Delphi Complete Works of Joel Chandler Harris (Illustrated) E-Book

Joel Chandler Harris

• Herausgeber: Delphi Publishing Ltd
• Serie: Delphi Series Eleven
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 8445

Beschreibung

The American author and creator of the folk character Uncle Remus, Joel Chandler Harris produced a wide body of works, reflecting his life and interests in the Deep South. As a young journalist, he established a reputation as a brilliant humorist and writer of dialect. His Uncle Remus stories secured for Harris a place in American literature. The format was an instant success — a wise and genial old black man, Uncle Remus narrates tales of Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox and other animals to the son of a plantation owner, while interweaving his philosophy of the world about him. Harris’ later novels reveal his ability as a writer of ‘local color’, exploring important issues facing the South after its Reconstruction. For the first time in publishing history, this eBook presents Harris’ complete works, with numerous illustrations, many rare texts, informative introductions and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Harris’ life and works
* Concise introductions to the novels and other texts
* The Complete Uncle Remus books, for the first time in digital publishing
* Includes all of the original Uncle Remus illustrations
* The Complete Thimblefinger series
* All 7 novels, with individual contents tables
* Even includes Harris’ first novel, ‘The Romance of Rockville’, lost for many years and appearing here for the first time in digital publishing
* Images of how the books were first published, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the texts
* All works are fully illustrated with their original artwork
* Rare story collections available in no other eBook
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the short stories
* Easily locate the stories you want to read
* Includes Harris’ biography on his inspirational friend Henry W. Grady, first time in digital print
* Features Wiggins’ seminal biography – discover Harris’ incredible life
* Ordering of texts into chronological order and genres

Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles

CONTENTS:

The Uncle Remus Books
Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings (1881)
Nights with Uncle Remus (1883)
Uncle Remus and His Friends (1892)
The Tar-Baby and Other Rhymes of Uncle Remus (1904)
Told by Uncle Remus (1905)
Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit (1907)
Uncle Remus and the Little Boy (1910)
Uncle Remus Returns (1918)
Seven Tales of Uncle Remus (1948)

Mr. Thimblefinger Series
Little Mr. Thimblefinger and His Queer Country (1894)
Mr. Rabbit at Home (1895)
The Story of Aaron (So Named), the Son of Ben Ali (1896)
Aaron in the Wildwoods (1897)

The Novels
The Romance of Rockville
On the Plantation (1892)
Sister Jane (1896)
Gabriel Tolliver (1902)
A Little Union Scout (1904)
Shadow between His Shoulder Blades (1909)
The Bishop and the Boogerman (1909)

The Shorter Fiction
Mingo and Other Sketches in Black and White (1884)
Free Joe and Other Georgian Sketches (1887)
Daddy Jake, The Runaway: And Short Stories Told After Dark (1889)
Balaam and His Master and Other Sketches and Stories (1891)
Evening Tales (1893)
Stories of Georgia (1896)
Tales of the Home Folks in Peace and War (1898)
The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann (1899)
Plantation Pageants (1899)
On the Wing of Occasions (1900)
The Making of a Statesman and Other Stories (1902)
Wally Wanderoon and His Story-Telling Machine (1903)

The Short Stories
List of Short Stories in Chronological Order
List of Short Stories in Alphabetical Order

The Non-Fiction
Introduction to ‘The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast’ by F. R. Goulding (1887)
Life of Henry W. Grady (1890)

The Biography
The Life of Joel Chandler Harris (1918) by Robert Lemuel Wiggins

Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles or to purchase this eBook as a Parts Edition of individual eBooks

Leseprobe

The Complete Works of

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

(1848-1908)

Contents

The Uncle Remus Books

Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings (1881)

Nights with Uncle Remus (1883)

Uncle Remus and His Friends (1892)

The Tar-Baby and Other Rhymes of Uncle Remus (1904)

Told by Uncle Remus (1905)

Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit (1907)

Uncle Remus and the Little Boy (1910)

Uncle Remus Returns (1918)

Seven Tales of Uncle Remus (1948)

Mr. Thimblefinger Series

Little Mr. Thimblefinger and His Queer Country (1894)

Mr. Rabbit at Home (1895)

The Story of Aaron (So Named), the Son of Ben Ali (1896)

Aaron in the Wildwoods (1897)

The Novels

The Romance of Rockville (1878)

On the Plantation (1892)

Sister Jane (1896)

Gabriel Tolliver (1902)

A Little Union Scout (1904)

Shadow between His Shoulder Blades (1909)

The Bishop and the Boogerman (1909)

The Shorter Fiction

Mingo and Other Sketches in Black and White (1884)

Free Joe and Other Georgian Sketches (1887)

Daddy Jake, The Runaway: And Short Stories Told After Dark (1889)

Balaam and His Master and Other Sketches and Stories (1891)

Evening Tales (1893)

Stories of Georgia (1896)

Tales of the Home Folks in Peace and War (1898)

The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann (1899)

Plantation Pageants (1899)

On the Wing of Occasions (1900)

The Making of a Statesman and Other Stories (1902)

Wally Wanderoon and His Story-Telling Machine (1903)

The Short Stories

List of Short Stories in Chronological Order

List of Short Stories in Alphabetical Order

The Non-Fiction

Introduction to ‘The Young Marooners on the Florida Coast’ by F. R. Goulding (1887)

Life of Henry W. Grady (1890)

The Biography

The Life of Joel Chandler Harris (1918) by Robert Lemuel Wiggins

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

© Delphi Classics 2021

Version 1

Browse our Main Series

Browse our Ancient Classics

Browse our Poets

Browse our Art eBooks

Browse our Classical Music series

The Complete Works of

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

By Delphi Classics, 2021

COPYRIGHT

Complete Works of Joel Chandler Harris

First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2021.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 978 1 91348 751 5

Delphi Classics

is an imprint of

Delphi Publishing Ltd

Hastings, East Sussex

United Kingdom

Contact: [email protected]

www.delphiclassics.com

Our comprehensive editions are beautifully illustrated with the original artwork of some of the greatest children stories ever told, as well as offering a dazzling array of Delphi bonus features. Now you can rediscover the magic of these eternal classics on your eReader!

Explore Classic Children’s eBooks

The Uncle Remus Books

Eatonton, a city in Putnam County, Georgia — Harris’ birthplace

Harris as a young man, c. 1870

Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings (1881)

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY FREDERICK S. CHURCH AND JAMES H. MOSER

Uncle Remus: His Songs and Sayings was first published in 1881 by D. Appleton and Company in New York. It is the first book of a nine series collection of works that are centred on the character of Uncle Remus. Harris had experienced a challenging childhood in Georgia, after his father deserted the family while he was still an infant. His mother tried to support herself and her son by working as a seamstress and gardener. The author remained highly sensitive to being what was socially considered at the time an illegitimate child. He began work at fourteen at a plantation owner’s newspaper, The Countryman, as a Printer’s Devil (an apprentice that performed a number of tasks, such as mixing tubs of ink and fetching type). He was soon permitted to publish his own poems and writings in the newspaper. During the civil war, which had started the year before, The Countryman eventually became one of the most widely circulated papers in The Confederacy, giving the aspiring author much exposure.

It was through his employment by Joseph Addison Turner at Turnwold Plantation that Harris began to socialise with black slaves; this was an experience that would become vital to his career as a writer. Uncle Remus:His Songs and Sayings is a collection of African American oral folktales centred on the character of Uncle Remus, who first appeared in 1876 in Harris’ column in The Atlanta Constitution. The author used dialect in the work, attempting to recreate the language and grammar used by black Americans in the South. Harris later explained that he began writing the Uncle Remus stories as a serial to “preserve in permanent shape those curious mementoes of a period that will no doubt be sadly misrepresented by historians of the future.” The tales were reprinted across America and Harris was approached by publisher D. Appleton and Company to compile them for a book.

The resulting work is a collection of animal stories, songs, and oral folklore, often written in a didactic vein, similar to Aesop's Fables. Uncle Remus is a kindly old freedman, who serves as a story-telling device, passing on the folktales like a traditional African griot to the children gathered around him, especially to the little son of the plantation owner. The tales often interweave Uncle Remus’ philosophy of the world about him. The character of Uncle Remus is a compilation of Br’er Rabbit storytellers that Harris had encountered during his time at Turnwold. The genre of stories is the trickster tale. Br'er Rabbit (Brother Rabbit) is usually the main character of the tales, who is prone to playing tricks and troublemaking and is often opposed by Br'er Fox and Br'er Bear.

The book was a great commercial success and led to many more stories about Uncle Remus over the course of Harris’ career. The critical reception of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has been mixed and fraught with disagreement. In 1981, renowned author Alice Walker criticised Harris and his work in an essay entitled ‘Uncle Remus, No Friend of Mine’, where she berated him for stealing part of her heritage ‘By making [her] feel ashamed of it’.

The first edition

CONTENTS

PREFACE AND DEDICATION TO THE NEW EDITION

INTRODUCTION

LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION

I. UNCLE REMUS INITIATES THE LITTLE BOY

II. THE WONDERFUL TAR BABY STORY

III. WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE

IV. HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX

V. THE STORY OF THE DELUGE AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT

VI. MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX

VII. MR. FOX IS AGAIN VICTIMIZED

VIII. MR. FOX IS “OUTDONE” BY MR. BUZZARD

IX. MISS COW FALLS A VICTIM TO MR. RABBIT

X. MR. TERRAPIN APPEARS UPON THE SCENE

XI. MR. WOLF MAKES A FAILURE

XII. MR. FOX TACKLES OLD MAN TARRYPIN

XIII. THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF

XIV. MR. FOX AND THE DECEITFUL FROGS

XV. MR. FOX GOES A-HUNTING, BUT MR. RABBIT BAGS THE GAME

XVI. OLD MR. RABBIT, HE’S A GOOD FISHERMAN

XVII. MR. RABBIT NIBBLES UP THE BUTTER

XVIII. MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS MATCH AT LAST

XIX. THE FATE OF MR. JACK SPARROW

XX. HOW MR. RABBIT SAVED HIS MEAT

XXI. MR. RABBIT MEETS HIS MATCH AGAIN

XXII. A STORY ABOUT THE LITTLE RABBITS

XXIII. MR. RABBIT AND MR. BEAR

XXIV. MR. BEAR CATCHES OLD MR. BULL-FROG

XXV. HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL

XXVI. MR. TERRAPIN SHOWS HIS STRENGTH

XXVII. WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO HAIR ON HIS TAIL

XXVIII. THE END OF MR. BEAR

XXIX. MR. FOX GETS INTO SERIOUS BUSINESS

XXX. HOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED IN RAISING A DUST

XXXI. A PLANTATION WITCH

XXXII. “JACKY-MY-LANTERN”

XXXIII. WHY THE NEGRO IS BLACK

XXXIV. THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX

PLANTATION PROVERBS

HIS SONGS

I. REVIVAL HYMN

II. CAMP-MEETING SONG

III. CORN-SHUCKING SONG

IV. THE PLOUGH-HANDS’ SONG (JASPER COUNTY — 1860.)

V. CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG (MYRICK PLACE, PUTNAM COUNTY 1858.)

VI. PLANTATION PLAY-SONG (PUTNAM COUNTY — 1856.)

VII. TRANSCRIPTIONS

VIII. THE BIG BETHEL CHURCH

IX. TIME GOES BY TURNS

A STORY OF THE WAR

HIS SAYINGS

I. JEEMS ROBER’SON’S LAST ILLNESS

II. UNCLE REMUS’S CHURCH EXPERIENCE

III. UNCLE REMUS AND THE SAVANNAH DARKEY

IV. TURNIP SALAD AS A TEXT

V. A CONFESSION

VI. UNCLE REMUS WITH THE TOOTHACHE

VII. THE PHONOGRAPH

VIII. RACE IMPROVEMENT

IX. IN THE ROLE OF A TARTAR

X. A CASE OF MEASLES

XI. THE EMIGRANTS

XII. AS A MURDERER

UNCLE Remus met a police officer recently.

XIII. HIS PRACTICAL VIEW OF THINGS

XIV. THAT DECEITFUL JUG

XV. THE FLORIDA WATERMELON

XVI. UNCLE REMUS PREACHES TO A CONVERT

XVII. AS TO EDUCATION

XVIII. A TEMPERANCE REFORMER

XIX. AS A WEATHER PROPHET

XX. THE OLD MAN’S TROUBLES

XXI. THE FOURTH OF JULY

The original frontispiece

The first edition’s title page

Film poster for Walt Disney’s ‘Song of the South’ (1946), a combination of live action and animation with James Baskett starring as Remus

PREFACE AND DEDICATION TO THE NEW EDITION

To Arthur Barbette Frost

DEAR FROST:

I am expected to supply a preface for this new edition of my first book — to advance from behind the curtain, as it were, and make a fresh bow to the public that has dealt with Uncle Remus in so gentle and generous a fashion. For this event the lights are to be rekindled, and I am expected to respond in some formal way to an encore that marks the fifteenth anniversary of the book. There have been other editions — how many I do not remember — but this is to be an entirely new one, except as to the matter: new type, new pictures, and new binding.

But, as frequently happens on such occasions, I am at a loss for a word. I seem to see before me the smiling faces of thousands of children — some young and fresh, and some wearing the friendly marks of age, but all children at heart — and not an unfriendly face among them. And out of the confusion, and while I am trying hard to speak the right word, I seem to hear a voice lifted above the rest, saying “You have made some of us happy.” And so I feel my heart fluttering and my lips trembling, and I have to how silently and him away, and hurry back into the obscurity that fits me best.

Phantoms! Children of dreams! True, my dear Frost; but if you could see the thousands of letters that have come to me from far and near, and all fresh from the hearts and hands of children, and from men and women who have not forgotten how to be children, you would not wonder at the dream. And such a dream can do no harm. Insubstantial though it may be, I would not at this hour exchange it for all the fame won by my mightier brethren of the pen — whom I most humbly salute.

Measured by the material developments that have compressed years of experience into the space of a day, thus increasing the possibilities of life, if not its beauty, fifteen years constitute the old age of a book. Such a survival might almost be said to be due to a tiny sluice of green sap under the gray bark. where it lies in the matter of this book, or what its source if, indeed, it be really there — is more of a mystery to my middle age than it was to my prime.

But it would be no mystery at all if this new edition were to be more popular than the old one. Do you know why? Because you have taken it under your hand and made it yours. Because you have breathed the breath of life into these amiable brethren of wood and field. Because, by a stroke here and a touch there, you have conveyed into their quaint antics the illumination of your own inimitable humor, which is as true to our sun and soil as it is to the spirit and essence of the matter set forth.

The book was mine, but now you have made it yours, both sap and pith. Take it, therefore, my dear Frost, and believe me, faithfully yours,

Joel Chandler Harris

INTRODUCTION

IAMADVISEDby my publishers that this book is to be included in their catalogue of humorous publications, and this friendly warning gives me an opportunity to say that however humorous it may be in effect, its intention is perfectly serious; and, even if it were otherwise, it seems to me that a volume written wholly in dialect must have its solemn, not to say melancholy, features. With respect to the Folk-Lore scenes, my purpose has been to preserve the legends themselves in their original simplicity, and to wed them permanently to the quaint dialect — if, indeed, it can be called a dialect — through the medium of which they have become a part of the domestic history of every Southern family; and I have endeavored to give to the whole a genuine flavor of the old plantation.

Each legend has its variants, but in every instance I have retained that particular version which seemed to me to be the most characteristic, and have given it without embellishment and without exaggeration.

The dialect, it will be observed, is wholly different from that of the Hon. Pompey Smash and his literary descendants, and different also from the intolerable misrepresentations of the minstrel stage, but it is at least phonetically genuine. Nevertheless, if the language of Uncle Remus fails to give vivid hints of the really poetic imagination of the negro; if it fails to embody the quaint and homely humor which was his most prominent characteristic; if it does not suggest a certain picturesque sensitiveness — a curious exaltation of mind and temperament not to be defined by words — then I have reproduced the form of the dialect merely, and not the essence, and my attempt may be accounted a failure. At any rate, I trust I have been successful in presenting what must be, at least to a large portion of American readers, a new and by no means unattractive phase of negro character — a phase which may be considered a curiously sympathetic supplement to Mrs. Stowe’s wonderful defense of slavery as it existed in the South. Mrs. Stowe, let me hasten to say, attacked the possibilities of slavery with all the eloquence of genius; but the same genius painted the portrait of the Southern slave-owner, and defended him.

A number of the plantation legends originally appeared in the columns of a daily newspaper — The Atlanta Constitution and in that shape they attracted the attention of various gentlemen who were kind enough to suggest that they would prove to be valuable contributions to myth-literature. It is but fair to say that ethnological considerations formed no part of the undertaking which has resulted in the publication of this volume. Professor J. W. Powell, of the Smithsonian Institution, who is engaged in an investigation of the mythology of the North American Indians, informs me that some of Uncle Remus’s stories appear in a number of different languages, and in various modified forms, among the Indians; and he is of the opinion that they are borrowed by the negroes from the red-men. But this, to say the least, is extremely doubtful, since another investigator (Mr. Herbert H. Smith, author of Brazil and the Amazons) has met with some of these stories among tribes of South American Indians, and one in particular he has traced to India, and as far east as Siam. Mr. Smith has been kind enough to send me the proof-sheets of his chapter on The Myths and Folk-Lore of the Amazonian Indians, in which he reproduces some of the stories which he gathered while exploring the Amazons.

In the first of his series, a tortoise falls from a tree upon the head of a jaguar and kills him; in one of Uncle Remus’s stories, the terrapin falls from a shelf in Miss Meadows’s house and stuns the fox, so that the latter fails to catch the rabbit. In the next, a jaguar catches a tortoise by the hind-leg as he is disappearing in his hole; but the tortoise convinces him he is holding a root, and so escapes; Uncle Remus tells how the fox endeavored to drown the terrapin, but turned him loose because the terrapin declared his tail to be only a stump-root. Mr. Smith also gives the story of how the tortoise outran the deer, which is identical as to incident with Uncle Remus’s story of how Brer Tarrypin outran Brer Rabbit. Then there is the story of how the tortoise pretended that he was stronger than the tapir. He tells the latter he can drag him into the sea, but the tapir retorts that he will pull the tortoise into the forest and kill him besides. The tortoise thereupon gets a vine-stem, ties one end around the body of the tapir, and goes to the sea, where he ties the other end to the tail of a whale. He then goes into the wood, midway between them both, and gives the vine a shake as a signal for the pulling to begin. The struggle between the whale and tapir goes on until each thinks the tortoise is the strongest of animals. Compare this with the story of the terrapin’s contest with the bear, in which Miss Meadows’s bed-cord is used instead of a vine-stem. One of the most characteristic of Uncle Remus’s stories is that in which the rabbit proves to Miss Meadows and the girls that the fox is his riding-horse. This is almost identical with a story quoted by Mr. Smith, where the jaguar is about to marry the deer’s daughter. The cotia — a species of rodent — is also in love with her, and he tells the deer that he can make a riding-horse of the jaguar.

“Well,” says the deer, “if you can make the jaguar carry you, you shall have my daughter.” Thereupon the story proceeds pretty much as Uncle Remus tells it of the fox and rabbit. The cotia finally jumps from the jaguar and takes refuge in a hole, where an owl is set to watch him, but he flings sand in the owl’s eyes and escapes. In another story given by Mr. Smith, the cotia is very thirsty, and, seeing a man coming with a jar on his head, lies down in the road in front of him, and repeats this until the man puts down his jar to go back after all the dead cotias he has seen. This is almost identical with Uncle Remus’s story of how the rabbit robbed the fox of his game. In a story from Upper Egypt, a fox lies down in the road in front of a man who is carrying fowls to market, and finally succeeds in securing them.

This similarity extends to almost every story quoted by Mr. Smith, and some are so nearly identical as to point unmistakably to a common origin; but when and where? when did the negro or the North American Indian ever come in contact with the tribes of South America? Upon this point the author of Brazil and the Amazons, who is engaged in making a critical and comparative study of these myth-stories, writes:

“I am not prepared to form a theory about these stories. There can be no doubt that some of them, found among the negroes and the Indians, had a common origin. The most natural solution would be to suppose that they originated in Africa, and were carried to South America by the negro slaves. They are certainly found among the Red Negroes; but, unfortunately for the African theory, it is equally certain that they are told by savage Indians of the Amazons Valley, away up on the Tapajos, Red Negro, and Tapura. These Indians hardly ever see a negro, and their languages are very distinct from the broken Portuguese spoken by the slaves. The form of the stories, as recounted in the Tupi and Mundurucu’ languages, seems to show that they were originally formed in those languages or have long been adopted in them.

“It is interesting to find a story from Upper Egypt (that of the fox who pretended to be dead) identical with an Amazonian story, and strongly resembling one found by you among the negroes. Vambagen, the Brazilian historian (now Visconde de Rio Branco), tried to prove a relationship between the ancient Egyptians, or other Turanian stock, and the Tupi Indians. His theory rested on rather a slender basis, yet it must be confessed that he had one or two strong points. Do the resemblances between old and New World stories point to a similar conclusion? It would be hard to say with the material that we now have.

“One thing is certain. The animal stories told by the negroes in our Southern States and in Brazil were brought by them from Africa. Whether they originated there, or with the Arabs, or Egyptians, or with yet more ancient nations, must still be an open question. Whether the Indians got them from the negroes or from some earlier source is equally uncertain. We have seen enough to know that a very interesting line of investigation has been opened.”

Professor Hartt, in his Amazonian Tortoise Myths, quotes a story from the Riverside Magazine of November, 1868, which will be recognized as a variant of one given by Uncle Remus. I venture to append it here, with some necessary verbal and phonetic alterations, in order to give the reader an idea of the difference between the dialect of the cotton plantations, as used by Uncle Remus, and the lingo in vogue on the rice plantations and Sea Islands of the South Atlantic States:

“One time B’er Deer an’ B’er Cooter (Terrapin) was courtin’, and de lady did bin lub B’er Deer mo’ so dan B’er Cooter. She did bin lub B’er Cooter, but she lub B’er Deer de morest. So de young lady say to B’er Deer and B’er Cooter bofe dat dey mus’ hab a ten-mile race, an de one dat beats, she will go marry him.

“So B’er Cooter say to B’er Deer: ‘You has got mo longer legs dan I has, but I will run you. You run ten mile on land, and I will run ten mile on de water!’

“So B’er Cooter went an’ git nine er his fam’ly, an’ put one at ebery mile-pos’, and he hisse’f, what was to run wid B’er Deer, he was right in front of de young lady’s do’, in de broom-grass.

“Dat mornin’ at nine o’clock, B’er Deer he did met B’er Cooter at de fus mile-pos’, wey dey was to start fum. So he call: ‘Well, B’er Cooter, is you ready? Co long!’ As he git on to de nex’ mile-pos’, he say: ‘B’er Cooter!’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Hullo!’ B’er Deer say: ‘You dere?’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Yes, B’er Deer, I dere too.’

“Nex’ mile-pos’ he jump, B’er Deer say: ‘Hullo, B’er Cooter!’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Hullo, B’er Deer! you dere too?’ B’er Deer say: ‘Ki! it look like you gwine fer tie me; it look like we gwine fer de gal tie!’

“W’en he git to de nine-mile pos’ he tought he git dere fus, ‘cause he mek two jump; so he holler: ‘B’er Cooter!’ B’er Cooter answer: ‘You dere too?’ B’er Deer say: ‘It look like you gwine tie me.’ B’er Cooter say: ‘Go long, B’er Deer. I git dere in due season time,’ which he does, and wins de race.”

The story of the Rabbit and the Fox, as told by the Southern negroes, is artistically dramatic in this: it progresses in an orderly way from a beginning to a well-defined conclusion, and is full of striking episodes that suggest the culmination. It seems to me to be to a certain extent allegorical, albeit such an interpretation may be unreasonable. At least it is a fable thoroughly characteristic of the negro; and it needs no scientific investigation to show why he selects as his hero the weakest and most harmless of all animals, and brings him out victorious in contests with the bear, the wolf, and the fox. It is not virtue that triumphs, but helplessness; it is not malice, but mischievousness. It would be presumptuous in me to offer an opinion as to the origin of these curious myth-stories; but, if ethnologists should discover that they did not originate with the African, the proof to that effect should be accompanied with a good deal of persuasive eloquence.

Curiously enough, I have found few negroes who will acknowledge to a stranger that they know anything of these legends; and yet to relate one of the stories is the surest road to their confidence and esteem. In this way, and in this way only, I have been enabled to collect and verify the folklore included in this volume. There is an anecdote about the Irishman and the rabbit which a number of negroes have told to me with great unction, and which is both funny and characteristic, though I will not undertake to say that it has its origin with the blacks. One day an Irishman who had heard people talking about “mares’ nests” was going along the big road — it is always the big road in contradistinction to neighborhood paths and by-paths, called in the vernacular “nigh-cuts” — when he came to a pumpkin — patch. The Irishman had never seen any of this fruit before, and he at once concluded that he had discovered a veritable mare’s nest. Making the most of his opportunity, he gathered one of the pumpkins in his arms and went on his way. A pumpkin is an exceedingly awkward thing to carry, and the Irishman had not gone far before he made a misstep, and stumbled. The pumpkin fell to the ground, rolled down the hill into a “brush — heap,” and, striking against a stump, was broken. The story continues in the dialect: “W’en de punkin roll in de bresh — heap, out jump a rabbit; en soon’s de I’shmuns see dat, he take atter de rabbit en holler: ‘Kworp, colty! kworp, colty!’ but de rabbit, he des flew.” The point of this is obvious.

As to the songs, the reader is warned that it will be found difficult to make them conform to the ordinary rules of versification, nor is it intended that they should so conform. They are written, and are intended to be read, solely with reference to the regular and invariable recurrence of the caesura, as, for instance, the first stanza of the Revival Hymn:

“Oh, whar / shill we go / w’en de great / day comes

Wid de blow / in’ er de trumpits / en de bang / in’ er de

       drums /

How man / y po’ sin / ners’ll be kotch’d / out late

En fine / no latch ter de gold  / en gate /”

In other words, the songs depend for their melody and rhythm upon the musical quality of time, and not upon long or short, accented or unaccented syllables. I am persuaded that this fact led Mr. Sidney Lanier, who is thoroughly familiar with the metrical peculiarities of negro songs, into the exhaustive investigation which has resulted in the publication of his scholarly treatise on The Science of English Verse.

The difference between the dialect of the legends and that of the character — sketches, slight as it is, marks the modifications which the speech of the negro has undergone even where education has played in deed, save in the no part reforming it. Indeed, save in the remote country districts, the dialect of the legends has nearly disappeared. I am perfectly well aware that the character sketches are without permanent interest, but they are embodied here for the purpose of presenting a phase of negro character wholly distinct from that which I have endeavored to preserve in the legends. Only in this shape, and with all the local allusions, would it be possible to adequately represent the shrewd observations, the curious retorts, the homely thrusts, the quaint comments, and the humorous philosophy of the race of which Uncle Remus is the type.

If the reader not familiar with plantation life will imagine that the myth — stories of Uncle Remus are told night after night to a little boy by an old negro who appears to be venerable enough to have lived during the period which he describes — who has nothing but pleasant memories of the discipline of slavery — and who has all the prejudices of caste and pride of family that were the natural results of the system; if the reader can imagine all this, he will find little difficulty in appreciating and sympathizing with the air of affectionate superiority which Uncle Remus assumes as he proceeds to unfold the mysteries of plantation lore to a little child who is the product of that practical reconstruction which has been going on to some extent since the war in spite of the politicians. Uncle Remus describes that reconstruction in his Story of the War, and I may as well add here for the benefit of the curious that that story is almost literally true.

J. C. H.

LEGENDS OF THE OLD PLANTATION

I. UNCLE REMUS INITIATES THE LITTLE BOY

ONEEVENINGRECENTLY, the lady whom Uncle Remus calls “Miss Sally” missed her little seven-year-old. Making search for him through the house and through the yard, she heard the sound of voices in the old man’s cabin, and, looking through the window, saw the child sitting by Uncle Remus. His head rested against the old man’s arm, and he was gazing with an expression of the most intense interest into the rough, weather-beaten face, that beamed so kindly upon him. This is what “Miss Sally” heard:

“Bimeby, one day, atter Brer Fox bin doin’ all dat he could fer ter ketch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit bein doin’ all he could fer ter keep ’im fum it, Brer Fox say to hisse’f dat he’d put up a game on Brer Rabbit, en he ain’t mo’n got de wuds out’n his mouf twel Brer Rabbit came a lopin’ up de big road, lookin’ des ez plump, en ez fat, en ez sassy ez a Moggin hoss in a barley-patch.

“‘Hol’ on dar, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘I ain’t got time, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, sorter mendin’ his licks.

“‘I wanter have some confab wid you, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘All right, Brer Fox, but you better holler fum whar you stan’. I’m monstus full er fleas dis mawnin’,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“‘I seed Brer B’ar yistdiddy, ‘sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en he sorter rake me over de coals kaze you en me ain’t make frens en live naberly, en I tole ’im dat I’d see you.’

“Den Brer Rabbit scratch one year wid his off hinefoot sorter jub’usly, en den he ups en sez, sezee:

“‘All a settin’, Brer Fox. Spose’n you drap roun’ ter-morrer en take dinner wid me. We ain’t got no great doin’s at our house, but I speck de ole ‘oman en de chilluns kin sorter scramble roun’ en git up sump’n fer ter stay yo’ stummick.’

“‘I’m ‘gree’ble, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘Den I’ll ‘pen’ on you,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“Nex’ day, Mr. Rabbit an’ Miss Rabbit got up soom, ‘fo’ day, en raided on a gyarden like Miss Sally’s out dar, en got some cabbiges, en some roas’n — years, en some sparrer-grass, en dey fix up a smashin’ dinner. Bimeby one er de little Rabbits, playin’ out in de back-yard, come runnin’ in hollerin’, ‘Oh, ma! oh, ma! I seed Mr. Fox a comin’!’ En den Brer Rabbit he tuck de chilluns by der years en make um set down, en den him and Miss Rabbit sorter dally roun’ waitin’ for Brer Fox. En dey keep on waitin’ for Brer Fox. En dey keep on waitin’, but no Brer Fox ain’t come. Atter ‘while Brer Rabbit goes to de do’, easy like, en peep out, en dar, stickin’ fum behime de cornder, wuz de tip-een’ er Brer Fox tail. Den Brer Rabbit shot de do’ en sot down, en put his paws behime his years en begin fer ter sing:

“‘De place wharbouts you spill de grease, Right dar you er boun’ ter slide, An’ whar you fin’ a bunch er ha’r, You’ll sholy fine de hide.’

“Nex’ day, Brer Fox sont word by Mr. Mink, en skuze hisse’f kaze he wuz too sick fer ter come, en he ax Brer Rabbit fer ter come en take dinner wid him, en Brer Rabbit say he wuz ‘gree’ble.

“Bimeby, w’en de shadders wuz at der shortes’, Brer Rabbit he sorter brush up en sa’nter down ter Brer Fox’s house, en w’en he got dar, he hear somebody groanin’, en he look in de do’ an dar he see Brer Fox settin’ up in a rockin’-cheer all wrop up wid flannil, en he look mighty weak. Brer Rabbit look all roun’, he did, but he ain’t see no dinner. De dish-pan wuz settin’ on de table, en close by wuz a kyarvin’ knife.

“‘Look like you gwineter have chicken fer dinner, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“‘Yes, Brer Rabbit, dey er nice, en fresh, en tender, ‘sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit sorter pull his mustarsh, en say: ‘You ain’t got no calamus root, is you, Brer Fox? I done got so now dat I can’t eat no chicken ‘ceppin she’s seasoned up wid calamus root.’ En wid dat Brer Rabbit lipt out er de do’ and dodge ‘mong the bushes, en sot dar watchin’ for Brer Fox; en he ain’t watch long, nudder, kaze Brer Fox flung off de flannil en crope out er de house en got whar he could cloze in on Brer Rabbit, en bimeby Brer Rabbit holler out: ‘Oh, Brer Fox! I’ll des put yo’ calamus root out yer on dish yer stump. Better come git it while hit’s fresh,’ and wid dat Brer Rabbit gallop off home. En Brer Fox ain’t never kotch ’im yit, en w’at’s mo’, honey, he ain’t gwineter.”

II. THE WONDERFUL TAR BABY STORY

“DIDN’TTHEFOXnever catch the rabbit, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy the next evening.

“He come mighty nigh it, honey, sho’s you born — Brer Fox did. One day atter Brer Rabbit fool ’im wid dat calamus root, Brer Fox went ter wuk en got ’im some tar, en mix it wid some turkentime, en fix up a contrapshun w’at he call a Tar-Baby, en he tuck dish yer Tar-Baby en he sot ’er in de big road, en den he lay off in de bushes fer to see what de news wuz gwine ter be. En he didn’t hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby here come Brer Rabbit pacin’ down de road — lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity — dez ez sassy ez a jay-bird. Brer Fox, he lay low. Brer Rabbit come prancin’ ‘long twel he spy de Tar-Baby, en den he fotch up on his behime legs like he wuz ‘stonished. De Tar Baby, she sot dar, she did, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Mawnin’!’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee— ‘nice wedder dis mawnin’,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, en Brer Fox he lay low.

“‘How duz yo’ sym’tums seem ter segashuate?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.

“‘How you come on, den? Is you deaf?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘Kaze if you is, I kin holler louder,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘You er stuck up, dat’s w’at you is,’ says Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I’m gwine ter kyore you, dat’s w’at I’m a gwine ter do,’ sezee.

“Brer Fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummick, he did, but Tar- Baby ain’t sayin’ nothin’.

“‘I’m gwine ter larn you how ter talk ter ‘spectubble folks ef hit’s de las’ ack,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘Ef you don’t take off dat hat en tell me howdy, I’m gwine ter bus’ you wide open,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“Brer Rabbit keep on axin’ ’im, en de Tar-Baby, she keep on sayin’ nothin’, twel present’y Brer Rabbit draw back wid his fis’, he did, en blip he tuck ’er side er de head. Right dar’s whar he broke his merlasses jug. His fis’ stuck, en he can’t pull loose. De tar hilt ’im. But Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Ef you don’t lemme loose, I’ll knock you agin,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch ’er a wipe wid de udder han’, en dat stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Tu’n me loose, fo’ I kick de natchul stuffin’ outen you,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. She des hilt on, en de Brer Rabbit lose de use er his feet in de same way. Brer Fox, he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat ef de Tar-Baby don’t tu’n ’im loose he butt ’er cranksided. En den he butted, en his head got stuck. Den Brer Fox, he sa’ntered fort’, lookin’ dez ez innercent ez wunner yo’ mammy’s mockin’- birds.

“Howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘You look sorter stuck up dis mawnin’,’ sezee, en den he rolled on de groun’, en laft en laft twel he couldn’t laff no mo’. ‘I speck you’ll take dinner wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in some calamus root, en I ain’t gwineter take no skuse,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.”

Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the ashes.

“Did the fox eat the rabbit?” asked the little boy to whom the story had been told.

“Dat’s all de fur de tale goes,” replied the old man. “He mout, an den agin he moutent. Some say Judge B’ar come ‘long en loosed ’im — some say he didn’t. I hear Miss Sally callin’. You better run ‘long.”

III. WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE

“ONE NIGHT,” SAIDUncle Remus — taking Miss Sally’s little boy on his knee, and stroking the child’s hair thoughtfully and caressingly— “one night Brer Possum call by fer Brer Coon, ‘cordin’ ter ‘greement, en atter gobblin’ up a dish er fried greens en smokin’ a seegyar, dey rambled fort’ fer ter see how de ballance er de settlement wuz gittin’ long. Brer Coon, he wuz one er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked ‘long same ez Mars John’s bay pony, en Brer Possum he went in a han’-gallup; en dey got over heap er groun, mon. Brer Possum, he got his belly full er ‘simmons, en Brer Coon, he scoop up a ‘bunnunce er frogs en tadpoles. Dey amble long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er kittens, twel bimeby dey hear Mr. Dog talkin’ ter hisse’f way off in de woods.

“‘Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w’at you gwineter do?’ sez Brer Coon, sezee. Brer Possum sorter laugh ‘round de cornders un his mouf.

“‘Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I’m gwineter stan’ by you,’ sez Brer Possum. ‘W’at you gwineter do?’ sezee.

“‘Who? me?’ sez Brer Coon. ‘Ef he run up onter me, I lay I give ’im one twis’,’ sezee.”

“Did the dog come?” asked the little boy.

“Go ‘way, honey!” responded the old man, in an impressive tone. “Go way! Mr. Dog, he come en he come a zoonin’. En he ain’t wait fer ter say howdy, nudder. He des sail inter de two un um. De ve’y fus pas he make Brer Possum fetch a grin fum year ter year, en keel over like he wuz dead. Den Mr. Dog, he sail inter Brer Coon, en right dar’s whar he drap his money purse, kaze Brer Coon wuz cut out fer dat kinder bizness, en he fa’rly wipe up de face er de yeth wid ’im. You better b’leeve dat w’en Mr. Dog got a chance to make hisse’f skase he tuck it, en w’at der wuz lef’ un him went skaddlin’ thoo de woods like hit wuz shot outen a muskit. En Brer Coon, he sorter lick his cloze inter shape en rack off, en Brer Possum, he lay dar like he wuz dead, twel bimeby he raise up sorter keerful like, en w’en he fine de coas’ cle’r he scramble up en scamper off like sumpin’ was atter ’im.”

Here Uncle Remus paused long enough to pick up a live coal of fire in his fingers, transfer it to the palm of his hand, and thence to his clay pipe, which he had been filling — a proceeding that was viewed by the little boy with undisguised admiration. The old man then proceeded:

“Nex’ time Brer Possum met Brer Coon, Brer Coon ‘fuse ter ‘spon’ ter his howdy, en dis make Brer Possum feel mighty bad, seein’ ez how dey useter make so many ‘scurshuns tergedder.

“‘W’at make you hol’ yo’ head so high, Brer Coon?’ sez Brer Possum, sezee.

“‘I ain’t runnin’ wid cowerds deze days,’ sez Brer Coon. ‘W’en I wants you I’ll sen’ fer you,’ sezee.

“Den Brer Possum git mighty mad.

“‘Who’s enny cowerd?’ sezee.

“‘You is,’ sez Brer Coon, ‘dat’s who. I ain’t soshatin’ wid dem w’at lays down on de groun’ en plays dead w’en dar’s a free fight gwine on,’ sezee.

“Den Brer Possum grin en laugh fit to kill hisse’f. “‘Lor’, Brer Coon, you don’t speck I done dat kaze I wuz ‘feared, duz you?’ sezee. ‘W’y I want no mo ‘feared dan you is dis minnit. W’at wuz dey fer ter be skeered un?’ sezee. ‘I know’d you’d git away wid Mr. Dog ef I didn’t, en I des lay dar watchin’ you shake him, waitin’ fer ter put in w’en de time come,’ sezee.

“Brer Coon tu’n up his nose.

“‘Dat’s a mighty likely tale,’ sezee, ‘w’en Mr. Dog ain’t mo’n tech you ‘fo’ you keel over, en lay dar stiff,’ sezee.

“‘Dat’s des w’at I wuz gwineter tell you ‘bout; sez Brer Possum, sezee. ‘I want no mo’ skeer’d dan you is right now, en’ I wuz fixin’ fer ter give Mr. Dog a sample er my jaw,’ sezee, ‘but I’m de most ticklish chap w’at you ever laid eyes on, en no sooner did Mr. Dog put his nose down yer ‘mong my ribs dan I got ter laughin’, en I laughed twel I ain’t had no use er my lim’s,’ sezee, ‘en it’s a mussy unto Mr. Dog dat I wuz ticklish, kaze a little mo’ en I’d e’t ’im up,’ sezee. ‘I don’t mine fightin’, Brer Coon, no mo’ dan you duz,’ sezee, ‘but I declar’ ter grashus ef I kin stan’ ticklin’. Git me in a row whar dey ain’t no ticklin’ ‘lowed, en I’m your man, sezee.

“En down ter dis day” — continued Uncle Remus, watching the smoke from his pipe curl upward over the little boy’s head— “down ter dis day, Brer Possum’s bound ter s’render w’en you tech him in de short ribs, en he’ll laugh ef he knows he’s gwineter be smashed fer it.”

IV. HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX

“UNCLE REMUS,” SAIDthe little boy one evening, when he had found the old man with little or nothing to do, “did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the Tar-Baby?”

“Law, honey, ain’t I tell you ‘bout dat?” replied the old darkey, chuckling slyly. “I ‘clar ter grashus I ought er tole you dat, but old man Nod wuz ridin’ on my eyeleds ‘twel a leetle mo’n I’d a dis’member’d my own name, en den on to dat here come yo mammy hollerin’ atter you.

“W’at I tell you w’en I fus’ begin? I tole you Brer Rabbit wuz a monstus soon creetur; leas’ways dat’s w’at I laid out fer ter tell you. Well, den, honey, don’t you go en make no udder calkalashuns, kaze in dem days Brer Rabbit en his fambly wuz at de head er de gang w’en enny racket wuz on han’, en dar dey stayed. ‘Fo’ you begins fer ter wipe yo’ eyes ‘bout Brer Rabbit, you wait en see whar’bouts Brer Rabbit gwineter fetch up at. But dat’s needer yer ner dar.

“W’en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby, he feel mighty good, en he roll on de groun’ en laff. Bimeby he up’n say, sezee:

“‘Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit, sezee; ‘maybe I ain’t, but I speck I is. You been runnin’ roun’ here sassin’ atter me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de een’ er de row. You bin cuttin’ up yo’ capers en bouncin’’roun’ in dis neighberhood ontwel you come ter b’leeve yo’se’f de boss er de whole gang. En den you er allers somers whar you got no bizness,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘Who ax you fer ter come en strike up a ‘quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar whar you iz? Nobody in de roun’ worl’. You des tuck en jam yo’se’f on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin’ fer enny invite,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, en dar you is, en dar you’ll stay twel I fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I’m gwineter bobby-cue you dis day, sho,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty ‘umble.

“‘I don’t keer w’at you do wid me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘so you don’t fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas’ me, Brer Fox’ sezee, ‘but don’t fling me in dat brierpatch,’ sezee.

“‘Hit’s so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘dat I speck I’ll hatter hang you,’ sezee.

“‘Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do fer de Lord’s sake don’t fling me in dat brier- patch,’ sezee.

“‘I ain’t got no string,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter drown you,’ sezee.

“‘Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.

“‘Dey ain’t no water nigh,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter skin you,’ sezee.

“‘Skin me, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘snatch out my eyeballs, t’ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs,’ sezee, ‘but do please, Brer Fox, don’t fling me in dat brier- patch,’ sezee.

“Co’se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch ’im by de behime legs en slung ’im right in de middle er de brier-patch. Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang ‘roun’ fer ter see w’at wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call ’im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin’ crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin’ de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out:

“‘Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox — bred en bawn in a brier-patch!’ en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.”

V. THE STORY OF THE DELUGE AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT

“ONE TIME,” SAIDUncle Remus — adjusting his spectacles so as to be able to see how to thread a large darning-needle with which he was patching his coat— “one time, way back yander, ‘fo’ you wuz bomed, honey, en ‘fo’ Mars John er Miss Sally wuz bomed — way back yander ‘fo’ enny un us wuz bomed, de animils en de creeturs sorter ‘lecshuneer roun’ ‘mong deyselves, twel at las’ dey ‘greed fer ter have a ‘sembly. In dem days,” continued the old man, observing a look of incredulity on the little boy’s face, “in dem days creeturs had lots mo’ sense dan dey got now; let ‘lone dat, dey had sense same like folks. Hit was tech en go wid um, too, mon, en w’en dey make up der mines w’at hatter be done, ‘twant mo’n menshun’d ‘fo, hit wuz done. Well, dey ‘lected dat dey hatter hol’ er ‘sembly fer ter sorter straighten out marters en hear de complaints, en w’en de day come dey wuz on han’. De Lion, he wuz dar, kase he wuz de king, en he hatter be der. De Rhynossyhoss, he wuz dar, en de Elephant, he wuz dar, en de Cammils, en de Cows, en plum’ down ter de Crawfishes, dey wuz dar. Dey wuz all dar. En w’en de Lion shuck his mane, en tuck his seat in de big cheer, den de sesshun begun fer ter commence.

“What did they do, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.

“I can’t skacely call to mine ‘zackly w’at dey did do, but dey spoke speeches, en hollered, en cusst, en flung der langwidge ‘roun’ des like w’en yo’ daddy wuz gwineter run fer de legislater en got lef’. Howsomever, dey ‘ranged der ‘fairs, en splained der bizness. Bimeby, w’ile dey wuz ‘sputin’ ‘longer one er nudder, de Elephant trompled on one er de Crawfishes. Co’se w’en dat creetur put his foot down, w’atsumever’s under dar wuz boun’ fer ter be squshed, en dey wa’n’t nuff er dat Crawfish lef’ fer ter tell dat he’d bin dar.

“Dis make de udder Crawfishes mighty mad, en dey sorter swarmed tergedder en draw’d up a kinder peramble wid some wharfo’es in it, en read her out in de ‘sembly. But, bless grashus! sech a racket wuz a gwine on dat nobody ain’t hear it, ‘ceppin’ maybe de Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en dere enfloons wuz pow’ful lackin’.

“Bimeby, w’iles de Nunicorn wuz ‘sputin’ wid de Lion, en w’ile de Hyener wuz a laughin’ ter hisse’f, de Elephant squshed anudder one er de Crawfishes, en a little mo’n he’d er ruint de Mud Turkle. Den de Crawfishes, w’at dey wuz lef’ un um, swarmed tergedder en draw’d up anudder peramble wid sum mo’ wharfo’es; but dey might ez well er sung Ole Dan Tucker ter a harrycane. De udder creeturs wuz too busy wid der fussin’ fer ter ‘spon’ unto de Crawfishes. So dar dey wuz, de Crawfishes, en dey didn’t know w’at minnit wuz gwineter be de nex’; en dey kep’ on gittin madder en madder en skeerder en skeerder, twel bimeby dey gun de wink ter de Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en den dey bo’d little holes in de groun’ en went down outer sight.”

“Who did, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.

“De Crawfishes, honey. Dey bo’d inter de groun’ en kep’ on bo’in twel dey onloost de fountains er de yeth; en de waters squirt out, en riz higher en higher twel de hills wuz kivvered, en de creeturs wuz all drownded; en all bekaze dey let on ‘mong deyselves dat dey wuz bigger dan de Crawfishes.”

Then the old man blew the ashes from a smoking yam, and proceeded to remove the peeling.

“Where was the ark, Uncle Remus?” the little boy inquired, presently.

“W’ich ark’s dat?” asked the old man, in a tone of well-feigned curiosity.

“Noah’s ark,” replied the child.

“Don’t you pester wid ole man Noah, honey. I boun’ he tuck keer er dat ark. Dat’s w’at he wuz dar fer, en dat’s w’at he done. Leas’ways, dat’s w’at dey tells me. But don’t you bodder longer dat ark, ‘ceppin’ your mammy fetches it up. Dey mout er bin two deloojes, en den agin dey moutent. Ef dey wuz enny ark in dish yer w’at de Crawfishes brung on, I ain’t heern tell un it, en w’en dey ain’t no arks ‘roun’, I ain’t got no time fer ter make um en put um in dar. Hit’s gittin’ yo’ bedtime, honey.”

VI. MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX

ONE EVENINGWHENthe little boy, whose nights with Uncle Remus were as entertaining as those Arabian ones of blessed memory, had finished supper and hurried out to sit with his venerable patron, he found the old man in great glee. Indeed, Uncle Remus was talking and laughing to himself at such a rate that the little boy was afraid he had company. The truth is, Uncle Remus had heard the child coming, and, when the rosy-cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was engaged in a monologue, the burden of which seemed to be —

“Ole Molly Har’, W’at you doin’ dar, Settin’ in de cornder Smokin’ yo’ seegyar?”

As a matter of course this vague allusion reminded the little boy of the fact that the wicked Fox was still in pursuit of the Rabbit, and he immediately put his curiosity in the shape of a question.

“Uncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean away when he got loose from the Tar-Baby?”

“Bless gracious, honey, dat he didn’t. Who? Him? You dunno nuthin’ ‘tall ‘bout Brer Rabbit ef dat’s de way you puttin’ ’im down. W’at he gwine ‘way fer? He moughter stayed sorter close twel de pitch rub off’n his ha’r, but tweren’t menny days ‘fo’ he wuz lopin’ up en down de neighborhood same ez ever, en I dunno ef he weren’t mo’ sassier dan befo’.

“Seem like dat de tale ‘bout how he got mixt up wid de Tar-Baby got ‘roun’ ‘mongst de nabers. Leas’ways, Miss Meadows en de gals got win’ un’ it, en de nex’ time Brer Rabbit paid um a visit Miss Meadows tackled ’im ‘bout it, en de gals sot up a monstus gigglement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a cowcumber, he did, en let em run on.

“Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus?” inquired the little boy.

“Don’t ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss Meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale I give you like hi’t wer’ gun ter me. Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, sorter lam’ like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow, en up and say, sezee:

“‘Ladies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy’s ridin’-hoss fer thirty year; maybe mo’, but thirty year dat I knows un,’ sezee; en den he paid um his ‘specks, en tip his beaver, en march off, he did, des ez stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick.

“Nex’ day, Brer Fox cum a callin’, and w’en he gun fer ter laugh ‘bout Brer Rabbit, Miss Meadows en de gals, dey ups en tells ’im ‘bout w’at Brer Rabbit Say. Den Brer Fox grit his tushes sho’ nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy, but w’en he riz fer ter go he up en say, sezee:

“‘Ladies, I ain’t ‘sputin’ w’at you say, but I’ll make Brer Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out right yer whar you kin see ’im,’ sezee, en wid dat off Brer Fox put.

“En w’en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off’n his tail, en made a straight shoot fer Brer Rabbit’s house. W’en he got dar, Brer Rabbit wuz spectin’ un ’im, en de do’ wuz shet fas’. Brer Fox knock. Nobody ain’t ans’er. Brer Fox knock. Nobody ans’er. Den he knock agin — blam! blam! Den Brer Rabbit holler out mighty weak: ‘Is dat you, Brer Fox? I want you ter run en fetch de doctor. Dat bait er pusly w’at I e’t dis mawnin’ is gittin’ ‘way wid me. Do, please, Brer Fox, run quick,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“‘I come atter you, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘Dar’s gwineter be a party up at Miss Meadows’s,’ sezee. ‘All de gals ‘ll be dere, en I prommus’ dat I’d fetch you. De gals, dey ‘lowed dat hit wouldn’t be no party ‘ceppin’ I fotch you,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer Fox say he wuzzent, en dar dey had it up and down, ‘sputin’ en contendin’. Brer Rabbit say he can’t walk. Brer Fox say he tote ’im. Brer Rabbit say how? Brer Fox say in his arms. Brer Rabbit say he drap ’im. Brer Fox ‘low he won’t. Bimeby Brer Rabbit say he go ef Brer Fox tote ’im on his back. Brer Fox say he would. Brer Rabbit say he can’t ride widout a saddle. Brer Fox say he git de saddle. Brer Rabbit say he can’t set in saddle less he have bridle fer ter hol’ by. Brer Fox say he git de bridle. Brer Rabbit say he can’t ride widout bline bridle, kaze Brer Fox be shyin’ at stumps long de road, en fling ’im off. Brer Fox say he git bline bridle. Den Brer Rabbit say he go. Den Brer Fox say he ride Brer Rabbit mos’ up ter Miss Meadows’s, en den he could git down en walk de balance er de way. Brer Rabbit ‘greed, en den Brer Fox lipt out atter de saddle en de bridle.

“Co’se Brer Rabbit know de game dat Brer Fox wuz fixin’ fer ter play, en he ‘termin’ fer ter outdo ’im, en by de time he koam his ha’r en twis’ his mustarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox, saddle en bridle on, en lookin’ ez peart ez a circus pony. He trot up ter de do’ en stan’ dar pawin’ de ground en chompin’ de bit same like sho ‘nuff hoss, en Brer Rabbit he mount, he did, en dey amble off. Brer Fox can’t see behime wid de bline bridle on, but bimeby he feel Brer Rabbit raise one er his foots.

“‘W’at you doin’ now, Brer Rabbit?’ sezee.

“‘Short’nin’ de lef stir’p, Brer Fox,’ sezee.

“Bimeby Brer Rabbit raise up de udder foot.

“‘W’at you doin’ now, Brer Rabbit?’ sezee.

“‘Pullin’ down my pants, Brer Fox,’ sezee.

“All de time, bless grashus, honey, Brer Rabbit wer’ puttin’ on his spurrers, en w’en dey got close to Miss Meadows’s, whar Brer Rabbit wuz to git off, en Brer Fox made a motion fer ter stan’ still, Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers into Brer Fox flanks, en you better b’leeve he got over groun’. W’en dey got ter de house, Miss Meadows en all de gals wuz settin’ on de peazzer, en stidder stoppin’ at de gate, Brer Rabbit rid on by, he did, en den come gallopin’ down de road en up ter de hoss-rack, w’ich he hitch Brer Fox at, en den he santer inter de house, he did, en shake han’s wid de gals, en set dar, smokin’ his seegyar same ez a town man. Bimeby he draw in a long puff, en den let hit out in a cloud, en squar hisse’f back en holler out, he did:

“‘Ladies, ain’t I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de ridin’-hoss fer our fambly? He sorter losin’ his gait now, but I speck I kin fetch ’im all right in a mont’ er so,’ sezee.

“En den Brer Rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals giggle, en Miss Meadows, she praise up de pony, en dar wuz Brer Fox hitch fas’ ter de rack, en couldn’t he’p hisse’f.”