XXIIITHE SAD CASE OF DEACON PERKINS
I
It is now some fifteen years since the dialect story assumed undue prominence in the literary output of the time, and about eight since it became a “craze.” There is no craze without its attendant disease or ailment: thus roller-skating developed “roller’s heel”; gum-chewing, “chewer’s jaw”; bicycling, the “bicycle face,” and later the “leg”; housekeeping, “housemaid’s knee”; golf-playing, “idiocy”; and so on, every craze having a damaging effect upon some portion of the anatomy. It is only within the last year, however, that it has been discovered that an over-indulgence in dialectstories is liable to bring on an affection of the tongue.
A peculiarly sad case and the most notable that has thus far been brought to the attention of the public is that of Deacon Azariah Perkins of West Hartford, Connecticut.
Far from deploring the spread of the dialect story, he reveled in it, reading all the tales that he could get hold of in magazines or circulating library. But his was not a healthy, catholic taste; he had ears and eyes for one dialect alone—the negro. For him Ian Maclaren and Barrie spread their most tempting Scotch jaw-breakers in vain; he had no desire for them. After fifteen years of negro dialect in every form in which Southern and Northern writers can serve it, any specialist in nervous disorders could have told the deacon that he was liable to have “negromania”; but West Hartford does not employ specialists, and so the stroke came unheralded, with all the suddenness of apoplexy.
Deacon Perkins has always been able tothink standing; indeed, he has been called the Chauncey Depew of West Hartford, and no revival meeting or strawberry festival or canned clam-bake was considered a success unless the deacon’s ready tongue took part in the exercises.
Last Sunday they had a children’s festival in the Congregational Church, and after the children had made an end of reciting and singing, the deacon was called upon for a few remarks. He is a favorite with young and old, and a man of great purity and simplicity of character. Hearose with alacrity and walked down the isle with the lumbering gait peculiar to New-Englanders who have struggled with rocky farms the best part of their lives. He ascended the platform steps, inclined his head to the audience, and spoke as follows:
“Mah deah li’l’ chillun! Yo’ kahnd sup’inten’ent has ast me to mek a few remahks.” (Subdued titters on the part of the scholars.) “Ah don’ s’pose you-all’ll b’lieve me w’en Ah say dat Ah too was once a li’l’ piccaninny same as yo’, but Ah was, an’ Ah ’membeh how mah ol’ mammy use teh tek me to Sunny-school.” (Consternation on the part of the superintendent and teachers.)
“Now, ef you-all wan’ to go to heb’n w’en yo’ die, be ci’cumspectious ’bout de obsarvence ob de eighth c’man’ment. Hit ain’t so awful wicked ter steal—dat ain’t hit, but hit’s jes nach’ly tryin’ to a man’s self-respec’ ter git cotched. Don’ steal jes fer deviltry, but ef yo’ is ’bleeged ter steal, study de wedder repohts, ac’ accordin’, an’—don’ git foun’ out—or in, eiver.”
During the delivery of this remarkable speech the deacon’s face wore his habitual expression; a kindly light shone in his eye, a smile of ineffable sweetness played about his lips, and he evidently imagined that he was begging them to turn from their evil ways and seek the narrow path.
But at this juncture Dr. Pulcifer of New York, the eminent neurologist, who happened to be spending Sunday in West Hartford, whispered to the superintendent, and on receiving an affirmative nod to his interrogation, went up to the platform. He held out his hand to Deacon Perkins, who was making a rhetorical pause, and said kindly, “Good morning, uncle.”
“Mornin’, sah,” said the deacon, bowing awkwardly and scratching his head.
“Can you direct me to a good melon-patch?”
Deacon Perkins gave vent to an unctuous negro chuckle. Then, holding up his forefinger to enjoin caution, he tiptoed off the platform, closely followed by the doctor; and before nightfall he was onhis way to a private hospital for nervous diseases, where rest and a total abstention from negro-dialect stories is expected to restore him to his usual sane condition of mind in a short time.