The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with appropriate gestures and emphasis, though in the genuine darky dialect—which seems to be inborn with the pure, Southern black—Mrs. Hemans' poem:
'The boy stood on the burning deck.'
'Mrs. Hemans draped in black!' I exclaimed, laughing heartily; 'How would the good lady feel, could she look down from where she is, and hear a little darky doing up her poetry in that style?'
'D—d ef I doan't b'lieve'twud make her love th' little nig like I do,' replied the corn-cracker, taking him up on his knee as tenderly as he would have taken up his own child.
'Tell me, my little man,' I said, 'who taught you all these things?'
'I lamed 'em myseff, sar,' was the prompt reply.
'You learned them yourself! but who taught you to read?'
'I larned 'em myseff, sar!'
'You couldn't have learned that yourself; didn't your 'massa' teach you?'
'No, sar.'