NIGGER PECULIARITIES.
Perhaps no race of people on the face of the habitable globe are so strongly imbued with individual peculiarities as the free and slave negro population of the United States. Out-heroding Herod in their monstrous attempts of imitating and exceeding the fashions of the whites, the emulative “Darkies” may be seen on Sundays occupying the whole extent of the Broadway pavement, dressed in fashions carried to the very sublime of the ridiculous. Whatever is the order of the day, the highest ton among the whites is instantly adopted, with the most ludicrous exaggeration, by the blacks: if small brims be worn by the beaus of the former, they degenerate to nothing on the skulls of the latter; if width be the order of the day, the coloured gentlemen rush out in unmeasurable umbrellas of felt, straw, and gossamer. A long-tailed white is, in comparison, but a docked black. Should muslin trip from a carriage, tucked or flounced to the knee, the same material, sported by a sable belle, will take its next Sunday out fur-belowed from hip to heel. Parasols are parachutes; sandals, black bandages; large bonnets, straw sheds, and small ones, nonentities. So it is with colours: green becomes more green, blue more blue, orange more orange, and crimson more flaming, when sported by these ebon slaves of deep-rooted vanity.
The spirit of imitation manifests itself in all their actions: hence it is by no means an uncommon occurrence to see a tall, round-shouldered, woolly-headed, buck-shinned, and inky-complexioned “Free Nigger,” sauntering out on Sunday, shading his huge weather-proof face from the rays of the encroaching sun under a carefully-carried silk umbrella! And again, as in many of the places of worship the whole congregation cannot be accommodated with seats, many of the members supply their own; so these sable gentry may be frequently seen progressing to church with a small stool under their arms: and in one instance, rather than be disappointed, or obliged to stand,—a solemn-looking specimen of the species actually provided himself with a strong brick-bat, and having carefully covered it with his many and bright-coloured bandana, preserved his gravity, and, still more strange, his balance, with an irresistible degree of mirth-creating composure.
Their laziness and unequivocal antipathy to work is as true as proverbial. We know an instance of it in which the master ordered his sable “help” to carry a small box from the steam pier to the Astor-House Hotel, where his newly-married wife, an English lady, was waiting for it; judge of her surprise to see the dark gentleman arrive followed by an Irish lad bearing the freight intended for himself.
“Dar,” said the domineering conductor; “dar, dat will do; put da box down dar. Now, Missis, look here, jist give dat chap a shillin.”
“A shilling! What for?”
“Cos he bring up dar plunder from de bay.”
“Why didn’t you bring it yourself?”
“Look here. Somehow I rader guess I should ha let dar box fall and smashiated de contents, so I jist give dat white trash de job jest to let de poor crittur arn a shillin.”
Remonstrance was vain, so the money was paid; the lady declaring, for the future, should he think proper to employ a deputy, it must be at his own expense. The above term “white trash” is the one commonly employed to express their supreme contempt for the “low Irish wulgar set.”
Their dissensions among themselves are irresistibly comic. Threatening each other in the most outrageous manner; pouring out invectives, anathemas, and denunciations of the most deadly nature; but nine times in ten letting the strife end without a blow; affording in their quarrels an apt illustration of
“A tale full of sound and fury, Told by an idiot, signifying nothing.”
Suppose an affront, fancied or real, put by one on another, the common commencement of ireful expostulations generally runs as follows:—
“Look here! you d—m black nigger; what you do dat for, Sar?”
“Hoo you call black, Sar? D—m, as white as you, Sar; any day, Sar. You nigger, Sar!”
“Look here agin; don’t you call me a nigger, Sar. Now, don’t you do it.”
“Why not?”
“Neber mind; I’ve told you on it, so don’t you go to do it no more, you mighty low black, cos if you do put my dander up, and make me wrasey, I rader guess I’ll smash in your nigger’s head, like a bust-up egg-shell. Ise a ring-tailed roarer, I tell you!”
“Reckon I’m a Pottomus. Don’t you go to put my steam up; d—d if don’t bust and scald you out. I’m nothing but a snorter—a pretty considerable tarnation long team, and a couple of horses to spare; so jest be quiet, I tell you, or I’ll use you up uncommon sharp.”
“You use me up! Yoo, yoo! D—m! You and your wife and some nigger children, all ob you, was sold for a hundred and fifty dollars less than this nigger.”
“Look here, don’t you say dat agin; don’t you do it; I tell you, don’t you do it, or I’ll jist give you such an almighty everlasting shaking, dat you shall pray for a cold ague as a holiday. I’m worth considerable more dollars dan sich a low black man as you is worth cents. Why, didn’t dey offer to give you away, only you such dam trash no one would take you, so at last you was knocked down to a blind man.”
“What dat? Here! Stand clear dar behind, and get out ob de way in front, I’m jist going to take a run and butt dat nigger out of de State. Let me go, do you hear? Golly, if you hadn’t held me he’d a been werry small pieces by dis time. D—m, I’ll break him up.”
“Yoo, yoo! Your low buck-shins neber carry your black head fast enough to catch dis elegant nigger. You jist run; you’ll find I’m nothing but an alligator. You hab no more chance dan a black slug under de wheels of a plunder-train carriage. You is unnoticeable by dis gentleman.”
“Dar dat good, gentleman! Golly, dat good! Look here, don’t you neber speak to me no more.”
“And look here, nigger, don’t you neber speak to me.”
“See you d—m fust, black man.”
“See you scorched fust, nigger.”
“Good day, trash.”
“Good mornin, dirt!”
So generally ends the quarrel; but about half-an-hour afterwards the Trash and Dirt will generally be found lauding each other to the skies, and cementing a new six hours’ friendship over some brandy punch or a mint julep.
SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—No. VI.
You bid me rove, Mary,
In the shady grove, Mary,
With you to the close of even;
But I can’t, my dear,
For I must, I swear,
Be off at a quarter to seven.
Nay, do not start, Mary;
Nor let your heart, Mary,
Be disturb’d in its innocent purity;
I’m sure that you
Wouldn’t have me do
My friend—my bail—my security!
That tearful eye, Mary,
Seems to ask me why, Mary,
I can wait till sunset on’y.
Ah! turn not away;
I am out for the day
On a Fleet and fleeting pony.
Your wide open mouth, Mary,
With its breath like the south, Mary,
Seems to ask for an explanation.
Well, though not of the schools,
I live within rules,
And am subject to observation.
But come to my arms, Mary;
Let no dread alarms, Mary,
In our present happiness warp us!
I’ve not the least doubt
Of soon getting out,
By a writ of habeas corpus.
Away with despair, Mary;
Let us cast in the air, Mary,
His dark and gloomy fetters.
Why should we be rack’d,
When we think of the Act
For relieving Insolvent Debtors.
A MAYOR’S NEST.
Our friend the Sir Peter Laureate wishes to know whether the work upon “Horal Surgery” is not a new-invented description of almanack, as it is announced as
CURTIS ON THE EAR11. Qy. Year.—Printer’s Devil.