Part 45 (1/2)

Yet He the jeweled throne shall banish, And the sword and sceptre vanish, Ere His given work be done!

”Warden, wind the clock again!”

But in vain the charge is given, For see the mighty Angel stand, One foot on sea, and one on land, Swearing with uplifted hand, Nevermore in earth or heaven Shall the mystic key be found Or the mighty clock be wound!

”RUBE” AND ”WILL.”

AN EPISODE RELATED BY AUNT SHEBA.

He'ah dat ole gray sinna H's jes brimful o' gas, Singin' dat tomfool ditty As he goes hobblin' pas'!

He betta be prayin' and mebbe H'll git in de fold at las'!

Yes, he's gwine to de grabe up yonder By de trees dar on de hill, Where all alone by hisself one day He buried po' ma.s.sa Will!

You see dey war boys togedder; To-day dey'd cuss an' fight; But dey'd make it up to-morrow And hunt fur c.o.o.ns at night.

It wasn't much ob a ma.s.sa, Ole missus made you see!

Folks sed, ”dem Walden n.i.g.g.as Mought about as well be free.”

Once dey went fur de turkeys, Dat's Rube and Ma.s.sa Will, Wid roastin' ears fur stuffin', Made a barbecue behind de mill!

But dey couln'd keep it secret, Ole missus found 'm out, An' she vow'd to sell dat n.i.g.g.a-- He was a thievin' lazy lout, He was a ruinin' Ma.s.sa Willum; Dat fac', she said, was plain; She'd sell him! On her plantation He'd never set his foot again.

An' suah befo' de sun next day went down.

To take dat n.i.g.g.a Reuben A trader had c.u.m from town.

I guess she was glad to sell 'm Fur she needed de money bad, An' meant to spen' it mos'ly In de schoolin' ob her lad!

But jes as dat ole trader Had slipt de han'cuffs on, We sees young ma.s.sa c.u.min'

Ridin' cross de lawn; He stopped right dar afore 'm, His face was pale as death, With all his might he shouted, Soon as he got his bref: ”Take dem right off dat n.i.g.g.a!

(and jerkin' his pistol out) Take 'em off I tell you!

An' min' what you're about; Or I'll send you to de debil Faster dan you 'spec to go.”

Den ma.s.sa trader dusted And he didn't trabbel slow.

Ah me! dem times seems like a dream, It was so long ago!

Ole missus died next year, De war c.u.m'd on at last And all de Souf lan' echoed With de joyful freedom blast.

We lef' de ole plantation, We trabbled de Norf lan' thro; Chilled by de winds in Winter, In Summer drenched wid dew; But we neber c.u.m to Canaan, Nor found de promised lan', And back to de ole plantation We c.u.m a broken ban'.

But Rube had stayed heah faithful, Stayed by his ma.s.sa's side, And nussed him in de fever Till in his arms he died; But de freedum star in Hebben, It brightens year by year, An' our chillun has foun' de Canaan, Oh yes! des foun' it here; So I don't care what you call us, De tribes ob Sham or Hem, Dat blessed lan' o' promise, Has come right home to dem.

THE LEGEND OF ST. BAVON!