Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1888-02-16
SAVANNAH, TENNESSEE, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY IS, 1885,
COULDN'T EXPLAIN.
A Sentimental White Man Tries to Pick .
Quarrel with an Old Negro.

COULDN'T EXPLAIN.
A Sentimental White Man Tries to Pick o
Quarrel with an Old Negro.
A traveller who had read much of the
negro, and who had, while listening to
negro melodies sung by white men.
been impressed with the 'darkey's"
fullness of sentiment, stood watching
an old negro who worked at country
hotel
"How do you doP" said the white
man, bowling with sort of tender and
sympathetic politeness.
"How does l doP" replied the old
fellow.
yes"
"Wall, l does bout de bes' ken,
sah."
II mean how is your health?"
"Sorter slow at de present. Amt
been all right in mer health fur seb-
eral days. Went de uder day whar er
frien' o. mine killed haugs an 1 stood
roun' de fire, roastin' haug melts on de
hot rocks an eatin' EN-, / did, till da
made me sick. 1t amt gwine do fur
er ole man ter ack like err boy, sab;
amt gwine ter do err tall. Wy, wen
wuz er boy lister 60 ter er haug.
KILN an eat all day laung. lister
chaw, did. till l couldn' hardly shet
mer mouf wen I opened it."
"a simple child Of nature" unused
the traveller, IAN instrument upon
which the skilled politician may play
the tune of his INSCRIPTIONS improvisa-
tion." Then addressing the old negro
the sympathetic traveller added: "You
love poetry, do you not?"
30, vas. sab, vas; likes any thing
dat's good ter eat"
"You don't understand. Poetry is
not to eat. You can drink"
"Suthin' ter drink Hits me now,
yer does. When it comes ter suthin'
ter drink, wy, my top-not STAINS up
like err ROSTERS. Wars de bottlei
Show me de bottle eff yer wants ter see
me bite de naik off"
"You still misunderstood me, and in
truth, I do not see how am to ell.
tighten you. Poetry-and I wish now
that hadn't mentioned it's nothing
to eat or drink"
"Suthin' to war, den, chp Wall,
like ter dress up ez much ez anybody.
Jes mix some red in er suit O clozo an
I'm dar, / tell yer"
Just keep quiet now until OK,
plain myself. Poetry is the music
| Of"
Music! Now I got yer-got yer dii
time, sho. Music.-w'y, bless yer liio
chile, Use er fiddler frmn de ole house
Use made all desc yere folksrou yers
shake do hoofs at dances, I tell yer
Use got err ole fiddle dat'll take de gou
an rheumatic outen er foot in two min
it's"
II am determined to mako you I'M
derstand me. Poetry-and when OK
plain it 1 know that you will aeknowl
edge its influence-is revival Of
feeling which you have felt before ;
feeling brought up by certain words
whose tenderness, like the falling o
teardrops, brings glimpses of your owl
soul"
Look yere, Mister, Use er peaeeabl
man. l is. an Use been here too laun,
fur err pusson ter come roun' talkin' te
me dat way. You talk ter me like Is
been stealth suthin, talks ter mo lik
dat jcdge done ober yander in de oou't
house, an wants yer ter un'orstan
dat I'se Ell man dat tends ter mex owl
bizness. l come out yere ter scou' d
flo an not be slan'ered, sah,"
"Poor, deluded-"
"Who's err 'ludedp Call me er Jude,
ergin an I'll hit yer wild dis wet rag
Go on outen yere, now, ur I'll call d
boss. Come huntin' me up wen
wan doin' noihin' tor you an calm
me er 'iuded. You's er 'luded verse I
sab; you's er blame son o er 'iuded
dat w'ut yer is. No, sab, no; doar
stop ter say ernuder word. OATS right
move on. Huh, imperdest man ebc
seed. Come down yere tryin' ter rails
er row an l lay ne gets it. "-Arkansa,
Traveller.