‘ Ras Wilson, I respect you,‘ cause You're common, like you allus was Afore you went to town and s'prised The world by gittin’ “reckonized,”
And yit perservin’, as I say, Your common hoss-sense ev'ryway! And when that name o’ yourn occurs On hand-bills, er in newspapers,
Er letters writ by friends‘ at ast About you, same as in the past, And neghbors and relations‘ low You're out o’ the tall timber now,
And “gittin’ thare” about as spry's The next!— as I say, when my eyes, Er ears, lights on your name, I mind The first time‘ at I come to find
You — and my Rickollection yells, Jest jubilunt as old sleigh-bells — “‘ Ras Wilson! Say! Hold up! and shake A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!”
My Rickollection, more'n like, Hai n't overly too apt to strike The what's-called “cultchurd public eye” As wisdom of the deepest dye,—
And yit my Rickollection makes So blame lots fewer bad mistakes, Regardin’ human-natchur’ and The fellers‘ at I've shook theyr hand,
Than my best jedgemunt's done, the day I've met‘ em —‘ fore I got away,— ‘ At — Well,‘ Ras Wilson, let me grip Your hand in warmest pardnership!
Dad-burn ye!— Like to jest haul back A’ old flat-hander, jest che-whack! And take you‘ twixt the shoulders, say, Sometime you're lookin’ t'other way!—
Er, maybe whilse you're speakin’ to A whole blame Courthouse-full o’‘ thu- Syastic friends, I'd like to jest Come in-like and break up the nest
Afore you hatched anuther cheer, And say: “‘ Ras, I can n't stand hitched here All night — ner would n't ef I could!— But Little Bethel Neghborhood,
You ust to live at,‘ s sent some word Fer you, ef ary chance occurred To git it to ye,— so ef you Kin stop, I'm waitin’ fer ye to!”
You're common, as I said afore — You're common, yit oncommon more.— You allus kindo’‘ pear, to me, What all mankind had ort to be —
Jest natchurl, and the more hurraws You git, the less you know the cause — Like as ef God Hisse'f stood by Where best on earth hai n't half knee-high,
And seein’ like, and knowin’ He ‘ S the Only Grate Man really, You're jest content to size your hight With any feller-man's in sight.—
And even then they's scrubs, like me, Feels stuck-up, in your company! Like now:— I want to go with you Plum out o’ town a mile er two
Clean past the Fair-ground whare's some hint O’ pennyrile er peppermint, And bottom-lands, and timber thick Enugh to sorto’ shade the crick!
I want to see you — want to set Down somers, whare the grass hai n't wet, And kindo’ breathe you, like puore air — And taste o’ your tobacker thare,
And talk and chaw! Talk o’ the birds We've knocked with cross-bows.— Afterwards Drop, mayby, into some dispute ‘ Bout “pomgrannies,” er cal'mus-root —
And how they growed, and whare?— on tree Er vine?— Who's best boy-memory!— And was n't it gingsang, insted O’ cal'mus-root, growed like you said?—
Er how to tell a coon-track from A mussrat's;— er how milksick come — Er ef cows brung it?— Er why now We never see no “muley” - cow —
Ner “frizzly” - chicken — ner no “clay- Bank” mare — ner nothin’ thataway!— And what's come o’ the yellow-core Old wortermelons?— hai n't no more.—
Tomattusus, the same — all red- Uns nowadays — All past joys fled — Each and all jest gone k-whizz! Like our days o’ childhood is!
Dag-gone it,‘ Ras! they hai n't no friend, It‘ pears-like, left to comperhend Sich things as these but you, and see How dratted sweet they air to me!
But you,‘ at's loved‘ em allus, and Kin sort‘ em out and understand ‘ Em, same as the fine books you've read, And all fine thoughts you've writ, er said,
Er worked out, through long nights o’ rain, And doubts and fears, and hopes, again, As bright as morning when she broke,— You know a teardrop from a joke!
And so,‘ Ras Wilson, stop and shake A paw, fer old acquaintance sake!
Cookies on Poetry Cove