Elizabeth Alexander


(Cecelia Laswell)

[Mrs. Elizabeth Alexander:]

The following is a very old Negro sermon I found in an old scrap book

dated 1839, belonging to Mrs. Elizabeth Alexander, Frederica St. She

says she has heard her family refer to parts of it at different time in

her early life and supposed that the negro preacher belonged to her

people. Quote: Mine deerly fren: Ub dar's wun ting wot de Lord

abominerates worser nor anudder; it is a wicked nigger! A wicked wite

man's bad snuff, dur Lord nose! but dey so dam wite, an so kussed sarcy,

day doun no no better, so dar's some appolleragee fur 'em; but I gin yer

for th noe as how, a wicked nigger can nibber scape frum de vengence ob

de Lord-day's no use playin possum any more dan day was ob Joner coorin

it into de wale's belly! (Glory from the congregation) Let um go to de

Norf Pole, or to de Souf Pole, to de West Pole, or to de East Pole, or

de Poles in any ob de words; he ant a bit safer den he would be in a

cellar at 5 pints, wid ole Hays arter him! (groans) Oh! niggers! I tink

I see you look round. Yer's better! Fer wot I tells yer's trufe! Gorda

mity's trufe! Werrily I say unter yer! Wen de court ob seshions ob de

las day cum, ye'll reckerlect wot I say at dis times! Wen yer hab de

Lord fer Recorder, an a jury ob angles, an Gabriel ter report der trial

fer de hebbenly "Herald" (deep groans) Yas! den yar'll turn up de wite

ob yer eyes! (Sighs) den ter'll call fer de rock ter cubber yer! An de

hill ter fall top o' yer. No yer don't. Kase, in de fus place day

woodn't do it; an in de libenth place, ub day would it would be no

better dan ridin in a cart in de big city or gettin under de butcher's

stall in de fly market; fer de Lord can move more mountins in wun

minite, dan de biggest nigger in dis congregation could shake a stick at

twixt now an next fort ob July (clapping of hands, sighs, groans and

grunts) Tink, yer black sinners ob de bottomless pit, deeper dan de hole

Holt bored fer water. Oh! yer'll wish yo cood bore fer wat-r dar! but

day's no water dar, an de deeper yer go, Oh, my bredren, de deeper it

git! An den de smell! Yer'll gib yer soul uv yer had any left, jist fur

wun smell ob a rotten egg! Oh, my deelee frens some ob yer hold yer nose

wen yer go by de gas works. How der yer spose yer'l feel dare yer smell

notin but brimstone an nashin ob teeth! (deep groans) Oh, I hear yer

groans, but I ant begin to cum ter worst yit. Oh! my toenail a'most

shake off in ma stockin wen I tink ob dat heat ob infernal regins! Den

yer tink melted led cold as de young gemmen at de big houses tink a miny

julip is now, an besid's my brederen it keeps a burnin nite on day to de

end ob ebrerlastin; yer needn't tink bimeby yer go from dare to hebben

like de Rummin Catlick--No, in de fust place yer don't; an in de second

if yer cood, yer'd git yer def of cole goin frum one place to tudder. An

now, my belobbed brederen, lets in terwestigate how tar git bale; how to

avoid de Sing Sing ob de world wot's got to cume. Fiddlin an dancin wont

do it. Yer'll neber git ter hebben by loafin, pitchin cents, an dancin

Juba! De only way is ter support de preacher, gib yer money ter me, and

I'll take yer sins on my shoulder. An now I beseech yer not ter leebe

dis here holy place an go round er corner, round er corner and fergit de

words yer have heered dis night. Next Wednesday ebenin dar will be a

sarbice in his place de Lord willin, but next Thursday ebenin weffer or

no. An now we will sing inti de 40-elebent him de particlarest meter.

Old Ebe he was de second man fur Adam was de fust----

A black man's made ob ebony, a white man's made o' dust.

Methuselah was the oldest man, but Sampson was the strongest----

Cats, rats, and puppies all hab tails, but monkies is der longest.

(While they were singing the 11th verse, I took my departure.--B.L.)

Eliza Williamson Elizabeth Brannon facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail