The Biglow Papers, Volume 1

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1885 - Mexican War, 1846-1848 - 198 pages
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Page 122 - I mean in preyin' till one busts On wut the party chooses, An' in convartin" public trusts To very privit uses. I du believe hard coin the stuff Fer 'lectioneers to spout on ; The people 's oilers soft enough To make hard money out on ; Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his, An...
Page 63 - Is our dooty in this fix,— They'd ha' done 't ez quick ez winkin' In the days o' seventy-six. Clang the bells in every steeple; Call all true men to disown The tradoocers of our people, The enslavers o...
Page 60 - To abuse ye, an' to scorn ye, An' to plunder ye like sin. Ain't it cute to see a Yankee Take sech everlastin' pains, All to git the Devil's thankee Helpin' on 'em weld their chains ? Wy, it's jest ez clear ez figgers, Clear ez one an' one make two, Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers Want to make wite slaves o
Page 98 - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for not without dust and heat.
Page 83 - An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes; But John P. Robinson he Sez he wun't vote fer Guvener B. My ! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him o...
Page 135 - I stan' upon the Constitution, Ez preudunt statesmun say, who 've planned A way to git the most profusion O' chances ez to ware they 'll stand. Ez f er the war, I go agin it, — I mean to say I kind o...
Page 48 - There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.
Page 84 - We were gittin on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut aint, We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an pillage, An thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint; But John P. Robinson he Sez this kind o
Page 30 - A person familiar with the dialect of certain portions of Massachusetts will not fail to recognize, in ordinary discourse, many words now noted in English vocabularies as archaic, the greater part of which were in common use about the time of the King James translation of the Bible. Shakespeare stands less in need of a glossary to most New Englanders than to many a native of the Old Country.
Page 112 - But keep all your spare breath fer coolin' your broth, Fer I oilers hev strove (at least thet 's my impression) To make cussed free with the rights o' the North," Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he ; — "Yes," sez Davis o' Miss., " The perfection o' bliss Is in skinnin' thet same old coon,

About the author (1885)

James Russell Lowell (February 22, 1819 - August 12, 1891) was an American Romantic poet, critic, editor, and diplomat. He is associated with the Fireside Poets, a group of New England writers. But Lowell's real strengths as a writer are better found in his prose essays than in his verse. A man great in literary learning (he was professor of belles-lettres at Harvard College for many years), wise and passionate in his commitments, he was a great upholder of tradition and value. His essays on the great writers of England and Europe still endure, distinguished not only by their astute insights into the literary classics of Western culture, but also by their spectacular style and stunning wit. Lowell graduated from Harvard College in 1838 and went on to earn a law degree from Harvard Law School. He published his first collection of poetry in 1841. Nor was Lowell merely a dweller in an ivory tower. In his youth, he worked passionately for the cause of abolition, risking his literary reputation for a principle that he saw as absolute. In his middle years, he was founding editor of the Atlantic Monthly and guided it during its early years toward its enormous success. In his final years, this great example of American character and style represented the United States first as minister to Spain (1877--80), and afterwards to Great Britain (1880--85). Lowell was married twice: First to the poet Mary White Lowell, who died of tuberculosis, and second to Frances Dunlap. He died on August 12, 1891, at his home, Elmwood. He was buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery.

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