University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE FARM.

The Peytons remained in Somerton about two
weeks. The excitement which the necessity for
exertion had produced in Charles, seemed to have
a wonderfully favorable effect in enabling him to
throw off, with much more facility than would
have been possible under other circumstances, the
languor produced by the long and debilitating
fever.

Obliged by the necessity of the case to leave
their large plantation with no overseer but Nathan,
and he having been hastily instrusted with the office
with no direction but the general one, to keep every
thing in as good order as he could, Mrs. Fairfax
dreaded the return.

“We must expect to find the greatest confusion,”
said she, as they were on their way back to Cedar
Hill. “The servants seem to have looked on this

time as a kind of Saturnalia, and to have done
whatever they pleased. Dr. Parker's family found
their store-room and smoke-house completely emptied
of their contents, and Mr. Carpenter, Keziah's
old master, you know, found every article of furniture
or clothing he had left in his house had either
been stolen or spoiled. Mrs. Carpenter, poor old
lady, was more distressed at the appearance of her
floors than any thing else. It was the labor of her
life to keep them well-waxed and bright, and they
were so cut and marked that it will take weeks of
hard rubbing to make them look decently. I have
not seen Keziah so pleased since you recovered as
she was when she told me about it, for those floors
had been a source of torment to her for years. She
told me that there was not one in the whole house
that had not caused her a whipping.”

“When mother told her she ought not to rejoice
over others' misfortunes,” said Virginia, “she said,
`I know that, missis; but I've not got clar of de
ole man yet; I has tough fights with him sometimes,
and dis time he's got the upper hand. I's
glad in my heart, I is;' and she laughs whenever
she thinks of it.”

“How did the Lees find their place?” asked
Charles.

“That was kept in very good order,” replied
Mrs. Fairfax, “for the overseer remained there.

He said he had lived with them more than twenty
years, and would not leave them at a time when
they most needed him. But Frank did not know
that he intended to stay, or he would not have consented
to it; he expected him to follow them almost
immediately.”

“Well, if the old house is left standing,” said
Charles, “I don't think we have any cause for
complaint.”

“Complaint, no!” exclaimed Margaret; “when
I recall the feelings with which I last passed over
this road, and my sensations now, I can hardly
realize my happiness.”

Virginia had caught a glimpse of the white-covered
wagon, which, laden with groceries for the
family, toiled slowly after the carriage, and interrupting
the flow of reminiscences, that were as yet
too painful for her to dwell upon, she broke forth
into the “Old Ship of Zion.” After doing full justice
to as much of it as she knew, she amused herself
and her more thoughtful companions by singing
little snatches of all the songs she could recall,
until she was stopped in the midst of “Home,
sweet Home!” by the opening of the big gate.

“How dy, Polydore?” said Charles to that servant,
who was busy cutting down a lightning-struck
tree near the carriage road.

“How dy, Mas'r Charles?” replied Polydore,

coming forward quickly to shake hands; “I'm
mighty glad to see you again, and Miss Margaret,
and the chilluns, and ole missis, and Miss Virginny
too,” shaking hands with each one.

“I've got a new Bible, with big print, for you,
uncle Polydore,” called out Philip from his seat by
the coachman.

“Thank you, Mas'r Phil,” said Polydore, with a
look of intense delight.

“How are things going on about the place?”
asked Charles.

“Couldn't be better,” was the reply. “Nathan's
'bout the best driver I seen in all my life. He
makes the niggers stan' roun' like dey was sent
for.”

“Have you heard any thing of Mr. Burke?”
asked Mrs. Fairfax.

“Yes, Miss Margaret, dey say he so 'flicted with
havin' been took so by sprise, and flyin' off dat er
way, dat he's gone clar off, whar he come from. I
reckon we sha'n't see him no more.”

From the roadside gate to the house was a distance
of about half a mile, and when the arrival
of the family was made known, in that mysterious
way by which all news travels, the progress of the
carriage was greatly impeded by the troops of busy
idlers who flocked around to welcome them back.

At length the coachman succeeded in bringing

his horses harmlessly through the swarm of little
negroes, who had seemed bent on immolating themselves
in the triumphant progress of “the family,”
as their kindred spirits throw themselves beneath
the rolling wheels of the car of Juggernaut, and,
having surmounted the last gentle slope, the old
mansion arose before them in the massive homeliness
so dear and familiar to their eyes.

“See how fast aunt Abby is walking,” said Virginia;
“I thought she was entirely too dignified
ever to hurry about in that way,” as the short,
rotund figure of the old housekeeper appeared on
the piazza, giving directions and uttering exclamations
of joy at once.

“You, Peter, tote some light 'ud in the dinin'-room,
this minute. I'd ha' been all ready, missis,
but I didn't spect you till to-morrow. Ben, run
and tell Apphia I'm comin' to give out supper
directly. Oh, Miss Margret, I'se so glad to see
you, and the chillun too! Bless 'em all!” and she
kissed them heartily.

Keziah now came up, having alighted from the
wagon, and, by the aid of her general efficiency,
fires were soon lighted in the different rooms, and
an abundant supper—a Virginia supper—prepared
for the once more happy family.

In going over the house, and examining it thoroughly
the next day, Mrs. Fairfax was astonished

and delighted to find every thing left untouched,
except by aunt Abby's careful hands.

Before her promotion to the office of housekeeper,
Abby had been the especial attendant of Mrs. Peyton,
who, when she became too stout, and burdened
with the weight of too many years, to move as
readily as she had once done, showed her opinion
of her integrity by giving all the keys of the house
into her care.

“Why, aunt Abby,” said Mrs. Fairfax, “how
did you manage to keep every thing so safe?”

“I jes' lock all the do's, Miss Margaret, and I
ses, nobody but me and Nathan is to come about
the place. Dey all wanted to come and help me
put every thing straight, but I ses no; I don't
want none of your help. I knows what I am, but
I don't know what you are; so get away with you.
And Nathan, he's kep 'em right tight to work. But,
bless your heart, Miss Margaret, dey didn't need no
keeping; dey never worked half so well in all dere
lives.”

Charles found that this assertion was true. He
accounted for it—not by the idea that his servants
were better than those on some of the neighboring
plantations, who had showed themselves unworthy
of trust, nor by the flattering thought that more
indulgent treatment than they received elsewhere
had awakened more noble qualities, for there were

many planters around, who held the reins of discipline
with a looser grasp, and whose easy tempers
led them to pass unnoticed over faults that Mr.
Peyton would have punished severely; but their
religious training was more carefully attended to
than usual, and besides, the principal ones among
them were, without exception, persons of tried integrity,
fidelity, and Christian principle. There is
nowhere a more sympathetic or imitative race than
the African, and by working skillfully on their feelings,
Nathan, who possessed something of the “wisdom
of the serpent,” had contrived, with little difficulty,
to induce each one to perform voluntarily his
daily task.

As soon as things had fallen into their usual routine,
Charles began to reflect upon the best means
to repay the debt of gratitude he owed to his dependents,
and, at the same time, to fulfill his vow.
He consulted his sister about it.

“There are some to whom I must give their
freedom,” said he; “I should as soon think of
keeping my own brother in unwilling bondage, as
those to whom we owe so much. But what shall
I do with them or for them afterward? The best
plan I can think of is to place them on a farm. I
have some very valuable land lying on Rocky Run,
about three miles from here. I think I might
manage to settle at least ten of them on it, with a

prospect of making a comfortable subsistence, if
they are only industrious.”

“A very important if,” said Margaret Fairfax.
“Judging by the free negroes we see around us,
the probabilities are that they will degenerate from
honest, faithful servants, into idle, degraded, and
worthless men, a burden and a nuisance to every
respectable person near them.”

“If I thought that, of course it would prove an
insuperable objection to my project; but how can
I believe that a man who has stood the test of the
ordeal through which Nathan, and Stephen, and
Polydore, and many others of our servants have
passed—not only this last trial of their fidelity, but
the countless temptations they must meet each
day—should become like those who have grown
up in ignorance and idleness? I can not imagine
that they would ever become a burden, much less
an injury to society.”

“They may not, brother,” said Margaret; “but
who shall answer for their descendants? Many of
those we see around us received their freedom as a
reward for their good conduct; and if they have
not degenerated, is there an instance where even
that could be said of their children?”

“Yes, Margaret, I think there is,” said Charles;
and after a few moments of thought, he mentioned
two or three who had vindicated their claim to the

title of freemen by their industry and uprightness.

“Is there any other way I could take, my dear
sister,” continued he, “to elevate my people to the
position in which I wish to see them placed?”

At that time Liberia was unthought of, or existed
only in the minds of those far-sighted enthusiasts
to whom it owes its commencement. The question
perplexed Mrs. Fairfax, so that she remained
for some time without replying.

“There certainly ought to be some other course
open in such a case as this—some way not only to
free our negroes, but to place them in a situation
where the superior position and cultivation of the
whites will not react upon them, so as to deprive
them of the hope, and, with it, of the wish to elevate
themselves; but, I confess, I do not see any
other. What do you say to sending them to the
free states?”

“I have thought of that; but, besides the climate
being so ill adapted to them, they are not regarded
there with the same kindness and toleration as
with us. The tie that unites us to them—the only
possible tie, it seems to me, between the two races,
has taught us to regard their necessities as our peculiar
care. We are so familiar with their habits of
improvidence and indolence, that it does not strike
us with the same feelings of surprise and contempt

that it does the thrifty Northerners. Besides, I
would like to keep my people near me. After they
have been taken care of by our family so long, I
would not like to have them suffer, even by their
own fault. We hear of a great deal of suffering in
those Northern cities, especially among the negroes.”

“Yes, that is true,” replied Mrs. Fairfax; “that
I know from observation. You remember my taking
mammy Betty to New York with me, when
Philip was a baby, and that she was persuaded to
leave me. I remained in the city several months,
and heard nothing of her. Indeed, I never expected
to see her again; but one day I received a message,
imploring me to come to her. I shall never forget
the horror and misery of the places through which
Mr. Fairfax and I had to pass in order to reach
her room. We found her sick, and almost starving,
and pure pity, if nothing else, would have forced
us to take her back with us. Poor mammy can
never bear to hear of the `big norrard' since. To
be sure, that is only a single instance; but I have
heard of many others.”

“We hear of them, and see them constantly at
the North. No, Margaret, I have great hopes that
I shall be successful in this plan; and if I am, I
know many other planters who will follow my example,
for there are but few that are not troubled
by the present state of our relations to our servants

And when the slaves see that by their good conduct
they may hope to attain freedom and respectability,
who can tell how great a stimulus the prospect will
be to them?”

Mr. Peyton was generally distinguished by great
calmness and coolness of judgment; but the warmth
and earnestness with which he entered into this
project for repaying the great debt he owed his
bondmen, kindled a degree of enthusiasm in his
heart that made him set aside all doubts and misgivings
as unworthy his design, and the people who
were to carry it into execution.

“I am working with pure heart and hands,”
thought he, “and it seems impossible that I should
fail; but if I do, it shall not dishearten me.”

When Nathan was informed that his master
intended to bestow upon him and all his family
the great gift of freedom, together with enough
land to render him independent, partly in recompense
for his past services, and partly, Mr. Peyton
said, that the neighborhood might have no cause
to complain that he had thrown his people upon
them for support, he could hardly believe the good
tidings.

He hastened to impart them to his wife, but
soon returned with a more anxious face than he
had often been known to wear.

“My ole woman say, mas'r, how will Junius do

'bout his learnin'? He's mighty fond of books, and
would be a preacher one of these days, if he can
go on. He's been studyin' Latin, and Greek, and
Hebrew, and I don't know what else, with Mas'r
Philip's tutorer, and he say he's the best scholar
he has had for a long time. But if he has to work
on a farm, he must give up studyin'.”

Mr. Peyton knew that Junius was a boy of uncommon
abilities, and he had given the tutor permission
to teach him, but he had no idea he was
so far advanced.

“I will see Junius myself, Nathan,” replied Mr.
Peyton, “and if I find him so good a scholar as you
say, I will do the best I can for him.”

For Mr. Peyton to promise was almost the same
that it is for other people to perform, so Nathan
went away quite satisfied.

Mr. Peyton found that Nathan had not exaggerated
about his son, but that the acquirements of
Junius were so great as to appear wonderful when
compared with his slender advantages. He was
never more perplexed. “What shall I do with
Junius,” thought he, “if, by my connivance, he
fulfills the promise of his boyhood, and becomes a
learned man? What position in America can he
occupy?” Then the question arose, “Is it right
to stifle the yearnings for knowledge in any human
soul, particularly when the knowledge can be obtained

without the violation of any duty?” Every
feeling in Mr. Peyton's generous heart said no.

It was then resolved that Junius, freed with the
rest of the family, should remain with Mr. Peyton,
and, fulfilling the duties of his position, that of assistant
waiter, he might devote the rest of his time
to the improvement of his mind, with all the assistance
he could obtain from the tutor or Mr. Peyton's
library.

Essex, an old family servant, the head waiter
and butler, was next informed by his master of the
happiness in store for him. He was a true Virginia
servant of the old school. His courteousness and
suavity of manner, his dignified politeness and ceremoniousness,
might have put Beau Brummel to the
blush. “The first gentleman in Europe” bore himself
with no more stateliness and consciousness of
his high position on the mightiest throne in the
world, than did Essex when, with a wave of his
silver waiter, he ushered the high-bred ladies and
gentlemen of the “Old Dominion” to their seats at
the table in the dining-room of Cedar Hall.

“Have I ever disobliged you, master?” asked he,
with a magnificent bow and flourish of his hand.

“No, Essex, you have always been a most faithful
servant.”

“Is it Madam Peyton's wish that I should leave
you?”

“My mother wishes you to go, as it will probably
be for your greater usefulness and happiness; but,
on her own account, she dislikes very much to part
with you. You were father's body-servant so long,
that she has become strongly attached to you.”

“That will do, Master Charles. If I could forsake
the family I was born in, it would not be while my
old mistress needs me. If I decline into an invalid,
or become supernumerary afterward,” with another
flourish, “you can turn me off, if you please. For
myself, I do not approve of novelties. As I came
into this world, so I go out of it. And, if you please
Master Charles, don't speak the word to me again.”

Another bow—another flourish, somewhat more
deprecating than the others—and he was gone.

Amused and gratified rather than discouraged
by his vain attempt to make Essex understand the
value of the great boon he offered him—an offer
Essex evidently took as a slight to his services, and
a civil way of telling him he was no longer needed—
Mr. Peyton continued his efforts with unabated zeal.

The next person from whom he experienced any
opposition was one of the last from whom he expected
it. Ben, the coachman, a bright mulatto,
and a man full of energy and ambition, in his own
way, after consulting his wife Clara about accepting
his master's proposal, came to him with a positive
refusal.

“If it was to work about hosses, now, mas'r, I
wouldn't say no, for that I knows all about, and
likes better than to eat my dinner; but I never
know'd any thing about working on a farm, and
never 'spect to. 'Pears to me like a mighty coming
down, to go to field-work after I've been raised in
the house. Clary thinks so too.”

“But the land will be your own—a very different
thing from working for a master.”

“I'm much 'bliged to you, mas'r; and ef it was
any thing else but going on a farm, I'd 'cept your
offer; but, 'deed, I couldn't do that for nobody”—
for Ben possessed the negro passion for horses to
its fullest extent.

“But, Ben,” continued Mr. Peyton, “think that
you can be a free and independent man.”

“Yes, Mas'r Charles, I told Clary so; and she
said it didn't make no difference to speak of—a nigger's
nothing but a nigger, whether he is free or not.”

“I am afraid Clara dreads the hard work that
may fall to her lot, if she leaves her comfortable
home here,” said Mr. Peyton. “Call her to me,
Ben; I will talk to her about it.”

She had been down to the quarter administering
a dose of medicine to some child, by Mrs. Fairfax's
orders, and, summoned by Ben, she soon appeared,
slowly emerging from the clump of trees, and ascending
the slope that led to the house.

“Hurry, Clary, hurry; mas'r's waitin' for you,”
said Ben.

“I am hurrying; don't you see I'm running as
fast as I can?” replied Clara, changing her leisurely
movement into what might be called rather a brisk
walk, if the epithet brisk could be applied to Clara's
graceful, swaying motions.

She was a picturesque-looking object; and, gazing
upon her then as she crossed the lawn, the imagination
would be irresistibly carried away from
this land of universal activity, useful inventions,
and angular movements, to those Eastern climes,
where the sun and the genial soil do all the labor,
and their spoiled children have but to receive and
enjoy. With just such a gait of stately languor—
regal in its indolent repose—might Pharaoh's daughter
have walked, amid her attendant maidens, along
the rush-bordered Nile. Tall and slender, with
beautifully-moulded limbs and bust, small hands
and feet, softly-rounded features, and large, deeply-fringed
eyes, in whose dark depths the gazer might
fancy he could discover terrible capabilities of passion
or feeling, or infinite powers of love and tenderness,
she was yet only a gentle and affectionate
woman, very vain, and very fond of ease and enjoyment,
but, in the main, faithful and true-hearted.

She had been generally employed about Mrs.
Peyton's person, and, as Charles Peyton supposed,

dreaded the hardships and privations of a life of
labor on a farm. But she had accompanied her
mistress on two journeys to Philadelphia; and the
fine dressing she had seen among persons of her
own rank there, with their opportunities for enjoyment,
had struck her so favorably, that she had
been since very desirous of returning. She told
her master that, if he could get Ben a situation as
coachman with some of his friends in Philadelphia,
she would be very glad to help him as much as she
could by sewing, but that nothing would make
her consent to undertake the farm. Mr. Peyton
would not agree to this proposal, and therefore,
with many misgivings, Ben decided to remain a
slave.

Another surprise was in store for Mr. Peyton.

“I shall make the same proposal to Keziah that
I have done to Nathan and the others,” said he,
“but I do not suppose she will accept it.”

“Oh, no, certainly not,” exclaimed Virginia; “I
should not wonder if she felt even more hurt than
poor uncle Essex.”

But Keziah embraced the offer with an irrepressible
delight most foreign to her nature. Mr. Peyton
could not prevent a sensation of disappointment, for
he had felt convinced that Keziah loved him too
well to leave him. She instinctively divined his
feeling.

“I belong to you all the same, mas'r; and if you
ever want me, speak the word, and I come from
the farmost ends of the arth; but I's born to be
free, mas'r; I allers know'd it. Some niggers born
for slaves—heaps on 'em fit for nothin' else; but
this chile ain't one of them ar people.”

And she turned to go away; but quickly changing
her mind, she returned, raised her eyes, generally
downcast and brooding, and fixed them, with a
searching look, full on his face.

“Mas'r Charles, next to God Almighty, I love
you; and you taught me to love Him the best: if
you want me to stay with you, I stay.”

“No, Keziah,” replied Mr. Peyton, the momentary
feeling of disappointment having passed away;
“probably you will be of more real service and
advantage to me by the good effect your industry
and honesty will have on your companions on the
farm, than if you spent your life in my service.”

To carry out this attempt to free his servants,
and teach them self-reliance, Mr. Peyton selected
ten of the best men upon his place. Nathan, with
his wife Sally, and a family of six children, and
Polydore, with his patient eyes still fixed on Keziah,
who possessed a strange power over the docile giant,
were among the most prominent of the band.

Mr. Peyton himself had built as many cabins as
were needed, and furnished them with the articles

that were absolutely necessary. The rest they were
to obtain by their own exertions. But many a millionaire
has begun with less.

During the first year they worked the land for
Mr. Peyton, as he wished to ascertain if it were
sufficient for their support.

With the conscientious Nathan as their overseer,
and animated by the desire of proving themselves
worthy of their liberty, all faithfully performed their
part in the common task.

Even Polydore seemed more thoroughly awake,
and no longer took advantage of the opportunity
offered, by being appointed to drive a cart or wagon,
to enjoy a stolen slumber, while the sagacious animals
chose their own gait and direction. There
was a story still current, that one night he had
waked up to find himself fast in a swamp, ten
miles from home, which he had left at sunrise to
obtain a load of wood. But no such disaster befell
him now. Perhaps Keziah's rebukes, sharp and
decided, though rare, had some effect.

He had selected a cabin close by hers, and employed
all his leisure time in assisting the severe
mistress of his soul in cultivating a little flower-garden
she had planted; for, great an anomaly as
it might seem, Keziah was an ardent admirer of
every thing beautiful or lovely in nature.

The farm proved so much more profitable the

first year than Mr. Peyton had expected, that he
was much encouraged. Distributing the proceeds
among the laborers when he gave them their freedom,
he asked them whether they preferred to work
the land together as they had been doing, or to have
it divided into lots.

As they all relied greatly on Nathan's judgment,
they decided to continue the first arrangement.
Keziah opposed this decidedly, but, overruled by
numbers, she yielded.

The second year was not so favorable. In Mr.
Peyton's frequent visits to Rocky Run farm, he
found Nathan often sad and disheartened.

“Every thing is gettin' behin' han', mas'r,” he
said one day. “The niggers won't work; if dey
has de least ache or pain, dey nusses demselves
mos' to death. Keziah's de best man in de lot, and
she keeps Polydore pretty well up to the mark; but
de rest—dey work one day, and rest two.”

The result proved that Nathan's complaints were
well founded. Instead of making more than enough
for their support, as they should have done, they
found themselves in debt, and some of them had to
apply to Mr. Peyton for relief.

The next year matters were still worse; they had
tasted the pleasure of an indolent life, and were not
inclined to resume their old habits of active exertion.

Few men naturally like a life of labor. It was
first inflicted as a curse; and though obedience
often transmutes it into a blessing, yet people generally,
white as well as black, count it a happiness
if they are elevated above the necessity for exertion.

It was easy for Mr. Peyton's freedmen to work
enough to satisfy their consciences, and to procure
a part of what was necessary for their subsistence,
and often a great part; for it is wonderful, to those
of many wants, how little will suffice to satisfy
those whose only desires spring from their animal
nature. And they knew they had an unfailing
resource, if sickness or distress came upon them.
Mr. Peyton never refused them what they really
needed, both for the sake of past services, and because
he did not wish to be the means of burdening
others in the community with the care of his people.
But he marked, with bitter disappointment, the
downward progress of what, in his sanguine visions,
he had depicted to himself as the Utopia of the
colored race. It needed no prophetic eye to see
that the children trained in indolence and self-indulgence
would probably, when his restraining influence
and willing aid were withdrawn, become the
pest of the neighborhood by their thriftlessness and
dishonesty.

By the end of the third year, Nathan's patience

was worn out. He came to Mr. Peyton with the
proposal that the land should be divided.

The reasons that he gave were, that the labor
fell principally on himself, and those of his children
who were able to work, Polydore and Keziah; yet
the others expected an equal share of the profits,
and were inclined to find fault with him, on account
of the falling off in their crops; and if he managed
to lay up any little store for himself, the rest evidently
thought that, as long as it lasted, they had
as good a right to it as he, and would come to him
very much as they would have applied to a master,
only with more freedom and importunity. The
African is naturally generous, kind-hearted, and
yielding, and Nathan often found himself unable
to refuse, though, in the end, he was the greatest,
perhaps the only real sufferer; for the rest, without
hesitation, went to Mr. Peyton when other means
failed; but Nathan had determined that nothing
but “extreme extremities” should force him to do
that.

“If I can not support myself and my family after
all that Mas'r Charles has done for me, I don't ought
to be free;” and so his family often, during the third
winter, lived for days on hoe-cake. Sometimes his
oldest boys would succeed in catching an opossum,
or some rabbits, which made a welcome variety in
their fare, and fuel could always be obtained for

the trouble of collecting it from the neighboring
forests.

Yet, even in this, Nathan's patience was put to
a hard trial; for, being naturally what the Northerners
call “a fore-handed man,” he laid in quite
a store of wood, “light 'ud, back-logs,” and all,
before the cold weather came on. The first stormy
day in winter, hearing a clattering and commotion
outside his house, he opened the wooden shutter,
which served also for a window, in the back of the
cabin, and saw a number of little busy hands helping
themselves liberally from his wood-pile. “What
are you doin' dar?” he asked, in no gentle tones,
while a disposition to run was clearly visible in the
greater number of the little depredators; but a
commanding “Stop! you hear?” kept them in their
places, standing silent and abashed, with rolling
eyes, and teeth, whose pearly brightness lit up
occasionally some dark, chubby face, as, notwithstanding
the awe in which uncle Nathan was held,
an involuntary giggle would break forth.

At length one of the smaller ones took heart of
grace, and said,

“Daddy sent me, uncle Nathan; he's got de
rheumatiz, and mammy has to stay to take care of
him. He said he knew you'd give him some wood.”

“Well, ax me nex time; now take it, and be
off wid ye. What you doin' yer, Jack?”

“Mammy's sick; she got de spine in her backbone
drefful bad; she got it working so hard in de
tater patch, and now de doctor say she mus' lie in
bed ever so long. Daddy's nussin' de baby.”

“All he's fit for,” muttered Nathan; but, touched
by the singular nature of his mother's illness, Jack
also received permission to go home with full arms.

One by one, each of the little throng came forward
with his excuses, which were “no excuses,” and
his humble request, which, backed by the chilling
rain, and raw, gusty wind, Nathan found irresistible.

It rained, and snowed, and sleeted for nearly a
week, and by the end of that time Nathan's wood-pile
was, as he pathetically observed, “nowhar.”

In this emergency, he went in to consult with
Keziah, who, pointing triumphantly to her undiminished
stock of fuel, said,

“She'd dare any lazy nigger to lay a finger on
it.”

“Yes, aunt Keziah, dat's all right; but, you see,
I feels somehow like a father to dem all, and I
can't see 'em suffer as long as dey are under me.”

“Why don't you give 'em up, den, and go to
work for yourself, as I wanted you to do at fust?”

“Dat's the 'dentical ting I've come yer about,”
replied Nathan; “let's hold a conference on dat
very subject.”

Just then a clumsy shuffling and stamping was

heard outside the door; then a knocking, which,
being answered by a loud “Come in” from Keziah,
Polydore appeared, leaving, after the custom of the
Turks, though probably unaware of the existence
of such a nation or custom, his shoes outside.
Keziah's floor was not to be profaned by the mass
of mud that Polydore gathered in his daily tramps;
for, like the Hebrews of old, he was content if he
could supply his wants from day to day, giving,
literally, the morrow no thought.

“You've ben gone in de woods longer dan common,”
said Keziah.

“Yes,” replied he, placing on the table several
bunches of holly, with its red berries and glossy
leaves; “fust, I had to tote home wood for myself,
and den one and den anoder axed me to fetch some
for dem, and I've ben as busy as dat ar bee missis
used to preach 'bout till dis blessed minute. I
fetched dat green stuff to you, for I know'd you'd
like it to stick 'bout de room for Christmas times,
and dat's comin' soon. I'll bring some more to-morrow.”

“Have you had any breakfast?” asked Keziah.

“No,” replied Polydore, with the reluctant, abashed
manner of a child confessing a fault, and at the
same time excusing it; “I hadn't no wood. It
'peared to me yesterday I had fetched home plenty
for two days; but fust one came, and den anoder,

and dis one was sick, and dat one was wuss, and
it was all gone 'fore I know'd it.”

“You and uncle Nathan is two blessed fools,”
said Keziah, with a sort of resigned contempt, as
she went to work mixing a hoe-cake in the most
scientific manner, and, after placing it in the hot
ashes to bake, began making an olla podrida that
sent forth a most savory odor.

While thus engaged, she kept up with Nathan a
discussion of “ways and means.” When they differed
in their opinion as to the best course to choose,
they appealed to Polydore, who would gladly have
acted the umpire with impartiality and dignity;
but his attention, distracted by the good things
that were in preparation, he found it impossible,
and, after chafing Keziah's temper to the uttermost
by several mal apropos answers, he lapsed into a
state of entire confusion, but placid satisfaction,
and contented himself with clinching every proposal
of hers with a “'Zackly so, Keziah,” “Dat's
all right, ole woman,” until, soothed by his admiration,
she resumed her usual grim composure, and
placed the smoking viands before him.

To have seen the enjoyment with which Polydore
fell upon these “creature comforts,” would have
given unalloyed pleasure to any benevolent heart.
No fragments were left; but when Keziah had removed
the dishes, she said,

“You know, Polydore, this is a very important
subjec' Nathan and I are consultin' about, and we
want your 'pinion.”

“'Zackly so, Keziah; I knows dat. Drive ahead.”

Thus adjured, she went on to tell him that the
subject they were conversing about was no less
than the advantages that would spring from a division
of the property, each one cultivating their
own farm, instead of working it in common as they
had been doing. They were also considering what
places they would prefer for their own share, if
Mr. Peyton should approve of the division; for
they still considered themselves as so much his
charge, that they did nothing of importance without
obtaining his consent.

They concluded that they would like to remain
as they were, neighbors, as then they could mutually
assist each other in their plans for improvement,
and protection from the extortions of the indolent
people around them.

All this was explained to Polydore, and discussed
for his benefit, while he sat quietly on a section of
the trunk of a tree, which, stripped of its bark, and
carefully smoothed, filled well enough the place of
an ottoman. It had a nice cushion and covering
of bright chintz, which gave quite a brilliant look
to Keziah's little cabin; but these only came out
in pleasant weather, when visitors from Cedar Hill

might be expected. When thus arrayed, Polydore
never thought of occupying it, but now he had settled
himself very comfortably, and, turning his head
a little away from them, listened, apparently in
motionless attention, to Nathan's calm, slowly-spoken
arguments, and Keziah's pithy and decided
remarks.

They finished what they had to say, and waited
to hear his opinion. A lower droop of the head,
and a deep, heavy breath rewarded their patience.

“He's dead asleep,” said Keziah. “I believe in
my heart if he was on de fiel' of battle he'd go to
sleep with de bullets flyin' roun' him. But it don't
make no defference—he'll do what we do.”

“He'll do what you want him to do, Keziah,”
said Nathan, with a gallant bow; “de ladies is
mighty powerful over our weakness.”

Nathan was not much given to the vanity of
complimenting, and Keziah appreciated his remark
the more on that account.

After a few more words, Nathan rose to go, saying,
“I'll tell my ole woman what we've been talking
about, and de very fust chance I get at Mas'r
Charles, I'll let him know how every thing is goin'
wrong, and, to save my soul, I can't make it right;
and I know he'll agree with us. You see, Keziah,
I feel troubled 'bout my chillun. Naterally, dey
ar as good chillun as ever lived, and we tries our

best to larn 'em to obey dar parents, and to walk
in de ways of de Lord. But we can't keep 'em
from 'sociating with de oders; and dey larn such
mighty bad tricks and words. If we have a farm
to ourselves, we can live more to one side, you know.”

And this conversation led to the proposal to Mr.
Peyton that the land should be divided.

To this he readily consented. He saw that matters
could not be much worse, and perhaps, when
each one felt himself individually responsible, they
might improve.

He had a long talk with the delinquents, to urge
them to their duty. They all acknowledged their
short-comings, and promised amendment; but when
he placed several motives before them to incite them
to improvement—among others, the increased respect
with which they would be regarded—he
always received this reply—varied occasionally in
language, but conveying the same idea—

“Laws! Mas'r Charles, a nigger can't be any
thing but a nigger.”

The only resource he had, when reduced to this
emergency, was to remind them that in heaven all
distinction of race or color is unknown, and that
they could hardly attain a state of blessedness in
the other world without performing their duty in
this.

But there were only a few on whom this argument

seemed to produce any effect. It is a melancholy
fact, that the external reality of heavenly
things is but little felt, even by the greater part
of those whose minds are trained to consider them
from infancy. How, then, can we blame these
ignorant beings, whose mental faculties lie almost
dormant for want of exercise, if, having no earthly
motives to stimulate them, they neglect the divine
ones that are offered in their stead?

To do right, for the pure love of right, or the
love of God, is a very difficult thing. Few know
how difficult; for there are but few who have not
some other helps to their upward course, in the
approbation of friends, the increased esteem of their
acquaintances, and the growing influence they must
feel they exert in society.

These inducements can be applied but in a limited
degree to the negro; and, with every earthly
aspiration crushed out of his heart by the overpowering
superiority of the white man in social and
political advantages, it is no wonder he improves
so slowly, or displays so little desire for intellectual
cultivation.

The division of the land worked admirably for
Nathan, Keziah, and Polydore.

All encouraging and assisting each other, their
little places soon wore a look of thrift and comfort
that gladdened Mr. Peyton's heart.

Their farms looked, amid the general decay and
desolation around them, like oases in the desert,
and, by contrast, served to bring out more prominently
the improvidence and want of steadiness of
purpose in the others, who had the same advantages.

Those only whose lives were regulated by their
consciences and the word of God, were found strong
enough to bear the trial of worldly prosperity. Those
governed by lower motives sank, as soon as fear of
their master's displeasure, or desire of his approval,
were withdrawn, into a state of apathy as far as
regarded every thing but their bodily comforts—
and even those were reduced to a lower scale than
before.

Mr. Peyton, though sick at heart whenever he
thought of the failure of this experiment, commenced
with such sanguine hopes, yet did not lose his interest
in those who had once been his peculiar charge.

He labored earnestly to undo the evil he had
unwittingly done to the community, by throwing
upon it so many idle and useless people, who were
allowing their children to grow up in practices of
petty pilfering and vagrancy, which rendered them
a nuisance to the neighborhood.

Every year of Mr. Peyton's life made his mistake
clearer to him. Yet he was just enough not to
attribute his disappointment to an inherent defect

in the character of the colored race. Other people
so situated, with so few inducements to self-improvement,
might have worked much greater injury
to society than they had done. He only felt that
extreme caution was necessary before again taking
a step that involved so much.