head. Let him appel hab it, massa."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Slick, "he is a Christian is Jube,
he is as good as a white Britisher: same flesh, only a
leetle, jist a leetle darker; same blood, only not quite
so old, ain't quite so much tarter on the bottle as a
lord's has; oh him and a Britisher is all one brother--oh
by all means--

Him fader's hope--him mudder's joy,
Him darlin little nigger boy.

You'd better cry over him, hadn't you. Buss him, call
him brother, hug him, give him the "Abolition" kiss,
write an article on slavery, like Dickens; marry him to
a white gall to England, get him a saint's darter with
a good fortin, and well soon see whether her father was
a talkin' cant or no, about niggers. Cuss 'em, let any
o' these Britishers give me slack, and I'll give 'em
cranberry for their goose, I know. I'd jump right down
their throat with spurs on, and gallop their sarce out."

"Mr. Slick I've done; I shall say no more; we part, and
part for ever. I had no idea whatever, that a man, whose
whole conduct has evinced a kind heart, and cheerful
disposition, could have entertained such a revengeful
spirit, or given utterance to such unchristian and
uncharitable language, as you have used to-day. We part"--

"No, we don't," said he; "don't kick afore you are spurred.