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,