We give the critters back, John,
  Cos Abram thought ’twas right;
It warn’t your bullyin’ clack, John,
  Provokin’ us to fight. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    We’ve a hard row,’ sez he,
’To hoe jest now; but thet, somehow, 70
    May happen to J.B.,
    Ez wal ez you an’ me!’

We ain’t so weak an’ poor, John,
  With twenty million people. 
An’ close to every door, John,
  A school-house an’ a steeple. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    It is a fact,’ sez he,
’The surest plan to make a Man
    Is, think him so, J.B., 80
    Ez much ez you or me!’

Our folks believe in Law, John;
  An’ it’s for her sake, now,
They’ve left the axe an’ saw, John,
  The anvil an’ the plough. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    Ef ‘twarn’t for law,’ sez he,
’There’d be one shindy from here to Indy;
    An’ thet don’t suit J.B. 
    (When’t ain’t ‘twixt you an’ me!) 90

We know we’ve got a cause, John,
  Thet’s honest, just, an’ true;
We thought ’twould win applause, John,
  Ef nowheres else, from you. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    His love of right,’ sez he,
‘Hangs by a rotten fibre o’ cotton: 
    There’s natur’ in J.B.,
    Ez wal ‘z in you an’ me!’

The South says, ‘Poor folks down!’ John, 100
  An’ ‘All men up!’ say we,—­
White, yaller, black, an’ brown, John: 
  Now which is your idee? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    John preaches wal,’ sez he;
‘But, sermon thru, an’ come to du,
    Why, there’s the old J.B. 
    A-crowdin’ you an’ me!’

Shall it be love, or hate, John? 
  It’s you thet’s to decide; 110
Ain’t your bonds held by Fate, John,
  Like all the world’s beside? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    Wise men forgive,’ sez he,
‘But not forgit; an’ some time yit
    Thet truth may strike J.B.,
    Ez wal ez you an’ me!’

God means to make this land, John,
  Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an’ understand, John, 120
  The wuth o’ bein’ free. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    God’s price is high,’ sez he;
‘But nothin’ else than wut He sells
    Wears long, an’ thet J.B. 
    May larn, like you an’ me!’

No.  III

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN, ESQ., TO MR. HOSEA BIGLOW

With the following Letter from the REVEREND HOMER WILBUR, A.M.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

JAALAM, 7th Feb., 1862.