Da will be uh fes-ti-val in de meetin’ house nex’ monf. De money made will be tuck ter buy uh kyarpet to go ’roun’ de pulpit. Some ub de brudders fum Kyarline has promis’ twelve gourds, uh new kine wid curled handles, one bushel ub sweet potatar slips, eight ’possums, an’ fo’ new mus’rat gums.
I am charm ter say de deacons has secur’d fum Mr. Plummer fuh 25 cents uh monf de priblig ub babtizin’ in de Wye Mills dam, ’ceppin in de winter, jes’ befo’ dey cut ice.
You will find meh tex’ in de 63 Sam, 6 Vus, writ by King Dabid when he wuz in de wilderness ub Juda an’ hidin’ hissef in de mountain ub Zip.
“When I recommember de ’pon meh bed, an’ meddowtate on de in de night watches.”
Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, we might fill dis chuch full ub some ub Mars Nickey’s craps, cawn, oats, wheat, hay, fodder, an’ buckwheat, an’ fill de corners wid spider’s webs, wasp nesses, mouse beds an’ sich like, hab de chuch jam full, an’ ubcose when it full it kyant be any fuller, den dey wud hab ter go ter de bawn; but dat what dey call mem’ry require no bawn. It can be packed jes’ like dis chuch, ev’y crack filled, ev’y little hole chinked, an’ yit da wud be plenty ub room.
Ef’n yo’ mem’ry wuz chock full ub all de chunes in de Zion hymbook, an’ uh camp meetin’ cum wid 500 new hyms, dat mem’ry wud right straight meck uh place fuh dem chunes an’ teck ’em in widout crowdin’ anything.
Ef’n de Angel Gabrul wuz ter meet you, an’ gib you ’struction fuh uh week, an’ say: “I miricle you ter recommember all dis Scriptur’,” dat strange thing called mem’ry wud in uh moment make room, de mos’ triflin’ thing wud not be ’sturbed. Oh! it’s uh pow’ful thing, mem’ry. “When I recommember de ’pon meh bed”—dat’s de application. What wud we do widoutin mem’ry?
MARS PINCKNEY’S HOME. “FAUSLEY.”
S’pose, fuh instinct, de tremlin’ stars fogot ter cum out ter keep deah faithful watch; s’pose de moon fogot de stars an’ lay uh sleep fuh six months. But wussa still, s’pose de sun fogot de sunrise, sunset an’ twilight, an’ as de Bible say, “Darknes’ brooded ober de deep.” Mars Pinckney say, “No wegetables an’ plants wud grow, ’ceppin pisin ones; de trees wud all die, da wud be no birds singin’ ’ceppin de martingales an’ hooppo-wills, no bees hummin’, no flowers bloomin’, no playful colts an’ skippin’ lam’s—it wud be like de lars’ day fuh sinnahs.” But I heah somebody cummin’ long talkin’ ter hissef. It’s mem’ry, an’ he meck de stars say: “I recommember an’ lub de young moon, de harf moon an’ de harves’ moon.” Den de man in de moon say, “’Cose you do; kase I am de crown an’ you de stars in it.” Den de moon say, “I recommember de ribbers, coves, creeks, all de beases ub de field, all de fishes dat keep quiet in de day but leap an’ play in meh meller light, an’ I rides th’oo de clowds mo’ prowder dan King Solomon did wid his prancin’ race hosses an’ chariots in Egyp’ lan’ co’tin’ Phareo’s daughter; kase I is so gran’ I am bleege ter be noble, fuh I hab millions ub trees, ribbers, creeks, ribbulets, fruits an’ flowers—all de beases ub de field ter burhol, but dey hab only one moon ter make mirations erboutin, so I am de gran’ oberseer ub de night.”