Whare he cums from noboddy seems to know, and if yu speak a kind word tew him, he thinks it a kite in disguise, and straddling hiz tail, with both hind legs, he goes suspicious, and sideways, on his lonesum jurney.
Mankind hav made him a vagabond, and life to him iz made up ov starvashun, and brickbats.
If he cums out ov hiz lurking place in the hot ov august, he iz a “mad dog,” and the common council at once assemble, the riot act iz read, 50 dollars reward iz offered, men cum panting into town, crieing “mad dog,” their two horse waggon waz bit that morning, bi a yaller dog, the fury rages, old guns are kleaned up, the cannon iz run out on the village green, dames talk to dames ov the awful event, men look sober and defiant, boys pocket their marbles in the midst ov the game, pigs run squealing tew their hovels, and the whole boddy politik surges with horror.
The poor innocent whelp haz done hiz worst, and while a whole village iz in the extacys ov hydrophobia he has passed on, and may be seen, tugging away, in the subburbs, at the shin bone ov a departed omnibus hoss.
The yeller dog haz but one friend among men, and that iz the darkey.
A common misfortune links them together.
Why iz it, that the old negro, and hiz yeller dog, are vagabonds on the face ov the earth?
Mans inhumanity iz wuss than the malice ov wild beasts.
A day ov reckoning will cum, a day ov judgment, and i kant tell but what the yeller dog will be thare, a mute witness, and then, and thare, will the grate problem be solved.
This wurld iz phull ov grate wrongs, and the next one will az certainly be az phull ov grate retribushuns.