of almost repulsion. Only one thing about them awoke a feeling of
interest; that was their dialect. I had read some Negro dialect and
had heard snatches of it on my journey down from Washington; but here
I heard it in all of its fullness and freedom. I was particularly
struck by the way in which it was punctuated by such exclamatory
phrases as "Lawd a mussy!" "G'wan, man!" "Bless ma soul!" "Look heah,
chile!" These people talked and laughed without restraint. In fact,
they talked straight from their lungs and laughed from the pits of
their stomachs. And this hearty laughter was often justified by the
droll humor of some remark. I paused long enough to hear one man say
to another: "Wat's de mattah wid you an' yo' fr'en' Sam?" and the
other came back like a flash: "Ma fr'en'? He ma fr'en'? Man! I'd go to
his funeral jes' de same as I'd go to a minstrel show." I have since
learned that this ability to laugh heartily is, in part, the salvation
of the American Negro; it does much to keep him from going the way of
the Indian.

The business places of the street along which we were passing
consisted chiefly of low bars, cheap dry-goods and notion stores,
barber shops, and fish and bread restaurants. We, at length, turned
down a pair of stairs that led to a basement and I found myself in an
eating-house somewhat better than those I had seen in passing; but
that did not mean much for its excellence. The place was smoky, the
tables were covered with oilcloth, the floor with sawdust, and from
the kitchen came a rancid odor of fish fried over several times, which
almost nauseated me. I asked my companion if this was the place where
we were to eat. He informed me that it was the best place in town
where a colored man could get a meal. I then wanted to know why
somebody didn't open a place where respectable colored people who had
money could be accommodated. He answered: "It wouldn't pay; all