Ole Mars an' Ole Miss

by Edmund K. Goldsborough

Sixly, Teck uh little cherry blossom dat you cud put in Miss Henrietta’s thimble; hit mecks uh cherry tree. I’s talkin’ now boutin dem small breed ub cherry blossoms dat grows at Fausley, on dem monstus gre’t big trees. Why, some ub de bumps on dem trees is big ernuff ter set on. Pow’ful big cherry trees! What’s witches ter de cherry blossoms dat mecks dem big trees? You kyant ’splain hit.

We do no sompin’ erbout witches; fuh instinct, we kin ondastan how some breed ub witches kin lib in cows’ hohns—dem small ones dat Little Billy say lit on Pigeon’s mane (an’ you no mules don’ hab long manes) jes’ same ez uh pack ub mice wid wings, one night when he ridin’ Pigeon thoo Haylan’ Branch. Billy say de biggis’ one he saw dat time wuz uh white one, wid spuhs on, boutin ez big ez uh young rabbit befo’ dey leabe deah nes’—an’ ub cose at uh ’stressin’ time like dat Billy mus’ uh saw twice. Mo’ober he say ef’n de witches had uh had bobtails he wud uh tuck ’em fuh rabbits; but deah tails wuz ve’y curisome—erbout twice ez long ez uh ’possum’s, an’ rap all ’roun’ deah ahms.

But de stranges’ thing ub all is what I now cum ter seben’ly—

“HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

We kyant say our pr’ars widout hit. Hit’s got fingahs, I s’pose plays hohns an’ all insterments dat you blow on. Hit sings, howls, whispuhs an’ moans same ez uh mo’nah. Hit’s uh thing wid three names.

Ev’ybody lubs de part dat ’longs ter him mo’n uh jus’ man lub his wife, er King Dabid lubb’d Ab-so-lum. We kin see hit in wintah when hit’s cole an’ frosty, but kyant see hit in de summah when it dry. Hit’s wid us whedder we ersleep er wake. Som’times hit’s ez weak ez uh nat, den ergin stronger dan de little hills dat de Bible say, “skipped like lam’s.” Hit’s wahm in summah an’ cole in wintah. Hit’s gentle one day an’ sassy nubba day. Hit kerries in hit’s bres’ de storm an’ scatters de clowds. Hit wuz wid Jonah in de whale’s belly. Hit kin sow an’ reap. Ezactly so, precisely. Hit’s stronger dan all de steers, cows, hosses, mules an’ men on dis plantation. In quaresomeness da’s nuffin kin tech it; uh barnyard full ub witches is nuffin ter dis mis’try.

“HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

Ately, hit kin be ez sorf ez de fevvers on uh hummin’ bird’s bres’ er de down on uh wile goose’s neck. Belubbed, hit’s nebba still; al’ays goin’ somewha, an’ de Bible say you kyant see hit. No snail kin creep ’long slower dan hit kin, an’ no ghose run fasser.

Ninely, Hit kin canter, rack, gallop, trot; hit’s got all de gaits, an’ when hit comes ter swif’ness, dar ain’ nuffin un’er de sun, an’ I specks ober de sun, dat kin run erway fum hit. Hit kin sing ez high ez Aunt Phillis an’ ez low ez Little Billy. Sometimes hit coughs same ez an ole cow dat’s tryin’ ter swaller uh nubbin ’dout chawin’ hit.

Leb’nly, De fac’ is, sistus an’ brudders, our bref, de win’, er air—three names fuh one thing—mus’ be uh pusson. How cud it cough, whistle, sing, cry, moan same ez uh sinnah, whispuh, sow an’ reap, ef’n it wan’ one ub dem Possels er Petracks in disgise.