"Man there with a voice like a bass viol!" he muttered.
"I wished I didn't wake an' sleep, I wished I did lay down an' weep, By Jordan, Jordan. If I could come to that Dead Sea, I'd wade up stream to Galilee, By Jordan."
Each verse boomed up a noble crescendo and fell away in plaintive minor chords. The preacher in the pulpit, in white vest, dotted cravat, and fashionably cut coat, cried:
"Mou'n an' pray! Mou'n an' pray!"
"I wished I weep when Jesus weep, I wished he wash me wid he sheep In Jordan, Jordan. I'd drown in Jordan wave and shout— 'Lord Jesus take my white soul out Of Jordan.'"
"You wa'min, brer'n, you wa'min! Lo'd God! Jordan! Mou'n an' pray!"
"I wished the burden on my soul Would roll away. Roll, Jordan, roll! Roll, Jordan, Jordan! Lord Jesus disher sheep astray, Ain' You gwine show me yonder way To Jordan?"
"De tex'," began the preacher, "is 'bout er man what he Lord len' him a talent—da's a big bit of money, oom!—an' he wrap it in a napkin caze he skeered of it an' hide it, an' go 'way crackin' he knuckle-bones. 'Hiyi!' An' he Lord say, 'You shif'less brack rascal! Ain' you got sense to buy er cow what he feed in de pasture, an' bimeby deh's er calf, an' de cow's good as befo', an' da's de calf, wuf eighteen dollars, Confed'ate money?' Das' what Mars Ca'leton give Miss Meely fo' de white yeahlin' what ain' any special so't of er calf. He Lord say, 'Give me dat talent! You go hoe co'n in de co'nfield. I spec you skeered to tu'n roun' when you get de end of de row. You ain' got business ent'prise,' he say. 'You go fin' er slipper-sloppy mud turkle what know how keep he shirt on he back an' he fingehs an' toes inside he shirt, an' lay down in de slipper-sloppy mud wid him. Da's de habit an' perfession,' he say, 'ez sholy 'bout right fo' you.' Disher's de sayin' of scripcheh, caze Miss Meely read it ter me las' night, an' ef it ain' de exac' wo'ds, da's de efficaciousness. Da's de efficaciousness. Wha's de residuum?
"Ef you kotch a rabbit, an' skin him, an' clean him to he bone meat, an' bile him till he swim in he own gravy, an' smell, oom! he smell sweeter 'n Miss Meely's flower-gyarden, da's de efficaciousness of de rabbit. But afteh you done et de rabbit, an' he mek de sunshine inside, an' de notion how soon you go kotch one mo', da's de residuum. I tell you fo' sho fac'. Wha's de residuum? Ain' I heah las' week to Leesburg how de Yankees done mek er Proclamation, an' deh pos' it on de do' of de Cyounty House up no'th, dat de niggehs gwine all be free? Ain' Brer Jacob dar skip up f'om de gyarden whar he rakin' weeds an' tell Miss Meely how he gwine be free? Ain' Miss Meely cuff he yeahs fo' pesterin' her? Ain' he got no mo' use fo' he freedom 'n ter gallop roun' fo' he got it, an' pester Miss Meely what been shovin' co'n pone 'n bacon in he mouf since he been a pickaninny? Oom!