pistol, but it cured him. He could draw a picture of a chicken on
a paper and shoot it, and a chicken would fall dead in the yard, yes
sir. I've seen him do it. Old Henry is dead now though. When he died he
had a whole trunk full of the queerest looking things you ever seed. And
they took it all and buried it. Nobody would touch it for anything.

"I always keep a horse shoe over my door to keep the spirits away. We
live very close to the graveyard, and my boy Ed said he had been seeing
his brother Charley in his room every night. If he was livin' right he
would not be seeing Charlie every night. Charlie never bothers me. He
was my boy that died and is buried in this graveyard above our house."

DAVIES CO.
(Cecelia Laswell)

[Mrs. Elizabeth Alexander:]

The following is a very old Negro sermon I found in an old scrap book
dated 1839, belonging to Mrs. Elizabeth Alexander, Frederica St. She
says she has heard her family refer to parts of it at different time in
her early life and supposed that the negro preacher belonged to her
people. Quote: Mine deerly fren: Ub dar's wun ting wot de Lord
abominerates worser nor anudder; it is a wicked nigger! A wicked wite
man's bad snuff, dur Lord nose! but dey so dam wite, an so kussed sarcy,
day doun no no better, so dar's some appolleragee fur 'em; but I gin yer
for th noe as how, a wicked nigger can nibber scape frum de vengence ob
de Lord-day's no use playin possum any more dan day was ob Joner coorin
it into de wale's belly! (Glory from the congregation) Let um go to de
Norf Pole, or to de Souf Pole, to de West Pole, or to de East Pole, or
de Poles in any ob de words; he ant a bit safer den he would be in a
cellar at 5 pints, wid ole Hays arter him! (groans) Oh! niggers! I tink
I see you look round. Yer's better! Fer wot I tells yer's trufe! Gorda
mity's trufe! Werrily I say unter yer! Wen de court ob seshions ob de
las day cum, ye'll reckerlect wot I say at dis times! Wen yer hab de
Lord fer Recorder, an a jury ob angles, an Gabriel ter report der trial
fer de hebbenly "Herald" (deep groans) Yas! den yar'll turn up de wite
ob yer eyes! (Sighs) den ter'll call fer de rock ter cubber yer! An de
hill ter fall top o' yer. No yer don't. Kase, in de fus place day
woodn't do it; an in de libenth place, ub day would it would be no
better dan ridin in a cart in de big city or gettin under de butcher's
stall in de fly market; fer de Lord can move more mountins in wun
minite, d