This unique nigger was summoned, and proved to be a poor old man.

His master informed him he had a bet on him, and the other party commanded him to "curse Jesus ?" on pain of being flogged until he did.
The old saint dropped on his knees before his master, and plead for mercy, saying: "Massa! Massa! I cannot curse Jesus! Jesus die for me! He die for you, Massa.

I no curse him; I no curse Jesus!" The master began to repent.

In babyhood he had ridden on those old bowed shoulders, then stalwart and firm, and he proposed to draw the bet, but the other wanted sport and would win the money.

Oh! the horrible details that that preacher gave of that day's sport, of the lashings, and faintings, and revivals, with washes of strong brine, the prayers for mercy, and the recurring moan! "I no curse Jesus, Massa! I no curse Jesus; Jesus die for me, Massa; I die for Jesus ?" As the sun went down Jesus took him, and his merciful master had sold a worthless nigger for one hundred dollars.