If ye'll belave me, Ann Ryan,
what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup of sugar, an'
a han'ful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap,
'em into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the
next minute up wid the ironin'-blanket, an' pullin' out me box wid a
show o' bein sly to put them in. Och! the Lord forgive me, but I
clutched it, an' missus sayin' "O Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle
yer blood. "He's a haythen nager," says I. "I've found yer out," says
she, "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's yerself ought to be arristid,"
says she. "Yer won't," says I, "I will," says she. And so it went,
till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give
her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the
doore.
--_Theophilus and Others_.
THE HEATHEN CHINEE.
BY BRET HARTE.
_PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES (TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870)_.
Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.
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