rse Harris, knowing the workings of the negro mind, got the full
import of this reply at once, but I must confess that a moment passed
before I realized that the negro took us for itinerant photographers
looking for trade.

With the possible exception of Irvin S. Cobb, I suppose Marse Harris has
the largest collection of negro character stories of any individual in
this country. And let me say, in this connection, that I know of no
better place than Vicksburg for the study of southern negro types.

One day Marse Harris was passing by the jail. It was hot weather, and
the jail windows were open. Behind the bars of one window, looking down
upon the street, stood a negro prisoner. As Marse Harris passed this
window a negro wearing a large watch chain came by in the other
direction. His watch chain evidently caught the eye of the prisoner, who
spoke in a wistful tone, demanding:

"What tahme is it, brotha?"

"What foh you want t' know what tahme it is?" returned the other
sternly, as he continued upon his way. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

Through Marse Harris I obtained a copy of a letter written by a negro
named Walter to Mr. W.H. Reeve of Vicksburg. Walter had looked out for
Mr. Reeve's live stock during a flood, and had certain ideas about what
should be done for him in consequence. I give the letter exactly as it
was written, merely inserting, parenthetically, a few explanatory words:

_Mr. H W Reeve an bos dear sir I like to git me a par [pair] second
hand pance dont a fail or elce I will be dout [without] a pare to
go eny where so send me something. Dont a fail an send me a par of
youre pance [or] i will hafter go to work for somebody to git some.
I don't think you all is treating me right at all I stayed with
youre hogs in the water till the last tening [attending] to them
and I dont think that youre oder [ought to] fail me bout a pare old
pance_

WALTER

Though I cannot see just why it should be so, it seemed to us that the
Vicksburg negroes were happier than those of any other place we visited.
Whether drowsing in the sun, walking the streets, doing a little stroke
of work, fishing, or sitting gabbling on the curbstone, they were upon
the whole as cheerful and as comical a lot of people as I ever saw.

"Wha' you-all goin' to?" I heard a negro ask a group of mulatto women,
in clean starched gingham dresses, who went flouncing by him on the
street one Saturday aft