MR. DICKSON, a colored barber, was shaving one of his customers, a
respectable citizen, one morning, when a conversation occurred between
them respecting Mr. Dickson's former connection with a colored church in
the place.
"I believe you are connected with the church in ----street, Mr.
Dickson," said the customer.
"So, Sah, not at all."
"What! are you not a member of the African Church?"
"Not dis year, Sah."
"Why did you leave their communion, Mr. Dickson? if I may be permitted
to ask."
"Why, I tell you, Sah," said Mr. Dickson, strapping a concave razor on
the palm of his hand.
"It was just like dis. I jined dat church in good faif. I gib ten
dollars toward de stated preaching ob de Gospel de fus' year, and de
peepil all call me Brudder Dickson. De second year my business not good,
and I only gib five dollars. Dat year the church peepil call me Mr.
Dickson.
"Dis razor hurt you, Sah?"
"No; the razor goes very well."
"Well, Sah, de third year I felt very poor, sickness in my family, and
didn't gib nuffin for the preaching. Well, Sah, after dat they call me
Old Nigger Dickson, and I leff 'em."
So saying, Mr. Dickson brushed his customer's hair and the gentleman
departed, well satisfied with the reason why Mr. Dickson left the
church.