Not heeding our entrance, Joe took the dying man by the hand, and, in a slow, solemn voice, said: 'Brudder Jack, you'm dyin'; you'm gwine ter dat lan' whence no trabeller returns; you'm settin' out fur dat country which'm lit by de smile ob de Lord; whar dar ain't no sickness, no pain, no sorrer, no dyin'; fur dat kingdom whar de Lord reigns; whar trufh flows on like a riber; whar righteousness springs up like de grass, an' lub draps down like de dew, an' cobers de face ob de groun'; whar you woan't gwo 'bout wid no crutch; whar you woan't lib in no ole cabin like dis, an' eat hoecake an' salt pork in sorrer an' heabiness ob soul; but whar you'll run an' not be weary, an' walk an' not be faint; whar you'll hab a hous'n builded ob de Lord, an' sit at His table--you' meat an' drink de bread an' de water ob life! 'I knows you's a sinner, Jack; I knows you's lub'd de hot water too much, an' dat it make you forgit you' duty sometime, an' set a bad 'zample ter dem as looked up ter you fur better tings; but dar am mercy wid de Lord, Jack; dar am forgibness wid Him; an' I hopes you'm ready an' willin' ter gwo.' Old Jack opened his eyes, and, in a low, peevish tone, said: 'Joe, none ob you' nonsense ter me! I'se h'ard you talk dis way afore. _You_ can't preach--you neber could. You jess knows I ain't fit ter trabble, an' I ain't willin' ter gwo, nowhar.' Joe mildly rebuked him, and again commenced expatiating on the 'upper kingdom,' and on the glories of 'the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens;' but the old darky cut him short, with-- 'Shet up, Joe! no more ob dat. I doan't want no oder hous'n but dis--dis ole cabin am good 'nuff fur me.' Joe was about to reply, when Preston stepped to the bedside, and, taking the aged preacher's hand, said: 'My good Jack, master Robert has come to see you.' The dying man turned his eyes toward his master, and, in a weak, tremulous voice, exclaimed: 'Oh! massa Robert, has _you_ come? has you come ter see ole Jack? Bress you, massa Robert, bress you! Jack know'd you'd neber leab him yere ter die alone.' 'No, my good Jack; I would save you if I could.' 'But you can't sabe me, massa Robert; I'se b'yond dat. I'se dyin', massa Robert. I'se gwine ter de good missus. She tell'd me ter get ready ter foller har, an' I is. I'se gwine ter har now, massa Robert!' 'I know you are, Jack. I feel _sure_ you are.' 'Tank you, massa Robert--tank you fur sayin' dat. An' woan't you pray fur me, massa Robert--jess a little pray? De good man's prayer am h'ard, you knows, massa Robert.' All kneeling down on the rough floor, Preston prayed--a short, simple, fervent prayer. At its close, he rose, and, bending over the old negro, said: 'The Lord is good, Jack; His mercy is everlasting.' 'I knows dat; I feels dat,' gasped the dying man. 'I lubs you, massa Robert; I allers lub'd you; but I'se gwine ter leab you now. Bress you! de Lord bress you, massa Robert' I'll tell de good missus'--