Missy, ef dey one thing topper God's
worl' yo' pa do desp'itly and contestably despise, hate, cuss,
an' outrageously 'bominate wuss'n' a yaller August spiduh it are a
Ab'litionist! He want stomple 'em eve'y las' one under he boot-heel,
'cep'n dat one Mist' Crailey Gray. Dey's a considabul sprinklin' er dem
Ab'litionists 'bout de kentry, honey; dey's mo' dat don' know w'ich
dey is; an' dey's mo' still dat don' keer. Soze dat why dey go git up a
quo'l twix' yo' pa an' dat man; an' 'range to have 'er on a platfawm, de
yeah 'fo' de las' campaign; an', suh, dey call de quo'l a de-bate; an'
all de folks come in f'um de kentry, an' all de folks in town come, too.
De whole possetucky on 'em sit an' listen.

"Fus' yo' pa talk; den Mist' Vanrevel, bofe on 'em mighty cole an'
civilized. Den yo' pa git wo'm up, Missy, like he do, 'case he so useter
have his own way; 'tain't his fault, he jass cain't help hollerin' an'
cussin' if anybody 'pose him; but Mist' Vanrevel he jass as suvvige, but
he stay cole, w'ich make yo' pa all de hotter. He holler mighty strong,
Missy, an' some de back ranks 'gun snickerin' at him. Uhuh! He fa'r
jump, he did; an' den bimeby Mist' Vanrevel he say dat no man oughter be
given de pilverige to sell another, ner to wollop him wid a blacksnake,
whether he 'buse dat pilverige er not. 'My honabul 'ponent,' s's he,
'Mist' Carewe, rep'sent in hisseif de 'ristocratic slave-ownin' class er
de Souf, do' he live in de Nawf an' 'ploy free labor; yit it sca'sely to
be b'lieve dat any er you would willin'ly trus' him wid de powah er life
an' death ovah yo' own chillun, w'ich is virchously what de slave-ownah
p'sess.'

"Missy, you jass oughter see yo' pa den! He blue in de face an' dance de
quadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha'h, git up, an' run 'cross to
de odder side de platfawm, an' shake be fis' ovah dat man's head, an'
screech out how it all lies dat de slaves evah 'ceive sich a treatments.
'Dat all lies, you pu'juh!' he holler. 'All lies, you misabul thief,' he
holler. 'All lies, an' you know it, you low-bawn slandah' an' scoun'le!'

"An' wid dat Mist' Vanrevel, be laff in yo' pa face, an' tuhn to de
crowd, he did, an' say: 'You reckon dat if dish yuh man a slave-ownah,
an' a slave had anguhed him as I have anguhed him tonight, does any er
you b'lieve dat dat slave wouldn' be tied up an' whipped tell de blood
run, an' den sole down de rivuh to-morrer?'

"Well, suh, 'co'se mos' on 'em b'lieve same as yo' p