From the above Wells book, an example (not the best one by far but the one I can get at now), of an eyewitness account of the singsong use of spirituals/work music for a sales pitch-- sacred and secular crossing of what we have sorted here at Mudcat as distinct genres that clearly were not so sharply defined back in the day.

DIALECT ALERT
Research is needed to sort out the dialect issues of the following, which is posted verbatim from the electronic version of the text. Quoting the author on page iii:

PREFACE.

No attempt has been made to create heroes or heroines, or to appeal to the imagination or the heart.

The earlier incidents were written out from the author's recollections. The later sketches here given, are the results of recent visits to the South, where the incidents were jotted down at the time of their occurrence, or as they fell from the lips of the narrators, and in their own unadorned dialect.

BOSTON, May, 1880.

~S~

Page 174

         By the time the man had finished his explanation, and weighed out her lot, he was completely surrounded with women and men, nearly all of whom had their dishes to get the choice morsel in.

         "Now," said a rather solid-looking man. "Now, I want some of de Meth-diss chitlins dat you's bin talking 'bout."

         "Here dey is, ser."

         "What," asked the purchaser, "you take 'em all out of de same tub?"

         "Yes," quickly replied the vender.

         "Can you tell 'em by lookin' at 'em?" inquired the chubby man.

         "Yes, ser."

         "How duz you tell 'em?"

         "Well, ser, de Baptist chitlins has bin more in de water, you see, an' dey's a little whiter."

         "But, how duz I know dat dey is Meth-diss?"

         "Well, ser, dat hog was raised by Uncle Jake Bemis, one of de most shoutin' Methodist in de Zion connection. Well, you see, ser, de hog pen was right close to de house, an' dat hog was so knowin' dat when Uncle Jake went to prayers, ef dat hog was squeelin' he'd stop. Why, ser, you could hardly get a grunt out of dat hog till Uncle Jake was dun his prayer. Now, ser, ef dat don't make him a Methodist hog, what will?"

         "Weigh me out four pounds, ser."

         "Here's your fresh chitlins, Baptist chitlins, Methodist chitlins, all good an' sweet."

         And in an hour's time the peddler, with his empty

Page 175

tub upon his head, was making his way out of the street, singing,--


                         "Methodist chitlins, Baptist chitlins,
                         Who'll jine de Union?"