Uncle Reubin Viney: “Dis hab bin uh pow’ful arg’ment, an’ arfter careful meddowtatin’, I ’sposed ter think Ho Ho uh Japne wid two Chine crosses, but it’s uh subjec’ ub gre’t consequation; dafo’ I pint Pawson Phil Demby, Deacon Damon Danridge an’ Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes arbiters futto such de Scripturs, an’ ef’n dey fine Ho Ho had heavy whiskus den I ’cide Ho Ho wan’ no Japne er Chine.” Little Billy: “Pawson Demby, hit woudn’ s’prise me ef’n hoe-cake wuz _Ho Ho_ cake, name arfter Ho Ho. John Poney al’ays sez ho ho cake.” Tilly Mink: “Dat’s kase he stutters! Let dat man’s tung ’lone, Billy; you no he tung-tide.” Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes (with great ostentation): “Uncle Reubin, it’s bad ’nuff ter hab Horace, Rash-nal, Pus-nal an’ Shakespeare in dis rebate, an’ wussa still ter call Ho Ho uh Japne er Chine, but ter call de sweet hoe-cake uh Japne er Chine cake, is mo’ dan I kin ondastan, an’ hit’s scanlous an’ ornichious.” RASH-NAL AN’ PUS-NAL. De summer night hit’s lubly when you wa’kin wid yo’ gal An’ she sweetah dan de honey ub de bee; An’ she ’low dat you kyant kiss huh, kase hit ain’ rash-nal, At de grapevine hangin’ by de holly tree. But de summer night gits lublier, when swingin’ ’side dat gal, An’ yo’ ahm a’mos’ destracted ’roun’ huh waise; Kase she look inter yo’ face, an’ say, “Ain’ you pus-nal?” When you go down on huh mouf an’ teck uh tas’e. Da’s no swing like de grapevine! hit’s sut’ny de bes’, Kase you hab ter set ornpropper all de time, You swing so close togedda dat you kine er mus’ caress, Fuh you al’ays got dat black gal on yo’ mine. [Illustration] [Illustration: BLACK CREEK, BELOW THE FALLS. ] DE COMPOSATION UB DE SNIPE. Little Billy was as black as a tar pot, short of stature, very bow-legged, cunning as a fox, and smart. When he drew his bow across a fiddle it made you feel like dancing, and when there was a dance among the overseers, Billy played, and called out, “Swing yo’ partners;” “pigeon wing,” “ladies ter de center,” etc. He set muskrat traps, fished on Sundays, and often coon and ’possum hunted Sunday nights. His bow legs enabled him to climb like a cat, and no tree was too big for him to _negotiate_ if Truman treed up the same; and when Billy sang out, “Put him up, True!” and Truman “chawed de bark an’ wep, an’ ’stressed hissef,” as Billy would say, you might be sure there was a coon in the tree. Billy was a slave, helped to milk the cows, tote fire wood, pick the chickens, turkeys and geese, and was “horngry” all the time. The negroes thought Billy monstrous wise, but thought Satan would get him. He was an innocent fabricator, and a harmless rogue.