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“ [102] There, a carpet-bagger explains to a coloured voter why the Negro has not yet received his ” forty acres and a good mule. “ A fellow bawls on the stairs, as we push past him ” “Dat all right, anyhow ; the culled men now hab dere rights!”

After much ado with the Black police, who fancy that being White men we must be spies and traitors, we reach the Second Chamber, a long, uncarpeted, and filthy room. Spittoons are laid about, and some of the Negro senators smoke and loll in their easy seats. The air is foul. Each senator has a chair, on which his name is painted in big letters; but he seems incapable of sitting still. He loafs about; rises to order; chatters with a crony. Five or six senators are speaking, all at the same time, each senator accusing the other of lying and deception. “ Order da!” “ Missa Speeka!” “ Down, you nigga, down!” The uproar beats the tumult of a country fair.

Michael Hahn, the gentleman who presides, seats us near his chair and offers us some explanations of the scene.

“ You wonder we permit smoking in the Chambers? Well, gentlemen, my answer is, we ”

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