A Dos't o' Blues

I' got no patience with blues at all!
And I ust to kindo' talk
Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,
They wuz none in the fambly stock;
But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
That visitud us last year,
He kindo' convinct me differunt
Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here.

From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,
They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways;
They'd come to him in the night, and come
On Sundys, and rainy days;
They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,
And in harvest, and airly Fall, --
But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time,
He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!

Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had --
The mumps, er the rhumatiz --
Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger -- bad
As ever the blame thing is! --
Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,
Er a felon on his thumb, --
But you keep _the blues_ away from him,
And all o' the rest could come! "

And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!
Ner a spear o' grass in sight!
And the whole woodpile's clean under snow!
And the days is dark as night!
You can't go out -- ner you can't stay in --
Lay down -- stand up -- ner set! "
And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues
Would double him jest clean shet!

I writ his parunts a postal-kyard
He could stay tel Springtime come;
And Aprile -- _first_, as I rickollect --
Wuz the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his _relatives_, sence then,
Has eether give up, er quit,
Er jest died off; but I understand
_He's_ the same old color yit!