University of Virginia Library

FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.
DELIVERED JULY 4TH, AT WEATHERSFIELD, CONNECTICUT,
1850.

Feller Citizens: I've bin honored with a invite
to norate before you to-day; and when I say that I
skurcely feel ekal to the task, I'm sure you will believe
me.

Weathersfield is justly celebrated for her onyins
and patritism the world over, and to be axed to
paws and address you on this, my fust perfeshernal
tower threw New Englan, causes me to feel—to
feel—I may say it causes me to feel. (Grate applaws.
They thought this was one of my eccentricities,

while the fact is I was stuck. This between
you and I.)

I'm a plane man. I don't know nothin about no
ded languages and am a little shaky on livin ones.
There4, expect no flowry talk from me. What I
shall say will be to the pint, right strate out.

I'm not a politician and my other habits air good.
I've no enemys to reward, nor friends to sponge.
But I'm a Union man. I luv the Union — it is a
Big thing — and it makes my hart bleed to see a
lot of ornery peple a-movin heaven — no, not heaven,
but the other place — and earth, to bust it up.
Too much good blud was spilt in courtin and marryin
that hily respectable female the Goddess of Liberty,
to git a divorce from her now. My own State of
Injianny is celebrated for unhitchin marrid peple
with neatness and dispatch, but you can't git a
divorce from the Goddess up there. Not by no
means. The old gal has behaved herself too well to
cast her off now. I'm sorry the picters don't give
her no shoes or stockins, but the band of stars upon
her hed must continner to shine undimd, forever.

I'me for the Union as she air, and whithered be the
arm of every ornery cuss who attempts to bust her
up. That's me. I hav sed! [It was a very
sweaty day, and at this pint of the orashun a man
fell down with sunstroke. I told the awjince that
considerin the large number of putty gals present
I was more fraid of a DAWTER STROKE. This was
impromptoo, and seemed to amoose them very much.]

Feller Citizens — I hain't got time to notis the
growth of Ameriky frum the time when the May-flowers
cum over in the Pilgrim and brawt Plymmuth
Rock with them, but every skool boy nose our
kareer has bin tremenjis. You will excuse me if I
don't prase the erly settlers of the Kolonies. Peple
which hung idiotic old wimin for witches, bnrnt
holes in Quakers' tongues and consined their feller
critters to the tredmill and pillery on the slitest
provocashun may hav bin very nice folks in their
way, but I must confess I don't admire their stile,
and will pass them by. I spose they ment well, and
so, in the novel and techin langwidge of the nusepapers,
“peas to their ashis.” Thare was no diskount,

however, on them brave men who fit, bled
and died in the American Revolushun. We needn't
be afraid of setting 'em up two steep. Like my
show, they will stand any amount of prase. G.
Washington was abowt the best man this world ever
sot eyes on. He was a clear-heded, warm-harted,
and stiddy goin man. He never slopt over! The
prevailin weakness of most public men is to SLOP
OVER! [Put them words in large letters — A.
W] They git filled up and slop. They Rush
Things. They travel too much on the high presher
principle. They git on to the fust poplar hobbyhoss
whitch trots along, not carin a sent whether the
beest is even goin, clear sited and sound or spavined,
blind and bawky. Of course they git throwed
eventooually, if not sooner. When they see the
multitood goin it blind they go Pel Mel with it,
instid of exertin theirselves to set it right. They
can't see that the crowd which is now bearin them
triumfuntly on its shoulders will soon diskiver its
error and cast them into the hoss pond of Oblivyun,
without the slitest hesitashun. Washington never
slopt over. That wasn't George's stile. He luved
his country dearly. He wasn't after the spiles. He
was a human angil in a 3 kornerd hat and knee
britches, and we shan't see his like right away. My
frends, we can't all be Washington's, but we kin all
be patrits & behave ourselves in a human and a
Christian manner. When we see a brother goin
down hill to Ruin let us not give him a push, but
let us seeze rite hold of his coat-tails and draw him
back to Morality.

Imagine G. Washington and P. Henry in the
character of seseshers! As well fancy John Bunyan
and Dr. Watts in spangled tites, doin the trapeze
in a one-horse circus!

I tell you, feller-citizens, it would have bin ten
dollars in Jeff Davis's pocket if he'd never bin born!

* * * * * * * *

Be shure and vote at leest once at all elecshuns.
Buckle on yer Armer and go to the Poles. See
two it that your naber is there. See that the
kripples air provided with carriages. Go to the
poles and stay all day. Bewair of the infamous

lise whitch the Opposishun will be sartin to git up
fur perlitical effek on the eve of eleckshun. To the
poles! and when you git there vote jest as you darn
please. This is a privilege we all persess, and it is
1 of the booties of this grate and free land.

I see mutch to admire in New Englan. Your
gals in particklar air abowt as snug bilt peaces of
Calliker as I ever saw. They air fully equal to the
corn fed gals of Ohio and Injianny, and will make
the bestest kind of wives. It sets my Buzzum on
fire to look at 'em.

I like your skool houses, your meetin houses, your
enterprise, gumpshun &c., but your favorit Bevridge
I disgust. I allude to New England Rum. It is
wuss nor the korn whisky of Injianny, which eats
threw stone jugs & will turn the stummuck of the
most shiftliss Hog. I seldom seek consolashun in the
flowin Bole, but tother day I wurrid down some of
your Rum. The fust glass indused me to sware
like a infooriated trooper. On takin the secund

glass I was seezed with a desire to break winders,
& arter imbibin the third glass I knocht a small boy
down, pickt his pocket of a New York Ledger, and
wildly commenced readin Sylvanus Kobb's last Tail.
Its drefful stuff — a sort of lickwid litenin, gut up
under the personal supervishun of the devil — tears
men's inards all to peaces and makes their noses
blossum as the Lobster. Shun it as you would a
wild hyeny with a fire brand tied to his tale, and
while you air abowt it you will do a first rate thing
for yourself and everybody abowt you by shunnin
all kinds of intoxicatin lickers. You don't need'em
no more'n a cat needs 2 tales, sayin nothin abowt
the trubble and sufferin they cawse. But unless
your inards air cast iron, avoid New Englan's
favorite Bevrige.

My frends, I'm dun. I tear myself away from
you with tears in my eyes & a pleasant oder of
Onyins abowt my close. In the langwidge of
Mister Catterline to the Rummuns, I go, but perhaps
I shall cum back agin. Adoo, peple of Wethersfield.
Be virtoous & you'll be happy!