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But don't find goin' Taylor gives my narves no

gret 'f a shock; Truth is, the cutest leadin' Wigs, ever sence fust

they found Wich side the bread gut buttered on, hev kep' a

edgin' round; They kin' o' slipt the planks frum out th' ole plat

form one by one An' made it gradooally noo, 'fore folks know'd wut

wuz done, Till, fur 'z I know, there aint an inch thet I could

lay my han' on, But I, or any Demmercrat, feels comf’table to stan'

on, An' ole Wig doctrines act'lly look, their occ'pants

bein' gone, Lonesome ez steddles on a mash without no hay

ricks on.

I spose it's time now I should give my thoughts

upon the plan, Thet chipped the shell at Buffalo, o' settin' up ole

Van. I used to vote fer Martin, but, I swan, I'm clean

disgusted, He aint the man thet I can say is fittin' to be

trusted; He aint half antislav'ry 'nough, nor I aint sure, ez

some be, He'd go in fer abolishin' the Deestrick o'Columby ; An', now I come to recollec', it kin' o'makes me

sick 'z

A horse, to think o' wut he wuz in eighteen thirty

six. An' then, another thing ;-I guess, though mebby

I am wrong, This Buff’lo plaster aint agoin' to dror almighty

strong; Some folks, I know, hev gut th' idee thet No'thun

dough 'll rise, Though, 'fore I see it riz an' baked, I would n't

trust my eyes ; 'T will take more emptins, a long chalk, than this

noo party 's gut, To give sech heavy cakes ez them a start, I tell ye

wut. But even ef they caird the day, there would n't be

no endurin' To stan' upon a platform with sech critters ez Van

Buren; An' his son John, tu, I can't think how thet 'ere

chap should dare To speak ez he doos; wy, they say he used to cuss

an' swear! I spose he never read the hymn thet tells how

down the stairs A feller with long legs wuz throwed thet would n't

say his prayers. This brings me to another pint: the leaders o' the

party Aint jest sech men ez I can act along with free an'

hearty; They aint not quite respectable, an’ wen a feller's Don't toe the straightest kin' o'mark, wy, him an'

morrils

me jest quarrils. I went to a free soil meetin' once, an' wut d'ye

think I see? A feller was aspoutin' there thet act’lly come to

me, About two year ago last spring, ez nigh ez I can

jedge, An' axed me ef I did n't want to sign the Tem

prunce pledge! He's one o' them that goes about an’sez you

hed n't oughter Drink nothin', mornin', noon, or night, stronger

'an Taunton water. There's one rule I've ben guided by, in settlin'

how to vote, ollers, – I take the side thet is n't took by them consarned

teetotallers.

Ez fer the niggers, I've ben South, an' thet hez

changed my min'; A lazier, more ongrateful set you could n't nowers

fin'. You know I mentioned in my last thet I should

buy a nigger, Ef I could make a purchase at a pooty mod'rate

figger; So, ez there's nothin' in the world I'm fonder of

'an gunnin', I closed a bargain finally to take a feller runnin'. I shou’dered queen's-arm an' stumped out, an' wen

I come t'th' swamp,

'T worn't very long afore I gut upon the nest o'

Pomp; I come acrost a kin' o' hut, an', playin' round the

door, Some little woolly-headed cubs, ez many ’z six or

more. At fust I thought o' firin', but think twice is safest

ollers ; There aint, thinks I, not one on 'em but 's wuth

his twenty dollars, Or would be, ef I hed 'em back into a Christian

land, How temptin' all on 'em would look upon an auc

tion-stand! (Not but wut I hate Slavery, in th' abstract, stem

to starn, I leave it ware our fathers did, a privit State con

sarn.) Soon ’z they see me, they yelled an' run, but Pomp

wuz out ahoein' A leetle patch o' corn he hed, or else there aint no

knowin' He would n't ha' took a pop at me; but I hed gut

the start, An' wen he looked, I vow he groaned ez though

he'd broke his heart; He done it like a wite man, tu, ez nat'ral ez a pic

tur, The imp’dunt, pis’nous hypocrite ! wus 'an a boy

constrictur. 6 You can't gum me, I tell ye now, an' so you

need n't try,

I’xpect my eye-teeth every mail, so jest shet up,”

sez I.

“ Don't go to actin' ugly now, or else I 'll let her

strip, You'd best draw kindly, seein' 'z how I've gut ye

on the hip; Besides, you darned ole fool, it aint no gret of a

disaster To be benev'lently druv back to a contented master, Ware you hed Christian priv'ledges you don't seem

quite aware on, Or you 'd ha' never run away from bein' well took

care on ; Ez fer kin' treatment, wy, he wuz so fond on ye,

he said He'd give a fifty spot right out, to git ye, 'live or

dead; Wite folks aint sot by half ez much ; 'member I

run away, Wen I wuz bound to Cap'n Jakes, to Mattysqum

scot Bay; Don' know him, likely? Spose not; wal, the mean

ole codger went An' offered - wut reward, think? Wal, it worn't

no less 'n a cent."

Wal, I jest gut 'em into line, an' druv 'em on afore

me ; The pis’nous brutes, I'd no idee o' the ill-will they

bore me;

We walked till som'ers about noon, an' then it

grew so hot

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