HEROIC. We're curus critters: Now ain't jes' the minute That ever fits us easy while we're in it; Long ez 'twuz futur', 'twould be perfect bliss, Soon ez it's past, thet time's wuth ten o' this; An' yit there ain't a man thet need be told Thet Now's the only bird lays eggs o' gold. A knee-high lad, I used to plot an' plan An' think 'twuz life's cap-sheaf to be a man; Now, gittin' gray, there's nothin' I enjoy Like dreamin' back along into a boy: So the ole school'us' is a place I choose Afore all others, ef I want to muse; My boyhood back, an' better things Faith, Hope, an' sunthin', ef it isn't It's want o' guile, an' thet's ez gret Now, 'fore I knowed, thet Sabbath Thet I sot out to tramp myself in I found me in the school'us' on my Drummin' the march to No-wheres Thinkin' o' nothin', I've heerd ole folks say, Is a hard kind o' dooty in its way: Or ever hearn, to make your feelins I sot there tryin' thet on for a spell: Which some folks tell ye now is jes' (A the'ry, p'raps, it wun't feel none I thought o' Reconstruction, wut Patchin' our patent self-blow-up I thought of this 'ere milkin' o' the So Ef much a month, warn't givin' folks warn't druv, findin' their own milk fail, To work the cow thet hes an iron tail, pan Would send up cream to humor ary man: From this to thet I let my worryin' creep, Till finally I must ha' fell asleep. Our lives in sleep are some like 'Twixt flesh an' sperrit boundin' on Where both shores' shadders kind In sunthin' thet ain't jes' like either An' when you cast off moorin's from To-day, An' down towards To-morrer drift The imiges thet tengle on the stream Sometimes they seem like sunrise- An', mixed right in ez ef jest out o' Sunthin' thet says your supper ain't I'm gret on dreams, an' often, when 1 We hain't to punish only, but to keep, An' the cure's gut to go a cent❜ry deep." "Wal, milk-an'-water ain't the best o' glue," Sez he, an' so you'll find before you're thru; Ef reshness venters sunthin', shillyshally Lozes ez often wut's ten times the vally. Thet exe of ourn, when Charles's neck gut split, Opened a gap thet ain't bridged over yit: Slav'ry's your Charles, the Lord hez gin the exe" 66 "Our Charles," sez I, "hez gut eight million necks. The hardest question ain't the black man's right, The trouble is to 'mancipate the white; One's chained in body an' can be sot free, But t'other's chained in soul to an idee: It's a long job, but we shall worry thru it; Ef bag'nets fail, the spellin'-book must du it." "Hosee," sez he, "I think you're goin' to fail: The rettlesnake ain't dangerous in the tail; This 'ere rebellion's nothin' but the rettle, You'll stomp on thet an' think you've won the bettle; Slavery thet's the fangs an' thinkin' head, It's |