Darkey Ways in Dixie

by Margaret A. Richard

Dat Sambo ain’t got good sense;
Work agin hisse’f for sho;
’Tain’t no parable I’m tellin’,
’Tis de truf, en dat am so.
He wus ’ployed by Missus Johnsing
Ter run erran’s en bring wood;—
Ter do anything, in fac’,
Roun’ de place a nigger could;
En Sambo, he done right well
Till de boys begin ter sell
Bunches ob de mistletoe.
’Twus de Chris’mas time ercomin’,
En it tingled in his blood,
Till he couldn’t stick ter sawin’
En ter choppin’ ob de wood;
En he couldn’t heah de Missus
When she say: “Be smart, Sambo!”
Kaze de soun’ ob dem boys callin’
In de street wus all he know;
En a nigger stop en say:
“We is lucky, sho, ter-day;
We des sells de mistletoe!”
Sambo didn’t stop ter say:
“’Scuse me, Missus, I mus’ go!”
Do his po’ ole mammy teach him
Better manners, dat you know.
He des leave dat yard en clim’
Up de neares’ ole oak tree,
Whar de mistletoe wus growin’
Fresh en green ez it could be;
En he jine dem boys dat cry:
“Mistletoe er passin’ by!
Don’ you want some mistletoe?”
En he sell it mighty good—
He des scoop de nickles in!
Seem de Lawd wus blessin’ him
In his foolishness en sin.
Dar de Missus wus er needin’
Him ter chop en bring in wood,
En he orter gone en done it—
Kaze she sho bin mighty good,
But he strut erlong de street,
Hol’rin’ out: “It’s hard to beat
Dis fine bunch ob mistletoe!”
But de jedgment come at las’,
Ez it boun’ ter come, fo’ sho,
When a nigger work agin
His ownse’f, lak dat Sambo.
When de holidays wus pas’
Missus say dat she don’ need
Him to work no mo’ fo’ her,
Kaze she got some one instead.
En dat boy got sense ter know
White folks don’ buy mistletoe
When de season am done pas’!

Chris’mas Gif’!

I go tip-toe down de alley
Ter de Missus’ kitchen do’,
Kaze I know she got some Chris’mas
Somewhar fo’ dis darkey, sho;
She don’ spec’ me roun’ dat way,
En I s’prise her when I say:
“Chris’mas gif’!”
Den she turn roun’, des er laughin’,
En she say: “De same ter you!
Is you got a present fo’ me?
Kaze I want one—I sho do!”
“You’s des foolin’,” den I say;
“’Sides I hollered fus dis day:
‘Chris’mas gif’!’”
Den she git a big bandanna—
One wid po’ka dots ob red,
En she say: “Ez you done ketch me,
You kin hab dis fo’ yo’ head.”
So I sho am glad dis day
Dat I wus de fus ter say:
“Chris’mas gif’!”

Snow in the South.

Dis mornin’ when I went ter po’
Water out my cabin do’,
I wus sho surprised ter see,
While de darkness all roun’ me,
Snow wus des er fallin’ down
Till it civered all de groun’.
Bin des ’bout two yeahs or mo’
Sence I seed a flake ob snow;
En I call to Mandy: “Say!
Heah’s a sight, fo’ sho, ter-day!
Yestiday was lak de spring;
Look what des one night done bring.”
En she come en poke her head
Out from under dat ole shed;
En she say: “When you go down
Ter de Massa’s in de town,
You mus’ civer up yo’ back
Wid a nice warm crocus sack.”

En she say: “Yo’ shoes am ole;
Sho dey days am neahly tole.”
En she wrap ’em, fo’th en back,
Wid dem bits ob crocus sack,
Till you hardly see my feet
When I walk erlong de street.
Massa p’int ter dem en say:
“Wouldn’t dress up dat erway!
Why’n’t you git some rubber shoes?
You could buy ’em if you choose.”
But I won’t! Kaze don’t I know
Soon de sun gwine drink dat snow?

Aunty’s Affliction.

How is I dis mornin’, Miss?
Po’ly, dat am true!
In de night-time I don’ sleep
Lak I orter do,
Kaze I got de miz’ry bad
In me, up en down,
En some day, fo’ sho, it gwine
Fetch me ter de groun’.
Oh, I’s full ob trouble, Miss!—
Full ez I kin be.
Ain’t you got some liniment
You kin gib ter me?
I is ’bleeged ter git some he’p
Somewhar, dat am sho,
Else dis miz’ry in de j’ints
Soon gwine lay me low.
Oh, I thank you, thank you, Miss!
God will bless you, sho.
All de goodness ob yo’ heart
He mus’ sholey know;
En he’ll pay you when at las’
He done lay me down;—
When dis pain en miz’ry done
Fetch me ter de groun’.