Feller Sitterzuns, the Afrikan may be Our Brother.  Sevral hily respectyble gentlemen, and sum talentid females tell us so, & fur argyment's sake I mite be injooced to grant it, tho' I don't beleeve it myself.  But the Afrikan isn't our sister & our wife & our uncle.  He isn't sevral of our brothers & all our fust wife's relashuns.  He isn't our grandfather, and our grate grandfather, and our Aunt in the country.  Scacely.  & yit numeris persons would have us think so.  It's troo he runs Congress & sevral other public grosserys, but then he ain't everybody & everybody else likewise.  [Notiss to bizness men of VANITY FAIR:  Extry charg fur this larst remark.  It's a goak.--A.W.] But we've got the Afrikan, or ruther he's got us, & now what air we going to do about it?  He's a orful noosanse.  Praps he isn't to blame fur it.  Praps he was creatid fur sum wise purpuss, like the measles and New Englan Rum, but it's mity hard to see it.  At any rate he's no good here, & as I statid to Mister What Is It, it's a pity he cooden't go orf sumwhares quietly by hisself, whare he cood wear red weskits & speckled neckties, & gratterfy his ambishun in varis interestin wase, without havin a eternal fuss kickt up about him. Praps I'm bearin down too hard upon Cuffy.  Cum to think on it, I am.  He woodn't be sich a infernal noosanse if white peple would let him alone.  He mite indeed be interestin.  And now I think of it, why can't the white peple let him alone.  What's the good of continnerly stirrin him up with a ten-foot pole?  He isn't the sweetest kind of Perfoomery when in a natral stait. Feller Sitterzens, the Union's in danger.  The black devil Disunion is trooly here, starein us all squarely in the face!  We must drive him back.  Shall we make a 2nd Mexico of ourselves?  Shall we sell our birthrite for a mess of potash?  Shall one brother put the knife to the throat of anuther brother?  Shall we mix our whisky with each other's blud?  Shall the star spangled Banner be cut up into dishcloths?  Standin here in this here Skoolhouse, upon my nativ shor so to speak, I anser--Nary! Oh you fellers who air raisin this row, & who in the fust place startid it, I'm 'shamed of you.  The Showman blushes for you, from his boots to the topmost hair upon his wenerable hed.