University of Virginia Library

1. PART I
ON THE PLANTATION

1. Happy Days on the Plantation
BY SUSAN DABNEY SMEDES (1840)

ON wedding occasions, the bride always expected a good many gifts, besides materials for a cake; and some of the master's family must be present. The mistress's big prayer-book was taken over, and the marriage service read by one of the young masters. The slaves would not be satisfied unless the bride and the cake were duly complimented.

At one of the weddings the bridegroom did not respond when his time came. "Solomon," said the young master,"say thou wilt.""Thou wilt,"repeated Solomon in his most solemn voice. The marriage ceremony went on. "Courtenay, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband to live together after God's holy ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony ? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live ? ""I does,"responded the bride.

The nurse who took care of the women when their babies were born received a fee each time. The mothers themselves looked upon these seasons as

gala times. They were provided with flour, sugar, dried fruit, and often meals from the table, and a woman to do all their cooking, washing, and housework for a month. Their cabins were clean and orderly, their beds gay with bright quilts, and often the pillows were snowy enough to tempt any head.

When we children were allowed to go to see some of the servants, they delighted in setting out a little feast. If they had nothing else, we were not allowed to go without bringing home a new-laid egg or two. Once at Christmas, Mammy Harriet gave a "high tea"to us children. I was at that time about fourteen years of age, the oldest invited.

Mammy had made a nice cake and hot biscuits and tea for the occasion, set out in her choicest cups, some of rare old china, with sugar in the sugar-bowl that she had inherited from her mother. She gave us besides, sweetmeats, nuts, raisins, fruits of several kinds— indeed, a delightful tea; and she stood behind us waiting on the table, looking very much pleased, her bright bandanna handkerchief towering aloft on her bead.

The children delighted in teaching the house-servants. One night a twelve-year old school-mistress formally invited the whole family, the master, mistress, governess, and guests, to hear her pupils recite poetry. She had about a dozen of the maids, old and young, Mammy Maria among them. One of the guests was quite astonished to see his own slave, whom he had brought with him to Burleigh, get up and recite a piece of poetry that had been learned with pains for this occasion.

Some of the sons taught those of the plantation negroes who cared to learn, but very few were willing to

take the trouble to study. Virginius was successful with his scholars. Five of them learned to read so well that they became preachers. For his salary as teacher he got one dozen eggs a month, or occasionally a pullet at the end of two months. He taught in the kitchen by the light of pine torches. His method of enforcing discipline on these middle-aged men was truly ludicrous. His own tutor was one of the old-fashioned sort, and did not spare the rod in the morning; so at night Virginius belabored the backs of his sturdy fellows. His beatings were received with shouts of laughter, the whole school would be in an uproar, the scholars dodging about to escape the young pedagogue's stick, and the cook and other on-lookers roaring with laughter. One of the graduates asked his advice as to a course of reading, suggesting hisotry as the branch that he wished to pursue. The youthful teacher promptly advised "Robinson Crusoe," and lent his own handsome copy to this promising pupil. After reading one hundred pages, Joe came to him and said, "Mars Virginius, did you say dat book was history?" Virginius explained as well as he could what fiction was, on which Joe said, "I bin mistrustin' all 'long dar some o' de things what Robinson Crusoe say warn't true."

2. Aunt Charity and the Speculator
BY CHARITY BOWERY (1844)

I Am about sixty-five years old, and was born near Edenton, North Carolina. My master was very kind to his slaves: if an overseer whipped them, he was

turned away. Master used to whip them himself sometimes, with hickory switches as large as my little finger. My mother nursed all his children: she was reckoned a very good servant; and our mistress made it a point to give one of my mother's children to each of her own. I fell to the lot of Elizabeth, her second daughter, and it was my business to wait upon her.

Oh, my old mistress was a kind woman. She was the same as a mother to poor Charity. If Charity wanted to learn to spin, she let her learn; if Charity wanted to learn to knit, she let her learn; if Charity wanted to learn to weave, she let her learn. I had a wedding when I was married; and when my dear good mistress died, she charged her children never to separate me and my husband; "for,"said she, "if ever there

was a match made in heaven, it was Charity and her husband."My husband was a nice good man; and mistress knew we set stores by one another. Her children promised they never would separate me from my husband and children. Indeed, they used to tell me they would never sell me at all; and I am sure they meant what they said. But my young master got into trouble. He used to come home and sit leaning his head on his hand by the hour, without speaking to any body. I saw something was the matter; and I begged him to tell me what made him look so worried. He told me he owed seventeen hundred dollars, that he could not pay; and he was afraid he would have to go to prison. I begged him to sell me and my children, rather than to go to jail. I saw the tears come into his eyes. "I don't know, Charity,"said he; "I'll see what can be done. One thing you may feel easy about; I will never separate you from your husband and children, let what will come."

Two or three days after he came to me, and said; "Charity, how should you like to be sold to Mr. Kinmore?"I told him I would rather be sold to him than to any body else, because my husband belonged to him. Mr. Kinmore agreed to buy us; and so I and my children went there to live. He was a kind master; but as for mistress Kinmore,— she was a divil! Mr. Kinmore died a few years after he bought us; and in his will he left me and my husband free; but I never knew anything about it, for years afterward. I don't know how they managed it. My poor husband died, and never knew that he was free. But it's all the same now. He's among the ransomed.

Sixteen children I've had, first and last; and twelve

I've nursed for my mistress. From the time my first baby was born, I always set my heart upon buying freedom for some of my children. I thought it was of more consequence to them than to me; for I was old, and used to being a slave. But mistress Kinmore wouldn't let me have my children. One after another she sold 'em away from me.

I tried every way I could, to lay up a copper to buy my children; but I found it pretty hard; for mistress kept me at work all the time. It was "Charity! Charity! Charity!"from morning till night. "Charity, do this,"and "Charity, do that."

I used to do the washings of the family; and large washings they were. The public road ran right by my little hut; and I thought to myself, while I stood there at the wash-tub, I might just as well as not, be earnin 'o'— something to buy my children. So I set up a little oyster-board; and when anybody came along, that wanted a few oysters and a cracker, I left my wash-tub and waited upon him. When I got a little money laid up, I went to my mistress and tried to buy one of my children. She knew how long my heart had been set upon it, and how hard I had worked for it. But she wouldn't let me have one ! So, I went to work again; and sat up late nights, in hopes I could earn enough to tempt her. When I had two hundred dollars, I went to her again ; but she thought she could find a better market, and she wouldn't let me have one. As last, what do you think that woman did? She sold me and five of my children to the speculators!

Surely, ma'am, there's always some good comes of being kind to folks. While I kept my oyster-board, there was a thin, peaked-looking man, used to come

and buy of me. Sometimes he would say, "Aunt Charity, (he always called me Aunt Charity,) you must fix me up a nice little mess, for I feel poorly to-day."I always made something good for him—, and if he didn't happen to have any change, I always trusted him. He liked my messes mighty well.—Now, who do you think that should turn out to be, but the very speculator that bought me! He came to me, and said he, "Aunt Charity, you've been very good to me, and fixed me up many a nice little mess, when I've been poorly; and now you shall have your freedom for it, and I'll give you your youngest child."

Well, after that I concluded I'd come to the Free States. But mistress had one child of mine; a boy about twelve years old. I had always set my heart upon buying Richard. He was the image of his father; and my husband was a nice good man; and we set stores by one another. Besides I was always uneasy in my mind about Richard. He was a spirity lad; and I knew it was very hard for him to be a slave. Many a time, I have said to him, "Richard, let what will happen, never lift your hand against your master."

But I knew it would always be hard work for him to be a slave. I carried all my money to my mistress, and told her I had more due to me; and if all of it wasn't enough to buy my poor boy, I'd work hard and send her all my earnings till she said I had paid enough. She knew she could trust me. She knew Charity always kept her word. But she was a hard-hearted woman. She wouldn't let me have my boy. With a heavy heart, I went to work to earn more, in hopes I might one day be able to buy him.

To be sure, I didn't get much more time, than I did when I was a slave; for mistress was always calling upon me; and I didn't like to disoblige her. I wanted to keep the right side of her, in hopes she'd let me have my boy. One day she sent me of an errand. I had to wait some time. When I come back, mistress was counting a heap of bills in her lap. She was a rich woman,—she rolled in gold. My little girl stood behind her chair and as mistress counted the money— ten dollars,— twenty dollars,— fifty dollars,— I saw that she kept crying. I thought may be mistress had struck her. But when I see the tears keep rolling down her cheeks all the time, I went up to her, and whispered, "What's the matter?"She pointed to mistress's lap and said, "Broder's money! Broder's money! "Oh, then I understood it all! I said to mistress Kinmore, "Have you sold my boy?"Without looking up from counting her money she drawled out, "Yes, Charity; and I got a great price for him!"

Oh, my heart was too full! She had sent me away of an errand, because she didn't want to be troubled with our cries. I hadn't any chance to see my poor boy. I shall never see him again in this world. My heart felt as if it was under a great load of lead. I couldn't speak my feelings. I never spoke them to her, from that day to this. As I went out of the room, I lifted up my hands, and all I could say was, "Mistress, how could you do it?"

Here I have taken in washing; and my daughter is smart at her needle; and we get a very comfortable living.

3. A Southern Planter's House
BY EMILY BURKE (1845)

THE house which I promised in my last letter to describe stood upon four posts about five feet from the ground, allowing a free circulation of air beneath, as well as forming a fine covert for the hounds, goats, and all the domestic fowls. It was only one story

high, though much taller than buildings of the same description at the North. It was divided into four rooms below, and two in the roof, and was furnished with two broad piazzas, one in front of the building, which is always the gentleman's sitting room, and one on the back of the house, where the servants await their master's orders. Houses are built low on account of the high winds, for their foundations are so frail that otherwise they would easily be thrown down in one of the heavy gales.

The building was slightly covered with boards arranged like clapboards to shed the rain. This was the entire thickness of the walls; there was no ceiling, lathing, or plastering within. The floors were all single and laid in so unworkmanlike manner that I could often see the ground beneath, when the carpets were not on the floor; and they are always taken up in the summer, to make the apartments cooler. The roof was covered with long shingles nailed to the timbers, to save the expense of boards beneath, with the ends of one tier just lapping upon the next, and the work was so shabby that not only the wind, but the light and rain often found free access into the upper rooms, through ten thousand holes among the shingles. Two chimneys ornamented the outside of the house, one upon each end, built of turfs, sticks, blocks of wood, and occasionally a brick, plastered over with clay. The windows were furnished with panes of glass, a luxury but few enjoy; after all, glazed windows were used more for ornament than comfort, for in the coldest weather they were always raised, and in stormy weather the piazzas protected the inner rooms.

The above is as true a description as I can give of the singular house to which I was conducted on my arrival in the country. My appearance there was altogether unexpected by the whole family, and there was much inquiry among the negroes and the younger members of the family, why I was there, who I was, and whence the strange lady bad come, who had so unexpectedly dropped in among them. From the room in which I sat, I could look into all the

other rooms about me, and I was not a little amused to see many dark forms with bare feet and noiseless steps flitting about from one place to another, to get a peep at the new corner, and to hear the whisperings on all sides of me, of which I well understood I was the subject. The servants would come to the windows on the outside, and lift up one corner of the curtain to steal a look at me, others would creep softly up the steps of the piazza and peep into the door. One old woman, less bashful than the others, ventured into the room, dressed in a coarse cotton gown, extending a little below the knees, with bare feet, neck, and arms, and came before me and made a low courtesy, accompanied by the formal salutation, "how de Misses; "she then sat down on the floor at a little distance from me, and in a very respectful manner entered into conversation. She was one of the oldest women on the plantation, and though one of the field hands, she had free access to her master's house, and she possessed such a good share of common sense that her master and mistress always consulted her on important matters, and she was looked up to and reverenced by the whole family as a sort of mother.

All this time I was eagerly watching to see if there were any preparations going on preliminary to a supper, but as I could discover none, and it was then near nine o'clock, I had just summoned all my fortitude to meet my hungry fate with the most becoming resignation, when a robust young woman came up the steps of the back piazza into the room where I was, and brought out two or three large tables, which reached nearly from one side of the room to the other, and began to lay them for supper. Presently

another young woman came from the same quarter, bringing the eatables. When all these preparations were complete, the tea-bell was rung from the piazza. To my great surprise, for I had seen only two or three white persons, a family of twenty or twenty-five persons, consisting partly of transient members and visitors gathered round the table; where they all came from, was a mystery to me.

Soon after tea I was conducted to one of the chambers in the roof, the room I was to occupy while a resident in the family. My first impressions concerning my future comfort were very unfavorable; yet I soon learned that my accommodations for that place were unusually good, and when I had a view of the surrounding scenery from my windows, it was in one of the most delightful situations; but the darkness of evening when I first entered my room shut out from my view every object but the rough walls around me, and my forebodings could not be thought strange. Though the house was of but one story, it was so built that I bad three windows in my chamber, all closed with heavy board shutters. The floor was smooth and white, and the walls celled to the windows, the remainder being rough boards. Overhead there was nothing to be seen but the unfinished timbers and shingles warped into queer shapes. My bed had very high posts, and was covered with a spread so small that it gave the bed the appearance of standing on stilts.

When I was nicely tucked in beneath the quilts and coverlets and had extinguished my light, I was utterly thrown into the horrors, to find no close warm shelter for my head; being raised in a land where every one is taught to be afraid of the least crevice

that will admit the cold air, I could not shut my eyes to sleep for perfect terror at those thousands of holes in the roof, through which the light of the moon was staring in upon me; they seemed to me, through the greater part of that night, to be so many cold and freezing eyes trying to look me out of countenance.

In the morning when I threw open my blinds, and took a view of the surrounding scenery, I began to feel much more reconciled to my situation. At the south-cast the ever-rolling Atlantic stretched itself out as far as the eye could reach, and where the sky and water seemed to meet, now and then a sloop would lose itself to the sight, or a little white speck would appear which would grow larger and larger till a ship under full sail would ride majestically over the mighty waves. On all other sides of the plantation the dark green forest of the long leafed pines completely hemmed us in, separating us from all other plantations and leaving us a little world by ourselves.

4. The Kidnapper
By MRS. KATE PICKARD (1848)

LATE in the afternoon of a pleasant summer day, two little boys were playing before the door of their mother's cottage. They were apparently about six or eight years old, and though their faces wore a dusky hue, their hearts were gay, and their laugh rang out clear and free. Their dress was coarse, and in no wise restrained the motions of their agile limbs, for it consisted merely of a cotton shirt, reaching

no lower than the knee. How they ran races down the road, and turned summersets on the green grass! How their eyes danced with merriment, and their white teeth glistened in the pleasant light!

But as the day wore on they grew weary, and with childhood's first impulse, sought their mother. She was not in the house. All there was still and lonely. In one corner stood her bed, covered with a clean blanket, and the baby's cradle was empty by its side. Grandmother's bed, in another corner of the room, was made up nicely, and every article of the simple furniture was in its accustomed place. Where could they all have gone ?

"I reckon,"said Levin, "mammy's gone to church. The preachin' must be mighty long! 0! I's so hongry! I's gwine to meetin' to see if she's thar."

The "church"stood in the woods, about a mile off. It was an old white building that had formerly been occupied by a family, who now lived in a large brick house close by. The boys bad often been at the church with their father, who kept the key of the building, and opened it for worship on Sundays, and prayer-meeting nights.

"You better not go thar, I reckon,"replied Peter, the younger of the two boys, "Mammy'll whip you well if you goes to foller her to meetin', and all about."

"Mammy! 0 Mammy!"

Thus they called their mother, and cried because she did not answer, till their eyes were swollen, and their pleasant play forgotten.

Soon the sound of wheels diverted them for a moment from their childish grief, and looking up the

road, they saw a handsome gig approaching. Its only occupant was a tall dark man, with black and glossy hair, which fell heavily below his white hat. He looked earnestly at the little boys as he approached, and marking their evident distress, he checked his horse, and kindly asked the cause of their sorrow.

"Oh! Mammy's done gone off, and there's nobody to give us our supper,. and we're so hongry."

"Where is your mother?"

"Don't know, sir,"replied Levin, "but I reckon she's gone to church."

"Well, don't you want to ride? jump up here with me, and I'll take you to your mother. I'm just going to church. Come I quick! What ! no clothes but a shirt? Go in and get a blanket. It will be night soon, and you will be cold."

Away they both ran for a blanket. Levin seized one from his mother's bed, and in his haste pushed the door against his brother, who was robbing his grandmother's couch of its covering. The blanket was large, and little Peter, crying all the while, was repeatedly tripped by its falling under his feet while he was running to the gig.

The stranger lifted them up, and placing them between his feet, covered them carefully with the blankets, that they might not be cold. He spoke kindly to them, meanwhile, still assuring them that be would soon take them to their mother. Away they went very swiftly, rejoicing in their childish hearts to think how their mother would wonder when she should see them coming.

After riding for some time,—bow long they could not guess—they suddenly upset in the water with a

great splash. The strange man had, in his haste, driven too near the bank of the river, and the slight vehicle had thus been overturned. He soon rescued the children from the water. They were much frightened, but nothing was injured by the accident, and in a few minutes they were once more covered with the blankets, and flying along the river bank faster even than before.

When the gig stopped again, the sun was just setting. They were at the water side, and before them lay many boats, and vessels of different kinds. They had never seen anything like these before, but they had short time to gratify their childish curiosity ; for they were hurried on board a boat, which left the shore immediately.

With the assurance that they should now find their mother, they trusted implicitly in their new-made friend; who strengthened their confidence in himself by gentle words and timely gifts. Cakes of marvellous sweetness were ever ready for them, if they grew impatient of the length of & journey; and their childish hearts could know no distrust of one whose words and acts were kind.

How long they were on the boat they did not know; nor by what other means they travelled could they afterwards remember, until they reached Versailles, Kentucky. Here their self-constituted guardian, whom they now heard addressed as Kincaid, placed them in a wagon with a colored woman and her child, and conveyed them to Lexington. This was the first town they had ever seen, and as they were conducted up Main street, they were filled with wonder and admiration.

Kincaid took them to a plain brick house where

dwelt one John Fisher, a mason by trade, and proprietor of a large brick yard.

After some conversation between the gentlemen, which of course the children did not understand, they were taken out to the kitchen, and presented to Aunt Betty, the cook.

"There, my boys,"said Kincaid, "there is your mother-we've found her at last."

"No! no! "they shrieked, , that's not our mother! 0, please, sir! take us back! "With tears and cries they clung to him who had abused their guileless trust, and begged him not to leave them there.

This scene was soon ended by John Fisher himself, who, with a hearty blow on each cheek, bade them "hush! ""You belong to me now, you little rascals, and I'll have no more of this. There's Aunt Betty, she's your mammy now; and if you behave yourselves, she'll be good to you."

Kincaid soon departed, and they never saw him again. They learned, however, from a white apprentice, who lived in the house, that he received from Mr. Fisher one hundred and fifty-five dollars for Levin, and one hundred and fifty for Peter.

For the first few weeks the children talked constantly of going back to their mother— except when their master was near. They soon learned that they must not mention the subject in his presence. He was, in the main, a kind, indulgent man—but were they not his money ? Why should he allow them to prate about being stolen, when he had bought them, and paid a right good price?

"Father,"said John Fisher, junior, "isn't Philadelphia in a free, State ?"

"Certainly—it is in Pennsylvania."

"Well then, I reckon those two boys you bought were stolen, for they lived with their mother near the Delaware river; and Aunt Betty says that is at Philadelphia. It was too bad, father, for that man to steal them and sell them here, where they can never hear from their mother!"

"Pooh, boy! don't talk like a fool! Most likely they were sold to Kincaid, and he told them be would take them to their mother, in order to get them away without any fuss. And even if he did steal them—so were all the negroes stolen at first. I bought these boys, and. paid for them, and I'll stop their talk about being free, or I'll break their black necks. A pretty tale that, to go about the country—just to spoil the sale if I should happen to wish to get rid of them !, Free indeed! And what is a free nigger? They're better off here than if they were free, growing up in idleness, and with nobody to take care of them."

Before night the young offenders were thoroughly kicked and beaten, and received the assurance, that they should be killed outright if they dared to tell such a tale again. So they grew cautious; and spoke those sweet memories of home and mother only in whispers to each other, or to some fellow-slave who knew how to sympathize with their sorrows.

5. Topsy's Arrival
By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE (1852)

ONE morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her domestic cares, St. Clare's voice was heard, calling her at the foot of the stairs.

Come down here, cousin; I've something to show you.

"What is it?"said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with her sewing in her hand.

"I've made a purchase for your department,—see here,"said St. Clare; and, with the word, he pulled along a little negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.

She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round, shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas'r's parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most doleful gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with her hands demurely folded before her. Altogether, there was something odd and goblin-like about her appearance,— something, as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, "so heathenish,"as to inspire that good lady with utter dismay; and, turning to St. Clare, she said,—

"Augustine, what in the world have you brought that thing here for ?"

"For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy,"he added, giving a whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a dog, "give us a song, now, and show its some of your dancing."

The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked drollery, and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an odd negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in her throat all those odd gutteral sounds which distinguish the native music of her race ; and finally, turning a somerset or two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam-whistle , she came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with her hands folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of meekness and solemnity over her face, only broken by the cunning glances which she shot askance from the corners of her eyes.

Miss Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with amazement.

St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to enjoy her astonishment; and, addressing the child again, said,—

"Topsy, this is your new mistress. I'm going to give you up to her; see, now, that you behave your. self."

"Yes, Mas'r,"said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.

"You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand,"said St. Clare.

"Oh, yes, Mas'r,"said Topsy, with another twinkle, her hands still devoutly folded.

"Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for?"said Miss Ophelia. "Your house is so full of these little plagues, now, that a body can't set down their foot without treading on 'em. I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door, and see one

black head poking out from under the table, one lying on the door-mat,— and they are mopping and mowing and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the kitchen floor! What on earth did you ,want to bring this one for?"

"For you to educate,—didn't I tell you? You're always preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go."

"Well, I'll do what I can,"said Miss Ophelia; and she approached her new subject very much as a person might be supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to have benevolent designs toward it.

"She's dreadfully dirty, and half naked,"she said.

"Well, take her downstairs, and make some of them clean and clothe her up."

Miss Ophelia carried her to the kitchen regions.

When arrayed at last in a suit of decent and whole clothing, her hair cropped short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfaction, said she looked more Christian-like than she did, and in her own mind began to mature some plans for her instruction,

Sitting down before her, she began to question her.

"How old are you, Topsy?"

"Dunno, Missis,"said the image, with a grin that showed all her teeth.

"Don't know how old you are? Didn't anybody ever tell you ? Who was your mother?"

"Never had none! "said the child, with another grin, that looked so goblin-like, that, if Miss Ophelia had been at all nervous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of some sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie; but Miss Ophelia was not nervous, but

plain and business-like, and she said, with some sternness,

"You mustn't answer me in that way, child; I'm not playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who your father and mother were."

"Never was born,"reiterated the creature, more emphatically; "never had no father nor mother, nor nothin'. I was raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue used to take car' on us."

"How long have you lived with your master and mistress ?"

"Dunno, Missis."

"Is it a year, or more, or less ?

"Dunno, Missis."

"Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy ?"

The child looked bewildered, but grinned as usual.

"Do you know who made you?"

"Nobody, as I knows on," said the child, with a short laugh.

The idea appeared to amuse her considerably; for her eyes twinkled, and she added,—

"I spect I grow'd. Don't think nobody never made me."

"Do you know how to sew? "said Miss Ophelia, who thought she would turn her inquiries to something. more tangible.

"No, Missis."

"What can you do?— what did you do for your master and mistress?"

"Fetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and wait on folks."

"Were they good to you?"

"Spect they was,"said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia cunningly.

Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy; St. Clare was leaning over the back of her chair.

"You find virgin soil there, cousin; put in your own ideas,—you won't find many to pull up."

6. Topsy's Education
By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE (1852)

MISS OPHELIA'S ideas of education, like all her other ideas, were very set and definite, and of the kind that prevailed in New England a century ago, and which are still preserved in some very retired and unsophisticated parts, where there are no railroads. As nearly as could be expressed, they could be comprised in very few words: to teach them to mind when they were spoken to ; to teach them the catechism, sewing, and reading; and to whip them if they told lies. And though, of course, in the flood of light that is now poured on education, these are left far away in the rear, yet it is an undisputed fact that our grandmothers raised some tolerably fair men and women under this régime, as many of us can remember and testify. At all events, Miss Ophelia knew of nothing else to do; and, therefore, applied her mind to her heathen with the best diligence she could command.

The child was announced and considered in the family as Miss Ophelia's girl; and, as she was looked upon with no gracious eye in the kitchen, Miss

Ophelia resolved to confine her sphere of operation and instruction chiefly to her own chamber. With a self-sacrifice which some of our readers will appreciate, she resolved, instead of comfortably making her own bed, sweeping and dusting her own chamber,—which she had hitherto done, in utter scorn of all offers of help from the chambermaid of the establishment, —to condemn herself to the martyrdom of instructing Topsy to perform these operations, Miss Ophelia began with Topsy by taking her into her chamber, the first morning, and solemnly commencing a course of instruction in the art and mystery of bed-making.

Behold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little braided tails wherein her heart had delighted, arrayed in a clean gown, with well-starched apron, standing reverently before Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well befitting a funeral ,

"Now, Topsy, I'm going to show you just how my bed is to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must learn exactly how to do it."

"Yes, ma'am,"says Topsy, with a deep sigh, and a face of woeful earnestness.

"Now, Topsy, look here;— this is the hem of the sheet,—this is the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong;—will you remember?"

"Yes, ma'am,"says Topsy, with another sigh.

"Well, now, the under sheet you must bring Over the bolster,— so,— and tuck it clear down under the mattress nice and smooth,—so, -do you see?"

"Yes, ma'am,"said Topsy, with profound attention.

"But the upper sheet,"said Miss Ophelia, "must be brought down in this way, and tucked under firm

and smooth at the foot,—so,—the narrow hem at the foot."

"Yes, ma'am,"said Topsy, as before; but we will add, what Miss Ophelia did not see, that, during the time when the good lady's back was turned, in the zeal of her manipulations, the young disciple had contrived to snatch a pair of gloves and a ribbon, which she had adroitly slipped into her sleeves, and stood with her hands dutifully folded, as before.

"Now, Topsy, let's see you do this,"said Miss Ophelia, pulling off the clothes, and seating herself. Topsy, with great gravity and adroitness, went through the exercise completely to Miss Ophelia's satisfaction; smoothing the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and exhibiting, through the whole process, a gravity and seriousness with which her instructress was greatly edified. By an unlucky slip, however, a fluttering fragment of the ribbon hung out of one of her sleeves, just as she was finishing, and caught Miss Ophelia's attention. Instantly she pounced upon it. "What's this? You naughty, wicked child,—you've been stealing this!"

The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy's own sleeve, yet was she not in the least disconcerted; she only looked at it with an air of the most surprised and unconscious innocence, "Laws! why, that ar's Miss Feely's ribbon, an't it? How could it 'a' got caught in my sleeve? "

"Topsy, you naughty girl, don't you tell me a lie, -you stole that ribbon!"

"Missis, I declar for 't, I didn't;—never seed it till dis yer blessed minnit."

"Topsy,"said Miss Ophelia, "don't you know it's wicked to tell lies?"

"I never tells no lies, Miss Feely,"said Topsy, with virtuous gravity; "it's jist the truth I've been a-tellin' now, and an't nothin' else."

"Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so."

"Laws, Missis, if you's to whip all day, couldn't say no other way,"said Topsy, beginning to blubber. "I never seed dat ar,— it must 'a' got caught in my sleeve. Miss Feely must have left it on the bed, and it got caught in the clothes, and so got in my sleeve."

Miss Ophelia was so indignant at the barefaced lie, that she caught the child, and shook her.

"Don't you tell me that again!

The shake brought the gloves on the floor, from the other sleeve.

"There, you!"said Miss Ophelia, "will you tell me now, you didn't steal the ribbon ?"

Topsy now confessed to the gloves, but still persisted in denying the ribbon. I—

"Now, Topsy,"said Miss Ophelia, "if you'll confess all about it, I won't whip you this time."

Thus adjured, Topsy confessed to the ribbon and gloves, with woeful protestations of penitence.

"Well now, tell me. I know you must have taken other things since you have been in the house, for I let you run about all day yesterday. Now, tell me if you took anything, and I shan't whip you."

"Laws, Missis! I took Miss Eva's red thing. she wars on her neck."

"You did, you naughty child!-Well, what else?

"I took Rosa's yer-rings,—them red ones."

"Go bring them to me this minute, both of 'em."

"Laws, Missis! I can't,—they's burnt up!

"Burnt up!— what a story! Go get 'em, or I'll whip you."

Topsy, with loud protestations, and tears, and groans, declared that she could not. "They's burnt up,—they was."

"What did you burn 'em up for?"said Miss Ophelia.

"'Cause I's wicked,-I is. I's mighty wicked, anyhow. I can't help it."

Just at this moment, Eva came innocently into the room, with the identical coral necklace on her neck.

"Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?"said Miss Ophelia.

"Get it ? Why, I've had it on all day,"said Eva. Did you have it on yesterday?"

"Yes; and what is funny, aunty, I had it on all night. I forgot to take it off when I went to bed."

Miss Ophelia looked perfectly bewildered; the more so, as Rosa, at that instant, came into the room, with a basket of newly ironed linen poised on her head, and the coral car-drops shaking in her ears!

"I'm sure I can't tell anything what to do with such a child! "she said, in despair. "What in the world did you tell me you took those things for, Topsy ?"

"Why, Missis said I must 'fess; and I couldn't think of nothin' else to 'fess,"said Topsy, rubbing her eyes.

"But, of course, I didn't want you to confess things you didn't do,"said Miss Ophelia; "that's telling a lie, just as much as the other."

"Laws, now, is ' it?"said Topsy, with an air of innocent wonder.

Eva stood looking at Topsy.

There stood the two children, representatives of the two extremes of society. The fair, high-bred child, with her golden head, her deep eyes, her spiritual, noble brow, and prince-like movements; and her black, keen, subtle, cringing, yet acute neighbor. They stood the representatives of their races. The Saxon, born of ages of cultivation, command, education, physical and moral eminence; the Afric, born of ages of oppression, submission, ignorance, toil, and vice!

Something, perhaps, of such thoughts struggled through Eva's mind. But a child's thoughts are rather dim, undefined instincts; and in Eva's noble nature many such were yearning and working, for which she had no power of utterance. When Miss Ophelia expatiated on Topsy's naughty, wicked conduct, the child looked perplexed and sorrowful, but said, sweetly,—

"Poor Topsy, why need you steal? You're going to be taken good care of, now. I'm sure I'd rather give you anything of mine, than have you steal it."

It was the first word of kindness the child had ever beard in her life; and the sweet tone and manner struck strangely on the wild, rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a tear shone in the keen, round, glittering eye; but it was followed by the short laugh and habitual grin. No! the ear that has never heard anything but abuse is strangely incredulous of anything so heavenly as kindness; and Topsy only thought Eva's speech something funny and inexplicable,— she did not believe it.

7. How Friedman bought Peter
By MRS. KATE PICKARD (1848)

PETER commenced the year with high hopes. His last year's gains had greatly encouraged him, for he had laid up, besides expending over thirty dollars for his family, one hundred and five dollars; which made two hundred and ten dollars now in his possession. The hope of being free he had thus far communicated to none but his true-hearted wife; but now, as he had become satisfied that Mr. Friedman was his friend, he determined to seek his co-operation in his plan. This resolution was not formed without the most careful consideration; and yet, when he approached the counting-room for the purpose of opening his cherished plans, his heart throbbed painfully, and his knees trembled so that he could scarcely walk.

"Mr. Friedman,"said he, "I've got something I want to tell you, but it's a great secret."

"Well, Peter—"

"I've been a thinking', sir, I'd like to buy myself; and you've always dealt so fa'r with me, I didn't know but you mought buy me, and than give me a chance."

Friedman's countenance brightened. He had become much attached to Peter, and had often wished in his heart that by some means the faithful fellow might be free, but such a plan as this had not occurred to him.

"Can you get the money, Peter?"

"I reckon I could, if you didn't pay too high for

me. Mars John Henry oughtn't to ask a great price for me, no how, when I served the family so long."

"How much shall I give for you?"

"I think, sir, five hundred dollars is as much as you ought to pay."

"Hogun will not sell you for that price,"said the Jew. "John Pollock offered him six hundred, and he laughed at him. Some men in town would give eight hundred dollars for you-not because you are worth so much, but because they know you."

"Well, sir, I have served the family for thirty-five years. I have earned'em a heap of money, and have been mighty little trouble or expense. They can afford to sell me for five hundred dollars."

"Yes:—well, I will speak to Hogun."

The proposition received, at first, but little favor. Peter was an old family servant, and they intended to keep him in the family as long as he lived. They did not wish to sell him.

"Well,"said Friedman, "I would like to buy him. He has a cough, and if be belonged to me; I would try to cure it, but while he is your property, I can do nothing for him. I will give you five hundred dollars."

Hogun turned away. He did not want to sell the boy; if he did, that was no price for him. He would bring twice that sum.

After several attempts to purchase him had been unsuccessful, Peter determined to try the power of his own eloquence. Accordingly, during the last week of the year, he went out to the plantation.

His young mistress had gone with her husband to town ; but they soon returned. Peter met them at the gate, and "Miss Sarah,"after shaking hands with

him, went in; while the young master remained in the yard to inquire after his health. His cough was particularly troublesome whenever any of his master's family were near, and now it annoyed him exceedingly. "Ugh! ugh! Mass'r John Henry, I come to see you 'bout Mr. Friedman buyin' me. I like to live with him; and he said he done named it to YOU."

"Yes, he did; but be didn't offer any price for you— only five hundred dollars."

"Well, Mass'r John Henry, ain't that thar enough for me?"

"No— I can get a thousand dollars for you any day."

"Ugh! ugh! I think you mighty hard to ask such a big price for me when I been in your service so long. Miss Sarah done got all my arnins ever since I belonged to her great uncle, Mars Nattie Gist. Now when I'm a'most fifty years old, ugh! ugh ! ugh! I think five hundred dollars is enough for me; and 'pears like, sir, you oughtent to ask no more."

"Well, Peter, you know people like to get all they can for their property; and it makes no difference to you, any bow, whether I sell you for a big price or a little one."

"Yes, sir, it does, Mass'r John, kase if a person gives a thousand dollars for me, he 'lows he's gwine to work it out of me; but Mr. Friedman just wants me to wait on him about the store; and he says he'll cure my cough, too— ugh ! ugh ! He can't afford to pay a big price for me, and then doctor me up."

"Well, go 'long—I don't want to sell you any how; I'd rather bring you home to wait on your Miss Sarah, and to drive the carriage than to sell you for any such price."

"Yes, sir, if you and Miss Sarah was a livin' by yourselves, I'd like that-, but I don't never want to come back to work on the plantation— ugh ! ugh! I couldn't stand that now. But I belong to you, sir, and of course I must do just as you say. What shall I do, Mass'r John?"

"Go back to town, and stay till I come to see about you."

"Goodbye, Mass'r John. Ugh! ugh! ugh!

Thus he coughed himself out of the yard. All the way back to town he walked with a heavy heart. If his master would not sell him, all his bright hopes would yet be blasted. He had, however, done all in his power. He had used every argument that would be likely to influence him in whose young hand his destiny was held— now he could only wait with patience the result.

It was not long before the young master's aversion to sell an old family servant was suddenly removed * On the tenth of January an auction was held in town of certain goods—the property of his late uncle—"Old Jimmy Hogun."Among these "goods,"were ten choice negroes, two of whom were boys about sixteen years old. These boys, young John Henry wished to own; and before they were put up, he called upon the Jew.

"Look here, Friedman,"said he, "you want Uncle Peter, and I want those boys that are for sale to-day. If you will go in and bid off one of the boys, for me, I will let you have Peter in exchange."

"I will think about it. How high will the boys go?"

"I don't know,—they're not worth as much as a tried hand like Uncle Peter. Step in, and see how the sale goes on."

He left the store, and Mr. Isaac immediately held a consultation on the subject with Peter himself. The wary slave objected to the plan. "You are not used to dealing in slaves,"said he, "and you'd best not buy the boy. There'll be some game about it. If young master wants to buy him, he'll come round, I reckon."

Soon the young gentleman called again to learn the decision of the merchant. Isaac renewed his former offer for Peter, but declined to buy the boy.

"Five hundred dollars is no price for such a servant; you may have him for six hundred, though he is worth more."

"No— I will not pay six hundred."

Away went Hogun to the auction. The two boys were soon to be put up. He grew more and more and more anxious to buy them, and at last determined to make one more effort to bring the merchant to his terms.

"Well, Friedman,"said he, as he stepped into the store, "you may have Peter for five hundred and fifty dollars."

"I will give you five hundred dollars,"said he, "my brother authorized me to pay that sum."

"But,"argued Hogun, "he is a great favorite in town—I have been offered six hundred dollars for him."

"I say I will give five hundred; not one dollar more."

The sale was going on— Hogun grew desperate. The boy he wanted would not wait for bidders, for they were choice fellows.

"Well,"said he, as he walked towards the door, "you may have him for five hundred; but it's a shame to sell him so.

Then he is mine! Yes."For five hundred dollars! Yes."

"Very well, your money will be ready when you want it."

It was night. At his desk sat the merchant, reviewing the business of the day. Cautiously the door was opened, and Peter entered the counting-room, pausing to listen before he closed the door lest some chance visitor might be approaching. All was still.

"Now, Mr. Friedman,"said the slave, while his voice trembled, and his whole frame was agitated, "I've come to pay you that money; and I reckon you won't cheat me. I've worked mighty hard to get it. There's three hundred dollars in this yer bag."

So saying, he drew the precious treasure from his pocket, glancing instinctively towards the corners of the room, to be sure that no spy was there concealed. He proceeded to untie the bag. It was made of leather—about twelve inches long, three inches wide at the bottom, and half that width across the top.

It contained pieces of silver of all sizes, and now and then, as they came forth with a melodious clinking, a piece of gold glittered in the lamp-light. When the bag was about half emptied, Peter paused. It would be so easy for him to lose it all, and he had known so many slaves defrauded of their hard-earned gains, that it seemed impossible for him to trust. 11 But,"thought he, "I've knowed Mr. Friedman a long time, and I never knowed him to do a mean trick. If I can't trust him, the Lord help me! I can't never be free without trustin' some person, any how."

He emptied the bag upon the table, and both counted it twice. It was right— three hundred dollars.

Mr. Friedman wrote a receipt for the money, and, signing it, handed it to Peter. Poor fellow! He could not read it; but he believed it genuine, and a load was lifted from his heart. After all, he might be deceived. He was in this man's power; but he resolved to trust, and to go to work with all his might to earn the balance of the sum required to make him a freeman.

The next day Mr. Hogun received the stipulated five hundred dollars, and gave a bill of sale, of which the following is a copy:

"$500. For the consideration of five hundred dollars, paid to me this day, I have sold to Joseph Friedman a negro man named Peter. I bind myself and heirs to defend the title of said negro, Peter, to the said Joseph Friedman and his heirs against all claims whatever.

"Given under my hand and seal this 15th January,

8. How Peter bought Himself
By MRS. KATE PICKARD (1848)

GREAT sympathy was felt in Tuscumbia for "poor Uncle Peter."It was so strange that Hogun would sell such a faithful old man. Of course, Friedman wanted to make money out of him; and when he became no longer profitable, he would not scruple to carry him off and sell him.

Thus spake gentlemen and ladies; and soon their

children caught the tone. "Don't you think,"said one bright little girl to another, as they walked to school, "Uncle Peter is sold!"

"Sold? I'm so sorry! Who's bought him? Are they going to carry him off ?"

"No— no, not now. Mr. Friedman's bought him. Pa says he don't doubt that Mr. Friedman will sell him the very first chance he gets to make money out of him; and then, perhaps, he'll be taken off to the rice swamps."

"Oh! that will be too bad! Aunt Milly says that in the rice swamps they don't care no more for killing black folks than they do for pigs and chickens. Oh! I'm so sorry for poor Uncle Peter! But what did they sell him for? He didn't run away—nor his master didn't die."

"I don't know what made them sell him, his master wanted the money, I reckon. Oh! I wish my Pa owned him—he wouldn't sell him, I know. Ma says she thinks it's a pity for black folks to be sold at all, but sometimes it can't be helped."

,, Well, I think it ought to be helped, for they feel so bad to be carried away off from everybody that loves them. just think—if Mr. Friedman should sell Uncle Peter away off where he never could come back— Oh ! wouldn't it be too bad?"

Said a gentleman, "Why didn't you let me know, Peter, that your master wanted to sell you? I'd not have let that Friedman get you. He'll sell you again; or, perhaps, work you to death."

"No, sir, I reckon not,"replied Peter; "Mr. Friedman's always been mighty good to me, and I reckon he'll use me fa'r. Leastways, I belong to him now, and he'll do just as he thinks best."

Meanwhile the despised and suspected merchant was arranging his future relations with the object of all this sympathy. "You may work, as you did before)."said he to Peter, "but you may keep your earnings. When you get two hundred dollars more, I will give you free papers, and you shall go where you like. I do not want your work— get all you can for yourself."

Did the heart of the slave bound at these words? Did the tears of gratitude sparkle in his eye, and the bright beams of hope irradiate his countenance ?

Peter continued his usual labors with a light heart. He had no hire to pay—his earnings were all his own.

The night after paying his three hundred dollars to Mr. Friedman, he went out to make his usual semimonthly visit to his wife. How her heart throbbed when be told her all! Again and again she asked him if he were sure Mr. Isaac would be true. The children, too, had their hundred questions. Their father was very dear to them; and now he possessed new dignity, even in their eyes. "Just think, he would soon be free!"

In September of this year, Joseph Friedman returned from Texas; and soon after, Peter paid him one hundred dollars, which he had earned since January. He seemed delighted at the success of his humble friend, and congratulated him on the prospect of soon becoming free. Only one hundred dollars was now lacking, and that, if be were prospered, he soon could earn; and then he should be free.

Patiently he toiled on. His brow was all unruffled, and no trace of care was visible on his cheerful face. He moved so quietly in his accustomed course, that

men forgot their jealousy, and little maidens ceased to pity "poor Uncle Peter."

Late in the evening of the sixteenth of April, 1850, Peter sought, once more, the counting-room of Mr. Friedman. His hand might well tremble as he raised the latch; for his all was now at stake, and he was helpless. He entered. There sat the little man, looking at him with his keen black eyes. Timidly he drew forth his leather bag, and commenced counting out the money.

A footstep approached. Mr. Friedman quietly laid a pile of papers over the coin, and the auctioneer walked in.

"What, Peter,"said he, "are you paying up ?

"Yes, Sir, Mass'r Joe make me pay him up close."

"How much do you have to pay?"

"Well, sir, he makes me pay him half dollar a day."

That's pretty tight, but it's the best way, after all."

Yes— that is so— I like to keep all close. Peter must pay me promptly."

When the neighbor's chat was ended, and they heard his receding footsteps on the sidewalk, they finished counting the money. How beautiful it looked to Peter! that little beap of coin, as he shoved it round, and felt that now his fate hung entirely on the will of the little man before him.

Mr. Friedman took up his pen, and wrote a receipt in full, together with a Certificate of Freedom, as follows:

       

Received, Tuscumbia, January 26th, 1849, of my boy Peter, three hundred dollars-	$300 00 JOS. FRIEDMAN.
Recd. Sept.1st, 1849, Of my boy Peter,	$88 00
Eighty-eight dollars and twelve dollars, 12 00	100 00
Recd. March 29th, 1850, of Peter, sixty dollars,	60 00
	Jos. FRIEDMAN, $460 0O
Received, April 16th, 1850, forty dollars,	40 00
	$500 00

For, and in consideration of the above five hundred dollars, I have this 16th day of April, 1850, given Peter a Bill of Sale, and given him his freedom.

9. A Poor White's Opinion of
Slavery
BY HINTON RAVAN* HELPER (1857)

IT is a fact well known to every intelligent Southerner that we are compelled to go to the North for almost every article of utility and adornment, from matches, shoepegs and paintings up to cotton-mills, steamships and statuary; that we have no foreign trade, no princely merchants, nor respectable artists; that, in comparison with the free states, we contribute nothing to the literature, polite arts and inventions of the age; that, for want of profitable employment at home, large numbers of our native population find themselves necessitated to emigrate to the West, whilst the free states retain not only the larger proportion of those born within their own limits, but induce annually, hundreds of thousands of foreigners to settle and remain amongst them. We know that almost everything produced at the North meets with ready sale, while, at the same time, there is no demand, even among our own citizens, for the productions of Southern industry; that, owing to the absence of a proper system of business amongst us, the North becomes, in one way or another, the proprietor and dispenser of all our floating wealth, and that we are dependent on Northern capitalists for the means necessary to build our railroads, canals and other public improvements ; that if we want to visit a foreign country, even though it may lie directly South of us, we find no convenient way of getting there except by taking passage through a Northern port; and that nearly

all the profits arising from the exchange of commodities, from insurance and shipping offices, and from the thousand and one industrial pursuits of the country, accrue to the North, and are there invested in the erection of those. magnificent cities and stupendous works of art which dazzle the eyes of the South, and attest the superiority of free institutions.

The North is the Mecca of our merchants, and to it they must and do make two pilgrimages each year—one in the spring and one in the fall. All our commercial, mechanical, manufactural, and literary supplies come from there. We want Bibles, brooms, buckets and books, and we go to the North; we want pens, ink, paper, wafers, and envelopes, and we go to the North; we want shoes, bats, handkerchiefs, umbrellas and pocket knives, and we go to the North; we want furniture, crockery, glassware and pianos, and we go to the North ; we want toys, primers, school books, fashionable apparel, machinery, medicines, tombstones, and a thousand other things, and we go to the North for them all. Instead of keeping our money in circulation at home, by patronizing our own mechanics, manufacturers, and laborers, we send it all away to the North, and there it remains; it never falls into our hands again.

In one way or another we are more or less subservient to the North every day of our lives. In infancy we are swaddled in Northern muslin; in childhood we are humored with Northern gewgaws; in youth we are instructed out of Northern books ; at the age of maturity we sow our "wild oats"on Northern soil; in middle-life we exhaust our wealth, energies and talents in the dishonorable vocation of entailing our dependence on our children and on our children's

children, and, to the neglect of our own interests and the interests of those around us, in giving aid and succor to every department of Northern power ; in the decline of life we remedy our eye-sight with Northern spectacles, and support our infirmities with Northern canes; in old age we are drugged with Northern physic ; and, finally, When we die, our inanimate bodies, shrouded in Northern cambric, are stretched upon the bier, borne to the grave in a Northern carriage, entombed with a Northern spade, and memorized with a Northern slab.

When asked why the North has surpassed the South I feel no disposition to mince matters, but mean to speak plainly, and to the point. The son of a venerated parent, who, while he lived, was a considerate and merciful slaveholder, a native of the South, born and bred in North Carolina, of a family whose home has been in the valley of the Yadkin for nearly a century and a half, a Southerner by instinct and by all the influences of thought, habits, and kindred, and with the desire and fixed purpose to reside permanently within the limits of the South, and with the expectation of dying there also-I feel that I have the right to express my opinion, however humble or unimportant it may be, on any and every question that affects the public good.

In my opinion, the causes which have impeded the progress and prosperity of the South sunk a large majority of our people in galling poverty and ignorance ; entailed upon us a humiliating dependence on the Free States; disgraced us in the recesses of our own souls, and brought us under reproach in the eyes of all civilized and enlightened nations—may all be traced to one common source, and there find solution

in the most hateful and horrible word, that was ever incorporated into the vocabulary of human economy— slavery.

The first and most sacred duty of every Southerner, who has the honor and the interest of his country at heart, is to declare himself as an unqualified and uncompromising abolitionist. No conditional or half-way declaration will avail; no more threatening demonstration will succeed. With those who desire to be instrumental in bringing about the triumph of liberty over slavery, there should be neither evasion, vacillation, nor equivocation. We should listen to no modifying terms or compromises that may be proposed by the proprietors of the unprofitable and ungodly institution. Nothing short of the complete abolition of slavery can save the South from falling into the vortex of utter ruin. Too long have we yielded a submissive obedience to the tyrannical domination of an inflated oligarchy; too long have we tolerated their arrogance and self-conceit ; too long have we submitted to their unjust and savage exactions. Let us now wrest from them the sceptre of power, establish liberty and equal rights throughout the land, and henceforth and forever guard our legislative halls from the pollutions and usurpations of pro-slavery demagogues.

We propose to subvert this entire system of oligarchal despotism. We think there should be some legislation for decent white men, not alone for negroes and slaveholders. Slavery lies at the root of all the shame, poverty, ignorance, tyranny and imbecility of the South; slavery must be thoroughly eradicated; let this be done, and a glorious future will await us.

10. A Pompous Old Negro
By EDWARD ALBERT POLLARD (1858)

I HAVE reserved for you some account of that most distinguished palaverer, romancer, diplomat, and ultimately a cobbler of old shoes—Junk. He was a short, puffy, copper-colored negro, very greasy, always perspiring, and a little lame. "Missis Perline "can , tell you of many sore experiences of Junk's shoe-leather; when by especial privilege, she was mounted on "hip-shot Jack "to go to church, Junk would way lay her in the woods at a distance from the house, and claim a lift behind her; once there, by dint of his best boots and crutch, seconded by his young mistress' endeavors with the switch, the afflicted horse would be forced into all sorts of shuffling excuses for a gallop.

Junk had not always been a cobbler; to believe his own narrative, he had been a circus-rider, an alligator hunter, an attaché of a foreign legation, and a murderer, stained with the blood of innumerable Frenchmen, with whom he had quarreled when on his European tour.

The fact was that Junk's master was once sent on a European mission, and proposed at first to take our hero in his company. Before leaving the limits of Virginia, however, he became alarmed at the risk of taking Junk among the abolitionists, and finally disposed of him by hiring him out as a shoemaker or cobbler, in a town at some distance from his former residence. Junk, never forgave his master for this unlooked-for slight; it cut him hard and deep. As an instance of the pride of our hero, it is well known

that when Junk was in his working clothes, he always professed to belong to the man who kept the shoe shop, and that it was only when he disported himself in his holiday attire, that be claimed to belong to the minister plenipotentiary.

When Junk returned to the old plantation his great importance began. He commenced by imposing on all the negroes round about, old and young, the story that he had actually been to France with his master, who still remained there, and that during the time he had been missed from the Green Mountain he had been lionizing in the famous city of Paris. The story took with the innocent darkies and gained Junk great fame. He became the oracle of the kitchen, and the negroes would crowd around him on every possible occasion, as he told the eventful experiences of his pilgrimage. Some few of the men were skeptical, many were envious; but Junk held his own, and was still the especial object of the admiration of the housemaids, who gave their sympathy and cheers in every combat he had with rival beaux as tributes to the truth of his information. "'Twarnt no use,"Miss Irene would remark, "to talk to niggers that never knowed nothin' bout de furrin country and de Parish, where ole mass'r was minister and out-preached dem all. Didn't Mr. Junk speak the langwig?—and dar is dat nigger, Colin, wid his swelled head, must always put in his mouth, and make Mr. Junk out a born liar."

The ideas concerning the French which Junk spread among the negroes were somewhat extraordinary. He represented them as a good-for-nothing set, much below the standard of negro civilization, a set of puny barbarians, who regarded an American darkey as a

being of great majesty. Junk had slain Frenchmen, had treated the little, barbarous negro-worshippers with disdain, and had received from them tokens of great distinction. To these points Colin's cross-examinations were mainly directed. He doubted Junk's prowess; he laughed incredulously at his deeds of blood; and he even went so far as to dispute the assertion of Junk's intimacy "wid barbarians dat were white folks,"and to contend that his friend, the count, was some old "no count nigger "he had come across among the benighted regions outside of Ole Virginny.

We boys used often to join the crowd of Junk's listeners, and would have our own amusement in quizzing the old cobbler. "I suppose, Uncle Junk,"Dick would say, "when you were in Paris you saw the Palais Royal."

"Saw de Paris Lawyers, young mass'r! Why, in course I did. You see when I got dere, I went to de courthouse to hear'em. plead. And when I come in, de Paris lawyers were pleading in French; but when dey seed me, dey den commence pleadin in Amerikin."

The skeptical Colin would again come up to the attack."I say, big hoss, I hope you didn't disgrace Ole Virginny by wearing dose boots in de city "—referring contemptuously to Junk's immense cowhide boots, which showed the deformity of one of his feet. But Junk was always ready for the attack; and immediately remarked with a serious and gloomy look, that he had once killed a certain small Frenchman who had insulted his boots.

"How was it, Junk?"

"Well, you see I was walking in de garden wid ern breeches tucked down in my boots, when two of dese

mean Frenchmen come along, and de one to toder cast an insult on my boots, cos you see he didn't know dat I knowd de langwig and could bear him. Well, I wouldn't stan' no insult from no Frenchman, no how;

A FIELD HAND.

[Description: Etching of Negro woman with hoe and pail.]

so I jes struck him wid my nerves. And one lick was jes enuf— it killed de man; and dey sent for de secretary to sot on him."

"But what did he say about de boots, big hoss? would inquire the persistent Colin.

"Well, you see de man talked French, and tain't while to tell dat to poor ignorant black trash like you.

But Colin was pressing. He wanted to hear Junk's French. The housemaids too, desired a specimen of the same, if Mr. Junk would kindly consent to put his rival down. "Dat nigger Colin had too much sass anyhow—Mr. Junk, won't you please say what de Frenchman say?"

"Well,"replied Junk, with a sudden jerk of condescension, "de man didn't say much. He say Poly glot sots,' and de Amerikin for dat, you know, is 'de boots brought de fool.'"And while all joined. in laughing at Colin's discomfiture, Junk would make his retreat good, walking off with a careless and provoking whistle.

11. A Slave Auction
BY EDWARD ALBERT POLLARD (1858)

I ATTENDED a slave auction here the other day. The negroes were called up in succession on the steps of the court-house, where the crier stood. Naturally most of them appeared anxious as the bidding was going on, turning their eyes from one bidder to the other; while the scene would be occasionally enlivened by some jest in depreciation of the negro on the stand, which would be received with especial merriment by his fellow negroes, who awaited their turn, and looked on from a large wagon in which they were placed. As I came up, a second-rate plantation hand of the name Of Noah, but whom the crier persisted in calling "Noey,"was being offered. Noey,

on mounting the steps, had assumed a most drooping aspect, hanging his head and affecting the feebleness of old age. He had probably hoped to have avoided a sale by a dodge, which is very common in such cases. But the first bid, a thousand dollars, startled him, and he looked eagerly to the quarter whence it proceeded. "Never mind who he is, he has got the money. Now, gentlemen, just go on; who will say fifty? "And so the crier proceeds with his monotonous calling. "I aint worth all that, mass'r; I ain much 'count no how,"cries Noey energetically to the first bidder. "Yes, you are, Noey-ah, $1,011, thank you, sir,"replies the crier. The gentleman who makes this bid is recognized by Noey as 11 Mass'r John,"one of the heirs. $1,011, rejoins the first bidder, and Noey throws a glance of infinite disdain at him for his presumption in bidding against his master.

As the bidders call over each other, Noey becomes more excited. "Drive on, Mass'r John,"he exclaims, laughing with excitement. The bidding is very slow. Mass'r John evidently hesitates at the last call, $ 1085, as too large a price for the slave, though anxious to bid the poor fellow in ; but Noey is shouting to him, amid the incitements of the crowd, to "Drive on "; and, after a pause, he says in a firm tone, eleven hundred dollars. The crier calls out the round numbers with a decided emphasis. He looks at the first bidder, who is evidently making up his mind whether to go higher, while Noey is regarding him, too, with a look of the keenest suspense. The man shakes his head at last, the hammer falls, and Noey, with an exulting whoop, dashes down the steps to his master.