IN A LITTLE town not far from Atlanta there
has been a controversy going on between the
Methodists and the Baptists. It has been a
hot affair from beginning to end, and, as is
usual in such cases, the bad feeling developed
has spread for miles around among those who
believe that a human creed is more important
than religion itself; and this feeling has ex
tended to the negroes, though the bitterness
is somewhat mitigated by the good humor
and the accommodating nature of the negro
character.
An echo of this controversy was heard one
Sunday morning recently, in the kitchen of
the lady to whose family Uncle Remus used
to belong.
It was participated in by the old man,
Chloe, the cook, and Aunt Mimy, a colored
lady who had once reigned in Chloe's place,
and who was secretly anxious to get back
again. Uncle Remus was sitting near the
stove, his elbows on his knees and his hand
spread out to catch the warmth; Aunt Mimy
was sitting in a corner bolt upright, stiff and
uncompromising, while Chloe was bustling
around preparing dinner.
"Sis Chlory," said Aunt Mimy, "is you
gwine ter church dis evenin'?"
"Law, chile ! don't ax me dat," replied
Chloe with a sigh. "Time I git thoo wid
dish yer dinner, I'll be mighty willin' ter set
down an' rest, I 'speck."
"Dat 's so," said Aunt Mimy, sympatheti
cally. " I done bin dar myse'f. I know des
'zackly how 't is. When you cook fer white
folks, you got ter be on yo' feet all day long,
an' you may thank yo' stars ef you ain't on
yo' head half de time."
"Dat cert'ny is de trufe," cried Chloe.
"Dey ain't nothin' would suit me better dan
ter go ter church dis evenin' an' hear um talk
'bout babtizin' an' sprinklin'. De white folks
bin swappin' some rank talk 'bout which de
bes', Methodis' er de Babtis', an' now I 'speck
de colored folks g vine do some quoilin' 'bout it.
An' I don't keer if dey does, kaze Brer
John Henry 'low dat hit's better ter quoil
'bout de docterin' er de sperrit dan ter git in
stignated wid de flesh. He say dem ve'y
words, an' he 's a preacher, mon, ef dey ever
wuz one. What church does you b'long ter,
Sis Mimy?"
"Babtis'!" exclaimed Aunt Mimy, emphati
cally. "Brer Zeke Simmons, he 'low I 'm a
fightin' Baptis' ef dey ever bin any. I done
got de word; I knows what I 'm a-doin'."
"Ah-yi!" exclaimed Uncle Remus with
affected enthusiasm, knowing that Chloe was
a Methodist.
"Yes, Lord!" Aunt Mimy went on, clos
ing her eyes in a self-satisfied way." I bin
a-stumblin' 'long a mighty long time. I bin a
'Piscopal Meth'dis', an' I bin a Affikin Meth'
dis', an' I bin a Pottistant Meth'dis', an' I bin
a Pesberteen. All dat time I wuz oneazy -
all dat time I wuz restless in de min'. I laid
'wake nights an' I ain't had no appetite. I
wuz dat worried dat I could n't set still. One
night I wuz layin' in bed, an' it look like
eve'ything cle'r'd up. I said out loud, ' I 'm
gwine ter be a Babtis'.' I lay dar, I did, an'
I felt des as ca'm ez ca'm could be. I say out
loud, 'Is I right?' Sump'n answer back,
`Rise, sinner, yo' sins is done forgive!' I lay
dar a little while, an' de same sump'n say, ' Go
show de word what Jesus give you ! ' Mon. I
riz fum dar a-shoutin', an' I bin a-feelin' like
shoutin' ever sense."
Uncle Remus shook his head solemnly, but
said nothing, and there was a pause.
"Well," said Chloe after awhile, "I tell
you how I is - I 'm a born Meth'dis'. Dem
what wants ter be babtize kin go git babtize,
an' dem what wants ter be sprinkled can git
sprinkled. I 'm a sprinkler myse'f; and I
ain't los' no sleep on de 'count uv it, an' I
ain't gwine ter lose none. I 'm des a plain
Meth'dis'. Dem what got so many sins on
urn dat dey hatter git souzed under de water
had better go splunge right in, an' dey
oughtn' ter lose no time needer. Dat 's what."
Uncle Remus, seeing that a fuss was immi
nent, straightened up.
"You two niggers hush up ! Miss Sally
may be gone ter church, but Mars John ain't,
en ef he hear you ad gwine on dat way, he'll
jump out'n dat hall do' wid his night-gown
on en tarrify you, mon."
"Wuz we talkin' loud?" asked Aunt
Mimy.
"Des a-holl'in'," said Uncle Remus indig
nantly. "What you all want ter be quoilin'
in white folks' kitchen fer? Go out yander
in de ol' field en pull ha'r en paw up de yeth,
but don't come cuttin' up 'roun' here. What
kinder 'ligion you call dat, whar dey scratch
en bite en kick en squall? Ef dat de kind
you got, all de water in de Atlanta Ocean
won't save na'er one un you. I hear Mars
John trompin' 'roun' in dar now."
"What we doing man?" exclaimed Aunt
Mimy, lowering her voice. "We ain't doin'
nothin' but talkin' 'bout preaching. Sis
Chlory, ef you think yo"ll go dis evening I'll
call back atter you."
"Oh, I speck I'll go," said Chloe. "I'll
be wo' out, but Sunday ain't no Sunday wid
me, less'n I goes some'rs whar dey 's preachin'
an' gwine on. Ef we er gwine, less go whar
dey 's sho' nuff preaching."
"Dat 's what I say," Aunt Mimy assented.
"Law, honey ! we oughter go 'cross town an'
heaz Brer Dave Varner. Some er deze preach
ers des gits up in de pullypit dar an' stan's
right still an' talks - look like dey ain't got
no life in um. Dat ain't de way wid Brer
Dave Varner. Gentermens! he des gits up
dar an' talks in about ez much wid his han's
an' foots ez he do wid his mouf. I tell you
de trufe, Brer Dave Varner dunno a blessed
thing what he doin'. I done hear him sesso.
He work his foots, he work his body, and he
hol' his han's des so."
Aunt Mimy had left her chair and was
standing out in the floor, in order to give
Brother Dave Varner's favorite attitude. Her
head was thrown back, there was an ecstatic
smile on her face, and her hands were clasped
together in the air. Uncle Remus looked at
her curiously.
"Den," Aunt Mimy continued, "he work
his arms an' swing his body dis away," - suit
ing the action to the word. "Man, sir! it
make me feel right ticklish. Sis Hannah
Simpson wuz settin' dar lis'nen at 'im one
night, an' she lipt up in de a'r an' holler
'Glory!' an' fell back like she uz dead. Brer
Dave, he seed 'er fall, but he ain't stop; he
des keep right on, an' Sis Hannah she lay dar
intranced, an' when she come back ter life she
say she done bin ter glory whar she kin look
back an' see de sev'mty an' sev'm creeturs wid
fier-balls fer eyes a-grabbin' an' a-pullin' at de
po' sinners. 'Ceppin' fer de dus de mo'ners
kicked up, I ain't had no better time at no
church."
Uncle Remus looked at Aunt Mimy again
as she paused for want of breath.
"How you say dat Dave Varner do whiles
he preachin'?" the old man asked. Aunt
Mimy went through the performance again
with characteristic vigor, clasping her hands
over her head, swinging her arms, and sway
ing her body from side to side. It was an
lmpressive pantomime.
"When he do dat away," said Uncle Remus,
solemnly, "he a-practicin'. Dat 'zackly what
he doin'."
"Practicin' what? " asked Chloe.
"Ain't you got no eyes, 'oman?" asked
Uncle Remus scornfully. "Don't yo' sev'm
senses tell you what he practicin' fer? When
he reach up his han's an' jine um in de air,
he 's a-reachin' fer one er deze lank-shank
pullets like Miss Sally got here; en when he
swing his arms en sway his body, he 's des
a-gittin' 'way fum de hen-roos'." Uncle
Remus carried his illustration so far that he,
himself, went out of the kitchen, shaking his
arms and swaying his body.
"Well!" exclaimed Aunt Mimy, with a
snort. "Ain't dat too much? An' Brer
Dave Varner a preacher, too! I tell you,
honey, dat ole Remus is a scan'lous villyun.
Deze yer white folks done sp'ilt 'im."
"He sp'iles dem wuss'n dey sp'iles him,"
said Chloe, angrily, "a-gwine 'roun' here
a-Mars'n an' a Miss'n uv um."
"I 'm gwine," said Aunt Mimy. "I ain't
gwine ter stay whar he is. Come by, ef you
kin, an' come soon. It 's a long ways 'cross
town yander."