Echoes ... From The Cabin and Elsewhere

Ur ol' Hyar lib in ur house on de hill,
He hunner yurs ol' an' nebber wuz ill;
He yurs dee so long an' he eyes so beeg,
An' he laigs so spry dat he dawnce ur jeeg;
He lib so long dat he know ebbry tings
'Bout de beas'ses dat walks an' de bu'ds dat sings—
Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

He doctah fur all de beas'ses an' bu'ds—
He put on he specs an' he use beeg wu'ds,
He feel dee pu's' den he look mighty wise,
He pull out he watch an' he shet bofe eyes;
He grab up he hat an' grab up he cane,
Den—“blam!” go de do'—he gone lak de train,
Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

Mistah Ba'r fall sick—dee sont fur Doc' Hyar,
“O, Doctah, come queeck, an' see Mr. B'ar;
He mighty nigh daid des sho' ez you b'on!”
“Too much ur young peeg, too much ur green co'n,”
Ez he put on he hat, said Ol' Doc' Hyar;
“I'll tek 'long meh lawnce, an' lawnce Mistah B'ar,”
Said Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

Mistah B'ar he groaned, Mistah B'ar he growled,
W'ile de ol' Mis' B'ar an' de chillen howled;
Doctah Hyar tuk out he sha'p li'l lawnce,
An' pyu'ced Mistah B'ar twel he med him prawnce
Den grab up he hat an' grab up he cane
“Blam!” go de do' an' he gone lak de train,
Dis Ol' Doc' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

But de vay naix day Mistah B'ar he daid;
Wen dee tell Doc' Hyar, he des scratch he haid:
“Ef pashons git well ur pashons git wu's,
Money got ter come een de Ol' Hyar's pu's;
Not wut folkses does, but fur wut dee know
Does de folkses git paid”—an' Hyar larfed low,
Dis sma't Ol' Hyar,
Whar lib up dar
Een de mighty fine house on de mighty high hill!

UNCLE EPH—

EPICURE.

You kin talk erbout yo' 'lasses an' yo' steamin' buckwheat cakes,
'Bout yo' eisters fried in crackers, an' yo' juicy hot clambakes;

'Bout yo' beefsteak fried wid inguns, an' yo' ros'n yeahs ob co'n,
But ol' possum wid sweet taters beats dem all, des sho's you bo'n.

Tek erway yo' Floyda eiange, tek erway yo' fig and date,
An' bring erlong my 'possum on dat bigges' ol' tin plate.

Turnip greens all biled wid bacon an' er co'n pone smokin hot,
I gwi' nebber scratch dat ticket caze it retch ur tender spot.

An' hot biscuits wid hot coffee mek ur mighty han'som pa'r,
W'ile ol' hen biled wid dumplin's, O yes, dat's parsin' fa'r.

But tek erway yo' greens an' bacon, tek erway yo' chicken biled,
An' bring 'possum an' sweet taters—hesh yo' mouf, dey sets me wild!

Sta't him out'n pawpaw thicket, chase him up er 'simmon tree,
W'ile de music ob dat houn' pack sets de woods er-ring wid glee.

Roun' de hill an' troo de bottom, up de holler by de spring,
Ow! ow! ow! ow! des a whoopin'! how dat ol' lead-houn' do sing!

An' you hurry troo de briahs an' you tumble ober logs,
Nebber knowin', nebber cyarin' ez you chyuh dem blessed dogs.

An' w'en dey all sees you comin', how dem dogs sing wid new grace,
Fum de young houn's sweet, cla'r tenah ter de ol' houn's mighty bass.

An' dar on ur lim' er grinnin' wid his tail quoiled mighty tight,
Hangs my fren', ol' Mistah 'Possum—how dem dogs howl wid delight.

An' you crawl out furder, furder, twel you hyuh dat ol' lim' crack,
An' you shake er loose his tail holt, an' you put him in yo' sack.

Den you tote him home an' feed him twel he fat des ez you please,
Den you kill him an' you hang him out er frosty night ter freeze.

Den you stuff him wid sweet taters an 'put butter all ur roun',
Den you put him in de oven an' you bake him twel he's brown.

Oom! all swimmin' in his graby an' ur drippin' in his fat—
Talk erbout yo' milk an' honey, wut's de hebbenly food ter dat?

Let dat show-ban' play its loudes', let dat 'cession des march on,
I wouldn't stop my eatin' ef ol' Gab'ul blowed his horn!

UNCLE EPH'S HORSE TRADE.

[Aunt Susan sends Uncle Eph to town to sell the cow. Meeting Farmer Johnson with a dun mule, he makes a trade.]

UNCLE EPH.

“Come out hyuh, Thomas 'Rastus, an' see wut Daddy got—
Woa dar, you long yurd debbil, yo' legs too full ur trot!

Git out de way, you chillun, he mighty full ur fiah,
His mammy was ur Mo'gan, ur jackass wus his siah.

Stop dat you Gineral Jackson! (De Voodoo's in dis mule!)
Say, chillun, whar yo' mammy? (I spec' I been ur fool.”)

Ob cose he summat spavin' an' stone blin' in one eye,
An' his ha'r all off in places—dat come all right bimeby.

(Fo' de Lawd, dar Susan—now how I gwine ter 'splain
Urbout dis debblish hoss trade—hit gwine go 'ginst de grain.)

Des look ur hyuh, 'ol' 'oman, I'se traded off de cow;
You bet I med ur bawgin, an' dat youse boun' ter 'low.

De cow was mighty scrawny an' den she mos' wuz dry;
De price ur hay am raisin'—dar's no green in my eye.

I met ol' Fa'mah Johnsing ur ridin' in ter town,
I 'sarbed dis mule's fine action an' axed de gempmun down.

I led him foruds, backuds—his action mighty free,
His mouf I zaminated—his age des tirty-tree.

An' den I mek ur offah—de cow fur Johnsing's mule,
He cussed urroun' ur little—I nebber wuz ur fool.

So Johnsing dribe de cow off, ur wa'kin' doan' you see,
While I come home ur ridin' ez big ez big kin be.

Des watch him trot, ol' 'oman, dat motion's Mo'gan true—
Fine blood gwine tell in muleses ez well ez hosses, too.

I needs him fur de plowin' w'en gyardenin' time come 'roun',
My back done got rheumatics an' I cyawn' spade de groun.”

SUSAN.

“You call dem bones ur hoss trade? You allus wuz ur' fool!
Tuck my cow an' traded fur ur knock-kneed spavin' mule!

Dat blood do tell in muleses; hit tells in niggahs mo'—
De Browns wuz allus triflin', an' Efum, youse mo' so.

I wucked ha'd all lars' summah, w'en you wuz loafin' roun'
Spen'in' yo' lars' nickel in dem dram shops in de town,

Ur sweatin' and ur gruntin' in dat ol' washin' tub
Ter buy dat Jussey heffah an' keep you all in grub.

Des come ur little closah, you triflin' lim' ob Ham!
Oom, hoo! I smell de liquah. I knowed you hed er dram.

You long-legged tu'key trottin', black, good fur nothin' fool—
Ur tradin' off my heffah fur yo' match—ur spavin' mule!

Ef I des hed hot watah, I'd scal' you bofe, I 'clar,
You ring bone, knoc-kneed, triflin', ol' saddle-culled pa'r!

Des clam back in dat saddle an' fo' dat sun go down,
You hunts up ol' man Johnsing ez sho's yo name am Brown,

An' gits dat Jussey heffah—I doan' cyah how hits done;
You tu'ns her in dat back ya'd urfo' de risin' sun!”

And Ephraim and the dun mule of Morgan blood descent,
Went galloping down the red road for Farmer Johnson's bent.

At five o'clock next morning when the Shanghai rooster crowed,
The yellow Jersey heifer in Susan's back yard lowed.

DE 'SPRISE PA'TY.

Bring out my bawnjer, Susan, and Rastus shek de fiah,
De coons am all flockin' in, ur Daddy am ur liah.

Hyuh's some dat's f'um de Bottom an' some dat's f'um de Ridge,
An' bress my soul! dar's Unker Nat f'um way 'yan Mayho's Bridge!

Dar's Tempie wid dat niggah whar waits at de St. Cla'r;
Des watch him how he hol' his cane, an' sabe us, wut a a'r!

Dar's Jinsy an' dar's 'Lindy; dar's Reuben and dar's Jane;
Dar's Mandy wid ur niggah whar po'tahs on de train.

Hyuh's niggahs f'um de country and niggahs f'um de town,
Ur comin' wid ur pa'ty ter s'prise de fambly Brown.

Go git my bawnjer, Susan; you 'Rastus, chunk dat coal!
Gib me yo' paw, you niggahs—Ise happy, bress my soul!

Susan doan' 'low no dawncin', she jined de chu'ch, you know,
Ur pillow in Mt. Zion, an' wut she say gwine go.

B'en baptized in Ol' Mud Creek by Reb'ren Pa'son Snow—
But youse 'lowed ter tu'n de plate an' “Chase de Bufferlo.’

Kin play “Hyuh goes de blue-bud” an' “Honey lub, my sweet,”
An' “Lunnon Bridge is bu'nin' down”—but doan you cross dem feet,

For Susan orful 'ligious an' mighty 'tic'lar, too—
Kyahful 'bout dem crossin' feet wutebber else you do!

Dar's possum on de table an' coon dar on de she'f,
Dar's cidah in dat brown jug, each niggah he'p hisse'f.

Dar's pie an' cake an' dunnuts an' aig nogg in ur bowl;
Des eat an' drink, youse welcome—Ise happy, bress my soul!

Now, while I chune dis bawnjer, you 'Rastus, git yo' ha'p!
Mek music fur de comp'ny; now, niggah, look right sha'p!

Plunk! plunk! plunk! plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunk!
Plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunk! plunk! plunk! plunkety! plunk! plunk!

“Neah-row my Gawd ter Dee” (now dat chune's fur yo' Mu'rr;
W'en we gits her moll and tim , we gwine to play an urr)

Now “Rock ob Ages,” sof' an' sweet; sing, you niggahs, sing!
Des hyuh dat tenah an' dat bass! Lawd, how dem raftahs ring!

Hyuh Susan's cla'r supranah lif' dem tall notes on high!
She tink'n bout de great white t'rone' an' “Mansions in de sky.”

Now Susan's in de kitchen ur sottin' out de grub;
Tek erway dat spinnin' wheel an' tote out do's dat tub.

You hyuh dis bawnjer singin'? You reckernize de chune?
“Town gals all come out ternight an' dawnce by light de moon.”

You niggahs git yo' pa'dnahs an' lead dem on de flo'—
Des hyuh dis bawnjer callin'—I cyawn' hol' in no mo'!

“All 'beedyunce ter yo' pa'dnahs!” an' “Co'nahs all de same!”
Des nebber min' 'bout Susan—I gwine tek all de blame.

Now, “Fo'wa'd ter de centah!” an' “Ladies, swing right bac'!”
Des watch de dus' ur raisin' an' hyuh de ol' flo' crac'!

Now fastah, fastah, 'Rastus! (De debbil's in dis string)
Des “Balance all!” you niggahs—Lawd, see dat pidgin wing!

—Fo' Gawd! who dat ur dawncin' wid' dat niggah f'um de town!
W'y bress my soul an' buddy ef dat ain' Susan Brown!

O fastah, fastah, 'Rastus, youse playin' fur yo' Mam,
She done furgot her 'ligion an' dus'n cyah ur---!

You Ike! Come tek dis bawnjer! I gwine ter hab ur fling!
Play fastah, fastah, 'Rastus! Now “Ebbrybuddy swing!”

“Moll and tim” is a negro expression that means a great many things. As used here, it means “in a remarkably good humor.” I have heard it used thus: “He needn' look so moll an' tim,” signifying that some one was putting on an extra pious air.

SCIPLININ' SISTER BROWN.

Shet up dat noise, you chillen! Dar's some one at de do'.
Dribe out dem dogs; you 'Rastus, tek Linkum off de flo'!

Des ma'ch yo'se'f right in sah! (Jane, tek dem ashes out!
Dis house look lak ur hog-pen; you M'randy, jump erbout!).

W'y bress my soul, hit's Ef'um—w'y, Ef'um, how you do?
An' Tempie an' de chillen? I hopes dey's all well too.

Hyuh, M'randy, bresh dat stool off; now, Ef'um, des sot down.
Wut's de news f'um off de Ridge an' wut's de news in town?

Now doan' you t'ink dem niggahs hed Susan 'fo de chu'ch
'Bout dawncin' at de pa'ty—dey call dat sinnin' much.

Dey up an' call ur meetin' ter 'scipline Sistah Brown,
But de night dey hol' de meetin' she tuk herse'f to town.

Dey sont de Bo'd ob Deacons, de pahstah at de head,
Ter wait urpon de sistah an' pray wid her, dey said,

But Susan mighty stubbo'n, an' wen dey lif' ur pra'r
She up an' tell de deacons she des wawn' gwine ter cyar.

An' wen de Reb'ren' Pa'son prayed 'bout ur “sheep wuz los'.”
An' 'bout de “po bac'slidah,” she gin her head ur toss!

I seed de debbil raisin' in de white ob Susan's eyes—
Fyeah she blow dat deacon-bo'd ter “mansions in de skies,”

I des tuk down my bawnjer an' den I 'gins an' plays;
“Come dy fount ob ebbry blessin', chune my ha't ter sing dy praise.”

De pa'son an' de deacons dey jined me pooty soon;
Lawd! Dat bawnjer shuk itse'f ur-playin' ob de chune!

An' wen dey mos' wuz shoutin', I tightened up er string,
Drapped right inter “Money Musk” an' gin de chune full swing.

De “Debbil's Dream” come arter—de debbil wuz ter pay,
Dem niggahs fell ter pattin'—I larf mos' ebbry day!

Deacon Jones got on his feet, de pa'son pulled him down;
I played ur little fastah, an' sho's my name am Brown,

De pa'son an' de deacons jined han's right on dis flo',
Su'cled right and su'cled lef'—it sutny wuz er show.

Dey 'naded up an' down de flo' an' w'en hit come ter swing,
De pa'son gin hisse'f a flirt an' cut de pidgin-wing!

An' we'n urfo' de meetin' dat 'mittee med its 'po't
'Bout Sistah Susan's dawncin', dey cut it mighty sho't.

De chyuhsman, Mr. Pa'son, said in tones so mil' an' sweet:
“Sistah Brown wa'n't guilty, caze—she nebber crossed her feet!”

“LINKUM.”

You axin' sah 'bout Linkum—w'y sho'ly youse been tol'
'Bout my po' chil—Gawd bless him—he died when ten yeahs ol'.
He was ouah younges' baby, you 'min's him wen ur tot,
Ur crawlin' in de ashes an' ebbry blessed spot.
He wuz de sma'tes' baby, an' we des lub him so—
Hit tuk urway de sunshine wen Linkum hed ter go.
W'y, ebberybuddy lub him—de w'ite folks an' de black',
He so perlitely mannahed—he gempman, dats ur fac'.
Fur chile kin be ur gempman ez well ez folks dat's grown,
An' hit was so wid Linkum, hit des bred in de bone.
Yit spite ob all his goodness he wa'n' no stupid chile—
He 'roun de house ur singin' an' whis'lin all de w'ile.
An' saiks how he could whis'le! No red bu'd sing so cl'ar;
He could des morck ur pa'tridge twel pa'tridge come right dar.
I nebber hyuh de red bu'd ur pa'tridge wen dey call,
'Less den I t'inks 'bout Linkum—his song, his larf an' all—
Ur 'scuse dese teahs now honey, some how dey's 'bleged ter come
W'en I tinks 'bout my baby. Up dar you see his drum.
I brung hit from Pint Gladness de Chris'mas 'fo' he died.
Lawd, how he uster thump it, ur ma'chin' full ob pride!
Er-wut urbout his def, sah? I begs yo' pa'don, sah,
Ise back dar wid my baby, ur ma'chin' too I clah.
You see Mis' Bradley hiah'd him ter do de cho's an' sech—
She lib in dat fine buildin', de naix one ter de Che'ch.

Her husban' he de doctah, an' mighty fine dey say;
Dey on'y hab one baby—dey call her Helen Fay;
Dey t'ink so much de baby—ob co'se, de on'y chile;
She pu'ty ez ur picchah—her eyes des full ob smile.
She all time foll'n Linkum, des ebberywhar he go,
De chile des lub de po' chile—yes sah, dat sutny so.
One day her mammy leab her, ur sleepin' fars' an' soun',
An' in de cyar ob Linkum, while she wen' vis'tin' 'roun'.
W'ile Linkum sottin' watchin' de baby sleepin' fars'
He hyu'd de sweetes' music—Ur ban' wus ma'chin' pars'.
He hyu'd de ho'ns, de cym'uls, de boomin big bass drum—
He knowed des in a minit de minst'ul show done come.
An' closah, closah, closah, de music seemed ter come,
An' loudah, loudah, loudah, he hyu'd de big bass drum!
De chile furgot de baby an' wo't Mis' Bradley said,
He crazy wid dat music ur playin' in his head.
So out de do' wen' Linkum lak wings wuz on his feet—
Lak race hoss on de home stretch ur flyin' down de street.
Gawd knows he couldn' holp it—de music set him wil';
Hit allus so wid Linkum—he des de stranges' chile.

De fiah bells wuz janglin', de crowd wus rushin' roun',
De smoke hed filled de sta'rway—hit druv de bes' man down.
De women all wuz screamin', an' men ur shoutin' loud,
W'en lak ur flash ob lightnin' ur boy to' froo de crowd.
Right up de blazin' sta'rway; right froo de smoke an' flame,
Arter dat sleepin' baby—He put dem men ter shame!
He wropped her in ur blankit an' down de blazin' sta'r
He brung dat blessed baby widout ur flame teched ha'r!
Out ob dat fi'ry fu'nace like Hebrew chillen t'ree,
Whose comperny wus Jesus, dat ol' King 'Rius see!

Out ob de flames dat sco'ched him—out ob de stranglin' smoke,
Urdown de flame-wropped sta'rway dat 'neaf de bu'nt feet broke!
Out ob de flames ob Hell-fiah in ter de sweet, pyo' a'r
My po' chile brung de baby, an' fallin', drapped her dar!
He on'y des lib one houah—he call me ter de bed—
“I-ort'n'-gone-de-music” an' my po' chile wuz dead!
Ober dar am his grabe, sah; Mis' Bradley buy de stone
Ter put up ober Linkum—Miss Helen, now mos' grown,
She had dem cut dese lettahs on de stone 'bove his grabe:
“de one dat sabed all udders, hisse'f he couldn't sabe.”

SONG OF THE CORN.

O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n;
De groun' am wa'm, de furrers made—
(“Caw! caw!” de black crow larf,)
Put ur han'le in yo' ol' hoe blade—
(“Caw! caw!”) de black crow larf)
O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n,
De chipmunk sot on top ur clod—
(“Cheat! cheat!” de rahskil say)
He flirt his tail an' wink an' nod—
(“Cheat! cheat!” de rahskil say,)
O, hits time fur de plantin' ur de co'n

O, hits time fur de hoein' ur de co'n,
De co'n am up an' full ur grass—
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
Hit beat de wu'l' how weeds grow fas'—
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
O, hits time fur de hoein' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de hoein' ur de co'n,
Hit stan'in' knee-high in de row—
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
One mo' time an' we'll let hit go—
(Hot, hot, de sun hit shine,)
O, hits time fur de hoein' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n,
De blades am dry, de milk am ha'd—

(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
De hawgs am killed an' ren'nered la'd—.
(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n,
Dars w'ite fros' in de still night a'r—
(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
Come urlong, Sam, le's grin' ur pa'r—
(Hack, hack, de co'n knives say,)
O, hits time fur de cuttin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n,
De boys an' gyurls am all come out—
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
You hyuh 'em sing an' larf an' shout—
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n,
Dar's Reuben's side am a'mos' froo—
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
Hurry up, Sam, deys leabin' you—
(Rip, rip, de brown pegs go,)
O, hits time fur de huskin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur de co'n,
Run 'long, honey, an' git yo' sack—
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
An' put hit on ol' Betsy's back—
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur de co'n,
Des ride five mile ur roun' de hill—
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
Den dump yo' load at Thompson's mill—
(“Clack, clack,” de mill wheel say,)
O, hits time fur de grin'in' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n,
Mammy, bake us ur co'n pone brown—
(“Good, good,” de chillen cry,)
Draw up yo' chyuh an des sot down—
(“Good, good,” de chillen cry,)
O, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n.

O, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n,
Wid ham an' aigs an' coffee strong—
(“Good, good,” de chillen cry,)
Dat big co'n pone hit woan' las' long—
(“Good, good,” de chillen cry,)
O, hits time fur de eatin' ur de co'n.

UNCLE EPH BACKSLIDES.

W'y, Sam, I'se glad to see you, I sho' is fur ur fac';
W'y, man, hit teks de lameness right outn' my ol' bac'.

How's Cindy an' de chillen? I'se glad ter hyuh hit, sho'—
O, Susan, she des tol'bul an' I des sorter so.

She done gone ter dat meetin' up dar on Mayho's Creek;
Dem niggahs been ur shoutin' fur nigh mos' on ur week.

An' Susan, she ur leader, wen dey call on Sistah Brown,
She des lif' up ur strong pra'r dat call de hebbins down.

W'y, she done got so 'ligious, I darsn't tek ur dram,
An', Sam, I des ez dry ez de upper Mill Creek dam!

She med me burn my bawnjer an' druv me in de che'ch—
She wawn' gwine hab no bawnjer, no drinkin' an' all sech.

You say you'se got ur bottle? Ur qua't ob fine ol' co'n?
I'se gwine ter mek ur fiah an' put de kittle on.

Hyuh, tek dis bucket, honey, an' run 'long ter de spring,
Wile I goes fur some sugah an' fixes ebbry ting.

You hyuh dat kittle singin'; hit knows wat hit am 'bout—
Hit fill my soul wid 'joicin'; O, Sam, I'se got ter shout!

Now, des put in dat sugah, say, honey, aint dat fine?
Dis min' me ob de ol' time 'fo' Susan fell in line.

Hyuh's luck ter you, my pa'dnah, hyuh's luck ter you, my fren';
Hyuh's long life in dis ol' wu'l, an' hebbin in de en'.

Des fill dat glass urgin, Sam, an' stir dat sugah 'roun—
I doan' cyah dat fur pa'sons an' Sistah Susan Brown.

Hyuh's luck ter you, my pa'dnah, hyuh's luck ter you, ol' fren';
Hyuh's long life in dis ol' wul', an' hebbin in de en'.

Now ef I hed my bawnjer—you done brung yo'se urlong?
Des han' huh out hyuh, honey, an' jine me in dis song:

UNCLE EPH'S BANJO SONG.

Clean de ba'n an' sweep de flo',
Sing, my bawnjer, sing!
We's gwine ter dawnce dis eb'nin' sho',
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
Den hits up de road an' down de lane,
Hurry, niggah, you miss de train;
De yaller gal she dawnce so neat,
De yaller gal she look so sweet,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

De moon come up, de sun go down,
Sing, my bawnjer, sing!
De niggahs am all come f'um town,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!
Den hits roun' de hill an' froo de fiel'—
Lookout dar, niggah, doan' you steal!
De milyuns on dem vines am green,
De moon am bright, O you'll be seen,
Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

Git out dat deck ob kyards, sah, an' we'll des hab ur game—
Nebber min' 'bout Susan, we'll play hit des de same.

I'd hab you fur ter know, sah, ob dis house I'se de head,
An' Susan she de tail, sah, an' she de one dat's led.

Dar, I tu'ned de jack, sah; you'se beggin? Go ur head;
I plays de deuce fur low, sah, an' now de ace am led.

Des fill-dat-glass-ergin S-Sam, dat liquah s-sho-am-f-fine;
D-debbil-tek de meetin's an' S-Susan-n-nebber-min'.

Hyuhs-luck-ter-you, ol'-p-padnah, hyuhs-l-luck-ter-you, ol'-f-frien',
Hyuhs-l-long-l-life-in-dish ol' wu'l', an' hebbin' in d-de-en'.

'Dar, fo' de Lawd, come Susan, now somefin' mus' be done—
Hide dem kyards, quick, niggah, an' do hit on de run!

An' frow dat bottle liquah in dem weeds out de do',
An' stick dis blamed ol' bawnjer dar un'nerneaf de flo'.

W'y, Susan, how's de meetin'? De sperrit runnin' high?
Brer' Johnsing stopped ter se me, ez he wuz parsin' by;

You see, I med de fiah an' put de kittle on—
I knowed dat you'd be tiahd; pra'r's wu'k, des sho's you bo'n.

(Susan goes out to the wood pile.)
Sam, you tek dat bawnjer, an', niggah, des you fly,
'Fo' Susan blows us bofe up ter mansions in de sky.

NEGRO LULLABY.

Mammy's baby, go ter sleep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Cross de hyarf de cricket creep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey.
Hoot owl callin' f'um de ol' sycamo'
'Way down yon'er in de holler;
While de whip-po'-will an' de li'l' screech owl
Dey des try dey bes' ter foller.

Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my deah,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Shet yo' eyes an' drap off ter sleep—
O yo' eyes dey bright ez money!

Mammy's sugah, go ter sleep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Baby stars done cease ter peep,
Hush-er-by, hush er-by, my honey.
De moon raise slim froo de ol' mounting gap,
In hits cradle hits been ur rockin'
De li'l' baby stars all fars' ur sleep—
You chillen bettah stop dat knockin'!

Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, hush er-by, my deah,
Hush-er by, hush-er-by, my honey,
Noddin', noddin', nod—ur sleep at lars,
Sh—sh—sh—sh—my honey.

THE COURTING OF MISS LADY-BUG.

Des come urlong, my honey chile an' sot down on my knee,
An' Unker Eph 'll tell you ob de Baid-Bug an' de Flea.

Dese gempmen wen' ur co'tin' ob de sweet Miss Lady-Bug;
She lib at num'mer fo'ty in ur flat quite neat an' snug.

Marse Baid-Bug wo' his crimson ves', his beaver, how hit shine!
De ladies at de winders smiled ez he parsed down de line.

Marse Flea, he wo' ur swaller-tail ob orful stylish gray;
He med Miss 'Skeeter's h'a't beat fas' whar libbed ur cross de way.

She envied sweet Miss Lady-Bug huh comperny so gran'—
She des de meanes' dried ol' maid an' ugly, sabe de lan'!

Marse Baid-Bug retch de reserdence an' “ting” he ring de bell,
An' out dar come Miss Lady-Bug, hit gin him quite ur spell.

He put his han' urpon his h'a't an' bowed so orful low,
Dat des ur leetle furder an' his nose 'ood tech de flo.'

She bowed him in de pa'lah fine an' took his hat an' cane;
Dat she wuz 'joiced ter see him, O, she showed it mighty plain.

He hemmed an' hawed ur leetle an' den he cross his laigs,
Wen “tingle” wen' de bell urgin an' knocked him off his paigs.

De do' wuz flung wide open by de butlah, Mistah Gnat,
An' in dar strutted Mistah Flea ur twirlin' ob his hat.

Marse Baid-Bug looked at Mistah Flea an' hate wuz in his eye,
W'ile Flea looked at Miss Lady-Bug ez dough he gwine ter die.

Dey sot an' sot an' looked an' looked an' neider one 'ood go;
Miss Lady-Bug she sot ur tween an' gawrped, des sorter so.

An' still dey sot an' sot an' stared wid eyes des full ob hate,
'Twel Missis Bug called down de sta'rs: “My deah, hits growin' late.”

Dey grabbed dey hats an' grabbed dey canes an' out de do' dey went;
At five ur clock dat mawnin' Mistah Flea ur chellenge sent.

Marse Baid-Bug choose his secon', Mistah Ho'net wuz his name;
He hail f'um ol' Kaintucky an' dey say he sho' wuz game.

De Mud Wasp s'po'ted Mistah Flea, ur gempman tried an' true;
De secon's hed been dar urfo' an' knowed des wut ter do.

Dey met at fo' dat eb'nin' sha'p down hyuh in Fire-Bug Lane,
Now Mistah Flea goes on ur Crutch an' Baid-Bug on ur cane.

An' Lady-Bug? W'y honey chile, de women's all de same;
Dey's built dat way, an' so I s'pose de creeturs ain' ter blame!

Dey fit at fo' dat eb'nin' sha'p; at five de papah's tol'
How Lady Bug hed runned urway wid Captain Cock-Roach bol'!

MOBILE-BUCK.

O, come erlong, come erlong,
Wut's de use er hol'in' back;
O, hit it strong, er hit it strong,
Mek de ol' flo' ben' an' crack.
O, hoop tee doo, uh, hoop tee doo!
Dat's de way ter knock it froo.
Right erlong, right erlong,
Slide de lef' foot right erlong.
Hoop tee doo, O, hoop tee doo,
See, my lub, I dawnce ter you.
Ho, boy! Ho, boy!
Well done, meh lady!

O, slide erlong, slide erlong—
Fas'ah wid dat pattin', Sam!
Dar's music in dis lef' heel's song,
Mis'ah right foot, doan' you sham!
O, hoop tee doo, oh, hoop tee doo!
Straight erlong I dawnce ter you.
Slide erlong, slide erlong,
Mek dat right foot hit it strong.
Hoop tee doo, O, hoop tee doo,
See, my lub, I dawnce ter you.
Ho, boy! Ho, boy!
Well done, meh lady!

The above is an attempt to catch the shuffling, jerky rhythm of the famous negro dance, the Mobile-Buck. The author has watched by the hour the negro roustabouts of Ohio and Mississippi river steamboats “buck” against each other, to use their own expression. One roustabout called on by the crew steps out and begins the shuffle. Suddenly he makes a tremendous slide forward on one foot, like the swift stroke of a skater, while with the other foot he beats a perfect tattoo. Each dancer in succession tries to outdo his predecessor, while all are cheered on by the comments and laughter of their rude but picturesque audience. —Author.

THE CHURCH RALLY.

Hi! yi! Now ain' I s'prise 'em—you Mistah Mule, git up!
Prince ob de Tribe of Zeb'lon, an' win de silbah cup!

Go long, you long-yurd debbil, an' le' dem weeds urlone,
Urfo' I tek dis blacksnaik an' wa'r you ter de bone.

W'y honey chile, you skyurd me; you did, sah, fur ur fac';
I'se tol'bul well, I tanks you, urscusin' dis ol' back.

You see, de che'ch am raisin' some money fer ter 'rec'
Ur mighty fine new buildin'; nuffin' but pride, I 'spec'.

Dats wut I tell de eldah w'en he come trapesin' 'roun'
Ur axin', “How much money you gwi' gib, Bru'r Brown?”

I des right up an' tells him 'twan' nuffin' 'tall but pride,
Ur t'arin' down de ol' che'ch—de scriptur's on my side.

He mighty awgmendashus, an' use dem big wu'ds free,
But dar wuz only one t'ing dat settled hit wid me.

He said ez how dem Mefdis', up dar on Mayho's creek,
Hed laid de cornah stone ob dey fine new che'ch las' week.

I ain' gwi' hab no Mef'dis' waship in ur che'ch,
Wid ur great sky-pintin' steeple, ur westerbule an' sech,

Wile Ise ur prayin' membah ob ur che'ch, doan' you know,
Wid ur little mouse-trap balfry an' no glass 'bove de do'.

So dats de how-come-howdy, wen de meetin' come ur 'roun',
De motion fur new buildin' wuz med by Deacon Brown!

Dars twelb ob us ol' membahs fur heads ob tribes put up;
De one whar raise mos' money gwi' git ur silbah cup.

Dey med me Prince ob Zeb'lon, Bru'r Thomas, Prince ob Dan;
Bru'r Moses, Prince ob Reuben, an' Judah's Prince, Bru'r Mann.

De Reubites gin ur fes'bul, Ashies ur bobbycue;
De Gaddites gin ur fan drill an' Simyun gin one, too;

Naptolly gin ur foot race, an' Leebi, big cakewalk,
You orto seed dem niggahs—go 'way, now, doan' you talk!

De prize dat Leebi offe'd wuz fine young Bucksheah shote;
He des ez fat ez buttah, an' right sha'p load ter tote.

De prize wuz won by Nimrod, whar lib on Mill Creek Dam—
Some niggahs said he won hit 'caze he promised me ur ham!

You see, I one de jedges, de contes' mighty close—
De niggahs fell to quawlin' an' lak to fit, nigh mos';

Dars fibe ob us wuz jedgin'; I hel' de 'cidin' vote;
I cas' my voice fur Nimrod—so, cose, he got de shote.

Naix day dat wife ob Johnsings des wen' de roun's an' sed:
(Ef 'twan' dat Ise ur Deacon, I'd bruk dat niggah's head)

Dat Nimrod secon' cousin ter Susan's sistah's son,
An' dat wuz one de reasons de shote by him wuz won;

Dat she come in ter borry some sody fur herse'f
An' seed ur ham ur layin', shote size, dar on our she'f!

Er—wut ur 'bout de ham, sah? Well, now, I des do 'clar,
I ain' gwine mek no 'niance—de ham wuz sholy dar.

Not 'caze hit wuz ur bawgin, but allus on de Dam
Wen dey kills hawgs dey sen's us some sparribs an' ur ham.

My tribe gin 'possum suppah—good Lawd, hit mek me smile—
De niggahs come ur flockin' fur mo' 'an twenty mile;

De princes ob dem ur tribes, dey call fur 'possum roas',
Dey almos' bus' wid eatin', an' me wid larfin' mos'.

Bru'r Mann, de Prince ob Judah, he eat ur 'possum whole—
Dat niggah's stummick rubbah—hit mus' be, bress my soul!

I knowed dem niggahs spen'in' de quarters an' de dimes
Dey raise at cake-walks, fes'buls, dem fan-drills an' sich times;

Fur wen ur man am hongry he hab no fuchah plan;
Hit allus so, from Esau cla'r down ter Brudder Mann.

W'en on de Rallyin' Sunday Mount Zion rocked wid song,
An' de Princes ob ol' Iz'zul wen' ma'chin right urlong,

Ur bringin' up de money dat ebbry tribe done raise,
Dey foun' de Tribe ob Zeb'lon—de Lawd ob hosts be praise—

Hed brung de mostes' money—de eldah call me up,
An' fo' de congregation gin me de silbah cup.

Right dar de Prince ob Judah, he med ur awful fuss—
He spoke right out in meetin'—he mad ur 'nuff ter cuss,

“Bru'r Brown, he needn' swell out lak ur pa'tridge wen dey call:
He didn' raise de money—dat 'possum done hit all.”

NEGRO SERENADE.

O, de light-bugs glimmer down de lane,
Merlindy! Merlindy!
O, de whip'-will callin' notes ur pain—
Merlindy, O, Merlindy!
O, honey lub, my turkle dub,
Doan' you hyuh my bawnjer ringin',
While de night-dew falls an' de ho'n owl calls
By de ol' ba'n gate Ise singin'.

O, Miss 'Lindy, doan' you hyuh me chil',
Merlindy! Merlindy!
My lub fur you des dribe me wil'—
Merlindy, O, Merlindy!
I'll sing dis night twel broad day-light,
Ur bu's' my froat wid tryin',
'Less you come down, Miss 'Lindy Brown,
An' stops dis ha't f'um sighin'!

DE CUNJAH MAN.

O chillen run, de Cunjah man,
Him mouf ez beeg ez fryin' pan,
Him yurs am small, him eyes am raid,
Him hab no toof een him ol' haid,
Him hab him roots, him wu'k him trick,
Him roll him eye, him mek you sick—
De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
O chillen run, de Cunjah man!

Him hab ur ball ob raid, raid ha'r,
Him hide it un' de kitchen sta'r,
Mam Jude huh pars urlong dat way,
An' now huh hab ur snaik, dey say.
Him wrop ur roun' huh buddy tight,
Huh eyes pop out, ur orful sight—
De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
O chillen run, de Cunjah man!

Miss Jane, huh dribe him f'um huh do',
An' now huh hens woan' lay no mo';
De Jussey cow huh done fall sick,
Hit all done by de cunjah trick.
Him put ur root un' 'Lijah's baid,
An' now de man he sho' am daid—
De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
O chillen run, de Cunjah man!

Me see him stan' de yudder night
Right een de road een white moon-light;
Him toss him arms, him whirl him 'roun',
Him stomp him foot urpon de groun';
De snaiks come crawlin', one by one,
Me hyuh um hiss, me break an' run—
De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
O chillen run, de Cunjah man!

WINTER-TIRED.

I wus a settin' by my winder
Lookin' out the other day,
On the Airth all white with snowdrifts—
Look you ever which-a-way;
An' while it all wus cleanly
Like a soul that's washed from sin,
I could not help a longin'
Fur the robins an' the green.

I am tired of all this sollum white,
Bare boughs an' tongueless brook;
The Airth is like a shrouded corpse
No matter whur I look.
O, I want to see the robins
An' hear the bluebirds sing,
An' in the pon' below the barn
The bullfrog swear its Spring!

I want to see white turn to brown,
An' then the brown turn green,
The hillsides put their mournin' off
As fifty times I've seen.
O, I want to hear that tongue-tied brook
Go singin' on its way,
Ashoutin' as it runs along:
“The robins 've come to stay!”

WHEN OL' SIS' JUDY PRAY.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De teahs come stealin' down my cheek,
De voice ur God widin me speak';
I see myse'f so po' an' weak,
Down on my knees de cross I seek,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De thun'ers ur Mount Sin-a-i
Comes rushin' down f'um up on high—
De Debbil tu'n his back an' fly
While sinnahs loud fur pa'don cry,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
Ha'd sinnahs trimble in dey seat
Ter hyuh huh voice in sorrow 'peat:
(While all de chu'ch des sob an' weep)
“O Shepa'd, dese, dy po' los' sheep!”
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
De whole house hit des rock an' moan
Ter see huh teahs an' hyuh huh groan;
Dar's somepin' in Sis' Judy's tones
Dat melt all ha'ts dough med ur stones,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
Salvation's light comes pourin' down—
Hit fill de chu'ch an' all de town—
Why, angels' robes go rustlin' 'roun',
An' hebben on de Yurf am foun',
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis' Judy pray,
My soul go sweepin' up on wings,
An' loud de chu'ch wid “Glory!” rings,
An' wide de gates ur Jahsper swings
Twel you hyuh ha'ps wid golding strings,
When ol' Sis' Judy pray.

When ol' Sis Judy die—
Froo triberlations justerfied,
I know de gates will des fly wide
An' wid King Jesus by huh side,
Straight froo dem gold-paved streets she'll ride,
When ol' Sis' Judy die!

University of Virginia Library

ECHOES FROM THE CABIN.

OL' DOC' HYAR.