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Aunt Tillie: “Served him right, fuh dem days he wuz al’ays trav’lin’ ’roun’ wid uh juice-hyarp in his mouf.”

“Aunt Tillie, dey tell me Mars George’s Bob is broke his erligion an’ tuck up his fiddle ergin. Howsome-eber, Mars Richard say de Bible tells all erbout trumpets, shams an’ flutes, but you see dem trumpets wuz made ub ram’s hohns; leas’wise de trumpets dat Gideon made de Pawsons play—so Uncle Reubin say, so ubcose, dey wan’t bad like brass hohns; nobody kin meck me bleebe dat playin’ on brass hohns wid keys an’ locks is right. I think Pawson Demby orter keep ev’y one outin de chuch dat plays de fiddle er hohns. John Poney’s son, Jim, is goin’ erstray; I hearn him walkin’ ’long de road lars nite sorter twankin er tryin’ ter twank uh cow’s hohn an’ singin’ loud ernuf futto almos’ bus’ hissef—

I ain’ no tukkey buzzard

I ain’ no saint,

I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,

So glad I ain’t.

“Now, wan’t dat scanlus? It’s jes’ ez bad ez fishin’ on Sunday. Dat’s what gib Jim Brooks de brake-bone fever, fishin’ on Sunday; but de doctor tole Kyarline, his wife, not ter be relarmed, but reposed; dat de bone-set tea he wuz ergibbin’ him would kow de wus kine ub brake-bone fever. Doctor Dawson is sut’ny uh pow’ful doctor. Fuh instinct, meh arms wuz all broke out. He say dey wuz too clean fum habin’ dem in soapsuds too much, so he tole me ter grease meh arms wid goose grease befo’ I commenc’ ter wash. Well, it made de skin sorf, kep’ de water outin de poors, an’ it sholy cured meh arms. Aunt Betsy wuz ’tirely mustakin; she say dat when I got het up washin’ da wuz uh checkeration ub pusspuration, an’ dat made it.