“Come on, weasel, show me whah.” 
  Well, dey trots erlong ontwell
  Dat air meat beginned to smell
  In de trap.  Den weasel say: 
  “Now you put yo’ paw dis way
  While I hol’ de spring back so,
  Den you grab de meat an’ go.” 
  Well, de bah he had to grin
  Ez he put his big paw in,
  Den he juked up, but—­kerbing! 
  Weasel done let go de spring. 
  “Dah now,” says de weasel, “dah,
  I done cotched you, Mistah Bah!”
  O, dat bah did sno’t and spout,
  Try’n’ his bestes’ to git out,
  But de weasel say, “Goo’-bye! 
  Weasel small, but weasel sly.” 
  Den he tu’ned his back an’ run
  Tol’ de fa’mer whut he done. 
  So de fa’mer come down dah,
  Wif a axe and killed de bah.

  Dah now, ain’t dat sto’y fine? 
  Run erlong now, nevah min’. 
  Want some mo’, you rascal, you? 
  No, suh! no, suh! dat ’ll do.

AT CANDLE-LIGHTIN’ TIME

  When I come in f’om de co’n-fiel’ aftah wo’kin’ ha’d all day,
  It ‘s amazin’ nice to fin’ my suppah all erpon de way;
  An’ it ‘s nice to smell de coffee bubblin’ ovah in de pot,
  An’ it ‘s fine to see de meat a-sizzlin’ teasin’-lak an’ hot.

  But when suppah-time is ovah, an’ de t’ings is cleahed away;
  Den de happy hours dat foller are de sweetes’ of de day. 
  When my co’ncob pipe is sta’ted, an’ de smoke is drawin’ prime,
  My ole ’ooman says, “I reckon, Ike, it ‘s candle-lightin’ time.”

  Den de chillun snuggle up to me, an’ all commence to call,
  “Oh, say, daddy, now it ’s time to mek de shadders on de wall.” 
  So I puts my han’s togethah—­evah daddy knows de way,—­
  An’ de chillun snuggle closer roun’ ez I begin to say:—­

  “Fus’ thing, hyeah come Mistah Rabbit; don’ you see him wo’k his eahs? 
  Huh, uh! dis mus’ be a donkey,—­look, how innercent he ’pears! 
  Dah ‘s de ole black swan a-swimmin’—­ain’t she got a’ awful neck? 
  Who ’s dis feller dat ‘s a-comin’?  Why, dat ’s ole dog Tray, I ’spec’!”

  Dat ‘s de way I run on, tryin’ fu’ to please ’em all I can;
  Den I hollahs, “Now be keerful—­dis hyeah las’ ’s de buga-man!”
  An’ dey runs an’ hides dey faces; dey ain’t skeered—­dey ‘s lettin’ on: 
  But de play ain’t raaly ovah twell dat buga-man is gone.

  So I jes’ teks up my banjo, an’ I plays a little chune,
  An’ you see dem haids come peepin’ out to listen mighty soon. 
  Den my wife says, “Sich a pappy fu’ to give you sich a fright! 
  Jes, you go to baid, an’ leave him:  say yo’ prayers an’ say good-night.”

WHISTLING SAM