A colored girl asked the drug clerk for "ten cents' wuth o' cou't-plaster."
"What color," he asked.
"Flesh cullah, suh."
Whereupon the clerk proffered a box of black court plaster.
The girl opened the box with a deliberation that was ominous, but her face was unruffled as she noted the color of the contents and said:
"I ast for flesh cullah, an' you done give me skin cullah." A cart containing a number of negro field hands was being drawn by a mule. The driver, a darky of about twenty, was endeavoring to induce the mule to increase its speed, when suddenly the animal let fly with its heels and dealt him such a kick on the head that he was stretched on the ground in a twinkling. He lay rubbing his woolly pate where the mule had kicked him.
"Is he hurt?" asked a stranger anxiously of an older negro who had jumped from the conveyance and was standing over the prostrate driver.
"No, Boss," was the older man's reply; "dat mule will probably walk kind o' tendah for a day or two, but he ain't hurt."
