Two darkies engaged in a horse trade. After the sale was made one darky had the other darky’s horse, for which he parted with $30.00. A few days later the buyer of the horse came across the other darky and complained bitterly of being robbed. Why, Rastus, that horse ain’t no good at all. He can’t see. He’s blind.
What makes you think he’s blind, Sam?
Why, the other day I turned him out in the field and he run into the fence, then he stumbled over a great big rock and then he run plumb into a tree.
Aw, go long, nigger, that horse ain’t blind. He just don’t give a damn.
One morning, while visiting in Richmond, a New York lady overheard the following conversation between the hostess and the cook—
Please, Mis’ Gawdon, may I git off nex’ Sunday to go to the fun’ral of a friend of mine?
Next Sunday? Why, Eliza, this is only Monday! They wouldn’t put a funeral off for a week.
Yas’m, respectfully; but dey has to, ’cause he ain’t dead yit.
Not dead! I am positively ashamed of you. How can you be so heartless as to arrange to attend the funeral of a man who is still living? Why, he may not die at all.