Evahbiddy dat I ‘s met wif has been monst’ous kin an’ good;
  But I t’ink I ’d lak it better to be down in Jones’s wood,
  Where we ust to have sich frolics, Lucy, you an’ me an’ Nelse,
  Dough my appetite ’ud call me, ef dey was n’t nuffin else. 
  I ‘d jes’ lak to have some sweet-pertaters roasted in de skin;
  I ‘s a-longin’ fu’ my chittlin’s an’ my mustard greens ergin;
  I ‘s a-wishin’ fu’ some buttermilk, an’ co’n braid, good an’ brown,
  An’ a drap o’ good ol’ bourbon fu’ to wash my feelin’s down! 
  An’ I ‘s comin’ back to see you jes’ as ehly as I kin,
  So you better not go spa’kin’ wif dat wuffless scoun’el Quin! 
  Well, I reckon, I mus’ close now; write ez soon’s dis reaches you;
  Gi’ my love to Sister Mandy an’ to Uncle Isham, too. 
  Tell de folks I sen’ ’em howdy; gin a kiss to pap an’ mam;
  Closin’ I is, deah Miss Lucy, Still Yo’ Own True-Lovin’ Sam.

  P. S. Ef you cain’t mek out dis letter, lay it by erpon de she’f,
       An’ when I git home, I ‘ll read it, darlin’, to you my own se’f.

CHRISMUS IS A-COMIN’

  Bones a-gittin’ achy,
  Back a-feelin’ col’,
  Han’s a-growin’ shaky,
  Jes’ lak I was ol’. 
  Fros’ erpon de meddah
  Lookin’ mighty white;
  Snowdraps lak a feddah
  Slippin’ down at night. 
  Jes’ keep t’ings a-hummin’
  Spite o’ fros’ an’ showahs,
  Chrismus is a-comin’
  An’ all de week is ouahs.

  Little mas’ a-axin’,
  “Who is Santy Claus?”
  Meks it kin’ o’ taxin’
  Not to brek de laws. 
  Chillun ‘s pow’ful tryin’
  To a pusson’s grace
  Wen dey go a pryin’
  Right on th’oo you’ face
  Down ermong yo’ feelin’s;
  Jes’ ’pears lak dat you
  Got to change you’ dealin’s
  So ’s to tell ’em true.

  An’ my pickaninny—­
  Dreamin’ in his sleep! 
  Come hyeah, Mammy Jinny,
  Come an’ tek a peep. 
  Ol Mas’ Bob an’ Missis
  In dey house up daih
  Got no chile lak dis is,
  D’ ain’t none anywhaih. 
  Sleep, my little lammy,
  Sleep, you little limb,
  He do’ know whut mammy
  Done saved up fu’ him.

  Dey ‘ll be banjo pickin’,
  Dancin’ all night thoo. 
  Dey ‘ll be lots o’ chicken,
  Plenty tukky, too. 
  Drams to wet yo’ whistles
  So ’s to drive out chills. 
  Whut I keer fu’ drizzles
  Fallin’ on de hills? 
  Jes’ keep t’ings a-hummin’
  Spite o’ col’ an’ showahs,
  Chrismus day ‘s a-comin’,
  An’ all de week is ouahs.

A CABIN TALE

THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS FOR A STORY

  Whut you say, dah? huh, uh! chile,
  You ’s enough to dribe me wile. 
  Want a sto’y; jes’ hyeah dat! 
  Whah’ ’ll I git a sto’y at? 
  Di’n’ I tell you th’ee las’ night? 
  Go ’way, honey, you ain’t right. 
  I got somep’n’ else to do,