But Brown he axed him in, and he sot And when he had filled hisself and the floor Brown looked at him sharp and riz and swore Thar was more in the man than thar was in the land." MACON, GEORGIA, 1869. JONES'S PRIVATE ARGYMENT. THAT air same Jones, which lived in Jones, He'd swear with a hundred sighs and groans, And git along without 'em : That bankers, warehousemen, and sich Was fatt'nin' on the planter, And Tennessy was rotten-rich A-raisin' meat and corn, all which And the only thing (says Jones) to do But tear up every I, O, U, And plant all corn and swear for true Thus spouted Jones (whar folks could hear, Sich fiddlesticks and blatherin's. But, one all-fired sweatin' day, My lower corn-field, which it lay Whar I can see what's goin'. And a'ter twelve o'clock had come And laid myself un'neath a plum To let my dinner settle sum, When 'long come Jones's waggin, And Jones was settin' in it, so : His mules was goin' powerful slow, The staple of the scraper. The mules they stopped about a rod 66 And presently says he : Hit's true; Thar's one thing farmers all must do, "More corn! more corn! must plant less ground, And mustn't eat what's boughten! Next year they'll do it: reasonin 's sound: MACON, GEORGIA, 1870. THE POWER OF PRAYER; OR, THE FIRST You, STEAMBOAT UP THE ALABAMA. BY SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER. Dinah ! Come and set me whar de ribber-roads does meet. De Lord, He made dese black-jack roots to twis' into a seat. Umph, dar! De Lord have mussy on dis blin' ole nigger's feet. It 'pear to me dis mornin' I kin smell de fust o' June. I 'clar', I b'lieve dat mockin'-bird could play de fiddle soon! Dem yonder town-bells sounds like dey was ringin' in de moon. Well, ef dis nigger is been blind for fo'ty year or mo', Dese ears, dey sees the world, like, th'u' de cracks dat's in de do'. For de Lord has built dis body wid de windows 'hind and 'fo'. I know my front ones is stopped up, and things is sort o' dim, But den, th'u' dem, temptation's rain won't leak in on ole Jim! De back ones show me earth enough, aldo' dey's mons'ous slim. And as for Hebben,-bless de Lord, and praise His holy name Dat shines in all de co'ners of dis cabin jes' de same As ef dat cabin hadn't nar' a plank upon de frame ! Who call me? Listen down de ribber, Dinah ! hyar Don't you Somebody holl'in' " Hoo, Fim, hoo?" My Sarah died las' y'ar; Is dat black angel done come back to call ole Jim f'om hyar? My stars, dat cain't be Sarah, shuh! Jes' listen, Dinah, now! De Lord 'a' mussy sakes alive, jes' hear,-ker-woof, kerwoof De Debble's comin' round dat bend, he 's comin' shuh enuff, A-splashin' up de water wid his tail and wid his hoof! I'se pow'ful skeered; but neversomeless I ain't gwine run away: I'm gwine to stand stiff-legged for de Lord dis blessed day. You screech, and swish de water, Satan! I'se a gwine to pray. O hebbenly Marster, what thou willest, dat mus' be jes' so, And ef Thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's bound to go. Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, and lef young Dinah hyar below! 'Scuse Dinah, 'scuse her, Marster; for she's sich a little chile, She hardly jes' begin to scramble up de homeyard stile, But dis ole traveller's feet been tired dis many a many a mile. I'se wufless as de rotten pole of las' year's fodder-stack. De rheumatiz done bit my bones; you hear 'em crack and crack? I cain'st sit down 'dout gruntin' like 'twas breakin' o' my back. |