“‘How can you manage to be this President and yet work on farm?’ his Rev. Mother enquire to know.
“‘By running odd-jobs before times & book-study afterwards,’ molest this youthful enthusiasm with smiling expression.
“So with immediate quickness he obtain job of employment mowing grass, keeping books and running elevator for neighbouring farmer. He also tilled some soil for people. When not doing this he was studying ‘How to Be President,’ a book by George Washington who was then enjoying pension for oldness.
“In book-studies & job-duties Hon. Lincoln spend 24 hours daily. Balance of time was devoted to recreations, sleep & other idleness of amusement. This continual drudgery of employment teach that Lincoln many useful things,” conduce Nogi at expiration of this history.
“Ah yes!” I collapse, “it teach him to sympathize for them Negroes who was also enjoying slavery.”
I am natural to ask question: Was it good thing to request them Negroes to stop slaving? I have required for reply of several Japanese about this Negro Problemb, but they are unamerous to reply, “We do not know any such coloured acquaintances, thank you!” And they are proud about it. I wrote letter of this Question to Hon. Booker Washington who answered by sending C. O. D. “How I Quit Being One,” a delightful volume full of adjectives. How to know about Negro Question then?
I at last become acquaintance of Hon. J. Fortesque Smith, Negro-coloured gentleman who does mop-work at saloon of Hon. Strunsky who runs it. If all Negroes is like this Smith it must be a talented race. So filled of expression is his performances on Edison phonograph! With such raring pathos do he execute that famous negro melody, “Cheerful Widow Waltz” from them rubber disks! By hour I admire harmonious noise of Hon. Smith and that talented machine—then pretty soonly came around Hon. Strunsky with angry Irish voice to command more purchase of beer or get-out.
At last, Mr. Editor, I go around to grand opera of Williams & Walker, and there continue study of Negro Problemb. I was very intelligent about this until Hon. Johnson collapsed into raggle-time sing-songing entitled “Sus-a-OO, Lu-Lu, I-a want-a you too!” Suddenly I discover my feets performing jiu jitsu with therselves under seat. I rebuke them quietly, but they continue to misbehave until, at finally, they strike dark clergyman in ankle-bone and I am retired from that opera house after considerable race-riot.
O surely, it is wrong for that Africa to teach them diseases to Europe & Asia! And yet that raggle-time coon-singing is a species of chorus which shoots a long distance into my soul. I am very earnest about this dark-coloured harmony which comes with such splandid spasms through the shoes expressing comic emotions as it does so. Could you send me name and address of some talented Hon. Coon who would furnish tune, rimes, jokes, etc., for following poetical thought? For this he will receive ½ of what he gets.