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 recollect, 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 stand upon a platform with sech critters ez Van Buren;-- An' his son John, tu, I can't think how thet air 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 morrils Don't toe the straightest kin' o' mark, wy, him an' me jest quarrils. I went to a free soil meetin' once, an' wut d' ye think I see? A feller wuz 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 didn't want to sign the Temprunce pledge! He 's one o' them thet goes about an' sez you hed n't ough' to 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 tee-totallers.
Ez fer the niggers, I 've been South, an' thet hez changed my mind; A lazier, more ungrateful set you could n't nowers find. 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 bargin 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 auction-stand! (Not but wut _I_ hate Slavery in th' abstract, stem to starn,-- I leave it ware our fathers did, a privit State consarn.) 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 pictur, The imp'dunt, pis'nous hypocrite! wus 'an a boy constrictur. "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 jest let 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 of, Or you 'd ha' never run away from bein' well took care of; 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 Mattysqumscot 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."