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han'somes' couple dis nigger ever see. But arter a while, po' Marse George got drunk at er party at Briarfiel' an' dat wuz de end. Naix time Miss Amy see him, she pass him wid her hade up like one o' dese heah tender-mouf fillies wid a curb bit an' snaffle, an' Marse George he look mighty black at her. He say: “Miss Scaife, ain' I worthy uv more uv a bow 'n dat ar ?" An' she say,

An' she say, “No, sah. You are not 'Lijah say he doan' b'lieve Miss Amy wuz ez mad ez she meck out. He say she wuz in love wid Marse George, an kep' on hopin' he wuz gwi' ter do better.

But Marse George he tu'n white, an' he say: “Dat's all, madam. I dissect de situation," an' den-Lordee! He got on de wuss spree! Dat spree tu’n Mistis' hyar gray.

Well, arter a while de war come, an' Marse George went ter de war, an' he wuz Cap'n uv a comp'ny, an' he do mnighty well an' ain' drink er drop. 'Lijah went 'long wid him. But fust t'ing de Yankees wuz shootin' one day an' dey tuck aim at Marse George an’ shoot he leg off'n him. He hed ter come home den, an' Mistis she an' 'Lijah nuss him twell he got well, an' Jim Henry, de carpenter, he made er wooden leg fer Marse George.

'Twarn' 'long' fo’he wuz stumpin'roun', but dat ar wooden leg seem ter change him ev'y way, an' it look mighty pitiful when he wuz limpin' roun' wid de leg Jim Henry meck him, 'sted o' de one Gord A’mighty gin him. Den he had kep’ mons’us straight an’ sober, an' Mistis tho't he had done reform fer good, but he wuz so miserbul he tuck ter frolickin' ag'in. Hit jes' kilt Mistis, an' 'bout de time Marse Abe Grant sot de niggers free an' de war wuz over, Mistis tooken ter her big baid in de chaimber,

At de fun’al Marse George wuz d’yar; he hed been ’way on one he sprees when Mistis die, an' Miss Amy Scaife, she wuz d’yar, too. She went up ter Marse George an’ spoken ter him, de fust time sence dey had de fallin' out. Marse George he say ter her mighty rough, dough didn' nobody hardly heah him: “Ef you had treat me right I would er been er diff’unt man.

Miss Amy she tu’n pale an’ say: “ Ef you warn't a diff'. unt man fer yerse'f an' yo' mother, you wouldn'ha' bin so

fer me.

But Marse George he say: “I would; I love you better'n anyt’ing in de worl'. I know my mother love me, no matter what I do, but I would ’a? had ter conduc' myse’f proper fer you ter love me, an' I would 'a' done it, Amy.

I doan? like ter talk 'bout how Marse George do arter dat, but 'twuz mons'us bad. He go 'way, an' nobody doan' heah no mo' 'bout him, an' nobody keer 'cep'Miss Amy Scaife an’’Lijah. Miss Amy could 'a' got married, but she tell her pa, if she can' marry Marse George, she ain' gwi? marry nobody else.

Well, one night, mos' for years arter Marse George had done gone 'way, 'Lijah wuz preachin' 'bout 'pentence. 'Twuz summer an’de windows wuz up, an' da wuz some candles in de meetin’-house, an' outside somebody had done meck er fire ter keep de skeeters ’way; an' while 'Lijah wuz baigin' de po' sinners ter come ter de Lam', he look up, an? right d’yar peekin' in de winder, wuz Marse George! An’ he face, he face! ?Lijah say hit look like de devil had done put he mark d'yar. 'Fo' dat, no matter how bad he wuz, he look like de pleasantes’, kindes' gent’mun you ever see; but dis heah time he look like he had done kill somebody.

Hadn'nobody seed him but ’Lijah, an' hit gin him er sorter turn. But he kep' on preachin'. He says: 6 Brethern, we is all po' los' sheep—all on us, but ef we ain' safe in de sheepfol', Gord knows it an' He gwi' look fer us. 'Tain't only de leetle fat yearlin', good fer de bes' mutton, wid de white wool on de backs, but de po' ole wedders, dat ain' no 'count an de wool is all full uv burrs an' briars, an' de miserbul lam's dat nobody can raise an de black sheep dat ain' wuff nuttin' 'tall. Gord A’mighty feel mighty sorry fer dese black sheep. He willin' fer 'em ter come up an' git de corn jes' same ez de res'. He turn 'em inter de rich parster wid de res' o' de flock whar de grass growin' high an' whar de ripplin’ waters flow. He doan' t’ink no less

say:

on 'em kase nobody else ain' got no use fer 'em. He doan' begrutch 'em nuttin'—de Shepherd—He teck keer dat black sheep jes' ez same ez de white ones. He callin' 'em all de time. He ain' gwi' drive 'em outen de sheepfol' when 'tis col'an'dark an' dey come sneakin' in. D’yar is plenty room for 'em all-plenty for all po' sinners.

An' pres'n'y, 'Lijah see Marse George' hade creepin' up over de windersill, an' he look an' listen wid er will look on he face, an' when de meetin' wuz out 'Lijah wait twell de fo’ks wuz gone an' d'yar wuz Marse George outsiden de winder waitin' fer him. Marse George, he trimble an’

Dat sermon went ter de marrer, %'an'den fus' t'ing he 'gins ter cuss an' laugh an sing an' say: “Well, ole boy, I had my fling. I'm 'bout ready ter go now, an' I come back heah ter die but arter I got heah I fin' I ain' got nowhar ter die. I speck de ribber's good ’nough for sech ez me.

An' while he wuz larfin' an' singin' he start ter coughin', an’’Lijah tho’t he goin' die right d’yar. An' fust t’ing, de blood come outen he mouf, an' he hade fall back an 'Lijah make sho' he wuz gone.

But he warn'. Some fo’ks wuz gwi' by in er cyart, an' 'Lijah heah de wheels—kase 'twuz so dark he couldn't see 'em—an'he holler an' dey come an' pick Marse George up. An' de neares' place wuz Briarfiel', whar Miss Amy Scaife an' her pa live, an’ d’yar dey token Marse George.

Marse Scaife, Miss Amy's pa, he meet 'em at de do' an' when he see 'twuz Marse George, he say: "Bring him in. I never tho't ter see he father's son come ter dis

pass. An' Miss Amy, she jes' look at him onct, an' fall right over, like she wuz daid.

Arter while she come to, an' she go up inter de bes’ baidroom, where dey had done lay him, an' set by him an' watch 'twell de doctor come. 'Lijah wuz d'yar, too, an' when Marse George open he eyes 'twuz mos' midnight. D'yar he lay in er comf’able baid, wid er hickory fire in de fireplace, an' 'Lijah settin' by him, an' Miss Àmy settin' on de yether side. He look fus' at one an' den at t'other, an' he say arf' while:

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" Dis heah seem like heaven. De onlies' two creatures in de worl' dat can t'ro' er stone at me is you, Amy, an' 'Lijah.”

Miss Amy say: “George, I ain' never t'ro' er stone at you. Ef I didn' marry you, 'twan' kase I didn’ love you."

An' Marse George say, feeble-like: “Say dat ar agin, Amy. I tho't nobody in de wide worl' would say dat sorter ting ter me no mo'."

’Lijah, he had done cry when he see Marse George, an' he cry some mo' den. He say: “Marse George, I ain' never forgot you, ner blame you, ner nuttin', an' when I see yo' face to-night, I stop preachin' ter dem niggers, an' preach right straight at you, kase I got er call ter preach an' ter save sinners, an' when Gord A’mighty gin it ter me He know'd I wuz gwi' use it fer you."

Marse George kinder smile. He say: “ 'Lijah sut'n'y has got er call ter preach.

Co’se, he couldn'git well—de fus' look at him show datbut he live mo'n a mont'. He didn' suffer no pain muchjes' he consicrution had done broke down, an' he had er cough, an' he couldn' git he bre'f. 'Lijah he never let him night er day, an' Miss Amy, she spen' mos' all her time settin' by him, holdin' he han'. Hit seem like she didn' keer who know she love him, now he wuz mos' daid. An' somehow, she look happier ’n she look since she wuz er gal. Ez fer him, he acshilly look like hisse'f 'fo' he die. He didn' never swar ner cuss no mo', he sut'n'y wuz de patientes' man, like he had been 'fo' de war. He tell Miss Amy he sorry fer all de trouble he bring on her an' ole Mistis; dat he didn' never 'speck ter sink so low, but de war an' de wooden leg an' de loss o' he property, an' her 'fusin' ter speak ter him kinder drive him ter de devil—an' he wuz d'yar 'fo' he know it. An' he jine de chu'ch, an' he die like a gent’mun, ef he hav'n' live like one, tole ev'ybody good-bye, an' hol' Miss Amy's hand twell de lars. He sorter look young an' han'some arter he wuz daid an' laid out.

'Lijah, he still preachin' jes' ez loud as ever, an' dat nigger, he converted Marse George, ef he never convert nobody else.

"I WILL NOT DRINK."

"I

JOHN WRIGGLESWORTH.
WILL not drink!" The words were grand,

As the tempter stood, with glass in hand,
Before a man whose very soul
Had drained the dregs of the cursed bowl-
Whose wife and children oft had borne
The pang of hunger's cruel thorn,
And who had felt, in winter's cold,

The woes of many a bedless night; But who, at last had comfort found

At home, made glad with temperance light. “Drink just this time,” the tempter said, As a smile his countenance o'erspread; “ Drink for my sake; 'twill do you good, 'Twill purify and cleanse the blood ! Drink! for your face has grown quite pale. There's nothing wrong in a glass of ale. Don't mind those who at drink take fright

And who in water take delight.
Take this, and never fear to own

A glass of beer is good and right.”
"I will not drink, whate'er you say;
I will not throw my life away!
No tempter shall have power o'er me
Again, for brighter days I see
Approaching, that will cheer my life,
Days full, not of the. bitter strife
Of drunkenness. My care is now

For those I love. I find a bliss
In caring thus; and, had I known,

Temp’rance were mine long, long ere this!

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