"
"Snuff, you rascal!" said I, "how dare you? Take it away--throw it
overboard! Oh, Lord! to think of eating snuff! Was there ever anything
half so horrid since the world began? Sorrow, I thought you had better
broughtens up."
"Well, now, Massa," said he, "does you tink dis niggar hab no soul?"
and he went to the locker, and brought out a small square pint bottle,
and said, "Smell dat, Massa; dat are oliriferous, dat are a fac."
"Why, that's curry-powder," I said; "why don't you call things by
their right name?"
"Massa," said he, with a knowing wink, "dere it more snuff den is made
of baccy, dat are an undoubtable fac. De scent ob dat is so good, I
can smell it ashore amost. Den, Massa, when graby is all ready, and
distrained beautiful, dis child warms him up by de fire and stirs him;
but," and he put his finger on his nose, and looked me full in the
face, and paused, "but, Massa, it must be stir all de one way, or it
iles up, and de debbil hisself won't put him right no more."
"Sorrow," sais I, "you don't know nothin' about your business. Suppose
it did get iled up, any fool could set it right in a minute."
"Yes, yes, Massa," he said, "I know. I ab done it myself often--drink
it all up, and make it ober again, until all right wunst more;
sometimes I drink him up de matter ob two or tree times before he get
quite right."
"No," sais I, "take it off the fire, add two spoonsful of cold water,
heat it again, and stir it the right way, and it is as straight as a
boot-jack.
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