call 'em sardeens.

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?