things, & bimeby I axed him how he liked bein' Prince, as fur as he'd got. "To speak plain, Mister Ward," he sed, "I don't much like it. I'm sick of all this bowin' & scrapin' & crawlin' & hurrain over a boy like me. I would rather go through the country. quietly & enjoy myself in my own way, with the other boys, & not be made a Show of to be gaped at by everybody. When the peple cheer me I feel pleesed, fur I know they meen it; but if these one-horse offishuls cood know how I see threw all their moves & understan' exactly what they air after, & knowd how I larft at 'em in private, thayd stop kissin' my hands & fawnin' over me as thay now do. But you know, Mister Ward, I can't help bein' a Prince, & I must do all I kin to fit myself for the persishun I must sumtime ockepy." "That's troo," sez I; "sickness & the docters will carry the Queen orf one of these dase, sure's yer born." The time hevin' arove fur me to take my departer, I rose up & sed: "Albert Edard, I must go, but previs to doin' so, I will obsarve that you soot me. Yure a good feller, Albert Edard, & tho I'm agin Princes as a gineral thing, I must say I like the cut of your Gib. When you git to be King, try & be as good a man as your muther has bin! Be just & be Jenerus, espeshully to showmen, who have allers bin aboosed sins the dase of Noah, who was the fust man to go into the Menagery bizniss, & ef the daily papers of his time air to be beleeved, Noah's colleckshun of livin' wild beests beet ennything ever seen sins, tho I make bold to dowt ef his snaiks was ahead of mine. Albert Edard, adoo!" I tuk his hand, which he shook warmly, & givin' him a perpetooal free pars to my show, & also parses to take hum for the Queen & Old Albert, I put on my hat and walkt away. "Mrs. Ward," I solilerquized as I walkt along " Mrs. Ward, ef you could see your husband now, just as he prowdly emerjis from the presunts of the futer King of Ingland, you'd be sorry you called him a Beest jest becaws he cum home tired 1 nite & wantid to go to bed without takin' off his boots. You'd be sorry for tryin' to deprive yure husband of the priceless Boon of liberty, Betsy Jane!" Jest then I met a long perseshun of men with gownds onto 'em. The leader was on horseback, & ridin' up to me, he sed: "Air you Orange ?" Sez I, "Which ?" "Air you a Orangeman?" he repeated, sternly. "I used to peddle lemins," sed I, "but never delt in oranges. They are apt to spile on yure hands. What particler Loonatic Asylum hev you & yure friends escaped frum, if I may be so bold?" Just then a suddent thawt struck me, & I sed, “Oh, yure the fellers who air worryin' the Prince so, & givin' the Juke of Noocastle cold sweats at nite, by yure infernal catawalins, air you? Wall, take the advice of a Amerykin sitterzen, take off them gownds & don't try to get up a religious fite, which is 40 times wuss nor a prize fite, over Albert Edard, who wants to receive you all on a ekal footin' not keerin' a tinker's cuss what meetin'-house you sleep in Sundays. Go home & mind yure bisness, & not make noosenses of yourselves." With which observashuns I left 'em. I shall leave British sile 4thwith. BRILLIANT DRUNKARDS. BY C. D. WARNER. It is a temptation to a temperate man to become a sot, to hear what talent, what versatility, what genius, is almost always attributed to a moderately bright man who is habitually drunk. Such a mechanic, such a mathematician, such a poet he would be if he were only sober; and then he is sure to be the most generous, A BRILLIANT DRUNKARD. magnanimous, friendly soul, conscientiously honorable, if he were not so conscientiously drunk. I suppose it is now notorious that the most brilliant and promising men have been lost to the world in this way. It is sometimes almost painful to think what a surplus of talent and genius there would be in the world if the habit of intoxication should suddenly cease; and what a slim chance there would be for the plodding people who have always had tolerable good habits. The fear is only mitigated by the observation that the reputation of a person for great talent sometimes ceases with his reformation. BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN AS A VOLUNTEER. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. [The first series of the "Biglow Papers" appeared during the Mexican War in the Boston Courier. Each paper was introduced by a letter from the Rev. Homer Wilbur, of Jaalam Centre, covering a note and poem from his young parishioner, Hosea Biglow.] MISTER BUCKINUM, the follerin Billet was writ hum by a Yung feller of our town that wuz cussed fool enuff to goe a-trottin' inter Miss Chiff arter a Drum and fife. It ain't Nater for a feller to let on that he's sick o' any bizness that He went intu off his own free will and a Cord, but I rather cal'late he's middlin' tired o' voluntearin By this I b'leeve u may put dependunts Time. on his statemence. For I never heered nothin' bad on him let Alone his havin what Parson Wilbur cals a pongshong for cocktales, and he sees it was a soshiashun of idees sot him a-goin' arter the Crootin Sargient cos he wore a cocktale onto his hat. his Folks gin the letter to me and i shew it to parson Wilbur and he ses it oughter Bee printed. send It to mister Buckinum, ses he, i don't ollers agree with him, ses he, but by Time,* ses he, I du like a feller that aint a Feared. I have intuspussed a Few refleckshuns hear and thair. We're kind o' prest with Hayin. Ewers respecfly HOSEA BIGLOW. This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin' A chap could clear right out from there ef 't only looked liked rainin', An' send the insines skootin' to the bar-room with their banners (Fear o' gittin' on 'em spotted), an' a feller could cry quarter Ef he fired away his ramrod arter tu much rum an' water. Up there to Waltham plain last fall, along o' the Cornwallis? † In relation to this expression, I cannot but think that Mr. Biglow has been too hasty in attributing it to me. Though Time be a comparatively innocent personage to swear by, and though Longinus in his discourse Пepì "Yors has commended timely oaths as not only a useful but sublime figure of speech, yet I have always kept my lips free from that abomination Odi profanum vulgus, I hate your swearing and hectoring fellows.-H. W. ti hait the Site of a feller with a muskit as I du pizn But there is fun to a cornwallis I aint agoin' to deny it.-H. B. This sort o' thing aint jest like thet-I wish thet I wuz furder- It's glory-but, in spite o' all my tryin' to git callous, I feel a kind o' in a cart aridin' to the gallus. But wen it comes to bein' killed-I tell ye I felt streaked The fust time 't ever I found out wy baggonets wuz peaked ; The sentinel he ups an' sez, "Thet 's furder an' you can go." "None o' your sarse,” sez I; sez he, “Stan' back!” “Aint you a buster?" Sez I, "I'm up to all thet air, I guess I've ben to muster; I know wy sentinels air sot; you ain't agoin' to eat us; Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but don't put his foot in it, I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o' privilege An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acomin' *he means Not quite so fur I guess.-H. B. the ignerant creeter means Sekketary; but he ollers stuck to his books like cobbler's wax to an ile-stone.-H. B. |