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in the West an' Saouth, an' I think we ought to hold aour heads pretty high, seein' we 're the youngest of nations, an' it 's only age thet brings wisdom, generally speakin'."
Sol, with a puzzled expression, said at this point: "But I was readin' thet we 're the only country where they have lynchin's at all. We call Spain cruel, but they don't lynch people there, an' burn colored folks, with people applaudin' an' actin' 's if they was at a county fair."
but waited to hear the remarks of the deacon, and to enjoy the obfuscation of the postmaster, who never knew how to take satire.
"Well, I was thinkin' of these here lynchin's. Wherever they have one of those lynchin's, civilization has had a setback, an' if they was prevalent in all parts of the country all the time, I dare say we'd become barbarous, an' foreigners could p'int the finger of scorn at us; but the six Noo England States an' Noo York is free from 'em, an' they ain't always prevalent
"No, they don't do sech things naow," said the deacon, "because they have reached years of discretion. But did you ever read about those inquisitions they used to have-an' when they was older than we be naow? Of course they warn't so open ez we be. They squeezed men to death, an' burned 'em an' b'iled 'em an' cut 'em to pieces, in secret, because it was their nater to; but we 're open an' aboveboard, an' the other day when aout West they cut a man's toes off an' sold 'em ez keepsakes, they
did it in broad daylight, with a craowd to see it, an' thet was a big advance on the Spanish way, although the doin' the thing itself was wrong, to my way of thinkin'. But what I was go'n' to say was thet when Spain did these things she was older than we air, an' she ought to have known better. We ain't old enough to know better, an' the fac' thet in mos' of the States we do know better, in spite of aour youth, is cause fer crowin', I say.
"Mind ye, I ain't stan'in' up fer these roastin's an' other cruelties. I'm only puffed with pride to think thet we can say to England an' France an' Spain an' Germany an' Rooshy: 'We 're only a hundred an' twenty-six years old, an' aout of some fifty States not more 'n ten of 'em burn colored people.' I tell you, it's a fine record. We might burn 'em every day. There's enough black folks to go raound. But ez it is, it don't happen more 'n once or twice in a month, an' then it 's always done by the best citizens of the place, in full view of the public. Considerin' aour youth, it's a perfec' wonder we don't do it here in Noo England. Thet 's what gives me hope fer aour country. Ef, young ez we be, we don't do it, arter a while, in the course of a couple of hundred years, folks aout West and daown Saouth 'll find thet old countries don't think it civilized to cut a human bein' to pieces an' burn him, no matter what he 's done, an' so I 'm praoud to belong to a country thet is learnin' all the while."
Charles Battell Loomis.
A Ballade of Fables
OLD Æsop did his tales unfold
And later on came La Fontaine,
As, "Nous pouvons conclure de la ”—
In forms and guises manifold
Others have followed in their train: Fables for slangy, young and old, For fair, for frivolous, for vain, In prose or in poetic strain;
And in the divers genera Authors are careful to explain, "From this we learn," et cætera.
They came and, what was more, they sold; They pleased at first the jaded brain. Perhaps it might have been foretold
Their popularity would wane. Now this has happened, some maintain, And so, mutantur tempora. We 've cast away in high disdain "From this we learn," et cætera.
MAKERS of fables, why complain?
Your books on book-shops' shelves remain,
From which we learn-et cætera.
Philip L. Allen.
Dey's All Got Sumpen
DE pitifulest truf dar is, fer folks ter steddy out, Is when er critter 's hones', dar 's sumpen else erbout;
An' hit started wid de fust man dat de good Lord eber made,
Erfore he w'ar er fig-leaf, er eber were er-fraid.
He tole hit 'bout de apple, 'Nias tole hit 'bout de lan',
An' so on, down ter you an' me, de fac' is boun' ter stan'.
When folks brags de loudes' on deyse'fs, des s'arch dem sanctified,
'Ca'se dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
De cap hit fit de white man an' hit fit de nigger, too;
Des here dey rights is ekil-I is tellin' what is true;
Fer de Jedge dat do de 'cidin' know de business dat is his,
An' he gwine ter size, not what you got, but size up what you is.
De big man in he kerridge lookin' mighty brave an' gran',
Des lack he own de hull yeth an' de fullness er de lan';
But he mighty po' dar somers, 'spite er fine
close, 'spite er pride,
'Ca'se dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
Dey bow down ter de 'zorter, an' he smile an' look erroun',
Lack he des too good fer nuffin but ter preach an' 'zort an' 'spoun';
But dar 's sumpen on his cornscience, too,— er chick'n er er horg,
An' he got ter come ter jedgment, 'umble es er yaller dorg.
De 'omenses dey come in, too-dey got ter b'ar dey part;
Long tongues is 'cute, an' empty haids is lack er rattlin' cart;
An' S'phiry she were mighty clost ter 'Nias when he lied
Fer dey 's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
I hain't er-hittin' folks dat 's got er leetle bit er sin
Dey kin tie up in er han'kercher, an' easy keep hit in;