BY HOMER WILBUR, A.M. by James Russell Lowell: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This poem narrates the tale of two brothers, North and South, who co-own a farm but have starkly contrasting work ethics and values.
The poem
Two brothers once, an ill-matched pair, Together dwelt (no matter where), To whom an Uncle Sam, or some one, Had left a house and farm in common. The two in principles and habits Were different as rats from rabbits; Stout Farmer North, with frugal care, Laid up provision for his heir, Not scorning with hard sun-browned hands To scrape acquaintance with his lands; Whatever thing he had to do He did, and made it pay him, too; He sold his waste stone by the pound, His drains made water-wheels spin round, His ice in summer-time he sold, His wood brought profit when 'twas cold, He dug and delved from morn till night, Strove to make profit square with right, Lived on his means, cut no great dash, And paid his debts in honest cash. On tother hand, his brother South Lived very much from hand to mouth. Played gentleman, nursed dainty hands, Borrowed North's money on his lands, And culled his morals and his graces From cock-pits, bar-rooms, fights, and races; His sole work in the farming line Was keeping droves of long-legged swine, Which brought great bothers and expenses To North in looking after fences, And, when they happened to break through, Cost him both time and temper too, For South insisted it was plain He ought to drive them home again, And North consented to the work Because he loved to buy cheap pork. Meanwhile, South's swine increasing fast; His farm became too small at last; So, having thought the matter over, And feeling bound to live in clover And never pay the clover's worth, He said one day to Brother North:-- 'Our families are both increasing, And, though we labor without ceasing, Our produce soon will be too scant To keep our children out of want; They who wish fortune to be lasting Must be both prudent and forecasting; We soon shall need more land; a lot I know, that cheaply can be bo't; You lend the cash, I'll buy the acres. And we'll be equally partakers.' Poor North, whose Anglo-Saxon blood Gave him a hankering after mud, Wavered a moment, then consented, And, when the cash was paid, repented; To make the new land worth a pin, Thought he, it must be all fenced in, For, if South's swine once get the run on 't No kind of farming can be done on 't; If that don't suit the other side, 'Tis best we instantly divide.' But somehow South could ne'er incline This way or that to run the line, And always found some new pretence 'Gainst setting the division fence; At last he said:-- 'For peace's sake, Liberal concessions I will make; Though I believe, upon my soul, I've a just title to the whole, I'll make an offer which I call Gen'rous,--we'll have no fence at all; Then both of us, whene'er we choose, Can take what part we want to use; If you should chance to need it first, Pick you the best, I'll take the worst.' 'Agreed!' cried North; thought he, This fall With wheat and rye I'll sow it all; In that way I shall get the start, And South may whistle for his part. So thought, so done, the field was sown, And, winter haying come and gone, Sly North walked blithely forth to spy, The progress of his wheat and rye; Heavens, what a sight! his brother's swine Had asked themselves all out to dine; Such grunting, munching, rooting, shoving, The soil seemed all alive and moving, As for his grain, such work they'd made on 't, He couldn't spy a single blade on 't. Off in a rage he rushed to South, 'My wheat and rye'--grief choked his mouth: 'Pray don't mind me,' said South, 'but plant All of the new land that you want;' 'Yes, but your hogs,' cried North; 'The grain Won't hurt them,' answered South again; 'But they destroy my crop;' 'No doubt; 'Tis fortunate you've found it out; Misfortunes teach, and only they, You must not sow it in their way;' 'Nay, you,' says North, 'must keep them out;' 'Did I create them with a snout?' Asked South demurely; 'as agreed, The land is open to your seed, And would you fain prevent my pigs From running there their harmless rigs? God knows I view this compromise With not the most approving eyes; I gave up my unquestioned rights For sake of quiet days and nights; I offered then, you know 'tis true, To cut the piece of land in two.' 'Then cut it now,' growls North; 'Abate Your heat,' says South, 'tis now too late; I offered you the rocky corner, But you, of your own good the scorner, Refused to take it: I am sorry; No doubt you might have found a quarry, Perhaps a gold-mine, for aught I know, Containing heaps of native rhino; You can't expect me to resign My rights'-- 'But where,' quoth North, 'are mine?' '_Your_ rights,' says tother, 'well, that's funny, _I_ bought the land'-- '_I_ paid the money;' 'That,' answered South, 'is from the point, The ownership, you'll grant, is joint; I'm sure my only hope and trust is Not law so much as abstract justice, Though, you remember, 'twas agreed That so and so--consult the deed; Objections now are out of date, They might have answered once, but Fate Quashes them at the point we've got to; _Obsta principiis_ that's my motto.' So saying, South began to whistle And looked as obstinate as gristle, While North went homeward, each brown paw Clenched like a knot of natural law, And all the while, in either ear, Heard something clicking wondrous clear. To turn now to other matters, there are two things upon which it should seem fitting to dilate somewhat more largely in this place,--the Yankee character and the Yankee dialect. And, first, of the Yankee character, which has wanted neither open maligners, nor even more dangerous enemies in the persons of those unskilful painters who have given to it that hardness, angularity, and want of proper perspective, which, in truth, belonged, not to their subject, but to their own niggard and unskilful pencil. New England was not so much the colony of a mother country, as a Hagar driven forth into the wilderness. The little self-exiled band which came hither in 1620 came, not to seek gold, but to found a democracy. They came that they might have the privilege to work and pray, to sit upon hard benches and listen to painful preachers as long as they would, yea, even unto thirty-seventhly, if the spirit so willed it. And surely, if the Greek might boast his Thermopylæ, where three hundred men fell in resisting the Persian, we may well be proud of our Plymouth Rock, where a handful of men, women, and children not merely faced, but vanquished, winter, famine, the wilderness, and the yet more invincible _storge_ that drew them back to the green island far away. These found no lotus growing upon the surly shore, the taste of which could make them forget their little native Ithaca; nor were they so wanting to themselves in faith as to burn their ship, but could see the fair west-wind belly the homeward sail, and then turn unrepining to grapple with the terrible Unknown. As Want was the prime foe these hardy exodists had to fortress themselves against, so it is little wonder if that traditional feud be long in wearing out of the stock. The wounds of the old warfare were long a-healing, and an east-wind of hard times puts a new ache into every one of them. Thrift was the first lesson in their horn-book, pointed out, letter after letter, by the lean finger of the hard schoolmistress, Necessity. Neither were those plump, rosy-gilled Englishmen that came hither, but a hard-faced, atrabilious, earnest-eyed race, stiff from long wrestling with the Lord in prayer, and who had taught Satan to dread the new Puritan hug. Add two hundred years' influence of soil, climate, and exposure, with its necessary result of idiosyncrasies, and we have the present Yankee, full of expedients, half-master of all trades, inventive in all but the beautiful, full of shifts, not yet capable of comfort, armed at all points against the old enemy Hunger, longanimous, good at patching, not so careful for what is best as for what will _do_, with a clasp to his purse and a button to his pocket, not skilled to build against Time, as in old countries, but against sore-pressing Need, accustomed to move the world with no [Greek: pou sto] but his own two feet, and no lever but his own long forecast. A strange hybrid, indeed, did circumstance beget, here in the New World, upon the old Puritan stock, and the earth never before saw such mystic-practicalism, such niggard-geniality, such calculating-fanaticism, such cast-iron-enthusiasm, such sour-faced-humor, such close-fisted-generosity. This new _Græculus esuriens_ will make a living out of anything. He will invent new trades as well as tools. His brain is his capital, and he will get education at all risks. Put him on Juan Fernandez, and he would make a spelling-book first, and a salt-pan afterward. _In coelum, jusseris, ibit_,--or the other way either,--it is all one, so anything is to be got by it. Yet, after all, thin, speculative Jonathan is more like the Englishman of two centuries ago than John Bull himself is. He has lost somewhat in solidity, has become fluent and adaptable, but more of the original groundwork of character remains. He feels more at home with Fulke Greville, Herbert of Cherbury, Quarles, George Herbert, and Browne, than with his modern English cousins. He is nearer than John, by at least a hundred years, to Naseby, Marston Moor, Worcester, and the time when, if ever, there were true Englishmen. John Bull has suffered the idea of the Invisible to be very much fattened out of him. Jonathan is conscious still that he lives in the world of the Unseen as well as of the Seen. To move John you must make your fulcrum of solid beef and pudding; an abstract idea will do for Jonathan. * * * * * *** TO THE INDULGENT READER My friend, the Rev. Mr. Wilbur, having been seized with a dangerous fit of illness, before this Introduction had passed through the press, and being incapacitated for all literary exertion, sent to me his notes, memoranda, &c., and requested me to fashion them into some shape more fitting for the general eye. This, owing to the fragmentary and disjointed state of his manuscripts, I have felt wholly unable to do; yet being unwilling that the reader should be deprived of such parts of his lucubrations as seemed more finished, and not well discerning how to segregate these from the rest, I have concluded to send them all to the press precisely as they are.
This poem narrates the tale of two brothers, North and South, who co-own a farm but have starkly contrasting work ethics and values. It's a subtle allegory for the conflict between the free-labor North and the slaveholding South leading up to the Civil War. South raises pigs, symbolizing enslaved individuals and the plantation economy, which continually trample North's crops. Whenever North attempts to establish a fair boundary, South finds a way to evade it through legal maneuvers and dishonesty. The poem concludes with North seething with anger, while an unsettling sound clicks in his ears — a hint of the conflict on the horizon.
Line-by-line
Two brothers once, an ill-matched pair, / Together dwelt (no matter where),
Stout Farmer North, with frugal care, / Laid up provision for his heir,
On tother hand, his brother South / Lived very much from hand to mouth.
Meanwhile, South's swine increasing fast; / His farm became too small at last;
Poor North, whose Anglo-Saxon blood / Gave him a hankering after mud,
But somehow South could ne'er incline / This way or that to run the line,
'Agreed!' cried North; thought he, This fall / With wheat and rye I'll sow it all;
Off in a rage he rushed to South, / 'My wheat and rye'--grief choked his mouth:
'Your rights,' says tother, 'well, that's funny, / _I_ bought the land'--
New England was not so much the colony of a mother country, as a Hagar driven forth into the wilderness.
As Want was the prime foe these hardy exodists had to fortress themselves against...
Tone & mood
The poem presents a satirical and comic tone at first glance—it resembles a folk tale, featuring exaggerated characters and humorous images of pigs munching on wheat. However, beneath this humor lies a deep-seated anger. Written in the 1840s, Lowell reflects the North's frustration during a time when the slavery debate was deeply dividing the nation. This frustration mirrors his own feelings about the political weaknesses of the North, which seems to be consistently outmaneuvered. As the prose sections transition to a more serious, essay-like style, they retain a sense of wit while earnestly advocating for the dignity of Yankee character. The overall impression is of a man who is outraged but wise enough not to simply yell about it.
Symbols & metaphors
- South's swine — The pigs represent Lowell's key symbol for slavery and the enslaved workforce. They reproduce, demand more land, and ruin what others create, while the South avoids taking responsibility for managing them. The North's continued purchase of inexpensive pork adds another layer to the symbol — it highlights that the North profits from the system even as it voices criticism.
- The fence (or lack of one) — The fence represents any legal or political boundary that restricts the spread of slavery into new territories. The South's ongoing delay in "running the line" reflects the historical failures of compromises like the Missouri Compromise and the Kansas-Nebraska Act, where the boundary was repeatedly pushed back or completely erased.
- The new land — The jointly purchased farm plot reflects the new western territories gained after the Mexican-American War. The key political question of Lowell's time was about who could use these lands and under what conditions. The North funds it, while the South's pigs benefit from it — this imbalance is the crux of the poem's argument.
- Something clicking in North's ear — The poem's final image — an unspecified clicking sound — carries a deliberately ominous tone. It evokes the idea of a gun being cocked, a clock winding down, or the preparation of a war machine. By leaving it unnamed, Lowell heightens the sense of threat. The Civil War can be heard, but it remains out of sight.
- North's clenched fists — "Each brown paw / Clenched like a knot of natural law" — these fists show that North's patience has come to an end. The term "natural law" is significant: North isn't merely upset; he feels that a basic right of his has been infringed. This represents both the moral and legal justification for his confrontation.
- The shared house and farm — The property the brothers share is the United States itself—a republic they built together, which is now struggling with deep divisions. Its origins from "Uncle Sam, or someone" link it directly to the national legacy, a founding agreement that both sides assert but interpret in vastly different ways.
Historical context
James Russell Lowell published this poem in *The Biglow Papers* (First Series, 1848), a collection of satirical verse and prose responding to the Mexican-American War and the escalating crisis over the expansion of slavery. As a dedicated abolitionist, Lowell used the *Biglow Papers* as his most effective political tool—witty enough to attract a wide readership, yet sharp enough to make an impact. By framing the work through the character of Reverend Homer Wilbur as editor, Lowell combined verse satire with a mock-scholarly style, allowing him to present his arguments both directly and allegorically. The poem was released during a time when Congress was debating whether to allow slavery in territories taken from Mexico, and the "two brothers" allegory directly reflected that conflict. Lowell aimed to provoke a Northern audience that had grown complacent in conceding to Southern demands, and the poem's conclusion—depicting the North walking home in anger with something clicking in his ear—served as a reminder that there are limits to patience.
FAQ
No — the farmers are just a cover story. North and South symbolize the Northern and Southern United States in the years leading up to the Civil War. The "swine" represent slavery and the labor of enslaved people, while the debate over the new land concerns whether slavery would extend into western territories. Lowell employs the fable format to present a serious political argument in a way that feels both approachable and humorous.
It's likely the sound of a gun being cocked — a clear sign that North's patience has worn thin and armed conflict is on the horizon. Lowell doesn't explicitly say it, which adds to its impact. The Civil War was still more than ten years off when he wrote this, but he could already sense it coming.
That's precisely Lowell's critique of Northern politicians. The North continues to make concessions because it desires cheap pork—its industry has benefited from Southern cotton and goods produced by slaves—and because it holds onto the hope that the South will act in good faith. The poem serves as a warning to Northern readers that good faith only thrives when both sides are committed to it.
It's a Latin phrase that translates to "resist at the beginning" — suggesting that you should tackle a problem before it escalates. South wields this advice with astonishing hypocrisy: it's precisely the counsel North should have heeded regarding *South*, yet South uses it to silence North's present concerns. This illustrates how Lowell highlights the South's use of principled language to justify its unprincipled stance.
Homer Wilbur is a fictional character created by Lowell to serve as the editor and narrator of *The Biglow Papers*. He’s a pompous yet well-intentioned New England clergyman whose mock-scholarly introductions and footnotes allow Lowell to present his political views in a more straightforward, essay-like manner alongside the satirical verse. This technique provides Lowell with two distinct voices: comic poetry and serious argument.
The prose reflects Lowell (similar to Wilbur) standing up for the Yankee character—the quintessential New England type—against critics who depict it as simply greedy and unfeeling. He contends that Yankee thrift and practicality stem from real struggles, deeply rooted in the Puritan origins. This approach provides the Northern "brother" in the poem with a respectable backstory and a moral basis for the anger he expresses at the poem's conclusion.
Primarily anti-slavery, Lowell also takes aim at the Southern planter class. He portrays the South as lazy and dishonest, morally shaped by gambling and violence. However, he doesn’t let the North off the hook either — the North buys cheap pork, continues making deals, and only gets upset when its own crops suffer. The poem critiques the entire system, not just one side.
The poem uses rhyming couplets and has a lively, four-beat rhythm—similar to the octosyllabic style found in comic verse and fables from centuries past. This cheerful, sing-song quality heightens the impact of the political anger. When North storms home in a rage at the end, the upbeat meter feels almost harsh, which is precisely the intention.