THE NOTABLE difference existing between the negroes in the
interior of the cotton States and those on the seaboarda difference
that extends to habits and opinions as well as to dialecthas given
rise to certain ineradicable prejudices which are quick to display
themselves whenever an opportunity offers. These prejudices were
forcibly, as well as ludicrously, illustrated in Atlanta recently. A
gentleman from Savannah had been spending the summer in the
mountains of north Georgia, and found it convenient to take along
a body-servant. This body-servant was a very fine specimen of the
average coast negro-sleek, well-conditioned, and consequential-disposed to regard with undisguised contempt every-thing and
everybody not indigenous to the rice-growing regionand he
paraded around the streets with quite a curious and critical air.
Espying Uncle Remus languidly sunning himself on a corner, the
Savannah darkey approached.
Im sorter up an about, responded Uncle Remus, carelessly and
calmly. How is you stannin it?
Tanky you, my helt mos so-so. He mo hot dun in de mountain.
Seem so lak man mus git need de shade. I enty fer see no
rice-bud in dis pats.
In dis wich? inquired Uncle sudden affectation of interest.
In dis pats. In dis country. Da plenty in Sawanny.
Da plenty in Sawanny. I enty fer see no crab an no oscher; en
swimp, he no stay roun. I lak some rice-bud now.
Youer talkin bout deze yer sparrers, wich dey er all head, en
levm un makes one mouffle, I speck, suggested Uncle
Remus. Well, dey er yer, he continued, but dis aint no climate
whar de rice-birds flies inter yo pockets en gits out de money an
makes de change dersef; an de isters dont shuck off der shells en
run over you on de street, an no mo duz de simp hull dersef an
drap in yo mouf. But dey er yer, dough. De scads ll fetch um.
Him po country fer true, commented the Savannah negro; he no
like Sawanny. Down da, we set need de shade an eaty de rice-bud,
an de crab, an de swimp tree time de day; an de buckra man
drinky him wine, an smoky him seegyar all troo de night. Plenty
fer eat an not much fer wuk.
Hits mighty nice, I speck, responded Uncle Remus, gravely. De
nigger dat aint hope up longer high feedin aint got no grip. But
up yer whar fokes is gotter scramble roun an make der own livin,
de vittles wats kumerlated widout enny sweatin mos allers
generily blongs ter some yuther man by rights. One hoe-cake an a
rasher er middlin meat lass me fum Sunday ter Sunday, an Im in
a mighty big streak er luck wen I gits dat.
The Savannah negro here gave utterance to a loud, contemptuous
laugh, and began to fumble somewhat ostentatiously with a big
But I speck I struck up wid a payin job las Chuseday, continued
Uncle Remus, in a hopeful tone.
Wey you gwan do?
Oh, Im a waitin on a culled gemmun fum Savannahwunner deze
yer high livers you bin tellin bout.
I loant im two dollars, responded Uncle Remus, grimly, an Im
a waitin on im fer de money. Hits wunner deze yer jobs wat lass
a long time.
The Savannah negro went off after his rice-birds, while Uncle
Remus leaned up against the wall and laughed until he was in
imminent danger of falling down from sheer exhaustion.