Page 83 - Four Famous American Writers: Washington Irving, Edgar Allan Poe, James Russell Lowell, Bayard Taylor
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bumpkin. Through the rough dialect and homely way of stating the case,
               there shone the fine intellect of a cultivated and skillful writer. The Post

               guessed that James Russell Lowell was the real author. This was regarded
               only as a rumor, however, and many people scouted the idea that a young

               poet, whose books sold only in small numbers and were known only to
               literary people, could have written anything as good as this.



                "I have heard it demonstrated in the pauses of a concert," wrote Lowell
               afterward, "that I was utterly incompetent to have written anything of the

               kind."


               It was early in this same summer of 1846 that Lowell made his contract to

               write regularly for the _Anti-Slavery Standard_; and he soon began sending
               the "Biglow" poems to that paper instead of to the Courier.



               The most popular of the whole series of poems by Hosea Biglow was the
               one on John P. Robinson. Robinson was a worthy gentleman who happened

               to come out publicly on the side of a political wire-puller. Immediately
               Hosea caught up his name and wrote a comic poem on voting for a bad

               candidate for office. Looked at in that light, the poem applies just as well to
               political candidates to-day as it did then. Here are a few stanzas of the
               poem. You will want to turn to "Lowell's Poetical Works" and read the

               whole piece.



               WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.


               Guvener B. is a sensible man; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;

               He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch
               pokes; But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.



               My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him o'
               course--thet's flat; Guess we shall hev to come round, (don't you?) An' go in

               fer thunder an' guns, an' all that, Fer John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote
               fer Guvener B.
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