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!