Chapter 13

Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina bows so low, An' she lif huh sku't so dainty dat huh shoetop skacely show: An' dem teef o' huh'n a-shinin', ez she tek you by de han'-- Go 'way, people, d' ain't anothah sich a lady in de lan'! When she 's movin' thoo de figgers er a-dancin' by huhse'f, Folks jes' stan' stock-still a-sta'in', an' dey mos' nigh hol's dey bref; An' de young mens, dey 's a-sayin', "I 's gwine mek dat damsel mine," When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.

FOOLIN' WID DE SEASONS

Seems lak folks is mighty curus In de way dey t'inks an' ac's. Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin' Up de t'ings in almanacs. Now, I min' my nex' do' neighbour,-- He's a mighty likely man, But he nevah t'inks o' nuffin 'Ceptin' jes' to plot an' plan.

All de wintah he was plannin' How he 'd gethah sassafras Jes' ez soon ez evah Springtime Put some greenness in de grass. An' he 'lowed a little soonah He could stan' a coolah breeze So 's to mek a little money F'om de sugah-watah trees.

In de summah, he 'd be waihin' Out de linin' of his soul, Try 'n' ca'ci'late an' fashion How he 'd git his wintah coal; An' I b'lieve he got his jedgement Jes' so tuckahed out an' thinned Dat he t'ought a robin's whistle Was de whistle of de wind.

Why won't folks gin up dey plannin', An' jes' be content to know Dat dey 's gittin' all dat's fu' dem In de days dat come an' go? Why won't folks quit movin' forrard? Ain't hit bettah jes' to stan' An' be satisfied wid livin' In de season dat 's at han'?

Hit 's enough fu' me to listen W'en de birds is singin' 'roun', 'Dout a-guessin' whut 'll happen W'en de snow is on de groun'. In de Springtime an' de summah, I lays sorrer on de she'f; An' I knows ol' Mistah Wintah Gwine to hustle fu' hisse'f.

We been put hyeah fu' a pu'pose, But de questun dat has riz An' made lots o' people diffah Is jes' whut dat pu'pose is. Now, accordin' to my reas'nin', Hyeah's de p'int whaih I 's arriv, Sence de Lawd put life into us, We was put hyeah fu' to live!

MY SORT O' MAN

I don't believe in 'ristercrats An' never did, you see; The plain ol' homelike sorter folks Is good enough fur me. O' course, I don't desire a man To be too tarnal rough, But then, I think all folks should know When they air nice enough.

Now there is folks in this here world, From peasant up to king, Who want to be so awful nice They overdo the thing. That's jest the thing that makes me sick, An' quicker 'n a wink I set it down that them same folks Ain't half so good 's you think.

I like to see a man dress nice, In clothes becomin' too; I like to see a woman fix As women orter to do; An' boys an' gals I like to see Look fresh an' young an' spry.-- We all must have our vanity An' pride before we die.

But I jedge no man by his clothes,-- Nor gentleman nor tramp; The man that wears the finest suit May be the biggest scamp, An' he whose limbs air clad in rags That make a mournful sight, In life's great battle may have proved A hero in the fight.

I don't believe in 'ristercrats; I like the honest tan That lies upon the healthful cheek An' speaks the honest man; I like to grasp the brawny hand That labor's lips have kissed, For he who has not labored here Life's greatest pride has missed:

The pride to feel that yore own strength Has cleaved fur you the way To heights to which you were not born, But struggled day by day. What though the thousands sneer an' scoff, An' scorn yore humble birth? Kings are but puppets; you are king By right o' royal worth.

The man who simply sits an' waits Fur good to come along, Ain't worth the breath that one would take To tell him he is wrong. Fur good ain't flowin' round this world Fur every fool to sup; You 've got to put yore see-ers on, An' go an' hunt it up.

Good goes with honesty, I say, To honour an' to bless; To rich an' poor alike it brings A wealth o' happiness. The 'ristercrats ain't got it all, Fur much to their su'prise, That's one of earth's most blessed things They can't monopolize.

POSSUM

Ef dey 's anyt'ing dat riles me An' jes' gits me out o' hitch, Twell I want to tek my coat off, So 's to r'ar an' t'ar an' pitch, Hit's to see some ign'ant white man 'Mittin' dat owdacious sin-- Wen he want to cook a possum Tekin' off de possum's skin.

W'y dey ain't no use in talkin', Hit jes' hu'ts me to de hea't Fu' to see dem foolish people Th'owin' 'way de fines' pa't. W'y, dat skin is jes' ez tendah An' ez juicy ez kin be; I knows all erbout de critter-- Hide an' haih--don't talk to me!

Possum skin is jes lak shoat skin; Jes' you swinge an' scrope it down, Tek a good sha'p knife an' sco' it, Den you bake it good an' brown. Huh-uh! honey, you 's so happy Dat yo' thoughts is 'mos' a sin When you 's settin' dah a-chawin' On dat possum's cracklin' skin.

White folks t'ink dey know 'bout eatin', An' I reckon dat dey do Sometimes git a little idee Of a middlin' dish er two; But dey ain't a t'ing dey knows of Dat I reckon cain't be beat Wen we set down at de table To a unskun possum's meat!

ON THE ROAD

I 's boun' to see my gal to-night-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow, But when I does git to yo' do' Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo', Dough lone de way, my dearie.

De night is skeery-lak an' still-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! De way so long wif dis slow pace, 'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' grace Ef you was on a nearer place, Fu' lone de way, my dearie.

I hyeah de hootin' of de owl-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie! An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef', Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'f In shape to skeer me half to def-- Oh, lone de way, my dearie!

I whistles so's I won't be feared-- Oh lone de way, my dearie! But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered, Fu' lone de way, my dearie. De sky been lookin' mighty glum, But you kin mek hit lighten some, Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come, Dough lone de way, my dearie.

A DEATH SONG

Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass, Whah de branch 'll go a-singin' as it pass. An' w'en I 's a-layin' low, I kin hyeah it as it go Singin', "Sleep, my honey, tek yo' res' at las'."

Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a little pool, An' de watah stan's so quiet lak an' cool, Whah de little birds in spring, Ust to come an' drink an' sing, An' de chillen waded on dey way to school.

Let me settle w'en my shouldahs draps dey load Nigh enough to hyeah de noises in de road; Fu' I t'ink de las' long res' Gwine to soothe my sperrit bes' Ef I's layin' 'mong de t'ings I's allus knowed.

A BACK-LOG SONG

De axes has been ringin' in de woods de blessid day, An' de chips has been a-fallin' fa' an' thick; Dey has cut de bigges' hick'ry dat de mules kin tote away, An' dey's laid hit down and soaked it in de crik. Den dey tuk hit to de big house an' dey piled de wood erroun' In de fiah-place f'om ash-flo' to de flue, While ol' Ezry sta'ts de hymn dat evah yeah has got to soun' When de back-log fus' commence a-bu'nin' thoo.

Ol' Mastah is a-smilin' on de da'kies f'om de hall, Ol' Mistus is a-stannin' in de do', An' de young folks, males an' misses, is a-tryin', one an' all, Fu' to mek us feel hit 's Chrismus time fu' sho'. An' ouah hea'ts are full of pleasure, fu' we know de time is ouahs Fu' to dance er do jes' whut we wants to do. An' dey ain't no ovahseer an' no othah kind o' powahs Dat kin stop us while dat log is bu'nin thoo.

Dey 's a-wokin' in de qua'tahs a-preparin' fu' de feas', So de little pigs is feelin' kind o' shy. De chickens ain't so trus'ful ez dey was, to say de leas', An' de wise ol' hens is roostin' mighty high. You could n't git a gobblah fu' to look you in de face-- I ain't sayin' whut de tu'ky 'spects is true; But hit's mighty dange'ous trav'lin' fu' de critters on de place F'om de time dat log commence a bu'nin' thoo.

Some one's tunin' up his fiddle dah, I hyeah a banjo's ring, An', bless me, dat's de tootin' of a ho'n! Now dey 'll evah one be runnin' dat has got a foot to fling, An' dey 'll dance an' frolic on f'om now 'twell mo'n. Plunk de banjo, scrap de fiddle, blow dat ho'n yo' level bes', Keep yo' min' erpon de chune an' step it true. Oh, dey ain't no time fu' stoppin' an' dey ain't no time fu' res', Fu' hit 's Chrismus an' de back-log 's bu'nin' thoo!

LULLABY

Bedtime 's come fu' little boys. Po' little lamb. Too tiahed out to make a noise, Po' little lamb. You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'? Yes, you tole me dat befo', Don't you fool me, chile, no mo', Po' little lamb.

You been bad de livelong day, Po' little lamb. Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way, Po' little lamb. My, but you 's a-runnin' wil', Look jes' lak some po' folks chile; Mam' gwine whup you atter while, Po' little lamb.

Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def, Po' little lamb. Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref, Po' little lamb. See dem han's now--sich a sight! Would you evah b'lieve dey's white? Stan' still twell I wash 'em right, Po' little lamb.

Jes' cain't hol' yo' haid up straight, Po' little lamb. Had n't oughter played so late, Po' little lamb. Mammy do' know whut she 'd do, Ef de chillun's all lak you; You 's a caution now fu' true, Po' little lamb.

Lay yo' haid down in my lap, Po' little lamb. Y' ought to have a right good slap, Po' little lamb. You been runnin' roun' a heap. Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep, Dah now, dah now, go to sleep, Po' little lamb.

THE PHOTOGRAPH

See dis pictyah in my han'? Dat's my gal; Ain't she purty? goodness lan'! Huh name Sal. Dat's de very way she be-- Kin' o' tickles me to see Huh a-smilin' back at me.

She sont me dis photygraph Jes' las' week; An' aldough hit made me laugh-- My black cheek Felt somethin' a-runnin' queer; Bless yo' soul, it was a tear Jes' f'om wishin' she was here.

Often when I 's all alone Layin' here, I git t'inkin' 'bout my own Sallie dear; How she say dat I 's huh beau, An' hit tickles me to know Dat de gal do love me so.

Some bright day I 's goin' back, Fo' de la! An' ez sho' 's my face is black, Ax huh pa Fu' de blessed little miss Who 's a-smilin' out o dis Pictyah, lak she wan'ed a kiss!

JEALOUS

Hyeah come Cæsar Higgins, Don't he think he 's fine? Look at dem new riggin's Ain't he tryin' to shine? Got a standin' collar An' a stove-pipe hat, I 'll jes' bet a dollar Some one gin him dat.

Don't one o' you mention, Nothin' 'bout his cloes, Don't pay no attention, Er let on you knows Dat he 's got 'em on him, Why, 't 'll mek him sick, Jes go on an' sco'n him, My, ain't dis a trick!

Look hyeah, whut 's he doin' Lookin' t' othah way? Dat ere move 's a new one, Some one call him, "Say!" Can't you see no pusson-- Puttin' on you' airs, Sakes alive, you 's wuss'n Dese hyeah millionaires.

Need n't git so flighty, Case you got dat suit. Dem cloes ain't so mighty,-- Second hand to boot, I 's a-tryin' to spite you! Full of jealousy! Look hyeah, man, I 'll fight you, Don't you fool wid me!

PARTED

De breeze is blowin' 'cross de bay. My lady, my lady; De ship hit teks me far away, My lady, my lady; Ole Mas' done sol' me down de stream; Dey tell me 't ain't so bad 's hit seem, My lady, my lady.

O' co'se I knows dat you 'll be true, My lady, my lady; But den I do' know whut to do, My lady, my lady; I knowed some day we 'd have to pa't, But den hit put' nigh breaks my hea't, My lady, my lady.

De day is long, de night is black, My lady, my lady; I know you 'll wait twell I come back, My lady, my lady; I 'll stan' de ship, I 'll stan' de chain, But I 'll come back, my darlin' Jane, My lady, my lady.

Jes' wait, jes' b'lieve in whut I say, My lady, my lady; D' ain't nothin' dat kin keep me 'way, My lady, my lady; A man 's a man, an' love is love; God knows ouah hea'ts, my little dove; He 'll he'p us f'om his th'one above, My lady, my lady.

TEMPTATION

I done got 'uligion, honey, an' I 's happy ez a king; Evahthing I see erbout me 's jes' lak sunshine in de spring; An' it seems lak I do' want to do anothah blessid thing But jes' run an' tell de neighbours, an' to shout an' pray an' sing.

I done shuk my fis' at Satan, an' I 's gin de worl' my back; I do' want no hendrin' causes now a-both'rin' in my track; Fu' I 's on my way to glory, an' I feels too sho' to miss. Wy, dey ain't no use in sinnin' when 'uligion 's sweet ez dis.

Talk erbout a man backslidin' w'en he 's on de gospel way; No, suh, I done beat de debbil, an' Temptation 's los' de day. Gwine to keep my eyes right straight up, gwine to shet my eahs, an' see Whut ole projick Mistah Satan 's gwine to try to wuk on me.

Listen, whut dat soun' I hyeah dah? 'tain't no one commence to sing; It 's a fiddle; git erway dah! don' you hyeah dat blessid thing? W'y, dat's sweet ez drippin' honey, 'cause, you knows, I draws de bow, An' when music's sho' 'nough music, I 's de one dat's sho' to know.

W'y, I 's done de double shuffle, twell a body could n't res', Jes' a-hyeahin' Sam de fiddlah play dat chune his level bes'; I could cut a mighty caper, I could gin a mighty fling Jes' right now, I 's mo' dan suttain I could cut de pigeon wing.

Look hyeah, whut 's dis I 's been sayin'? whut on urf 's tuk holt o' me? Dat ole music come nigh runnin' my 'uligion up a tree! Cleah out wif dat dah ole fiddle, don' you try dat trick agin; Did n't think I could be tempted, but you lak to made me sin!

POSSUM TROT

I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things, An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings; But in spite of all my travelling an' of all I think I know, I 've got one notion in my head, that I can't git to go; An' it is that the folks I meet in any other spot Ain't half so good as them I knowed back home in Possum Trot.

I know you 've never heerd the name, it ain't a famous place, An' I reckon ef you 'd search the map you could n't find a trace Of any sich locality as this I 've named to you; But never mind, I know the place, an' I love it dearly too. It don't make no pretensions to bein' great or fine, The circuses don't come that way, they ain't no railroad line. It ain't no great big city, where the schemers plan an' plot, But jest a little settlement, this place called Possum Trot.

But don't you think the folks that lived in that outlandish place Were ignorant of all the things that go for sense or grace. Why, there was Hannah Dyer, you may search this teemin' earth An' never find a sweeter girl, er one o' greater worth; An' Uncle Abner Williams, a-leanin' on his staff, It seems like I kin hear him talk, an' hear his hearty laugh. His heart was big an' cheery as a sunny acre lot, Why, that's the kind o' folks we had down there at Possum Trot.

Good times? Well, now, to suit my taste,--an' I 'm some hard to suit,-- There ain't been no sich pleasure sence, an' won't be none to boot, With huskin' bees in Harvest time, an' dances later on, An' singin' school, an taffy pulls, an' fun from night till dawn. Revivals come in winter time, baptizin's in the spring, You 'd ought to seen those people shout, an' heerd 'em pray an' sing; You 'd ought to 've heard ole Parson Brown a-throwin' gospel shot Among the saints an' sinners in the days of Possum Trot.

We live up in the city now, my wife was bound to come; I hear aroun' me day by day the endless stir an' hum. I reckon that it done me good, an' yet it done me harm, That oil was found so plentiful down there on my ole farm. We 've got a new-styled preacher, our church is new-styled too, An' I 've come down from what I knowed to rent a cushioned pew. But often when I 'm settin' there, it's foolish, like as not, To think of them ol' benches in the church at Possum Trot.

I know that I 'm ungrateful, an' sich thoughts must be a sin, But I find myself a wishin' that the times was back agin. With the huskin's an' the frolics, an' the joys' I used to know, When I lived at the settlement, a dozen years ago. I don't feel this way often, I 'm scarcely ever glum, For life has taught me how to take her chances as they come. But now an' then my mind goes back to that ol' buryin' plot, That holds the dust of some I loved, down there at Possum Trot.

DELY

Jes' lak toddy wahms you thoo' Sets yo' haid a reelin', Meks you ovah good and new, Dat 's de way I 's feelin'. Seems to me hit 's summah time, Dough hit 's wintah reely, I 's a feelin' jes' dat prime-- An' huh name is Dely.

Dis hyeah love 's a cu'rus thing, Changes 'roun' de season, Meks you sad or meks you sing, 'Dout no urfly reason. Sometimes I go mopin' 'roun', Den agin I 's leapin'; Sperits allus up an' down Even when I 's sleepin'.

Fu' de dreams comes to me den, An' dey keeps me pitchin', Lak de apple dumplin's w'en Bilin' in de kitchen. Some one sot to do me hahm, Tryin' to ovahcome me, Ketchin' Dely by de ahm So 's to tek huh f'om me.

Mon, you bettah b'lieve I fights (Dough hit's on'y seemin'); I's a hittin' fu' my rights Even w'en I 's dreamin'. But I 'd let you have 'em all, Give 'em to you freely, Good an' bad ones, great an' small, So 's you leave me Dely.

Dely got dem meltin' eyes, Big an' black an' tendah. Dely jes' a lady-size, Delikit an' slendah. Dely brown ez brown kin be An' huh haih is curly; Oh, she look so sweet to me,-- Bless de precious girlie!

Dely brown ez brown kin be, She ain' no mullatter; She pure cullud,--don' you see Dat 's jes' whut 's de mattah? Dat 's de why I love huh so, D' ain't no mix about huh, Soon 's you see huh face you know D' ain't no chanst to doubt huh.

Folks dey go to chu'ch an' pray So 's to git a blessin'. Oomph, dey bettah come my way, Dey could lu'n a lesson. Sabbaf day I don' go fu', Jes' to see my pigeon; I jes' sets an' looks at huh, Dat's enuff 'uligion.

BREAKING THE CHARM

Caught Susanner whistlin'; well, It's most nigh too good to tell. 'Twould 'a' b'en too good to see Ef it had n't b'en fur me, Comin' up so soft an' sly That she didn' hear me nigh. I was pokin' 'round that day, An' ez I come down the way, First her whistle strikes my ears,-- Then her gingham dress appears; So with soft step up I slips. Oh, them dewy, rosy lips! Ripe ez cherries, red an' round, Puckered up to make the sound. She was lookin' in the spring, Whistlin' to beat anything,-- "Kitty Dale" er "In the Sweet." I was jest so mortal beat That I can't quite ricoleck What the toon was, but I 'speck 'T was some hymn er other, fur Hymny things is jest like her. Well she went on fur awhile With her face all in a smile, An' I never moved, but stood Stiller 'n a piece o' wood-- Would n't wink ner would n't stir, But a-gazin' right at her, Tell she turns an' sees me--my! Thought at first she 'd try to fly. But she blushed an' stood her ground. Then, a-slyly lookin' round, She says: "Did you hear me, Ben?" "Whistlin' woman, crowin' hen," Says I, lookin' awful stern. Then the red commenced to burn In them cheeks o' hern. Why, la! Reddest red you ever saw-- Pineys wa'n't a circumstance. You 'd 'a' noticed in a glance She was pow'rful shamed an' skeart; But she looked so sweet an' peart, That a idee struck my head; So I up an' slowly said: "Woman whistlin' brings shore harm, Jest one thing 'll break the charm." "And what's that?" "Oh, my!" says I, "I don't like to tell you." "Why?" Says Susanner. "Well, you see It would kinder fall on me." Course I knowed that she 'd insist,-- So I says: "You must be kissed By the man that heard you whistle; Everybody says that this 'll Break the charm and set you free From the threat'nin' penalty." She was blushin' fit to kill, But she answered, kinder still: "I don't want to have no harm, Please come, Ben, an' break the charm." Did I break that charm?--oh, well, There's some things I must n't tell. I remember, afterwhile, Her a-sayin' with a smile: "Oh, you quit,--you sassy dunce, You jest caught me whistlin' _once_." Ev'ry sence that when I hear Some one whistlin' kinder clear, I most break my neck to see Ef it 's Susy; but, dear me, I jest find I 've b'en to chase Some blamed boy about the place. Dad 's b'en noticin' my way, An' last night I heerd him say: "We must send fur Dr. Glenn, Mother; somethin 's wrong with Ben!"

HUNTING SONG

Tek a cool night, good an' cleah, Skiff o' snow upon de groun'; Jes' 'bout fall-time o' de yeah W'en de leaves is dry an brown; Tek a dog an' tek a axe, Tek a lantu'n in yo' han', Step light whah de switches cracks, Fu' dey 's huntin' in de lan'. Down thoo de valleys an' ovah de hills, Into de woods whah de 'simmon-tree grows, Wakin' an' skeerin' de po' whippo'wills, Huntin' fu' coon an' fu' 'possum we goes.

Blow dat ho'n dah loud an' strong, Call de dogs an' da'kies neah; Mek its music cleah an' long, So de folks at home kin hyeah. Blow it twell de hills an' trees Sen's de echoes tumblin' back; Blow it twell de back'ard breeze Tells de folks we 's on de track. Coons is a-ramblin' an' 'possums is out; Look at dat dog; you could set on his tail! Watch him now--steady,--min'--what you 's about, Bless me, dat animal's got on de trail!

Listen to him ba'kin now! Dat means bus'ness, sho 's you bo'n; Ef he's struck de scent I 'low Dat ere 'possum's sholy gone. Knowed dat dog fu' fo'teen yeahs, An' I nevah seed him fail Wen he sot dem flappin' eahs An' went off upon a trail. Run, Mistah 'Possum, an' run, Mistah Coon, No place is safe fu' yo' ramblin' to-night; Mas' gin' de lantu'n an' God gin de moon, An' a long hunt gins a good appetite.

Look hyeah, folks, you hyeah dat change? Dat ba'k is sha'per dan de res'. Dat ere soun' ain't nothin' strange,-- Dat dog's talked his level bes'. Somep'n' 's treed, I know de soun'. Dah now,--wha 'd I tell you? see! Dat ere dog done run him down; Come hyeah, he'p cut down dis tree. Ah, Mistah 'Possum, we got you at las'-- Need n't play daid, laying dah on de groun'; Fros' an' de 'simmons has made you grow fas',-- Won't he be fine when he's roasted up brown!

A LETTER