A Dose't of 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 different While he was a-stayin' here. Frum ever'-which-way that blues is frum, They'd tackle him ever' 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, an 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 fellon on his thumb,— But you keep the blues away frum him, And all o' the rest could come! And he'd moan, "they's narry 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! And you can't go out—ner you can't stay in— Lay down—stand up—ner set!" And a case o' reguller 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!