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Burton, leading the way to the parlor. "Boys," said she, greeting her nephews, "first, we'll sing a little hymn; what shall it be?" "Ole Uncle Ned," said Toddie, promptly. "Oh, that's not a Sunday song," said Mrs. Burton. "I fink tizh," said Toddie, "'cause it sayzh, free or four timezh, 'He's gone where de good niggers go, an' that's hebben, you know; so it's a Sunday song."

"No of course not. Don't be silly, Budge." "Well, I think about him a good deal, an' I don't think it's silly a bit. I hope he'll go to heaven when he dies. Do angels have goat-carriages, Uncle Harry?" "No, old fellow they can go about without carriages." "When I goesh to hebben," said Toddie, rising in bed, "Izhe goin' to have lots of goat-cawidjes an' Izhe goin' to tate all ze andjels a widen."

The handsome houses of this famous avenue, the stately trees, the wide-spreading lawns, dotted with flower beds, fountains and statuary, made up a picture so far surpassing anything in Wellington's experience as to fill him with an almost oppressive sense of its beauty. "Hit looks lack hebben," he said softly.

"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert, laughing carelessly. "The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth.

"May I nebber see a hebben ib he not a calp of a younger Desborough. "By Jove he is right," said De Courcy.

"Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in the church, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up to be good men and women. Won't you get a pair of spectacles and learn to read?" "Oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knows nuff to git to hebben, and dat's all I wants to know."

An old and wrinkled nurse, in a turban like a red tulip, made room for them, moving aside a perambulator holding a sleeping babe. "F'om de mountains, ain' she, ma'am? She oughter stayed up dar close ter Hebben!" Christianna dried her eyes. Her sunbonnet had fallen back. She looked like a wild rose dashed with dew. "I am such a fool to cry!" said Christianna.

Thereupon he began to sing: "Sinner-mans will yer go To de high lans' o' Hebben, Whar de sto'ms nebber blow An' de mild summer's gibben? Will yer go? will yer go? Will yer go, sinner-mans? Oh, say. sinner-mans, will yer go?" Then, seeing Nimbus approach, he changed at once to a political song.

"Leeb um to himself, my Lard," replied Joe, deferring his exit; "nebber trouble him; if me do, me bery quick wid him." "Oh! that's your syntax, is it?" said R. "Hebben forbid, my Lard, me gib de King money;" answered Joe solemnly. "Dat d bad polumcy."

Expressing in a whisper to Sambo, his determination to follow, he desired him to make for the shore, near the tannery, beneath the shadow of which he might be secure, while he himself advanced, and traced the movements of the mysterious wanderer. "Oh Massa Geral," urged the old man in the same whisper his teeth chattering with fear "for Hebben' sake e no go ashore.