Shadowgraphs
I notice she bowed to you. Is she an old acquaintance?
Y-yes; we’re slightly acquainted. In fact, she’s a sort of distant relation. She was the first wife of my second wife’s first husband.
Do you want the court to understand, he said, that you refuse to renew your dog license?
Yessah, but—
We want no buts. You must renew the license or be fined. You know that it expired January 1, don’t you?
Yessah; so did de dog, sah.
That’s a nice-looking dog, remarked the kindly old gentleman, who takes an interest in everything.
Yes, suh. He looks all right, replied the colored man who was leading him with a piece of rope.
He looks like a pointer.
Yes, suh. Dat’s what he look like. But dat ain’ what he is. He’s a disappointer.
A colored parson, calling upon one of his flock, found the object of his visit out in the back yard working among his hen-coops. He noticed with surprise that there were no chickens.
Why, Brudder Brown, he asked, whar’re all yo’ chickens?
Huh, grunted Brother Brown, without looking up, some fool nigger lef de do’ open and dey all went home.
Rev. Mr. Heavyweight (who has just read Peter’s denial of Christ)—What are you so thoughtful about, Uncle ’Rastus?
Uncle ’Rastus—I was thinking’, massa parsin, dat if de Apostle Peter had only been a cullud gemman, dat rooster wouldn’t have crowed more’n once.
I want to be procrastinated at de nex’ corner, said Mr. Erastus Pinkly.
You want to be what? demanded the conductor.
Don’t lose your temper. I had to look in de dictionary myself befo’ I found out dat procrastinate means put off.
A southern planter was asking one of his colored servants about her wedding. Yes, suh, she said, it was jes the finest weddin’ you ever see—six bridesmaids, flowers everywhere, hundreds ev guests, music, an’ er heap er praying.
Indeed, commented her master. And I suppose Sambo looked as handsome as any of them?
An embarrassed pause. Well no—not exactly, suh. Would you believe it, dat fool nigger neber showed up.
Aunt Mary Wells is one of the few befo-de-wah darkies left in a little Kentucky town. Recently she was discussing with her employer the merry-go-round that was running up on the corner.
Nawsuh, Mr. Malcolm, she said, nawsuh, I don’ ride on none o’ dem things. Why, Mr. Malcolm, I’ve seen some o’ these here fool niggers git on that thing and ride as much as a dollar’s worth, and git off at the very same place they gits on at; an’ I sez to em, Now you spent yo’ money, nigger, whah yo’ been?
Mandy was a good-looking young colored girl and had many admirers. Her mistress often lectured her on behaving with propriety. One evening the mistress, going into the kitchen, was surprised to find a strange darky with his arm around Mandy’s waist.
Why, Mandy, said the mistress indignantly, tell that man to take his arm from around your waist.
Tell him yo’self, said Mandy haughtily. He’s a puffect stranger to me.
A negro was discovered carrying a large armful of books, which brought forth the inquiry—
Going to school?
Yes, sah, boss.
Do you study all those books?
No, sah; dey’s mu brudder’s. I’se ignorant kinder nigger side him, boss. Yer jest oughter see dat nigger figgerin’. He done gone ciphered clean through addition, partition, subtraction, distraction, abomination, creation, justification, amputation and adoption.
Uncle Ephraim had put on a clean collar and his best coat, says the Chicago Tribune, and was walking majestically up and down the street.
Aren’t you working to-day, uncle? asked one of his acquaintances.
No, suh. I’s celebratin’ my golden weddin’, suh.
You were married fifty years ago to-day?
Yes, suh.
Well, why isn’t your wife helping you celebrate?
My present wife, suh, replied Uncle Ephraim, with dignity, ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. She’s de fourth, suh.
Sambo—You know, Rastus, dat every time ah kiss mah wife she closes her eyes an’ holler.
Rastus—Ah say she do!
Sambo—What’s dat, nigger?
Rastus—Ah say, do she?
Lord Babbington was instructing the new colored servant in his duties, adding—Now, Zeke, when I ring for you, you must answer me by saying—My lord, what will you have?
A few hours afterward, having occasion to summon the servant, his lordship was astonished with the following—
My Gawd, whut does you want now?
A negro had made several ineffectual efforts to propose to the object of his affections, but on each occasion his courage failed him at the last moment. After thinking the matter over he finally decided to telephone, which he did. Is that you, Samantha? he inquired upon being given the proper number. Yes, it’s me, returned the lady. Will you marry me, Samantha, and marry me quick? Yes, I will, was the reply, who’s speaking?
They installed a new furnace, or some sort of a heating apparatus, at the Brazilian Embassy in Washington this winter.
The Charge went down to look it over. He picked up the shaker. It was large and heavy.
Here, James, he said to the negro butler, you call up that furnace man and tell him this shaker is too heavy. Why, none but a modern Ajax could use it.
Yassir, said the butler, and went to the telephone. Heah, yo’ furnace man, he said, this yere shaker yo’ done put in the Brazilian Embassy is too heavy. Why, nobody short of a modern jackass could use it.
Two darkies engaged in a horse trade. After the sale was made one darky had the other darky’s horse, for which he parted with $30.00. A few days later the buyer of the horse came across the other darky and complained bitterly of being robbed. Why, Rastus, that horse ain’t no good at all. He can’t see. He’s blind.
What makes you think he’s blind, Sam?
Why, the other day I turned him out in the field and he run into the fence, then he stumbled over a great big rock and then he run plumb into a tree.
Aw, go long, nigger, that horse ain’t blind. He just don’t give a damn.
One morning, while visiting in Richmond, a New York lady overheard the following conversation between the hostess and the cook—
Please, Mis’ Gawdon, may I git off nex’ Sunday to go to the fun’ral of a friend of mine?
Next Sunday? Why, Eliza, this is only Monday! They wouldn’t put a funeral off for a week.
Yas’m, respectfully; but dey has to, ’cause he ain’t dead yit.
Not dead! I am positively ashamed of you. How can you be so heartless as to arrange to attend the funeral of a man who is still living? Why, he may not die at all.
Yas’m, but he will; dey ain’t no hope.
It is impossible to say that, Eliza; the best doctors are often mistaken. But even if they do know a case to be hopeless, they cannot predict the exact time of a man’s death with such a certainty that the funeral can be arranged so long beforehand.
Yas’m, with calm assurance; but he will be buried nex’ Sunday, for all dat, ’cause he’s gwin’ to be hung on Friday.
When General John Corson Smith was lieutenant governor of Illinois, one of the colored janitors of the state house at Springfield came into his office one morning and related the following incident, which he said occurred the previous evening in the negro lodge of which he was a member—
The ballot box had been passed and the worshipful master asked—How is the ballot in the south, Brother Junior Warden? Clar in the south, worshipful. How is the ballot in the west, Brother Senior Warden? Clar in the west, worshipful. The W. M. then inspected the box and said—And clar in the east. I therefore declar Mr. Josephus Johnson duly elected to take the degrees in this lodge. Up jumped a big coon, as black as the ace of spades, and cried, That’s a ’fernal lie,’ worshipful master. I put in four black balls myself.
A negro boy walked into a drug store and asked permission to use the telephone. Then the following conversation took place—
Is that you, Mistah Jones?
Yes, apparently was the reply.
Well, Mistah Jones, I saw your ad in de paper the other day and yo’ wanted a cullud boy. Did yo’ get one?
Yes, seemed to be the answer again.
Well, Mistah Jones, is he givin’ perfect satisfaction?
The reply appeared still to be affirmative.
Well, Mistah Jones, providen dis cullud boy don’t give perfect satisfaction, you call me at 54.
The boy turned and started out, and the druggist, who had overheard, remarked—You didn’t do any good, did you?
Yes, sah, came the reply. I’s dat cullud boy what’s workin’ down there. I’se jest checkin’ up to see how I stand.
Edward M. Flesh, of the United States Food Commission, was talking in St. Louis about snobbishness.
Snobbishness penetrates everywhere, he said. It even penetrates our churches.
I know of an old darky who got religion last month and decided to join the church. He selected, of course, the richest and handsomest church in town, the church with the finest music and the best preaching. Then he called on the pastor and stated his design.
But the pastor hemmed and hawed. He felt that his fashionable flock wouldn’t welcome such an addition as the old darky. He didn’t want to hurt the old fellow’s feelings, however, and finally he said—
Go home, Uncle Rooster. Go home and pray over it. This is an important matter, and it should be made a subject of prayer.
Old Uncle Rooster went home, and in a few days he was back again.
Well? said the divine. Well, what’s the verdict now?
Ah prayed an’ Ah prayed, said Uncle Rooster, an’ de good Lawd He say to me, Rooster, mah son, Ah wouldn’t bothah mah haid about dat mattah no mo.’ Ah’ve been a-tryin’ to git into dat chu’ch mahself fo’ de last twenty-nine yeahs an’ Ah ain’t had no luck, nuther.
At the end of the first six months of his pastorate in Kentucky the Rev. Silas Johns had learned the ways of his flock so thoroughly that he knew exactly how to deal with them. One Sunday the collection was deplorably small. The next week he made a short and telling speech at the close of his sermon. I don’t want any man to gib more dan his share, bredren, he said, gently, bending toward the congregation,but we must all gib according as we are favored and according to what we rightly hab. I say rightly hab, bredren, he went on, after a short pause, because we don’t want any tainted money in de box. Squire Blinks told me dat he’d missed some chickens dis week. Now, if any one ob my pore benighted bredren has fallen by de way in connection wid does chickens, let him stay his hand from de box when it comes to him. Brudder Mose, will you pass de box while I watch de signs and see if dere’s one in de congregation dat needs me to wrestle in prayer for him?
An excellent story is told by Kate Douglas Wiggin, the popular writer. A negro servant, wishing to get married, asked his master to buy him a license in the neighboring town. The master, being in haste, did not ask the name of the happy woman, but as he drove along he reflected on the many tender attentions that he had seen John lavish upon Euphemia Wilson, the cook, and, concluding that there could be no mistake, had the license made out in her name.
There’s your license to marry Euphemia, he said to the servant that night. You’re as good as married already, and you owe me only two dollars.
The darky’s face fell.
But, Mas’ Tom, Euphemia Wilson ain’t de lady I’se gwine to marry. Dat wan’t nothin’ mo’n a little flirtation. Georgiana Thompson, the la’ndress, is the one I’se gwine to marry.
Oh, well, John, said the master, amused and irritated at the same time, there’s no great harm done. I’ll get you another license to-morrow, but it will cost you two dollars more, of course.
The next morning the darky came out to the carriage as it was starting for town, and leaningconfidentially over the wheel, said—Mas’ Tom, you needn’t git me no udder license; I’ll use the one I’se got. I’se been t’inkin’ it over in de night, an’ to tell you de troof, Mas’ Tom, de conclusion o’ my jedgment is dat dar ain’t two dollars’ worth o’ diff’rence between dem two ladies.
Until recently there was a partnership existing between two darky blacksmiths in an Alabama town. The dissolution of this association was made known by a notice nailed upon the door of the smithy, which notice ran as follows—
The kopardnershipp heretofor resisting between me and Mose Jenkins is heerby resolved. All perrsons owing the firm will settel with me, and all perrsons that the firm owes to will settel with Mose.