As suddenly as her grief had seemed to come, she flung her apron from her face, tossed up both her arms, and broke into a loud, clear strain; laughing, clapping her hands, shrieking and stamping her feet: “Glory and honor, praise King Jesus! “Glory and honor, praise de Lamb! “Oh Jesus comin’ dis way “Don’t let your chariot wheels delay! “Jesus Christ comin’ in his own time; “Take away de mudder leabe the baby behind.” “Oh you got that wrong,” said Uncle Jesse, who, with his two workmen had joined lustily in the chorus. It’s “Take away the baby, leave the mother behind.” “I sings it jes as I wants it,” replied his wife. “De Laud he tuck my mudder, an’ he lef’ me behind.” “Give me grace fo’ to run dat race, “Heaben shall be my hidin’-place; “Wet or dry, I means to try “To get up into heaben when I die. “If yo’ get dar befo’ I do, “Tell dem I am comin’ too. “Glory and honor, praise &c. “God be callin,’ trumpet be soundin’; “Don’t dat look like judgment day? “De tombs be bustin’, de dead be risin’, “De wheels ob time shall not be no mo. “Glory and honor, praise, &c. “Chariot dartin’ to de new grabe-yard; “Go down angels and veil wid de sun; “Go down angels and veil wid the moon, “Fo’ the wheels ob time shall not be no mo.” “Glory and honor, praise, &c. “It’s de Debbil’s bad luck! fo’ I _seen_ dat plate gwoine down on de flo’; but I sung to de Laud, an’ He’ll break de cha’m,” said Auntie, with the evident satisfaction of one who has been at once shrewd and dutiful. (It is thought an ill omen to see crockery fall, if it breaks.) “Auntie, I shall like mighty well to see dat chariot comin’, when I sho’ de Laud is in it, said Brother Johnson,” the class leader, who was one of the workmen, “but jes at dis pertickeler time I wants to be gnawin’ one o’ dem cawn-cobs in dat skillet.” “A wicked an’ a glutton man de Laud He despise,” she retorted, as she arose, and casting a reproving glance upon the offender proceeded to “dish up” the repast. Meanwhile Brother Gibson struck up the following: “I lub my sistah, dat I do! “Hope my sistah may lub me too: “If yo’ get dar yo’ gwoine to sing an’ tell “De fo’ arch-angels to tune de bell.” Supper was announced just as the sun reached the “hour mark” upon the cabin floor, which had done duty as indicator of the time for the evening meal for many months; and further musical exercises were indefinitely postponed. The repast had not yet been disposed of when the voice of a man was heard calling, “Whoop! whoop!” “That is Den Bardun,” said Uncle Jesse, as he sprung from the table to the door. “Hello! What’s wanted?” he shouted in reply. “Man here from Baconsville wants help. Says they’re killing all the colored people over there. Will you go?” “Come over; come over, and bring him along;” and Uncle Jesse hastened back to the table to finish his meal while the twain should be pacing the two hundred yards intervening between the two dwellings.