The land from slavery's chane?
Shall we whose harts are litened
With Rye, and cake and wine,
Shall we to Cuff and Dinah
Give nought but crust and rine?
Abolition! Abolition!
The joyful sound proclame,
Till each remotest nigger
Has learned the Linkin name!
"Amen! seel-er!" yelled out Deacon Jenkins, at the very tip-top of his voice, wile nigh about the hull kumpany seemed to be hily tickled, except Linkin and his wife and me. I was so mad that I eenamost bust my biler. I went rite strate up to the Insine, and ses I, "Insine Stebbins, I knowed you and Deacon Jenkins was both red-hot Abolishunests, but I tho't all the folks in Downingville had kommun sence, and wood know better than to interduce pollyticks on a festiv occashin, specially anything faverabul to Cheever and Gree-lie and kumpany, who are the hull time abusin' Linkin and Mrs. Linkin." Then the Insine said that Sumnure had helped him rite the paradox, jest on purpose to see how Linkin wood like it. "Wal," I told him, "that that was jest as much sence as well as manners as I shud expect from Sumnure." Then Deacon Jenkins cum up and sed sumthing, and I lit on him for hollerin' "Amen" rite afore the hull diplomatick core, jest as ef he'd been at a prayer meetin' in the Downingville schule house. Mrs. Linkin was very much pleased at the way I laid down the law to the Deacon. The Kernel didn't say much, but looked daggers out of his ize, and seemed nigh about as cross as a cross-cut saw all the rest of the evenin'. The bawl, how-sumever, went off in all other respecs in furst rate stile, and Mrs. Linkin is now regarded as the very a-leet of fashin.