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I replied that down in Kentucky where I was born one of the favorite negro dishes was "'possum and sweet potatoes." He took me up at once saying: "Oh, yes, I have read about ''possum pie' in Joel Chandler Harris' books." Then he proceeded to tell me what a great institution "Br'er Rabbit" was. We touched on German poetry and I quoted two lines that I considered beautiful.
"Oh, well," remarked Will with a sigh, "he spoiled my little game with Br'er 'Coon, though I mean to make another try along that line. When this film dries, which may be around noon, I'll strike off a proof, and then we can see what the old hermit looks like." "One thing goes without saying," chuckled Bluff. "What might that be?" Jerry asked him.
"I'se 83 Y'ars ole en wuz bawn a slave. Mah mammy b'longed ter de Bosley's en mah daddy b'longed ter de Scales." "W'en Miss Jane Boxley ma'ried Marster Jerry Scales, me en mah mammy, br'er en sistah wuz gib ter Miss Jane." "Durin' de war mah Missis tuk mah mammy en us chilluns wid her ter de mount'ins 'till de war wuz gon'. Did'nt see no soldiers.
An' fur ebry lick you giv' us, we gwi' giv' you er dozen on your naked back, an' es fur dis ole witch," said the brute, pointing to old Aunt Charity, "we got de plain docyments on her fur witchin' Br'er Moses' little gal de same dat she mek hab fits, an' we gwi' hang her to a lim'." The old man drew himself up.
Her daddy was a Yankee kunnel, who died fighting fer ou' freedom. She come heah when we yas, Mr. Chuhman, when you an' Br'er Cotten was jes sot free, an' when none er us didn' have a rag ter ou' backs. She come heah, an' she tuk yo' child'n an' my child'n, an' she teached 'em sense an' manners an' religion an' book-l'arnin'. When she come heah we didn' hab no chu'ch.
He thrilled those boys with the way in which he described the most trivial happening in the lonely wilds. They fairly hung upon his every sentence. "When you first commence to spend some time in the woods, boys," he told them, "it will seem very big and lonesome to you. Then as you come to make the acquaintance of Br'er 'Coon and Mr.
To see Br'er Rabbit at his best, that is, at his own playful comical self, one must turn hunter, and learn how to sit still, and be patient.
There was a big company there Br'er Rabbit, and Br'er Partridge, and Br'er Robin, and Ol' Miss Guinea Hen. "Here's Po' Li'l' Hannibal come to see you," said the Possum. "Li'l' Hannibal done run away from his gran'mammy and gran'daddy." Li'l' Hannibal hung his head as if he was ashamed, but nobody noticed him.
"Win or lose, if you desire it and I can scrape together the price of a marriage license, we'll be married in six weeks. "I'm so tired of the desert, dear. I'm lonely." "A little like Br'er B'ar, eh, darling! You want to see the other side of the mountain." He pressed her to him lovingly.
In the firelight I saw plainly the dangle of Br'er Rabbit's long legs, and the flap of his big ears, and the quick flash of his dark eyes in the reflected light, got an instantaneous photograph of him, as it were, at the top of his comical jump. I sat there nearly an hour before the why and the how of the little joker's actions became quite clear. This is what happens in such a case.
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