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:  300
Slav’ry’s 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,
But t’other’s chained in soul to an idee: 
It’s a long job, but we shall worry thru it;
Ef bagnets fail, the spellin’-book must du it.’ 
‘Hosee,’ sez he, ‘I think you’re goin’ to fail: 
The rettlesnake ain’t dangerous in the tail; 310
This ’ere rebellion’s nothing but the rettle,—­
You’ll stomp on thet an’ think you’ve won the bettle: 
It’s Slavery thet’s the fangs an’ thinkin’ head,
An’ ef you want selvation, cresh it dead,—­
An’ cresh it suddin, or you’ll larn by waitin’
Thet Chance wun’t stop to listen to debatin’!’—­
‘God’s truth!’ sez I,—­’an’ ef I held the club,
An’ knowed jes’ where to strike,—­but there’s the rub!’—­
‘Strike soon,’ sez he, ’or you’ll be deadly ailin’,—­
Folks thet’s afeared to fail are sure o’ failin’; 320
God hates your sneakin’ creturs thet believe
He’ll settle things they run away an’ leave!’
He brought his foot down fiercely, ez he spoke,
An’ give me sech a startle thet I woke.

No.  VII

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PRELIMINARY NOTE

[It is with feelings of the liveliest pain that we inform our readers of the death of the Reverend Homer Wilbur, A.M., which took place suddenly, by an apoplectic stroke, on the afternoon of Christmas day, 1862.  Our venerable friend (for so we may venture to call him, though we never enjoyed the high privilege of his personal acquaintance) was in his eighty-fourth year, having been born June 12, 1779, at Pigsgusset Precinct (now West Jerusha) in the then District of Maine.  Graduated with distinction at Hubville College in 1805, he pursued his theological studies with the late Reverend Preserved Thacker, D.D., and was called to the charge of the First Society in Jaalam in 1809, where he remained till his death.

’As an antiquary he has probably left no superior, if, indeed, an equal,’ writes his friend and colleague, the Reverend Jeduthun Hitchcock, to whom we are indebted for the above facts; ’in proof of which I need only allude to his “History of Jaalam, Genealogical, Topographical, and Ecclesiastical,” 1849, which has won him an eminent and enduring place in our more solid and useful literature.  It is only to be regretted that his intense application to historical studies should have so entirely withdrawn him from the pursuit of poetical composition, for which he was endowed by Nature with a remarkable aptitude.  His well-known hymn, beginning “With clouds of care encompassed round,” has been attributed in some collections to the late President Dwight, and it is hardly presumptuous to affirm that the simile of the rainbow in the eighth stanza would do no discredit to that polished pen.’