ber of
negroes, who had been engaged in working on the railroad. It was night,
and, with nothing better to do, they were waiting to see the train go
by. Some were sitting in little groups up and down the platform of the
station, and some were perched upon a pile of cross-ties. They seemed to
be in great good-humor, and cracked jokes at each other's expense in the
midst of boisterous shouts of laughter. The writer sat next to one of
the liveliest talkers in the party; and, after listening and laughing
awhile, told the "Tar Baby" story by way of a feeler, the excuse being
that some one in the crowd mentioned "Ole Molly Har'." The story was
told in a low tone, as if to avoid attracting attention; but the
comments of the negro, who was a little past middle age, were loud and
frequent. "Dar now!" he would exclaim, or, "He's a honey, mon!" or,
"Gentermens! git out de way, an' gin 'im room!"

These comments, and the peals of unrestrained and unrestrainable
laughter that accompanied them, drew the attention of the other negroes,
and before the climax of the story had been reached, where Brother
Rabbit is cruelly thrown into the brier-patch, they had all gathered
around and made themselves comfortable. Without waiting to see what the
effect of the "Tar Baby" legend would be, the writer told the story of
"Brother Rabbit and the Mosquitoes," and this had the effect of
convulsing them. Two or three could hardly wait for the conclusion, so
anxious were they to tell stories of their own. The result was that, for
almost two hours, a crowd of thirty or more negroes vied with each other
to see which could tell the most and the best stories. Some told them
poorly, giving only meagre outlines, while others told them passing
well; but one or two, if their language and their gestures could have
been taken down, would have put Uncle Remus to shame. Some of the
stories told had already been gathered and verified, and a few had been
printed in the first volume; but the great majority were either new or
had been entirely forgotten. It was night, and impossible to take notes;
but that fact was not to be regretted. The darkness gave greater scope
and freedom to the narratives of the negroes, and but for this friendly
curtain it is doubtful if the conditions would have been favorable to
story-telling. But however favorable the conditions might have been, the
appearance of a note-book and pencil would have dissipated them as
utterly as if they had