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Winners of the Patterson Memorial Cup. 
 
 1905 John Charles McNeil. "Songs Merry and Sad" 
 
 1906 Dr. Edwin Minis. "Sidney Lanier." 
 
 1907 Dr. K. P. Battle. "History of the University of 
 
 North Carolina." 
 
 1908 Captain S. A. Ashe. "History of North Carolina." 
 
 1909 Clarence Poe. "A Southerner in Europe" 
 
 1910 R. D. W. Connor. "Cornelius Harnett" 
 
 1911 Archibald Henderson. "Bernard Shaw" 
 
 1912 Clarence Poe. "Where Half the World is Waking up" 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/lyricsfromcottonOOmcne 
 
Lyrics 1 from Cotton Land 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN CHARLES McNEILL 
 
 Drawings by A. B. Frost, E. W. Kemble, and photO' 
 graphs by Mrs. W. O. Kibble 
 
 THE STONE & BARRINGER COMPANY 
 
 CHARLOTTE, N. C. 
 
Copyright, 1907 
 By THE STONE & BARRINGER COMPANY 
 
publisher's note 
 
 Many of these verses have been published in 
 the Charlotte Observer, some in the Century 
 Magazine, and the others appear first in this book. 
 To the Observer and the Century are due thanks 
 for their permission to republish. 
 
: 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The story of a rare, gifted soul is difficult to 
 write. The commonplace man is usually the re- 
 sultant of forces that can be calculated. The 
 measuring line can be laid to his life ; dates, places 
 and movements assume great significance. But it 
 is not so with the man who approaches genius. 
 His soul is a mystery ; its birth and growth defy 
 explanation ; dates and circumstances mean little. 
 To write a true biography of such a man, inci- 
 dents and experiences must be known that lie be- 
 yond the research of the scientific student. Such 
 a man was the author of the poems contained in 
 this volume. And, although custom compels to 
 write the usual facts of birth and movement, they 
 are written briefly, in the knowledge that they 
 have little, significance for the life of the gifted 
 spirit which sang these songs to men. ' 
 
 John Charles McNeill was the second son of 
 Duncan and Euphemia Livingston McNeill, and 
 was born at their country place, near Laurinburg, 
 in Richmond county, N. C, on July 26, 1874. 
 
J^jiRODUCTION 
 
 He grew to manhood on his father's farm, living 
 the free, happy, normal life of the country boy. On 
 the surface these early years seem to have been 
 uneventful ; they were marked by no unusual ex- 
 periences or incidents. Work, study, and play 
 seem to tell the story. But the achievements of 
 his maturer years show these early days to have 
 been the determining, formative period of his life. 
 A careful and sympathetic examination of his 
 writings discovers the fact that almost all the 
 dreams, visions, loves, adorations and ecstasies to 
 which he gave such beautiful expression, came 
 to him in the honest work, clean, healthful play 
 and idle roaming about wood and field, in those 
 early and, always to him, happy days. He knew 
 and loved all the sights, voices and moods of na- 
 ture ; he was nature's child, and was true through 
 all after years to this Mother of the Mystery. 
 
 In 1893 McNeill entered Wake Forest College. 
 The college records show that he was an unusual 
 student, and in English his work was little less 
 than brilliant. He was tutor in this department 
 in his first year, won the Dixon medal, given to 
 the best essayist of each year, and was editor-in- 
 chief of the "Wake Forest Student." He gradu- 
 ated valedictorian of his class in 1898. The pe- 
 riod immediately following his graduation seems 
 
 vi 
 
/ 
 
 INTRODUCTKWf 
 
 to have been one of uncertainty and unhappiness 
 to him. He returned to Wake Forest to take his 
 master's degree, worked as instructor in English, 
 and studied law. During the year 1899-1900, he 
 filled the Chair of English in Mercer University, 
 at Macon, Georgia, in the absence of the profes- 
 sor of English, and did admirable work. In 1900 
 he returned to North Carolina and began the 
 practice of law at Lumberton. He often said to 
 the writer that he was happy in none of these 
 things. He was evidently striving to find himself. 
 
 McNeill had some success in the practice of his 
 profession, and he was elected to represent the 
 people of his county in the State Legislature. 
 But his heart was in other things. He would 
 often shut his office door to friend and client and 
 try to write out some vision that floated in his 
 soul. The "Century Magazine" accepted and pub- 
 lished some of his productions and asked for other 
 contributions. He did work for a local paper 
 and wrote occasionally for various papers and 
 journals. More and more he came to find his joy 
 in self-expression; and his writing began to at- 
 tract the attention of the public. 
 
 In 1904 the "Charlotte Observer" discovered 
 the promise in this gifted man, and gave him his 
 chance. He was attached to the staff of that 
 
 vu 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 paper and given perfect liberty of action. He 
 could write what he pleased and when he pleased, 
 and received for his work a regular and adequate 
 compensation. Under such treatment he found 
 himself. His soul seemed to burst into blossom ; 
 and during the three years of his connection with 
 the "Observer" he gave to the world almost all 
 his best work. In 1905 he was awarded the Pat- 
 terson Cup, and a year later published his first 
 volume of poems under the title "Songs, Merry 
 and Sad." Although this volume was published 
 by a local firm, it found ready sale and the edi- 
 tion was soon exhausted. 
 
 In the early months of 1907 some disease, baf- 
 fling to friends and physicians alike, began to take 
 hold upon him. For months he fought a brave 
 fight against it and seemed for a while to be re- 
 gaining his strength. But, suddenly, almost with- 
 out warning, acute nephritis attacked him and he 
 fell its victim, dying on the 17th of October, 1907. 
 
 McNeill was a man of unusual physical appear- 
 ance ; his tall, straight, slender figure, his thick 
 iron-gray hair and handsome features made him a 
 marked man in any company. His eyes were re- 
 markable. In his careless moods there was noth- 
 ing unusual in them; but when his soul was 
 aflame with some inner vision, his eyes glowed 
 
 vm 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 with a light that was both beautiful and com- 
 pelling in its magnetism. 
 
 He had the open, free and cordial manner o* 
 the gentleman born and reared in the country. 
 He knew little and cared less for social conven- 
 tions. There was about him that charming un- 
 consciousness of self that one so often sees in the 
 people who live close to and love the genuine 
 things of nature. It is the estimate of all who 
 knew him well that McNeill was one of the most 
 lovable of men. His unselfishness, his freedom 
 from cant and pretension, his love of and joy in 
 life, his perfect candor and his power to love and 
 be interested in the people about him, made him 
 a peerless friend. And in many the sorrow for 
 the loss to the State and Nation of this fine, rare 
 and gifted spirit, was overshadowed by a sense 
 of personal bereavement. 
 
 IX 
 
THE PATTERSON MEMORIAL CUP. 
 
 Magnificent Trophy as an Incentive to the De- 
 velopment of Literary Talent in North Carolina. 
 
 Philadelphia, March 24. — As a memorial to her 
 father, the late Colonel William Houston Patter- 
 son, of this city, and as an incentive to the devel- 
 opment of the literary talent of the sons and 
 daughters of the Old North State, Mrs. Lindsay 
 Patterson, of Winston-Salem, has had manufac- 
 tured here one of the most massive and magnifi- 
 cent loving cups that Philadelphia jewelers have 
 ever seen. This cup is to be presented to the 
 North Carolina Historical Society, and by that 
 society is at the end of the year to be turned over 
 to that resident, native North Carolina writer who 
 shall have achieved the greatest literary success 
 during the year. At the end of ten years, it is to 
 become the property of the person who shall have 
 won it the greatest number of times. 
 
 Because of its extraordinary beauty, and be- 
 cause of the story of filial love behind it, it has 
 attracted great attention. 
 
 X] 
 
THE PATTERSON MEMORIAL CUP 
 
 The cup is of gold and of massive construction. 
 Jt stands 16 inches high, and is seven inches in 
 diameter. On the bases of the three handles are 
 the coats of arms of North Carolina, Pennsyl- 
 vania and the Patterson family. It is studded 
 with forty-nine precious stones, all being North 
 Carolina gems, selected by Mrs. Patterson from 
 over 400 specimens. It bears the inscriptions : 
 "The William Houston Patterson Cup," and "Cor 
 Cordium" (Heart of Hearts). — Philadelphia Cor- 
 respondent to "Charlotte (N. C.) Observer." 
 
 XII 
 
PRESENTATION OF PATTERSON 
 MEMORIAL CUP. 
 
 In the Senate Chamber in the State Capitol, 
 Thursday morning, October 19, 1905, President 
 Theodore Roosevelt, representing the North Car- 
 olina Literary and Historical Association, pre- 
 sented to Mr. John Charles McNeill, of Charlotte, 
 the Patterson Memorial Cup, awarded him for 
 having published during the preceding twelve 
 months work showing "the greatest excellence 
 and the highest literary skill and genius." Lieu- 
 tenant-Governor Winston, representing the Gov- 
 ernor, presented the newly-elected President of 
 the Association, ex-Governor C. B. Aycock, who 
 then stated the object of the Cup and the condi- 
 tions of the award. According to the notes fur- 
 nished by Mr. Loeb, the President said : 
 
 "Mr. McNeill : I feel, and I am sure all good 
 Americans must feel, that it is far from enough 
 for us to develop merely a great material pros- 
 perity. I appreciate, and all of us must, that it is 
 indispensable to have the material prosperity as 
 
 xiu 
 
PRESENTATION OF PATTERSON MEMORIAL CUP 
 
 a foundation, but if we think the foundation is 
 the entire building, we never shall rank as among 
 the nations of the world ; and therefore it is with 
 peculiar pleasure that I find myself playing a 
 small part in a movement, such as this, by which 
 one of the thirteen original States, one of our 
 great States, marks its sense of proper proportion 
 in estimating the achievements of life, the achieve- 
 ments of which the Commonwealth has a right to 
 be proud. It is a good thing to have the sense 
 of historic continuity with the past, which we get 
 largely through the efforts of just such historic 
 societies as this, through which this Cup is 
 awarded to you. It is an even better thing to try 
 to do what we can to show our pleasure in and 
 approval of productive literary work in the pres- 
 ent. Mr. McNeill, I congratulate you and North 
 Carolina." 
 
 Mr. McNeill's reply follows: 
 
 "Mr. President, my joy in this golden trophy is 
 heightened by the fortune which permits me to 
 take it from the hand of the foremost citizen of 
 the world. To you, sir, to Mrs. Lindsay Patter- 
 son, our gracious matron of letters, and to the 
 committee of scholars whose judgment was kind 
 to me, all thanks." 
 
 xiv 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mr. Nigger i 
 
 Spring 4 
 
 Hardihood 6 
 
 A Protest 7 
 
 Preacherly Preference 8 
 
 Springtime 9 
 
 ^One Sided 1 1 
 
 'T ain't Long 13 
 
 ^JJluffers 14 
 
 Nigger Demus 15 
 
 Wishing 18 
 
 The Catfish 20 
 
 ^olk Song 23 
 
 Three Hypotheses 24 
 
 A Modest Ploughman 26 
 
 ,>The August Meeting 29 
 
 Salutations 32 
 
 Po' Baby 33 
 
 'Ligion 34 
 
 *A Few Days Off 35 
 
 I Noontime 37 
 
 xv 
 

 \ 
 
 ■ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Diseases 39 
 
 A Tar Heel 41 
 
 Every Man's Way 42 
 
 A Summer Resort 43 
 
 The Trickster Tricked 45 
 
 /.Be Shame 50 
 
 A Dream of You , 51 
 
 Environment 53 
 
 'Possum Time Again 55 
 
 i psft oah's Ark 56 
 
 A Monologue 62 
 
 De Three Frosties 63 
 
 ' Punishment 64 
 
 Obedience 65 
 
 ^Weather Signals 66 
 
 /-Utopia 67 
 
 The Raccoon 68 
 
 The Crow's Shadow 70 
 
 In a Canoe 72 
 
 ^-"Maming the Animals 75 
 
 The Red Shirts 77 
 
 t Poor Old Ben 79 
 
 For Corn Shuckings 81 
 
 One Day 82 
 
 A Hindrance ... 84 
 
 l^A Pallet Sleeper 86 
 
 Substitutes 87 
 
 xvi 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bedtime 89 
 
 The Persimmon Tree 91 
 
 Believing Where We Cannot Prove " 94 
 
 Convenient Theology 95 
 
 Baby's Noggin 97 
 
 Black Molasses 98 
 
 Old Aunt Pleasant 100 
 
 The Crown of Power 103 
 
 The Rejected Scotsman , . 104 
 
 A Soft Snap 109 
 
 Ambition no 
 
 .sJThe Siesta 112 
 
 The Diediper 114 
 
 Snakes 116 
 
 Mysteries 118 
 
 Baby's Legs 119 
 
 Grass 120 
 
 The Varmint Convention 121 
 
 The Coon from the College Town 124 
 
 If 126 
 
 Tot and Ted 127 
 
 Boys' Visions 130 
 
 Holding Off the Calf 133 
 
 When the Calves Get Out 135 
 
 Cats 137 
 
 To Alfonso XIV 141 
 
 A Tomtit Messenger 144 
 
 xvii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To One Who Is Good , 146 
 
 Dew , j 147 
 
 Race Suicide 148 
 
 The First Flower 150 
 
 Dead.-. 152 
 
 Viewpoints 155 
 
 Old Jim Swink 156 
 
 The Doodle Bug 159 
 
 Autumn 163 
 
 The Three Tots 165 
 
 At the Dance 167 
 
 Selfishness 171 
 
 Deserted 173 
 
 Grandaddy-Long-Legs 174 
 
 The Castle Builder 175 
 
 To-Morrow 177 
 
 A Choice 179 
 
 The Iron Door 181 
 
 The Tenant 183 
 
 Horsemint 184 
 
 In the Woods 186 
 
 To Sleep 188 
 
 XVlll 
 
MR. NIGGER 
 
 How could we do without you, 
 
 Mr. Nigger? 
 Could we not talk about you, 
 
 Mr. Nigger, 
 We 'd have to quit our politics, 
 'T would put our papers in a fix, 
 We 'd have to start and learn new tricks, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
 Ah, ragtime would be sadly misst, 
 
 Mr. Nigger!. 
 There 'd be no elocutionist, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 The coon-song's flow would then be checked, 
 The minstrel show would soon be wrecked 
 And writers of your dialect, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 I cannot see, if you were dead, 
 
 Mr. Nigger, 
 How orators could earn their bread, 
 
 Mr. Nigger; 
 For they could never hold the crowd 
 Save they abused you long and loud 
 As being a dark and threatening cloud, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
 But plough my land and barn my crop, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 I '11 furnish sorghum for your sop, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 And see you earn your money's worth, 
 Else, when dull times possess the earth, 
 I '11 burn you to excite the North, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
 You 're a vast problem to our hand, 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
MR. NIGGER 
 
 Your fame is gone throughout the land, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 The heart of all this mighty nation 
 Is set to work out your salvation, 
 But don't you fear expatriation, 
 
 Mr. Nigger. 
 
SPRING 
 
 I axed de chillun fer de joke 
 Dat made 'em laugh en run. 
 
 "It ain't no joke," dey says ; "we 's jis' 
 Er-natchly havin' fun." 
 
 I axed a rooster mockin'bird, 
 
 When I had cotch his eye, 
 "Why does you sing all day en night?" 
 
 Says he, "I dunno why." 
 
 I axed a yearlin' why he pawed 
 
 De dust up in de lane. 
 He bellered out his sass, "Boo-boo! 
 
 I feels lak raisin' cain!" 
 
" King Cotton." 
 
 Hibiscus Gossypium. 
 
 Malvaceae (Mallow Family). 
 
SPRING 
 
 En den de chillun, bird, en kef 
 
 Axed why I felt so good. 
 S' I, "Don't ax me. Kerwhoop !" says I. 
 
 "It 's supp'n' in my blood !" 
 
HARDIHOOD 
 
 De drouf hit pahched our crap at fust 
 En de rain done drown it now, 
 
 But whe'r it freshet or whe'r it dust 
 De crabgrass gwine a grow, 
 
 Grow, 
 De crabgrass gwine a grow. 
 
 De cawn jis' want some scuse to quit, 
 En cotton's a reg'lar chile, 
 
 But de sun kin scawch en de rain kin spit, 
 But de crabgrass wear a smile, 
 
 Smile, 
 De crabgrass wear a smile. 
 
A PROTEST 
 
 De cawn is drapped en civered 
 Fer de crow to grabble out. 
 
 De shoat he fin's de 'tater bed 
 Befo' dey 'gins to sprout. 
 
 De hen hatch out her chickens 
 Whilst de hawk bees lookin' on, 
 
 En 'fo' de cherries ripens good 
 De birds is got 'em gone. 
 
 Dey all steals fum de nigger man, 
 
 But if de nigger steals 
 Dey putts him on de chaingang 
 
 Wid a weight behin' his heels. 
 
PREACHERLY PREFERENCE 
 
 I laks to plough in a stubble fiel' 
 
 Among de dews en damps, 
 Whar now en den yo' plough turns up 
 
 A passle er fox-fire lamps. 
 De dirt slide off er de turn-plough whing 
 
 En rumple in turnin' over, 
 Wid de dead crab-grass en de dead peavines 
 
 En a few green clumps er clover. 
 
 But keep me out er de new-groun' Ian', 
 
 'Ca'se I 's a preacher, boss, 
 En no preacher wa'n't made fer no new-groun' 
 han' 
 
 Behin' no fidgity hoss. 
 De roots, en switches, en stumps, en hoi's, 
 
 En de briers — I tells you plain, 
 When I ploughs sich new-groun' Ian', it gives 
 
 My 'ligion a powerful strain ! 
 
 8 
 
SPRINGTIME 
 
 O catfish in de eddy, 
 
 When de moon is in de full ! 
 O watermillion ready 
 
 'Mongs' yo' dewy leaves, to pull ! 
 O choofies, sugar-rooted ! 
 
 Us women en us men 
 Is all done back bar'footed, 
 
 'Ca'se de springtime's come again. 
 
 De bullbat 'gins to beller 
 
 Across de shimmery hill. 
 T ain't long befo' a feller 
 
 Kin hear de whuppoorwill. 
 De hawk sets roun' en watches 
 
 De biddies wid de hen, 
 Er-scratchin' in de doodle dust, 
 
 'Ca'se springtime's come again. 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Dirt-daubers soon be squealin', 
 
 Shapin' up deir mud, 
 En a sort er sleepy feelin' 
 
 'LI git gwine along yo' blood, 
 Till you lose yo' holt, en dozes, 
 
 En jerks, en wakes up — den 
 De fus' thing dat you knows is 
 
 Dat de springtime's come again. 
 
 I© 
 
ONE SIDED 
 
 Is I boun' to keep de Sabbath day, 
 
 When de hawk goes free? 
 Is I boun' to set in my yahd en pray 
 En let dem crows in de cawn-patch stay 
 En grabble en tote my cawn away? 
 
 Hit's funny to me ! 
 
 If de varmints '11 knock-off workin', too, 
 
 En set in de sun, 
 I'll rest en pray de whole day thoo; 
 But, if dey goes loose en is gwine a do 
 Wut dey pleases, den 'tain't Shoo, shoo ! 
 
 But it 's Bang ! wid de gun. 
 
 It's mighty po' rest to be shet in a stall, 
 Lak you got no sense ; 
 
 II 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 It's mighty po' prayin' when de watch-crow call 
 Fum de scare-crow's head, en de chicken squall; 
 En it's mighty po' 'lie-ion when Sunday's all 
 Dis side er de fence ! 
 
 12 
 
T AIN'T LONG 
 
 Tie a new cracker 
 
 Upon de ol' lash; 
 Roll up de log heaps 
 
 En burn all de trash ; 
 Scooter de newgroun', 
 
 Dreen out de pon' ; 
 Bone off fer cotton 
 
 En bed up fer cawn. 
 
 'T ain't long 'fo' drappin' 
 
 De seed in de groun' ; 
 'T ain't long 'fo' choppin' 
 
 En sidin' aroun' ; 
 'T ain't long 'fo' tassels 
 
 En blooms gits in prime ; 
 Uh-uh! it ain't long 
 
 'Fo' lay in '-by time! 
 
BLUFFERS 
 
 Buzzin - ' white-nose bumblebee, 
 Buzz en buzz yo' whing; 
 
 Dart off faster 'n I kin see, 
 
 En shoot back whar you used to be. 
 
 You can't putt no bluff on me : 
 You don't tote no sting ! 
 
 Adder, hissin' at my toe, 
 
 You ain't got no p'ison ! 
 Draw yo' head en strack yo' blow. 
 Spread yo' jaws wide out, jis' so. 
 You can't fool me. You don't know 
 
 Who you got yo' eyes on. 
 
 14 
 
NIGGER DEMUS 
 
 Dis is anudder Sunday when I done fugit my 
 
 specks. 
 I '11 hatter 'pen', my bruddern, 'pon de 'memb'- 
 
 ance er de tex'. 
 'N' if you-all wants a snow-white tent up hyander 
 
 in de skies 
 You better keep de Scripters in yo' head, en not 
 
 yo' eyes. 
 
 Now, while de hat is pas' aroun' by Bill en Poly- 
 phemus, 
 
 I 's gwine a tell you supp'n' 'bout dat gre't man, 
 Nigger Demus — 
 
 But watch de hat, my bruddern, when dey goes 
 to make deir change: 
 
 Dey's good folks, but in spite er dat don't give 
 'em too much range. 
 
 15 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Ol' Nigger Demus come by night, as we is 'sem- 
 
 bled now ; 
 He didn' have time to come by day, beca'se he 
 
 had to plough; 
 En Jawn de Baptis' met him en he ax him whar 
 
 he 's gwine, 
 En Demus say he want to know wut chu'ch he 
 
 better jine. 
 Jawn watch' a cloud across de moon, en study 
 
 little while. 
 En den he turnt to Demus en he says, "You makes 
 
 me smile." 
 Says 'e, "De Baptis' chu'ch," he says, " 's de 
 
 chu'ch you otter jine, 
 'Ca'se, glory halleloolyer ! in de fus' place, it is 
 
 mine. 
 "En den," says 'e, "it 's natchel : de dog he lacks 
 
 to swim, 
 But it take' a sight er creepin' 'fo' you git to 
 
 sprinkle him; 
 
 16 
 
NIGGER DEMUS 
 
 De tarpin he look up en see a shower comin' on, 
 En chook! he dive' fum off his log deep down 
 into de pon'." 
 
 "Dat 's so," says Demus — dat a-way — "I laks to 
 
 dive myse'f, 
 But 'fo' de rain kin ketch me, Jawn, I sho runs 
 
 out er bref. 
 So some day when it 's good en warm en de 
 
 sun come out to shine, 
 You tell me whar yo' chu'ch is at, beca'se I 'ten's 
 
 to jine." 
 
 He didn' know no doctrine, but he knowed a sign 
 
 en wonder, 
 En so he went wid Jawn one day, en Jawn he 
 
 putt him under. 
 En dat's why Sal en Bill en Ben en Heck en ol' 
 
 Br'er Remus 
 En all de niggers jine de chu'ch jis' same as 
 
 Nigger Demus. 
 
 17 
 
WISHING 
 
 I wisht I wus a hummin' bird. 
 
 I 'd nes' in a wilier tree. 
 Den noth'n' but supp'n' wut goes on wings 
 
 Could ever git to me. 
 
 I wisht I wus a snake. I 'd crawl 
 
 Down in a deep stump hole. 
 Noth'n' 'u'd venture down in dar, 
 
 Into de dark en col'. 
 
 But jis' a nigger in his shack, 
 Wid de farlight in de chinks — 
 
 Supp'n' kin see him ever' time 
 He even so much as winks. 
 
 18 
 
WISHING 
 
 It 's a natchel fac' dat many a time 
 
 I wisht I wus supp'n' wil' ; 
 A coon or a' owl or a possum or crow — 
 
 Leas'ways, a little while. 
 
 I 'd lak to sleep in a holler gum 
 Or roost in a long-leaf pine, 
 
 Whar nothin' 'u'd come to mess wid me 
 Or ax me whar I 's gwine. 
 
 *9 
 
THE CATFISH 
 
 When de nights is warm en de moon is full, 
 You kin ketch mo' cats dan you cares to pull. 
 
 No trouble 'bout de bait ; 
 A grub '11 do or a liT fat meat, 
 Fer all he wants is supp'n' to eat, 
 
 En he ain't no han' to wait. 
 
 Ner dar ain't no trouble 'bout luck wid him. 
 You kin tie yo' line to a swingin' limb, 
 
 En when you goes to look, 
 You'll fin' dat limb a-dodgin' roun', 
 En bubbles risin' en floatin' on down, 
 
 En a catfish on yo' hook. 
 
 But I chooses to take a pole in mine 
 En git in a splotch er bright moonshine 
 
 20 
 
THE CATFISH 
 
 
 it* 
 
 " I LETS HIM SHOW HIS MAN " 
 
 51 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 En fish dar wid my han' ; 
 I knows, den, when he hits his lick 
 (He swallows de hook; you needn' be quick), 
 
 En I lets him show his man. 
 
 When I slings him out on de good dry grass, 
 He don't complain, but he's full er sass. 
 
 He kicks a little while, 
 Den lays dar, wid a pleasing look, 
 En, while I's rippin' out de hook, 
 
 He takes it wid a smile. 
 
 22 
 
FOLK SONG 
 
 If you don't b'lieve dat train kin run, 
 
 Honey ; 
 If you don't b'lieve dat train kin run, 
 Come en lemme tell you wut de train done done, 
 
 Honey. 
 
 It lef Savanner at de settin' er de sun, 
 
 Honey ; 
 It lef Savanner at de settin* er de sun, 
 En it fotch me home by half-pas' one, 
 
 Honey ! 
 
 23 
 
THREE HYPOTHESES' 
 
 If Marse Adam wus white, Rose Anner, 
 
 If Miss Eve wus white lak him 
 (Dat's how de pictures makes 'em; 
 
 De Scriptur' 's a leetle dim), 
 Den whar did de nigger come fum? 
 
 'T wus a pine wid a 'simmon limb; 
 If Marse Adam wus white, Rose Anner, 
 
 En Miss Eve wus white lak him. 
 
 If Nora wus white, my honey 
 
 (Nora wut built de ark) 
 Den de nigger 's a sort er a bluebird 
 
 Hatch out fum de tgg er a lark. 
 But dat don't never happen, 
 
 En dat question still bees dark, 
 If Nora wus white, my honey, 
 
 En his chillun in dat ark. 
 
 24 
 
THREE HYPOTHESES 
 
 I is a sunburnt white man, 
 
 'F a minner 's a little trout. 
 You mus' go deeper'n dis here hide 
 
 To git de nigger out. 
 'F you skint me slam fum head to heel, 
 
 New nigger-hide 'u'd sprout. 
 Yas; I's a sunburnt white man — 
 
 'F a minner's a little trout. 
 
 *5 
 
A MODEST PLOUGHMAN 
 
 When crabgrass gits a half a show, 
 'Count er some rainy clays, to grow 
 En fuzzes green along de row, 
 'T ain't wuth while den to try to hoe 
 
 Dat whole plantation clean. 
 De bes' way is de way dat 's cheap, 
 En I kin take a two-inch sweep, 
 Runnin' at p'int two inches deep, 
 
 En kill out Gineral Green. 
 
 Yes ; gimme sich a plow as dat 
 
 'N' I '11 hoi' my upright frame plum flat, 
 
 En whar dat grass wus sich a mat 
 
 26 
 
A MODEST PLOUGHMAN 
 
 You couldn' tell whar a hoe been at, 
 
 I '11 wrop dat cotton roun' 
 As neat en cool wid fresh black dirt 
 As a man's body fits his shirt, 
 En reg'lar — not right here a spurt .'■;". 
 
 En hyander grassy groun'. 
 
 Farmers is got a heap to l'arn 
 'Fo' dey gits wut 's comin' to deir barn. 
 If, 'stid er har'n' hoe-han's en har'n' 
 Plough-han's wut ain't wuth a darn, 
 
 Dey 'd all git men lak me, 
 Dis county 'd brag de bigges' sales 
 Er cotton seed en cotton bales, 
 Spite er spring drouth en 'noctial gales, 
 
 On dis side er de sea. 
 
 En dis ain't whoopin' up myse'f. 
 De crabgrass natchly hoi' its bref 
 When I comes 'long ; 'ca'se dat means de'f ; 
 It knows dar ain't none gwine be lef, 
 
 27 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Whar I has made my tracks. 
 I says dis jis' beca'se it 's so. 
 I kinder thought you 'd lak to know. 
 Don't think I 's tryin' to brag en blow ; 
 
 I alius deals in fac's. 
 
 28 
 
THE AUGUST MEETING 
 
 It wus at our Augus' meetin' 
 
 When dar wa'n't nigh room f er seatin' 
 All de sinners en de saved wut come to it ; 
 
 But dar wa'n't no pride en poutin' ; 
 
 Dey fell in line to shoutin' 
 Lak dey 's gwine git all de 'ligion dey could git. 
 
 I ain't er-tryin' to fool you, 
 
 But when Heck bawl, "Halleloolyer !" 
 
 All dem niggers bounce right up en 'gin to 
 prance, 
 En when ol' Heck would holler 
 Den dem common coons would foller, 
 
 Till de flo' wus full er people in a trance. 
 
 You could see de preacher swayin' 
 En er-preachin' en er-prayin', 
 
 29 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 But you couldn' hear de loudes' word he sayed. 
 De benches kep' er-breakin', 
 En de fuss dey kep' er-makin* 
 
 Teared wuss 'n all de fuss dey 'd done en made. 
 
 Now, Ander is a nigger 
 
 Wut 's too quick upon de trigger ; 
 
 His eyes is white as snow, his gums is blue ; 
 When Heck ram' up ag'in' 'im, 
 De scrappin' blood riz in 'im, 
 
 En he retch en fotch his razor fum his shoe. 
 
 Some ubbm friz to Ander, 
 
 En dey hilt Heck over hyander, 
 Whilst de chillun en de gals wus runnin' out. 
 
 Den Heck haul back en hit 'im, 
 
 Dat bluegum nigger bit 'im, 
 En de whole chu'ch full er gemmen up en fou't. 
 
 Dar wus razors, knives, en wrenches; 
 Planks fum offen busted benches, 
 En some ubbm made a club er deir brogans. 
 
 30 
 
Polygon atum Commutatum. 
 
 convallariaceae (llly-of-the-v alley family). 
 
 (Solomon's Seal.) 
 
THE AUGUST MEETING 
 
 Oh, dey putt one ner to sleepin' 
 Wid ever' sort er weepin', 
 En I seed one fool er-fightin' wid his han's. 
 
 Wid all deir fights en trances, 
 
 Deir holy shakes en dances, 
 Dey stayed dar till de roosters 'gun to crow ; 
 
 En de rain beat out de cotton, 
 
 De fodder hung dar, rotten, 
 En de shattered peas wus sproutin' in de row. 
 
 31 
 
SALUTATIONS 
 
 How is you dis mornin'? 
 
 I 's so 's to be about. 
 En yo' pi' man is well, I hopes ? 
 
 Yes ; he gits in en out. 
 En how is all de f ambly ? 
 
 Dey ain't complainin' none. 
 En yo' po' conju'd, hoodooed boy? 
 
 Lak a lizzud in de sun. 
 
 32 
 
PO' BABY 
 
 Wut make' you keep on cryin' en cryin' ? 
 
 I do' know wut to do. 
 Dar ain't no pin dat I kin fin' 
 
 Er-stickin' in you. 
 
 I b'lieve you 's jis' er-makin' out, 
 
 Er-thinkin' maybe 
 Dat I 's er-gwine a tote you 'bout, 
 
 Sayin', 'To', po'baby!" 
 
 Po' baby, is he feelin' sick? 
 
 Po' baby, is he ailin'? 
 Come on ! Less us play a trick ! 
 
 Whoopee ! Ain't we sailin' ! 
 
 33 
 
'LIGION 
 
 De Augus' meetin' 's over now. 
 
 We 's all done been baptize', 
 Me en Ham en Hick'ry Jim 
 
 En Joe's big Lize. 
 
 Oh, 'ligion is a cu'i's thing 
 In its workin' amongs' men! 
 
 We '11 hatter wait a whole yur now 
 'Fo' bein' baptize' again ! 
 
 34 
 
A FEW DAYS OFF 
 
 I ain't gwine a work till my dyin' day ; 
 
 'F I ever lays up enough, 
 I's gwine a go off a while en stay; 
 
 I'll be takin' a few days off. 
 'Ca'se de jimson weeds don't bloom but once, 
 
 En when dey's shed dey's shed; 
 En when you 's dead, 'tain't jis' a few mont's, 
 
 But you's gwine be a long time dead. 
 
 I knowed a' ol' man died powerful rich — 
 
 Two mules en Ian' en a cow. 
 I jis' soon die fum fallin' in a ditch, 
 
 Fer he went to 's grave fum 's plow. 
 He never had nothin' 't wus good to eat 
 
 Ner no piller upon his bed ; 
 He never took time to dance wid his feet, 
 
 But he's gwine a take a long time dead. 
 
 35 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 I knowed a' ol' ooman wut scrubbed en hoed, 
 
 En never didn' go nowhar, 
 En when she died de people knowed 
 
 Dat she had supp'n' hid 'bout dar. 
 She mought 'a' dressed up en 'a' done, supp'n' 
 wrong 
 
 En had 'er a coht-case ple'd'. 
 But she didn' have time to live veh long ; 
 
 She's gwine have a plenty dead. 
 
 So I says, if I manage to save enough 
 
 Fum de wages I gits dis yur, 
 I is right den takin' a few days off 
 
 At one thing en an'er. 
 'Ca'se while I is got my mouf en eyes 
 
 En a little wheel in my head, 
 Ps gwine a live fas', fer when I dies 
 
 I'll sho be a long time dead. 
 
 36 
 
NOONTIME 
 
 M^ shadder shortened slow, 
 
 Roun' by roun', 
 En [ thought dat dinner horn 
 
 'U'd never soun' ; 
 But de sun kep' on er-crawlin' 
 Till at las' dat horn wus callin', 
 En my lines wa'n't no time fallin' 
 
 Tu de groun'. 
 
 When I laid dem harness back 
 
 Orv de beam, 
 Dat mule he woke up wide 
 
 En quit his dream. 
 He didn't need no paddle 
 En I didn't need no saddle. 
 Me en him — Skeedump, skeedaddle !- 
 
 Wus a team! 
 
 37 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 If you 'd er-seed us gwine 
 
 Home dat day, 
 You 'd 'a' thought 'twus dat wus gittin 
 
 Us our pay, 
 Fer dat po' ol' sleepy critter 
 Made de geese en chickens scatter, 
 En her ol' feet went clap-clatter 
 
 Ton de clay. 
 
 Her feelin's wa'n't so powerful 
 
 Fur fum mine. 
 It makes a dififer'nce wut 's ahead 
 
 En wut 's behin'. 
 Wh'er it 's to er fum de table, 
 Wh'er it 's in er out de stable, 
 Wut make you ail'n' er able 
 
 'S whar you 's gwine. 
 
 38 
 
DISEASES 
 
 (illustrating folk etymology) 1 
 
 I once et too much sparrowgrass : 
 
 Dey thought I 's dead, '11 I breaved on glass. 
 
 Cornsumption wrastle mighty strong; 
 St. Fighter's dance fou't fast en long; 
 
 De foxfire got amongs' my spleen, 
 En yaller johnnies turnt me green; 
 
 Brownskeeters would n' lemme breave, 
 En de collard-marbles made me heave. 
 
 But I kyored myse'f, as you kin see, 
 Wid calamis root en horehoun* tea» 
 
 Ner all my life I ain't seed fit 
 To go to no horse-spittle yit. 
 
 39 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 But now, fer all de fights I 's fou't, 
 I 's feared at las' I '11 git knocked out, 
 
 Fer de toughest rail er all de riders 
 Is boun' to be dis pender-ciders. 
 
 When it hits a man, de only plan 
 Is to go right natchly in dat man, 
 
 En rummage 'roun' en kyarve about 
 Till you gits dat pender-ciders out. 
 
 No kine er calamis en tea 
 
 Gwine keep dat zease fum sett'n' you free, 
 
 En dis here nigger he don't brag, 
 But 'roun' his neck he totes a bag, 
 
 En in dat bag — jis' sniff en see- 
 Bees a ball er assyfidity ! 
 
 40 
 
A TAR HEEL 
 
 Oh, I gits my stren'th fum white-side meat, 
 I sops all de sorghum a nigger kin eat, 
 I chaws wheat bread on Saddy night, 
 En Sunday 's when my jug gits light. 
 
 I kin cut mo' boxes 'n a shorter while, 
 Den any 'er coon fer forty mile'; 
 I kin dip mo' tar en scrape mo' scrape 
 En leave my crap in better shape, 
 
 En chip en pull en corner finer, 
 Den any 'er coon in No'th Killiner. 
 When it comes to bein' a turk'ntime han', 
 Count Loftin fer a full-size' man. 
 
 41 
 
EVERY MAN'S WAY 
 
 Out in the town I 'd die if people knew 
 I took this little glove and kissed it so ; 
 
 Last thing at night, when footfall sounds are few 
 And she who wore it sleeps as still as snow. 
 
 For, if they saw me, they would laugh, and I 
 Should blush and drop my eyes and turn in 
 shame 
 
 And curse me for a fondling fool and try 
 To laugh and rob my folly of its fame. 
 
 But now the door is shut ! and I can bless 
 And kiss this wrinkled scrap, and care no whit 
 
 How great my heart may grow with tenderness 
 Or what dear love-words I may say to it. 
 
 42 
 
Cornus Florida. 
 
 CORNACEAE (DOGWOOD FAxMILY.) 
 
 (Flowering Dogwood.) 
 
A SUMMER RESORT 
 
 Under and in a dogwood tree 
 They 've made a modern fine hotel, 
 
 Owned by nobody but these three, 
 Mary, Alex, and Isabel. 
 
 They 've laid the ground floor off in squares 
 For rooms and hallways big enough ; 
 
 The dogwood limbs are winding stairs 
 Up to the leaves, which are the roof. 
 
 Down near the ground the tree sends out 
 A fork, and thus it makes the door, 
 
 Where Alex stands or struts about, 
 Both porter and proprietor. 
 
 43 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Mary is cook and waitress too, 
 
 Isabel she keeps the house, 
 And all three take their turns to do 
 
 The milking of. the Maypop cows. 
 
 This is to be a summer home 
 For folks elsewhile in city pent, 
 
 And I, their press man, beg you come. 
 (The weekly rate is flat one cent.) 
 
 Fear not lest you be turned outdoors. 
 
 The place stands good for any boost. 
 For, if no ground space should be yours, 
 
 They '11 put you on the stairs to roost. 
 
 44 
 
THE TRICKSTER TRICKED 
 
 /^ong ways furrt home I wus huntin' my cow. 
 
 She'd done en los' her bell, 
 En which-a way she wus traveling how 
 
 Does you reckin I could tell ? 
 Hongry en hot, weak en tar'd, 
 
 I wus 'bout to turn aroun', 
 When I seed ol' Rattler grabblin' hard 
 
 Atter supp'n' in de groun'. 
 
 I breaks a switch en twis' it 'bout 
 
 Down dar, en den I pull 
 Till my holt break, en dat switch bring out 
 
 A passle er 'possum wool! 
 'T wa'n't many minutes, bless yo' life, 
 
 'Fo' I felt lak anudder man: 
 I wus gwine on home to see my wife 
 
 Wid a 'possum in my han'! , 
 
 45 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Knowin' his ways, I hilt him so 
 
 He couldn' ketch my pants. 
 He'd not take long to do his do 
 
 'F I gin him half a chance. 
 'Twus up hill den, en down hill now, 
 
 Lak a man wut's bein' paid — 
 When all er sudden I seed my cow 
 
 Asleep in a dog'ood shade ! 
 
 "Whoo-hee !" I hollered : up she flounce, 
 
 En her runnin' wus enough. 
 Right den I, too, wus on de bounce 
 
 To head dat heifer off. 
 Fergittin' wut wus in my han', 
 
 I flop him 'g'inst my shin. 
 It didn' take long to change my plan 
 
 When I felt dem teef sink in. 
 
 At fust I tried to snatch him loose, 
 
 But one jerk made me quit; 
 Dat varmint had to have some scuse 
 
 46 
 
THE TRICKSTER TRICKED 
 
 AT FUST I TRIED TO SNATCH HIM LOOSE 
 
 47 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Befo' he gwine a spit. 
 I laid down, lak I 'us fallin' sleep, 
 
 Workin' de 'possum trick, 
 But smiles wus powerful hard to keep, 7; 
 
 'Ca'se it hurt lak a thousan' brick ! ' 
 
 When he felt his tail done been sot free,. 
 
 He thought 'twus time to go. 
 I reck'n he j edged he 'us foolin' me, 
 
 'Ca'se he open' his mouf right slow. 
 He started off — but we wa'n't gone fur 
 
 'Fo' Rattler counted in, 
 En 'doubt no cradle or nairy a song, 
 
 Putt him to sleep ag'in. 
 
 I let dat cow go on her way, 
 
 Runnin' herse'f a race. 
 You kin drive yo' cow home any day, 
 
 But a 'possum's meat is sca'ce. 
 Oh, I sucked his bones en sopped his juice. 
 
 Thinks I, "Now wa'n't dat slick! 
 
 4 S 
 
THE TRICKSTER TRICKED 
 
 Dis possum I's et didn' have no scuse 
 To be beat at his own ol' trick." 
 
 49 
 
BE SHAME! 
 
 Little baby, wut you see? 
 
 If you knowed, 
 You could n' tell ; you never is 
 
 Done more 'n crowed. 
 
 I 'd be shame', I would, 
 
 To look so wise, 
 Bein' solemn, den er-smilin' 
 
 Wid my eyes. 
 
 If I wus you, you baby, 
 
 I 'd be shame' 
 To look at supp'n' wut I did n' 
 
 Know its name ! 
 
 50 
 
A DREAM OF YOU 
 
 Into my fevered brain, 
 
 My hot, unhappy blood, 
 Like showers of summer rain 
 
 Upon a thirsty wood, 
 Fair as the first far cloud 
 
 Adrift in April's blue, 
 There came, white clad and beauty browed, 
 
 A dream of you. 
 
 A heaven song sung on earth; 
 
 A vision deserts know, 
 Mocking their weary dearth, 
 
 Of glades where roses blow. 
 But day-dawn came and wept, 
 
 A wet wind wailed and blew. 
 Would I had never waked ; had kept 
 
 My dream of you! 
 
 5' 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 'T was a vandal-hearted fate 
 
 That willed that I should see, 
 Standing without the gate, 
 
 Life as life could be. 
 'T was a cruel dawn that brought 
 
 Tidings so falsely true, 
 That the heaven that smiled was only a 
 thought, 
 
 A dream of you. 
 
 52 
 
ENVIRONMENT 
 
 Or/ bull, you pawed de dus' ontil 
 
 It settled on yo' back. 
 You bellered 'cross de grassy hill, 
 
 En yurlin's cl'ared yo' track. 
 You hooked de clayroot 'ca'se 't wus red, 
 
 En you could n' stan' fer dat. 
 You had big notions in yo' head: 
 
 'T wus spring, en you wus fat. 
 
 But now yo' back 's bowed, en yo' ha'r 
 
 *S er-standin' up on een'. 
 It 's dead grass, dead grass ever'whar, 
 
 But not a tussick green. 
 You disremembers how you run 
 
 When I went atter you, 
 En how I sweated in de sun, 
 
 En how you sholy flew. 
 
 S3 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Oh, you kin stan' behin' dat stack 
 
 En nibble at de straw, 
 But d' ain't no dus' upon yo' back ; 
 
 You do' know how to paw. 
 You could n' beller now, ner run ; 
 
 You 's glad enough to stan'. 
 'T wus grass en water en hot sun 
 
 Wut made you sich a man. 
 
 54 
 
'POSSUM TIME AGAIN 
 
 Oh, dip some 'taters down in grease 
 En fling de dogs a 'tater apiece. 
 Ram yo' brogans clean er tacks, 
 Split de splinters en fetch de ax. 
 It 's 'possum time again! 
 
 Catfish tender, catfish tough, 
 We 's done et catfish long enough. 
 We 's tar'd er collards en white-side meat, 
 En we 's gwine have supp'n' wut 's good to eat. 
 It 's 'possum time again ! 
 
 De pot 's gwine simmer en blubber en bile 
 Till it gits scummed over wid 'possum ile. 
 But le' 's don't brag till we gits de goods. 
 Whoop ! Come along, boys ! We 's off to de woods. 
 It 's 'possum time again! 
 
 55 
 
NOAH'S ARK 
 
 I 's studied all 'bout No-y's ark, 
 
 Its len'th en width en height ; 
 I 's laid awake en studied 
 
 En dremp er it at night : 
 En how dem three boys wut he had 
 
 Could feed up all dat stock 
 Beats me, 'ca'se six mules eats enough 
 
 Er cawn fer me to shuck. 
 
 Deir women mus' 'a' holp 'em some, 
 
 'Twix* scourin's en 'tween meals, 
 Er else dem mules en hogs en goats 
 
 'U'd been as lean as eels ; 
 En all dem bosses, deers, en sheeps, 
 
 En ever' cow en kef, 
 En all de geese en gawslin's would 
 
 'A' perished slam to def. 
 
 56 
 
NOAH S ARK 
 
 Den, when de flood dry up en quit 
 
 En de summer drouf come on 
 En No-y turnt dem cattle out 
 
 En all de grass wus gone, 
 How come dey kep' deirse'ves alive? 
 
 'Ca'se all dey lak'd to eat 
 Wus drownded fust, en den 't wus pahched 
 
 Wid overhettin' heat. 
 
 Dar ain't no way, at dis late day, 
 
 To tell how many died 
 En never took no part at all 
 
 When de yeth wus multiplied. 
 If all de beasties in dat ark 
 
 Had 'a' come out safe en soun' 
 Dar 'd be too many in de worl' 
 
 Fer de grass to go aroun'. 
 
 Dem animills de circus brings 
 
 Civers all forms en shapes 
 Dat any man kin think about, 
 
 57 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Zebus, bucks, en apes ; 
 But dey ain't half as many as 
 
 Dar prob'bly mought be er 'm 
 If No-y 'd had as much good hay 
 
 As he had water fer 'm. 
 
 But I turns over in my bed 
 
 En dreams anudder mess, 
 En wut de answer to it is 
 
 Dan'l he couldn' guess : 
 I dreams how No-y could 'a' fed 
 
 Dem beasties wut won't eat 
 No hay ner dough ner grass ner cawn 
 
 Ner anything but meat. 
 
 Dar wa'n't but seven rabbits dar : 
 
 One for each fox wus all. 
 De seven frogs mus' look out whar 
 
 Dem seven snakes gwine crawl. 
 En dat ol' rooster en his hen 
 
 Dey had to tote de mail 
 
 58 
 
NOAH S ARK 
 
 When seven hongry foxes smelt 
 De sweetness er deir trail. 
 
 Yas, bruddern, I can't figger why 
 
 Marse No-y's tabby cat 
 Didn' eat up all de birds dar wus 
 
 Dis side er Ararat; 
 En, if dem cages wa'n't right strong, 
 
 I would 'a' made a guess 
 Dat, 'fo' dey landed, one big b'ar 
 
 Would 'a' et up all de res'. 
 
 Oh, man, dat wus a roarin' time ! 
 
 It wus a rowdy house : 
 Dem hongry lines could smell, nex' cage, 
 
 'Possums en sheeps en cows; 
 Dem tigers dey could smell de hens 
 
 En ducks en drakes en geese, 
 En, if dey growed savygus, dat 
 
 Wus natchel fer a beas'. 
 
 59 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 You chillun, hongry as you is 
 
 Fer dis here picnic dinner, 
 'Long side er dem 'ar wolves, 'u'd be 
 
 Jis' a bran new beginner ; 
 You had yo' brekkus, but dem wolves, 
 
 Wut No-y 's boun' to hyur, 
 Wus howlin', 'ca'se dey hadn' had 
 
 Nothin' in half a yur. 
 
 En den dem varmints wut wus clean 
 
 Had seven fer ever' rout : 
 One male er one shemale, fer sho, 
 
 Wus boun' to be lef out. 
 En when dey come to makin' love 
 
 Dar mus' 'a' been some hate, 
 'Ca'se ever' time dey counted off 
 
 One didn' have no mate. 
 
 En, finely, bruddern, 't wa'n't so bad 
 
 Dat dey wus in de dark 
 (Dar wa'n't but one liT winder, chile, 
 
 60 
 
NOAH S ARK 
 
 In all dat gre't big ark) 
 So when dey fell to fightin', dey 
 
 Could n' tell which way to go ; 
 Dey had to sniff en listen good 
 
 En move oncommon slow. 
 
 En when I studies 'bout dem days 
 
 En thinks upon dat flood, 
 I 's happy, seem' a rainbow, 
 
 As a cow wut chaws her cud. 
 En if I *d been Marse No-y, 
 
 En mought 'a' had my wish, 
 I 'd 'a' dove f um out dat winder 
 
 En swum off wid de fish. 
 
 6i 
 
A MONOLOGUE 
 
 De 'possum up de tree 
 
 He sot en look' at me, 
 En when I got de moon 'twix' me en him, 
 
 Says I to him, "So, so! 
 
 Oh, I 's comin' up, you know, 
 En I 's gwine a yank you loose fum dat 'ar limb !" 
 
 Says I, "Don't putt on airs. 
 
 You better say yo* prayers. 
 De preacher 's gwine be wid me Saddy night, 
 
 En he 's glad to eat a 'possum 
 
 As a gal to git a blossom, 
 En his mouf is big en, gosh ! his teef is white!" 
 
 62 
 
DE THREE FROSTIES 
 
 De fus' fros' browns de simmons, 
 En gits de cur dogs fat, 
 
 En purples up de simmon leaves 
 To show whar dey is at. 
 
 De nex' fros' gits de 'possum 
 
 Big en fit to eat : 
 It fills his hide wid simmon juice 
 
 En greases up his meat. 
 
 But 't ain't until de third fros' 
 De nigger 'gins to roam, 
 
 En takes his torch en cur en ax 
 En fetch dat 'possum home. 
 
 63 
 
PUNISHMENT 
 
 I laks to go to coht en see 
 Dem lawyers scrappin' all fer me. 
 Dat big jedge, wid de preacher look, 
 Readin' in dat-ar yaller book, 
 Dem twelve big juries, listenin' close 
 To how I broke ol' Davy's nose, 
 En all dese people wut you see, 
 Dey 's all in here beca'se er me. 
 
 If I gits out, de gals is mine; 
 Dey laks a man kin cut a shine. 
 If I gits in, dey '11 feed me free, 
 En keep me warm, en let me be 
 As fat en lazy as I kin. 
 I kinder hope dey '11 putt me in. 
 
 64 
 
OBEDIENCE 
 
 Min' yo' ol' mammy, chilluns, 
 
 Smokin' in de do'! 
 Don't be mean, now, since she can't 
 
 Outrun you any mo'. 
 
 65 
 
WEATHER SIGNALS 
 
 When I want to know if it 's gwine a snow, 
 
 I calls my Sambo in. 
 If he 's kinder scaly 'bout de legs 
 
 En ashy on his chin, 
 If his hide bees rough lak redoak bark, 
 
 Checked off 'n a reg'lar row, 
 Sometime 'twix' dat en de fall er dark 
 
 Dar 's gwine a spit some snow. 
 
 66 
 
UTOPIA 
 
 When I gits rich I means to use 
 Whar de mule he hatter have some scuse 
 Fer Iookin' sad ; whar de tomcat own 
 Dese hot still nights a megaphone; 
 Whar de billygoat, whuruver he goes, 
 Totes a hanksher fer to blow his nose ; 
 Whar de fice gits paid a ration er meat 
 Fer ketchin' things wut he won't eat ; 
 En whar, when a man make' up to a gal, 
 She kin take her ch'ice er go to jail. 
 
 67 
 
THE RACCOON 
 
 If wut you want is a' easy snap, 
 
 A 'coon can't he'p you none, 
 Less'n you ketch him in a trap 
 
 Er kill him wid yo' gun. 
 All he needs is a fightin' chance, 
 En he '11 make you pray fer leather pants 
 En '11 lead yo' cur-dog sich a dance 
 
 Dat he 's glad when he gits done. 
 
 He 's little, but, Lawd ! he got de san\ 
 
 When you is laid him out, 
 You needs a stick to he'p you stan', 
 
 'Ca'se yo' head bees whirlin' 'bout. 
 Oh, his fur is warm en his tas'e is sweet, 
 But he makes you pay fer his hide en meat ; 
 Whar he bites wid 's mouf er claws wid 's feet 
 
 Yo' blood is gwine a spout. 
 
 6S 
 
THE RACCOON 
 
 YO' HEAD BEES WHIRLIN' 'BOUT 
 
 ' >DnTrn< » 
 
 69 
 
THE CROW'S SHADOW 
 
 The crow flew high through the summer sky, 
 
 But a mute and tireless hound, 
 O'er the meadow-sweeps and up the steeps, 
 
 His shadow, skimmed the ground. 
 
 However so high he climbed in the sky, 
 
 O'er river and wood and town, 
 That shade that crept where the wide earth slept 
 
 Followed and drew him down. 
 
 Like a deathless hate or a pitiless fate, 
 
 Like the love of Moab's Ruth, 
 Or the smouldering fire of an old desire, 
 
 Or the sin of a reckless youth, 
 
 70 
 
THE CROW S SHADOW 
 
 Wherever he went till his life was spent, 
 
 In cloud or in forest dim, 
 It chased where he led. and where he fell dead 
 
 It was waiting to die with him. 
 
 71 
 
IN A CANOE 
 
 The curious current wanders wide 
 Its guardian swamps from side to side 
 And mirrors dimly in its tide 
 
 The leafless arch, 
 Through which, with herald trumpet, stride 
 
 The winds of March. 
 
 When, 'twixt-whiles, they forego their stress, 
 There falls a vasty loneliness, 
 Such as some city might impress 
 
 On pilgrim hearts, 
 Where a gray hush holds in duress 
 
 Deserted marts. 
 
 7* 
 
IN A CANOE 
 
 Then, lo, a feathery tinge of green 
 About yon willow, faintly seen; 
 And, where those gnarly maples lean, 
 
 Lo, lightly spread, 
 Spring's gossamer, a woven sheen 
 
 Of passionate red! 
 
 And yonder, those bare limbs among, 
 Red as the rose that blooms ere long, 
 The cardinal sits, his bird-heart strong 
 
 With joy refound, 
 Himself a blaze of light, his song 
 
 A blaze of sound. 
 
 Now, when the winds once more take wing, 
 The great trees shout and groan and swing 
 The reedy brakes go whispering 
 
 Of seasons fair, 
 And in my heart the thrill of spring 
 
 Where dead thoughts were, 
 
 73 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Till wind and rippling stream and bird 
 Sing to my pulse in monochord, 
 And all their song is one wild word : 
 
 "New! new!"— 
 New hope, fresh purpose, dreams new-stirred, 
 
 And skies all blue ! 
 
 74 
 
NAMING THE ANIMALS 
 
 When Adam wus namin' de beasties en birds, 
 
 De insexes, fishes, en snakes, 
 Dey come along pas' him in droves en in herds, 
 En it took turble thinkin' to think up dem 
 words — 
 
 Mules, elephants, yethworms, en drakes. 
 
 How you reckin he come to say lizzud, en fox, 
 
 En tarpin, en buzzud, en bee, 
 En hoss, en bull-sparrow, en cuckroach, en ox, 
 En 'possums, en coons, en chickens, en hawks, 
 
 En tiger, en catbird, en flea? 
 
 He didn' have time den to study en spit ; 
 
 He had to keep 'long wid de game. 
 He had to putt up wid de bes' he could git. 
 Wutuver wus passin' he had to name it 
 
 Right dar in its tracks wid a name. 
 
 75 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Jxs' mule don't mean nothin', ner jackdaw ner 
 mink 
 
 Ner moccasin, rabbit, ner dog ; 
 En him en Miss Eve didn' have time to think, 
 En dey didn' have time den to eat er to drink 
 
 Er even set down on a log. 
 
 But dey done purty well. You try it en see. 
 
 It 's hahd to name even a blossom. 
 Yit wut could you call a bee but a bee ? 
 'N' if you sees a 'possum way up in a tree, 
 
 You can't think er nothin' but 'possum. 
 
 76 
 
THE RED SHIRTS* 
 
 I laks red watermillions wut 's juices' when dey 
 
 's red, 
 I laks red hankshers, washin' days, aroun' my 
 
 ooman's head, 
 I laks to shuck de red yur, en red lemonade goes 
 
 good, 
 De Lawd he sot gre't sto' by red in fillin' me wid 
 
 blood ; 
 But when I sees a red shirt, folks, right den is 
 
 when I hushes 
 En reaches up en gits my hat en totes it to de 
 
 bushes. 
 
 En dat 's de way it alius is : de coon he travels 
 roun' 
 
 ♦Disfranchisement in North Carolina, 1898. 
 
 77 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 En gits a drink to he'p 'im up, but de drink it 
 
 th'ows 'im down ; 
 He gits a wife to do de work about his little f ahm, 
 But she 's so triflin' in her ways she natchly doos 
 
 him hahm; 
 En 'ca'se de nigger laks red things — even red ile 
 
 in his lamp — 
 De white man gits a red shirt fer to make him 
 
 quit de camp. 
 
 78 
 
Coreopsis Lanxeolata. 
 
 Compositae (Composite Family). 
 
 Wild Coreopsis. Tickseed. 
 
POOR OLD BEN 
 
 Light my pipe en lemme smoke 
 Nigh de far er pine en oak. 
 
 I 's so ol' en po'ly. 
 Chillun, I is seed a heap; 
 It 's 'bout time I gwine to sleep, 
 
 'Ca'se I needs it, sholy. 
 
 Dis ol' nigger 's done his shur. 
 He done shuck' his las' red yur, 
 
 Weighed up his las' cotton. 
 Now he 's bit wid rheumatiz; 
 When he walks you sees he is 
 
 Hamstrung en hip-shotten. 
 
 79 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Stick a shingle at his head. 
 Write on it dat Ben is dead, 
 
 Den, in hot er col' times, 
 Mistis see it, en she say, 
 'To' ol' Ben!"— j is' dat a- way, 
 
 Thinkin' er de ol' times. 
 
FOR CORN SHUCKINGS 
 
 Oh, come along, come along, Mandy gal ! 
 
 I 's a gwine off many a mile. 
 Did a rainbow ever do you wrong? 
 
 Did a catfish ever smile? 
 
 It snowed all night dat hot June day, 
 
 En I says to my gal, say I, 
 "Oh, gal," says I, en I says, "Oh, gal," 
 
 En den I pass on by. 
 
 De apple tree bloom in de winter time, 
 En de leaves shed in de spring, 
 
 En all I wants is a little rhyme 
 To go wid my banjer string. 
 
 81 
 
ONE DAY 
 
 Silent and high a gray hawk wheeled. 
 Noise of the city, song of the field 
 Mingled and mellowed their music in one. 
 Low in the zodiac circled the sun. 
 
 Over the valleys the morning was fair, : 
 Keen with the tingle of frost in the air ; 
 Over the mountains a dim mist hung, 
 Veiling the slow hills, rung by rung. 
 
 Faint was the laughter of children at play ; 
 Bells in the meadow seemed far, far away ; 
 Happy the voices of maidens that met : 
 Oh, 't was a season to hope and forget ! 
 
 82 
 
ONE DAY 
 
 I had not changed, if I had been God, 
 One shrouded mountain, one goldenrod, 
 Where, in his halcyon garment, gold-spun, 
 Low through the zodiac circled the sun. 
 
 S3 
 
A HINDRANCE 
 
 You need n' do nothin' but roll in de dirt. 
 
 I '11 give you yo' eatin' en give you yo' shirt. 
 
 I don't speck yo' he'p when I 's hoein' our farm. 
 
 You kin do wut you please, if you '11 quit doin' 
 harm. 
 
 Why 'n't you sleep in de shade at de eend er de 
 row? 
 
 I 'd as well go on home en hang up my hoe, 
 
 If you 's gwine a scramble en crawl on de groun' 
 
 En roll on de cotton en mash it all down. 
 
 Stay whar I putt you ! Don't foller my trail ! 
 
 You mus' 'pen' on dis crap fer yo' winter shirt- 
 tail. 
 
 If it 's me dat mus' feed you en give you yo' 
 clothes, 
 
 You mus' stay whar I tells you en play wid yo' 
 toes. 
 
 84 
 
A HINDRANCE 
 
 " STAY WHAR I TELLS VOU, EN PLAY WID YO' TOES " 
 
 B5 
 
A PALLET SLEEPER 
 
 I wish a man had a turnin' bed, 
 
 'Ca'se he roasties his feet en freezes his head. 
 
 When he gits all wrop' up in his civer 
 
 He can't turn roun' en he won't turn over. 
 
 Dat big far keep on gwine all night 
 (You kin tell dat fum de chinks bein' bright) 
 En de heat fum de far en de win' fum de hole 
 Keeps one een' hot en de udder een' col'. 
 
 86 
 
SUBSTITUTES 
 
 We ain't gwine have no turkey 
 
 Less'n we kills him wil', 
 But we '11 have a pot er cooter soup 
 
 Scum' over wid cooter ile. 
 
 We ain't gwine have no poun' cake 
 When dat Chris'mas dinner come, 
 
 But '11 eat dat cracklin' bread all up 
 En hunt anudder crumb. 
 
 We mought not have no liquor 
 To make us dance aroun', 
 
 But 'simmon beer goes purty good 
 Atter it settles down. 
 
 87 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 In case we don't have powder, 
 We won't give up our fun: 
 
 We '11 slam a plank ag'in' de groun' 
 Loud as a Chris'mas gun. 
 
 We all won't go er-huntin'. 
 
 We '11 save our shot en caps, 
 En 'pen' fer all de birds we gits 
 
 Upon our peckridge traps. 
 
 We got no hoss to travel wid, 
 But we got a kyart en bull, 
 
 En dat 's enough, Gord bless yo' soul, 
 Fer all we haves to pull. 
 
 Oh, folks is fools to cry en cuss, 
 'Ca'se deir ves' ain't red en blue ! 
 
 If you ain't got de spohtin' goods, 
 De homespun goods '11 do. 
 
 88 
 
BEDTIME 
 
 A peddler travelin' late wus cotch 
 
 Out in a turble rain 
 Wut sont him runnin' to a house 
 
 Up a long straggly lane. 
 He did n' know dat house wus whar 
 
 Somebody 'd kilt a man ; 
 He did n' 'spicion ha'nts in dar. 
 
 Oh, my! Oh, my Ian'! 
 
 He laid down on dat shanty flo', 
 
 Er-listenin' at de rain, 
 But purty soon he hyeard supp'n' else, 
 
 But he did n' hear it plain. 
 En den it sounded louder, so 
 
 He 's boun' to onnerstan' 
 A ghos' wus edgin' up on him, 
 
 Oh, my! Oh, my Ian'! 
 
 89 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Don't you be feared to go to sleep. 
 
 Now, honey, be a man! 
 Dat 's right, den — civer up yo' head. 
 
 But, my ! Oh, my Ian' ! 
 
 He laid dar, listenin' all he could 
 
 En nigh 'bout scared to def . 
 Dat ha'nt crope up, en crope so close 
 
 Dat he could feel its bref . 
 En den he felt supp'n' reachin' roun' 
 
 Lak a graveyardy han' ; 
 Dat peddler could n' speak er move. 
 
 Oh, my ! Oh, my Ian' ! 
 
 Now, honey, run en hop in bed. 
 
 I ain't gwine tell no mo' 
 Wut happen to dat lonesome man 
 
 Er-shiverin' on dat flo'. 
 
 90 
 
THE PERSIMMON TREE 
 
 De limmon tree is de only tree 
 *T ain't cut when de woods is cl'ar'd. 
 
 It "s de only shade in de cotton patch 
 Fer a man wut 's hot en tar'd. 
 
 It *s de only tree wut make a man 
 
 As good as a yaller cur ; 
 Fer a man kin slip aroun' at night 
 
 Fum one tree to an'er, 
 
 En treckly th'ow his eye up one 
 
 En look up it a minute, 
 En way up hyander, 'twix' de moon, 
 
 He see a possum in it. 
 
 91 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 It 's de place to lay yo' chillun at 
 So dey won't keep a-cryin' ; 
 
 It 's de place to spread yo' cotton sheet 
 To save de dew fum dryin'. 
 
 De cider piggin sets dar cool, 
 Wid yaller bubbles crusted, 
 
 En de dog-day watermillion know 
 Dat 's whar it gwine be busted. 
 
 De sheep scratch off his wool on it, 
 En de sow chafe off her mud, 
 
 En, dinnertime, de cows comes dar 
 To lay en chaw deir cud. 
 
 If 't wa'n't fer it you could n' git 
 
 No simmon beer to drink, 
 Ner fin' no simmon wut you eats 
 
 When its sweet hide 'gins to swink ; 
 
 92 
 
THE PERSIMMON TREE 
 
 Acorns 'u'd be de shoat's bes' chance; 
 
 De cur 'd be skin en bones; 
 En de fiel's 'u'd be as b'ilin' hot 
 
 As dem dar horrid zones. 
 
 How come dey leaves it on de fahm 
 
 Amongs' de cawn en sich, 
 It natchly don't eat up de Ian' 
 
 But makes it sandbed rich. 
 
 En atter it bees dead en gone 
 En all de stump done rotten, 
 
 Right dar you '11 fin' de heavy cawn 
 En de thickes'-fruited cotton. 
 
 So when yo' furrow take you pas' 
 A simmon somewhar down it, 
 
 Nemmine if you does leave some grass, 
 You swing yo' plow clean roun' it. 
 
 93 
 
"BELIEVING WHERE WE CANNOT 
 PROVE" 
 
 Among the earliest memories that linger in my 
 
 heart 
 Is one of old Aunt Phibby Ann, who drew me far 
 
 apart 
 And told me, so mysteriously I thought I must 
 
 have sinned, 
 That, though it ain't ingenly known, a sow can 
 
 see the wind. 
 
 The wind is mostly blue, she said, but sometimes 
 
 green or red, 
 And that is how a sow can tell the weather on 
 
 ahead. 
 But a mist has always dimmed my thought — a 
 
 mist that never thinned — 
 It being how old Aunt Phibby knew a sow can 
 
 see the wind. 
 
 94 
 
CONVENIENT THEOLOGY 
 
 I allus has a feelin', 
 
 When I hears a fiddle squealin* 
 
 En a banjer-picker pickin' off de time, 
 If de chu'ch do stan' ag'in' it, 
 Dat dar ain't much danger in it, 
 
 En dat cloggin* ain't no sich a turble crime. 
 
 When de gals' heels gits to tappin* 
 En de coons gits down to clappin', 
 
 Den's when I clogs beca'se— oh, 'ca'se I must ! 
 Till de tin pans gits to shakin' 
 En de flo' boa'ds gits to quakin* 
 
 En de far look dim to see it thoo de dust. 
 
 95 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 De Lawd he laks good niggers, 
 
 Whahfo', here is how I figgers : 
 I knows de Lawd '11 do wutever 's good ; 
 
 He made me, heel to noggin ; 
 
 If dar wus much hahm in cloggin' 
 He never would 'a' putt it in my blood. 
 
 96 
 
BABY'S NOGGIN 
 
 It do look lak we 'd all be dead 
 
 When you feels de top er a baby's head. 
 
 De sides 'r 'is noggin don't come nigh meetin', 
 
 En way up dar his pulse is beatin'. 
 
 Jis' s'pose supp'n' shahp 'u'd fall on dar: 
 It 'u'd be jis' lak thone water on far. 
 Er s'pose supp'n' heavy 'u'd drap on his head : 
 You could n' say Scat 'fo' he 'd be dead. 
 
 His noggin 's jis' bones, but his brains dey grows, 
 En I wants to ax if you all knows 
 Why de brains, since dey got de runnih' start, 
 Don't prize dat openin' f udder apart ? 
 
 97 
 
BLACK MOLASSES 
 
 Cawn bread en black molasses 
 
 Is better dan honey en hash 
 
 Fer de fahm-han' coon 
 En de light quadroon, 
 
 Along wid de po' white trash. 
 
 You pours it out fum de jug, lak dis ; 
 You sops it up fum de pan. 
 
 En it bees so good 
 
 It he'ps yo' blood 
 2n makes you much of a man. 
 
 It 's better wid cooter gravy, 
 En buttermilk he'ps it some, 
 
 En a piece er catfish 
 
 On de side er de dish 
 Feels good 'twix' yo' finger en thumb. 
 
 9 3 
 
BLACK MOLASSES 
 
 But jis' de bread en de 'lasses, 
 Widout any doin' en dash, 
 
 Is enough fer de coon 
 En de light quadroon. 
 En enough fer de po' white trash. 
 
 99 
 
OLD AUNT PLEASANT 
 
 Long time 'fo' you wus bawn 
 
 My mistis wus yo' ma. 
 En now you 's grown en gone, 
 
 En I mus' call you "sah." 
 
 Wut'sdat? Jis' call you "honey?" 
 Huh ! you 's got rich so fas', 
 
 Wid Ian' en stock en money, 
 Dat name 'u'd soun' lak sass. 
 
 Nemmin', I holp yo' ma, chile, 
 
 To fix en primp en dress, 
 En it nuver took me no long while 
 
 To make her look her bes\ 
 
 ibo 
 
OLD AUNT PLEASANT 
 
 Den I 'd stan' at de winder pane, 
 
 A-lookin' out en hummin' ; 
 En mistis say, "Kin you see de lane? 
 
 Pleasant, ain't he comin' ?" 
 
 She meant yo' pa. 'T wa'n't nuver long 
 
 Till 'e rid up, flashin' fine, 
 En den 't 'u'd 'a' made you sing a song 
 
 To 'a' seed yo' ma's eyes shine. 
 
 I holp her on her weddin' night 
 
 Put on her weddin' clothes ; 
 Fum head to heel dem clothes wus white, 
 
 P>ut her cheek was lak a rose. 
 
 I jis' do' know how long it 's been. 
 
 Wut, guess ? I do' know how. * 
 
 But I knows dat my young mistis den 
 
 Is my ol' mistis now. 
 
 roi 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Law bless de chile ! Dat 's lak ol' times ! 
 
 Ho much is dis here money ? 
 Dis here 's a half a pint er dimes. 
 
 Now 1 1 will call you honey 1 
 
 102 
 
THE CROWN OF POWER 
 
 De rooster 's crowed, de big bell 's rung. 
 
 Git outen de bed, ol' lady ! 
 Roll outen de bed, en hoi' yo' tongue, 
 En fry dat white-side wut I brung, 
 
 En git my brekkus ready. 
 
 Bill, git up f um yo' pallet dar ! 
 
 Stick yo' leg into yo' britches, 
 En when you is kandled up a far, 
 Go grub till brekkus hyander whar 
 
 De briers is took de ditches. 
 
 Sal, you is triflin* fit to kill, 
 
 En foolish as a sheep. 
 Go fetch some light'ood fum de hill. 
 Now, all you little coons keep still 
 
 En lemme ketch some sleep. 
 
 103 
 
THE REJECTED SCOTSMAN, 
 
 I. REJECTED 
 
 Hoot ! Ye say ye winna hae me, woman ? 
 
 A Hielandman, right frae the banks o' Lomon' ! 
 
 Sayin' I 'm rough, that hair shocks oot my ears, 
 
 That hair hings o'er my een, my hands jist bear's, 
 
 Hairy, hairy a', lak the fiend, an' rough. 
 
 Haud, woman ! Say na mair, haein' said enough. 
 
 Lang hae I looked across the starmy sea, 
 Thinkin' Amariky was ca'in' me, 
 O' a' her w'alth an' how her lassies dear 
 Had lairdly acres, herds, an' mickle gear, 
 An' how sae kind they wair, sae finely weeded, 
 An' how a Hielandman was a' they needed. 
 
 104 
 
THE REJECTED SCOTSMAN 
 
 Woman, ye ken na what I am. 
 Nae sark-tailed shepherd wi' 'is yowe an' ram : 
 Frae an auld stock I spring that spilt mair blocd 
 Than coursed your daddies' veins since No-y's 
 
 flood. 
 Ye need na turn, an' shake, an' dry your ee : 
 Na woman will I hae winna hae me! 
 
 2. TOLD ON 
 
 The hizzy might hae kep' it tae hersel'. 
 Sae prood she was she could na hellup but tell ; 
 An' now frae her big braggin' comes to pass 
 T is kenned by effery ither village lass, 
 Wha, when they see me comin', squeak an' say, 
 
 "I want na man wham ithers wadna hae!" 
 Weel, gang your ways, ye little gigglin' sillies, 
 An' wed, God rest ye, wi' your ain town billies 
 (Pale little lads, wham I could mak' tae mind me 
 An' whip them a' wi' one hand tied behind me), 
 An' brag tae them abou' the honest man, 
 
 105 
 
LYRICS tROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Frae wham, for their slim sakes, ye squeaked an' 
 ran. 
 
 Tauld it, yiss ! an' may a' ill befa' me 
 
 If "h'isted Scotsman" isna what they ca' me! 
 
 I '11 hae it on them : in my ain countrie 
 
 Ilk lass wad die tae gang tae kirk wi' me ; 
 
 An' there I 'II wed some chieftain's sprightly 
 
 daughter — 
 If this deil's-gossip comes na o'er the water ! 
 
 3. COALS OF FIRE 
 
 Whist, Peggy, woman ! Pass these houses here 
 Bonny an' prood an' spry, wi' mickle cheer ; 
 Look at me sae, an' smile intil my face — 
 Look lovin', if it be God gies ye grace ; 
 Nar fear I wad your winsome passion check 
 If ye sho'd hing your airms abou' my neck ! 
 
 106 
 
THE REJECTED SCOTSMAN 
 
 {Aside) 
 Now let the hizzies peep as we gang by, 
 
 An' deil a cheek amang them will be dry! 
 I '11 spraid mysel' an' step wi' lairdly gait, 
 Stare cauld on Peggy, my unwarthy mate ; 
 I "11 vvark my shaulders an bulge oot my chist, 
 That they may rue the braw man they hae misst. 
 
 If ony o' them mark us, or their mithers, 
 'T winna be lang in gaein' tae the ithers — 
 How that the "h'isted Scotsman" in his pride 
 Gaed past them wi' his ain rid-headed bride, 
 Which canna hellup but burn them tae the bane 
 (Na kennin' Peg 's a sister o' my ain). 
 
 4. ONE SIDE OF IT 
 
 It gars me greet how women a' must wait 
 Until a man comes knockin' at their gate. 
 Their lives must be sae mirky wi' regret 
 For the braw men they lo'ed but could na get. 
 
 107 
 
LYRICS FROM. COTTON LAND 
 
 It is na fair tae mak' them haud their voice 
 An' never hae the dares tae name their choice. 
 
 Ye askit, did ye, why I never wed ? • . 
 I was na fool enough tae lose my head. 
 Ah,, lad, on baith sides o' the starmy sea 
 There hae been lassies pined an' died for me — > 
 Bonny sweet lassies ither men fought o'er 
 An' fared nae better after than before. 
 
 Yiss, there be women, auld an' warn an' gray, 
 Wha wanted me, but could na tell me sae, 
 'T is weel, nae doot ; for it had been unkind 
 Tae tell them that they did na suit my mind. 
 Nae Hielandman, bred on the braes o' Lomon', 
 Wad be sae beastly tae a gentlewoman. 
 
 108 
 
A SOFT SNAP 
 
 I 's tar'd er work, I is, 
 En I 's gwine a shirk my biz. 
 
 I 's a yaller coon, 
 
 En late en soon 
 I 's gwine a rest, I is. 
 
 I 's gwine a teach a while ; 
 
 En den I '11 preach a while: 
 It 's easy teachin' 
 En easy preachin', 
 
 En I 's gwine a gi' 'm a trile. 
 
 109 
 
AMBITION 
 
 I ain't decided what I '11 be. 
 
 It 's sortie hard to tell. 
 Sometimes I think I '11 go to sea 
 
 An' try the sea a spell. 
 Sometimes I think I '11 take an' try 
 
 My chances on the Ian'. 
 But anyhow I aim to be 
 
 A mighty turble man. 
 
 No ; Susie would n' kiss me 
 
 When we played the game o pawn. 
 An' Billy laughed at my bow legs 
 
 An' ast to try 'em on. 
 An' Jim sayed I was sunburnt 
 
 Jis' like a Croatan. 
 They '11 hate this when I git to be 
 
 A mighty turble man. 
 
 no 
 
AMBITION 
 
 They 'li come into my palace. 
 
 I '11 be dressed up in silk. 
 They '11 say, We 're pore an' hungry, sir, 
 
 An' want some buttermilk. 
 I '11 give 'em wine an' honey, 
 
 An' then I '11 rise an' stan' 
 An' say, 'T was me you th'owed off on — 
 
 A mighty turble man! 
 
 They '11 whimper then, you bet they will, 
 
 An' wish that they was dead. 
 An' when they git down on their knees, 
 
 Lak kneelin' at yore bed, 
 An' beg me not to kill 'em, then 
 
 I '11 ketch 'em by the han' 
 An' say, Don't ever laugh no more 
 
 At a sunburnt, bow-leg man ! 
 
 Ill 
 
THE SIESTA 
 
 I tells 'em to please 
 
 Bile a dinner er pease 
 En set me a table out under de trees, 
 
 Den lemme be fed 
 
 Wid a pone er corn bread 
 En ingerns ; den lemme lay down on a bed. 
 
 Oh, de skeeter kin sting 
 
 En de dirt-dauber sing, 
 De housefly kin tickle my yur wid 'is whing ; 
 
 De chillun kin bawl, 
 
 De cuckroach kin crawl 
 Up my britches, en ganders en peafowls kin 
 squall ; 
 
 112 
 
THE SIESTA 
 
 Oh, the dishes kin break 
 
 En de shetters kin shake 
 But all kin er fusses can't keep me awake, 
 
 'Ca'se it takes more 'n dese 
 
 T' onsettle my ease, 
 When I's et a good dinner er corn-pone en peas. 
 
 "3 
 
THE DIEDIPER 
 
 De diediper swum on de millpon', 
 En de nigger crope roun' de dam, 
 
 En cock his gun en took good aim 
 En pull de trigger, blam ! 
 
 But 'fo' de bullets got dar 
 De diediper done dove down. 
 
 He dove, en dove, en den pop up 
 En 'gin to floatin' roun'. 
 
 De nigger crope thoo bushes 
 
 Till he got anudder trile. 
 De diediper dove, en dove, en dove, 
 
 But he pop up atter while. 
 
 114 
 
THE DIEDIPER 
 
 So he shot his caps en powder 
 En his ramrod, too, away, 
 
 But de diediper floats upon dat pon' 
 En swims right dar to-day. 
 
 "5 
 
SNAKES 
 
 De whup-snake drags a platted tail. 
 He runs as straight as a railroad rail. 
 
 He got no voice, but slick en sof 
 He '11 twis' hisse'f aroun' yo' wais', 
 En lick his col' tongue in yo' face, 
 
 En whup yo' shirt-tail off. 
 
 De hoop-snake roll lak a waggin tar. 
 His horn '11 sting you wuss 'n far. 
 
 But he can't 'pen' on his eyes. 
 He '11 slam his horn right in some tree, 
 En dar he '11 stay en dar he '11 be 
 
 Till de tree en him bofe dies. 
 
 n6 
 
SNAKES 
 
 You hits de j'int-snake in de grass, 
 En he busties up, jis' same as glass, 
 
 En den you thinks he 's dead ; 
 But *fo' you goes to mill en back, 
 He 's done j'ined up, en dar 's his track, 
 
 Whar he cross' de sof san'-bed. 
 
 117 
 
MYSTERIES 
 
 How de flyin' squir'l fly is a wonder to me, 
 En how a blacksnake kin clamb a tree 
 Is a wonder to me. 
 
 How a catfish breave I jis' can't tell, 
 En a chicken, befo' he busties his shell. 
 No. I can't tell. 
 
 118 
 
BABY'S LEGS 
 
 Babies' legs is alius bowed. 
 
 Deir legs ain't never straight. 
 Why, mistis, ain't you never knowed 
 
 You can't do nothin' but wait ? 
 
 He hoi's his heels up all de time, 
 
 En p'ints 'em at de sky. 
 It 's too soon yit fer him to try 'm. 
 
 Dey '11 come right by en by. 
 
 119; 
 
GRASS 
 
 It 's good de grass is late to sprout 
 En gives de cawn some start, 
 
 'Ca'se, if dey sprung togedder, dey 
 'U'd never tease apart. 
 
 De grass is had to fight its way 
 
 Ag'in us all so long, 
 Dat, fum its reg'lar wras'lin', 
 
 It grows up powerful strong. 
 
 It grows so strong dat, if you ups 
 
 En leaves it to itse'f, 
 Dis grass '11 fight dat udder grass 
 
 Till dey chokes deirse'ves to def. 
 
 1 20 
 
THE VARMINT CONVENTION 
 
 When de varmints hilt deir meetin', 
 
 Honey-loo, honey-loo, 
 T wus a long time dey wus greetin' en er-treatin' 
 
 en er-eatin' 
 'Fo' dey 'cided in dat meetin' 
 
 Wut to do. 
 
 Br'er Coon he took a notion, 
 
 Loo-honey, honey-loo, 
 'T wus his time to make a motion. 
 
 (Chicken, shoo-shoo-shoo.) 
 "If de motion gwine prevail, 
 Ever' man jis' raise his tail ; 
 Don't, de motion 's gwine a fail." 
 
 (Hoo-doo, hoo-doo.) 
 
 121 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Br'er Possum grin a little, 
 
 Honey-loo-oo-oo, 
 En he say it wa'n't de gemman 
 
 Thing to do. 
 "Br'er Coon know' it ain't fair. 
 His tail 's got rings en hair, 
 But mine is slim en bare. 
 
 (Boo-hoo, boo-hoo.) 
 
 "More *n dat, it ain't fair totin', 
 
 Loo-loo, honey-loo. 
 Marse Goat 's done done his votin' 
 
 'Head er you. 
 How kin it be fair totin'? 
 'T ain't nothin' but jis' goatin'. 
 Marse Bill 's gwine keep on votin' 
 
 Clean thoo." (Oo-oo.) 
 
 Wid dat dey falls to fightin', 
 
 Loo-honey, honey-loo. 
 
 122 
 
THE VARMINT CONVENTION 
 
 Bless Gord, it wus a sight, 'n' 
 
 Dat is true. 
 De goat walk up a rail, 
 Shake his little stubby tail, 
 En den he tote de mail. 
 
 (Oh, loo-hoo-hoo.) 
 
 123 
 
THE COON FROM THE COLLEGE TOWN 
 
 Oh, dress up, ladies, finer 'n you is, 
 
 'Ca'se you 's gwine wid a man wut knows his biz. 
 
 De cawn-fiel' han' en de cotton-patch nigger, 
 
 De laborin' man don't cut no figger, 
 
 When it 's Come along, ladies, en foller me roun', 
 
 De dead-game spoht fum de college town. 
 
 I totes my guitah wid a shoulder strap, 
 En now en again I gives it a rap, 
 Er-hummin' ol' chunes fum way down Souf, 
 Wid a cigaroot rollin' aroun' in my mouf. 
 1 'd be plum white, if I jis' wa'n't brown, 
 Fer I feels at home in de college town. 
 
 124 
 
THE COON FROM THE COLLEGE TOWN 
 
 I kerries de notes wut 's boun' to go 
 
 Fum de boys to de ladies on Faculty row. 
 
 Fer singin' at night I gits mo' pay 
 
 Dan my pi' man gits fe* ploughin' all day. 
 
 When dar 's supp'n' to drink, I swallers it down, 
 
 'Ca'se I gits wut 's gwine in de college town. 
 
 Oh, I gits to look at de ball game free 
 Fer thone up fouls wut flies toge me, 
 En de tournament costies me nary a cent, 
 'Ca'se I sees wut way de tennis balls went. 
 En dey couldn' git along on de football groun' 
 If it wa'n't fer de coon fum de college town. 
 
 My britches belonged to a rich young man ; 
 My coat 's a jim-swinger en my ves' is tan ; 
 My collar en tie, my shoes en my socks, 
 When dey fus' wus bought dey costed de rocks. 
 A spoht by day en at night a clown- 
 On, sich is de life er de college town ! 
 
 125 
 
IF 
 
 "If I had gold," the ragged plodder said, 
 "Fame's laurel soon would aureole my head. 
 For eloquence and beauty in my heart 
 Lie waiting for the leisure-need of art." 
 
 "If I were poor," said he of idle days, 
 "Then might I gain a people's pride and praise. 
 But fame shuns fortune, making effort vain. 
 All greatness grows from poverty and pain." 
 
 Oh, patient if! Burdened with all who fail, 
 Thine is a heart-sore, never-ending tale ! 
 And they who plead thee know the hero's lance 
 Must brave the armored breast of circumstance. 
 
 126 
 
TOT AND TED 
 
 If Tot and Ted would sit up late 
 Till all the coals died in the grate 
 And all the house grew still and dark 
 And Man, the cur, would not dare bark ; 
 
 If they sat still and bolt awake 
 And would not leave till broad daybreak, 
 Their pains would be worth while, because 
 They'd get to see old Santa Claus. 
 
 So fat is he, so small the flue, 
 *T were nice to know how he gets through 
 And does not leave a track of soot 
 About the hearth to mark his foot. 
 
 127 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 But Ted and Tot will not sit up. 
 The sandman and the sleepy cup 
 Will fill their eyes and drowse them so 
 They'll fall asleep jbef ore they know. 
 
 Santa will see them when he comes 
 Lugging his load of dolls and drums, 
 And he will smile, as who should say, 
 "I wish grown folks could sleep that way." 
 
 And when he fills their stockings full 
 Of slings and sweets and things to pull, 
 He'll look at head and curly head, 
 And say, "Good-by, old Tot and Ted." 
 
 How down the chimney does he squeeze ? 
 How climbs he back with unskint knees ? 
 Don't ask me questions, Ted and Tot : 
 You watch and see the how and what. 
 
 128 
 
TOT AND TED 
 
 If you can stay awake — just so — 
 From sundown until rooster crow 
 And watch for Santa's furry hood, 
 You'll be the first that ever could. 
 
 129 
 
BOYS' VISIONS 
 
 S'pose I could fly ! 
 
 I bet you I would brag, 
 Fer not a gal in school could take my tag. 
 I 'd keep my wings hid till they 'mos' got there 
 'N* nen I 'd sail up, laughin', in the air, 
 Danglin' my heels a leetle out o' reach, 
 An' toss 'em back a biscuit er a peach I 
 
 If I could fly, 
 
 I wouldn't go to school, 
 Ner go to mill a-straddle of no mule. 
 I 'd jis' sail out an' see what I could fin', 
 Fer ever 'thing I saw, you know, 'd be mine. 
 Bloodhoun's an' 'tectives jis' 's well go die. 
 I wouldn't make no tracks, if I could fly. 
 
 130 
 
BOYS MSIONS 
 
 K I could fly, 
 
 I 'd do like Robin Hood, 
 An' rob the other robbers in the wood. 
 I 'd run frum them a little ways, right slow, 
 An' nen I 'd say, "Bye, bye," an' up I 'd go 
 With all the diamonds what the robbers had. 
 My ! but don't you know 't'u'd make 'em mad ! 
 
 If I could fly, 
 
 I 'd build a house o' stone, 
 An' nen I 'd need a wife, when I got grown. 
 I 'd ast the king to lemme have his gal, 
 Callin' 'im to 'is face ol' pard an' pal, 
 An' when he wouldn', I 'd jis' say, "That 's 
 
 tough," 
 An' pick the princess up an' tote her off. 
 
 If I could fly, 
 
 I 'd buy 'em things at home, 
 A new stove an' a skillet an' a broom, 
 A fine horse with a ribbin on his tail, 
 
 131 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 'N' nen I 'd gittum a new milkin' pail. 
 I bet I 'd make 'em think an' study some. 
 Ma 'd say, "Where — do — these — things — come- 
 f rum ?" 
 
 132 
 
HOLDING OFF THE CALF 
 
 The\ all '11 tell you I wouldn't mind 
 
 A-holdin' the kef at all 
 If it didn't come at the very time 
 
 I hear the other boys call. 
 Jis' when I see 'em a-goin' by 
 
 Wi' their dogs an' guns in a hurry, 
 An' I want to go, I hear maw cry 
 
 'At she 's ready to milk ol' Cherry ! 
 An' there I stan' wi' the kef by the yur, 
 
 The boys done out o' sight, 
 An' maw a-whang, a-whang, jis' like 
 
 She aimed to take all night. 
 
 'Bout sundown 's time for the swimmin'-hole, 
 
 But from me it 's mighty fur : 
 That 's jis' the minute each blessed day 
 
 I must ketch the kef by the yur. 
 
 *33 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 The parson, my bud — he 's a preacher, you know, 
 
 But he can't git nowhere to preach — 
 Looks on wi' 's thumbs in 'is gallus straps, 
 
 Smilin' sweet as a peach. 
 The kef is a fool, don't mean no harm, 
 
 Only wantin' to suck ; 
 But sometimes I git so awful mad 
 
 I twisties his yur like a shuck. 
 
 They all say I 'm lazy, no count in the worl', 
 
 Only to raise a row ; 
 But I would n't mind workin' all times o' day 
 
 'Cep' the time for milkin' the cow. 
 Whenever the fellers go off to swim, 
 
 Along wi' their dogs an' gun, 
 That pore white kef, a-wantin' his share, 
 
 Heads off both ends o' my fun. 
 But some sweet day I '11 be a man, 
 
 An' when I 'm boss myse'f, 
 I '11 ketch ever' boy 'at stays on the place 
 
 An' put him to holdin' a kef ! 
 
 !34 
 
WHEN THE CALVES GET OUT 
 
 I 've run so long I 'm tired to death ! 
 
 I '11 have to rest a while. 
 An' then before I ketch my breath 
 
 They '11 gain about a mile. 
 They '11 go an' keep on goin', 
 
 'N' oon't never turn about, 
 For they leave an' hush their lowin', 
 
 When the keves git out. 
 
 A cow_ 's a fool about her kef ! 
 
 If she kin steal him off 
 She '11 lick him an' enjoy herse'f 
 
 Like fresh salt in her trough. 
 An' when you try to head 'em 
 
 It 's a jangle an' a rout. 
 
 135 
 
LYRICS FROM ( OTTON LAND 
 
 They forgit 't wus you 'at fed 'em, 
 When the keves git out. 
 
 Sis she would never milk too late 
 
 ('F she had to herd the cows) 
 To try the bars an' latch the gate 
 
 'Fore goin' to the house. 
 But 't ain't the time for swearin', 
 
 An' 't ain't wuth while to pout ; 
 It 's keep the bell in hearin', 
 
 When the keves git out. 
 
 I '11 git some bull to lead the drove, 
 
 An' then I '11 drive 'em slow, 
 Ease 'em along from grass to grove, 
 
 So they oon't hardly know. 
 It never does to push 'em 
 
 An' run an' rare an' shout ; 
 You 're losin' time to rush 'em, 
 
 When the keves git out, 
 
 136 
 
CATS 
 
 Thar air good p'ints as well as bad, that c'recter- 
 
 izes cats; 
 Their purrin' sounds so comf 'table, and then they 
 
 ketches rats. 
 They likes to play with chillun, an' they don't take 
 
 much to eat, 
 An' thar 's mighty few housekeepers kin head 
 
 'em bein' neat. 
 
 An' yit I never see a cat, to study him a spell, 
 But whut thar comes a feelin' that he's back an' 
 
 forth frum hell; 
 An' when he purrs an' rubs my leg an' hides his 
 
 crooked claws, 
 Thinks I, Whut . split your nose an y yur an' made 
 
 streaks on your jaws? 
 
 *37 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 He 's gentle 'nough about the hearth whar 
 
 Mandy darns an' knits; 
 But watch that green light in his eyes when he 
 
 bows his back an' spits ! 
 He stays at home till bedtime comes an' then he 
 
 creeps away : 
 You '11 see him slippin' back again nex' mornin' 
 
 through the gray. 
 
 He 's mighty cosy on the rug, a-lappin' from a 
 
 cup; 
 But he 's the only daddy that will eat his chillun 
 
 up. 
 An' when the tabby goes to move, she grabs a 
 
 kitten's head 
 An' lets him swing an' flop about like he was 
 
 supp'n' dead. 
 
 To leave him in the room at night, you know, is 
 sartain death ; 
 
 138 
 
CATS 
 
 He '11 snug right 'mongst the blankets an' suck 
 
 the baby's breath. 
 I 've been at many a settin'-up with my departed 
 
 kin 
 Scared half to death to see them cats, like ghos- 
 
 ties, comin' in. 
 
 I may be hard upon ol' Tom, but Growler hates 
 
 him, too, 
 An' when it comes to jedgin' hearts, I think that 
 
 dog will do. 
 Tom likes an old maid ; an' he likes to go out in 
 
 the road 
 At fall o' dusk an' spend his time a-playin' with 
 
 a toad. 
 
 Sometimes I think I 'd like the job o' goin' round 
 
 the yeth 
 An' puttin' every single cat nine separate times to 
 
 death; 
 
 139 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 For thar 's a thousand reasons that I won't take 
 
 time to tell 
 Why I am bound to b'lieve a cat is back an' forth 
 
 frum hell. 
 
 140 
 
TO ALFONSO XIV 
 
 Latest in line of royal sons, 
 
 Pink on your silver platter, 
 Despite the bugles, flags and guns, 
 
 And courtiers trained to flatter, 
 You hoist your heels, blink at your toes, 
 
 And smile and stare and blubber, 
 And are as careless of your clothes 
 
 As any low-born lubber. 
 
 Softly ! you must not understand, 
 You muling, sniffling fellow, 
 
 You bear the blood of Ferdinand 
 And pious Isabella! 
 
 You cannot know the mingled breed 
 Of many kingdoms, growing 
 
 141 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 In your small shape, the fertile seed 
 Of long selected sowing. 
 
 When a few years shall give you speech 
 
 And school your legs to bear you, 
 What precepts will your masters preach 
 
 For kingship to prepare you ? — 
 For fetes and forms and pageantries 
 
 And armies brave with banners, 
 Till they accomplish your disguise 
 
 And lose a man in manners. 
 
 Will they insist on prinks and prigs, 
 
 Or let you romp and lark it 
 And count your toes for weebit pigs 
 
 A-going all to market ? 
 Will they inform your pate with lore 
 
 And ancient classic schooling, 
 Or let you read, flat on the floor, 
 
 Old Mother Hubbard's fooling? 
 
 142 
 
TO ALFONSO XIV 
 
 'T is not through envy of your state 
 
 Or natural plebean malice, 
 But could I bribe who guards your gate 
 
 And steal into your palace, 
 I 'd smuggle you into the woods, 
 
 When oaks are first in tassel, 
 And let you build, in happy moods, 
 
 Many a Spanish castle. 
 
 There you would learn the simple need 
 
 Of laughter, love, and labor, 
 The comm.-n fireside ways, the creed 
 
 That binds one to his neighbor. 
 But this is idle. I should think 
 
 Of what in reason may be. 
 So here your royal health I drink, 
 
 You pink, plump, bareleg baby ! 
 
 H3 
 
A TOMTIT MESSENGER 
 
 Above the din the alien sparrows made 
 
 In the city's April shade, 
 I heard one native note, one tomtit's cry 
 
 Wandering through the sky. 
 
 His tune, though calm, was like a bugle call 
 
 From wood and waterfall, 
 And waked the memories of brooks and springs 
 
 And vines and vernal things. 
 
 Faster than his swift wings might drive him there 
 
 My thoughts had traveled where 
 The oriole, in his gold and sable dressed, 
 
 Sings near his woven nest ; 
 
 144 
 
Azalea Nudiflora. 
 
 Ericaceae (Heath Family). 
 
 Wild Azalea. Wild Honeysuckle. 
 
A TOMTIT MESSENGER 
 
 Where the wide wood but half foregoes its hush 
 
 For the lyric-throated thrush ; 
 And where the orchards and the arbors thrill 
 
 With the mock-bird's rapturous bill. 
 
 Only to courts where nature still is queen, 
 
 What time the year grows green, 
 These minstrels gather with their varied glee 
 
 To brake and brier and tree, 
 
 And leave the city's cornices and spires 
 
 To those discordant choirs 
 Whose breed some ill-directed eastward breeze 
 
 Blew hither o'er the seas. 
 
 To you, you wandering tomtit, for the news 
 
 Of April sounds and hues 
 And busy joy of all the woodland brood, 
 
 A stranger's gratitude! 
 
 H5 
 
TO ONE WHO IS GOOD 
 
 A rainbow's colors canvas'd on a cloud; 
 
 A lone red rose among the burly briers ; 
 
 In winter's chill the glow of friendly fires ; 
 A pitying heart where other hearts are proud : 
 These are like thee ; and like thee, too, the shroud 
 
 Which beauty spreads upon the dying year, 
 
 Or some sweet star that watches, calm and 
 clear, 
 Above the sea when waves and winds are loud. 
 
 I know man's life is sick with sin and grief, 
 Which age on age hath not sufficed to cure ; 
 
 That sorrow lingers long, but joy is brief, 
 
 And creeds change, but the old, old crimes 
 endure : 
 
 Which vasty gloom serves but to lend relief 
 To thee, for other souls the cynosure. 
 
 146 
 
.■:#•; 
 
 WmMtit 
 
 , *>':, 
 
 
 !'.;*: 
 
 '' v: 
 
DEW 
 
 I gits my chillun up 'fo' day, 
 
 'Ca'se de dew it makes de cotton weigh. 
 
 I feeds 'em on a chance er peas, 
 
 I ties de pads upon deir knees, 
 
 En 'fo' de day break here we goes, 
 
 Draggin' our sacks betwix' de rows. 
 
 Dem udder niggers do' know why 
 
 My cotton tetch de scales so high. 
 
 Dar 's supp'n' wrong dey speck ; dey know 
 
 Deir famblies gethered row fer row. 
 
 But I jis' squints en spits — key-chew! 
 
 Is I gwine tell 'em 'bout de dew ? 
 
 147 
 
RACE SUICIDE 
 
 Old bullbat hen, you made no nest. 
 With two dull eggs beneath your breast, 
 Among the clods, yourself a clod, 
 You sit and see the ploughman plod. 
 
 Circling the sunny summer skies, 
 Now high, now low, your bullbat flies, 
 And stoops anon from out the blue 
 To bray his jest of love to you. 
 
 Perhaps your heart is happy when 
 You count your duty done, old hen; 
 But I would let the bullbat race 
 Die out, before I'd take your place. 
 
 148 
 
RACE SUICIDE 
 
 If I were you, I would not see 
 My bullbat swoop and laugh at me, 
 Nor be content, along the grass, 
 To see his errant shadow pass ; 
 
 But by his side, with wings as good, 
 I'd bask in drifting altitude, 
 Bellow at clouds and browsing sheep, 
 And lull my dust-desires to sleep. 
 
 149 
 
THE FIRST FLOWER 
 
 Under the leaves on the south of the hill, 
 Where the wind and the winter have wasted theif 
 
 will 
 And the pale grass whispers and blinks in the sun, 
 The season of seven sweet moons is begun ; 
 
 The season of seven fair crescents and crowns, 
 
 Ere the frost and the autumn's slow fruitage em- 
 browns 
 
 The green and the crimson, the gold and the 
 gloom 
 
 Of woods where the first flower is waked into 
 bloom. 
 
 For the first flower is prophet of all that was 
 
 dreams, 
 
 150 
 
THE FIRST FLOWER 
 
 The dappled lane-shadows, the ripple of streams, 
 The old hope and love that so lately were young, 
 And the old song that waits once again to be sung. 
 
 Ah, would that the last flower might bloom to 
 
 fulfill 
 The pledge of this first on the south of the hill ! 
 And would the last moon might incline to its slope 
 In memory as sweet as this first is in hope ! 
 
DEAD 
 
 They spoke sweet words above her bier 
 
 Of some all-happy shore, 
 Where no pain comes to cause a tear 
 
 Ever and evermore; 
 They made a garden of her grave, 
 
 Where many a fair vine creeps, 
 And to her tomb this comfort gave: 
 
 "She is not dead; she sleeps." 
 
 They told me birds would come to sing 
 
 For her a lullaby; 
 That for her sake the stars would swing 
 
 Their watch-fires through the sky; 
 That conscious winds would will to stir 
 
 The roses at her head, 
 
 *52 
 
DEAD 
 
 And all the suns would dawn for her, 
 Who sleeps, and is not dead. 
 
 They said her spirit loves me still, 
 
 Sees all, and understands. 
 But where the lips that spoke her will — 
 
 Where are her eyes and hands ? 
 Not all men's prayer that she should live 
 
 Can move the guard of death, 
 Nor all the lore of ages give 
 
 Her little body breath. 
 
 The birds may sing, the flowers may start 
 
 Each spring where old flowers were, 
 But I can never teach my heart 
 
 That they bear heed to her. 
 Nor my fond passion to disguise 
 
 With light the path I grope 
 Can give me back her love-lit eyes, 
 
 Her heart-beat, and my hope. 
 
 153 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 I know so little ! It is strange 
 
 A flower should be cut down, 
 Ere, with its mates, it suffered change 
 
 To autumn's gradual brown. 
 But this I know : should I grow old 
 
 Beyond the years of men, 
 I shall not ever, ever hold 
 
 My arms for her again. 
 
 154 
 
VIEWPOINTS 
 
 Down in his dusty cellar place, 
 
 On a stool of triple legs, 
 The apron'd cobbler sits and drives 
 
 His gleaming row of pegs. 
 
 High in his sunlit window nook, 
 Above the rumbling mart, 
 
 The poet stares across the hills 
 And meditates his art. 
 
 That each bemoans the other's lot 
 
 Is natural human pride; 
 For the cobbler sees one side of life, 
 
 And the bard the other side. 
 
 155 
 
OLD JIM SWINK 
 
 Ihey tell me old Jim Swink is dead 
 
 And buried 'neath the bough 
 Of that big cedar in the field 
 
 Where he was wont to plough. 
 He liked to sit within that shade 
 
 To cool a bit and think 
 That all the land he saw belonged 
 
 To old Jim Swink. 
 
 He made me many a pebble-sling 
 
 And many a locust bow, 
 And I would take him water 
 
 To his grassy turning row 
 And watch his Adam's-apple move, 
 
 The while he stood to drink, 
 
 156 
 
OLD JIM SWINK 
 
 Up and down the leathery neck 
 Of old Jim Swink. 
 
 We shared our rabbit boxes, 
 
 Our powder, shot, and caps. 
 We fared through many a frosty dawn 
 
 To our deadfalls and our traps, 
 And ofttimes found in waiting 
 
 A muskrat, coon, or mink. 
 He was as much a child as I, 
 
 Was old Jim Swink. 
 
 The cedar berries cluster blue, 
 
 The cedar birds are gay 
 Amid the bossy boughs that shade 
 
 The old man's dust to-day. 
 He knows no times and seasons now, 
 
 No suns will rise and sink, 
 No change of moon suggest his toil 
 
 To old Jim Swink. 
 
 157 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 I do not wish to sing for him 
 
 A song of curious art ; 
 This song would be more sweet to him, 
 
 Simple as was his heart. 
 He would be glad if he could know 
 
 How tenderly I think 
 Of those wild, rough, go-lucky days 
 
 With old Jim Swink. 
 
 158 
 
THE DOODLE BUG 
 
 Under a log propped high enough to leave a 
 sheltered place 
 
 The doodle bug he delves his home and propa- 
 gates his race. 
 
 He delves it in the doodle dust and makes it very 
 cavey 
 
 That every ant that blunders in may be his meat 
 and gravy. 
 
 Here I draw a tickle straw. Linkum, tinkum, 
 
 tire. 
 Come up, doodle, doodle bug! Your house is afire. 
 
 The doodle feels the doodle dust cave down where 
 he is hid. 
 
 159 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 He thinks an ant's feet must have done what my 
 
 pine needle did. 
 He bulges through his powdery floor and jerks 
 
 himself around, 
 And then is when I lay him out upon the solid 
 
 ground. 
 
 Weed '11 do; needle, too; willow wand, or wire. 
 Come up, doodle, doodle bug! Your house is 
 afire. 
 
 You need n't use a straw at all, but blow into his 
 
 home, 
 And, yicky, yecky, yerky, jerky, up that bug will 
 
 come. 
 No bones, no blood, no hair or heels, no tail, no 
 
 tools for strife, 
 A little ball of rubber he, electrified with life. 
 
 160 
 
THE DOODLE BUG 
 
 Woe and death; blozv your breath; run here and 
 
 respire. 
 Doodle, doodle, doodle bug, your house is afire. 
 
 And why the good Lord made him I cannot figure 
 
 out. 
 There 's nothing to him but his shape and his 
 
 two-horned snout. 
 And how he gets from place to place is more than 
 
 I can tell, 
 But where the doodle dust invites the doodle bug 
 
 doth dwell. 
 
 Yinky yanky, snicky snacky. Jerk until you tire* 
 Doodle bug, O doodle bug! Your house is afire. 
 
 Perhaps who made the roses sweet and made the 
 
 blue sky fair 
 That weary human hearts might find surcease of 
 
 toil and care 
 
 161 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 Designed this dusty delver, this petty beast of 
 
 prey, 
 That children might be happier with one more 
 
 game to play. 
 
 Doodle bug, oodle ug, irky, icky, ire. 
 
 Come up to the surface, lad! Your house is afire. 
 
 162 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 Heavy with sleep is the old farmstead ; 
 
 The windfall of orchards is mellow ; 
 The green of the gum tree is shot with red, 
 
 The poplar is sprinkled with yellow. 
 Sluggish the snake and leafy the stream ; 
 
 The fieldmouse is fat in his burrow ; 
 Sun-up sets millions of dewdrops a-gleam 
 
 Where the late grass is grown in the furrow. 
 
 Oh, the smell of the fennel is autumn's own 
 breath, 
 
 And the sumac is dyed in her blood ; 
 The charr of the locust is what her voice saith, 
 
 And the cricket is one with her mood. 
 Soft are her arms as soft-seeded grass, 
 
 The bluebells at dawn are her eyes, 
 
 163 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 And slow as slow winds are her feet as they pass 
 Her bees and her butterflies. 
 
 And when I grow sick at man's sorrow and crime, 
 
 At the pain on pale womanly faces, 
 At the fever that frets every heart-throb of time, 
 
 At all that brings grief or debases, 
 I thank God the world is as wide as it is, 
 
 That 't is sweet still to hope and remember ; 
 That, for him who will seek them, the valleys are 
 his 
 
 And the far quiet hills of September. 
 
 164 
 
THE THREE TOTS 
 
 Three tots went out in the early days 
 
 To see what spring had done. 
 "Let 's find us flowers along the ways 
 
 Most like the spring," said one. 
 "Let 's find a flower of sky-like blue, 
 A flower that for the clouds will do, 
 And a flower of such a golden hue 
 It well might be the sun." 
 
 One found a crocus, for the sky ; 
 
 And one found, bright and bold, 
 A dogwood, white as clouds on high, — 
 
 More clouds than three could hold ; 
 And one went far to woodland ways 
 And found a jasmine's torch a -blaze. 
 So were complete the early days : 
 
 Sapphire, silver, gold. 
 
 165 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 ''Would we could meet with Spring," said 
 one. 
 
 "Her garden grew these flowers ; 
 This crocus-sky, this jasmine-sun, 
 
 These clouds for petal showers. 
 'T is not long since she 's been this way. 
 She 's wandering in these woods to-day. 
 How she 'd be pleased to watch us play 
 
 This game of hers and ours !" 
 
 166 
 
AT THE DANCE 
 
 She seemed to watch the dancers pass 
 
 And listen to the thrill 
 Of flutes and strings that swelled and sank 
 
 As they had had one will. 
 She seemed to see and hear and mark 
 
 Each moment's fall and rise. 
 Why else that bright rose in her cheek, 
 
 That great light in her eyes ? 
 
 She did not turn about to meet 
 
 His gaze who whispered near ; 
 Save for the flutter of her hands, 
 
 She seemed not even to hear. 
 She did not part her lips to speak 
 
 A single answering word, 
 But there were they who saw her throat 
 
 Quiver, and knew she heard. 
 
 167 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 And there were they who knew her cheek 
 
 Bloomed not from music's art; 
 The lustre in her waking eyes 
 
 Could burn but from her heart ; 
 The sinuous sounds and lissom steps 
 
 About the lighted hall 
 Faintly upon her senses fell 
 
 As the shadows on the wall. 
 
 Hither and thither went the throng ; 
 
 Laughter and life ran high ; 
 Gay youth and girlhood passed and took 
 
 The smell of roses by. 
 She was not conscious that they lived ; 
 
 Amid their rounds of mirth 
 (Save for his presence at her side) 
 
 She was alone on earth. 
 
 It was a blessed hour for her ; 
 
 For them a blessed hour 
 Who saw her woman's heart unfold 
 
 168 
 
AT THE DANCE 
 
 As it had been a flower; 
 Who saw a new light in her eyes 
 
 Kindle and grow to dawn — 
 The light that none in heaven, and few 
 
 On earth may look upon. 
 
 And they who saw and understood 
 
 Knew hardly what they felt : 
 It was as if at some new shrine 
 
 Of beauty they had knelt 
 And shared the wonder of a joy 
 
 Whose wordless lips confess 
 The height of all high things, the depth 
 
 Of utter tenderness. 
 
 169 
 
LYRICS FROM C0TT3M LAND 
 
 'FETCH DAT MILLION ROUN' TO ME 
 170 
 
SELFISHNESS 
 
 Dar you is ! Dar you is ! 
 
 I jis' knowed 't wus you. 
 Mornin's I is seed yo' trail 
 
 Stragglin' 'cross de dew. 
 Dat's why I sayed I 'us gwine off, 
 
 When I wa'n't studyin' gwine : 
 I aimed to watch en see you break 
 
 Dat million fum de vine. 
 You need n' lie ! I seed you, boy ! 
 
 You need n' try to run ; 
 You need n' hide behin' de house, 
 
 'Ca'se dat won't he'p you none. 
 But fetch dat million roun' to me. 
 
 I needs dat fruit myse'f . 
 You stan' right over dar en see 
 
 If any gwine be lef. 
 
 171 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 You thought you 'd.eat it all, you did, 
 Now, all you '11 git 's de rin\ 
 
 I hates dat sich a selfish kid 
 Happened to be mine 1 
 
 172 
 
- DESERTED :* 
 
 She strove to hide 
 
 Her heart-break from us ('t was her maiden 
 pride) 
 
 And as she went 
 
 From room to room upon her duty bent 
 
 She made gay quips, 
 
 Nor could we tell a quiver at her lips. 
 
 j 
 
 'When all was still 
 
 Deep in the night, except one whippoorwill, 
 
 We, wakeful yet, 
 
 Heard when she sobbed, and knew her cheeks 
 were wet. 
 
 173 
 
GRANDADDY-LONG-LEGS 
 
 Grandaddy spider, 
 
 Spread your legs wider, 
 Sniff some, and study, and scent, 
 
 And show me the way 
 
 My cow went to-day, 
 The way that my milk cow went. 
 
 I '11 tickle your back 
 
 To give me her track 
 And to tell where she 's browsing now. 
 
 Lift up a foot 
 
 And point it, and put 
 Me straight on the trail o' my cow. 
 
 174 
 
THE CASTLE BUILDER 
 
 Come back, tired dreams, across the sea, and rest 
 
 These other years with me, 
 Like weary migrants to an empty nest 
 
 Where singing used to be. 
 
 Tired boyhood dreams, if I had followed you, 
 
 Had done your proud behest, 
 Had crossed the purple hills that barred my view 
 
 And braved the giant West, 
 
 Had sailed the Eastern oceans where your wings 
 
 Flashed white against the blue, 
 Perhaps they had not been mere shadow kings 
 
 That all our lives we knew, 
 
 175 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 But Pharaoh's realm and Egypt's wine and corn 
 
 And all men's high esteem, 
 Had Joseph's courage in my heart been born 
 
 A twin with Joseph's dream. 
 
 17b 
 
TO-MORROW 
 
 Though sun after sun set on dreams unfulfilled, 
 And night after night fall in sorrow, 
 
 Faint hope is revived and old courage new-thrilled 
 With the promise that beckons to-morrow. 
 
 She lures every pilgrim from childhod to age ; 
 
 She downs every pillow with pleasure; 
 To the ill-guided pencil she lends a new page ; 
 
 She pilots the poor to her treasure. 
 
 The great song for singing, the far height to 
 reach, 
 
 The heart that at last makes confession, 
 The wisdom that all other days could not teach : 
 
 These are her pledge and possession. 
 
 177 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 For some there is faith, for all there is hope, 
 When the dark falls behind and before us, 
 
 And the sun is no more, we shall not need to 
 grope, 
 But shall find her own face dawning o'er us. 
 
 I78 
 
A CHOICE 
 
 Our senses wake so stupidly 
 
 From the dim dawn of birth, 
 Become so gradually aware 
 
 Of all that makes the earth, 
 That, ere we halve our journey, 
 
 Grass and green trees and flowers 
 Are common things, and even the sun 
 
 But serves to mark the hours. 
 
 Would you have chosen, had you known 
 
 And heaven been so content, 
 To live unconscious of the light, 
 
 Of form and sound and scent, 
 Until your heart had learned its wish 
 
 And your brain its guided prime : 
 Then to have had the world burst forth 
 
 All in one pulse of time ? 
 
 179 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 I think not. When you came to count 
 
 The quiet tale of years, 
 The friendly welcome for each flower 
 
 Whose season reappears, 
 The well-trod, unsurprising path 
 
 That leads from dawn to dusk 
 And on from April's swelling bud 
 
 To winter's empty husk, 
 
 I do not think that you would take, 
 
 As worth the loss of these, 
 A blaze of sudden glory 
 
 That would bring you to your knees ; 
 Nor should I wish to stand in awe 
 
 And worship, what I love, 
 The old grass cool beneath my feet 
 
 And the old stars calm above. 
 
 180 
 
THE IRON DOOR 
 
 Whether I gaze into the night 
 At suns that seem mere points of light, 
 And, framing metaphors to reach 
 Through vastness with the art of speech, 
 I learn that lighted space is wrought 
 Too wide for even the range of thought; 
 
 Or whether in the depths I grope 
 For monsters of the microscope 
 That prey and sport, are born and die, 
 And feel that, 'neath the aided eye, 
 Life feeds on life, gate leads to gate, 
 Too deep for thought to penetrate : 
 
 How small am I for care or curse 
 From the Maker of the universe ! 
 
 181 
 
LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND 
 
 How great, above the microsprites, 
 Thus to be left with broken lights, 
 Through toil and prayer and pain, to find, 
 If so I can, the Maker's mind ! 
 
 Food, that my body may not die ; 
 
 Love, that my kind may multiply ; 
 
 Birds and fair blooms, that time flow sweet 
 
 Over my head, about my feet : 
 
 And farther would I delve or soar 
 
 I bruise me at an iron door. 
 
 182 
 
THE TENANT 
 
 To die and to live are the nearest of neighbors, 
 And death is to life the closest of kin ; 
 
 Heir to life's harvest of love and her labors, 
 The skull waits under the skin. 
 
 But while she endures she guards her possession ; 
 
 Hers is the key to the citadel locks ; 
 Even the Lord, when he covets admission, 
 
 Stands at the door and knocks. 
 
 Patient, O Death, thy reign is hereafter, 
 Bide thee thy crowning and keep thee apart ! 
 
 Mine this estate, this lease upon laughter, 
 Mine all the love in my heart. 
 
 183 
 
HORSEMINT 
 
 In the calm of summer lanes 
 And the hoof-betrodden spaces, 
 Idle over-pastured places, 
 
 There the dusty horsemint reigns. 
 
 Not for him the crowded croft, 
 Nor the fertile flow of meadow ; 
 Not for him the sheltering shadow 
 
 Where the dew-damp soil is soft. 
 
 Monarch of deserted lands, 
 
 Where no bee roams from the thicket, 
 Lost to butterfly and cricket, 
 
 Robed in sober hues he stands. 
 
 184 
 
HORSEMINT 
 
 Safe from scythe or ploughman's share, 
 None molest and many love him ; 
 Even the ox that breathes above him 
 
 Browses by and leaves him there. 
 
 King is he o'er dearth and death : 
 His dim colors have their glory, 
 And some hint of far, faint story 
 
 Haunts the August of his breath, 
 
 Waking memories in my heart 
 Of its childhood's Eldorado, 
 Magic sunshine, shower, and shadow 
 
 In the land without a ch3rt. 
 
 185 
 
IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Deep in the woods I have loitered to-day; 
 Heard the hoarse bees droning summer away : 
 Saw the leaf-specters at games witli the breeze, 
 And lured a gray squirrel to perch on my knees. 
 
 Plenty and peace were in love with the land, 
 Wild apples lifted their fruit to the hand; 
 Sweet was the nut and the mast of the pine, 
 But sweeter the gift of the wild grapevine. 
 
 I did not affect a rapture unknown 
 (May one not be honest when one is alone?) 
 But I left free my heart with Nature's to blend 
 And share all her secrets as friend shares with 
 friend. 
 
 186 
 
IN THE WOODS 
 
 But she, God's creation, is silent as God, 
 Dumb as the blossom she calls from the sod; 
 And her worshipper fancies 't is she that reveals 
 The wonders and signs that his own spirit feels. 
 
 Over the world from its far, quiet crest, 
 
 The sun-arrows shot aslant from the west, 
 
 And I know not what moved me from out of the 
 
 years, 
 But that dying sunset was dim with their tears. 
 
 The forest grew darker, and sank to a hush, 
 Save the loud, sudden cry at the roost of the 
 
 thrush, 
 And the audible silence, the breath of a sprite, 
 The wind and the delicate leaves in the night. 
 
 And in the weird spirit that autumn controls, 
 I thought I had felt the presence of souls, 
 The mystic desire of the heart ill at ease, 
 Which all men pursue and no man may appease. 
 
 187 
 
TO SLEEP. 
 
 Wherein have I displeased thee, fickle Sleep, 
 O, sweetheart, Sleep, that thou so far away 
 Hast wandered and hast made so long thy stay ? 
 
 I perish for some spell to call and keep 
 
 Thee near me, that thy gentle arts may steep 
 My brain with calm, from dusk till dawn of 
 
 day! 
 The night's long hours are blind and love delay, 
 
 But, with thee, I would bless them that they creep. 
 
 Once, night by night, as loves own self wast 
 thou; 
 Over my boyhood's couch didst loose the 
 
 powers 
 Born of the opiate breath of autumn flowers, 
 
 188 
 
TO SLEEP 
 
 And with thine own cool hand assuaged my 
 
 brow ; 
 Wherefore, I pray thee, keep not from me now, 
 For I am summer, and thou art her showers. 
 
 189 
 
THE TAR HEEL LIBRARY 
 
 SONGS MERRY AND SAD. 
 
 By John Charles McNeil. Second edition, with por- 
 trait. Price, Cloth, $1.00 net; by mail, $1.06. Limp 
 Leather, $1.50 postpaid. 
 
 " McNeil was a poet because he looked life straight in 
 the eyes, felt the virgin wonder and glory of it all, and 
 knew how to body forth his feeling in lines of exquisite art 
 and compelling appeal. ' I would rather have written 
 " Songs Merry and Sad " than to have the costliest monu- 
 ment in the State erected to my memory.' The equal of 
 that little volume has not appeared in the South since Sidney 
 Lanier fell on sleep twenty-six years ago." — C. Alphonso 
 Smith. 
 
 LYRICS FROM COTTON LAND. 
 
 By John Charles McNeil. Second edition. Illus- 
 trated with drawings by A. B. Frost and E. W. Kemble and 
 photographs by Mrs. W. O. Kibble with portrait and bio- 
 graphical sketch of the author ; also description and picture of 
 famous " Patterson Cup." Artistically bound in Bandana 
 Cloth. Price $1.50 postpaid. 
 
 " Lyrics from Cotton Land " will remain a priceless leg- 
 acy to the children of the South. It is a voice that had be- 
 come almost a memory. It is a key to the treasure house 
 of a period fast receding. It glorifies with simple and soul- 
 ful melody the tender grace of a day that is dead. ' Uncle 
 Remus,' up to the advent of the brilliant young Scotchman, 
 was the most faithful and. accurate exponent of ' Mr. Nig- 
 ger,'; in the realm of letters; but Joel Chandler Harris is 
 not a whit more lifelike in his portrayal of the language as 
 well* as the spirit of the old-time darkey than John Charles 
 McNeil."— Charity & Children. * 
 
 STONE k BARRINGER CO., 
 
 Publishers 
 
 CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA 
 
Y ' ' 
 
 
 
 Sr^tf