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Updated: May 29, 2025
Ye ken as weel 's I du that them 'at gangs there their doom is fixed, and noething can alter 't. An' we're not to alloo oor ain fancies to cairry 's ayont the Scripter. We hae oor ain salvation to work oot wi' fear an' trimlin'. We hae naething to do wi' what's hidden. Luik ye till 't 'at ye win in yersel'. That's eneuch for you to min'. Shargar, ye can gang to the kirk.
"Why, it strikes me as positively mephitic." "Mr. March, thass what it is! Thass the ve'y word! Now, shell me an' you fulfil the scripter 'The white man o' the mountains an' the Etheropium o' the valleys shell jine they han's an' the po' man's axe shell be grime'? Ain't them words sweet? Ain't they jess pufficly syruptitious? My country, 'tis of thee! Oh, Mr.
"Yes," he said, "'tis kind of hard to say that to a girl. Don't wonder she's a little mad. And yet, that's the kindest thing I can do. Even in Scripter there was the sheep and the goats; the goats couldn't sing, and the sheep could; they had to be separated." He went on testing voices and sending the "goats" home.
Reay sez 'Twitt, ye're better than any parson I ever 'eerd! An' I believe 'e is 'e's got real 'art an' feelin' for Scripter texes, an' sez 'em just as solemn as though 'e was carvin' 'em on tombstones. It's powerful movin'!" Mary kept a grave face, but said nothing. "An' last Sunday," went on Mrs. Twitt, encouraged, "Mr. Reay hisself read us a chapter o' the New Tesymen, an' 'twas fine!
As he frequently remarked when for purposes of business he wished to air his Biblical knowledge, "I jest takes the Scripter fur my motter an' foller that ol' passage where it says, 'Make hay while the sun shines, fur the night cometh when no man kin work." It is related that one of Mr. Buford's customers was an old plantation exhorter.
"No, I ain't, an' I been livin' a mighty sight longah'n you, too. I knows all 'bout when de stahs fell, but dey ain' nevah done no singin' dat I knows 'bout." "Do heish, Mam' Henry, you sho' su'prises me. W'y, dat ain' happenin's, dat's Scripter." "Look hyeah, gal, don't you tell me dat's Scripter, an' me been a-settin' undah de Scripter fu' nigh onto sixty yeah."
I said that, according to Scripter, Heaven might look like a circus parade, it'd be so full of camels; but I didn't have a chance to explain what I meant and the women got up and went into the parlor, where we had coffee. Pretty soon the men come in and we all went into the dancin'-room. "And, John, I've had a revelation. St. John's was nothin' compared to mine.
I felt so shook up and wobblin' myself, I thought a little Scripter would stiddy me, and I sez, "Sinners stand on slippery places." "I see they do!" she snapped out, lookin' at me; "but I can't!" I sez to myself as I turned away, "I'll bet she meant me."
Well, sir, the mare she just gives in at the knees and rubbed 'er nose agin' 'im, and says just as plain as Scripter that she was real sorry, and 'oped 'e 'd forget it as one gen'l'man to a lady. With sundry anecdotes of a like nature, Mathews guided the visitor past the long line of stalls, whose inhabitants kept their stately heads turned to gratify the insatiable curiosity of the equine.
'For mo' air the children of the desolate' don't ye know Scripter says? than of them that has many. Lord love ye, honey, girl, you'll be mother to a minny and a minny. They air a-comin'; the Lord's a-sendin' 'em. W'y, honey, you and John will have children gathered around you " The one cry broke forth from Cornelia which she ever uttered through all her long grief of childlessness: "Oh, but, Dr.
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