A Dos't o' Blues

I GOT no patience with blues at all!
And I ust to kind o' talk
Ag'inst '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 kind o' 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 Sund'ys, 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 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 jes' clean shet!

I writ his parunts a postal-kyard
He could stay tel Spring-time 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 jes' died off; but I understand
He's the same old color yit!
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