I found the half-forgotten Southern intonations and elisions as pleasing to my ear as they had formerly been.  A Southerner talks music.  At least it is music to me, but then I was born in the South.  The educated Southerner has no use for an r, except at the beginning of a word.  He says ‘honah,’ and ‘dinnah,’ and ‘Gove’nuh,’ and ‘befo’ the waw,’ and so on.  The words may lack charm to the eye, in print, but they have it to the ear.  When did the r disappear from Southern speech, and how did it come to disappear?  The custom of dropping it was not borrowed from the North, nor inherited from England.  Many Southerners—­most Southerners—­ put a y into occasional words that begin with the k sound.  For instance, they say Mr. K’yahtah (Carter) and speak of playing k’yahds or of riding in the k’yahs.  And they have the pleasant custom—­long ago fallen into decay in the North—­of frequently employing the respectful ‘Sir.’  Instead of the curt Yes, and the abrupt No, they say ‘Yes, Suh’, ’No, Suh.’

But there are some infelicities.  Such as ‘like’ for ‘as,’ and the addition of an ‘at’ where it isn’t needed.  I heard an educated gentleman say, ‘Like the flag-officer did.’  His cook or his butler would have said, ‘Like the flag-officer done.’  You hear gentlemen say, ’Where have you been at?’ And here is the aggravated form—­heard a ragged street Arab say it to a comrade:  ‘I was a-ask’n’ Tom whah you was a-sett’n’ at.’  The very elect carelessly say ‘will’ when they mean ‘shall’; and many of them say, ‘I didn’t go to do it,’ meaning ’I didn’t mean to do it.’  The Northern word ’guess’—­imported from England, where it used to be common, and now regarded by satirical Englishmen as a Yankee original—­is but little used among Southerners.  They say ‘reckon.’  They haven’t any ‘doesn’t’ in their language; they say ‘don’t’ instead.  The unpolished often use ‘went’ for ‘gone.’  It is nearly as bad as the Northern ‘hadn’t ought.’  This reminds me that a remark of a very peculiar nature was made here in my neighborhood (in the North) a few days ago:  ‘He hadn’t ought to have went.’  How is that?  Isn’t that a good deal of a triumph?  One knows the orders combined in this half-breed’s architecture without inquiring:  one parent Northern, the other Southern.  To-day I heard a schoolmistress ask, ‘Where is John gone?’ This form is so common—­so nearly universal, in fact—­that if she had used ‘whither’ instead of ‘where,’ I think it would have sounded like an affectation.

We picked up one excellent word—­a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, handy word—­’lagniappe.’  They pronounce it lanny-yap.  It is Spanish—­so they said.  We discovered it at the head of a column of odds and ends in the Picayune, the first day; heard twenty people use it the second; inquired what it meant the third; adopted it and got facility in swinging it the fourth.  It has a restricted meaning, but I think the people spread it out a little when they choose.  It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a ’baker’s dozen.’  It is something thrown in, gratis, for good measure.  The custom originated in the Spanish quarter of the city.  When a child or a servant buys something in a shop—­or even the mayor or the governor, for aught I know—­he finishes the operation by saying—­