Yours, with esteem and respect,

HOMER WILBUR, A.M.

P.S.  I had wellnigh forgotten to say that the object of this letter is to inclose a communication from the gifted pen of Mr. Biglow.

  I sent you a messige, my friens, t’ other day,
  To tell you I’d nothin’ pertickler to say: 
  ‘T wuz the day our new nation gut kin’ o’ stillborn,
  So’t wuz my pleasant dooty t’ acknowledge the corn,
  An’ I see clearly then, ef I didn’t before,
  Thet the augur in inauguration means bore. 
  I needn’t tell you thet my messige wuz written
  To diffuse correc’ notions in France an’ Gret Britten,
  An’ agin to impress on the poppylar mind
  The comfort an’ wisdom o’ goin’ it blind,—­
  To say thet I didn’t abate not a hooter
  O’ my faith in a happy an’ glorious futur’,
  Ez rich in each soshle an’ p’litickle blessin’
  Ez them thet we now hed the joy o’ possessin’,
  With a people united, an’ longin’ to die
  For wut we call their country, without askin’ why,
  An’ all the gret things we concluded to slope for
  Ez much within reach now ez ever—­to hope for. 
  We’ve all o’ the ellermunts, this very hour,
  Thet make up a fus’-class, self-governin’ power: 
  We’ve a war, an’ a debt, an’ a flag; an’ ef this
  Ain’t to be inderpendunt, why, wut on airth is? 
  An’ nothin’ now henders our takin’ our station
  Ez the freest, enlightenedest, civerlized nation,
  Built up on our bran’-new politickle thesis
  Thet a Guv’ment’s fust right is to tumble to pieces,—­
  I say nothin’ henders our takin’ our place
  Ez the very fus’-best o’ the whole human race,
  A-spittin’ tobacker ez proud ez you please
  On Victory’s bes’ carpets, or loafin’ at ease
  In the Tool’ries front-parlor, discussin’ affairs
  With our heels on the backs o’ Napoleon’s new chairs,
  An’ princes a-mixin’ our cocktails an’ slings,—­
  Excep’, wal, excep’ jest a very few things,
  Sech ez navies an’ armies an’ wherewith to pay,
  An’ gittin’ our sogers to run t’ other way,
  An’ not be too over-pertickler in tryin’
  To hunt up the very las’ ditches to die in.

  Ther’ are critters so base thet they want it explained
  Jes’ wut is the totle amount thet we’ve gained,
  Ez ef we could maysure stupenjious events
  By the low Yankee stan’ard o’ dollars an’ cents: 
  They seem to forgit, thet, sence last year revolved,
  We’ve succeeded in gittin’ seceshed an’ dissolved,
  An’ thet no one can’t hope to git thru dissolootion
  ‘Thout sonic kin’ o’ strain on the best Constitootion. 
  Who asks for a prospec’ more flettrin’ an’ bright,
  When from here clean to Texas it’s all one free fight? 
  Hain’t we rescued from Seward the gret leadin’ featurs
  Thet makes it wuth while to be reasonin’ creaturs? 
  Hain’t we saved Habus Coppers, improved it in fact,
  By suspending the Unionists ‘stid o’ the Act? 
  Ain’t the laws free to all?  Where on airth else d’ ye see
  Every freeman improvin’ his own rope an’ tree?