e up ter _my_ name wid a
_white cornscience, bless de Lord_! An' I looks fur my people ter he'p
me all dey kin."

And now, amid a hearty chorus of "Amens!" and "Glorys!" he raised his
hands for a benediction, which in its all-embracing scope did not fail
to invoke Divine favor upon "our good 'Piscopalpalian brother, Riviren'
Chesterfiel' Jones--Gord bless him."

LADY

A MONOLOGUE OF THE COW-PEN

Umh! Fur Gord sake, des look at dem cows! All squez up together 'g'ins'
dem bars in dat sof' mud--des like I knowed dey gwine be--an' me late at
my milkin'! You Lady! Teck yo' proud neck down f'om off dat heifer's
head! Back, I tell yer! Don't tell me, Spot! Yas, I know she impose on
you--yas she do. Reachin' her monst'ous mouf clair over yo' po' little
muley head. Move back, I say, Lady! Ef you so biggoty, why don't you
fool wid some o' dem horn cows? You is a lady, eve'y inch of yer! You
knows who to fool wid. You is de uppishes' cow I ever see in all my
life--puttin' on so much style--an' yo' milk so po' an' blue, I could
purty nigh blue my starch clo'es wid it. Look out dar, Peggy, how you
squeeze 'g'ins' Lady! She ain' gwine teck none o' yo' foolishness. Peggy
ain't got a speck o' manners! Lady b'longs ter de cream o' s'ciety, I
have yer know,--an' bless Gord, I b'lieve dat's all de cream dey is
about her. Hyah! fur Gord's sake lis'n at me, passin' a joke on Lady!

I does love to pleg dem cows--dey teck it so good-natured. Heap o' us
'omans mought teck lessons in Christianity f'om a cow--de way she stan'
so still an' des look mild-eyed an' chaw 'er cud when anybody sass 'er.
Dey'd be a heap less fam'ly quar'lin on dis plantation ef de 'omans had
cuds ter chaw--dat is ef dey'd be satisfied ter chaw dey own. But ef dey
was ter have 'em 'twouldn't be no time befo' dey'd be cud fights eve'y
day in de week, eve'y one thinkin' de nex' one had a sweeter moufful 'n
what she had. Reckon we got 'nough ter go to law 'bout, widout
cuds--ain't we Lady? Don't start pawin' de groun' now, des caze yer heah
me speculatin' at yo' feed-trough. I kin talk an' work too. I ain't like
you--nuver do n'air one.

I ain't gwine pay no 'tention ter none o' y' all no mo' now tell I git
yo' supper ready. Po' little Brindle! Stan' so still, an' ain't say a
word. I'm a-fixin' yo' feed now, honey--yas, I is! I allus mixes yo's
fust, caze I know you nuver gits in till de las' one an' some o' de rest
o' de greedies mos' gin'ally eats it up fo'