University of Virginia Library

10. X.
THE NEGRO QUESTION.

I was sitting in the bar, quietly smokin
a frugal pipe, when two middle-aged and
stern-lookin females and a young and pretty
female suddenly entered the room. They
were accompanied by two umbrellers and a
negro gentleman. “Do you feel for the
down-trodden?” said one of the females, a
thin-faced and sharp-voiced person in green
spectacles. “Do I feel for it?” ansered
the lan'lord, in a puzzled voice—“Do I feel
for it?” “Yes; for the oppressed, the benited?”
“Inasmuch as to which?” said the
lan'lord. “You see this man?” said the female,
pintin her umbreller at the negro gentleman.
“Yes, marm, I see him.” “Yes!”
said the female, raisin her voice to a exceedin
high pitch, “you see him, and he's
your brother!” “No, I'm darned if he is!”

said the lan'lord, hastily retreatin to his
beer-casks. “And yours!” shouted the excited
female, addressin me. “He is also
your brother!” “No, I think not, marm,”
I pleasantly replied. “The nearest we
come to that color in our family was the
case of my brother John. He had the janders
for sev'ral years, but they finally left
him. I am happy to state that, at the
present time, he hasn't a solitary jander.”
“Look at this man!” screamed the female.
I looked at him. He was an able-bodied,
well-dressed, comfortable-looking negro.
He looked as though he might heave three
or four good meals a day into him without
a murmer. “Look at that down-trodden
man!” cried the female. “Who trod on
him?” I inquired. “Villains! despots!”
“Well,” said the lan'lord, “why don't you
go to the willins about it? Why do you
come here tellin us niggers is our brothers,
and brandishin your umbrellers round like
a lot of lunytics? You'r wuss than the
sperrit-rappers?” “Have you,” said middle-aged
female No. 2, who was a quieter
sort of person, “have you no sentiment—
no poetry in your soul—no love for the
beautiful? Dost never go into the green
fields to cull the beautiful flowers?” “I
not only never dost,” said the landlord in
an angry voice, “but I'll bet you five pound
you can't bring a man as dares say I durst.”
“The little birds,” continued the female,
“dost not love to gaze onto them?” “I
would I were a bird, that I might fly to
thou?” I humorously sung, casting a sweet
glance at the pretty young woman. “Don't
you look in that way at my dawter!” said
female No. 1, in a violent voice; “you're
old enough to be her father.” “ 'T was an
innocent look, dear madam,” I softly said.
“You behold in me an emblem of innocence
and purity. In fact, I start for Rome
by the first train to-morrow to sit as a model
to a celebrated artist who is about to sculp
a statue to be called Sweet Innocence.
Do you s'pose a sculper would send for me
for that purpose onless he knowd I was
overflowing with innocency? Don't make
a error about me.” “It is my opinyn,” said
the leading female, “that you're a scoffer
and a wretch? Your mind is in a wusser
beclouded state than the poor negroes we
are seeking to aid. You are a groper in
the dark cellar of sin. O sinful man!
No: you will not come and drink.” “Yes,
he will,” said the landlord, “if you'll treat.
Jest try him.” “As for you,” said the enraged
female to the landlord, “you're a degraded
bein, to low and wulgar to talk to.”
“This is the sparklin fount for me, dear
sister!” cried the lan'lord, drawin and
drinkin a mug of beer. Having uttered
which goak, he gave a low rumblin larf,
and relapst into silence. “My colored
fren',” I said to the negro, kindly, “what is
it all about?” He said they was trying to
raise money to send missionaries to the
Southern States in America to preach to
the vast numbers of negroes recently made
free there. He said they were without the
gospel. They were without tracts. I said,
“My fren', this is a seris matter. I admire
you for trying to help the race to which
you belong, and far be it from me to say
anything again carrying the gospel among
the blacks of the South. Let them go
to them by all means. But I happen to
individually know that there are some
thousands of liberated blacks in the South
who are starvin. I don't blame anybody
for this, but it is a very sad fact. Some are
really too ill to work, some can't get work
to do, and others are too foolish to see any
necessity for workin. I was down there
last winter, and I observed that this class
had plenty of preachin for their souls, but
skurce any vittles for their stummux. Now,
if it is proposed to send flour and bacon
along with the gospel, the idea is really a
excellent one. If, on the t'other hand, it is
proposed to send preachin alone, all I can
say is that its a hard case for the niggers.
If you expect a colored person to get deeply
interested in a tract when his stummuck
is empty, you expect too much.” I gave
negro as much as I could afford, and the
kind-hearted lan'lord did the same. I said,
“Farewell, my colored fren', I wish you
well, certainly. You are now as free as the
eagle. Be like him and soar. But don't

[ILLUSTRATION]

"Young woman, I'm not your Saler boy. Far different."—See page 52.

[Description: 484EAF. Image of Ward being clasped around the neck by a woman in an ankle-length evening gown. Ward is holding his top hat and umbrella in his hands, with his hair tied in a knot on top of his head.]

attempt to convert a Ethiopian person
while his stummuck yearns for vittles.
And you, ladies—I hope you are ready to
help the poor and unfortunate at home, as
you seem to help the poor and unfortunate
abroad.” When they had gone, the lan'lord
said, “Come into the garden, Ward.”
And we went and culled some carrots for
dinner.