A SECOND LETTER FROM B. SAWIN, ESQ. by James Russell Lowell: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Birdofredum Sawin, an ordinary soldier, writes home after his experience in the Mexican-American War, listing what the war has cost him: one leg, one eye, one arm (mostly), six broken ribs, and a severe case of fever.
The poem
[In the following epistle, we behold Mr. Sawin returning, a _miles emeritus_, to the bosom of his family. _Quantum mutatus!_ The good Father of us all had doubtless intrusted to the keeping of this child of his certain faculties of a constructive kind. He had put in him a share of that vital force, the nicest economy of every minute atom of which is necessary to the perfect development of Humanity. He had given him a brain and heart, and so had equipped his soul with the two strong wings of knowledge and love, whereby it can mount to hang its nest under the eaves of heaven. And this child, so dowered, he had intrusted to the keeping of his vicar, the State. How stands the account of that stewardship? The State, or Society (call her by what name you will), had taken no manner of thought of him till she saw him swept out into the street, the pitiful leavings of last night's debauch, with cigar-ends, lemon-parings, tobacco-quids, slops, vile stenches, and the whole loathsome next-morning of the bar-room,--an own child of the Almighty God! I remember him as he was brought to be christened, a ruddy, rugged babe; and now there he wallows, reeking, seething,--the dead corpse, not of a man, but of a soul,--a putrefying lump, horrible for the life that is in it. Comes the wind of heaven, that good Samaritan, and parts the hair upon his forehead, nor is too nice to kiss those parched, cracked lips; the morning opens upon him her eyes full of pitying sunshine, the sky yearns down to him,--and there he lies fermenting. O sleep! let me not profane thy holy name by calling that stertorous unconsciousness a slumber! By and by comes along the State, God's vicar. Does she say, 'My poor, forlorn foster-child! Behold here a force which I will make dig and plant and build for me'? Not so, but, 'Here is a recruit ready-made to my hand, a piece of destroying energy lying unprofitably idle.' So she claps an ugly gray suit on him, puts a musket in his grasp, and sends him off, with Gubernatorial and other godspeeds, to do duty as a destroyer. I made one of the crowd at the last Mechanics' Fair, and, with the rest, stood gazing in wonder at a perfect machine, with its soul of fire, its boiler-heart that sent the hot blood pulsing along the iron arteries, and its thews of steel. And while I was admiring the adaptation of means to end, the harmonious involutions of contrivance, and the never-bewildered complexity, I saw a grimed and greasy fellow, the imperious engine's lackey and drudge, whose sole office was to let fall, at intervals, a drop or two of oil upon a certain joint. Then my soul said within me, See there a piece of mechanism to which that other you marvel at is but as the rude first effort of a child,--a force which not merely suffices to set a few wheels in motion, but which can send an impulse all through the infinite future,--a contrivance, not for turning out pins, or stitching button-holes, but for making Hamlets and Lears. And yet this thing of iron shall be housed, waited on, guarded from rust and dust, and it shall be a crime but so much as to scratch it with a pin; while the other, with its fire of God in it, shall be buffeted hither and thither, and finally sent carefully a thousand miles to be the target for a Mexican cannon-ball. Unthrifty Mother State! My heart burned within me for pity and indignation, and I renewed this covenant with my own soul,--_In aliis mansuetus ero, at, in blasphemiis contra Christum, non ita._.--H.W.] I spose you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me, Exacly ware I be myself,--meanin' by thet the holl o' me. Wen I left hum, I hed two legs, an' they worn't bad ones neither, (The scaliest trick they ever played wuz bringin' on me hither,) Now one on 'em's I dunno ware;--they thought I wuz adyin', An' sawed it off because they said 'twuz kin' o' mortifyin'; I'm willin' to believe it wuz, an' yit I don't see, nuther, Wy one shoud take to feelin' cheap a minnit sooner 'n t'other, Sence both wuz equilly to blame; but things is ez they be; It took on so they took it off, an' thet's enough fer me: 10 There's one good thing, though, to be said about my wooden new one,-- The liquor can't git into it ez 't used to in the true one; So it saves drink; an' then, besides, a feller couldn't beg A gretter blessin' then to hev one ollers sober peg; It's true a chap's in want o' two fer follerin' a drum, But all the march I'm up to now is jest to Kingdom Come. I've lost one eye, but thet's a loss it's easy to supply Out o' the glory thet I've gut, fer thet is all my eye; An' one is big enough, I guess, by diligently usin' it, To see all I shall ever git by way o' pay fer losin' it; 20 Off'cers I notice, who git paid fer all our thumps an' kickins, Du wal by keepin' single eyes arter the fattest pickins; So, ez the eye's put fairly out, I'll larn to go without it, An' not allow _myself_ to be no gret put out about it. Now, le' me see, thet isn't all; I used, 'fore leavin' Jaalam, To count things on my finger-eends, but sutthin' seems to ail 'em: Ware's my left hand? Oh, darn it, yes, I recollect wut's come on 't; I haint no left arm but my right, an' thet's gut jest a thumb on 't; It aint so bendy ez it wuz to cal'late a sum on 't. I've hed some ribs broke,--six (I b'lieve),--I haint kep' no account on 'em; 30 Wen pensions git to be the talk, I'll settle the amount on 'em. An' now I'm speakin' about ribs, it kin' o' brings to mind One thet I couldn't never break,--the one I lef' behind; Ef you should see her, jest clear out the spout o' your invention An' pour the longest sweetnin' in about an annooal pension, An' kin' o' hint (in case, you know, the critter should refuse to be Consoled) I aint so 'xpensive now to keep ez wut I used to be; There's one arm less, ditto one eye, an' then the leg thet's wooden Can be took off an' sot away wenever ther's a puddin'. I spose you think I'm comin' back ez opperlunt ez thunder, 40 With shiploads o' gold images an' varus sorts o' plunder; Wal, 'fore I vullinteered, I thought this country wuz a sort o' Canaan, a reg'lar Promised Land flowin' with rum an' water, Ware propaty growed up like time, without no cultivation, An' gold wuz dug ez taters be among our Yankee nation, Ware nateral advantages were pufficly amazin', Ware every rock there wuz about with precious stuns wuz blazin'. Ware mill-sites filled the country up ez thick ez you could cram 'em, An' desput rivers run about a beggin' folks to dam 'em; Then there were meetinhouses, tu, chockful o' gold an' silver 50 Thet you could take, an' no one couldn't hand ye in no bill fer;-- Thet's wut I thought afore I went, thet's wut them fellers told us Thet stayed to hum an' speechified an' to the buzzards sold us; I thought thet gold-mines could be gut cheaper than Chiny asters, An' see myself acomin' back like sixty Jacob Astors; But sech idees soon melted down an' didn't leave a grease-spot; I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles wouldn't come nigh a V spot; Although, most anywares we've ben, you needn't break no locks, Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o' rocks. I 'xpect I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral feeturs 60 O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle creeturs, But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded) How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git drownded. The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o' pewter Our Preudence hed, thet wouldn't pour (all she could du) to suit her; Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so's not a drop 'ould dreen out, Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean out, The kiver-hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an' kiver 'ould all come down _kerswosh!_ ez though the dam bust in a river. Jest so 'tis here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather, 70 An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be a layin' heads together Ez t' how they'd mix their drink at sech a milingtary deepot,-- 'Twould pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot. The cons'quence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave here, One piece o' propaty along, an' thet's the shakin' fever; It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm one, Nor 'taint so tiresome ez it wuz with t'other leg an' arm on; An' it's a consolation, tu, although it doosn't pay, To hev it said you're some gret shakes in any kin' o' way. 'Tworn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin',-- 80 One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',-- One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,-- Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess o' hacks an' smashes. But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,-- Thet's an investment, arter all, thet mayn't turn out so bad; But somehow, wen we'd fit an' licked, I ollers found the thanks Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks; The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Cunnles next, an' so on,-- _We_ never gat a blasted mite o' glory ez I know on; An' spose we hed, I wonder how you're goin' to contrive its 90 Division so's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits; Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the brav'st one, You wouldn't git more 'n half enough to speak of on a grave-stun; We git the licks,--we're jest the grist thet's put into War's hoppers; Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers. It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul in 't, An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in 't; But glory is a kin' o' thing _I_ sha'n't pursue no furder, Coz thet's the off'cers' parquisite,--yourn's on'y jest the murder. Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's one 100 Thing in the bills we aint bed yit, an' thet's the GLORIOUS FUN; Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume we All day an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy. I'll tell ye wut _my_ revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em; _We_ never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever _I_ come Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it _seemed_ a cent'ry) A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry, An' hearin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' repasses, A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' glasses: I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed inside; 110 All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz fried, An' not a hunderd miles away from ware this child wuz posted, A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an' biled an' roasted; The on'y thing like revellin' thet ever come to me Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned revelee. They say the quarrel's settled now; for my part I've some doubt on 't, 't'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean on 't; At any rate I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin', The on'y chance thet's left to me is politics or writin'; Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man, 120 An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a plan; The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit me to a T, An' ef I lose, 'twunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea; So I'll set up ez can'idate fer any kin' o' office, (I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an' soffies; Fer ez tu runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day, You know thet's wut I never did,--except the other way;) Ef it's the Presidential cheer fer wich I'd better run, Wut two legs anywares about could keep up with my one? There aint no kin' o' quality in can'idates, it's said, 130 So useful eza wooden leg,--except a wooden head; There's nothin' aint so poppylar--(wy, it 's a parfect sin To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny's pin;)-- Then I haint gut no princerples, an', sence I wuz knee-high, I never _did_ hev any gret, ez you can testify; I'm a decided peace-man, tu, an' go agin the war,-- Fer now the holl on 't's gone an' past, wut is there to go _for_? Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should beg To know my views o' state affairs, jest answer WOODEN LEG! Ef they aint settisfied with thet, an' kin' o' pry an' doubt 140 An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say ONE EYE PUT OUT! Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find'll answer to a charm, An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hol' up my missin' arm; Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look An' tell 'em thet's precisely wut I never gin nor--took! Then you can call me 'Timbertoes,'--thet's wut the people likes; Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes; Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please,-- I tell ye wut the people want is jest correct idees; 'Old Timbertoes,' you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on, 150 There's nothin' in 't the other side can any ways git hold on; It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy; It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind; Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 'em, Sech ez the ONE-EYED SLARTERER, the BLOODY BIRDOFREDUM: Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the masses, An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes. There's one thing I'm in doubt about: in order to be Presidunt, 160 It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt; The Constitution settles thet, an' also thet a feller Must own a nigger o' some sort, jet black, or brown, or yeller. Now I haint no objections agin particklar climes, Nor agin ownin' anythin' (except the truth sometimes), But, ez I haint no capital, up there among ye, maybe, You might raise funds enough fer me to buy a low-priced baby, An' then to suit the No'thern folks, who feel obleeged to say They hate an' cus the very thing they vote fer every day, Say you're assured I go full butt fer Libbaty's diffusion 170 An' make the purchis on'y jest to spite the Institootion;-- But, golly! there's the currier's hoss upon the pavement pawin'! I'll be more 'xplicit in my next. Yourn, BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN. [We have now a tolerably fair chance of estimating how the balance-sheet stands between our returned volunteer and glory. Supposing the entries to be set down on both sides of the account in fractional parts of one hundred, we shall arrive at something like the following result:-- B. SAWIN, Esq., _in account with_ (BLANK) GLORY. _Cr._ By loss of one leg............................................... 20 " do. one arm................................................ 15 " do. four fingers............................................ 5 " do. one eye................................................ 10 " the breaking of six ribs........................................ 6 " having served under Colonel Cushing one month.................. 44 ------- 100 _Dr._ To one 675th three cheers in Faneuil Hall......................... 30 " do. do. on occasion of presentation of sword to Colonel Wright.. 25 To one suit of gray clothes (ingeniously unbecoming).............. 15 " musical entertainments (drum and fife six months)............... 5 " one dinner after return......................................... 1 " chance of pension............................................... 1 " privilege of drawing longbow during rest of natural life....... 23 ------ 100
Birdofredum Sawin, an ordinary soldier, writes home after his experience in the Mexican-American War, listing what the war has cost him: one leg, one eye, one arm (mostly), six broken ribs, and a severe case of fever. He received none of the glory or gold he was promised, only injuries and a darkly humorous thought about running for political office based on his wounds, since it seems that a wooden leg and an empty head are all a candidate requires.
Line-by-line
I spose you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me, / Exacly ware I be myself,--meanin' by thet the holl o' me.
Wen I left hum, I hed two legs, an' they worn't bad ones neither, / (The scaliest trick they ever played wuz bringin' on me hither,)
I've lost one eye, but thet's a loss it's easy to supply / Out o' the glory thet I've gut, fer thet is all my eye;
Ware's my left hand? Oh, darn it, yes, I recollect wut's come on 't; / I haint no left arm but my right, an' thet's gut jest a thumb on 't;
I spose you think I'm comin' back ez opperlunt ez thunder, / With shiploads o' gold images an' varus sorts o' plunder;
One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an' next ez good ez bakin',-- / One day abrilin' in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes,--
But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed,-- / Thet's an investment, arter all, thet mayn't turn out so bad;
Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there's one / Thing in the bills we aint bed yit, an' thet's the GLORIOUS FUN;
They say the quarrel's settled now; for my part I've some doubt on 't, / 't'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean on 't;
Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man, / An' I aint nothin' else jest now, I've hit upon a plan;
There's one thing I'm in doubt about: in order to be Presidunt, / It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt;
Tone & mood
The tone is sharp and satirical throughout, cleverly disguised as a cheerful, self-deprecating letter from an ordinary guy. Sawin's folksy dialect and jokes about his missing limbs make the horror feel more intense rather than diminishing it. Lowell takes advantage of the contrast between the lighthearted voice and the dark subject matter to convey his anti-war and anti-political-demagoguery message without sounding preachy. By the end, when Sawin shifts to announcing his presidential run on the platform of "WOODEN LEG," the satire has transformed into something resembling anger.
Symbols & metaphors
- The wooden leg — Sawin's prosthetic leg is the poem's main symbol. It represents all that the war provided to the common soldier in return for what it took away: a substitute that is subpar, dehumanizing, and — as the political satire suggests — strangely more functional than the original. It also brings to life the notion of the soldier as an interchangeable component in a machine.
- Glory — Glory is viewed as a commodity, something that's promised in recruitment talks and then given solely to the officers. Lowell repeats the term to illustrate how intangible rewards are used to push men to endure real suffering. The pun 'thet's all my eye'—referring to both his lost eye and meaning 'nonsense'—completely undermines the idea.
- The halls of Montezuma — The phrase, which has become a part of military mythology, captures the dream of conquest — filled with wealth, adventure, and exotic pleasures. Sawin's take on those halls is standing outside in the sun, catching the scent of someone else's dinner. This symbol reveals the disparity between the narrative presented to recruits and the actual experience of enlisted life.
- The teapot — Sawin's down-to-earth analogy comparing Mexico's climate to his wife Prudence's broken teapot — swinging between drought and flood — serves two purposes. It makes the unfamiliar landscape relatable to a New England audience while also gently nudging the reader to remember the home Sawin departed from and the everyday life that the war has irrevocably altered.
- The account ledger (in the prose coda) — The mock balance sheet at the poem's end — counting Sawin's wounds against his 'rewards' like dividing three cheers in Faneuil Hall — turns the human cost of war into mere numbers. The structure itself is satirical: treating a man's body as a line item reveals how the state truly values its soldiers.
- The low-priced baby — Sawin's request for friends to gather funds to purchase an enslaved person so he can qualify for the presidency highlights the brutal hypocrisy of the North. It exposes what polite political language often conceals: that supporting certain candidates meant endorsing slavery, regardless of one's proclaimed beliefs.
Historical context
James Russell Lowell wrote this poem as part of *The Biglow Papers* (First Series, 1848), a collection of satirical verses in New England dialect that directly critiques the Mexican-American War (1846–1848). As a dedicated abolitionist, Lowell viewed the war as a scheme by Southern slaveholders aimed at seizing land to expand slavery. He created the character Hosea Biglow and his friends — including the unfortunate Birdofredum Sawin — to represent regular New Englanders who were doubtful about the war's promises of glory and wealth. The use of dialect spelling was intentional: it conveyed authenticity and allowed Lowell to express thoughts that might have come off as too harsh in traditional poetry. The prose prefaces, written in the voice of Reverend Homer Wilbur, add another layer of irony. The poem foreshadows how wounded veterans would be used as political tools — a trend Lowell recognized with generals like Zachary Taylor, who parlayed military fame into a presidential bid in 1848.
FAQ
It's a satirical letter written by a fictional soldier named Birdofredum Sawin. He returns from the Mexican-American War missing a leg, an eye, most of an arm, and any delusions he had about glory or wealth. Through Sawin's perspective, Lowell criticizes the war, the politicians who pushed for it, and the way injured veterans were exploited for political gain.
The dialect spelling reflects how a rural New Englander would have spoken in the 1840s. Lowell chose this style intentionally to make Sawin's character feel genuine and to emphasize that he represents an everyday person, not a poet or politician. This approach also provided Lowell with a shield to express candid, politically risky ideas—prosecuting a 'simple farmer' for sedition is more challenging than going after a Harvard-educated lawyer.
Sawin is a fictional character created by Lowell for *The Biglow Papers*. He is a naive and greedy volunteer who joined the military with dreams of striking it rich in Mexico, but he's not particularly clever. Serving as both a comic figure and a victim, Lowell uses Sawin to illustrate the harsh realities of war and its effects on the soldiers, contrasting that with the grand promises made in speeches.
The Mexican-American War (1846–1848) occurred after the U.S. annexed Texas and disputed the border with Mexico. Critics such as Lowell, Henry David Thoreau, and Abraham Lincoln contended it was an aggressive war of conquest driven by Southern slaveholders looking to expand the number of slave states in the Union. As an abolitionist, Lowell viewed the war as morally unjustifiable for these reasons.
Lowell is poking fun at how American voters in the 1840s were attracted to military heroes as candidates, often ignoring their actual qualifications or ideas. Zachary Taylor, who had no political experience and no clear positions on any issues, ran for president in 1848 solely based on his war record—and he won. Sawin's platform of 'WOODEN LEG' and 'ONE EYE PUT OUT' is a direct satire of this trend.
Lowell is calling out the hypocrisy in the North regarding slavery. While many Northern voters claimed to oppose slavery, they continued to support candidates and parties that upheld it. Sawin's idea that he should purchase an enslaved person to meet presidential qualifications — and that his friends should present it as a stance against slavery — highlights the disconnect between the statements of Northern politicians and their real actions.
The prose coda, crafted in the voice of the fictional Reverend Wilbur, offers a humorous tally of what Sawin contributed (his body parts) against what he gained (some applause at a public meeting, a gray uniform, and six months of drum music). The punchline lies in the fact that both sides sum up to exactly 100 — implying that a man's sacrifices and a handful of cheers are somehow equal. This structure amplifies the satire’s impact.
No, it's crafted in loose rhyming couplets using a dialect that mimics spoken New England vernacular. The lines are lengthy and uneven, reflecting the meandering flow of a letter. The absence of a formal structure is intentional — it aims to capture the voice of an uneducated man rather than a refined literary presentation.