TRIAL SERMONS ON BULL-SKIN
dey's 'bused hit so dat hit could n't grow straight to save hits life. Is dat whut 's de mattah wif you, brothah, all bent ovah yo' staff an' a-groanin' wif yo' burdens? Is dat whut's de mattah wif you, brothah, dat yo' steps are a-weary an' you 's longin' fu' yo' home? Have dey be'n th'owin' stones an' cans at you? Have dey be'n beatin' you wif sticks? Have dey tangled you up in ol' wiah twell you could n't move han' ner foot? Have de way be'n all trouble? Have de sky be'n all cloud? Have de sun refused to shine an' de day be'n all da'kness? Don't git werry, be consoled. Whut de mattah! Why, I tell you you ba'in' good fruit, an' de debbil cain't stan' it—'By deir fruits shell you know dem.'
"You go 'long de road a little furder an' you see a tree standin' right by de fence. Standin' right straight up in de air, evah limb straight out in hits place, all de leaves green an' shinin' an' lovely. Not a stick ner a stone ner a can in sight. You look 'way up in de branches, an' dey hangin' full o' fruit, big an roun' an' solid. You look at dis tree an' whut now do you say in yo' hea't? You say dis is a good tree, fu' 'by deir fruits shell you know dem.' But you wrong,
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