THE DEACON of a colored church met Uncle Remus recently, and,
after some uninteresting remarks about the weather, asked:
How dis you dont come down ter chuch no mo, Brer Remus? We
er bin er havin some mighty oereshen times lately.
Hits bin a long time sence I bin down dar, Brer Rastus, an hitll
be longer. I done got my dose.
You aint done gone an unjined, is you, Brer Remus?
Not zackly, Brer Rastus. I des tuckn drawd out. De members uz
a blame sight too mutuel fer ter suit my doctrines.
How wuz dat, Brer Remus?
Well, I tell you, Brer Rastus. Wen I went ter dat chuch, I went
des ez umbill ez de nex one. I went dar fer ter sing, an fer ter pray,
an fer ter wushup, an I mos ginerlly allers had a stray shin-plarster wich de ole oman say she want sont out dar ter dem
cullud fokes cross de water. Hit went on dis way twel bimeby, one
day, de fus news I knowd der was a row got up in de amen
cornder. Brer Dick, he nounced dat dey wemt nuff money in de
box; an Brer Sim said if dey wernt he speck Brer Dick knowd
whar it disappeared ter; an den Brer Dick lowd dat he wont stan
no probusness, an wid dat he haul off an tuck Brer Sim under de
jawker blap!an den dey clinched an drapped on de flo an fout
under de benches an mong de wimmen.
bout dat time Sis Tempy, she lipt up in de ar, an sing out dat she
done gone an tromple on de Ole Boy, an she kep on lippin up an
slingin out er hans twel bimebyblip!she tuck Sis Becky in de
mouf, an den Sis Becky riz an fetch a grab at Sis Tempy, an I
clar ter grashus ef didnt pear ter me like she got a poun er wool.
Atter dat de revivin sorter het up like. Bofe un um had kin mong
de moners, an ef you ever see skufflin an scramblin hit wuz den
an dar. Brer Jeems Henry, he mounted Brer Plato an rid im over
de railin, an den de preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an des
ez he wuz skippin onter de flatform a hyme-book kotch im in de
bur er de year, an I be bless ef it didnt soun like a bung-shelld
busted. Des den, Brer Jesse, he riz up in his seat, sorter keerless
like, an went down inter his britches atter his razer, an right den I
knowd sho nuff trubble wuz begun. Sis Dilsey, she seed it hersef,
an she tuckn let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers, an den I
disremember wat come ter pass.
Im gittin sorter ole, Brer Rastus, an it seem like de dus sorter
shet out de pannyrammer. Fuddermo, my lims got ter akin, mo
speshully wen I year Brer Sim an Brer Dick a snortin and a
skufflin under de benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin der way
ter my pew. So I kinder hump mysef an scramble out, and de fus
man wat I seed was a pleeceman, an he had a nigger rested, an de
fergiven name er dat nigger wuz Remus.
He didnt res you, did he, Brer Remus?
Hits des like I tell you, Brer Rastus, an I hatter git Mars John fer
to go inter my bons fer me. Hit aint no use fer ter sing out chuch
ter me, Brer Rastus. I done bin an got my dose. Wen I goes ter
war, I wanter know wat Im a doin. I dont wanter git hemmed up
mong no wimmen and preachers. I wants elbow-room, an Im
bleedzd ter have it. Des gimme elbow-room.
But, Brer Remus, you aint-
I mout drap in, Brer Rastus, an den agin I moutnt, but wen you
duz see me santer in de do, wid my specs on, youkn des say to de
congergashun, sorter familious like, Yer come ole man Remus wid
his hoss-pistol, an ef dars much uv a skuffle roun yer dis evenin
youer gwineter year fum im. Dats me, an dats what you kin tell
um. So long! Member me to Sis Abby.