“You use me up!  Yoo, yoo!  D—­m!  You and your wife and some nigger children, all ob you, was sold for a hundred and fifty dollars less than this nigger.”

“Look here, don’t you say dat agin; don’t you do it; I tell you, don’t you do it, or I’ll jist give you such an almighty everlasting shaking, dat you shall pray for a cold ague as a holiday.  I’m worth considerable more dollars dan sich a low black man as you is worth cents.  Why, didn’t dey offer to give you away, only you such dam trash no one would take you, so at last you was knocked down to a blind man.”

“What dat?  Here!  Stand clear dar behind, and get out ob de way in front, I’m jist going to take a run and butt dat nigger out of de State.  Let me go, do you hear?  Golly, if you hadn’t held me he’d a been werry small pieces by dis time.  D—­m, I’ll break him up.”

“Yoo, yoo!  Your low buck-shins neber carry your black head fast enough to catch dis elegant nigger.  You jist run; you’ll find I’m nothing but an alligator.  You hab no more chance dan a black slug under de wheels of a plunder-train carriage.  You is unnoticeable by dis gentleman.”

“Dar dat good, gentleman!  Golly, dat good!  Look here, don’t you neber speak to me no more.”

“And look here, nigger, don’t you neber speak to me.”

“See you d—­m fust, black man.”

“See you scorched fust, nigger.”

“Good day, trash.”

“Good mornin, dirt!”

So generally ends the quarrel; but about half-an-hour afterwards the Trash and Dirt will generally be found lauding each other to the skies, and cementing a new six hours’ friendship over some brandy punch or a mint julep.

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—­No.  VI.

  You bid me rove, Mary,
  In the shady grove, Mary,
     With you to the close of even;
  But I can’t, my dear,
  For I must, I swear,
     Be off at a quarter to seven.

  Nay, do not start, Mary;
  Nor let your heart, Mary,
     Be disturb’d in its innocent purity;
  I’m sure that you
  Wouldn’t have me do
     My friend—­my bail—­my security!

  That tearful eye, Mary,
  Seems to ask me why, Mary,
     I can wait till sunset on’y. 
  Ah! turn not away;
  I am out for the day
     On a Fleet and fleeting pony.

  Your wide open mouth, Mary,
  With its breath like the south, Mary,
     Seems to ask for an explanation. 
  Well, though not of the schools,
  I live within rules,
     And am subject to observation.

  But come to my arms, Mary;
  Let no dread alarms, Mary,
     In our present happiness warp us! 
  I’ve not the least doubt
  Of soon getting out,
     By a writ of habeas corpus.

  Away with despair, Mary;
  Let us cast in the air, Mary,
     His dark and gloomy fetters. 
  Why should we be rack’d,
  When we think of the Act
     For relieving Insolvent Debtors.