"Wut is there lef' I 'd like to know,

Ef 't ain't the difference o' color,
To keep up self-respec' an' show

The human natur' of a fullah?

Wut good in bein' white, onless
It's fixed by law, nut lef' to guess,
That we are smarter an' they duller?

"Ef we're to hev our ekle rights,
"T wun't du to 'low no competition;
Th' ole debt doo us for bein' whites
Ain't safe onless we stop th' emission
O' these noo notes, whose specie base
Is human natur', 'thout no trace

O' shape, nor color, nor condition.

"So fur I'd writ an' could n' jedge

[Continood applause.]

Aboard wut boat I'd best take pessige,
My brains all mincemeat, 'thout no edge
Upon 'em more than tu a sessige,

But now it seems ez though I see

Sunthin' resemblin' an idee,

Sence Johnson's speech an' veto message.

"I like the speech best, I confess,

The logic, preudence, an' good taste on 't,

An' it's so mad, I ruther guess

There's some dependence to be placed on 't;

It's narrer, but 'twixt you an' me,

Out o' the allies o' J. D.

A temp'ry party can be based on 't.

[Laughter.]

"Jes' to hold on till Johnson's thru An' dug his Presidential grave is,

An' then! - who knows but we could slew

The country roun' to put in

?

Wun't some folks rare up when we pull

Out o' their eyes our Union wool

An' larn 'em wut a p'lit'cle shave is!

"O, did it seem 'z ef Providunce
Could ever send a second Tyler?
To see the South all back to once,
Reapin' the spiles o' the Freesiler,
Is cute ez though an ingineer

Should claim th' old iron for his sheer

Coz 't was himself that bust the biler!"

[Gret laughter.]

Thet tells the story! Thet's wut we shall git

By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit;

For the day never comes when it 'll du

To kick off Dooty like a worn-out shoe.

I seem to hear a whisperin' in the air,
A sighin' like, of unconsoled despair,

Thet comes from nowhere an' from everywhere,
"Why died we? war n't it, then,

An' seems to say,

To settle, once for all, thet men wuz men?

O, airth's sweet cup snetched from us barely tasted,

The grave's real chill is feelin' life wuz wasted!
O, you we lef', long-lingerin' et the door,

Lovin' you best, coz we loved Her the more,
Thet Death, not we, had conquered, we should feel
Ef she upon our memory turned her heel,
An' unregretful throwed us all away

To flaunt it in a Blind Man's Holiday!"

My frien's, I've talked nigh on to long enough.
I hain't no call to bore ye coz ye 're tough;

My lungs are sound, an' our own v'ice delights
Our ears, but even kebbige-heads hez rights.
It's the las' time thet I shell e'er address ye,

But

you 'll soon fin' some new tormentor: bless ye ! [Tumult'ous applause and cries of "Go on!" "Don't stop!"]

INDEX.