One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin, I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin, _His_ bellowses is sound enough,--ez I'm a livin' creeter, I felt a thing go thru my leg--'twuz nothin' more 'n a skeeter! Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito,-- (Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' _go_ my toe! 70 My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't, I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't,) Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,[18]--an ourang outang nation, A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter, No more 'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter; I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all, An' kickin' colored folks about, you know 's a kind o' national; But wen I jined I worn't so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby, Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be, 80 An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions, Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions, Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses; Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson! It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo-Saxon, The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water, An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' to; Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez ain proper; 90 He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly (Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to git up airly), Thet our nation's bigger 'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger, An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin' trigger, Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to pieces, An' thet idee's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases; Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can, I know thet 'every man' don't mean a nigger or a Mexican; An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeters, Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State-prison feeturs, 100 Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on 't, The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on 't.