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We knew it wouldn't do to go along the streets or in the halls and corridors of the World's Fair, a-singin' as loud as we could "Joy to the World!" Or, "What amazin' bliss is this!" or anything else of that kind no, we wuz too well-bread to attempt it; but inside of us we jest sung for joy, the hull set and caboodle of us.
On the damp Spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old Day house. "Hello!" grunted Uncle Jason, "who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? Tain't never Walky a-singin' like that, is it?" "It's Walky; but it ain't him singin'," chuckled Marty. "Huh?" queried Uncle Jason. "It's Lem Parraday's whiskey that's doin' the singin'," explained the boy.
Ef a mockin'-bird kin sing God's praises a-singin' trible, and so on through all the parts you see I larnt the squar notes oncet at a singin' why, I don't see to save me why the bass of the owl a'n't jest as good praisin' ef 'ta'n't quite sech fine singin'. Do you, now? An' I kinder had a feller-feelin' fer the owl. I says to him, Well, ole feller, you and me is jist alike in one thing.
She made me submit. I caught de feathers, don't you forgit it. "I didn' know it was wrong. I'd hear'd de Niggers sing it an' I didn' know dey was a-singin' in dey sleeves. I didn' know nothin' 'bout Abe Lincoln, but I hear'd he was a-tryin' to free de Niggers an' my mammy say she want to be free. "De young folks used to make up a heap o' songs, den.
"That hymn about 'Hand Around the Wash-rag. I've heard you a-singin' it." "Hand around the wash-rag! Why Billy Ruggles, what can you mean?" "Yes," insisted Billy, who had a good ear for music in his poor, cracked head. "You was singin' it las' night." "I can't imagine what you mean, Billy. When we were on the piazza, do you mean? We didn't sing anything about wash-rags, I'm sure.
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