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Updated: June 14, 2025
Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it soun like de wind whin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' yevery hair whut on li'l black Mose's head turn white. Dat whut happen whin a li'l black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat's so he ain't gwine fergit to remimber dey ain't no ghosts.
"But dis yer man wa'n't skeered a bit, en he writ back ter Kunnel Pen'leton dat a bahg'in wuz a bahg'in; dat Lightnin' Bug wuz soun' w'en he sol' 'im, en ef Kunnel Pen'leton did n' knowed ernuff 'bout hosses ter take keer er a fine racer, dat wuz his own fune'al. En he say Kunnel Pen'leton kin sue en be cusst fer all he keer, but he ain' gwine ter gib up de nigger he bought en paid fer.
We has no ark to dance afore, like Isrul's prophet king; We has no harp to soun' de chords, to holp us out to sing; But 'cordin' to de gif's we has we does de bes' we knows, An' folks don't 'spise de vi'let-flower bekase it ain't de rose.
"Hark, hark, I year a soun'. Hit come fum far away; Wake, wake, en year de soun' dat come fum far away. De night am dark, de night been long, but dar de mawnin' gray; En wid de light is comin' sweet a soun' fum far away. "Look how de light am shinin' now across de gret Red Sea. On Egypt sho' we stay no mo' in slabing misery.
I ain't mo'n kivver my head wid dat blanket en shot my eyes, 'fo' I year somebody a-callin' un me. Fus' hit soun' way off yander. "'Mingo! oh, Mingo! en den hit got nigher 'Mingo! oh, Mingo! "I ain't 'spon' ter dat, but I lay dar, I did, en I say ter myse'f "'Bless gracious! de man on t'er side done come, but how in de name er goodness is he know Mingo?
No, you ain' dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huck de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!" "What's the matter with you, Jim? You been a-drinking?" "Drinkin'? Has I ben a-drinkin'? Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin'?" "Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?" "How does I talk wild?"
Well, seh, I nuver 'spects to heah tell Judgment sich a soun' ez de folks set up! Ole missis she jes' drapt down on her knees in de mud an' prayed out loud.
So fetch me tartans, heather, scones, An' dye my tresses red; I'd deck me like th' unconquer'd Scots, Wha hae wi' Wallace bled. Then bind my claymore to my side, My kilt an' mutch gae bring; While Scottish lays soun' i' my lugs M'Kinley's no my king, For Charlie, bonnie Stuart Prince, Has turned me Jacobite; I'd wear displayed the white cockade.
We heard no sound, save that of the water grumbling and surging at our feet. We answered in the negative. "You hear it not? Ha, ha, ha! where are your ears? It is ringing in mine. All day I have heard it. Listen! there it is again!" "She's a mockin' us," muttered my companion; "thar ain't no soun' in partickler."
Say, how d'y'e like de soun'? Dey say de pore man orter pay For walkin' on de groun"! When cullud men was slaves, yer know', 'Twas drefful hard to tax 'em; But jes de minnit dat dey's free, God save us! how dey wax 'em! "Den jes fork up de little tax, etc." "What you know 'bout poll-tax, Berry?" asked Nimbus, good-naturedly, when the song was ended. "Yer hain't turned politician, hez yer?"
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