What the cloud doeth
The Lord knoweth,
The cloud knoweth not
What the artist doeth,
The Lord knoweth;
Knoweth the artist not?
Sidney Lanier
January Sixth
Few have equaled the old time negro at repartee, and a true Southerner heartily relished a clever rejoinder to his good natured raillery. The rejoinder was frequently overwhelming, always respectful, and generally worth an immediate acknowledgment in cash or old clothes.
“Is that you, Peter?” called an old Confederate to his former body-servant on the road.
Peter grinned broadly as he doffed his hat. “Yas, suh, dis yer me.”
“Well, well!” laughed the other. “I see that all the old fools are not dead yet.”
“Dat’s so, Mars’ Tom.” Peter pulled his grizzly forelock appreciatively. “I’s monsus glad to see dat you’s in such good health, suh.”
January Seventh