I don't trust none ob dem.

I'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' I'se neber foun' any troof in dem.

An' I'se gwine wid dem North men soon's I gits a chance.

An' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too." "No, Tom; I can't go.

When Marster Robert went to de front, he called me to him an' said: 'Uncle Daniel,' an' he was drefful pale when he said it, 'I are gwine to de war, an' I want yer to take keer of my wife an' chillen, jis' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me your little boy.' Well, dat jis' got to me, an' I couldn't help cryin', to save my life." "I specs," said Tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes.
I wouldn't cry ef dem Yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to de front, an' stay dere foreber.