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“Ury has worked for me upwards of seven years, and he hain’t riz, has he? And I hain’t been a howlin’ at him, and a whippin’ him, and a shootin’ at him, and a ridin’ him out on a rail, and a burnin’ him to the stake if he wouldn’t vote me in President; and he hain’t been a massecreein’ us, not that I have ever hearn on, or a rapinin’ round, and I hain’t rapined Philury, have I?

“If there is any truth in these stories, why don’t the South foller on and do as I do? That would end their troubles to once.

“Let the Southerners act as I do, and the niggers act like Ury, and that would end up the Race Problem pretty sudden.”

Sez I, in pretty lofty axents, for I begun to feel eloquent and by the side of myself, “How many generations has it took to make you honest and considerate, and Ury faithful and patient? How long has it took, Josiah Allen?”

“Why, about seven years or thereabouts. He come in the middle of winter, and now it is spring.”

Sez I, “It has took hundreds and hundreds of years, Josiah Allen.”