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 was none in the fambly stock;
But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
    That visited us last year,
He kindo convinct me differunt
    While he was a-stayin' here.

Frum ever'-which way that blues is from,
    They'd tackle him ever' ways;
They'd come to him in the night, and come
    On Sundays, and rainy days;
They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,
    And in harvest, and airly Fall,
But a dose 't of blues in the wintertime,
    He 'lowed, was the worst of all!

Said all diseases that ever he had -
    The mumps, er the rheumatiz -
Er ever'-other-day-aigger's bad
    Purt' nigh as anything 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 wood-pile'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 parents a postal-kyard,
    He could stay 'tel Spring-time come;
And Aprile first, as I rickollect,
    Was the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his relatives, sence then,
    Has either give up, er quit,
Er jest died off; but I understand
    He's the same old color yit!