New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1866-09-10
snt EorenrooI ha. the B1ue.,

: fer sympathy, fer you'll laugh at a Teller.
: Nobody not thusIy afflicted kin preshfate ginny
! wine ole fashioned spell of the disease SIGH ez
: now hey. Tday you to Ticker, kernel, but licke
, don't do no more good EN- ice water, cir2um
y stanced ez am. Don't ak what's the matter Il
9 my fix a Teller don't know, and can't tell.
: Eft warnt fer manhood's sake, I'd hunt a cor
: ner, an gladly cry. Women have the blues of
o tener than men, an eff it ~arnt for the fac
thatal the town knows SUITS married, Tcould easy
find sixteen-yer old, jis shed other pantalets
which would git inter corner with me, an twix
her imaginary an my real woes, we nd hev q
royal time.
But Suits married man, an, tharfore, to all in,
Z tents an purposes dead.
A friend of mine onct he'd queer kind of dream
! which I've often thought about. efs
He was powerful fond of flowers. garding
full of the choicest was onct opened to him, and
he was told:how he might walk through, and he
might look and smell to his content, but he must
tote away but one. He thoughthe couldn't choose
amiss, an he went in lemons fore daylight an
snatched the fust one his hands lit on. Powerful
proud he was ez he toted it off!
He wore it on his bosom right over his left pal
Il pator, an wondered at his luck in so soon maxim
fine selection. Bine-by, at sun-up, he thought
mebbe he might done better by Waitin', an be-
4 fore midday he foun' out he either had iimson
weed blossom er flower too rare am fine fer him
to preshiate.
He wanted to swap off; nary go. Then he
wanted the privilege Of goin' back inter the gar
ding an enjoyin' the perfume of the flowers he
left behind; but nary once.
My friend woke up swearin' he never would pull
another flower, but they might all bud an bloom
an fade on their parent stalks fer him.
His head was level!
Well, kernel, they won't let me back inter the
gardng. I've got my hower-prospect is, no
body S gwine to fight me an take hit away
'Twould be the porest fight an the easiest gon
thing you ever heard Of selah.)
But, kernel, I've got the blues. u
I've been cuttin' up the devil since I've been
il the big 0rleens, an, all days alike, an the
nights various, don't often let on like nothin
troubled me. 0nct in a while find myself alone
an git ter tbinkiu'.
Thar's my ole mother up yander in Tennessee,
an she thinks SUITS fust cousin to ole Gable his
self. shnin one from the blue upstairs couldn't
make her believe but sut was a good boy. 1
think of her gray hairs, her troubles an furnaces
Of affection. l fgger her face an form ez she
looked when was little shirt-tail cuss, an she
teachin' me my eyenin' prayers. l foller along
the dusty road I've Travelled up to whiskers AM
manhood, an the same face an voice hev haunted
me, an the same prayers hev been holdin' ne
back like Twin things, ez I went plungin' an
cavortin' down the big wide road.
This minnit she's asettin' by the winder at home
an now an then she looks down the roadpan, she
I. signs, an knits agin, an keeps thinkin' about
Stt bnr r1,o &
her specs an wipes away the dimness, an signs
an knits agin. She's wonderin' an hopfn AM
fein' fer SUIT an the knittin' she's at is socks
SUIT, which he, bein' city-fed will gin to the mig
ner as blacks his boots,
Thar amt no ivy round our house at home, kerr
nell AM thar amt no honey suckle, an no porch
SO called. The house is an ole-fashioned country
place, painted red, an the hogs, chickens an
houn-pups take pot luck all round it, an make
tharselyes at home about the door-but hits
/ home.
| Big sis hez got married an gone to Nashville,
an thar's only left of the brood little blueeyed
gal, mebbe ten yer old Now that dads dead,
/ she an the ole woman set an talk by the hour
/ bout SUIT, an wonder why he don't write more n
onct month, Buddy sut orter, when he knows
how they love to puzzle out his bad spellin', an
how worn an dog cared the trilin ole letter gifts
fore new one comes to them.
! l drink whiskysan' play poker tell the fellers
wonder whar N thunder the money comes from.
They take it down rapid enough, an laugh at
SUITS smutty yarns and think he's devil of afel-
ler They use him fer thar own purposes, drink
his ticker an eat his lake dinners, an keep a won
derin' whar he gifts his money, an never give him
4 credit for either he'd or hart.
4 When Pixies bank quits discountinf to boI}-tajl
commission merchants an SUITS cash runs short,
SUITS friends will git fewer, and they'll shut their
gardtng gates and Sutll be a poor ornary cugs,
ez they alters know'd he was.
i Hit makes me feel bluer en- indigo to think how
| a man viii sacrifice his self an the honest deyo
ton Of them that loves him mex to his maker, fer
SIGN ondisputed humbug. 2F2 ~
Wisht hadn't come to the big Orleans kef
mel. hev larnt to git worldly ways AM ideas an,
! projecks; to detect an ter distrust men; to find
| saint-like purity shinn with what turned QUITO
1 be fex.fire. / hev larnt to excuse rascaty an
| give great truths en- principles the g go byn TO
strange conscience an my heart; to tell my brain
to go it on q fas' line both ez to pleasure an
gain, an count wit huekleberry above the per
ssimmon Of WISDOM The world amt what 1
Thought it, an mennot worth par value. go 25 "
Hits what / didn't want ter find out.
Hove to take afellerfer what his face calls fer,
AM Judge him by his impulses. Sorry to say hit,
may do5but from my experience not in Orleans. ID
/ What's good fer the, blues, Kernel? I'ye,don
tried ticker, an hit don't do no good, I've asked,
thefelleEs what run with, an they larf at me an,
sagfno body but wimmin gets the blues. smokin!
makeS it wuss, an reason an, common sense don't
/ faze ,em ,5a-s2' -
/ wanter5gO ho.ome Iwanter ind surntliinj as
loves me. Seems tome that eff + went up to the
gate athome an the ole houn' Nipper was to bay
like he knowed me, an little blue eyed Nellie was
to run to meet me, 'twopd cure me sartin. I'd
think little Nellie's homespun dress an bare feet
purifier than the rusthin' silk, bare neck an' on
decent filter the gal wears what rides with me.
ole Nipper's yelp would be honester EN- the shout
Of the fellers at the club, 'tHyar comes SUIT! 'i
an the ole womans God bless you nv SON,
would be sweeter ZEN all the Delilah kisses as fast
life in Orleans uyer tastes.
Kernel, hits an orful thing to be or feel alone.
I hey felt so--the joiliest cuss in merry crowd
wuss 50 then 'en at any other tme-an' I hev
quitthe fellers an sot my pins moyin' towards
my den, while the stars winked an bnked like