I found the half-forgotten Southern intonations and
elisions as pleasing to my ear as they had formerly been. A Southerner
talks music. At least it is music to me, but then I was was born
in the South. The educated Southerer has no use for an r,
except at the beginning of a word. He says "honah," and "dinnah,"
and "Gove'nuh," and "befo' the waw," and so on. The words may lack
charm to the eye, in print, but they have it to the ear. When did
the r disappear from Southern speech, and how did it come to disappear?
The custom of dropping it was not borrowed from the North, nor inheritied
from England. Many Southerners -- most Southerners -- put a y
into occasional words that begin with the k sound. For instance,
they say Mr. K'yahtah (Carter) and speak of playing k'yahds or of riding
in the k'yahs. And they have the pleasant custom -- long ago fallen
into decay in the North -- of frequently employing the respectful "Sir."
Instead of the curt Yes, and the abrupt No, they say "Yes, Suh"; "No, Suh."
But there are some infelicities. Such as "like"
for "as," and the addition of an "at" where it isn't needed. I heard
an educated gentleman say, "Like the flag officer did." His cook
or his butler would have said, "Like the flag officer done." You
hear gentlemen say, "Where have you been at?" And here is the aggravated
form -- heard a ragged street Arab say it to a comrade: "I was a-ask'n'
Tom whah you was a-sett'n' at." The very elect carelessly say "will"
when they mean "shall"; and many of them say, "I didn't go to do it," meaning
"I didn't mean to do it." The Northern word "guess" -- imported from
England, where it used to be common, and new regarded by satirical Englishmen
as a Yankee original -- is but little used among Southerners. The
say "reckon." They haven't any "doesn't" in their language; they
say "don't" instead. The unpolished often use "went" for "gone."
It is nearly as bad as the Northern "hadn't ought." This reminds
me that a remark of a very peculiar nature was made here in my neighborhood
(in the North) a few days ago: "He hadn't ought to have went."
How is that? Isn't that a good deal of a triumph? One knows
the orders combined in this half-breed's architecture without inquiring:
one parent Northern, the other Southern. Today I heard a schoolmistress
ask, "Where is John gone?" This form is so common -- so nearly universal,
in fact -- that if she had used "whither" instead of "where," I think it
would have sounded like an affectation.
We picked up one excellent word -- a word worth
traveling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, handy word
-- "lagniappe." They pronounce it lanny-yap. It is Spanish
-- so they said. We discovered it at the head of a column of odds
and ends in the Picayune, the first day; heard twenty people use
it the second; inquired what it meant the third; adopted it and got facility
in swinging it the fourth. It has a restricted meaning, but I think
people spread it out a little when they choose. It is the equivalent
of the thirteenth roll in a "baker's dozen." It is something thrown
in, gratis, for good measure. The custom originated in the Spanish
quarter of the city. When a child or a servant buys something in
a shop -- or even the mayor or the governor, for aught I know -- he finishes
the operation by saying:
"Give me something for lagniappe."
The shopman always responds; gives a child a bit
of liquorice root, gives the servant a cheap cigar or a spool of thread,
give the governor -- I don't know what he gives the governor; support,
likely.
When you are invited to drink -- and this does occur
now and then in New Orleans -- and you say, "What, again? -- no, I've had
enough"; the other party says, "But just this one more time -- this is
for lagniappe." When the beau perceives that he is stacking his compliments
a trifle too high, and sees by the young lady's countenance that the edifice
would have been better with the top compliment left off, he puts his "I
beg pardon -- no harm intended," into the briefer form of "Oh, that's for
lagniappe." If the waiter in the restaurant stumbles and spills a
gill of coffee down the back of your neck, he says, "For lagniappe, sah,"
and gets you another cup without extra charge.
from Life on the Mississippi, 1883