George Washington Harris - 1876
These phrases were translated out of the original American dialect by Greg Utrecht
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The Bible tell us who were the strongest man, who were the best man, who were the meekest man, and who were the wisest man, but leaves you to guess who were the biggest fool.
"Now ef a feller happens tu know whathis pint am, he kin allers git along,sumhow, purvided he don't swaraway his liberty tu a temprins s'ciety,live tu fur frum a still-hous, andtoo ni a chu'ch ur a jail. Them's mysentimints on 'pints,'
an' yere's mysentimints ontu folks
Here's my sentiments on folks: Men were made on purpose just to eat, drink, and for staying awake in the early part of the nites; and women were made to cook the vittles, mix the spirits,and help the men do the staying awake. That's all, and nothing more, unless its for the women to raise the devil between meals, and to knit Sock between drinks, and the men to play short cards, swap horses with fools and fight for exercise at odd spells.
If I were just as smart as I am mean and ornery, I'd be President of a Wild Cat Bank in no less than a week.
First rate three bladed double barreled water proof hypocrisy.
There are two things no one ever saw: one is a dead mule and the other is a circuit judge's grave. Because why the he mules all turn into old schoolmasters and the she ones into strongminded women, and when their time comes they die like ushers. And the circuit judges ride until they marry; if they marry money they turn into storekeepers, swap horses and stay away of collection Sundays. Them that marry, and by some awful mistake miss the money just turn into politicians, sell oil well stock and die sort of in the human way too.
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From "Sicily Burns Wedding" by George Washington Harris
Old Sock were a rosin around an come up onto a big basket what held a little shattered cotton; he dipped in his head to get it, and I slipped up and jerked the handle over his horns. Now, George, if you know they is the durndest fools among all the beasts (except the Lovingoods); when they get into tribulation, they know nothing but to shut their eyes, bellow, and back, an keep backing. Well when old Sock raised his head and found himself in darkness he just twisted up his tail, snorted the shattered cotton out of the basket, and made a tremendous lunge against the house. I heard the pictures hanging against the wall on the inside fall in. He fetched a deep loud rusty bellow, might have been heard a mile, and then started into an unending system of backing. A big craw fish with a hungry coon reaching for him was just nowhere. First against one thing, then over anuther and at last against the bee hive, knocking it and a dozen stands of bees head over heels, and then stomping backwards through the mess. It wasn't much worth while to tell you what the bees did, or how soon they started into doing it. They are powerful quick tempered little critters anyhow. The air was dark with them, and Sock was covered all over, from snout to tail, so close you couldn't have set down a grain of wheat for bees, and they were a fighting one another in the air for a place on the bull.
The house stood on side ground and the back door was even with it. So Sock happen to hit it plum, just backed into the house under about two hundred and fifty pounds of steam, bawling awful and every snort he fetched he snorted away a quart of bees off his sweaty snout. He was the leader of the biggest and maddest army of bees in the world. There were at least five solid bushels of them. They had filled the basket and had lodged onto his tail ten deep, until it was as thick as a wagon tongue. He had it straight up in the air, and it looked exactly like a died pine covered with ivy. I think he was the hottest and worst hurting bull then living; his temper too, seemed to be powerfully frustrated. Of all the durned times and carryings on you ever heard tell on were there and there abouts. He come tail first against the old two story Dutch clock, and fetched it, busting its running gear out of it, the little wheels a trundling over the floor, and the bees even chasing them. Next pass he fetched up against the foot of a big double Indian bedstead, raring it on end and punching one of the posts through a glass window. The next tail-first expedition was made against the cater-corner cupboard, out of which he made a perfect momox. First he upset it, smashing in the glass doors, and then just set in an stomped everything on the shelves into giblets, trying to back further in that direction, and get the bees off his likes.
Pickle crocks, preserves jars, vinegar jugs, herb bunches, paragoric bottles, augue baskets were all mixed damn promiscuously, and not worth the sorting by a dollar and a half. Next he got far back across the room against the board partition; he went through it like it had been paper, taking with him about six foot square of it in splinters and broken boards, into the next room, where they were eating dinner, and right here the fighting became general, and the dancing, squawking, cussing, and dodging begun.
Clapshaw's old mom was as deaf as a dogiron, and set at the end of the table, next to where old Sock busted through the wall tail first. He come against her chair, hitting her and it on the table. Now the smashing and the mixing of vittels begun. They had set several tables together to make it long enough. So he just rolled them up a top of one another, and there sat ole Mrs Clapshaw, straddling over the top of the pile, fighting bees like a mad windmill, with her calicoat cap in one hand, for a weapon, and a cracked frame in the other, and kicking and spurring like she was riding a lazy horse after the doctor, and screaming rape fire and murder as fast as she could name them over.
Taters cabbage meat soup beans sop dumpling an the truck that you wallows them in; milk plates pies pudding and every durn fixing you could think of in a week was there, mixed and mashed, like it had been through a threshing machine. Ole Sock still kept backing, and backed the whole pile, old woman and all, also some chairs, out the front door, and down seven steps into the lane, and then by golly, turned a fifteen hundred pound sommersault after them, landed on top of the mixed up mess, flat on his back, and then kicked himself to his feet again. About the time he rose, old man Burns, you know how fat and stumpy and cross-grained he is, anyhow made a vigorous mad snatch at the basket, and got a saving hold onto it, but couldn't let go quick enough; for old Sock just snorted, bawled an hissed the old cuss heels first up into the air, an he lit on the bull's back, and had the basket in his hand.
Just as soon as old Sock got the use of his eyes, he tore off down the lane to out-run the bees, so darned fast that old Burns was afraid to try to get off. So he just stuck his feet into the rope loops, and then comenced the darndest bull ride any mortal undertook. Sock run between the hitched critters and the railfence, old Burns first fifing him over the head with the basket to stop him, and then fighting the bees with it. I'll just be durned if I didn't think he had four or five baskets, it was in so many places at once. Well, Burns, basket, bull and bees scared every durned horse and mule loose from that fence, bees onto all of them, bees by golly, everywhere. Most of them, too, took a fence rail along, fast to the bridle reins. Now I'll just go to leave to kiss my sister Sall till she squalls, if ever such a sight were seen or such noises heard, as filled up that long lane. A heavy cloud of dust like a hurricane had been blowing, hid all the horses, and away above it you could see tails, and ends of fence rails a flying about; now and then a pair of bright shine shoes would flash in the sun like two sparks, and away ahead were the basket circling round and about at random. Braying nickering the bellowing of the bull, clattering of running hooves, and a monstrous rushing sound, made up the noise. Lively times in that lane just then, weren't there?
Sicily, she squatted in the cold spring, up to her ears, and turned a milk crock over her head, while she was drowning a mess of bees under her coats.
I went to her, and said 'You has got another new sensation hasn't you?"
Says she "Shut your mouth you cussed fool."
Sez I, "Powerful searching feeling bees give a body, don't they?"
"Oh lordy lordy these here abominable insects is just burning me up!"
"Give them a mess of Soda," sez I, "that'll cool 'em off, and scare the last durned one off of the place."
She lifted the crock, so she could flash her eyes at me, and say,
"You go to hell." Just as plain.
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---------The Bibil tell us hu wer the stronges' man huwer the bes' man hu wer the meekis' man, an' hu the wises' man, butleaves yu tu guess hu wer the bigges' fool.
yere's mysentimints ontu folks: Men wer madea-purpus jis' tu eat, drink, an' furstayin awake in the yearly part ovethe nites: an' wimen wer made tucook the vittils, mix the sperits, an' help the men du the stayin awake.That's all, an' nuthin more, onlesshits fur the women tu raise thedevil atwix meals, an' knit socks atwixdrams, an' the men tu play shortkerds, swap hosses wif fools, an' fite fur exercise at odd spells.
All my yeathly 'pendence is in these yere laigs d'ye see 'em? Ef they don't fail, I may turn human sum day, that is sorter human, enuf tu be a Squire, ur school cummisiner. Ef I wer jis' es smart es I am mean, an' ornery, I'd be President ove a Wild Cat Bank in less nor a week. Is sperrits plenty over wif yu?"
"'Yu jis' say bees agin, yu infunel gallinipper,an' I'll scab yer head wif a rock.'
fust rate, threebladed, dubbil barriltd, warter-proof,hypockracy,
Nevermine' when I gits his 'sperence,I may be king fool, but yetgreat golly, he gets frum bad tu wus,monstrus fas'
cross-grained
gallinipper
Thar am two things nobody never seed: wunam a dead muel, an' tuther is a suckit-rider's grave. Kaze why, the hemuels all turn intu old field school-masters,an' the she ones intu strongminded wimen, an' then whenthar times cums, they dies sorterlike usher folks. An' the suckit-ridersrideontil they marry; ef they marrysmoney, they turns intu store-keepers,swaps hosses, an' stays awayove colleckshun Sundays.
Them what marrys, an' by sum orful mistakemlsses the money, jis' turns intupolertishuns, sells 'ile well stock,' and dies sorter in the human
way too.
