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[163] money spent on a Negro's funeral would keep his family for a couple of years.

“A frena ob mine die yesterday,” says Bill; “ dey bury him dis afternoon, and make much funeral.”

“Are you going to see the last of him?”

“No, sir, I am not in his society.”

“What society do you speak of?”

“De buryina society. Ebery culled person is a member of two or three societies. He pay much money. When he die, dey have all big sight.”

In walking through Jackson's Ward towards the open country, for a peep at the picturesque ravines which surround the city and give it some rough resemblance to Jerusalem, we drop down a slope, leap over a stream, and are beginning to mount a second slope, when we are startled by a sob and moan that might have floated from the Temple wall. We turn to see the cause. Above us, on the height, is a cemetery with a few white posts and stones, and near the edge of this grassy slope stand a group of Negro women, sobbing at their utmost voice, while a Negro minister is screaming out texts, and four or five lusty Negroes are brandishing spades and shovelling earth. Before we reach the plateau,

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