The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-01-14
NOT WITH LOVE.

Al cti NHO uOnoTtt ptNtCHtt, Nut, while the cane was rank where towns now flourish, carried tho gospel to the squatter, met an old negro divine" at railway station. They were going to meet appointments; the white man to fill small pulpit in lonely com munity; the negro, large pulpit from which hundreds of enthusiastic brethren and sisters were wont to re- ccive the sensational news. The white man wore coat of approaching shah- biness; the colored gentleman was dressed in new broadcloth. The white mans shoes were run down; the gait CTS that cncased the colored gentle man's kidney feet screakcd In their newness.
 "Ain't dis yerc de Rebum Mir. PileY' the negro preacher asked.
 "Yes. You are Psrson Henry, l be- licve."
 "Yas, sah, de same, gins yer thanks. Gwine down ter 'stribit de clar water ter de thirsty. Is you2"
 "Yes, am on my way to Ebeneezer. r.'
 "Ah, hah, ap' l'se on my way ter Mt. Zion ter breck de loaves an han fine success down dar lately. Sinners dat hab been holdin' back fur CT iaung time hab been scekin' 'pentence. One ole kyard player dat uster fling rocks at me hab j'ined de flock. Toats de hat erroun' now, he do. Yo' flock putty much on de progress, Bruddcr Pile2s
 "No, can't say that 1t is. We only had two conversions at our last re- vival, and since then four members have withdrawn from the church."
 "Dat's bad, mus say but mebbe you ain't gibin' 'cm de right sort O 'visions-a ain't feedin' 'cm de right sort O food"
 "Oh, think am," the white man replied. "l tell them of the beauties of salvation; of the love and tenderness of the life to come; of"
 "Stop right dar, Brudder Pile: stop right whar yer is. Lub is mighty ] fine an tenderness Is fust-rate in dar way but dat sorter doctrine ain't gwine do out we're. De Tub an ten'er- ness man haster war CT ole shirt dat hab seed erhough b'ilin' ter scald all de haugs in de county, but de brim- stone an torment man dresses in de fashion, sab. Hole on, now not CT word, fur dar ain't no use in gwine inter de pulpit ter starve an war po' cloze. It's well ernough ter be er OK widout CT muzzle, but wen da put on de mnzzle, wy, yer better be CT mouse. De generman dat preached at Mt. Zion '!o' l did wuz iub an ten'- erness man, an de Diggers made fun O him. Said he wuz weak, da did, an da let him go shabby, sah. Wen I fust rig 'fo' dat congregation, da looked sleepy. De Christians gaped an de sinners whittled de backs 1 de benches. My dyin' frien's, says I, 'you's all on de road ter he'll Da sorter looked up. My po' creeters,' says l, ole Satan Is CT heatin' de prongs O his pitchfork dis mint. He got one eye on de fire an de udder eye OH dis yer congregation De sin Ders put up dar knives. Miserable sinners says I, The is re'chin' alter yon. Law CT rnassy, thinks l hears his snort' Iemfne git outen yere femme git outp 'sklaimed CT 'oman Stay right whsr yer is,' saysI. No matter which way yer move, yer is in CT better fix fur de ole Nick ter grab yer. De preacher whut you hab been iisteniR ter hab been telljH yer bout Tub. Is dar any lub in ole Sa- tan? Doan de good book p'intedly tell you dat he is alter you? You ain't titled ter Tub an' de grace till l alter you plum 'scapes rum ole Sa- tan. How you gwine do dat, you ax? Wy, by comin' up yere ter dis bench an habin' your sins furgib, an' den by | walkin' in de straight and narrer paf. Yere is, beggiH fur yo' souls. Yere