My dear Mrs Seward
Notwithstanding I am here
so soon again, my promise (24 hours old)
was made in good faith –
I think I am like Undine's uncle
Kühleborn – though a great stone be
placed over the fountain, he bubbles and
hisses, and at last, out comes the splash –
I thought my promise to be quiet was
well shut in, but lo and behold, I had
scarcely got seated again, when the
Whig-Ship, hove in delight.
I know nothing about
politics, so this is but an imitation of what
I see once in a while, in the papers you are
so kind as to furnish me. Perhaps I
am as wide of the mark here, as in the

Henry Clay piece, you remember.
I know not which is most
classic, 'lokie' or 'fogie', so I chose the
most musical.
I suppose you understood
it was your own rashness that turned
the brain, & so you took the yesterday's
infliction meekly, I doubt not –
I think I shall assist you to comply
with the injunction, "let patience have its
perfect work."
yours truly LEW
P.S. I think I did not give you a
correct idea of the 'ladies' gathering' the
other day – I have heard this morning that
the 'Women's Rights' matters are connected –
I know not how it is —

To that owl ensconced under the
eaves-trough, over the 'golden eagle'
of the rain-spout.
What ho, Sir Wisdom, drop a word —
Speak once, thou famed Minerva bird;
How shall I know if all is true,
That has been said and sung of you;
So high your seat, I strain my eye,
Your knowing phiz, just to descry;
There's bump of wisdom in that act,
And not a little shrewdness – tact –
Such "distance does enchant the view",
And actions speak, though words are few –
Away up there, so whist and braw,
You look a sage, from crown to claw;
And then so wisely snug, your seat –
No yankee owl, that thought could beat;
(over)

Your lattice — honeysuckle leaves, —
Your roof — the grecian triglyphed eaves;
There's room enough, and none to spare —
You get no rain, but do get air; —
To speak the truth, is ever duty —
Oh be not anger'd, good Sir Mute-y,
That attitude, shows "eye to beauty:"
This all proclaims upon my word,
At least, thou art no fool of a bird.
Wednesday evening – Sept. 22nd

Scott- ish

x

Winfield Scott

Birth: 1786-06-13 Death: 1866-05-29

Song.
"Make ready for action." Alb. Eve. Journal.
The Whig-Ship is floating —
Hurra for a breeze,
Swell'd canvas denoting,
Staunch queen of the seas:
How mighty the clustering
On deck, of the true;
They're manfully mustering,
They'll put the Ship through.
Gay streamer is waving
With grace, à la Scott,
Through the Lokies are raving,
It 'bates not a jot;
How gleesome it dances
The brisk Scott-ish reel
As the Hero advances,
who never turned heel.
Breast t'breast and no backing —
Whigs gallant and sure;
All Pierce-ing plans racking
Boasting) Flashy Lokies ye'll cure:
Ye whigs of the city,
Ye country whigs, too —
Bear away now, right bravely,
Arouse ye, and do.
or
Hurra — bear ye bravely,
Make ready, and do.