swopped away when about twelve years old to William Steele, for a pair of
horses and a splendid carriage. Like his father and mother he was very
religious, and I had often been to his prayer meetings, where poor Reuben
would exhort and preach. Mr. Cobb had made him a class-leader long before
he died; and, in fact, we all reverenced Reuben after the death of his
father as the most moderate and gifted man amongst us. I had always loved
Reuben, but never knew how much until that fatal day. After I went to
Memphis I composed some verses on the life and death of Reuben, which run
as follows:--

Poor Reuben he fell at his post,
He's gone;
Like Stephen, full of the Holy Ghost,
Poor Reuben's gone away.
He's gone where pleasure never dies,
He's gone,
In the golden chariot to the skies,
Poor Reuben's gone away.

For many years he faced the storm,
He's gone;
And the cruel lash he suffered long;
Poor Reuben's gone away.
But now he's left the land of death,
He's gone;
And entered heaven's happiness;
Poor Reuben's gone away.

His friends he bid a long adieu,
He's gone;