Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: You will fine meh tex’ in de forty-fus’ chaptah ub Job, an’ uh part ub de twenty-fus’ vus: “His bref kinleth coals.”

Fus’ly, meh discose ter-day will be ’boutin strange things.

Da is some people in dis congation, ’tickerly Little Billy, dat kyant ondastan’ why we don’ no mo’ erboutin witches, an’ ghoses. De fac’ is, sence de witch cummittee went inter Haylan’ Branch, saw uh ghose er sperrit—an’ dey sut’ny saw one er de udda—da has bin too much witch talk in dis congation. Fuh instinct, what diffunc’ do hit meck ef’n hit de same sort, er not de same sort, ub witches dat Saul talk erboutin when he say, “Thou shal’ not suffah uh witch ter lib.” Mo’n dat, he cud ’ford ter talk dat way, fars ez he cud run.

De Bible say, “Saul an’ Jonithan wuz swiftah dan eagles.”

Secon’ly, Meh belubbed sistus, da is some things you nebba kin fine out, stranger dan witches an’ mo’ ’structive dan witches er jack-uh-ma-lanterns.

Thudly, Dis lubly oak pulpit Mars Nickey had built full us wuz once uh acorn—think ub dat; an’ you may keep on thinkin’, but you kyant ondastan’ it.

Fo’fly, Miss Henrietta cum in de chuch yistiddy an’ look ’roun’ while I wuz sweepin’. She say: “Reubin, Chris’mus I gwine ter gib de chuch uh melojin.” She had in huh bres’ fo’ er five little wiolets, an’ dey jes’ fill de chuch full ub deah sweetness—dunno tho’, kase I specks some ub de sweetness wuz fum huh bref, kase hit’s jes’ like uh lam’s.

Now, den, what cud be mo’ strange dan de odah fum uh little wiolet? Hit cums peepin’ up in de early spring, den hit buds an’ blooms, an’ uh bed ub dem wiolets is ez sweet ez dat hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings dat little Dabid played ’pon. What’s in de groun’ ’ceppin’ de wumms ter gib dat wiolet odah? Mars Nickey say dat wumms sweeten de uth an’ meck holes futto let de air in. You kin smell de wiolet, but you kyant kerry dat odah ’way wid you; but uh jewdrap kin cum ’long erboutin sundown, drap on dat flowah, res’ uh little while, an’ what’s de consequation? Why, dat little jewdrap will ’sorb ernuff ub dat odah ter meck yo’ hankcheah smell sweet fuh uh hole Sunday, an’ you kin teck hit outin yo’ pocket ev’y five minutes, ef’n you wan’ter.

What’s witches er ghoses ’long side de mistification ub uh jewdrap? Why, de action ub young chickens is mo’ curisome ter me dan witches. Ef’n uh chicken is only two days ole, and not strong ernuff ter git on he ma’s back, an’ uh wile tukkey, er wile goose, er buzzard cum sailin’ ’long, hit don’ pesterfy de ole hen er any ub huh chicks. Dey keep on playin’ wid dere toes an’ tryin’ ter pick up ebery little trem’lin’ sunbeam dat’s playin’ wid de grass; but jes’ let uh little sparrow-hawk, er any kind ub hawk cum ’long, you’ll see dat ole hen renounce hit ter huh chicks quick ez you kin wink yo’ eye. Den you kin look an’ look, but you kyant fine one ub dem little chickens ter sabe yo’ life.

Now, why is dat? Hits da in-sence; dat is, de sence dat’s in ’em.

Sixly, Teck uh little cherry blossom dat you cud put in Miss Henrietta’s thimble; hit mecks uh cherry tree. I’s talkin’ now boutin dem small breed ub cherry blossoms dat grows at Fausley, on dem monstus gre’t big trees. Why, some ub de bumps on dem trees is big ernuff ter set on. Pow’ful big cherry trees! What’s witches ter de cherry blossoms dat mecks dem big trees? You kyant ’splain hit.

We do no sompin’ erbout witches; fuh instinct, we kin ondastan how some breed ub witches kin lib in cows’ hohns—dem small ones dat Little Billy say lit on Pigeon’s mane (an’ you no mules don’ hab long manes) jes’ same ez uh pack ub mice wid wings, one night when he ridin’ Pigeon thoo Haylan’ Branch. Billy say de biggis’ one he saw dat time wuz uh white one, wid spuhs on, boutin ez big ez uh young rabbit befo’ dey leabe deah nes’—an’ ub cose at uh ’stressin’ time like dat Billy mus’ uh saw twice. Mo’ober he say ef’n de witches had uh had bobtails he wud uh tuck ’em fuh rabbits; but deah tails wuz ve’y curisome—erbout twice ez long ez uh ’possum’s, an’ rap all ’roun’ deah ahms.

But de stranges’ thing ub all is what I now cum ter seben’ly—

We kyant say our pr’ars widout hit. Hit’s got fingahs, I s’pose plays hohns an’ all insterments dat you blow on. Hit sings, howls, whispuhs an’ moans same ez uh mo’nah. Hit’s uh thing wid three names.

Ev’ybody lubs de part dat ’longs ter him mo’n uh jus’ man lub his wife, er King Dabid lubb’d Ab-so-lum. We kin see hit in wintah when hit’s cole an’ frosty, but kyant see hit in de summah when it dry. Hit’s wid us whedder we ersleep er wake. Som’times hit’s ez weak ez uh nat, den ergin stronger dan de little hills dat de Bible say, “skipped like lam’s.” Hit’s wahm in summah an’ cole in wintah. Hit’s gentle one day an’ sassy nubba day. Hit kerries in hit’s bres’ de storm an’ scatters de clowds. Hit wuz wid Jonah in de whale’s belly. Hit kin sow an’ reap. Ezactly so, precisely. Hit’s stronger dan all de steers, cows, hosses, mules an’ men on dis plantation. In quaresomeness da’s nuffin kin tech it; uh barnyard full ub witches is nuffin ter dis mis’try.

Ately, hit kin be ez sorf ez de fevvers on uh hummin’ bird’s bres’ er de down on uh wile goose’s neck. Belubbed, hit’s nebba still; al’ays goin’ somewha, an’ de Bible say you kyant see hit. No snail kin creep ’long slower dan hit kin, an’ no ghose run fasser.

Ninely, Hit kin canter, rack, gallop, trot; hit’s got all de gaits, an’ when hit comes ter swif’ness, dar ain’ nuffin un’er de sun, an’ I specks ober de sun, dat kin run erway fum hit. Hit kin sing ez high ez Aunt Phillis an’ ez low ez Little Billy. Sometimes hit coughs same ez an ole cow dat’s tryin’ ter swaller uh nubbin ’dout chawin’ hit.

Leb’nly, De fac’ is, sistus an’ brudders, our bref, de win’, er air—three names fuh one thing—mus’ be uh pusson. How cud it cough, whistle, sing, cry, moan same ez uh sinnah, whispuh, sow an’ reap, ef’n it wan’ one ub dem Possels er Petracks in disgise.

Twelf’ly, Any way you look at hit, hit sut’ny mus’ be some kine ub pusson. Brudderin, hit mus’ be Job, fuh Job say, “O, recommember dat meh life is wind.”^[16] Dar’s uh gre’t deal mo’ ub it in Haylan’ Branch dan witches. In de summahtime hit sweetens Haylan’ Branch; huvverin’ ober de wile grapewines, dem nights in June, drinks itself full ub ’licious odahs an’ brings dem two miles ter Mars Nickey, Miss Henrietta an’ de chillun settin’ on de po’ch lookin’ at de Tred Avon, an’ ter ev’y good an’ bad niggah on de plantation. Sistus, I specks de gyarden ub Edum wuz full ub wile grapewines. ’Cose Miss Eve knew’d what de sweetes’ ub odahs wuz, an’ I specks Mars Adam an’ Miss Eve spent da moon-honey ’roun’ dem wile grapewines.

Thutteenly, Ter cum back ter de application, what is de win’? Is it uh Cherrypin er Serrypin, er Job in disgise?

Damon Danridge: “Uncle Reubin hit cudn’ be uh Cherrypin er Serrypin, kase sometimes de win’ good-temper’d, den ergin hit’s angry.”

Uncle Reubin: “Damon, I ’cepts yo’ ’spons’bility, kase when de win’ gits rale mad hit orften mecks de clowds weep snow an’ cry rain. Think ub dat! An’ when you see de ole steamboat Marylan’ lash ter de warf, an’ Cap’n Stitchberry’s ole yaller sail schooner, de Margaret Jane, clair up ter de haid ub Fausley Creek, you kin see ’mejately de win’ almos’ got uh spavin.”

Fo’teenly, Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, teck care ub yo’ bref; fuh de Bible say, “We all do fade ez de leaf.” You wan’s de bref ub life all de time, night an’ day, right wid you. Brudders, sometimes hit’s too full ub applejack, udder times mebby hit’s wasted tellin’ lies, dancin’, playin’ de fiddle, singin’ songs, stealin’ watahmillions, an’ habin’ foolish composations erbout ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns an’ witches, when de same bref mout uh bin used futto pray wid an’ sing hyms. Ef’n you don’ teck care ub yo’ bref you will be class wid dem dat’s call uh bag ub win’—an’ da ain’ nuffin mo’ onsartin’ dan de win’.

Lars’ but not leas’, when you go home talk erboutin’ de win’ ’sted ub ghoses an’ witches, ondastan’ yo’sebs, pray fuh de bref ub de lam’ futto be wid you, an’ when you rassle wid yo’ lars bref an’ hit whispuh sorf ez uh Cherrypin—

Light de can’le! Ef’n you don’ light hit good an’ hab de wick ub salbation, den de blessed Lawd will blow hit out an’ say ergin: “Foxes hab holes, an’ de birds ub de air (dar’s de application) hab nesses; but de Son ub Man hath not wha ter lay His haid.”