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A BLACK JOB.
“ No doubt the pleasure is as great,
The history of human-kind to trace
Has certainly a taste for being diddled.
Witness the famous Mississippi dreams !
A rage that time seems only to redoubleThe Banks, Joint-Stocks, and all the flimsy
For rolling in Pactolian streams,
To twist sea-sand into a solid rope,
Only propose to blow a bubble, And Lord! what hundreds will subscribe for soap !
Soap! it reminds me of a little tale,
Tho' not a pig's, the hawbuck’s glory, When rustic games and merriment prevail
But here's my story : VOL. II.
Once on a time—no matter when-
Professing on a certain plan,
To benefit the race of man,
The sable is to ermine,
As crows to swans, as soot«to driven snow,
Or yet, a better simile to show,
However, as is usual in our city,
A board of grave, responsible Directors—
And quite an army of Collectors !
Young, old, and middle-aged-of all degreesWith many of those persevering ones,
Who mite by mite would beg a cheese! And what might be their aim ?
To rescue Afric's sable sons from fetters— To save their bodies from the burning shame
Of branding with hot lettersTheir shoulders from the cowhide's bloody strokes,
Their necks from iron yokes?
To end or mitigate the ills of slavery,
To polish up and brighten 'em,
To wash and whiten 'em !
They look'd so ugly in their sable hides ;
So dark, so dingy, like a grubby lot
However the poor elves
Might wash themselves,
On Nature's fairness they were quite a blot!
So black they were and grim,
In face and limb,
The thing was undeniable !
With stiff, strong saponaceous lather,
And pails of water-hottish rather, But not so boiling as to turn 'em red !
So spoke the philanthropic man
The brooms and mops,
The tubs and slops,
While fair as Cavendishes, Vanes, and Russels,
As lily-white as mussels.
Sweet was the vision—but alas !
However in prospectus bright and sunny, To bring such visionary scenes to pass
One thing was requisite, and that was—money! Money, that pays the laundress and her bills, For socks, and collars, shirts, and frills, Cravats and kerchiefs—money, without which The negroes must remain as dark as pitch ;
A thing to make all Christians sad and shivery, To think of millions of immortal souls Dwelling in bodies black as coals,
And living--so to speak-in Satan's livery!
Money—the root of evil—dross and stuff!
But oh! how happy ought the rich to feel, Whose means enabled them to give enough
To blanch an African from head to heel!
How blessed—yea thrice blessed—to subscribe
Enough to scour a tribe! While he whose fortune was at best a brittle one, . Although he gave but pence, how sweet to know He help'd to bleach'a Hottentot's great toe,
Or little one!,
Moved by this logic, or appalld,
To persons of a certain turn so proper, The money came when call’d · In silver, gold, and copper, Presents from “ friends to blacks," or foes to whites, “ Trifles,” and “offerings,” and “ widow's mites," Plump legacies, and yearly benefactions,
With other gifts
And charitable lifts,
An iron kettle.