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Now, the melancholy heart-touching romance that he had put into those dusty fire-breathing mammoths of the rails, had ceased, and Frinch-hahp (as he had called it) was to be forever silent. Poor ole Badeye was dead and gone. 

Hearing that the eulogy was to be held on the outskirts of town, I donned my bulldog-toed shoes, sweater, and box back suit. Then adjusting my J.B. Stetson at a forty-five-degree angle, and rolling a Bull Durham cigarette with one hand, I zoomed on toward the open-air camp-meeting ground. 

It was after lamp-lighting time, so when a whippoorwill called eerily from out of a skeleton-like tree, I quickened my footsteps into a little dog-trot. About that time a hound-dog howled mournfully from over the hill - I began to lope. When I passed the country graveyard, I was clutching my rabbit-foot-mojoe and setting a pace that would have put Man O' War to shame. Not that I was afraid - of course not - you know how it is. Colored folks are always accused of being late, but a fellow don't like to bring C.P. Time at the eulogy of a friend - you understand - how it is. 

The place was already jammed with sweating and excited sisters and brothers. Their backs were turned toward me when I dashed in. Someone turned around, so with a feeble attempt at nonchalance, I flicked out my wind frayed cigarette-butt, and tipped-toed up front very softly, for the congregation was rendering, with unique peculiarities one of the aged but befitting hymns: 

Life is like a mountain railroad
With an engineer that's brave
You will make the run successful
From the cradle to the grave.
Watch the curves that fill the tunnels
Never falter, never fail
Keep your hand upon the throttle
And your eye upon the rail.

Attentive listening revealed the fact that the eulogy was to be delivered by a visiting jack-leg preacher who was none other than "Feet-Washing Baptist" Bill Jackson, an infamous scamp who preyed on the poor, honest (both meaning the same thing) plantation folks through the channels of religion. He had arrived that afternoon driving a lemon-colored mule hitched to a mud-spattered buggy, which showed marked signs of a hasty retreat, and it was already being whispered around that he had left behind him a checkered reputation for being to familiar with the sisters of his former flock, playing coooncan on Sunday and peddling donkey on the side. But in spite of adverse criticism, Bill was being tolerated this particular evening, for the startling climax he promised to give the eulogy.

It was to be a special sermon-in, the course of which he was to produce the hand writing on the wall: not a living person's hand, mind you, but the harmonica playing one of the deceased Badeye was to emerge from out of the gloomy darkness and write scripture and morals against freight hopping, all over the wall. 

The excited congregation was speechless. With eyes like saucers, Badeye's closest friends filled the front rows. The tense feeling of the crowd was to be expected for it was an accepted supposition that "Feet-Washington Baptist" Bill Jackson was not only a preacher, but a Voo-doo doctor as well. 

As you probably know, dear reader, this Voodooism (later changed by Negro lips to Hoodooism) is often Siamezed with Christianity. In fact, Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, was also Catholic and so confident was she of her powers that she invited prominent Creoles (who are white) and distinguished newspaper reporters to her festivals, and so well known was she that the history of New Orleans bristles with tales of her miracles. Knowing this to be true, and since I had heard of Medicine Men who cast spells on explores that medical science cannot solve, I was expecting to see some, sure enough, conjuration or, at least brush up on mysticisms of Christianity, so with tweaking emotions, I settled down to await the psychological moment. 

After a long detailed sermon on the ups and downs, and the sweet and sour peculiarities of the departed brother, Bill had the collection plate brought out. As it was being passed, and an intoxicating jubilee song was being punctuated by jingling coins, he looked at his dollar watch, shaded his eyes and peered - as though he had seen that something which he was expecting. Presently, he laid away his well-thumbed Bible, and grinned until he almost cracked his face; stepping off the platform, he began shaking hands with the brothers and sisters, and petting the children's cheeks. When he came to one chuckling gamin he lingered longer - at least it appeared longer than was necessary for a casual blessing.

At the end of the song, he hurried back to his crude pulpit in time to scan the proceeds of the collection which was being raked into the head of Deacon's strong box. After adjusting his brass-trimmed spectacles, he gazed around with a feigned expression of astonishment: "Brothahs and sistahs," he announced, "I jis noticed dat us is out in de open an' dey's no walls fo'h po'h brethah Bayeye's han' to write on," an emergency which had seemingly been overlooked by every but "Bill"; "but y'awl keep yo'h seats and ef you got no 'jections, ah'll substitute de han' writin' on de wall by strecthing fo'th mah han' and hab de snow-white Holy Dove come and flap aroun' awhile. Oh that snow-white Hole Dover wid a message 'gainst ridin' trains wif a sinful soul, an' stealin' coal from de cyahs befoh gittin' it fixed wid de great mastah!"

There being nothing else to do several disappointed   

(Continued on page 80)

[Image/Quote] 

Remorse
by Karyl De La Vida

Aye, Passion filled the goblet,
But Sorrow drinks the wine;
Where Love spreads fair the table;
Remorse and Heartbreak dine!

Hope builded high the altar,
Despair kneels down to pray;
And Shame walks in the mantle
Pride wore but yesterday!

And this, this one last tribute
Unmarred by the robber years,
At Mem'ry's shrine I offer, -
My tears, - my ceaseless tears!

Page 49

What Books Tell Us VIEWS AND REVIEWS Conducted by Dewey R. Jones

A Modern Advanced English Grammar
and
A Simplified Review of English Grammar

Author: Thomas Desire Pawley
Publisher: The Norman Company, Baltimore, MD

TO Professor Pawley of Virginia State College must go credit for a genuine effort to make popular the study of the English language.  It has always been a mystery to me that our young people travel so rapidly through elementary and high schools, and often through college, and then pass themselves among the "educated few" who know less about the Mother Tongue than they do about Latin, German, or Spanish.  And this is not to say that they know any too much about the foreign languages.

  They learn some of the basic rules about grammar - enough to quote the first two years out of college - then they forget them and return to the common language with which most of us are so familiar.

  In the South very little emphasis is placed upon grammar in the schools.  It is not complimentary, but true, that even the teachers do not know any too much about the language they are supposed to speak.  All too frequently one hears a person who should know better make such as mistakes as "those kind," "I laid down," and "to always be true."  These are common errors, and are inexcusable.

  It is this evil that Prof. Pawley attacks in his two excellent works on grammar.  The Professor believes that, no matter how we feel about it, there are certain rules of grammar that must be observed if we wish to consider ourselves literate.  Recognizing the fact that grammar is changeable, Prof. Pawley holds that this is no reason for ignoring the rules that are obtain and are in force until the changes come.  All life is changeable; even our theories and doctrines on religion and philosophy are subject to the same changing conditions as the language we speak.

  There may come a time when English will be as dead a language as Latin, but that time is not an immediate prospect.  The efforts to popularize "Esperanto," fondly called the Master language by its sponsors, is not meeting with such enthusiasm as to encourage us in discarding our basic tongues just yet.

  BUT this discussion is far-fetched. Professor Pawley is not arguing for the use of the English language, he is proceeding under the assumption that we know we must use this language, therefore, we should learn to employ it correctly. 

  In his simplified grammar, Prof. Pawley has brought to our attention some of the most glaring impositions upon the language, and gives us the simple means of remedying them.  This includes simple and compound sentences correctly and incorrectly written with attention called to each.

  "A Modern and Advanced English Grammar," published simultaneously with the simpler book, is what its name indicates.  It treats of the subject of grammar in a more complicated manner, yet with a confidence that bespeaks the painstaking efforts Dr. Pawley must have given to the work.  In this volume are diagrams and charts, new to grammarians and students, which indicate that the Professor also had originality in mind.

  Both the books are definite contributions tot he study of grammar are and worth while as helpful additions to any library.  They should in use in every school in the country, as well as in every office and home.  With them the study of grammar could be made interesting.

"Born to Be"
Author: Taylor Gordon
Publisher: Covici-Friede, New York

EVERY once in a while a book makes its appearance amid such a bally-hoo that one is inclined to conclude from the start that there is something wrong with it.  Such was my conclusion when "Born to Be" was first issued by Covici-Friede, and now, months after its publication, I am still trying to figure out why and how the book happened to be published.  More to the point, I am anxious to know just what Taylor Gordon had in mind when he wrote it, and what Carl Van Vechten and Muriel Draper had in mind when they waxed ecstatic over it in their introductions.

  "Born to Be" is one of those literary monstrosities that break out occasionally, and are mistaken for the genuine article, only to be roundly condemned when the gullible public awakes to the fact that it has been duped.  In this particular case, the public is a little bit slow in awakening, but the reaction is sure to come.

Taylor Gordon has gained recognition throughout this country and Europe as a singer of Spirituals.  He has appeared in concert in most of the musical centers of the world.  As a singer and arranger of those famous songs that have given American music something of an air of

(Continued on page 79)