purchis on'y jest to spite the Inst.i.tootion;-- But, golly! there's the currier's hoss upon the pavement pawin'!

I'll be more 'xplicit in my next.

Yourn,

Birdofredum Sawin

.

[We have now a tolerably fair chance of estimating how the balance-sheet stands between our returned volunteer and glory. Supposing the entries to be set down on both sides of the account in fractional parts of one hundred, we shall arrive at something like the following result:--

B. Sawin

, Esq., in account with (

Blank

)

Glory

.