One Mourner

(FOR IRWIN RUSSELL, WHO DIED IN NEW ORLEANS IN GREAT DESTITUTION, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, 1879)

Well, well, I declar'! I is sorry. He 's 'ceasted, yo' say, Marse Joe?-- Dat gent'man down in New Orleans, Whar writ 'bout'n niggers so,

An' tole, in all dat poetry You read some time lars' year, 'Bout niggers, an' 'coons, an' 'possums, An' ole times, an' mules an' gear?

Jes' name dat ag'in, seh, please, seh; Destricution 's de word yo' said? Dat signifies he wuz mons'us po', Yo' say?--want meat and bread?

Hit mout: I never knowed him Or hearn on him, 'sep' when you Read me dem valentines o' his'n; But I lay you, dis, seh 's, true--

Dat he wuz a rael gent'man, Bright fire dat burns, not smokes; An' ef he did die destricute, He war n't no po'-white-folks.

Dat gent'man knowed 'bout niggers, Heah me! when niggers wuz Ez good ez white-folks mos', seh, I knows dat thing, I does.

An' he could 'a' tetched his hat, seh, To me jes' de same ez you; An' folks gwine to see what a gent'man He wuz, an' I wuz, too.

He could n' 'a' talked so natchal 'Bout niggers in sorrow an' joy, Widdouten he had a black mammy To sing to him 'long ez a boy.

An' I think, when he tole 'bout black-folks An' ole-times, an' all so sweet, Some nigh him mout 'a' acted de ravins An' gin him a mouf-ful to eat,

An' not let him starve at Christmas, When things ain't sca'ce nowhar-- Ef he hed been a dog, young Marster, I 'd 'a feeded him den, I 'clar'!

But wait! Maybe Gord, when thinkin' How po' he 'd been himself, Cotch sight dat gent'man scufflin', An' 'lowed fur to see what wealf

Hit mout be de bes' to gin him, Ez a Christmas-gif', yo' know; So he jes' took him up to heaven, Whar he earn' be po' no mo'.

An' jes' call his name ag'in, seh. How?--IRWIN RUSSELL--so? I 'se gwine fur to tell it to Nancy, So ef I 'd furgit, she 'd know.

An' I hopes dey 'll lay him to sleep, seh, Somewhar, whar de birds will sing About him de live-long day, seh, An' de flowers will bloom in Spring.

An' I wish, young Marster, you 'd meek out To write down to whar you said, An' sey, dyar 's a nigger in Richmond Whar 's sorry Marse Irwin 's dead.