图书图片
PDF
ePub

The Deacon had to turn a vast quantity of liquor into the streets, and burn up the hogsheads; and his distillery has smelled of brimstone ever since; but he would not give up the trade. He carries it on still, and every time I see his advertisement: “Inquire at Amos Giles's Distillery,” I think I see Hell and Damnation, and he, the proprietor.

[blocks in formation]

THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM.

HY, Edward, you look so healthy now,

And your dress so neat and clean; I have not seen you drunk about,

Pray tell me where you've been.

“Your wife and children, are they well?

You once did use them strange, Or have you kinder to them grown?

How came this happy change?”

“It was a dream, a warning voice

Which Heaven sent to me,
To snatch me from a drunkard's curse,

Grim want and misery.

“My wages were all spent in drink,

Oh! what a wretched view.
I almost broke my Mary's heart,

And starved my children, too.
“My children, they have oft awoke-

Oh! father dear,' they said, Poor mother has been weeping so Because we have no bread.'

[ocr errors]

“ My Mary's form did waste away,

I saw her sunken eyes;
On straw my babes not silent were,

I heard their wailing cries.
“But I then sang in drunken joy,

Whilst Mary's tears did stream; And, like a wretch, I fell asleep

And had this warning dream:

“I thought I once more staggered home;

There seemed a solemn gloom,-
I missed my wife; where could she be?—

And strangers in the room. “I heard them say: ‘Poor thing, she's dead.

She led a wretched life;
Grief and want have broken her heart-

Who'd be a drunkard's wife?'

“My children, they stood clinging round,

And scarcely drew their breath.
They knelt and kissed her lifeless form,

Forever stilled in death.

O papa, come and wake her up;

The people say she's dead !
Oh! make her speak and smile once more,

And we'll ne'er cry for bread.'
66. She is not dead!' I frantic cried,

And rushed to where she lay,
I madly kissed her once warm lips,

Forever cold as clay.
6.0 Mary, speak once more to me,

I'll never give you pain,
I'll never grieve your loving heart,

Nor ever drink again.
"O Mary, speak! 'tis Edward's call;'

Why, so I know,' she cried. When I awoke, my Mary dear

Was weeping by my side. “I pressed her to my throbbing heart,

Whilst joyous tears did stream, And ever since, I've Heaven blest

For sending me that dream."

'LIJAH'S CALL TO PREACH.

MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL,

’L IJAH,che wuz de blackes' nigger

an! de hardes” ter git

converted on de Marrowbone Plantation.

Hit seem like de devil had done hook he claws in ’Lijah, an' warn? goin' let go . Fo’teen years 'Lijah wuz seekin' off an' on. He do ev'ryt’ing. He go an' set on de side er a hill. Keturah, who wuz Mistis' maid an' a mother in de gorspel, tell ’Lijah settin' on de side er a hill would bring de very wuss uv sinners th’ough—but hit didn'bring 'Lijah th'ough, May be 'twuz kase 'Lijah wuz Marse George's body-sarvint, an? Marse George, he sut'n'y wuz a gent’mun, but he wuz sorter wil', an' he an? Ole Scratch wuz mighty thick.

Sometimes 'Lijah would git mos' th’ough, an' may be he ain'larf fer a mont', an' de Sperrit be walkin' an' 'Lijah could shut he eyes an' see right down inter hell wid de po' sinners cryin' an' hollerin' an' de devil bastin' 'em wid de warm gravy, an’den Marse George he say sumpin' so comical an’ reckelsome dat 'Lijah he bust out larfin' an' den he have ter 'gin all over ag’in an' take a fresh pentence, kase ef you larfs while you is seekin', you lose de Sperrit.

But at lars, 'Lijah wuz meckin' a julep for Marse George out on de back po'ch, when we all heah 'Lijah gin a whoop -de devil whoops when de Sperrit drive him out-an' d’yar wuz 'Lijah, jumpin' up an' down an' crackin' he heels an' bawlin':

Glory, glory, glory hallelujah, glory ter de Lam?! I am got ’ligion, an' I can sin no mo'!

I wish Judgment day wuz heah so I could git ter glory. I ain' 'feerd o nuttin' now, not ef de devil wuz ter come right heah wid he horns an’ he hoofs an' he forked tail an’ say, ''Lijah !

Jes' 'bout dat time, dey wuz drivin' de brindle cow th'ough de yard. She allers wuz like a will cow, an' when she heah de fuss, an' see ’Lijah hoppin' up an' down an’

road.

yellin', she breck loose, an' come a-gallopin' roun' de corner o de house, switchin' her tail, an' bellerin’ twell you could heah her down ter de ribber. 'Lijah, he cotch sight o' her, an' heah de roarin', an' he stan’ right still fer a minnit, den he 'gin ter bawl louder ’n de cow an' tuck out th’ough de house fars ez he could lay he legs ter de groun'. He run fo' miles 'fo' he stop. He tho't dat ole cow wuz de devil. Arter while, 'bout dinner time, we seen 'Lijah comin' down de

He wuz a black nigger, but he so skeert dat time he tu’n right gray,

He never wuz ez black arter dat. Marse George, he tell him, “'Twarn’nuttin' but dat devilish cow,' but 'Lijah he say, sorter solemn-like, “Marse George, 'twarn' no brindle cow-'twuz de devil. He tooken de shape o'ole Cherry, but I seed her tail wuz. forked, an' de fire come outen her mout', an' I ain' never heah no cow beller an' roar dataway. Twuz de devil come ter judgment, an' I got ’ligion now, an' I got er call ter preach an' save sinners fum outen de pit.

Marse George he say, “You black rascal, you got a call ter bresh my clo's an' keep my shavin' t’ings in order, an' ter arnser my bell.” But 'Lijah desisted he had call ter preach. Mistis tell him he could do bofe, an' very naix Sunday 'Lijah wuz baptized, an' he went right straight ter de meetin'-house, an' he preach ter de niggers.

Hit wuz er powerful preachin'! You could 'a' heerd him er mile, wrastlin wid de Sperrit. De black folks 'gin ter shout an' git happy, an' some o' de toughes' sinners in dat county roll an' kick, gittin' 'ligion. Nine on 'em come ter de mo'ners' bench an' seven on 'em got th’ough. 'Lijah, he wuz mighty sot up over gettin' dem niggers converted. tize 'em hisse'f at de naix baptizm, an' he 'low de water sizzle when de sin come out.

All dis time, Marse George, he keep on gittin' wil’er an' wil'er; an ter make hit wuss, he wuz struck on Miss Amy Scaife—de Briarfiel' Scaifes wuz de fust quality, you kin be sho'. She wuz ez putty ez de peach-blossoms, an' when she an' Marse George stan' up ter dance, dey sut'n'y wuz de

He bap

« 上一页继续 »