His woolly hair is white, and his eyes very bright. He wears a small grizzled mustache. He is always clean and neatly dressed. "Miss, you can count up for yo'se'f. I was born on October 11, 1833. My young Marster give me my age when he heired de prope'ty of his uncle, Marse W.B. Withers. He was a-goin' through de papers an' a-burnin' some of 'em when he foun' de one 'bout me.

She thought as she did so of the talk with her mother the other night in which the name of the Honourable Charles had figured. She had only half meant what she had said then, but now how could she ever so lightly have contemplated for one moment such a marriage! "And what young chap's love-letter are you a-burnin' of now, Miss Deleah?"

De light in de winder kep' a-burnin'! I foun' arterwards dat he an' his ossifers had been down on de creek-road and studied it all out. At one place whar it was narrer' wid tick woods on bofe sides dey had builded a high rail-fence. Den below dat he had put sogers in de woods each side widout dere hosses, an' farder down still he had hid a lot of men dat was mounted.

Sometimes the present predominates, sometimes the future; but the combination is always implied. In the following, for instance, we hear simply the patience. "Brudder, keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin', Keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin', Keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin', For dis world most done. So keep your lamp, &c. Dis world most done."

Then He sets them all a-burnin' ag'in, so's the wee angel babies can see what road to be takin'. An' Sandy 'll lose his hump an' Michael 'll get a new heart maybe that won't bump an' they'll put all the trusters in cages all but the nice Wee One cages like they have in the circus An' they'll never get out to pesther us never never no more " Bridget's voice trailed off into the distance, carrying with it the last of Rosita's fearing consciousness.

The world's a-burnin' up, Hen Billard, and you layin' there sleepin' and not helpin' a bit! Somebody's out there in the river!" and she rushed into the room where Hen was, and shook him. He bounced out of bed and pulled on his pantaloons, and was down-stairs in a minute. He ran bareheaded over to the bank, and when Jim Leonard saw him coming he holloed ten times as loud: "It's me, Hen!

They are both a-burnin' where they are put, and both will be ashes to-morrow; so what difference doos it make?" Christie smiled at the literal old lady; but, following the fancy that pleased her, she added earnestly: "I know the end is the same; but it does make a difference how they turn to ashes, and how I spend my life.

She ain't on no shoal, nor nothin'. She's jest a-lyin' tew. An' I don't see no signs o' no boats nuther; an's fur's I kin see, them folks is a firin' off that air gun jest fur the musicalness on't. Blast 'em! Come, gals: we mought as well be walkin' along hum as ter stop a-yawpin' here in the wind an' spray, a-burnin' up the winter's kindlin' fur folks 'at's a-foolin' on us.

"I ain't ben a-burnin' daylight sence navigation closed; an' if they set up all night they won't be up early enough in the mornin' to git ahead of Dave Harney even on a sugar proposition." Over in the corner Vance Corliss leaned against the piano, deep in conversation with Colonel Trethaway.

Azuba was brimming over with the novelty of city life. She had been to the theater once already since her arrival, and to the moving picture show three times. "Don't talk to ME," she said. "If them pictures ain't the most wonderful things that ever was, then I don't know. I never expected to see such sights soldiers paradin', and cowboys a-ridin', and houses a-burnin', and Indians scalpin' 'em!