...Passing into a street where the colored people are largely represented, I met another head peddler. This man had a tub on his head and with a musical voice was singing:--


                         "Here's yer chitlins, fresh an' sweet,
                         Who'll jine de Union?

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                         Young hog's chitlins hard to beat,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Methodist chitlins, jest been biled,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Right fresh chitlins, dey ain't spiled,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Baptist chitlins by de pound,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         As nice chitlins as ever was found,
                         Who'll jine de Union?

         "Here's yer chitlins, out of good fat hog; jess as sweet chitlins as ever yer see. Dees chitlins will make yer mouf water jess to look at 'em. Come an' see 'em."

         At this juncture the man took the tub from his head, sat it down, to answer a woman who had challenged his right to call them "Baptist chitlins."

         "Duz you mean to say dat dem is Baptiss chitlins?"

         "Yes, mum, I means to say dat dey is real Baptist chitlins, an' nuffin' else."

         "Did dey come out of a Baptiss hog?" inquired the woman.

         "Yes, mum, dem chitlins come out of a Baptist hog."

         "How duz you make dat out?"

         "Well, yer see, dat hog was raised by Mr. Roberson, a hard-shell Baptist, de corn dat de hog was fatted on was also raised by Baptists, he was killed and dressed by Geemes Boone, an' you all know dat he'e as big a Baptist as ever lived."

         "Well," said the woman, as if perfectly satisfied, "lem-me have two poun's."
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         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

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


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

         Hearing the colored cotton-growers were to have a meeting that night, a few miles from the city, and being invited to attend, I embraced the opportunity. Some thirty persons were assembled, and as I entered the room, I heard them chanting--


                         Sing yo' praises! Bless de Lam!
                         Getting plenty money!
                         Cotton's gwine up--'deed it am!
                         People, ain't it funny?


                         CHORUS.--Rise, shine, give God the glory.
                         Repeat glory.]


                         Don't you tink hit's gwine to rain?
                         Maybe was, a little;
                         Maybe one ole hurricane
                         'S bilin' in de kittle!--Chorus.


                         Craps done fail in Egypt lan'--
                         Say so in de papers;
                         Maybe little slight o' hand
                         'Mong de specerlaters.--Chorus.


                         Put no faith in solemn views;
                         Keep yo' pot a smokin',
                         Stan' up squah in yo' own shoes--
                         Keep de debble chokin'!--Chorus.

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                         Fetch me 'roun' dat tater juice!
                         Stop dat sassy grinnin'!
                         Turn dat stopper clean a-loose--
                         Keep yo' eye a skinnin'!--Chorus.


                         Here's good luck to Egypt lan'!
                         Hope she ain't a-failin'!
                         Hates to see my fellerman
                         Straddle ob de pailin'!--Chorus.

         The church filled up; the meeting was well conducted, and measures taken to protect cotton-raisers, showing that these people, newly-made free, and uneducated, were looking to their interests.