THE BODY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN (LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK, ITS CONTENTS TORN OUT, AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDING), LIES HERE FOOD FOR WORMS; YET THE WORK ITSELF SHALL NOT BE LOST, FOR IT WILL (AS HE BELIEVED) APPEAR ONCE MORE IN A NEW AND MORE BEAUTIFUL EDITION CORRECTED AND AMENDED BY THE AUTHOR. WHY HE LEFT Mr. Dickson, a colored barber in a large New England town, was shaving one of his customers, a respectable citizen, one morning, when a conversation occurred between them respecting Mr. Dickson's former connection with a colored church in that place: "I believe you are connected with the church in Elm Street, are you not, Mr. Dickson?" said the customer. "No, sah, not at all." "What! are you not a member of the African church?" "Not dis year, sah." "Why did you leave their communion, Mr. Dickson, if I may be permitted to ask?" "Well, I'll tell you, sah," said Mr. Dickson, stropping a concave razor on the palm of his hand, "it was just like dis. I jined de church in good fait'; I gave ten dollars toward the stated gospil de first year, and de church people call me '_Brudder_ Dickson'; de second year my business not so good, and I gib only _five_ dollars. That year the people call me '_Mr._ Dickson.' Dis razor hurt you, sah?" "No, the razor goes tolerably well." "Well, sah, de third year I feel berry poor; had sickness in my family; I didn't gib _noffin_' for preachin'. Well, sah, arter dat dey call me '_dat old nigger Dickson_'--and I left 'em." WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER NOTHING TO WEAR