“HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

Twelf’ly, Any way you look at hit, hit sut’ny mus’ be some kine ub pusson. Brudderin, hit mus’ be Job, fuh Job say, “O, recommember dat meh life is wind.”[[16]] Dar’s uh gre’t deal mo’ ub it in Haylan’ Branch dan witches. In de summahtime hit sweetens Haylan’ Branch; huvverin’ ober de wile grapewines, dem nights in June, drinks itself full ub ’licious odahs an’ brings dem two miles ter Mars Nickey, Miss Henrietta an’ de chillun settin’ on de po’ch lookin’ at de Tred Avon, an’ ter ev’y good an’ bad niggah on de plantation. Sistus, I specks de gyarden ub Edum wuz full ub wile grapewines. ’Cose Miss Eve knew’d what de sweetes’ ub odahs wuz, an’ I specks Mars Adam an’ Miss Eve spent da moon-honey ’roun’ dem wile grapewines.

Thutteenly, Ter cum back ter de application, what is de win’? Is it uh Cherrypin er Serrypin, er Job in disgise?

Damon Danridge: “Uncle Reubin hit cudn’ be uh Cherrypin er Serrypin, kase sometimes de win’ good-temper’d, den ergin hit’s angry.”

Uncle Reubin: “Damon, I ’cepts yo’ ’spons’bility, kase when de win’ gits rale mad hit orften mecks de clowds weep snow an’ cry rain. Think ub dat! An’ when you see de ole steamboat Marylan’ lash ter de warf, an’ Cap’n Stitchberry’s ole yaller sail schooner, de Margaret Jane, clair up ter de haid ub Fausley Creek, you kin see ’mejately de win’ almos’ got uh spavin.”

Fo’teenly, Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, teck care ub yo’ bref; fuh de Bible say, “We all do fade ez de leaf.” You wan’s de bref ub life all de time, night an’ day, right wid you. Brudders, sometimes hit’s too full ub applejack, udder times mebby hit’s wasted tellin’ lies, dancin’, playin’ de fiddle, singin’ songs, stealin’ watahmillions, an’ habin’ foolish composations erbout ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns an’ witches, when de same bref mout uh bin used futto pray wid an’ sing hyms. Ef’n you don’ teck care ub yo’ bref you will be class wid dem dat’s call uh bag ub win’—an’ da ain’ nuffin mo’ onsartin’ dan de win’.

Lars’ but not leas’, when you go home talk erboutin’ de win’ ’sted ub ghoses an’ witches, ondastan’ yo’sebs, pray fuh de bref ub de lam’ futto be wid you, an’ when you rassle wid yo’ lars bref an’ hit whispuh sorf ez uh Cherrypin—

“Yo’ll not git los’ in de wildernes’

Wid uh lighted can’le in yo’ bres’.”

Light de can’le! Ef’n you don’ light hit good an’ hab de wick ub salbation, den de blessed Lawd will blow hit out an’ say ergin: “Foxes hab holes, an’ de birds ub de air (dar’s de application) hab nesses; but de Son ub Man hath not wha ter lay His haid.”