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A WRITER on Slavery has no difficulty in tracing back its origin. There is also the ;advantage of finding it, with its con-

~E tinued history, f and the laws given by God to govern his own in-

e Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by stitution, in the Holy Bible. Neither profane history, tradition, g,,t GRAMBO & Co. .r LIPPINCOTT, r nor philosophical research are required to prove its origin or in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. existence; 13~ though they, as all things must,. come forward to sub- stantiate the truth of the Scriptures. God, who created the human race, willed they should be holy like himself. Sin was committed, and the curse of sin, death, was induced: other punish- ments were denounced for the perpetration of particular crimes -the shedding of man's blood for murder, and the curse of 3x slavery. The mysterious reasons that here influenced the mind of the Creator it is not ours to declare. Yet may we learn enough from his revealed word on this and every other subject

A to confirm his power, truth, and justice. There is no Christian duty more insisted upon in Scripture than reverence and obedience to parents. "Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee." The relation of child to parent resembles closely that of man to his Creator. He who loves and honors his God will assuredly love and honor his parents. Though it is evidently the duty of 4 every parent so to live as to secure the respect and

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{ } x filial act which is recorded, authorize a child treating disrespect a parent, though he be it is not to be supposed he had been e a righteous man. Had Y unworthy in the greatest degree. he been one after God's own heart, he f would not have been guilty of such 1 a sin. What I The human mind, naturally rebellious, requires every com- must that child be, who would openly dishonor and F ten com- expose an erring pa- .Y mand and incentive to submission. .The first of the rent, borne down with the mandments, insisting on the duty owing to the Creator, and the weight of years, and honored by ' t all God as Noah had been! fifth, on that belonging to our parents, are the sources of The very act of disrespect to Noah, the chosen of God, implies wilful contempt of God himself. r order and good arrangement in the minor relations of life; and, Ham tr . was not r : a young man either: he on obedience to them depends the comfort of society. had not the excuse of the impe- tuosity of youth, nor its thoughtlessness-he Reverence to age, and especially where it is found in the per- was himself an old man; and there is every reason to Y- son of those who by the will of God were the authors of their believe he had led a life at

_ f less variance with God's laws. being, is insisted upon in the Jewish covenant-not indeed When he committed so gross and M violent a sin, it may be, that the curse of God, which ft{1 required now;- but as the Jews were called from among the had lain

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}1 S tranquil long, was heathen nations of the earth to be the peculiar people of God, roused and uttered against him: a curse 15 not 7- conditional, not implied-now, as then, f they were to show such evidences of this law in their hearts, by a mandate of the

;Yf 9 Eternal. :n their conduct, that other nations might look on and say, "Ye are 1 Y Among the curses threatened i{ i the children of the Lord your God." by the Levites upon Mount i{ Qy. ' 'ff Ebal, was the one found . u an aged father, in the 16th verse of the 27th chapter t after an act of a child dishonoring of x It as

s zc of the Deuteronomy : " Cursed be he that that the prophecy entailing slavery as a curse on a portion setteth light by his father or his mother." By the law of Moses, human race was uttered. Nor could it have been from any this sin was punished with death: "Of the son which will feeling of resentment or revenge that the curse was made known not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother," "all the by the lips of a servant of God; for this servant of God was a men of his city shall stone him with stones that he die." (Deut. parent, and with what sorrow would any parent, yea, the worst xxi. 21.) God in his wis- dom instituted this severe law of parents, utter a malediction which insured such punishment in early times; and it must con- vince us that there were and misery on a portion of his posterity ! Even the blessing which reasons in the Divine mind for insisting . on could not have consoled him the ordinance exacting the most perfect submission sy, was promised to his other children and re- iyy 4 the Spirit of God: verence to an earthly parent. ftiN for the sad necessity. He might not resist 3

fr AAP Lr "When, after though with perfect submission he obeyed its dictates, yet with the deluge," says Josephus, "the earth was settled in its former condition, what regret! The heart of any Christian parent wild answer Noah set about its cultivation; and when he had planted this appeal ! it with vines, and when the fruit was

a t ripe, and he We may well imagine some of the reasons for the will of God had gathered the grapes in the season, and the wine was ready in thus punishing Ham and his descendants. Prior to the~un.- for use, he offered a sacrifice and feasted, and, being 2

t I 14 PREFAC-. PREFACE, ~jtj peopled principally inebriated, fell asleep, and lay in an unseemly manner._- When by the descendants of Ham; and for how many ages have Ham saw this, he came laughing, and showed him to his the better parts of that country lain under the dominion of the Romans, brothers." Does not this exhibit the impression of the Jews as then of the Saracens, and now of the an Turks ! In what wickedness, ignorance, illf regards the character of Ham ? Could a man capable of such barbarity, slavery, misery, live most of the inhabitants ! act deserve the blessing of a just and holy God ? And of the poor negroes, how many hundreds every year are tI "The fact of Noah's transgression is recorded by the inspired sold and bought like beasts in the market, and conveyed from historian with that perfect impartiality which is peculiar to the one quarter of the world to do the "U work of beasts in another !" Scriptures, as an instance and evidence of human frailty and im- But does this curse authorize the slave-trade ? God forbid. perfection. Ham appears to have been a bad man, and probably He commanded the Jews to enslave the he rejoiced to find his father in so unbecoming a situation, that, heathen around them, saying, "they should be their bondmen by exposing him, he might retaliate for the reproofs which he had forever ;" but he has . given no such command to other nations. received from his parental authority. And perhaps Canaan first The threatenings and reproofs discovered his situation, and told it to Ham. The conduct of uttered against Israel, throughout the old Testament, on the subject of slavery, refer to their Ham in exposing his father to his brethren, and their behaviour oppressing and keeping in slavery their own countrymen. Never is li in turning away from the sight of his disgrace, form a striking there the slightest impu- tation of sin, as far as I can see, conveyed against contrast."-Scott's Com. them for holding in bondage the children of heathen nations. We are told in Gen. ix. 22, " And Ham, the father of-Ca- Yet do the Scriptures evidently permit slavery, even to the naan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren present time. The curse on the serpent, without;" and in, the 24th, 25th, 26th, and 27th verses we read, ("And the Lord God said .unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, thou art "And Noah awoke from his wine, and knew what his younger son cursed above all cattle and above every beast tI had done unto him; and he said, Cursed be Canaan, a servant of of the field," E uttered more than sixteen hundred years before the curse servants shall he be unto his brethren. And he said, Blessed be of Noah 6 upon* Ham and his race, has lost nothing of its -force and true the Lord God of Shem, and Canaan shall be his servant. God meaning. "Cursed is the ground for thy sake: in sorrow shalt shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem, IT thou eat of it, all the days of thy life," said the Supreme Being. and Canaan shall be his servant." Is it not preposterous that any Has this curse failed or been removed ? man, any Christian, should read these verses and say slavery was Remember the threatened curses of God upon the not instituted by God as a curse on Ham and.Canaan and their whole Tewish tribe if they forsook his worship. Have not they been ? posterity ~ulfilled ?- And who can read the history of the world and say this curse However inexplicable may be the fact that God would appoint has not existed ever since it was uttered ? the curse of continual servitude on a portion of his creatures, "The whole continent of Africa," says Bishop Newton, "was > 4

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will any one dare, with the Bible open in his hands, to say the But it has been contended that the people of God sinned in not ours to decide why the Supreme fact does not exist? It is holding their fellow-creatures in bondage! Open your Bible, his dealings with man, but we Being acts ! We may observe Christian, and read the commands of God as regards slavery--the he reveals it, Why hast thou thus done ? laws may not ask, until that he made to govern the conduct of the master and the "Cursed is every one who loves not the Lord Jesus Christ." slave! Are not all these curses recorded, and will they not all be fulfilled? But again-we live under the glorious and new dispensation to exist in every age and in almost God has permitted slavery of Christ; and He came to establish God's will, and to confirm It was only commanded to the Jews, such every nation of the earth. laws as were to continue in existence, to destroy such rules and it was with them restricted to the heathen, ("referring en- as were not to govern our lives ! of Ham, who had been judicially condemned tirely to the race When there was but one family upon the earth, a portion of servitude more than eighteen hundred years the to a condition of family was devoted to be slaves to others. God made a law, by the mouth of Noah, the medium before the giving of the covenant with Abraham: he included in it his slaves. " He that to be enslaved of the Holy Ghost.") No others, at least, were is born in thy house, and he that is bought with thy money," Testament records a history are "forever." Every book of the Old the words of Scripture. A servant of Abraham says, " And them'are spoken of, in which slaves and God's laws concerning the Lord has blessed my master greatly, and he is become great history goes back, we cannot fail to see and he hath given while, as far as profane him flocks and herds, and silver and gold, and proofs of the existence of slavery. "No legislator of history," men-servants and maid-servants, and camels and asses." to abrogate slavery. Society was so says Voltaire, "attempted The Lord has called himself the God of Abraham and Isaac that Epictetus, accustomed to this degradation of the species, and Jacob. These holy men were slaveholders ! worth morethan his master, never expresses The existence who was assuredly of slavery then, and the sanction of God on his surprise at his being a slave." Egypt, Sparta, Athens, Car- ow institution, any is palpable from the time of the pronouncing of their thousands of slaves. In the Bible, thage, and Rome had the curse, until the glorious advent of the Son of God. When in pro- the best and chosen servants of God owned slaves, while he came, slavery existed in every part of the world. the purest and greatest men did the same. In the fane history Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came from heaven and dwelt very nation over whose devoted head hung the curse of God, upon the earth : his mission to proclaim the will of God to a -I vindictive, lawless, and cruel slavery, has prevailed. It slavery, world sunk in the lowest depths of iniquity. Even the dear and is said no nation of the earth has equalled the Jewish in to chosen people of God had departed from him-had forsaken his the negroes themselves; and exami- enslaving of negroes, except worship, and turned aside from his commands. will prove that the descendants of Ham and Canaan have, nation He was born of a virgin. He was called Emmanuel. He he as God foresaw, justified by their conduct the koom which was God with us. pronounced against them-. Wise men traveled from afar to behold the Child-God--they 2* 18 PREFACE: pREFACEF. 19 their treasures-they presented to a condemnation knelt before him-they opened of that institution which had existed from the in dreams, to ensure the early them gifts. Angels of God descended ages of the world, existed then, and is continued now. The He protection of his life against the king who sought it. application made by the Abolitionist of the golden rule is absurd: favour with God and man. it might emerged from infancy, and grew in then apply to the child, who would have his father no came again from longer He was tempted but not overcome-angels control him; to the appentice, who would no longer that fulfilled every jot and tittle of the man heaven to minister to him. He to whom he is bound should have a right to direct him. he left the glories Thus the law, and entered upon the duties for which the foundations of society would be shaken, nay, destroyed. Christ of heaven. would have us deal with others, not as they desire, but people which sat in dark- as the That mission was fulfilled. "1The law of God demands: in the condition of life in which sat in the region and we ness saw great light, and to them which have been placed, we must do what we conscientiously believe shadow of death light is sprung up." to be our duty to our fellow-men. Christ Look at his miracles-the cleansing of the leper, the healing alludes to slavery, but does not forbid it. "And the the raising of the of the sick, the casting out unclean spirits, servant abideth not in the house forever, but the son abideth seas, the control of those ever. dead, the rebuking or the winds and If the Son therefore shall make you free, you are free possessed with devils-and say, was he not the Son of God-yea, indeed." was he not God ? In these two verses of the Gospel of St. John, there is a manifest Full of power and goodness he came into the world, and light allusion to the fact and condition of slaves. Of this fact the and glory followed every footstep. The sound of his voice, the Saviour took occasion, to illustrate, by way of similitude, the con- garment in which his dition of a wicked glance of his eye, the very touch of the man, who is the slave of sin, and to show that mighty to save. as a son assumed mortality was arrayed, was a medicine who was the heir in a house could set a bondman free, and he was ally if that He came on an errand of mercy to the world, son were of the proper age, so he, the Son of God, could but, did he eman- set powerful to accomplish the Divine intent; the enslaved soul free from sin, when he would be free inhuman race was the deed." Show cipate the slave ? The happiness of the me in the history of the Old Testament, or in the life of Christ, object of his coming; and is it possible that the large portion of authority to proclaim as a sin the holding of the them then slaves could have escaped his all-seeing eye ! Did he race of Ham and Canaan in bondage. had made ? Did he establish In the times condemn the institution which he of the apostles, what do we see ? Slaves are still the world from in bondage, the children universal freedom ? Oh ! no; he came to redeem of.Han are menials as they were before. inter- Christ the power of sin; his was no earthly mission; he did not had come, had died, had ascended to heaven, and slavery He healed the sick servant still existed. Had the fere with the organization of society. apostles authority to do it away ? Had freedom; nor is there Christ left it to of the centurion, but he did not command his them to carry out, in this instance, his revealed a word that fell from his sacred lips that could be construed into will? 20 PREFACE, PREFACE. 21

"Art thou," said Paul, "called being a slave? care not for it; ment? Their opinions are preserved among us-they were dic- but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather. Let every man tated by their position and necessities-and they were wisely abide in the same calling wherein he is called." " Let as many formed. In the North, slavery was useless; nay, more, it was a servants as are under the yoke count their own masters worthy of C drawback to the prosperity of that section of the Union-it doctrines be not blas- all honor, that the name of God and his was dispensed with. In other sections, gradually, our people let them not des- phemed. And they that have believing masters, have seen their condition would be more prosperous without pise them, because they are brethren, but rather do them service, slaves-they have emancipated them. In the South, they are ne- of the benefit." because they are faithful and beloved, partakers cessary: though an evil, it is one that cannot be dispensed with; that the holy apostle did all It is well known and often quoted and here they have been retained, and will be retained, unless whom he had been he could to restore a slave to his master-one God should manifest his will (which never yet has been done) to sense. Yet he knew the means of making free in a spiritual the contrary. Knowing that the people of the South still have a slave, and, when he had fled from that God had made Onesimus the views of their revolutionary forefathers, we see plainly that his master, Paul persuaded him to return and to do his duty many of the North have rejected the opinions of theirs. Slaves Christian, and carefully read the toward him. Open your'Bible, were at the North and South considered and recognized as pro- its spirit with the in letter of Paul to Philemon, and contrast perty, (as they are in Scripture.) The whole nation sanc- of the present day. St. cendiary publications of the Abolitionists tioned slavery by adopting the Constitution which provides for not be an Abolitionist. Paul was not a fanatic, and therefore could them, and for their restoration (when fugitive) to their owners. The Christian age advanced and slavery continued, and we ap-. Our country was then like one family-their souls had been fled from persecution to the proach the time when our fathers tried and made pure by a united struggle-they loved as bro- soil we now call our own, when they fought for the liberty to thers who had suffered together. Would it were so at the which they felt they had aright., Our fathers fought for it, and our present day ! mothers did more when they urged forth their husbands and sons, The subject of slavery was agitated among them; many diffi- not knowing whether the life-blood that was glowing with reli- culties occurred, but they were all settled-and, they thought, be dyeing the land that had gion and patriotism would not soon effectually. They agreed then, on the propriety of giving up run- been their refuge, and where they fondly hoped they should find away slaves, unanimously. Mr. Sherman,-of Connecticut, " saw no a happy home. Oh, glorious parentage ! Children of America, y more impropriety in the public seizing and surrendering a'slave or nobility once adorned trace no farther back-say not the crest of servant than a horse !" (Madison's Papers.) This was then consi- thy father's breast, the gemmed coronet thy mother's brow-stop dered a compromise between the North and South. Henry Clay here ! it is enough -that they earned for thee a home---a free, a and Daniel Webster-the mantle of their illustrious fathers de- happy home. And what did they say -to the slavery that existed scended to them from their own glorious times. The slave-trade then and had been entailed upon them by the English govern- was discontinued after a while. As long as England needed the 22 PREFACE. PREFACE. 23

sons and daughters of Africa to do her bidding, she trafficked in from the Federal Constitution; we have neither inclination nor the flesh and blood of her fellow-creatures; but our immortal fa- power to interfere with the laws of existing States in this particu- thers put an end to the disgraceful trade. They saw its heinous lar; on the contrary, they have not only a right to reclaim their sin, for they had no command to enslave the heathen; but they fugitives whenever found, but, in the event of domestic violence, i had no command to emancipate the slave ; therefore they wisely (which God in his mercy forever avert!) the whole strength of forbore farther to interfere. They drew the nice line of distinc- the nation is bound to be exerted, if needful, in reducing it to tion between an unavoidable evil and a sin. subjection, while we recognize these obligations and will. never Slavery was acknowledged, and slaves considered as property fail to perform then." all over our country, at the North as well as the South-in Penn- How many more could be brought ! opinions of great and sylvania, New York, and New Jersey. Now, has there been any good men of the North, acknowledging and maintaining the law reversing this, except in the States that have become free ? FL rights of the people of the South. Everett, Adams, Cambreleng, and a Out of the limits of these States, slaves are property, according to host of others, whose names I need not give. "'Time the Constitution. In the year 1798, Judge Jay, being called was," said Mr. Fletcher in Boston, (in 1835, at a great meet- on for a list of his taxable property, made the following observa- ing in that city,) "when such sentiments and such language tion:-" I purchase slaves and manumit them at proper ages, when would not have been breathed in this community. And here, on their faithful services shall have afforded a reasonable retribu- this hallowed spot, of all places on -earth, should they be met and tion." "As free servants became more common, he was gra- rebuked. Time was, when the British Parliament having de- dually relieved from the necessity of purchasing slaves." (See clared 'that they had a right to bind us in all cases what- Jay's Life, by his son.) soever,' and were attempting to bind our infant limbs in fetters, Here is the secret of Northern emancipation: they were re- when a voipe of resistance and notes of defiance had gone 'forth from this V lievedfrom the necessity of slavery. Rufus King, for many years hall, then, when Massachussets, standing for her liber- one of the most distinguished statesmen of the country, writes ty and life, was alone breasting the whole power of Britain, the thus to John B. Coles and others :-"I am perfectly anxious not generous and gallant Southerners came to our aid, and our fathers to be misunderstood in this case, never having thought myself at refused not to hold communion with slaveholders. When liberty to encourage or assent to any measure that would affect the blood of our citizens, shed by a British soldiery, had stained the security of property in slaves, or tend to disturb the political our streets and flowed upon the heights that surround us, and sunk into adjustment which the Constitution has made respecting them." the earth upon the plains of Lexington and Concord, John Taylor, of New York, said, " If the weight and.influence then when he, whose name can never be pronounced by American of-the South be increased, by the representation of that which lips without the strongest emotion of gratitude and love to every they consider a part of their property, we dd not wish to diminish American heart,-when he, that slaveholder, (pointing to a full- them. The right by which this property is held is derived length portrait of Washington,) who, from this canvass, smiles i 24 PREFACE.

Ij upon his children with paternal benignity, came with other slave-

' holders to drive the British myrmidons from this city, and in this ry

1F hall our fathers did not refuse to hold communion with them. > ' /

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them, they made the Declaration of Independence." r tions: with i To England, not to the United States, belongs whatever odium

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may be attached to the introduction of slavery into our country. , AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN. ' Our fathers abolished the slave-trade, but permitted the conti- nuation of domestic slavery. Slavery, authorized by God, permitted by Jesus Christ, sanc- 3

tioned by the apostles, maintained by good men of all ages, is i CHAPTER I.

still existing in a portion of our beloved country. How long it S

u THERE would +2 be little to strike continue, or whether it will ever cease, the Almighty Ruler the eye of a traveler will accustomed .t to picturesque scenes, on. approaching the of the universe can alone determine. r small town of L---. Like most of the settlements / ?. in I do not intend to give a history of Abolition. Born in fana- Virginia, the irregularity of the streets and the want of ticism, nurtured in violence and disorder, it exists too. Turning similarity in the houses would give an unfavorable first impression. aside the institutions and commands of God, treading under foot The old Episcopal church, standing at the entrance the love of country, despising the laws of nature and the nation, of the town, could not fail to be attractive from its appearance of age; but from it is dead to every feeling of patriotism and brotherly kindness; this alone. No monuments adorn .the churchyard ; head-stones of all full of strife and pride, strewing the path of the slave with thorns sizes meet the eye, some worn and leaning against a shrub or and of the master with difficulties, accomplishing nothing good, tree for support, others new and white, and glistening in forever creating disturbance. the sunset. Several family vaults, unpretending in their The negroes are still slaves-" while the American slave- appearance, are perceived on a closer scrutiny, to which holders, collectively and individually, ask -ho favours of any man the plants usually found in burial-grounds are clinging, shadowed too by large or race that treads the earth. In none of the attributes of men, trees. The walls-"where they are visible are worn and discolored, acknowledge or fear superiority else- but they are almost co- mental or physical, do they. vered with ivy, clad in summer's deepest green. Many a where. They stand in the broadest light of the knowledge, civili- stranger stopped his horse in passing by to wonder at its zation, and improvement of the age, as much favored of Heaven look of other days; and some, it may be, to wish they were as any other of the sons of Adam." sleeping in the shades of its mouldering walls. The slight eminence on which the church was built, commanded a view of the residences of several gentlemen ;1 3 25 26 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 27 of fortune who lived in the neighborhood. To the near- 1 earliest period of their s lives, and Arthur declared r that i should he return est one, a gentleman on horseback was directing his home on a visit, he would not be able to in truth, for so break way. The horse required no direction, away from its happiness to the routine of a college r life.: accustomed was he to the ride to Exeter, and to the good he yielded therefore to the earnest entreaties of v his fare he enjoyed on arriving there, that neither whip nor father, to remain at New Haven until he graduated. road with spur was necessary; he traced the familiar Mr. Weston will stand for a specimen of the southern evident pleasure. gentleman of the old school. The bland and cheerful ex- built ; but the white pression The house at Exeter was irregularly of his countenance, the arrangement of his soft fine hair, stone wings and the look-out over the main building gave the fineness of the texture and the perfect clean- mansion. The fine old liness of an appearance of taste to the every part of his dress, the plaiting of his old- though adding greatly to its fashioned trees intercepted the view, shirt ruffles, the whiteness of his hand, and the sound beauty. The porter's lodge, and the wide lawi entered by of his clear, well-modulated voice-in fact, every item of his appearance---won its open gates, the gardens at either side of the building, the good opinion of a stranger; while the and the neatness and good condition of the out-houses, feelings of his heart and his steady course of of affairs with the owner.' Christian all showed a prosperous state life, made him honored and reverenced as he sweet- Soon the large porch with its green blinds, and the deserved. He possessed that requisite to the character brier entwining them, came in view, and the family party of a true gentleman, a kind and charitable heart. Mr. Barbour None that occupied it were discernible. Before of the present members of his, family had any his horse, a ser- lawful had reached the point for alighting from claim upon him, yet he cherished them with the of him, and Alice utmost vant stood in readiness to take charge affection. He requested his brother's widow, on the death Weston emerged from her hiding-place among the roses, of his own wife, to assume the charge of his house; with her usual sweet words of welcome. Mr. Weston, the and she was in every respect its mistress. Alice plantation, arose was necessary owner of the mansion and its adjoining to his happiness, almost to his existence ; with a -dignified but cordial greeting; and Mrs. Weston, his she was the very rose in his garden of life. He had never his kind had sister-in-law, and Miss Janet, united with him in a sister, and he regarded Alice as a legacy from his reception of a valued guest and friend. only brother, to whom he had been most tenderly attached: had Mr. Weston was a widower, with an only son; the young she been uninteresting, she would still have been very dear gentleman was at this time at Yale College. He had to him; but her beauty and her many graces of ap- to- been absent for three years;. and so anxious was he pearanee and character drew closely together the bonds graduate with honor, that he had chosen not to return to of love between them ; Alice returning, with the utmost Virginia until his course of study should be completed. warmth, her uncle's affection. The family had visited him during the first year of his Mrs. Weston was unlike her daughter in appearance, Alice exile, as he called it, but it had now been two years since- resembling her father's family. Her dark, fine eyes were lie had seen any member of it. There was an engagement still full of the fire that had beamed from them in between him and his cousin, though Alice was but fifteen youth; there were strongly-marked lines about her mouth and when it was formed. They had been associated from the her face when in repose bore traces of the warfare of ATJNT PHILLIs'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN 28 LIFE AS IT IS. 29 The heart has a writing of its own, and we awares. past years. She is before you, reader, in all the dignity of old on the countenance; time hasno power to can see it age, of a long life drawing to a close; still to the last, she obliterate it, but generally deepens the expression. There works while it is yet 'day ! was at times too a sternness in her voice and manner, yet With her dove-colored dress, and her muslin three-cor- general refinement, nered it left no unpleasant impression; her handkerchief, pinned precisely at the waist and over and her fine sense and education made her society always her bosom, with her eyes sunken and dim, but expressive, with desirable. the wrinkles so many and-so deep, and the thin, white was called by them all, was a de- folds Cousin Janet, as she of her satin-looking hair parted under her cap; with a friend faithful and unfail- her pendant and distant relation; silver knitting-sheath attached to her side, and her example of all that is holy and good in the needles ing; a bright in ever busy hands, Cousin ,Janet would perhaps first arrest Christian character. She assisted Mrs. Weston greatly in the attention of a stranger, in spite of the cares that devolved on the mistress of a planta- glowing cheek the many and golden curls that were contrasting with instructing the young female servants in tion, especially in her. It was the beauty of old age and youth, side by side. in such household duties as would knitting and sewing, and Alice's face in its full perfection did not mar the loveliness in that state of life in which it had of make them useful hers; the-violet eyes of the one, with their long sweep full of love to pleased God to place them. Her heart was of eyelash, could not eclipse the mild but deep expression came to her with their all God's creatures; the servants of the other. The rich burden of glossy hair was lovely, little ailings and grievances, and she had always a soothing but so were the white locks; and the slight but rounded little specific for a bodily sickness, with a remedy-some form was only compared in its youthful grace to the almost word of advice and kindness, and, if the case required it, shadowy dignity of old age. of gentle reproof for complaints of another nature. Cousin It was just sundown, but the'servants were all at home and friendless Janet was an old maid, yet many an orphan after their day's work, and they too were enjoying the upon her bosom; some, whose hands child had.shed tears pleasant evening time. Some were seated at the door of beside her, their she had folded together in prayer as they knelt cabins, others lounging on the grass, all at ease, and learning from her lips a child's .simple petition, had long without care. Many of their comfortable cabins had been for ever ; some are living still, sur- ago laid down to sleep recently whitewashed, and were adorned with little gar- influence. There was :ounded by the halo of their good dens in front; over the one nearest the house a multiflora speak by-and-by, who was to her a one, of whom we shall rose was creeping in full bloom. Singularly musical voices and the constant subject of her source of great anxiety, were heard at intervals, singing snatches of songs, of a thoights and fervent prayers. style in which the servants of the South especially delight; rs gone by since she had accepted Mr. Many ye2 had and not unfrequently, as the full chorus was shouted by a and Weston's earnest entreaty to- make Exeter her home; number, their still more peculiar laugh was heard above it was that of charity, yet she although the bread she eat all. Mr. Barbour had recently returned from a pleasure brought a blessing upon the house that sheltered her, by tour in our Northern States, had been absent for two one of the chosen ones of the Lord. her presence: she was months, and felt that he had not in as long a time wit- this day, it is;possible to entertain an angel un-. nessed Evei.gi such a scene of real enjoyment. He thought it 8* SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT 30 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, IS. 31' would have softened the heart. of the sternest hater of a How is yer health dis evenin, master? You aint been It Southern institutions to have been a spectator here; it so well latterly. We'll soon have green corn though, might possibly have inclined him to -think the sun of his and that helps dispepsy wonderful." Creator's beneficence shines over every part of our favored "It may be good for dyspepsia, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "but it sometimes land. gives old people cholera morbus, 1 " Take a seat, my dear sir," Mr. Weston said, "in our when they eat it raw; so I advise you to remember last calls it; the evening would lose year's experience, and roast it sweetbrier house, as Alice before you eat it." #s half its beauty to us, if we were within." "I shall, indeed," replied Bacchus; "'twas an awful time I had last summer. My blessed grief! but I thought my " Alice is, always right," said Mr. Barbour, " in every and so I will occupy this arm- time was done come. But de Lord she says and does, was mighty good to me, yM thing he f(

4 me. Dear me ! what a brought me up again-Miss I chair that Iknow she placed here for Janet's physic done me more t

Ct good though than I Y glorious evening! Those distant peaks of the Blue Ridge any thing, only it put me to sleep, and look bluer than I ever saw them before." I never slept so much in my born days." "You were always "Ah ! you are glad to tread Virginia soil once more, something of a sleeper, I am x that is, evident enough," said Mr. Weston. " There is told, Bacchus," said Cousin Janet; "though I have no no danger of your getting tired of your native state doubt the laudanum had that effect; you must be more again." prudent; old people cannot take such liberties with them- " Who says I was ever tired of her? I challenge you selves." to prove your insinuation. I wanted to see this great a"Lor, Miss Janet, I aint so mighty ole now; besure I New England, the 'great Norrurd,' as Bacchus calls it, aint no chicken nother; but thar's Aunt Peggy; she's and I have, seen it ; I have enjoyed seeing it, too; and now what I call a raal ole nigger ; she's an African. Miss I am glad to be at home again." Alice, aint she never told youye bout de time she seed an " here comes Uncle Bacchus now, Mr. Barbour," said elerphan drink a river dry ?" Alice ; "«dolook at him walk. Is he not a curiosity ? ";Yes," said Alice, "but she dreamed that." He has as much pretension in his manner as if he were "No, Miss, she actually seed, it wid her own eyes. really doing us a favor in paying us a visit." They's mighty weak and dim now, but she could see out frolic " The old scamp," said Mr. Barbour, a"he has a of 'em once, I tell ye. It's hot nuff here sometimes, but in view ; he wants to go off to-morrow either to a camp- Aunt Peggy says it's winter to what 'tis in Guinea, whar meeting,.or a barbecue. He looks as if he were hooked she was raised till she was a big gall. One day when de together, and could be taken apart limb by limb." sun was mighty strong, she seed an elerphant a coming he Bacchus had commenced bowing some time before along. She runner fast enough, she had no 'casion to reached the piazza, but on ascending the steps he made grease her heels wid quicksilver; she went mighty fast, no a particularly low bow to his master, and then in the same doubt; she didn't want dat great beast's hoof in her wool. manner, though with much less reverence, paid his respects You and me seed an elephant de time we was in Wash- .to the others. ington, long wid master, Miss Alice, and I thought 'bout "'Well, Bacchus?" said Mrk, Weston, Auni Peggy that time. 'Twas a 'nageree we went to. You SOUTHERN 32 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, LIFE AS IT IS. 33 l

" 7

heads to see round by Norris's tavern, when, if you had chosen, you #3- know I held you in my arms over de people's d t 1 . de- monkeys ride. could have come home by the other road." Y "Well, Aunt Peggy say she gunned till she couldn't run "True as gospel; ma'am," said Bacchus, a"I don't deny S'

" no longer, so she clumb a great tree, and sat, in de de furst word of it ; the Lord forgive me for backsliding;

but master's , and watched him. He made straight for de mighty good to us, and if he'll overlook that t branches 1 he kicked up de sand wid his hoofs, as he went little misfortune of mine, it shan't happen agin." river, and i

"cYou call it a misfortune, A YII along, till he come to de bank; den he begins to drink, do you, Bacchus ?" said Mr. 1

j( and he drinks, I tell you. Aunt Peggy say every swaller Barbour; "why, it seems to me such a great Christian as r ?

5 he took was least a gallon, and he drunk all dat blessed you are, would have given the right name to it, and called j,

, '_. mornin. After a while she seed de water gitting very it a sin. I am told you are turned preacher ?" a1 low, and last he gits enuff. He must a got his thirst a"No, sir," said Bacchus, " I aint no preacher, I warn't

squinched by dat time. So Aunt Peggy, she waded cross called to be; I leads in prayer sometimes, and in general " i 111 de river, when de elephant had went, and two days arter I rises de tunes." dat, de river was clean gone, bare as my hand. Master," } "Well, I suppose I can't refuse you," said Mr. Weston ; n continued Bacchus, "I has a great favor to ax of you." a"but come home sober, or ask no more permissions. "Barbecue or canpmeeting, Bacchus ?" said Mr. Bar- "'God bless you, master; don't be afeard: you'll see bour. you can trust me. I aint gwine to disgrace our family no "If you please, master," said he, addressing Mr. Wes- more. I has to have- a little change sometimes, for Miss i

5 ton, but at the same time giving an imploring look to Mr. Janet knows my wife keeps me mighty straight at home. 4

1 Barbour,su"to 'low me to go way to-morrow and wait at de She 'lows me no privileges, and if I didn't go off some- barbecue. Mr. Semmes, he wants me mightily ; he says times for a little fun, I shouldn't have no health;'nor sper- he'll give me a dollar a day if I goes. I'll sure and be rets nother." home agin in the evenin." "You wouldn't have any sperrits, that's certain," said "I am afraid to give you permission," said Mr. Wes- Alice, laughing; "I should like to see a bottle of whisky ton; "this habit of drinking, that is growing upon you, is in Aunt Phillis's cabin." a disgrace to your old age. You remember you were Bacchus laughed outright, infinitely overcome at the picked up and brought-home in a cart from campmeeting suggestion. "My blessed grief! Miss Alice," said he, this summer, and I am surprised that you should so soon she'dd make me eat de bottle, chaw up all de glass, ask a favor of -me." swaller it arter dat. I aint ever tried dat yet-best not "I feels mighty shamed o' that, sir,", s i Iacchus, to, I reckon. No, master, I intends to keep sober from "but I' hope you will 'scuse it. Niggers aint like white this time forrurd, till young master comes back; den I people, no how; they can't 'sist temptation. I've repented shall git high, spite of Phillis, and 'scuse me, sir, spite of wid tears for dat business, and 'twont happen agin, if it de devil hisself. When is he coming, any how, sir ?" please the Lord not to lead me into temptation." " Next year, I hope, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston. "You led yourself into temptation," said Mr. Weston; " Long time, sir," said Bacchus ; " like as not he'll 46 you took pains' to cross two or three fences, and to go never see old Aunt Peggy agin. She's failin, sir, you SOUTHERN LIFE 84 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN;s OR, AS IT IS. 85 can see by de way she'esets in de sun all day, wid a long switch in her hand, trying to hit de little niggers as dey go by. Sure sign she's gwine home. If she wasn't alto- - She's sarved gether wore out, she'd be at somefin better. a country her time cookin and bakin, and she's gwine to CHAPTER II. whar there's no 'casion to cook any more. She's a good old soul, but wonderful cross sometimes." "You rode too far this afternoon, Alice, you seem to " She has been an honest, hard-working, and faithful be very tired," said Mr. Weston. servant, and a sober one too," said Mr. Weston. "No, dear uncle, I am not fatigued; the wind was cold, " I understand, sir," said Bacchus, humbly; "cbut don't and it makes te feel stupid." give yourself no oneasiness about me! I shall be home to- "Why did not Walter come in ?" asked Mr. Weston. morrow night, ready to jine in at prayers." "I saw him returning with you by the old road." "Very well-that will do, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, " He said.he had an engagement this evening," replied who felt anxious to enjoy the society of his friend. Alice, as she raised her head from her uncle's shoulder. " Good evenin to you all," said Bacchus, retreating "Poor Walter !" said Cousin Janet; "with the education with many bows. and habits of a gentleman, he is to be pitied that it is only We will see how Bacchus kept his word, and for the as a. favor he is received, among those with whom he may present leave Mr. Weston to discuss the subjects of the justly consider himself on an equality." day with his guest; while the ladies paid a visit to Aunt a"But is not Walter our equal ?" asked Alice. Cousin

3 of "the flies and the Janet held her knitting close to her eyes to look t Peggy, and listened to her complaints for a i little niggers," and the, thousand and one ailings that be- dropped stitch, while Mr. Weston replied for her : I long to the age of ninety years. "My love, you know, probably, that Walter is not an equal by right of birth to those whose parents held a fair and honorable position in society. His father, a man of rare talents, of fascinating appearance, and winning address .1

was r the ruin of all connected with him. (Even his mother, broken-hearted by his career of extravagance and dissipa-

i tion, found rest in the termination of a life that had known t no rest.) His first wife, (not Walter's mother,) a most interesting woman, was divorced from him by an unjust c

i decision of the law, for after her death circumstances i transpired that clearly proved her innocence. ' Walter's mother was not married, as far as is known; 'though some believe she was, and that she concealed it in consequence of the wishes and threats of Mr. Lee, who was ashamed to own the daughter of a tradesman for his wife." 36 AUNT PHILLIS' S CABIN; OR, F# SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. this is not Walter's fault, uncle," said Alice. " But all the sorrows of that young person. I believe she was a "Assuredly not ; but there is something due to our long wife, though an unacknowledged one. If the grave would established opinions. Walter should go to a new country, give up its secrets-but it will, it will-the time will come where these things are not known, and where his education for justice to all, even to poor Ellen Haywood. advance him. Here they are too fresh and talents would , "That young creature was'worse than an orphan, for her in the memory of many. Yet do I feel most kindly to- father, thriving in business at one time, became dissipated he rather repels the interest we take in wards him, though and reckless. Ellen's time was her own; and after her of manner. The attachment him by his haughty coldness mother's death her will uncontrolled. Her education 'infancy draws me -was between him and my son from their was not good enough to give her a taste for self-improve, though, that his letters are towards him. Arthur writes, ment. She had a fine mind, though, and the strictest very reserved and not frequent. What can be the meaning sense of propriety and dignity. 'Her remarkable beauty of it?" drew towards her the attention of the young men of her " There was always a want of candor and generosity in own class, as well as those of good family;. but she was

disposition," remarked Alice's mother. , Walter's w 4 always prudent. Poor girl! knowing she was motherless f " You never liked him, Anna," said Mr. Weston; a"why and friendless, I tried to win her regard ; I asked her to was it?" come to the house, with some other young girls of the so strongly," answered " Arthur and Walter contrast neighborhood, to study the Bible under my poor teachings ; perfectly honest and Mrs. Weston. "Arthur was always but she declined, and I afterwards went to see her, hoping though quiet in straight-forward, even as a little child; to persuade her to come. I found her pale and delicate, affectionate in his disposi- his way of showing it, he is so and much dispirited. Thanking me most earnestly, she tion. Walter is passionate and fickle, condescending to begged me to excuse her, saying she rarely went out, on those he loves, but treating with a proud indifference every account of her father's habits, fearing something might not go abroad, he has the one else. I wonder he does occur during her absence from home. I was surprised to and here he can never be command of his-fortune now, find her so depressed, yet I do not remember ever to have ever think happily situated; no woman of delicacy would seen any thing like guilt, in all the interviews with her, of marrying him with that stain on his birth." from that hour until her death. mother was, Cousin Janet !" said " How beautiful his "Ellen's father died; -but not before many had spoken never seen more grace and refine- Mr. Weston. "«Ihave lightly of his daughter. Mr. Lee was constantly at the and recall her, with her ment. I often look at Walter, house; and what but Ellen's beauty could take him there ! hair and blue eyes. How short her course beautiful brown }F No one was without a prejudice against Mr. Lee, and I ; was, too ! I think she died.at e ht en.. have often wondered that Ellen could have overlooked " Do tell me about her, uncl Ahie. what every one knew, the treatment his wife had received. " Cousin Janet can, better t y darling. Have { =- You will think," continued Cousin Janet, a"that it is be- usin ?" you never told Alice her history, cause I am an old maid, and am full of notions, that Ii "No, it is almost too sad a tale for Alice's ear, and cannot imagine how a woman can love a man who has been there is something holy, in my mind, in the recollection of divorced from his wife. I, who have never loved as the I 4 11 I. 38 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. '39

novelists say, have the most exalted ideas of marriage. me for my unintentional neglect, but I was in a moment It is in Scripture, the type of Christ's love to the church. 'I by her side, supporting her head upon my breast. Life is so full of cares ; there is something holy in the " It is like a dream, that long night of agony. The pa- thought of one heart being privileged to rest its burden tience of Ellen, the kindness of her physician, and the on another. But how can that man be loved who has put devotion of her old nurse-I thought that only a wife could tired of her? for away his wife from him, because he is I have endured as she did. this is the meaning of the usual excuses-incompatibility " Before this, Ellen had told me her wi-s as regards her of temper, and the like. Yet Ellen did love him, with a child, persuaded that, if it should live, she hould not sur- love passing description ; she forgot his faults and her vive its birth to take care of it. She 1 entree ted me to be- own position; she loved as I would never again wish to see friend it in the helpless time of infancy, and then to appeal { a friend of mine love any creature of the earth. to its father in its behalf. I promised her to do so, al- ab- aiT "Time passed, and Ellen was despised. Mr. Lee left ways chiding her for not hoping and trusting. 'Ellen,'

} ruptly for Europe, and I heard that this poor young wo- I would say, 'life is a blessing as long as God gives it, and man was about to become a mother. . Iknew she was alone it is our duty to consider it so.' in the world, and I knew my duty too. I went to her, "'

a I recall her. She was in no pain a pears to my memory,'as of impatience or complaint escaped her lips. The agony at the moment I entered ; her head was supported by pil- of death found her quiet and composed. Night advanced, lows, and her brown hair fell over them and over her neck. and the gray morning twilight fell on those features, no Her eyes were bright as an angel's, her cheeks flushed longer flushed and excited. Severe faintings had come on, to a crimson color, and her white, beautiful hand grasped and the purple line under the blue eyes heralded the ap- a cane which Dr. Lawton had just placed there, hoping proach of death. Her luxuriant hair lay in damp masses to relieve some df her symptoms by bleeding. Lucy stood about her ; her white arms were cold, an~d the moisture of by, full of anxiety and affection, for this faithful servant death gwasa gathering there too. 'Oh !.Miss Ellen,'"cried loved her as she loved her owndlife. My heart reproached I old Lucy, c'you will be better soon-bear up a little longer.' ) i AUNT PIILLIS'S CABIN.; OR, e 40 SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. S 41 A I f "'Ellen dear,' I said, 'try and keep up.' But who can forsook me, and I leaned against the table on which the give life and strength save One?-and He was calling coffin rested, for support. to her everlasting rest the poor young sufferer. "'Lucy,' I said, 'when was that placed there?' "'Miss Ellen,' again cried Lucy, 'you have a son; speak a

I made a promise, and I will keep it'; God will do me jus- don't often hear of the troubles of the poor slave-that tice when he sees fit.' one day I had seven children with me, and the next they " But, Miss Ellen,' says I, 'for the sake of the child'- were all sold ; taken off, and I did not even see them, to "

I sold your children, but I've had no rest since.' I couldn't his entire property,) and is under no one's control. He nake him feel worse, ma'am, for he was going to his ac- will always be very dear to me. But here comes Mark count with all his sins upon him.' with the Prayer Book." "< This is the first time Lucy,' I said, 'that I have ever " Lay it here, Mark," said Mr. Weston, " and ring the known children to be sold away from their mother, and I bell for the servants. I like all who can to come and look upon the crime with as great a horror as you do.' unite with me in thanking God for His many mercies. Strange, < Its the only time I ever knowed it, ma'am, and every- I have opened the Holy Book where David says, body pitied me, and many a kind thing was said to me, (and we will join with him,) 'Praise the Lord, oh ! my and many a hard word was said of him; true enough, but soul, and all that is within me, praise his holy name.' " better be forgotten, as he is in his grave.' " Some persons now entered, and Lucy became absorbed in her present grief; her old frame shook as with a tempest, when the fair face was hid from her sight. There were few mourners; Cousin Weston and I followed her to the grave. I believe Ellen was as pure as the white lilies CHAPTER III. Lucy planted at her head." " Did Lucy ever hear of her children ?" asked Alice.'. AFTER the other members of. the family had retired, "No, my darling, she died soon. after Ellen. She was Mr. Weston, as was usual with him, sat for a while in the quite an old woman, and had never been strong." parlor to read. The closing hour of the dayis, of all, " Uncle," said Alice, "I did not think any one could the time that we love to dwell on the subject nearest our be so inhuman as to separate mother and children." heart. As, at the approach of death, the powers of the " It is the worst feature in slavery," replied Mr. Wes- mind rally, and the mortal, faint and feeble, with but a ton, " and the State should provide laws to prevent it ; few sparks of decaying life within him, arouses to a sense but such a circumstance is very uncommon. Haywood, of his condition, and puts forth all his energies, to meet Ellen's father, was a notoriously bad man, and after this the hour of parting with earth and' turning his face to wicked act was held 'in utter abhorrence in the neighbor- heaven ; so, at the close of the evening, the mind, wearied hood. It is the interest of a master to make his slaves with its day's travelling, is about to sink into that repose happy, even were he not actuated by better motives. as necessary for it as for the body-that repose so often Slavery is an institution of our country; and while we compared to the one in which the tired struggler with life, are privileged to maintain our rights, we should make has " forever wrapped the drapery of his couch about them comfortable here, and fit them for happiness here- him, and laid down to pleasant dreams." Ere yielding, it after." turns with energy to the calls of memory, though it is so " Did you bring Lucy home with you, Cousin Janet ?" soon to forget all for a while. , k It hears voices long since asked Alice. hushed, and eyes gaze into it that have looked their last &_

_ " Yes, my love, and little Walter too. He was a dear upon earthly visions. Time is forgotten, Affection for a baby-now he is a man of fortune, (for Mr. Lee-left him iy while holds her reign, Sorrow appears with her train . f of

",.

,' -

z... SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 46 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, 4'

well satisfied with to its its lounging place. the hall reproachings and remorse, until exhaustion comes Over doors, the antlers of the stag protruded, reminding one that the aid, and it obtains the relief so bountifully provided by chase had been a favorite pastime well our frames. With Mr. Weston with the self-exiled sons Him who knoweth of Merry England. this last hour was well employed, for he not only read, but Such things have passed away from thee, my native studied the Holy Scriptures. Possessed of an unusually few State! Forever have they gone, and the times when over placid temperament, there had occurred in his life but waxed floors thy sons and daughters gracefully to change the natural bent of his dispo- performed events calculated the minuet. The stately bow, the graceful sition. The death of his wife was indeed a bitter grief; curtsey are so short seen no more ; there is hospitality yet lingering in thy but he had not married young, and she had lived of halls, but fashion is making its way there too. The a time, that after a while he returned to his usual train day when there was a tie between master and constant presence of his son, slave,-is that reflection. But for the departing, and why ? whose early education he superintended, he would have Mr. Weston passed from the house under a covered way doubted if there ever had been a reality to the remem- to the kitchen, and with a firm but slow step, entered. And brance of the happy year he had passed in her society. here, if you be an Old or a New Englander, let me intro- With his hand resting on the sacred page, and his heart from duce you-as little at home would be Queen Victoria hold- engrossed with the lessons it taught, he was aroused ing court in the Sandwich Islands, as you' here. You his occupation by a loud noise proceeding from the kitchen. may look in vain for that bane of good dinners, a cooking stove ; This was a most unusual circumstance, for besides that the search forever for a grain of saleratus or soda, and it kitchen was at some distance from the house, the servants will be in vain. That large, round far from being block, with the wooden were generally quiet and orderly. It was hammer, .short time is the biscuit-beater ; and the cork that is lift- the case at present. Mr. Weston waited a ing itself from the jug standing on it, belongs to the yeast length de- to give affairs time to right themselves, but at department. termined to inquire into the cause of the confusion. Mr. Weston did not, nor will we, delay to glance at the As he passed through the long hall, the faces of his an- well-swept earthen floor, and the bright tins in rows on cestors looked down upon him by the dim light. There the dresser, but immediately addressed himself to Aunt Peggy, was a fair young lady, with an arm white as snow, uncon- who, seated in a rush-bottomed chair in the corner, and by a sleeve, unless the fall of a rich border of lace rock- cealed ing herself backwards and forwards, be called by that name. Her was talking rapidly. from her shoilder could And fell oh ! what a figure had Aunt Peggy; or rather, what golden hair was brushed back from her forehead, and a face. Which was the blacker, her eyes or her visage; in masses over her shoulders. Her face was slightly turned, or whiter, her eyeballs or her hair ? The latter, uncon- and there was a smile playing about her mouth. fined by her bandanna handkerchief as she generally wore Next her was a grave-looking cavalier, her husband. it,standing off from her head in masses, like snow. And There were old men, with powdered hair and the rich dress who that had seen her, could forget that one tooth proof bygone times. eting over her thick underlip, and in the sto- constant motion as There werethe hoop and the brocades, and shetlked macher, and the fair bosom, against which a rose leaned, 48 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR,

"It's no use, Mister Bacchus," said she, addressing the old man, who looked rather the worse for wear, "it's no use to be flinging yer imperence in my face. I'se worked my time; I'se cooked many a grand dinner, and eat -'em too. You'se a lazy wagabond yerself." "«Peggy," interposed Mr. Weston. u"A good-for-nothing, lazy vagabond, yerself," continued Peggy, not noticing Mr. Weston, "you'se not worth de hommony you eats." "«Does you hear that, master ?" said Bacchus, appealing to Mr. Weston; a"she's such an old fool." "«Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr. Weston; while Mark, ready to strangle hisfellow-servagwtfor his impertinence, was endeavoring to drag him out of the room. "Ha, ha," said Peggy, "so much for Mr. Bacchus going t1 to barbecues. A nice waiter he makes." "Do you not see me before you, Peggy ?" said Mr. Weston, " and do you continue this disputing in my presence ? If you were not so old, and had not been so faithful for many years, I would not excuse such conduct. You are very ungrateful, when you aie so well cared for ; and from this time forward, if you cannot be quiet and set a good example in the kitchen, do not come into it." * "Don't be afeard, master, I can stay in my own cabin. If I has been well treated, it's no more den I desarves. I'se done nuff for you and yours, in my day; slaved myself for you and your father before you. De Lord above knows I dont want ter stay whar dat ole drunken nigger .is, no how. Hand me my cane, dar, Nancy, I ain't gwine to 'trude my 'siety on nobody." And Peggy hobbled off, not without a most contemptuous look at Bacchus, who was making unsuccessful efforts to rise in compliment to his master. "As for you, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, " never let this happen again. I will not allow you to wait at barbecues, in future." SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 49

" Don't say so, master, if you please; dat ox, if you could a smelled him roastin, and de whiskey-punch," and Bacchus snapped his finger, as the only way of concluding the sentence to his own'satisfaction.

^ i, 4 +, r .J . f s1. - "«Take him off, Mark," said Mr. Weston, " the drunken

,+ 4 . old rascal." a"Master," said Bacchus, pushing Mark off, aI don't like de way you speak to me ; t'aint 'spectful." "«Carry him off," said Mr. Weston, again. "John, help

, J r ,terr Mark." n t "Be off wid yourselves, both of ye," said Bacchus; r y " N " if ye don't, I'll give you de devil, afore I quits." a"I'll shut your mouth for you," said Mark, talking so before master ; knock him over, John, and push him out." J' Bacchus was not so easily overcome. The god whose namesake he was, stood by him for a time. Suddenly the old fellow's mood changed ; with a patronizing smile he turned to Mr. Weston, and said, a"Master, you must 'scuse

; ,, ; < _ . me: I aint well dis evening. I has the dyspepsy; my

y :'' . 1 suggestion aint as good as common. I think dat ox was done too much."

y 1 ,

=, i -," 1: Mr. Weston could not restrain a smile at his grotesque .

" , ,d _ - 3

" 'd_ r w v' 11 appearance, and ridiculous language. Mark and John took advantage of the melting mood which-had come over him, and led him off without difficulty. On leaving the kitchen, he went into a pious fit, and sung out

"'When I can read my title clar." Mr. Weston heard him say, "Don't, Mark; don't squeeze an ole nigger so; do you spousee you'll ever get to Heaven, if you got no more feelins than that ?" " I hope," said Mr. Weston, addressing the other ser-

i vants, i. r y .f. + thatt "_ you will all take warning by this scene. An honest and respectable servant like Bacchus, to degrade IT, r ter, himself in this way-it gives me great pain to see it. p 5

t° r'I 6( 50 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 51

Willia n," said he, addressing a son of Bacchus, who stood I y the window, "cdid you deliver my note to Mr. Wilter "YeYs, sir; he says he'll come to dinner ; I was on my way in to tell you, but they was making such a fuss here." "Ve ry well," said Mr. Weston. "The rest of you go CHAPTER IV. to bed, quietly ; I am sure there will be no more disturb- MY readers must go with me to a military station at the ance tc -night." North, and date back two years from the time of my story. But, what will the Abolitionist say to this scene ? Where The season must change, and instead of summer sunsets were t e whip and the cord, and other instruments of tor- and roses, we will bring before them three feet of snow, ture ? Such consideration, he contends, was never shown and winter's bleakest winds. in the outhern country. With Martin Tupper, I say, Neither of these inconvenienced the company assembled "Hear reason, oh! brother; - in the comfortable little parlor of Captain Moore's quar- Rear reason and right." ters, with a coal-grate almost as large as the room, and curtains closely drawn over the old style windows: Mrs. It has )een, that master and slave were friends-; and if Moore was reduced to the utmost extremity of her wits to this canrnot continue, at whose door will the sin lie? make the room look modern ; but it is astonishing, the The, Abolitionist says to the slave, Go! but what does genius of army ladies for putting the best foot foremost. he do t bat really advances his interest? He says to the This room was neither square nor oblong ; and though a master, Give up thine own! but does he offer to share in mere box in size, it had no less than four doors (two be- the los ? No; he would give to the Lord of that which longed to the closets) and three windows. The closets costs h m nothing. were utterly useless, being occupied by an indomitable Shou id the southern country become free, should the race of rats and mice; they had an impregnable fortress eyes of the world see no stain upon- her escutcheon, it somewhere in the old walls, apd kept possession, in spite will not be through the efforts of these fanatics. If white of the house-keeping artillery Mrs. Moore levelled labor cwould be substituted for black, better were it that 0 against them. The poor woman gave up in despair; she she sho Ald not have this weight upon her. The emanci- locked the doors, and determined to starve the garrison patio )fher slaves will never be accomplished by inter- into submission. ference or force. Good men assist in colonizing them, She was far. more successful in other respects, having and the Creator may thus intend to christianize benighted completely banished the spirits of formality and inhospi- Africa. Should this be the. Divine will, oh ! that from tality that presided in these domains. The house was out- every ort, steamers were going forth, bearing our colored side the fort, and had been purchased from a citizen who people to their natural home! lived there, totally apart from his race; Mrs. Moore had the comfort of hearing, on taking possession, that all sorts of ghosts were at home there; but she was a cheerful kind of woman, and did not believe in them any more than sho 52 AUNT PHILLIS'S -CABIN; OR SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 53

did in clairvoyance, so she set to work with a brave heart, think that a Newfoundland dog had other duties incumbent lis- and every thing yielded to her sway, excepting the afore- upon him in the evening than watching babies, so he said rats and mice. tened attentively to the music, dozing now and then. Her parlor was the very realization of home comfort. Sometimes, during a very loud strain, he would suddenly The lounge by the three windows was covered with small rouse and look intently at the coal-fire ; but finding himself figured French chintz, and it was a delightful seat, or bed, mistaken, that he had only dreamed it was a river, and as the occasion required. She had the legs of several of that a boy who was fishing on its banks had tumbled in, the chairs sawed off, and made cushions for them, covered and required his services to pull him out, would fall down with pieces of the chintz left from the lounge., The arm- on the rug again and take another nap. ,K chairs that looked at each other from either side of the fire- I have said nothing of this rug, which Neptune thought place, not being of velvet, were made to sit in. was purchased for him, nor of the bright red carpet, nor In one corner of the room, (there were five,) a fine-toned of the nice china candlesticks on the mantel-piece, (which nor of the guitar rested against the wall; in another, was a large could not be reached without a step-ladder,) fly-brush of peacock's feathers, with a most unconscionable silver urn, which was Mrs. Moore's great-grandmother's, number of eyes. In the third, was Captain Moore's sword nor of the lard-lamp which lit up every thing astonish- and sash. In the fourth, was Mrs. Moore's work-basket, ingly, because I am anxious to come to the point of this But it where any amount of thimbles, needles, and all sorts of chapter, and cannot do justice to all these things. sewing implements could be found. And in the fifth cor- would be the height of injustice, in me, to pass by Lieu- ner was the baby-jumper, its fat and habitual occupant tenant Jones's moustaches, for the simple reason, that little else being at this time oblivious to the day's exertions; in point since the close of the Mexican war, he had done of fact, he was up stairs in a red pine crib, sound asleep but, cultivate them. They were very brown, glossy, and with his thumb in his mouth. luxuriant, entirely covering his upper lip, so that it was One of Chickering's best pianos stood open in this won- only in a hearty laugh that one would have any reason to derful little parlor, and Mrs. Moore rung out sweet sounds suppose he had cut his front teeth; but he had, and they from it evening after evening. Mrs. M. was an industrious, were worth cutting, too, which is not always the case with teeth. The object of wearing these moustaches was, evi- 11 intelligent Southern woman; before she met Captain. Moore, she had a sort of antipathy to dogs and Yankees; dently, to give himself a warlike and ferocious appearance; both, however, suddenly disappeared, for after a short ac- .in this, he was partially successful, having the drawbacks

i A quaintance, she fell desperately of a remarkably gentle and humane countenance, and a l in love with the captain, and allowed his great Newfoundland dog, (who had saved pair of mild blue eyes. He was a very good-natured young i" the t captain, man, and had shot a wild turkey in Mexico, the tail of ) and a great number 6 of boys from drowning,) to lick y ! - 4 t, her hand, and rest his cold, black nose on her lap ; on this which he had brought home to Mrs. Moore, to be made evening Neptune lay at her feet, and was another ornament into a fan. (This fan, too, was in the parlor, of which of the parlor. Indeed, he should have been mentioned may be said what was once thought of the schoolmaster's in connection with the baby-jumper, for wherever the baby head, that the only wonder was, it could contain so much.) was in the day time, there was Neptune, but he seemed to Next to Mr. Jones we will notice a brevet-second lien-

" 54 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 55

tenant, just attached to the regiment, and then introduce withal; so she laid her difficulties before Aunt Polly, and a handsome bachelor captain. (These are scarce in the begged her to advise what was best to do. army, and should be valued accordingly.) This gentle- " You see, Aunt Polly, Captain Moore says that a good man was a fine musician, and the brevet played delight- example ought to be set to the soldiers; and that since fully on the flute; in fact, they had had quite a concert the Mexican war the young officers are more inclined to this evening. Then there was Colonel Watson, the com- indulge than they used to be; that he feels such a re- manding officer, who had happened in, Mrs. Moore being sponsibility in the case that he can't bear the sight of a an especial favorite of his ; and there was a long, lean, bottle in the house." gaunt-looking gentleman, by the name of Kent. He was " Well, honey," said Aunt Polly, " he says he likes my from Vermont, and was an ultra Abolitionist. They had mince pies, and my puddiirs, mightily ; and does he 'spect all just returned from the dining-room, where they had me to make 'em good, and make 'em out of nothin, too ?" been eating cold turkey and mince pies ; and though " That's what I say, Aunt Polly, " for you know none there was a fair chance of the nightmare some hours of us like to drink. The captain belongs to the Tempe- hence, yet for the present they were in an exceedingly rance Society ; and I don't like it, because it gets into my high state of health and spirits. head, and makes me stupid; and you never drink any Now, Mrs. Moore had brought from Carolina a woman thing, so if we could only manage to get him to let us quite advanced in life. She had been a very faithful ser- keep it to cook with." vant, and Mrs: Moore's mother, wishing her daughter to " As to that, child," said Aunt Polly, a"I mus have it have the benefit of her services, and feeling perfect confi- to cook with, that's a pint settled; there aint no use 'spu- dence in Polly's promise that under no circumstances tin about it. If he thinks I'm gwine to change my way would she leave her daughter without just cause, had con- of cookin in my old age, he's mightily mistaken. He cluded that the best way of managing affairs would be to need'nt think I'm gwine to make puddins out o' one egg, set her free at once. She did so; but Polly being one of and lighten my muffins with snow, like these ere Yankees, those persons who take the world quietly, was not the 'kase I aint gwine to do it for nobody. I sot out to do least elated at being her own mistress ; she rather felt it my duty by you, and I'll do it ; but for all that, I aint to be a kind of experiment to which there was some risk bound to set to larnin new things this time o' day. I'll attached. Mrs. Moore paid her six .dollars a month for cook Carolina fashion, or I wont cook at all." her services, and from the time they had left home toge- "Well, but what shall I do ?" said Mrs. Moore ; "

56 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; ORI, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 4n 57

t a woman oughter 'tend to these matters. 'Pears to me, been since the subject was started, twenty-four hours Mr. Moore, (captain, as you calls him,) is mighty fidjetty before. about bottles, all at once. But if he cant bear the sight i There was but one other servant in the house, a middle- of a brandy bottle in the house, bring 'em down here to- aged woman, who had run away from her mistress in me; I'll keep 'em out of his sight, I'll be bound. I'll Boston; or rather, she had been seduced off by the Aboli- r' put 'em in the corner of my old chist yonder, and I'd tionists. While many would have done well under the like to see him thar, rummagin arter brandy bottles or circumstances, Susan had never been happy, or comfort- any thing else." able, since this occurred. Besides the self-reproach that Mrs. Moore was very much relieved by this suggestion, annoyed her, (for she had been brought on from Georgia and when her husband came in; she enlarged on the ne- to nurse a sick child, and its mother, a very.feeble person, cessity of Polly's having her own way about the cooking, had placed her dependence upon her,) Susan was illy cal- take charge of all and wound up by saying that Polly must culated to shift for herself. She was a timid, delicate by this arrangement he would not be an- the bottles, and woman, with rather a romantic cast of mind ; ier mistress noyed by the sight of them. had always been an invalid, and was fond of hearing her " But, my dear," said he, a"do you think it right to give favorite books read aloud. For the style of books that ?" such things in charge of a servant Susan had been accustomed to listen to, as she sat at her "cWhy, Aunt Polly never drinks." sewing, Lalla Rookh would be a good specimen; and, as the temptation." " Yes, but Emmy, you don't consider she had never been put to hard work, but had merely been "cLa, William, do hush; why if you talk about tempta- an attendant about her mistress' room, most of her time could have drank tion, she's had that all her life, and she was occupied in a literary way. Thus, having an excel- Just say yes, and be done herself to death long ago. lent memory, her head was a sort of store-room for love- with it, for it has worried me to death all day, and I want sick snatches of song. The Museum men would represent it settled, and off my mind." her as having snatched a feather of the bird of song; but Captain Moore, a"but re- "Well, do as you like," said as this is a matter-of-fact kind of story, we will observe, thing happens." member, it will be your fault if any that Susan not being naturally very strong-minded, and "Nothing is going to -happen," said Mrs. Moore, her education not more advanced than to enable her to jumping up, and seizing the wine and brandy bottles by spell out an antiquated valentine, or to write a letter with to the lower regions with them. the necks, and descending a great many small i's in it, she is rather to be considered "cHere they are, Aunt Polly. William consents to your the victim of circumstances and a soft heart. She was, having them; and mind you keep them out of sight." nevertheless, a conscientious woman; and when she lft " Set 'em down in the cheer thar, I'll take care of 'em, Georgia, to come North, had any one told her that she in these potato puddins. I jist wanted.some brandy to put would run away, she would have answered in the spirit, like without it." I wonder what they'd taste if not the expression, of the oft quoted, a"Is thy servant But Mis. Moore could not wait to talk about it, she was a dog?" up stairs in another moment, holding her baby on Nep- She enjoyed the journey to the North, the more that the in mind than she had tune's back, and more at ease her little baby improved very much in strength; she had had, 58 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 59

at her own wish, the entire charge of him from his hashed cod-fish on which she had tried to breakfast, she birth. had a bill to pay, and where was the money? Poor Susan! The family had not been two days at the Revere House she had only a quarter of a dollar, and that she had asked before Susan found herself an object of interest to men her mistress for a week before, to buy a pair of side-combs. who were gentlemen, if broadcloth and patent-leather "cWhy, what a fool you be," said one of the men; "Didn't boots could constitute that valuable article. These indi- I I tell you to bring your mistress' purse along?" viduals seemed to know as much of her as she did of her- "And did you think I was going to steal besides run- self, though they plied her with questions to a degree that ning off from her and the poor baby ?" answered Susan. quite disarranged her usual calm and poetic flow of ideas. " It's not stealing," said the Abolitionist. "Haven't you As to "'Whether-she had been born a slave, or had been been a slaving of yourself all your life for her, and I guess kidnapped? Whether she had ever been sold? How you've a right to be paid for it. I guess you think the many times a week she had been whipped, and what with? rags on your back good wages enough ?" Had she ever been shut up in a dark cellar and nearly Susan looked at her neat dress, and thought they were clothes her landlady had starved? Was she allowed more than one meal a day? very nice rags, compared to the Did she ever have any thing but sweet potato pealings ? on; but the Abolitionist was in a hurry. Had she ever been ducked? And, finally, she was desired "1Come," said he, "I'm not going to spend all my time I to open her mouth, that they might see whether her teeth on you; if you want to be free, come along; pay what had been extracted to sell to the dentist ?" you owe and start." despairingly. Poor Susan! after one or two interviews her feelings a"But I have only this quarter," said Susan, "I don't calculate to give runaway niggers their supper, I were terribly agitated; all these horrible suggestions might become realities, and though she loved her home, her mis- and night's lodging and breakfast for twenty-five cents," tell you. tress, and the baby too, yet she was finally convinced that said the woman. "I aint so green as that, I can t If you've got no money, open your bundle, and we can though born a slave, it was not the intention of Providence, a trade, like as not." but a mistake, and that she had been miraculously led to make

r (which was a good strong carpet- this Western Holy Land, of which Boston is the Jerusalem, Susan opened her bundle, i her,) and after some hesitation, as the means by which things could be set to rights again. bag her mistress had given the woman selected as her due a nice imitation of Cashmere One beautiful, bright evening, when her mistress had shawl, the last present her mistress had given her. It. had rode out to see the State House by moonlight, Susan kissed cost four dollars. Susan could hardly give it up; she the baby, not without many tears, and then threw herself, s wanted to keep it as a remembrance, but she already felt trembling and dismayed, into the arms and tender mercies < 2 herself in the hands of the Philistines, and she fastened up. of the Abolitionists. They led her into a distant part of carpet-bag and set forward. She was carried off in the city, and placed her for the. night under the charge of her the cars to an interior town, and directed to the house of some people who made their living by receiving the newly an Abolitionist, to whom she was to hire herself. ransomed. The next morning she was to go off, but she Her fare was paid by this person, and then deducted found she had reckoned without her host, for when she from her wages-her wages were four dollars a month. thanked the good people for her night's lodgiig and the . ;

AUNT PHILLIS'S IS. 60 CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT 61

She cooked and washed for ten in family; cleaned the commenced, she found it would be necessary to have a whole house, and did all the chores, except sawing the wood, person to clean the - house of four rooms, and to help which the gentleman of the house did himself. She was Neptune mind the baby. Aunt Polly accordingly set only required to ,split the hard, large knots-the oldest forward on an exploration. She presented quite an I son splitting- the easy sticks for her. On Saturday, the unusual appearance as regards her style of dress. She only extra duty required of her was to mend every item wore a plaid domestic gingham gown ; she had several of clothing worn in the family; the lady of the house mak- stuff ones, but she declared she never put one of them on ing them herself. Susan felt very much as if it was out for any thing less than " meetin." She had a black satin of the frying pan into the fire; or rather, as if she had Methodist bonnet, very much the shape of a coal hod, been transferred from'one master to another. She-found it and the color of her own complexion, only there was a took all her wages to buy her shoes and stockings and flan- slight shade of blue in it. Thick gloves, and shoes, and nel, for her health suffered very much from the harsh climate stockings ; a white cotton apron, and a tremendous blanket and her new mode of life, so she ventured to ask for 'an shawl completed her costume. She had a most determined increase of a dollar a month. expression of countenance; the fact is, she had gone out to "Is that your gratitude," was the indignant reply, "for get a house-servant, and she didn't intend to return without all that we've done for you? The idea of a nigger want- one. ing over four dollars a month, when you've been working I forgot to mention that she walked with a cane, having all your life, too, for nothing at all. Why everybody in had a severe attack of rheumatics since her arrival in "the town is wondering that I keep you, when white help is so great Norrurd," and at every step she hit the pavements much better." in such a manner as to startle the rising generation of f

1r F "But, ma'am," replied Susan, "they tell me here that a Abolitionists, and it had the good effect of preventing any woman gets six dollars a month, when she does the whole of them from calling out to her, "Where did you get work of a family." your face painted, you black nigger, fou ?" which would " A white woman does," said this Abolitionist lady, otherwise have occurred. " but not a nigger, I guess. ,Besides, if they do, you Susan was just returning from a grocery store with ought to be willing to work cheaper for Abolitionists, for three codfish in one hand, and a piece of salt pork and a they are your friends." jug of molasses in the other, when she was startled by If "save mp from my friends," had beed in Lalla Aunt Polly's unexpected appearance, bearing down upon Rookh, Susan would certainly have applied it, but as the her like a man of; war. 'I quotation belonged to the heroic rather than the senti- Aunt Polly stopped for a moment and looked at her -mental department, she could not avail herself of it, and intensely, while Susan's feelings, which, like her poetry, therefore went on chopping her codfish and onions together, had for some time been quite subdued by constant collision at the rate of four dollars a month, and very weak eyes, till with a cooking stove, got the better of her, and she burst some good wind blew Captain Moore to the command of into tears. Aunt Polly made up her mind on the spot; it his company, in the Fort near the town. was, as she afterwards expressed it, " 'A meracle,' meeting After Mrs. Moore's housekeeping operations had fairly 6 / 1w 62 AUNT PILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS I5is.S.. 3

that poor girl, with all that codfish and other stuff in her dreamed she was in Georgia, in her old room, with the sI hand." sick baby in her arms. Susan not require too much encouragement Susan's friends, the Abolitionists, were highly indignant it "did to tell her lamentable tale, and Aunt Polly in return advised her at the turn affairs had taken. They had accordingly a socie- to leave her place when her month was up, informing the new and fruitful subject of discussion at the sewing family of her intention, that they might supply themselves. ties and quilting bees of the town. In solemn conclave it This Susan promised to do, with a full heart, and Aunt was decided to vote army people down as utterly disagree- im- Polly having accomplished her mission, set out on her able. One old maid suggested the propriety of their return, first saying to Susan, however, "We'll wait for mediately getting up a petition for disbanding the army; you, you needn't be afeard, and I'll do your work 'till you but the motion was laid on the table in consideration of therefore come, 'taint much, for we puts out our washin. And you John Quincy Adams being dead and buried, and need'nt be sceard when you see the sogers, they aint gwine not in a condition to present the petition. Susan became to hurt you, though they do look so savage." quite cheerful, and gained twenty pounds in an incredibly Susan gave notice of her intention, and after a season short space of time, though strange rumors continued to of martyrdom set forward to find Captain Moore's quarters. float about the army. It was stated at a meeting of the She had no difficulty, for Polly was looking out for her, F. S. F. S. T. W. T. R. (Female Society for Setting the with her pipe in he mouth. "Come in, child," said she, World to Rights) that armyy folks were a low; dissipated " " and warm yourself ; how is your cough ? I stewed some set, for they put wine in their puddin sauce." I I do not mean to say liberty is not, next to life, the ' molasses for you, 'gin you come. ; We'll go up and see II that men and women '' Miss Emmy, presently ; she 'spects you." greatest of God's earthly gifts, and ought not to be happier free than slaves. God forbid that si S Susan was duly introduced to Mrs. Moore who was at But such cases as Susan's the time sitting in the captain's lap with the baby in hers, I should so have read my Bible. do occur, and Neptune's forepaws in the baby's. The captain's tem- and far oftener than the raw-head and bloody- Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe has perance principles did not forbid him smoking a good cigar, bones' stories with which embellish that interesting romance, Uncle and at the moment of Susan's entrance, he was in the act seeen fit to of emitting stealthily a cloud of smoke into his wife's face. Tom's Cabin. After letting the baby fall out of her lap, and taking two or three short breaths with strong symptoms of choking, Mrs. Moore with a husky voice >r and very red eyes, welcomed rl Susan, and introduced her to the baby and Neptune, then S

,J f told Aunt Polly to show her where to e°- put her clothes, and

Yy¢

P to make her comfortable in every respect.

1E Aunt Polly did so by baking her a hoe-cake, and broil- FF

l} ing a- herring, and drawing Ap a cup of strong tea. Su- san went to bed cared with her new happiness, and t ,t tP

tv,

i r s t

t t

. ,''

64 IS. AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT 65 1

;

"L ri

f , { Southern slave. After having been plucked from the fire,

I S,. human mind to see her thrown in 1 it should be painful to the R

1" again."

( said Mrs. gi " Your simile is not a good one, Mr. Kent,"

". fi

ht make a better. C Moore, with a heightened color. "I can

F+ j CHAPTER V. Susan, in a moment of delirium, jumped into the fire, i"2

4 and she called on me to pull her out. Unfortunately, I , i F

f 4 CAPT. MOORE t suddenly seized the poker, and commenced all the burns, for I yesterday received an an- 4 cannot heal 4

{ stirring the vigorously. Neptune refuses to , rushed s fire -to his covert swer to my letter to her mistress, who positively

5i, under the piano, and Mrs.-Moore called out, "Dont, dear, but Mr. Casey will not :. take her back. She is willing, for heaven's sake." consent to it. He says that his wife was made very sick "Why, it's getting cold," said Captain Moore, apologeti- by the shock of losing Susan, and the over-exertion neces- cally. "Don't you hear the wind ?" sary in the care of her child. The baby died in Boston; "Yes, but I don't feel it, neither do you. The fire can- and they cannot overlook Susan's deserting it at a hotel, not be improved. See how you have made the dust fly! without any one to take charge of it ; they placing such You never can let well alone." perfect confidence in Susan, too. He thinks her presence a"That is the trouble with the Abolitionists," said Colonel would constantly recall to Mrs. Casey her child's death ; Watson. "They can't let well alone, and so Mr. Kent besides, after having lived among Abolitionists, he fancies and his party want to reorganize the Southern country."- it would not be prudent to bring her on the plantation. " There is no well there to let alone," said Mr. Kent, Having attained her freedom, he says she must make the with the air of a Solomon. best of it. Mrs. Casey enclosed me ten dollars to give to "Don't talk so, Mr. Kent," said Mrs. Moore, entreat- Susan, for I wrote her she was in tad health, and had very ingly, "for I can't quarrel with you in my own house, and little clothing when she came to me. Poor girl! I could I feel very much inclined to do so for that one sentence."' hardly persuade her to take the money, and soon after, she

a, "Now," said the bachelor captain, acI do long to hear brought it to me and asked me to -keep it for her, and not I, qq4 you and Mr. Kent discuss Abolition. The colonel and I to change the note that came from home. I felt very sorry gt

c i may be considered disinterested listeners, M as we hail from for her."

a t the Middle F3 States, and are not politicians. Captain Moore "She deserves it," said Mr. Kent. :11{ t cannot interfere, as he is host as well as husband; and "I think she does," said Mrs. Moore, smiling, "though f r Mr. Jones and Scott have eaten too much te feel much infor another reason." z terest in any thing just now. Pray, tell Mr. Rent, my dear Mr. Kent blushed as only men with light hair, and light 1 4% madam, of Susan's getting you t to intercede i with her mis- skin, and light eyes, can blush.

3 l tress to take her back, and see what he says." "I mean," said Mr. Kent, furiously, a"she deserves her

syy

i1 ki "Iknow it already," said Mr. Kent, "and I must say refusal for her ingratitude. After God provided her i that I am surprised to find Mrs. Moore inducing a fellow- friends, who made her a free woman, she is so senseless as

it creature to return to a condition so to want to go back to be lashed and trodden under foot 1i dreadful& that of a t - 6*

t§ 66 AUNT PHILLIS'S 'CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 67

again, as the slaves of the South are. I say, she deserves chains, it is all that God expects me to do; let him earn it for being such a fool." his own living." "And I say," said Mrs. Moore, "4she deserves it for "cBut suppose he does not know how to do so," said Mrs. deserting her kind mistress at a time when she most needed Moore, "what then? The occupations of a negro at the her services. God did not raise her up friends becau2' South are so different from those of the people at the

t a she had done wrong." North." " ft4 r " You are right, Emmy, in your views of Susan's con- "Thank God they are, ma'am," said Mr. Kent, grandly.

F; J1 duct; but you should be careful how you trace motives to "We have no overseers to draw the blood of their fellow such a source. She certainly did wrong, and she has suf- creatures, and masters to look on and laugh. We do not

YT Syy fered ; that is and sell them j1 all we can say. We must do the best we snatch infants from their mothers' breasts,

.S rv can to restore her to health. She is very happy with us for whisky." now, and will, no doubt, after a while, enjoy her liberty,: a"Neither said Mrs. Moore, her bosom heaving I do we,"

I it would be a most could have had f unnatural thing if she did not." with emotion; no one but an Abolitionist

t t a But how is it, Mr. Kent," said the colonel, "that after such a wicked thought. No wonder that men who glory you induce these poor devils to give up their homes, that in breaking the laws of their country should make such

s h you do not start them in life ; set them going in some way misstatements." in the new world to which you transfer them. You do "Madam," said Mr. Kent;'"they are facts ; we can not give them a copper, I am told." prove them; and we say that the slaves of the South shall I "We don't calculate to do that," said Mr. Kent. be free,'cost what it will. The men of the North have

4 a I believe you," said Mrs. 3i Moore, maliciously. set out to emancipate them, and they will do it if they I^ Mr. Kent looked indignant at the interruption, while have to wade through fire, water, and blood." his discomfiture was very amusing to the young officers, "You ha {ter not talk in- that style when you go

i an uncon- y¢4 they being devoted admirers of Mrs. Moore's talents and South," said Captain Moore, " unless you have t i{i mince pies. They laughed heartily; and Mr. Kent looked querable prejudice in favor of tar and feathers." at them as if nothing would have induced him to overlook "Who cares for tar and feathers ?" said Mr. Kent ;

r F their impertinence but the fact, that they were very low " there has been already a martyr in the ranks-of Abolition, on the list of lieutenants, and he was an abolition .agent. and there may be more. Lovejoy died a glorious martyr's "We caculate, sir, to give them their freedom, and then death, and.there are others ready todo the same." let them look out for themselves." "Give me my cane, there, captain, if you please," said

r, d " That is, you have no objection to their living in the Colonel Watson, who had been looking at Mr. Kent's same world with yourself, provided it costs you nothing," blazing countenance and projecting eyes, in utter amaze- It to this. Good k ment. "Why, Buena Vista was nothing a said the colonel. "We make them free," said Mr. Kent. "They have night, madam, and do tell Susan not to jump into the fire their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. again; I wonder she was not burned up while she was They are no longer enslaved, body and soul. If I see a there. Come, captain, let us make our escape while we man with his hands and feet chained, .and Ibreak ,those can."

j1 S 68 AUNT PRILLIS's, CABIN ; OR SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 69

The captain followed, bidding the whole party good night, with a smile. He had been perfectly charmed with the Abolition discussion. Mr. Jones had got very sleepy, and he and Mr. Scott made their adieu. Mr. Kent, with soine embarrassment, bade Mrs. Moore good night. Mrs. Moore CHAPTER VI. begged him to go South and be converted, for she believed his whole heart required changing. Captain Moore fol- . ARTHUR WESTON is in his college-room in that far-famed lowed them to the door, and shivered as he inhaled the Haven. He is in the act of replacing his cigar north-easter. "Come, city, New Emmy," said he, as he entered, in his mouth, after having knocked- the ashes off it, when drubbing his hands, "you've fought for your country this we introduce to him the reader. Though not well em- night; let's go to bed." L - ployed, his first appearance must be prepossessing ; he Mrs. Moore lit a candle, and put out the lard-lamp, won- inherited his mother's clear brunette complexion, and her dering if she had been impolite to Mr. Kent. She led the fine expressive eyes. His very black hair he had thrown way to the staircase, in a reflective state of mind; Nep- entirely off his forehead, and he is now reading an Aboli- tune followed, and stood at the foot of the steps for some tion paper which had fallen into his hands. There are moments, in deep thought; concluding that-if there should two other young men in the room, one of them Arthur's be danger of any one's falling into a river up there, they friend, Abel Johnson; and the other, a young man by the would call him and let him know, he went back, laid down name of Hubbard. on the soft rug, and fell asleep for the night. "Who brought this paper into my room ?" said Arthur, * * * ** * after laying it down on the table beside him. It does not take long to state a fact. Mr. Kent went "I was reading it," said Mr. Hubbard, " and threw it to Washington on Abolition business,-through the intro- aside." duction of a senator from his own State he obtained access "Well, if it makes no difference to you,- Mr. Hubbard, to good society. He boarded in the same house with a I'd prefer not seeing any more of these publications about Virginian who had a pretty face, very little sense, but a me. This number is a literary curiosity, and deserves to large fortune. Mr. Kent, with very little difficulty, per- be preserved; but as I do not file papers at present, I will suaded her he was a saint, ready to be translated at the just return it, after expressing my thanks to you for afford- shortest notice. He dropped his Abolition notions, and ing me the means of obtaining valuable information about they were married. At the time that my story opens, he the Southern country." is a planter, living near Mr. Weston, and we will hear of '"What is it about, Arthur," said Abel Johnson, "it is him again. too hot to read this morning, so pray enlighten me ? "Why, here," said Arthur, opening the paper again, "here is an advertisement, said to be copied from a South- ern paper, in which, after describing a runaway slave, it says:

killed.' Then the editor goes on to say, 'that when a our laws are, generally speaking, humane and faithfully planter loses a slave, he becomes so impatient at not cap- administered. We have enactments which not only pro- turing him, and is so angry at the loss, that he then does tect their lives, but which compel their owners to be what is equivalent to inducing some person to murder him moderate in working them, and to ensure them proper, by way of revenge.' Now, is not this infamous ?" care as regards their food." "But it is true, I believe," said Mr. Hubbard. But," said Mr. Hubbard, "you have other laws, police- '5 It is not true, sir," said Arthur, "it is false, totally laws, which deprive them of the most innocent recrea- and entirely false. Why, sir, do you mean to say, that tions, such as are not only necessary for their happiness, the life of a slave is in the power of a master, and that he but also for their health." is not under the protection of our laws ?" "And if such laws do exist," said Arthur, " where is "I am told that is the case," said Mr. Hubbard. the cause ? You may trace it to the interference of med- "«Then you are told what is not true ; and it seems to dling, and unprincipled men. They excite the minds of me, you are remarkably ignorant of the laws of your the slaves, and render these laws necessary for the very country." protection of our lives. But without this interference, "It is not my country," said Mr. Hubbard, "I assure there would be no such necessity. In this Walsh's Ap- you. I lay no claims to that part of the United States peal, which is now open before me, you. will find, where where slavery is allowed." Abel left off reading, these remarks, which show that not t"Thenif it is not your country, for what reason do only the health and comfort of the slaves, but also their you concern yourself so much about its affairs ?" feelings, are greatly considered. 'The master who would "Because," replied Mr. Hubbard, " every individual deprive his negro of his property-the product :f his has the right to judge for himself, of his own, and of poultry-house or his little garden; who would force him other countries." to work on holidays, or at night; who would deny him "cNo, not without- proper information," said Arthur. common recreations, or leave him without shelter and " And as you have now graduated and intend to be a lawyer, provision, in his old age, would incur the aversion of the I trust you will have consideration enough for the profes- community, and raise obstacles to the advancement of his sion, not to advance opinions until you are sufficiently in- own interest and external aims.' " formed to enable you to do so justly. Every country " Then," said Mr. Hubbard, a"you mean to say, he is must have its poor people; you have yours at the North, kind from self-interest alone." for I see them-we have ours; yours are white, ours are "No, I do not," replied Arthur; "that undoubtedly, actuates black. I say yours are white; I should except your free men at the South, as it does men at the North; - , , but I mean to say, blacks, who are the most miserable class of human beings so universal is it with us to see our I ever saw. They are indolent, slaves well treated, that when an instance of the contrary r reckless, and impertinent. The poorer classes of society, are proverbially improvi. nature occurs, the author of it is subject to the dislike , dent-and yours, in sickness, and in old age, are often and odium of his acquaintances." victims of want and suffering. Ours in such circumstances, a"But," said Mr. Hubbard, " that does not always pro- are kindly cared for, and are never considered? a burden; tect the slaves-which shows that your laws are sometimes k

72 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, I SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 73

ineffectual. They are not always secure from ill-treat- sent her in here with it an hour ago ; just like her, lazy, ment." good-for-nothing Irish thing. They're nothing but white "But, do your laws always secure you from ill-treat- niggers, after all, these Irish. Here, Ann,' she bawled ment ?" said Arthur.' out, 'come here!' "cOf course," said Mr. Hubbard, "the poorest person in " 'Coming,' said Ann, from within the glass door. New England is as safe from injustice and oppression, as "'Come this minute,' said the old woman, and Ann's the highest in the land." pretty Irish face showed itself immediately. "Nonsense," said Arthur, a"don't you think I can judge '

. x ,s faces, and to make the most of it when I find them. We f " Mrs. Brown's blood was up too, and she struck the poor walked on, arm-in-arm, and when we r got to the shop, girl in the face, and her big, hard hand was in an instant . there stood Mrs. Brown behind the counter, .big as all out covered with blood, which spouted out from Ann's nose.

f- doors, with a very red face, and in a'violent perspiration ; "'Now take that for your impudence, and you'll get t a f i there was some thing wrong with the old lady 'twas easy worse next time you go disputing with me. i

F s to see." F a 4 I declare, Mrs. Brown,' said Arthur, 'this is, I

a 1

' 4 "'< Well, Mrs. Brown,' said Arthur, for I was looking i thought, a free country. I did not know you could take

, #j {h ! in the glass cases and under the counter for the pretty # the law into your own hands in that style.' f t, face, 'have you any rusk?' "'That gal's the bother of my life,' said Mrs. Brown. "'

y! 74 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 75

'You got some good blood out of her,' said I, ' at any father, who was one; and on a good many more T could rate,' for Mrs.,Brown was wiping her hands, and the blood mention. In fact, I could bring forward quite a respecta- looked red and healthy enough; 'but she is not a turnip, ble list who have died in their beds, in spite of their egre- that's one thing to be considered.' gious sin in this respect. There are Washington, Jeffer-. "

Y 3{ "Deacon White is worth twenty thousand dollars," said 1(R right, and were fulfilled, too ; as I think t this one has been." Abel, "every cent of which lie made mending and making common shoes."

yS { 7* 1 ,

;1 1

t t I

78 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS.

"What does he do with it ?" said Arthur. "'Twelve and a half cents,' said the deacon, slowly " hoards it up," said Abel, " and yet an honester man raising his spectacles from his nose. never lived. Did I not tell you of the time I hired his "'No!' said I. 'Twelve and a half cents ! 'Why, I horse and chaise? I believe not; well, it is worth waiting have had the horse all day.' for. The deacon's old white horse is as gray and as docile "'< That is my price,' said the deacon. as himself; the fact is, the stable is so near the house, "'For a horse and chaise, all day?' said I. Why, dea- that the horse is constantly under the influence of 'Old con, do charge me something that I aint ashamed to pay Hundred;'' he has heard the good old tune so often, that you.. he has a solemn way of viewing things. Two or three That is my regular price, and I can't charge you any weeks ago I wanted to take my sister to see a relative of more.' ours, who lives seven or eight miles from here, and my «"I remonstrated with him, and tried to persuade him to mother would not consent to my driving her, unless I hired take twenty-five cents-but, no. I appealed to Mrs. White ; the deacon's horse and chaise-the horse, she said, could she said the <'deacon hadn't ought to take more than the not run if he.wanted to. So I got him, and Harriet asked horse and chaise was worth.' However, I induced him to I Kate Laune to go too, as the chaise was large enough for take eighteen and three-quarter cents, but he was uneasy all three ; and we had a good time. We were goine all day, about it, and said he was afraid he was imposing on me. and after I took the girls home, I drove round to the dea The next morning I was awakened at day-dawn-there con's house and jumped out of the chaise to pay what I was a man, they said, who wanted to see me owed. on pressing business, and could not wait. I dressed in a hurry, won- "You know what a little fellow the deacon is, and he dering what was the cause of the demand for college- looked particularly small that evening, for he was seated students. I went down, and there stood the deacon, lookin his arm-chair reading a large newspaper which hid him ing as if his last hour were come. 'Mr. Abel,' he said, 'I all but his legs. These are so shrunken that I wonder have passed a dreadful restless night, and I couldn't stand how his wife gets his stockings small enough for him. it after the day broke-here's your six and a quarter cents II "'Good evening, Mrs. White,' said I, for the old lady -I hadn't ought have charged you more than my usual was sitting on the steps knitting. price.' I was angry at the old fellow for waking me up, "'Mercy's sake, deacon,' said she, 'put down your but I could not help laughing, too." newspaper; don't you see Mr. Johnson?' "<'Twas very ugly of you, Mr. Abel, to persuade me to "' The deacon did not even give me a nod until he had take so much,' said he; 'you're welcome to the horse and scrutinized the condition of the horse and chaise, and chaise whenever you want it, but twelve and a half cents then he said, 'How are you?' is my usual price.' " "

ti -",

SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 81 80 AUN PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, Harriet says she wishes he wore a long-tailed coat instead Southern States, and he is to lecture to-night, won't you o and hear him?" of a short jacket, so that she could hang on and get to "cThank you, no," said Arthur. "I have seen some of heaven that way." this reverend gentleman's statements, and his friends "My sister saw Mrs. White not long ago, and compli- life. He. to advise him to drop the reverend for mented her on her new bonnet being so very becoming ought subject for an asylum, for I can't think a man in to her. 'Now I want to know!' said Mrs. White; 'why I is a fit his senses would lie so." thought it made me look like a fright.' "He is considered a man of veracity," said Mr..Hub- "'But what made you get a black one,' said Harriet, have an opportunity of knowing his 'why did you not get a dark green or a brown one ?'. bard, aby those who character." "'Why,you see,' said Mrs. White, 'the deacon's health "cWell, I differ from them," said Arthur, " and shall is a failin'; he's dreadful low in the top knots lately, and I deprive myself of the pleasure of hearing him. Good thought as his time might come very soon, I might as well sir." get a black one while evening, I was a getting. We're all born to a"Wouldn't he be a-good subject for tar and feathers, die, Miss Harriet; and the deacon is dwindlin' away.' " Arthur? They'd stick, like grim death to a dead nigger," The young men laughed, and Arthur said "«Whatwill he said Abel. do with his money? Mrs. White will not wear the black "4He is really such a fool," said Arthur, " that I have bonnet long if she have twenty thousand dollars; she can no patience with him; but you take your usual nap, and I buy a new bonnet and a new husband with that." will read my letters." No danger," said Abel, "Deacon White has made his will, and has left his wife the interest of five thousand dollars; at her death the principal goes, as all the rest, to . aid some benevolent purpose. "But there are the letters ; yhat a bundle for you, CHAPTER VII. Arthur! That is the penalty of being engaged. Well I must wait for the widow White, I guess she'll let me have WE will go back to the last evening at Exeter, when we the use of the horse and chaise, at any rate." left Mr. Weston to witness the result of Bacchus's attend- Mr. Hubbard arose to go, and Arthur handed him his ance at the barbecue. There were other hearts busy in newspaper. "That is a valuable document, sir, but there is the quiet night time. Alice, resisting the offers of her onestill more s6 in your library here; it is a paper pub- maid to assist her in undressing, threw herself on a lounge lished the same month and year of the Declaration of by the open window. The night air played with the cur- Independence, in which are-advertised in the New England tains, and lifted the curls from her brow. Her bloom, States negroes for sale ! Your fathers did not think we which of late had been changeful and delicate, had now were all born free and equal it appears." left her cheek, and languid and depressed she abandoned " We have better views now-a-days, said Mr. Hubbard; herself to thought. So absorbed was she, that she was not the Rev. Mr. H. has just returned from a tour in the ~ aware any one had entered the room, until her mother 8 2 AUNT PIIILLIS'S CABIN; SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 83

stood near, gently reproving Do not her for thus exposing her- mother exclaimed, "cWhatis it, dearest mother? self to the night air. a"Do so." get up and go to bed," she look so deathlike. I cannot bear to see you said. "Where is Martha evil ?" Oh! they speak falsely who say the certainty of "I did not want her," said Alice; "and am now going can be better borne than suspense. Watcher by the couch. to bed myself. What there is has brought you here?" of suffering, sayest thou so? Now thou knowest " Because I felt anxious about you," said Mrs. Weston, no hope, thy darling must be given up. There is no mis- "and came, as I have often before, to be assured that you taking that failing pulse, and that up-turned eye. A few were well and enjoying repose. I find you still up; and hours ago, there was suspense, but there was hope; death now, my daughter, there is a question I have feared to ask was feared, but not expected; his arm was outstretched, you,. but can no longer delay it. By all the love that is r but the blow was not descending; now, there is no hope. between us, by the tie that should bind an only child to a Mrs. Weston had long feared that all was not well with widowed mother, will you tell me what are the thoughts her promise was given to one, her heart that 31 Alice-that while are oppressing you? I have to meet the been anxious for your health, Agrr had wandered to another ; yet she dreaded but is there not more cause to fear for your happiness ?" appalling certainty; now with her there is no hope. The "I am well enough, dear mother," she contended was evident to her said Alice, with i ai keen anguish with which some irritation of manner, "Do not concern yourself daughter, who was affrighted at her mother's appearance. about me. If you will go to bed, I will too." So much so, that for the first time for months she entirely "You cannot thus put me off," said Mrs. Weston. forgo the secret she had been hiding in her heart. The "Alice, I charge you, as in the presence of God, to tell me young in their first sorrow dream there are none like their truly: do you love Walter Lee?" own. It is not until time and many cares have bowed us "It would be strange if I did not/" said Alice, in to the earth. that we look around, beholding those who a low voice. "Have we not always been as brother and have suffered more deeply than ourselves. sister?" Accustomed to self-control, Mrs. Weston was not long " Not in that sense, Alice ; do not thus evade me. Do in recovering herself; taking her daughter's hand within you love him with an affection which should belong to your her own, and looking up in her fair. face, a"Alice," she cousin, to whom you are solemnly engaged, who has been said, a"you listened with an unusual interest to the details the companion of your childhood, and who is the son of of suffering of one whom you.never saw. I mean Walter the best friend that God ever raised up to a widow and a Lee's mother; she died. I can tell you of one who has fatherless child ?" suffered, and lived. Alice turned her head away, and after a moment answer- " It is late, and I fear to detain you from your rest, but ed, a"Yes,,I do, mother, and I cannot help it." But on something impels me that I cannot resist. Listen, then, turning to look at her mother, she was shocked at the ex- while I talk to you of myself. You are as yet almost un- pression of agony displayed on her countenance. Her acquainted with your mother's history." hand was pressed tightly oveuher heart, her lips quivered, "Another time, mother; you are not well now," said and her whole persn trembled. It was dreadful to see her Alice. thus agitated; and Alice, throwing her arms ground her "Yes, my love, now. You were born in the same house SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 84 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, 85

M ' t that I was; yet your infancy only was passed where I lived mother, in a state of waiting and preparation for that ac- 6 until my marriage. I was motherless at an early age ; in- count which we must all surely give for the talents entrusted

SYb to our care.' Did I heed his advice? You will hardly -t _3 3 deed, one of the first remembrances that I recall is the bright k4 and glowing summer evening when my mother was carried believe me, Alice, when I tell you how I repaid his tender- from our plantation on James River to the opposite shore, ness. I was the cause of his death." where was our family burial-ground. Can I ever forget "It could never be, mother," said Alice, weeping, when I 19y father's uncontrolled grief, and the sorrow of the ser- she saw the tears forcing their way down her mother's

y t vants, as they, followed, dressed in the deepest mourning. cheek. "You are excited and distressed now. Do not 7 ll R~ tell me any more to-night, and forget what I told you." yF I was terrified at the solemn and .dark-looking bier, the all the dread accom- Mrs. Weston hardly seemed to hear her. After a pause y- black plumes that waved over it, and .. 1 paniments of death. I remember but little for years after of a few moments, she proceeded: this, save the continued gloom of my father, and his con- " It was so, indeed. I, his only child, was the cause of his death; stant affection and indulgence toward me, and occasionally I, his cherished and beloved daughter, committed varying our quiet life by a visit to Richmond or Washing- an act that broke his heart, and laid the foundation of ton. sorrows for me, that I fear will only end with my life. "Alice, "My father was a sincere and practical Christian. He I read not long since of a son, the veriest wretch was averse to parting with me ; declaring, the only solace on earth ; he was unwilling to grant his poor aged father he had was in directing my education, and being assured a subsistence from his abundance; he embittered the fail- of my happiness. ing years of his life by unkindness and reproaches. One "My governess was an accomplished and amiable lady, day, after an altercation between them, the son seized his

*; rr father by but she was too kind and yielding.' I have always retained his thin, white hair, and dragged him to the corner of the street. the most grateful remembrance of her care. Thus, though Here, the father in trembling tone

4 implored his pity. 'Stop, oh ! stop, my 'for surrounded by good influences, I needed restraint, where son,' he said, I

h dragged there was so much indulgence. I have sometimes ventured my father here. God has punished me in your sin.'

t "Alice, can you not see the hand of a just God in this i, to excuse myself on the ground that I was not taught that retribution, and do you wonder, when you made this ac- 'i most necessary of all lessons: the power of governing my- knowledgment to me .to-night, ' the agony of death over- )', self. The giving up of my own will to the matured judg- n s came me? I thought, as I felt His hand laid heavily F upon 3 ment of others. ". me, my punishment was "The part of mylife that I wish to bring before you greater than I could bear; my

}

s ci sin would be punished in your sorrow; and naught but i now, is the year previous to my marriage. Never had I V 1,

t sorrow would be your portion as the received an ungentle word from my father; never in all wife of Walter Lee. "Do not my waywardness and selfwill did he harshly reprove me. interrupt me, it is time we were asleep, but I shall soon have finished what I have to say. My father He steadily endeavored to impress on my mind a sense and Mr. Weston were friends in early life, and I was of the constant presence of God. He would often say, thrown into frequent companionship of our lives, places its impress with my husband, from the 'Every moment, every hour time "{ when we were very young. His appearance, his on our condition 'in eternity. Live, thn, as did your =S

. I

86 AUNT- PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 87

talents, his unvaried gayety of disposition won my regard. death; we have been almost dependant on your uncle. Yet it has not been dependance; 41 For a time, the excess of dissipation in which he indulged he is too generous to let hi W' unknown to us, but on our return to Virginia after an us feel that. On your father's death-bed, he was all in absence of some months in England, it could no longer be all to him-never leaving him; inducing him to turn his concealed. His own father joined with mine in prohibit- thoughts to the future opening before him. He taught me ing all intercourse between us. For a time his family con- where to look for comfort, and bore with me when in mig sidered him as lost to therm and to himself; he was utterly impatient grief I refused to seek it. He took you, then regardless of aught save what contributed to his own plea- almost an infant, to his heart, has cherished you as his sures. I only mention this to excuse my father in your own, and now looks forward to the happiness of seeing you eyes, should you conclude he was too harsh in the course his son's wife; will you so cruelly disappoint him ?" he insisted I should pursue. He forbade him the house, "I will do whatever you ask me, dear mother," said and refused to allow any correspondence between us; at Alice. "«I will never see Walter again, if that will con- the same time he promised that if he would perfectly re- tent you. I have already told him that I can never be to form from the life he was leading, at the end of two years him more than I have always been-a sister. Yet I can- he would permit the marriage. I promised in return to not help loving him." "Cannot help loving a man whose very birth is attended bind myself to these conditions. Will you believe it, that seated on my mother's grave, with my head upon my kind with shame," said Mrs. Weston; " whose passions are un- father's breast, I vowed, that as I hoped for Heaven I would governable, who has alread4eated with the basest ingra- never break my promise, never see him. again, without titude his kindest friends ? Hve you so little pride? I my father's permission, until the expiration of this period; will not reproach you, my darling ; promise me you will and yt I did break it. I have nearly done. I left home never see Walter again, after to-morrow, without my know- secretly. I was married; and I never saw my father's ledge. I can trust you. Oh! give up forever the thought face again. The shock of my disobedience was too hard of being his wife, if ever you have entertained it. Time will show you the justice of my fears, and time will bring back for him to bear. He died, and in vain have I sought a your old feelings for place of repentance, though I sought it with tears. Arthur, and we shall be happy again." "I will make « I have suffered much ; but though I cannot conceal from you the promise," said Alice, "and I will keep it ; but I will not deceive Arthur. you that your father threw away the best portion of his life, Ungrateful as I may appear, he his death was not without hope. I cling to the trust that shall know all. He will then love some I one more worthy his sins were washed away, and his soul made clean in the of him than I am." "Let us blood of the Saviour. Then, by the memory of all that I leave the future 'in the hands of an unerring God, my Alice. suffered, and of that father whose features you bear, whose Each one must bear her burden, I would gladly bear yours; dying words gave testimony to my faithfulness and affec- but it may not be. Forget all this for a while; let me tion to him, I conjure you to conquer this unfortunate sleep by you to-night." Alice could not but be soothed passion, which, if yielded to, will end in your unceasing by the gentle tone, and dear caress. Oh, misery. blessed tie! uniting mother and child. SEarth cannot, and Heaven will not break it. " There was little of my large fortune left at-your father's

.i 88 AUNT PHILLIS' S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 89

sisted in shading the apartment, making it fragrant too. The bird-cages were hung among the branches of the flowers, and the little prisoners sang as if they had, at last, found a way of escape to their native woods; old-fash- CHAPTER VIII. ioned silver glittered on the sideboard, the large china punch-bowl maintaining its position in the centre. As absurd would it be for one of the small unsettled William had gone to the drawing-room to announce the stars, for whose place and wanderings we care not, to usurp important intelligence, "cDinner is, ready !" and Bacchus the track of the Queen of night or of the God of day, as looked around the room for the last time, to see that for an unpretending writer to go over ground that 'has every thing was, as it should be, snuffing up the rich been trodden by the master minds of the age. It was in fumes of.the soup as it escaped from the sides of the silver- the olden time that Cooper described a dinner party in all covered tureen. He perceived that one of the salt-cellars its formal, but hospitable perfection. Washington was a was rather near the corner of the table, and had only guest there, too, though an unacknowledged one; wee can- time to rearrange it, when William threw open the doors. not introduce him at Exeter, yet I could bring forward The company entered, and with some delay and formality there, more than one who knew him well, valuing him took their places. We need not wait until the Rev. Mr. not only as a member of society and a hero, but as the Aldie says grace, though that would not detain us long; for man chosen by God for a great purpose. Besides, I would the Rev. Mr. Aldie, besides being very hungry, has a great introduce to my readers, some of the residents of L--. deal of tact, and believes in short prayers; nor will we I would let them into the very heart of Virginia life; and, delay to witness the breaking down of the strongholds of although I cannot arrogate to it any claims for superiority precision and ultra propriety, that almost always solemn- over other, conditions of society, among people of the izes the commencement of an entertainment; but the old same class in life, yet, at least, I will not allow an infe- Madeira having been passed around, we will listen to the riority. As variety is the spice of society, I will show conversation that is,going on from different parts of the table. dI them, that here are many men of many minds. Mark, was a famous waiter, almost equal to Bacchus, "We have outlived, sir," said.Mr. Chapman, addressing a northern gentleman present, " we have outlived dL who was head man, on such occasions. They were in the first and greatest their elements at a dinner party, and the sideboard, and era of our country. Its infancy was its tables, on such an occasion, were in their holiday attire. greatest era. The spirit of Washington still breathes A strong arm, a hard brush, and plenty of beeswax, among us. One or two of us here have conversed with banished all appearance of use, and the old servants- lum, sat at his table, taken him by the hand. It is too thought that every article in the room looked as bright. soon for the great principles that animated his whole career '1 and handsome as on the occasion of their young mistress' to have passed from our memory. I am not a very old first presiding at her table. The blinds of the windows man, gentlemen and ladies, yet it seems to me a great while since looking south, were partly open; the branches of the the day of Washington's funeral. My father called me lemon-tree, and the tendrils of the whitejessamine, as- and my brothers to him, and while our mother 8* wm"m

(1 90 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 91

was fastening a band of black crape around our hats, ' My vexation, what is that you say? Did ever any one hear boys,' said he, c'you have seen the best days of this re- of a soldier being amiable? No, sir, I will give you a public.' It is so, for as much as the United States has toast that was drank just before the death of the greatest increased in size, and power, and wealth, si'hce then, dif- and best of men. I picked up an old newspaper, and laid ferent interests are dividing her." it aside in my secretary. In it I read a toast worth ?" asked an English f ; " Was Washington a cheerful man giving. Fill high, gentlemen-' The man who forgets gentleman who was present, "4I have heard that he never the services of George Washington, may he be forgotten laughed. Is it so ?" by his country and his God.' " Miss Janet, who was considered a kind of oracle when Mr. Selden, who possessed in a remarkable degree the personal memories of Washington were concerned, an- amiableness that he had ascribed to another, swallowed swered after a moment's pause, a"I have seen him smile the wine and approved the toast. Mr. Chapman was some often, I never saw him laugh but once. He rode over, time recovering his composure. one afternoon, to see a relative with whom I was staying; " You intend to leave Virginia very soon, Mr. Lee," it was a dark, cloudy day, in November; a brisk wood said Mr. Kent, addressing Walter. fire was very agreeable. After some little conversation "Very soon, sir," Walter replied. on ordinary topics, the gentlemen discussed the politics "Where shall you go first ?" asked Mr. Kent. of the times, Washington saying little, but listening a

or under the hand of the master or owner of such negro, vant or slave, so offending, and him, her, or them, bring mulatto, or Indian servant or servants, shall be deemed before the next assistant or justice of the peace, which au- and accounted as runaways, and may be treated as such. thority shall have full power to pass sentence upon such And every person inhabiting in this colony, finding or servant or slave, and order him, her, or them, to be meeting with any such negro, mulatto, or Indian servant publicly whipped on the naked body, not exceeding ten or servants not having a ticket as aforesaid, is hereby em- stripes, &c.'" powered to seize and secure him or them, and bring him a"Pretty tight laws you had, sir," said Mr. Chapman, or them before the next authority, to be examined and re- addressing Mr. Perkins. "A woman could be picked up turned to his or their master or owner, who shall satisfy and whipped, at the report of any body, on the naked the charge accruing thereby. body. Why, sir, if we had such laws here, it would be

at least in their sincerity. But now the fear is for their " c'Laws ! why railroads have to be made, and have to be pockets. I am a poor man. I own a few slaves, and I made the right way. I aint afraid of the laws. I think will sell them to any Northern man or woman at half-price no more of knocking an Irishman over, sir, thanI do of for what I could get from a trader, and they may send eating my dinner. One is as necessary as the other.' them to Liberia. Lord ! sir, they'd as soon think of buy- "Now," continued Mr. Chapman, "if an Abolitionist ing the d-l himself. You must excuse my strong lan- sees a slave knocked over, he runs home to tell his mammy; guage, but this subject irritates me. Not long ago, I was it's enough to bring fire and brimstone, and hail, and earth- in the upper part of the State of New York, looking about quakes on the whole country. A man must have a black me, for I do look about me wherever I am. One morning skin or his sorrows can never reach the hearts of these I got up early, and walked toward the new railroad that gentlemen. They had better look about at home. There is they were constructing in the neighborhood. I chanced to wrong enough there to make a fuss about." get to the spot just in time to see a little fracas between a "Well," said the Englishman, "you had both, better stout, burly Irishman, and the superintendent of the party. come back to the mother country. The beautiful words, " I thought, be Jasus,' said the Irishman, just as I ap- so often quoted, of Curran, may invite you: 'No matter proached near enough to hear what was going on, 'that a with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the man could see himself righted in a free country.' altar of slavery, the moment he touches the sacred soil of u "'Go to your work,' said the superintendent,'and if Britain, the altar and the God sink together in the dust, you say another word about it, I'll knock you over.' and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, "< Is it you'll knock me over, you will,' began the Irish- by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation.' " man. " Thank you, sir, for your invitation," said Mr. Chap- "He was over in a moment. The superintendent, sir, man, "but I'll stay in Virginia. The old State is good gave him a blow between the eyes, with a fist that was hard enough for me. I have been to England, and I saw some as iron. The man staggered, and fell. I helped him up, sir; of your redeemed, regenerated, disenthralled people-I and I reckon he thought matters might be worse still, for saw features on women's faces that haunted me afterward he slowly walked off.. in my dreams. I saw children with shrivelled, attenuated a limbs, and countenances t "a D d free country,' he muttered to me, in a kind that were old in misery and vice of confidential tone. 'I thought they only knocked nig- -such men, women, and children as Dickens and Char- a gers over in Ameriky. Be me soul, but I'll go back to lotte Elizabeth tell about. My little grand-daughter was

! . Ireland.' recovering from a severe illness, not Tong ago, and I found ,f , 4I could not help expressing my astonishment to the her weeping in her old nurse's arms. '0! grandpa, superintendent, repeating the Irishman's words, 'I thought - said she, as I inquired the cause of her distress,

96 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 97i

a"Well," said Mr. Perkins, a"I am glad I am not a slave- tors. The forms, the courtesies of life had no claims upon holder, for one reason; I am sure I should never get to R her now-she was enduring her first sorrow; the foundation heaven. I should be knocking brains out from morning of youth's slight fabric of happiness was yielding beneath till night, that is if there are brains under all that mass her touch. The dread "nevermore," that Edgar Poe could. of wool. Why, they are so slow, and inactive--I should not drive from his heart and sight, was oppressing her. f' over them all the time; though from the speci- She sought him before , be stumbling whom her young heart had bowed, e mens I have seen in your house, sir, I should say they not the less devotedly and humbly that it was silently and t t made most agreeable servants." secretly. It was to be a bitter parting, not as when she "My servants are very faithful," said Mr. Weston, watched to the last Arthur Weston, who was dear to her as a"they have had great pains taken with them. I rarely ever was brother to a sister, for they had the promise and have any complaints from the overseer." hope of meeting again; but now there was no tear in her a"Your overseers,-that is the worst feature in slavery," eye, no trembling in her frame, and no hope in her heart. said Mr. Perkins. From the utmost depth of her soul arose the prophetic "Why, sir," said Mr. Chapman, ready for another argu- voice, a"Thou shalt see-him no more." ment, "you have your superintendents at the North-and "Alice,"'said Walter, taking her hand between both of they can knock their people down whenever they see fit." his, and gazing at her face, as pale and sad as his own, "I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Perkins. aGI had "it is your mother's wish that from this time we' should forgotten that." be strangers to each other, even loving as we do; that our a"Stay a little while with us," said Mr. Chapman, as paths on earth should separate, never to meet again. Is Mr. Weston rose to lead the way to the drawing-room. it your wish too?" "cYou will not find us so bad as you think. We may roast "We must part; you know it, Wafter," said Alice, mus- a negro now and then, when we have a barbecue, but that ingly, looking out upon, but not seeing the calm river, and will be our way of showing you hospitality. You must re- the stars that gazed upon its waves, and all the solemn ,member we are only 'poor heathenish Southerners,' ac- beauty with which night had invested herself. cording to the best received opinions of some who live with "But you love me, Alice; and will you see me go from you in New England." . you forever, without hope? Will you yourself speak the * * * *** * word that sends me forth a wanderer upon the earth ?" a"Alice," said Mrs. Weston, at a late hour in the even- said Walter. ing, when the last of the guests were taking their de- "aWhat can I do ?" said Alice. parture, "Walter would like to see you in the library; but, "Choose, Alice, your own destiny, and fix mine." my love, I wish you would spare yourself and him the "Walter, I cannot leave my mother ; I would die a'thou. useless pain of parting." sand times rather than bring such sorrow upon her who "I must see him, dear mother, do not refuse me; it is has known so much. My uncle, too-my more than fa- for the last time-pray, let me go.". ther--oh ! Walter, I have sinned, and I suffer." " If you choose," and Alice glided away as her mother "You are wise, Alice; you have chosen well; you cling. was interrupted by the leave-taking of spme of their visi- to mother, and home, and friends; I have none of these .' V g 4 !1,

i SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 99 98 AUNT >IIILLIS's CABIN; OR,

Y r,.

F* t t ties; there. is not upon earth a being so utterly friendless lived as brother and sister ; part as such, and may the as I am." Blessing of God be upon both of you forever." "Dear Walter, you have friends, and you can make Walter took Alice in his arms, and kissed her cheek; them; you have wealth, talent, and many gifts from God. all sternness and pride had gone from his handsome face, .t Go forth into the world and use them. Let your noble but there was such a look of hopeless sorrow there, as we heart take courage; and in assisting others and making would not willingly behold- on the countenance of one so them happy, you will soon be happy yourself." young. Cousin Janet led him away, and with words of solemn, ro -.Walter looked at her with surprise: such words were

r ; deep affection, bade him farewell-words that came again, t unlike her, whom he had been accustomed to consider a 6

3 for a time, unheeded and unwelcomed-words that at the a loving and lovely child. But a bitter smile passed over, last brought hope and peace to a fainting heart. i his countenance, and in a 'stern voice he said, "And you, Cousin Janet returned to Alice, whose face lay hidden i Alice, what are you to do?" Hit "God alone knows," said Alice, forced into a considera- within her hands: "Alice, darling," she said, "look up- tion of her own sorrow, and resting against a lounge near God is here; forget your own grief, and think of one who been standing. She wept bitterly. Walter suffered, and who feels for all who, like Him, must bear the 'S which she had did not attempt to restrain her, but stood as if contem- burden of mortality. Think of your many blessings, and ,1 plating a grief that he could not wish to control. Alice how grateful you should feel for them'; think of your F

;t fit. S mother, who for years wept as you, I trust, may never again spoke, " It must cpme, dear Walter, first or last, l L weep; think of your kind uncle, who would die to save you t, and we may ask well speak the farewell which must be

; an hour's spoken-but I could endure my part, if I had the hope pain. Trust the future, with all its fears, to God, and peace will come with the very effort to attain c that you will be happy. Will you promise me you will try it." t " Oh, Cousin Janet," said to be?" Alice, ";ifWalter were not t7 i so lonely; he knows not where he is going, 1 nor what he l "No, Alice, I cannot promise you that; if happiness ,}

t f EJ is going to do." .; were in our own power, I would not be looking on you, , "It is true," said Cousin Janet, whom I have loved all my life, for the last time. weeping too; "«butwe F can hope, and trust, and pray. And now, my love, let us ci "But I will hope," he continued, "you may be fortunate r. t in her room; it is a sad parting for her, :: join your mother , t (- enough to forget and be happy." too, for Walter is "Children," said Miss Janet-for she had gently ap- dear to us all." f ,F S V proached them--a do you know when and where happiness Reader! have so many years passed away, that thou

Y is to be found? When we have done all that God has T 1 hast forgotten the bitterness of thy f rst sorrow, given us to do here; and in the heaven, above those stars or is it yet to come? Thinkest thou there is a way of escape--.- F. rr t, s that are now looking down upon you. Look upon Alice, none, unless thou art young, and Death interpose, saving

k 1

5 i with the hope of meeting again; and until then, it Walter, ,s "r ++ F thee from all sadness, and writing on thy let the remembrance of her beauty and her love be ever grave, "Do not v weep for me, thou knowest not how about you. 'Let her hear of you as one who deserves the much of sorrow this 4 early tomb has saved me."- pure affection of her young and trusting heart. You have

F rr

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i 100 AUNT PHILLIS'S OABIN; OR, ; SOUTHERN LIFB AS IT IS. 101

.t When were thy- first thoughts of death ? I do not mean "Child, here are the little ones you asked for." the sight of the coffin, the pall, or any of its sad accoin- Oh! those little myrtle-covered graves, how wonder- paniments, but, the time when the mind first arrested it- ingly I gazed upon them. There was no thought of death self with the melancholy convictions of mortality. There mingled with my meditation ; there was, of quiet and re- was a holiday for me in my youig days, to which I looked pose, but not of death. I had seen no sickness, no suffer- forward as the Mohammedan to his Paradise; this was a ing, and I only wondered why those fair children had laid visit to a country-place, where I revelled in the breath of down under the myrtle. I fancied them with the fringed the woodbines and sweetbriers, and where I sat under tall eyelids drooping over the cheeks, and the velvet hue still and spreading trees, and wondered why towns 'and cities there. How much did I know of death? As little as of life! were ever built. The great willows swept the windows of Time passed with me, and I saw the sorrows of others. the chamber where I slept, and faces with faded eyes Sometimes I thought of the myrtle-covered graves, and the looked upon me from their old frames, by the moonlight, children that slept beneath. Oh ! how quiet they must be, as I fell asleep, after the day's enjoyment. -I never tired they utter no cry, they shed no tears. of wandering through the gardens, where were roses and Time passed, and an angel slept in my bosom, close to sweet-williams, hyacinths and honeysuckles, and flowers my heart. Need I say that I was happy when she nestled of every shape and hue. This was the fairy spot of my there ? that her voice was music to my soul, and her smile recollection, for even childhood has' its 'cares, and there the very presence of beauty ? Need I say it was joy when were memories of little griefs, which time has never chased she called me, Mother? Then I lived for the present; all away. There I used to meet two. children, who often the sorrow that I had seen around me, was forgotten. roamed through the near woods with me. I do not re- God called that angel to her native heaven, and I wept. member their ages nor their names ; they'were younger Now was the mystery of the myrtle-covered graves open though than I. They might not have been beautiful, but before my sight. I had seen the going' forth of a little I recollect the bright eyes, and that downy velvet hue that life that was part of my own, I remembered the hard sighs is only found on the soft cheek of infancy. that convulsed that infant breast. I knew that the grave

{ Summer came; and when I went again, I found the was meant to hide from us, silence and pallor, desolation clematis sweeping the garden walks, and the lilies-of-the- and decay, I was in the world, no longer a garden of valley bending under the weight of their own beauty. So flowers, where I sought from under the myrtle for the we walked along, I and an old servant, stopping to enter bright eyes and the velvet cheeks. , I was in the world, an arbor, or to raise the head of a drooping plant, or to and death was there too; it was by my side, I gave my pluck a sweet-scented shrub, and place it in my bosom. darling to the earth, and felt for myself the bitterness of " Where are the'little girls.?" I asked. ".Have they come ( tears. again, too?" Thus must it ever be-by actual suffering must the " Yes, they are here," she said, as we approached two young be persuaded of the strugglethat is before them- little mounds covered over with the dark-green myrtle well is it when there is one to say, " God is here." and its purple flowers. 9* " What is here ?"

. . 1 J

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I . 102 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS.' 103 !II

(' litionists. In reply to the question, "Are you free ?" 1 there was but a moment's hesitation; her pride of heart gave way to her inherent love of truth, "I'll tell no lie," she answered; "I am a slave !"

Y CHAPTER IX. "Why do 'you not take your freedom?" was the rejoin- der. s WH must bring Uncle Bacchus's wife before our read- a"You are in a free state; they cannot force you to the t , ers. She is a tall, dignified, bright mulatto woman, named South, if you will take the offers we make you, 'and leave Phillis; it is with the qualities of her heart and mind, your master." rather than her' appearance, that we have to do. Bayard "You are Abolitionists, I 'spose ?" asked Phillis. Taylor, writing from Nubia,- "We are," they said, P in Upper Egypt, says:- "and we will help you off." " Those friends of the African race, who point to Egypt "I want none of your help," said Phillis. "My husband as a proof of what that race has done, are wholly mistaken. and children are at home; but if they wasn't, I am an

iT t The only negro features represented in Egyptian sculpture honest woman, and am not in the habit of taking any thing. Y are those of the slaves and captives taken in the Ethiopian I'll 'never take my freedom. If my master would give it wars of the Pharaohs. The temples and pyramids through- to me, and the rest of us,-I should be thankful. I am not

i iC out Nubia, as far as Abyssinia, all bear the hieroglyphics going to begin stealing, and I fifty years of age." S

, I of these monarchs. There is no evidence in all the valley An eye-witness described the straightening of her tall

a of the Nile that the negro race ever attained a higher de- figure, and the indignant flashing of her eye, also the dis- I( comfited 6 gree-of civilization than is at present exhibited in Congo looks of her northern friends.

9 r and Ashantee. I ,mention this, not fromany feeling hos- I have somewhere E read of a fable of r Iceland. According

3 E tile to that race, but simply to controvert an opinion very to it, lost souls are to be parched in the burning 1 heat of 1 prevalent'in some parts of the United States." Hecla, and then cast for ever to cool in its never-thawing It seemed impossible to know Phillis without snows. Although t feeling for Phillis could not have quoted this, her

t her sentiments of the highest respect. The blood of the opinions would have applied it. For some reason, it was freeman and the slave mingled in her veins; her well- evident to her mind i (for she had been well instructed in r

t rgulated mind slowly advanced to a conclusion; but once the Bible) that l slavery was from the first ordained as a

E made, she rarely changed it. curse. It might, to her high spirit, have been like burning Phillis would have been truly happy to have obtained in the bosom of Hecla; but taking refuge among Abolition- s her own'freedom, and that of her husband, and children: ists was, from the many instances that had come to her she scorned the idea of running away, or of obtaining it knowledge, like cooling in its never-thawing 4 snows.

f otherwise than as a gift from her owner. .,She was a firm At the time that we introduced her to the reader, she t' believer in the Bible, and often pondered on the words of was the mother of twelve children. Some were quite i the angel, "Return and submit thyself to thy mistress." young, but a number of them were grown, and all of them, i f She had -aone occasion accompanied her master and Mrs. with the exception of one, (the namesake of his father,)

i Weston to the North, where she was soon found out by inherited their mother's energy of character. She i had

C t some of that disinterested class accustomed 1 of individuals called Abo- them to constant industry, and unqualified

r 104 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 105

obedience to her directions ; and for this reason, no one Her utter contempt for nonsense was too evident. Bac- had found it necessary to interfere in their management. , chus was the same size as his master, and often fell- heir . Pride was a large ingredient in Phillis's 'composition. to his cast-off clothes. A blue dress-coat and buff vest } Although her husband presented one of the blackest visages that he thus inherited, had a great effect upon him, bodily r the sun ever shone upon, Phillis appeared to hold in small and spiritually. Not only did he swagger more when esteem the ordinary servants on the plantation. She was arrayed in them, but his prayers and singing were doubly

i constantly chiding her children for using their expressions, effective. He secretly prided himself on a likeness to Mr. and tried to keep them in the house with white people as Weston, but this must have been from a confusion of mind much as possible, that they might acquire good manners. into which he was thrown, by a constantly associating him- It was quite a grief to her that Bacchus had not a more gen- self with Mr. Weston's coats and pantaloons. teel dialect than the'one he used. She had a great deal He oncesaid to Phillis, " You might know master was

i t. a born gentleman 4 of family pride; there was a difference in her mind be- by de way his clothes t fits. Dey don't tween family servants and those employed in field labor. hang about him, but dey 'pears as if dey had grow'd about { For "the quality" she had the highest respect; for poorr him by degrees ; and if you notice, dey fits me in de same white -people"_ only a feeling of pity. She had some way. Pity I can't wear his shoes, dey's so soft, and dey noble qualities, a4d some great weaknesses; but as a don't creak.. I hates boots and shoes all time creakin, its r so like poor white t slave! we present her to the reader, and she must be viewed folks when they get dressed up on Sun- as such. day. 'I wonders often Miss Anna don't send me none of Miss Janet was, in her eyes, perfection. Her children master's old ruffled 'shirts. 'Spose she thinks a servant were all the better for her kind instructions. Her youngest oughtn't to wear 'em. I was a wishin last Sunday, when I child, Lydia, a girl of six or seven years old, followed the gin in my 'sperience in meetin, that I had. one of master's old lady everywhere, carrying her key and knitting-bas- old ruffled shirts on. I know I could a 'scoursed them nig- ket, looking for her spectacles, and maintaining short con- gers powerful. Its a hard thing to wear a ruffled shirt. ;ii versations in a confidential tone. Dey sticks- out. and pushes up to people's chins-I mean One of Phillis's chiefest virtues was, that she had been people dat aint born to wear 'em. Master wears 'em as if able to bring Bacchus into subjection, with the exception he was born in 'em, and I could too. I wish you'd put of his love for an occasional spree. Spoiled by an indul- Miss Janet up to gittin one or two for me. Miss Janet's gent master, his conceit and wilfulness had made him un- mighty 'bliging for an ole maid; 'pears as if she liked to popular with the servants, though his high tone of speak- see even cats happy. When an ole maid didn't hate cats, ing, and a certain pretension in his manner and dress, was there aint nothin to be feared from 'em." not without its effect. He was a sort of patriarch among Phillis ruled her husband in most things, but she in- waiters and carriage-drivers ; could tell anecdotes of din- dulged him in all his whims that were innocent. She de- ners where Washington was a guest; and had been fami- termined he -should have, not an old ruffled shirt, but anew liar with certain titled people from abroad, whose shoes he one. She reported the case to Miss Janet, who set' two of had had the honor of polishing. The only person in whose her girls to work, and by Saturday night the shirt was presence he restrained his braggadocio style we'hillis, made and done up, and plaited. Bacchus was to be plea- 106 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 107 santly surprised by it next morning appearing on the top Miss Nannie 'd let him, he'd string them niggers of hers of his chest. up, and wallop their gizzards out of 'em. I hate these that on this identical Sunday, Bacchus had It happened Abolitioners. I knows 'em,-I knows their pedigree." best of men will sometimes) got up wrong foot fore- I (as the " Much you know about 'em," said Phillis, who was to bed, most, and not having taken the trouble to go back shaking the dew drops off her "morning glory." get up again, putting the right foot out first, he con- IIl and "cI knows enuff of 'em-I reckon Miss Nannie do, about tinued in the same unhappy state of mind. He made, as dis time. De ole gentleman did right, any how, when he his wont, a hasty toilet before breakfast. He wore an, was lef 'em all to her-if he hadn't, dat feller would a sold shirt, and a pair of pantaloons that did not reach much old 'em all off to Georgia 'fore this, and a runn'd off wid de above his hips. One of his slippers had no instep; the money." Sii was without a heel. His grizzly beard made him other "Well," said Phillis, "you'd better mind your own a wild man of the woods; a certain sardonic ex- look like affairs; come in and eat your breakfast, if you want any, contributed to this effect. He pression of countenance for I aint going to keep it standin there all day, drawing planted his chair on its remaining hind leg at the cabin the flies." commenced a systematic strain of grumbling be- door, and Bacchus kicked his slippers off and stumbled into a seated in it. fore he wasfairly chair beside the table. "«I'llswar," said he, after a glance in my soul," Phillis heard him say, "dat ole I believe at the fried ham and eggs, "if ever a man had to eat sich Peggy al'ars gits up wrong on a Sabbath morning. Aunt cookin as dis. Why didn't you fry 'em a little more ?" hear her coughin ? My narves is racked a Will any one Phillis not minding him, he condescended to eat them all, for, listenin to her, I don't see what she wants to live and to do justice to the meal in general. a hundred. I believe its purpose to bother and she most " The old fool," thought Phillis, amused and provoked; mornins. Here, Phillis, who's this bin here, me, Sabbath "talkin of master's pilferin-never mind, I've put his diggin up my sweet-williams I planted?-cuss dese chil- ruffled shirt out, and he'll get in a good humor when he dren-" sees it, I reckon." said Phillis. t had nothing to do with it," " The children Having finished his breakfast, Bacchus put an enormous some roots to give to Mr. Kent and he "'Master wanted piecd of tobacco in his mouth, and commenced sharpening asked me for 'em. I dug 'em up and they're all the bet- a sntall-sized scythe, that he called a razor. In doing so, ter for being thinned out." he made a noise .like a high-pressure steamboat, now own business, and not be and i "I wish master 'd mind his then breathing f on it, and going .s in a severe fit of coughing pryin and pilferin'bout other people's gardens; givin my with every extra exertion. On his t table was a broken I'll speak my t flowers to that yallow-headed Abolitioner. piece of looking-glass, on the quicksilver side of which, E '; S mind to him about it, any how," Arthur t had, when a child, drawn a horse. Into this Bac- 7 s a . "You'd better," said Phillis, drily. chus gave a r look, preparatory to i commencing operations. "I will so,_ said Bacchus; "I'd rather he'd a burned Then, after due time-spent in lathering, he hewed down

{ s 'em up.\Kent's so cussed mean, I don't believe he'd 'low 4 at each shave, an amount of black tow that was incon- his flowers ground to grow in if he could help hisself .If 108 AUNT IIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 109 a"Look here, ceivable. After he had done, he gathered up his traps, Phillis," said Bacchus, going to the door and stowed them away in the corner of his chest. as fast as the uncertain condition of his pantaloons would at the allow him, "did Phillis sat outside the door, smoking ; looking in you 'spose I was sich a fool as to wear dis window, occasionally, to observe the effect of the first sight, to meetin to-day ?" of the new shirt. She saw him turn toward the little red "Yes, I did," said Phillis. a"Why, t'aint painted bureau, on which she had laid out his clean clothes, fit for a nigger to hoe corn in, its as big as starting with surprise and pleasure, when his eye first took a hay-stack." " Have in the delightful vision. Cortez, when he stood conqueror you tried it on ?" asked Phillis. "cT'aint of Mexico, did not feel the glow of satisfaction that thrilled no-use," said Bacchus, "I can tell by de looks." through'Bacchus's heart as he gently patted the plaited "I'm sorry you don't like it," said Phillis. "cLike it," ruffles, and examined the. wristbands, which were stitched said Bacchus, contemptuously, "why, if it twasn't for the trouble with the utmost neatness. He got weak in the knees with of going to my chist, I'd wear one of my old pleasure, and sat down on the chest in the corner, to sup- ones. Cuss de ruffles, I wish you'd cut 'em off." Bacchus port with more ease this sudden accession of happiness,. went in, and in due time made his appearance in full dress. He while his wife was reaping a harvest of gratification at the wore the blue coat and buff vest, and a pair of white pantaloons, made after the old style. His success of her efforts toward his peace of mind. All at shoes were as once she saw-a change pass over his visage. Bacchus re. bright as his eyes, and his hat dusted until it only wanted an entire new nap to make collected that it would not do for him so suddenly to get it as good as new. His hair was into a good humor; besides, he reflected it was no more combed in a sort of mound in front, and the tout ensemble F shirts, and' she was astounding. t than Phillis's duty to make him ruffled He passed Phillis i i in a dignified way, t ought to have been so doing for the last twenty years. as if she were a valuable cat that he

would not like to ie These considerations induced him not to show much' plea- tread upon. t Phillis but to pretend he was not at allesatis- looked after him with a most determined sure on the occasion, expres- g sion of face. Fj with the style and workmanship of the article in ques- If she had been made out of stone she could fied not have seemed more resolved. She got up, however tion. soon after, and "Why, lord a massy," said he, "Phillis, what do you went in to arrange matters after her lord and master. call dis here ? t'aint a shirt? at fust I thought 'twas one Bacchus purposely passed .night gowns you'd been a doing up Aunt Peggy's cabin, making i of Miss Janet's short IlfJ her a stylish bow. for her." Peggy had taken off rher handkerchief, to air her Phillis smoked on, looking inquiringly into the distant head, her hair standing off every which way, appearing :1 hills. determined to take her up somewhere, the point of destination "Phillis, you don't mean me to wear dis here to meetin ? being a matter of no consequence. is made out o' cotton, and I She chuckled audibly as she saw Bacchus. d; T'aint fit.- Dese wristbands "Look at dat ole fool b'lieves41h my soul Aunt Peggy done dis stitchin widout now, wid dat ruffled shirt on; he's gwine to bust dis blessed mornin. Look at de way any. spectacles." s he's got his wool combed up. I t Phillis knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and puffed on. b'lieves in my soul he's 10

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110 AUNT PIIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, Y SOUTHERN, LIFE AS IT IS. 111 iq got somebody buried up thar. He's a raal ole peacock. Phillis saw that he would be more docile for the rest Dat's de way ! 'Kase I'm ole and wuthless, no matter of his life; for a moment, the thought of restoring the 'bout me; and dat ole nigger 'lowed to make a fool of his- shirt to its original splendor occurred to her, but she self, dressin up drunk in a ruffled shirt. No matter, I'll F1 chased it away as if it had been a fox, antl took the great-

be dead and out of der way, fore long." est i "}1 satisfaction in a"having given the old fool a lesson that Bacchus prayed with great effect this morning, calling would last him all the days of his life." himself and the whole congregation the most dreadful a"To you, generous and noble-minded men and a short wom names, with the utmost satisfaction. He made of the South, I appeal, (I quote the words of a la address too, warning the servants against sin in general, writer 1411 on Abolitionism, when I say) Is man ever a and a love of finery in particular. I On his return he creature to be trusted with wholly irresponsible power? Can i beamed forth upon Phillis like one of her own " morning tt anybody fail to make the inference, what theepractical day he was brimful of jokes glories." The rest of the result t will be-?"* Although she is here speaking of slavery I and religion. k I politically, can you not apply it to matrimony in this The next Sunday came around. Phillis smoked outside miserable country of ours ? Can we not remodel our hus- while Bacchus made his toilet. ands, place them under our thumbs, and shut up the " Phillis," said the old fellow, blandly, coming to the e Y cape valves of their grumbling forever ? To be sure, door, a"I don't see my ruffled shirt out . here." S ,. Paul exhorts a"wives to be obedient to their own hus- i " High !" said Phillis, a"I laid your shirt with the rest ; F bands," and servants to be obedient to their own mas- i but I'll look. Here it is," said she, pleasantly, "jest ters," but St. Paul was not an Abolitionist. He did not t where I put it." take into consideration the necessities of the free-soil " Why, whar's the ruffles ?" party, and woman's rights. This is the era of mental and " I cut off," said Phillis; "you asked me to." I' 'em 1 bodily emancipation. Take advantage of it, wives Bacchus got weak in the knees again, and had to sit and negroes! But, alas for the former ! there is no society down on the .old chest. Not a word escaped his lips t f ; a formed for their benefit; their 1 day of deliverance pent-up boiler of his remorse. has not deep sigh burst from the >i yet dawned, and until its first gleamings arise in the east With an agonized countenance he seized a piece of rag it f I they must wear their chains. Except when some strong- which he had used as a shaving towel, and wiped away a minded female steps forth from the degraded I was subdued within him. He -ranks, and repentant tear. His soul r! asserts her position, whether by giving loose to that unruly went to meeting, but declined officiating in any capacity, member the tongue, or by a piece of management pleading a pain in his stomach as an excuse. At dinner which will give "an old fool a lesson that will last him all the i remaining quarter of a i( he found it impossible to finish the days of his life." very tough old rooster Phillis had stuffed and roasted for him. At sundown he ate a small-sized hoe-cake and a * Uncle Tom's Cabin. tin pan of bonnyclabber ; then observing " That he be- I r

lieved he was put into dis world for nothing but to have I f i ,$C trouble," he took to his bed. ,g 1i} {4ti

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i. AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE 112 AS IT IS. 113 with much furniture. Her ironing-table occupied a large part of its centre, and in the ample fireplace was blazing a fire great enough to cook a repast for a moderate number of giants. Behind the back door stood a common pine CHAPTER X. bedstead, with an enormous bed upon it. How any bedstead held such a bed was remarkable ; for Phillis be- for lieved there was .PI1LLIS was at her ironing early in the morning, a virtue in feathers T even in the hottest 1

weather, t she liked to hurry it over before the heat of the day. and she would rather have gone to roost on the nearest Her cabin -doors were open, and -her flowers, which tree than to have slept on any thing else. The had been watered by a slight rain that fell about day- quilt was of a domestic blue and white, her own manu facture, break, looked fresh and beautiful. Her house could be and the cases to the pillows were very white { and F superior to the, smooth. t hardly called a cabin, for it was very much A little, common trundle bedstead was under- others on the plantation, though they were all comfort- hieath, and on it was the bedding which 1 was used for the i

able. Phillis was regarded by the Weston family as the younger children at night. The older ones slept in the t servants' i most valuable servant they owned-and, apart from her wing in the house, Phillis making use of two at-, reasons why they were enormous chests, E services, there were strong which were Bacchus's, and her ward- 1 tached to her. She had nursed Mrs. Weston in her last robes, for sleeping purposes for a couple' more. To the after Ar- right of Ii and as her death occurred immediately the bed, was the small s illness, chest of drawers, over f thur's birth, she nourished him as her own child, and loved which was suspended Bacchus's many-sided piece of shaving k glass, him quite as well. Her comfort and wishes were always and underneath it a pine box containing his shaving

weapons. I objects of the greatest consideration to the family, and Several chairs, in a disabled state, found places

about i this was proved whenever occasion allowed. Her neatly the room, and Phillis's clothes-horse stood with open arms, ready to receive white-washed cottage was enclosed by a wooden fence in the white and well-ironed linen that condition-her little garden- laid out with great was destined to hang upon it. On each side of the good fireplace , box which was a small i1 taste, if we except the rows of stiffly-trimmed I,. dresser, with plates and jars of all sizes and tree shaded one varieties, and over Phillis took pride in. A large willow each were suspended some branches of

trees, inviting i side of it ; and on the other, gaudy sunflowers reared the flies to rest upon them. There was no i lilacs, contrasted cooking done it their heads, and the white and Persian in this room, there being a small shed for with them. All kinds of small flowers and roses adorned that purpose, back of the house; not a spot of grease dimmed the the front of the house, and you might as well have sought whiteness of the floors, and order reigned su- a weed. The back preme, for a diamond over the whole place, as marvellous to relate ! where a des endant of Aft ic's was arranged for the accommodation of her daughters presided. of the lot ; that were Lydia had gone ny pigs and chickens ; and two enormous peacocks, as usual to Miss Janet, and several of r 3

by the front door, were the the other children were i themselves . busy fond of sunning about the yard, Ali ~{ feeding the about the place., ,g chickens, sweeping up, and employed in various ways; the handsomest ornaments f not encumbered only one who The room in which Phillis ironed, was ever felt inclined to be lazy, and who was in 10* tJ 114 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 115 body and mind the counterpart of his father, being seated was a likeness of Mr. Weston, cut in paper over a black the door step, declaring he had a pain in his foot. surface, with on both hands behind him, and his right foot The adjoining room was the place in which Phillis's soul foremost ; the other was a picture of the Shepherd i delighted, the door of it being at all times locked, and the Pilgrim's Progress, gazing through a spy-glass at the lost in the depths of her capacious pocket. From Celestial city.. key Alice's first sampler, framed in a black this place of retirement it emerged when, any of the family frame, hung on one side of the room, and over it was a honored her with their company, especially when attended small sword which used to swing by Arthur's side when 1i by visitors ; and after their departure, traces of their feet receiving lessons in military science from Bacchus who in sought with keen and anxious eyes, and his own opinion, were carefully was another Bonaparte. Into this room quickly obliterated with broom and duster. Phillis's children gazed with wondering eyes;- and those This, her sanctum sanctorum, was a roomy apartment among the plantation servants who had been honored with windows, each shaded by white cotton curtains. a sight of it, with three declared it superior, in every respect, to their 4it On the floor was a home-made carpet; no hand was master's drawing room; -em- holding in especial reverence a in its manufacture save its owner's, from the time small table, covered ployed with white, which supported the tearing the rags in strips, to the final blow weight of Phillis's she commenced family Bible, where were registered in that confined it to the floor. A very Arthur's and given to the last tack Alice's handwriting, the births of all her bedstead, over which were suspended white cotton twelve descendants, high post as well as the ceremony which united one side of the room. rI curtains, gave an air of grandeur to her to their illustrious father. hdlh slept in it for ten years, though it was made Phillis was No one had ironing away with a gobd heart, when she precision. The quilt over it contained pieces was interrupted with faultless by a summons to attend her master in the gingham dress that had been worn in library. She of every calico and obeyed it with very little delay, and found family since the Revolution, and in the centre Mr. Weston seated the Weston in his arm-chair, looking over a note tt/, had been transferred from a remnant of curtain calico, an, which he held in his haid. "GCome eagle- with outstretched wings. The pillow cases were in, Phillis," he said, in a kind but grave manner. off with tape trimming, "I want to speak finished Alice's work, at Cousin with you for a few moments; and as I have Janet's suggestion. Over an old "fashioned-mahogany always found you truthful, I have no doubt you will bureau hung an oval looking glass, which was carefully be perfectly so on the present occasion." 'I covered from the flies. An easy chair stood by the- "What is it, master ?" Phillis said, respectfully. of the bed, which had, like most of the "I received window at the foot a note, yesterday, from Mr. Dawson, about pieces of furniture, occupied a con- his servant other ancient looking Jim, who ran away three weeks ago. He charges spicuousp lace in Mr. Weston's house. Six. chairs planted me with having permitted my servants to shel- Ij to grow ter him for with unyielding stiffness against the walls seemed the night, on my plantation; having certain in- very high fender enclosed a formation, out of the carpet ; and the that he was seen leaving it the morning after the severe pair of andirons that any body with tolerable eyesight storm we had about that time. If you know could have seen their faces in. any thing of it, Phillis, I require you to tell it to me; I Over the mantel piece were suspended two pictures. One hardly think any of the other servants had opportunities I I- 116 AUNT PIILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 117 you would so far poor wretch of doing so, and yet I cannot believe that out to perish in that storm, no matter what forget yourself as to do what is not only wrong, but calcu- would have come of-it after." Phillis lated to involve me in serious difficulties with nay neigh- had gained confidence as she .proceeded, and Mr. bors." Weston heard her without interruption. "I hope you will not be angry with me, master ?" said a4I can hardly blame you," he then said "for what you in my room have done; u Phillis, "but I can't tell a lie; I let Jim stay but, Phillis, it must never be repeated. Jim is a great that night, and I've been mightily troubled about it; I rascal, and if I were his master I would be glad to be rid ,I was afeard you would be angry with me, if you heard of of him, but my plantation must not shelter run- it, and yet, master, I could not help it when it happened." away slaves. I am responsible for what my servants do. , a"Could not help it ! Phillis," said Mr. Weston. "What do I should be inclined to hold other gentlemen responsible j of it, for the conduct of you mean by that? Why did you not inform me theirs. The laws of Virginia require x' the rights that I might have sent him off?" of the master to be respected, and though I "I couldn't find it in my heart, sir," said Phillis, the shan't make a constable of myself, still I will not allow "The poor creature come any-such thing tears coming in her fine eyes. to be repeated. Did Bacchus know it ?" " No, in when. the storm was at its worst. I had no candle lit, indeed, sir; he hates Jim, and no good, may be, no call for would for the lightning was so bright that I hadn't have come of his knowing it ; besides, he was asleep long any other light. Bacchus was out in it all, and I was after Jim went off, and there was too much whiskey thinking he would be brought in dead dmnk, or dead in in him to depend on what he'd have to say." earnest, when all at once Jim burst opeh the door, and " That will do, Phillis; and see that such a thing never asked me to let him stay there. I know'd he had run happens again," said Mr. Weston. Phillis away, and at first I told him to go off, and not be gitting went back to her ironing, assured her master was him off not me into trouble; but, master, while I was sending angry with her. Yet she sighed as she thought of his such a streak of lightning come in, and such a crash of saying, "see that such a thing never happens again." thunder, that I thought the Almighty had heard me turn a"If it had been a clear night," she thought within herself, him out, and would call me to account for it, when Jim "he shouldn't have stayed there. But it was the Lord and me should stand before him at' the Judgment Day. I himself that sent the storm, and I can't see that he never back to his master, that he sends another. told Jim he had better go Anyway its done, and. can't be helped ;" wouldn't have any comfort, always hiding himself, and and Phillis busied herself with her work and her children. I afeard to show his face, but he declared he would die first; I have not given Phillis's cottage as a specimen of the and so as I couldn't persuade him to go home agin, I cabins of the negroes of the South. It is described from Pt' and couldn't help myself, for I thought it would be a sin the house of a favorite servant. Yet are their cabins a storm as that. As shame, to turn a beast out in such generally, healthy and airy. Interest, as well as a wish for soon as the day began to break, and before, too, I woke the comfort and happiness of the slave, dictates an atten- him up, and told him never to come to my cabinagain, no tion to his wants and feelings. "«Slavery," says Voltaire I've told you the "is as matter what happened. And so, master, ancient as war; war as human nature." It is to be I' whole truth, and I am sure you couldn't have turned the wished that truth had some such intimate connection with r

SOUTHERN LIFE i 118 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, AT IT IS. 119

i human nature. Who, for instance, could read without an indignant thought, the following description from the pen of Mrs. Stowe: a"They (their cabins) were rude shells, destitute of any pieces of furniture, except a heap of straw, foul'with dirt, spread confusedly over the floor." " The small village was alive with no inviting sounds; hoarse, -r CHAPTER XI. at the handmills, where their guttural voices, contending "COME, morsel of hard corn was yet to be ground into meal to fit Alice," said Mr. Barbour, "I hear, not the trump of it for the cake that was to constitute their only supper." war, but the soul-inspiring scrape of the banjo. I notice the servants But such statements need no denial; the very appearance always choose the warmest nights to dance in. Let of the slaves themselves show their want of truth. Look us go out and see them." "We'll go at their sound and healthy limbs, hear the odd, but sweet to the arbor," said Alice; a"where we will be near enough and musical song that arrests the traveler as he goes on to see Uncle Bacchus's professional airs. Ole Bull can't his way; listen to the ready jest which is ever on his lips, exceed him in that respect." "Nor equal and see if the slavery which God has permitted in all ages him," said Mr. Barbour. "Bacchus is a musician by nature; his time is perfect; to exist, is as is here described; and judge if our fair his soul is absorbed in his twangs and flourishes." Southern land is tenanted by such fiends as they are repre- "I must come, sented to be, by those who are trying to make still worse too," said Mr. Weston. "You are afraid of the night air, Cousin the condition of a mass of God's creatures, born to a life Janet ?" "Never' mind of toil, but comparative freedom from care. If it be His me," said Cousin Janet; "I'll sit here and fan myself." will that men should be born free and equal, that will is "And as I prefer not revealed in the Bible from the time of the patriarchs music, especially the banjo, at a distance, I will stay to the present day. There are directions there for the too," said Mrs. Weston. Aunt Phillis was master and the slave. When the period of emancipation smoking outside her door, her mind divided between speculations advances, other signs of the times will herald it, besides as to what had become of Jim, and observations the uncalled-for interference, and the gross misrepresenta- on the servants, as they were col- - lecting from every tions, of the men and women of the North. direction, to join in the dancing or to find a good seat to look on. Sidney Smith said of a man, who was a great talker, The first sound that a few flashes of silence would make a great improve- of the banjo aroused Bacchus the younger il in him. So of the Abolition cause, a few flashes of from his dreams. He bounded from his bed on ment the chest, regardless of truth would make it decidedly more respectable. the figure he cut in his very slight dishabille, and proceeded to the front door, set, as his mother would have said, on having his own way. I+t "=Oh, mammy," he said, a"dare's de banjo." "cWhat you doin here ?" said Phillis. "Go long to bed this minute, 'fore I take a switch to you." IfI

~it 120 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 121 of the threat in " Oh, mammy," said the boy, regardless playing "The devil among the tailors," would have supposed his enthusiastic state of mind, a"jist listen, daddy's gwine he was afflicted with St. Vitus's dance. The mistake would to play 'Did you ever see the devil?'' soon have been perceived, for two of the boys having tired " Will any body listen to the boy? If you don't go to themselves out with manoeuvres of every kind, were obliged bed"-, to sit down. to get some breath, and Bacchus fell into a " Oh, mammy, please lem me go. Dare's Jake, he's sentimental mood, after a little tuninig up. gwine to dance. Massa said I'd beat Jake dancing one o. It was uncertain in what strainhe would finally go offt dese days.". First came a bar that sounded like Auld Lang Syne, then the sore foot you had this " High," said Phillis; "where's a note or two of Days of Absence, then a turn of a Me- morning ?" thodist hymn, at last he went decidedly into "Nelly was "Its done got well. It got well a little while ago, a lady." The tune of this William had learned from while I was asleep." Alice singing it to the piano. He begged her to teach him "Bound for you; go long," said Phillis. the words. She did so, telling him of the chorus part, in the slightest addition Bacchus was about to go, without which many were to unite. "Bacchus prepared an accom- to his toilet. paniment; a number of them sang it together. William real cornfield "Come back here," said Phillis, a"you sang the solos. He had a remarkably good voice and fine nigger ; you goin there naked ?" . . . taste ; he therefore did justice to the sweet song. When legs in a pair of The boy turned back, and thrust his the full but subdued chorus burst upon the ear, every heart were much pants, with twine for suspenders. His motions felt the power of the simple strain; the master with his consequence delayed, by his nervous state of agitation, the educated mind and cultivated taste, and the slave with the of the music which was now going on in earnest. complete power of enjoyment with which the Creator has He'got off finally, not without a parting admonition from endowed him. his mother. Hardly had the cadence of the last note died away, " Look here," said she, "if you don't behave yourself, when "Shout, shout, the devil's about," was heard from a I'll skin you." stentorian voice. Above the peals of laughter with which punishment had the Allusion to this mysterious mode of the words were received, rose Jake's voice, " Come on, ole effect of sobering the boy's mind in, a very slight degree. fiddler, play somefin a nigger kin kick up his heels to; what's his former No sooner was he out of his mother's sight than de use of singing after dat fashion; dis aint no meetin." vivacity returned. a"What'll you have, Jake ?" said Bacchus. His father, meanwhile, had turned down a barrel, and "What'll I have? Why, I never dances to but one was seated on it. Every attitude, every motion of his tune," and Jake started the first line of "Oh, plantation body, told that his soul, forgetful of earth and earthly gals, can't you look at a body," while Bacchus was giving He kicked things, had withdrawn to the regions of sound. a prelude of scrapes and twangs. Jake made a circle of about his slippers- off keeping time, and his head dodged somersets, and come down on his head, with his heels in with every turn of the quick tune. A stranger, not un- the air, going through flourishes that would have astonished derstanding the state of mind into which a negro gets after an uninitiated observer. As it was, Jake's audience were in 11 OR, 122 ANT PEILLIS'S CABIN; SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 123 of enjoyment. They were in a constant genteel-looking a high condition servant, entirely above associating with state of expectation as to where he would turn up, or what " common niggers," as she styled those who, being con- would be the nature of the next caper. Now, he cut the stantly employed about the field, had not the advent for a length of time that made the spectators of being called pigeon-wing upon in the house, and were thus very de- breath; then he would, so to speak, stand on his ficient in manners hold their and appearance from those who were feet give a push to the barrel where so much under hands, and with his the eye of the family. Esther, like her was sitting, and nearly roll the old man un- mother, was a great Uncle Bacchus Methodist. Reading well, she was One moment he is dancing with every limb, familiar with the Bible, and derneath. had committed to memory a contortions of his face, rolling vast number of hymns. making the most curious These, she and her sister, with Suddenly, William, out his tongue, turning his eyes wrong side out. often sung in the kitchen, or at degree that her mother's he stretches himself on the grass, snoring to a cabin. Miss Janet declared it reminded her of the s any distance. Starting up, he ployment of the might be heard at almost saints in heaven, more than any church on one foot, and then snaps his fingers, twirls round, first music she had ever heard; especially when they sag he on the other, till feeling the time approaching when a"There is a land of pure delight." up again: That heart must give up, he strikes must be steeled against the sweet influences of the Christian religion,.which listens not with an devil's about ; earnest "Shout, shout, the pleasure to the voice of the slave, singing the songs of Shut the door and keep him out," Zion. No matter howekind his master, or how great and leaps frog over two or three of the servants' shoulders, varied his comforts, he is a' slave ! soul cannot, an immoderate state of His on disappearing from among them in earth, be animated to attain aught save the enjoyment of conceit and perspiration. the passing hour. Why need he recall the past? The banjo Bacchus is forced at this crisis to put down the present does not differ from very hard. it--toil toil, however miti- and wipe his face with his sleeve, breathing gated by the voice of kindness. Need he essay to pene- near so tired if he had He was t he won't get trate the future ? it is keep up his spirts, but still toil, softened though it be by a~ liteo h Oh, b joyful" to the consideration which is universally shown to the feel- utterly hopeless at the present time: such aspirations were ings and weaknesses of old age. Yet has the Creator, getting tipsy while his master, and Mr. Barbour, and who placed him in this state mercifully d - of the question. Alice were looking at him, was quite out The slave has not the hopes of the master, but he is with- too, on the ground of made a merit of keeping sober, out many of He his cares. He may not strive after to the young servants. He con- wealth, setting a good example yet he is always provided with comfort. and Ambition, with soled himself with a double-sized piece of tobacco, its longings for fame, and Juba. riches, and power, never stimu- afterlhis efforts. His promising son danced lates his breast; rested that breast is safe from its disappoint. rewarded by at Mr. Weston's particular request, and was Inents. His enjoyments, though few, equal his expecta-. great applause. tions. His occupations, though servile, resemble the going on at this time, not mass A little courting scene was of those around him. His eye can see the beauties of far distant. Esther, Phillis's third daughter, was a neat, nature ; his ear drinks in herharmonies;his soul conf . SOUTHERN 124 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, LIFE As IT Is. 125 world had made up his mind tent itself with what is passing in the limited to court Esther, and with that in view he dressed around him. Yet, he is a slave ! And if he is ever elevated himself in full livery, as if he were going to take his mistress above his condition, it is when praising the God of the an airing. He asks Mrs. Kent's permission to, be married, white man and the black; when, with uplifted voice, he though he had not the slightest reason to suppose sings the songs of the redeemed; when, looking forward Esther would accept him, with a confidence and self-exultation that to the invitation which he hopes to receive, " Come in, man in general is apt to feel when he has determined thou servant of the Lord." to bestow himself upon some fortunate fair one. He Christian of the South, remember who it was that bore went his way, passing the dancers without any notice, and thy Saviour's cross, when, toiling, and weary, and faint- going straight to that part of the house where he supposed ing beneath it, he trod the hill of Calvary. Not one of he should find Esther. - Esther received him the rich, learned, or great; not one of thine ancestors, with politeness, but with some reserve ; not having a chair though thou mayest boast of their wealth, and learning, to offer him, and not intending him to take a seat on the and heroic acts-it was a black man who relieved him of steps beside her, she stood up and leaned against the porch. his heavy burden ; Simon of Cyrene was his name. They talked a little 'of Christian of the North, cast thou emancipate the the weather, and, the health of the different members of their Southern slave? Canst thou change his employments, and respective families, during which, Robert took the elevate his condition? Impossible. Beware then, lest opportunity to say, " His master (Mr. Kent) had a bilious thou add to his burden, and tighten his bonds, and de- attack, and he wished to the Lord, he'd never get better prive him of the simple enjoyments which are now allowed of it." Finally, he undid one of the buttons of his coat, which was getting too small him. or him, and drawing a long * * * * * * breath, proceeded to lay himself (figuratively) at Esther's Esther, seated on the steps of a small porch attached feet. He did not come to the to the side of the house, was mentally treating with great point at once, but drove round ' it, as ifthere might be contempt the amusements of the other servants. She had some impediment in the way, which, though it could not her mother's disposition, and disliked any thing like noisy possibly upset the whole affair might make a little unnecessary mirth, having an idea it was not genteel; seeing so little delay. Esther thought he was only talking nonsense, of it in her master's family. She was an active, cheerful as usual, but when he waxed warm and energetic girl, but free from any thing like levity in her manner. in his professions, she interrupted him with, "Look here, Robert, you're out of your head, paint admirer in the neighborhood; She had a most devoted you? no less a personage than Mrs. Kent's coachman. His "No deed, Miss Esther, but I'm dying in love with name was Robert, after Mrs. Kent's father. Assuming you." name, he was known as Robert Carter. ' Phillis the family "The best thing you can do, is to take yourself home, him a harmless goose of a fellow, and this gives the called said Esther. aI hope you're sober." best ideaof his character. He understood all about "I was never soberer in my life," horses, and nothing else, if we except the passion of love, said Robert, "cbutthe .fact is, Miss Esther, I'm tired of which was the constant subject of his conversation. He a bachelor's life; 'pears 11* Ali j 126 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 127 married Mrs. as if it wasn't respectable, and so I'm thinking of settling Kent's maid, an ugly, thick-lipped girl, who had hitherto down.". been his especial aversion. He could not though, "You want settling down, for true," said Esther. entirely erase Esther's image from his heart--always feeling " I'm mighty happy to hear you say so," said Robert, a tendency to choke, when he heard her to voice in meeting. "and if you'll only mention what time it '11 be agreeable I'le speak to Esther told her you to make me the happiest man in Virginny, mother of the offer she had had, and Phillis Harkins about performing the ceremony, quite agreed with her, in thinking Robert was crazy. Uncle Watty t,, to tie the knot." She charged "Esther to you prefer a white minister ,:_ know when she was without . well off, and not to bring trouble upon herself you ; said Esther, " you're a born fool; do ', by getting "Robert," , married, or you?" any such foolishness as that." mean to say you want me to marry >4 'r " Certainly, Esther ; I shouldn't pay you no attentions, 'r., if I didn't men 'to act like a gentleman by you. " Well, I can tell you," said Esther, " I wouldn't marry you, to save your life." Esther ?" "You ain't in earnest, CHAPTER XII. "Indeed Iam," said Esther, " so you better not be coming "I TELL you what, here on any such fool's errand again." Abel," said Arthur Weston, "4the more I think about you Northern people, - " Why, Esther," said Robert, reproachfully, after my the harder it is for me to come walking home from meeting with you, and thinking and to a conclusion as to what you are made dreaming about you, as I have for this long time, aint of." "Can't you going to marry me ?" you experiment upon us, Arthur; test us chemi- " No, I aint," said Esther. cally ?" "Don't believe you could be tested," said Arthur, "you " Then I'll bid you good night; and look here, Esther, her most valuable ser- are such a slippery to-morrow, mistress will lose one of set. Now here is a book I have been looking over, vants, for I shall hang = yself.". called Annals of Salem, by Joseph published in 1827. B. Felt, Esther went up the steps, and shut the door on him, in- On the 109th page it says: 'Captain Pierce, of the ternally marvelling at the impudence of men in general; ship Desire, belonging to this port, was com- tears, turned his missioned Robert, with a strong inclination to shed to transport fifteen boys and one hundred women, of the captive steps homeward. He told Mrs. Kent, the next morning, Pequods, to Bermuda, and sell them as slaves. He was obliged, that he had come to the conclusion not to be married for however, to make for Providence Island. There he time yet, women were so troublesome, and there was disposed of the Indians. He returned from Tor- some tugas the no knowing how things would turn out. Mrs. Kent saw 26th of February following, with a cargo of cotton, -there were sour tobacco, salt, he was much dejected, and concluded and negroes.' In the edition of 1849, this interesting fact is omitted. Now, was not that trading in grapes in question. Ahe human bodies and After due consideration, Robert determined not to com- souls in earnest? First they got all they could mit suicide ; he did something equally desperate. He for those poor captive. Pequods, and they Ii

s 128 AUNT PIIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 129 traded the amount again for negroes, and some et ceteras. turned them over to the other sex since, as they are worn You are the very people to make a fuss about your neigh- in the number which the present fashion requires. I yourselves. bours, having been so excessively righteous should think they would be very uncomfortable. But, No wonder that the author left it out in a succeeding Arthur, I heard such a good story the other day, about edition. I am surprised he ever put it in at all." Lawyer Page. He fights bravely with his tongue for " It seems more like peddling with the poor devils than other people's rights, but he daren't say his soul's his own any thing else," said Abel. "But you must remember before his wife. Well, when that affair came out about the spirit of the age, Arthur, as Mr. Hubbard calls. it ?" Morton's whipping his wife, as he was going to the Court- "Yes," said Arthur, "I forgot that; but I wonder if house, Page said to old Captain Caldwell,

of slave, , you out. While they were carrying on two kinds _ flogging going on-in the matrimonial line, in your house, trade, they were discussing in Boston the propriety of f it was you that came off the worst.' Page did not say a

- r women's wearing veils, having lectures about it. Let me s word." read to you. 'Mr. Cotton, though while in England of an "I am glad I am not yoked with one of your New

(( opposite opinion on this subject, maintained that in countries Haven belles, if turning a Jerry Sneak is to be the con- p where veils were to be a sign of submission, they might be sequence," said Arthur. j properly disused. But Mr. Endicott took different ground, } 'j "This marrying is a terrible necessity, Arthur," said 5 II and endeavored to retain it by general argument from St. Abel. "I don't know how I'll be supported under it when Paul. Mr. Williams sided with his parishioner. Through my time comes; but after all, I think the women get the i his , and others' influence, veils were worn abundantly. worst of it. There were not two prettier girls in New At the time they were the most fashionable, Mr. Cotton Haven than my sisters. Julia, who has been married came to preach for Mr. Skelton. His subject was upon some eight or nine years, was really beautiful, and so ani- -to pr-ove that this was mated and cheerful; now she has wearing veils. He endeavored that wife-like look of vn a custom not to be tolerated. The consequence was, care, forever on her countenance. Her husband is always that the ladies became converts to his faith in this par- reproaching her that that little dare devil of a son of }i ticular, and for a long time left off an article of dress, hers does not keep his clothes clean. The other evening a degree ,of submission to the I was at their house, ll which indicated too great and they -were having a little lords of creation.' Did you ever hear of such a set of matrimonial discussion about it. It seems little Charlie old meddlers, lecturing and preaching about women's had been picked up out of the mud in the afternoon, and dressing. Suppose the men wore petticoats at that time brought in in such a condition, that it was sometime before themselves." he could be identified. After being immersed in a bathing " If they did," said Abel, "I am very glad they have tub it was ascertained that he, had not a clean suit of

11 130 AUNT PAILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 181 to his determined clothes ; so the young gentleman was confined never to let them alone. I wonder you do not a night gown. chamber for the rest of the evening, in employ white hands upon the plantation, and have done This my brother-in-law considered a great hardship, and with any trouble about the matter." I went in. "What they were talking the matter over when would be done with the slaves in the mean time ?" said Arthur. a"' Why don't you make the boy clothes enough, Julia?' "Set 'em free," said Abel; "colonize, said he. f w;} or hang 'em all."

13 forever mending,' said Julia; rG "cThe latter is the more "'

7r cult, E for the most if you had all the trouble I have with him, you would put il4 of them would refuse to go to Africa; and if I have him to bed and make him stay there a week.' l1 not the right to hold them slaves, I certainly il have not a right a'I tell-you what it is, good people,' said I, 'when I go to force them into another country. Some the first place if she of them would be willing courting I intend to ask the lady in I and glad to come to the North, If she says No, I shan't but some would object. My likes to make boys' clothes. v father set a house-servant

{ v may v free; he was absent a year, and have her, no matter what other recommendations she f returned voluntarily t to his old condition. possess.' Mark had got some Abolition notions in his head, and "

1 t SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 132 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, 133

we : sideration. What right have family with whom = you New England people weeks at a plantation belonging to a to c the farms you are and I went on the river, now holding ?" One of the sons x were intimate. " The right of owning a 4 them," said Abel. two of the servants -rowing us. I said to one of them, v "From whom did you get them ?" asked Arthur. large fat negro, 'What's your name, uncle?'

t 134 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, .- SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. . 135

You must agree with me, if the Bible allow slavery there " It would be far better for the Southern slaves, if our is no sin it. Now, the Bible does allow it. You must institution, as regards them, were left to 'gradual mitiga- read those letters of Governor Hammond to Clarkson, the tion and decay, which time may bring about. The course English Abolitionist. The tenth commandment, your of the Abolitionists, while it does nothing to destroy this n )ther taught you, no doubt: 'thou shalt not covet thy institution, greatly adds to its hardships.' Tell me that neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, 'man-stealing' is a sin, and I will agree with you, and will nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor insist that the Abolitionists are guilty of it. In my opin- his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's.' These are the ion, those who consider slavery a sin, challenge the truth words of God, and as such, should be obeyed strictly. In of the Bible. the most solemn manner, the man-servant and the maid- " Besides, Abel," continued Arthur, "what right have servant are considered the property of thy neighbor. you to interfere? Your Northern States abolished slavery Generally the word is rendered slave. This command in- when it was their interest to do so: let us do the same. cludes all classes of servants; there is the Hebrew-brother, In the meantime, consider the condition of these dirty who shall go out in the seventh year, and the hired-servant, vagabonds, these free blacks, who are begging from me and those 'purchased from the heathen round about,' who every time I go into the street. I met one the other day, were to be bondmen forever. In Leviticus, speaking of x who had a most lamentable state of things to report. He the

as assiduously as you do yours. Our statesmen are not ladies on the plantations instruct them in the Bible, and inferior to yours in natural ability, nor in the improvement how to read it. Many of them are taught to write. of it. We have far more time to improve ourselves than Religion seems to be a necessary qualification of the fe- you, as a general thing. When you have an opportunity male mind--I think this, because I have been so fortunate

of judging, you will not hesitate to say, that our women L _ in those of our own family. My mother died soon after can bear to be compared with yours in every respect, in my birth ; her friends often dwell on the early piety so

TZ' their intellect, and refinement of manners and conversation. + h beautfully developed in her character. We have a rela-

Our slaves are not left ignorant, like brutes, as has been r7yv,,. tive, an old maid, who lives with us; she forgets her own charged upon us. Where a master feels a religious responsi- I existence, laboring always for the good of others. My

4stC,

bility, he must and does cause to be given, all necessary dt aunt is a noble Christian woman, and Alice has not

'Y#

knowledge to those who are dependent upon him. I must n breathed such an atmosphere in vain. We have a servant

ii say, that though we have fewer sects at the South, we have is far above rubies. Her t woman named Phillis, her price

i fj more genuine religion.. You will r think I am prejudiced. industry, her honesty, her attachment to our family, ex- t

r Joining the church here is, in i!! a great measure, a form. I ceeds every thing. I wish Abolitionists would imitate one i E} have formed this opinion from my own observation. t With of her virtues-humility. I know of no poetry more us there must be a proper disregard of the customs of the beautiful than the hymns she sang to me in my infancy; world; a profession of religion implying a good deal more her whole life has been a recommendation of the religion I than a mere profession. Look at the thousand new and of the Bible. I wish my chance of Heaven were half as absurd opinions that have agitated New England, while good as hers. She is a slave here, but she is destined to

t they never have been advanced with us. There is Unita- be a saint hereafter." rianism, that faith that would undermine the perfect struc- 6 i ture of the Christian religion; that says Christ is a man, when i the Scriptures style him 'Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of ! ' t 7 Peace.' Why, it.is hardly tolerated at the South. Have you any right to claim for yourself superior holiness?

s j

S t

f None whatever. i 4 yy e {

11515111 "There never was any thingso perfectly $I false (I cannot

V help referring to it again,) as that religion is discouraged

}

i i among our slaves. It is precisely the contrary. Most of

qyq y them have the same opportunities of attending worship as .. t theit owners. They generally prefer the Methodist and Baptist denominations; they worship with the whites, or they haveexclusive occasions for themselves, which they prefer. They meet on the plantations ,: for prayer, for _

singing, or for any religious purpose, when they choose ; the Y

IIp x U11

' E AUNT PHILLIS' 138 S CABIN; OR SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 139

a"Miss Janet," said Lydia, speaking very softly, a"who made de lightning-bugs ?" " God made them," said Miss Janet. "Did God make de nanny-goats, too ?" Gii CHAPTER XIII. a You know that God made every thing,"'said Miss Janet. " I have often told you so." THE evening is drawing on again at Exeter, and Alice Ei: ",He didn't make mammy's house, ma'am; I seed de and her mother are in a little sitting room that opens on men makin it." II who has the porch. Mrs. Weston is fanning her daughter, "No ; man makes houses, but God made all the beauti- Miss Janet been suffering during the day from headache. ful things in nature. He made man, and trees, and rivers, is there, too, and for a rare occurrence, is idle ; looking and such things as man could not make." from the window at the tall peaks of the Blue Ridge upon Lydia looked up at the sky. The sun had set, and the which she has gazed for many a year. Little Lydia stands moon was coming forth, a few stars glistened there. Lpng, by her side, her round eyes peering into Miss Janet's face, fleecy clouds extended over the arch of heaven, and some unem- wondering what would happen, that she should be passing ones for a moment obscured the brightness that ployed. They are awaiting Mr. Weston's return from an gilded the beautiful scene. afternoon ride, to meet at the last and most sociable meal "Miss Janet," said Lydia, "its mighty pretty there ; of the day. but 'spose it was to fall." " Miss Janet," said Lydia, a"aint Miss Alice white ?" " What was to fall ?" "Very pale," said Miss Janet, looking at Alice; then,, "De sky, ma'am." with a sigh, turning to the mountains again. "It cannot fall. God holds it in its place." "What makes her so white.?" asked Lydia, in an under Another interval and Lydia said: "Miss Janet, 'spose tone. God was to die, den de sky would broke down." "She has had a headache all day. Be quiet, child," "What put such a dreadful thought into your head, said Miss Janet. child ?" said Miss Janet. God cannot die." After a moment, Lydia said, «I wish I could have de "Yes, ma'am, he kin," said Lydia. ; ,. ..

headache r all de time." " No, he cannot. Have I not often told you that God " What do you say such a foolish thing as that for, 1 is a spirit ? He created all things, but he never was made ; Lydia ?" ., he cannot die." "'Kase I'd like to be white, like Miss Alice." Miss Lydia said inquiringly, "Wasn't Jesus Christ God, Janet did not reply. Again Lydia spoke, " If I was to ma'am?" stay all time in de house, and never go in de sun, would I "Yes, he was the Son of God, and he was God." git ?" white "

I ;

! '

}Y'

SSSi

.. yy ,y i( i i d 140 AUNT PHItLIS'S CABIN; OR, !yt SOUTHERN 2 LIFE AS IT IS. 141 }

Y Miss Janet, arousing herself from her reverie, looked industrious and diligent in all you have to do; obey your p at the child. There she stood, her eyes fixed upon the sky, {E1{ mother and father, and your master. Be truthful E and ho." i her soul engaged in solving this mysterious question. Her nest. God hates a liar, and a deceitful person. He will g t little hands hung listlessly by her side; there was no {i not take care of! you 1 and love you, unless you speak the i

t beauty in her face; the black' skin,-the projecting lips, the { y truth. Sometimes you try to deceive me. God Z will not

EyFi$! heavy features, designated her as belonging to a degraded t f n be your friend if you deceive any one. And now go to 4 race. Yet the soul was looking forth from its despised te- your mother, she will put you. to bed." s 1 nement, and eagerly essaying to grasp things beyond its Lydia made a cartsey, and said, -? a"Good-night, ma'am." reach. She went to Mrs. Weston, T and bade her good-night too. "Could he die again, Miss Janet ?" asked Lydia. Then turning toward Alice, she gazed wonderingly at her Poor child! thought Miss Janet, how the soul and pinioned pale face. borne down, longs to burst its chains, and to soar through "Is you got de headache now, Miss Alice?' the glorious realms of light and knowledge. I thought "Not much," said Alice, gently. but now that there was more for me to do here ; that no "Good night, miss," said Lydia, with another curtesy, tired of the rugged ascent, I stood as it were on the tops and she softly left the room. "Oh, mammy," she said, of those mountains, gazing in spirit on the celestial city, as she entered her mother's cabin, " Miss Janet say, if I'm and still not called to enter in. Now, I see there is work a good child, God will love me much 'as he loves Miss for me to do. Thou art a slave, Lydia ; yet God has Alice, if I is black. Miss Alice is so white to-night; you called thee to the freedom of the children that he loves ; never seed her look as white as she do to-night." thou art black, yet will thy soul be washed white in the * .* * * * * blood of the Lamb ; thou art poor, yet shalt thou be made Mr. Weston alighted from his horse, and hurried to the rich through Him who, when on earth, was poor indeed. sitting-room, " Have you waited tea for me ?" he said. Jesus, forgive me! I murmured that I still was obliged to "Why did you do so? Alice, darling, is your head linger. Oh ! make me the honored instrument of good to better?"

1 this child, and when thou tallest me hence, how gladly will k " A great deal, uncle," said Alice. "Have you had a

LkY+_ I obey the summons. rec pleasant ride ?" "Lydia," she said, "the Son of God died for us all, for "Yes; but my child, you look very sick. What can zl'~- be

;t you and for me, but he was then in the form of man. He +Y the matter with you-? Anna, did you send for the ti T' doctor ?" died that we might live ; he never will die again. He rose, « No- -Alice objected so." from the dead, and is in heaven, at the right hand of God. "But you must send for him-I am sure she is seri- He loves you, because you think about him." ously ill." " He don't love me like he do Miss Alice, 'kase she's so " There is nothing the matter with me, but a headache," white," said Lydia. said Alice. "After tea, I will go to bed, and will " He loves all who love him," said Miss Janet, "whether in the morning." they are black or white. Be a good child, and he will " God grant you may, my sweet one. What has come I surely love you. Be kind and obliging to everybody; be over you?"

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142 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 143

" Tea is ready," said Cousin Janet. "Let us go in to it, "Dear Alice, how often have we talked about this, and and then have prayers, and all go to bed early. Why, I hoped you were .satisfied as to the propriety of being Cousin Weston, you are getting quite dissipated in your silent on the subject at present. Your uncle's health is old age ; coming home to tea at this hour ; I suppose I very feeble ; he is subject to sudden and alarming attacks of shall begin such practices next." sickness, and easily thrown into a state of agitation that Miss Janet's suggestion of retiring early, was followed. endangers his life. Would you run such a risk ? What a grief Phillis came in to see how Alice's head was, and recom- would it be to him to know that the hopes of years mended brown paper and vinegar. She made no comment were to be destroyed, and by one whom he had nursed in his own bosom as a on her appearance, but did not wonder that Lydia was child. Poor Arthur, too ! away from home so long-trusting struck with the expression of. her countenance. There you with such confidence, looking forward with delight to the was an uneasiness that was foreign to it ; not merely had time of his return, could you' bear thus to dash his the glow of health departed, there was something in its dearest prospects to the earth ?" "But he must know it, mother. place, strange there. It was like the storm passing over I could not marry him with a lie in the beautiful lake,; the outlineof rock, and tree, and sur- my right hand." face, is to be seen, but its tranquil beauty is gone; and o- "It will not be so, Alice; you cannot help loving Ar- thur, above all men, when darkness and gloom are resting where has been the home you are with him; so noble, so generous, so gifted with all that of light, and love, and beauty. is calculated to inspire affection, you will wonder your Alice undressed and went to beck; her mother raised all heart has ever wavered." "But it has," said Alice; the windows, put out the candle, and laid down beside her. "and he must know all." "Of course,' said Mrs. Weston; nothing Hoping that she would fall asleep, she did not converse, would justify your having any reserve with few minutes, called her. him, but this is not the s but Alice after a time for explanation. If I believed that you really and t " What is it, Alice ?" truly loved Walter, so as to make "Did you hear what Cousin Janet said to Lydia, to- it impossible for you to forget him and return Arthur's night, mother? God hates those who deceive." affection ; if I thought you would not one day-regard e Arthur as he deserves, I would t " Why think of that now, my love ?" G not wish you to remain silent for a day. " Because it refers to me. She did not mean it for me, It would be an injustice, and a sin, to do so. Yet I feel, t assured that ,, but it came home to my heart."

t there is no such danger. " To your heart? That has always been truth and t' ."A woman, Alice, rarely marries her first C candor itself. Try and banish such thoughts. If you love, and it is well that it is so. Her feelings, rather than were well, fancies like these would not affect you." her judgment, are then enlisted, and both are realities," said Alice. should be exercised "They are not fancies, they when "r; so fearful a thing as marriage is concerned. She sighed and continued, " Am I not deceiving the kind You i have been a great deal with Walter, and have always re- 5 protector and friend of my childhood? Oh, mother, if he garded him tenderly, more so of f late, because would he love me! And Arthur, the feelings t knew afl, how little strengthen with time, c and Walter's situation is such as ]? to 4 f 9 t can it be right for me to be engaged to him, and to de- tidy 4 4 i P enlist al your sympathies ; his fascinating appearance i } '"

'tS r 3eive him, too ?" F i F fi

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144 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 145

and interesting qualities have charmed your affections. den. The wish.to please, and the effort to do right, was You see him casting from him the best friends he'has ever too much for her sensitive frame. It was like the traveler had, because he feels condemned of ingratitude in their unaccustomed to fatigue and change, forced to commence society. He is going forth on the voyage of life, alone; a journey, unassured of his way, and ignorant of his des- you weep as any sister would, to see him thus. I do, not tination. blame him for loving you; but I do censure him in the Her mother watched her-a deep hue was settled under highest degree, for endeavoring to win more than a sis- her eyelashes, the veins in her temple were fearfully dis- ter's regard from you, in return; it was selfish and distinct, and a small crimson spot rested on her cheek. She honorable. More than all, I blame myself for not fore- watched her, by the moonlight that glanced over every seeing this. You said yesterday, you could not bear the part of the room. She listened to her heavy breathing, thought of being separated from Arthur. You do not and lightly touched her dry and crimson lips. She stroked know your own heart, many a woman does nQt, until time the long luxuriant curls, that appeared to her darker than has been her teacher; let it be yours. Cousin Janet has they ever had before. She closed the nearest window, thus advised you; be guided by us, and leave phis thing lest there should be something borne on the breath to rest for a while; you will have reason to rejoice at night, to disturb the rest of the beloved one. But, mo- I having done so. Would you leave me for Walter, Alice?" ther ! it will not do; the curse of God is still abroad in "No, mother. How could you ask me?" the world, the curse on sin. It falls, like a 'blighting dew, a"Then trust me ; I would not answer for your uncle's on the loveliest and dearest to our hearts. 'It is by our side safety were' we to speak to him on this subject. How and in our path. It is among the gay, the rich, the cruel to pain him, when a few months may restore us to proud, and the gifted of the earth; among the poor, the u 3 the.hopes and happiness which have been ours! Do what despised, the desolate and forsaken. It darkens the way of the monarch t and the cottager, of the maiden and the ,t is right, and leave the future to God." " But how can I write to Arthur, when I know I am not mother, of the master and the slave. Alas! since it poi- treating him as I would wish him to treat me?" soned the flowers in Eden, and turned the children of God "GWrite as you always have; your letters have never from its fair walks, it is abroad in the world-the curse been very sentimental.- Arthur says4you write on all sub- of God on sin. There is a blessing, too, jects but the one -nearest his heart. If you had loved him within the reach of all. He as I thought you did, younever would have allowed another who bore the curse, secured the blessing. Son of God! teach to usurp his place. But we cannot help the past. Now,- us to be like thee; give us of thy spirit, that we may soften dear child, compose yourself; I am fatigued, but cannot to each other the inevitable ills of' life. Prepare us for that sleep until you do." condition to which we may aspire; for that assem- Alice, restless for a while, at last fell asleep, but it was bly where will be united the redeemed of all the earth, where not the rest that brings refreshment and repose. Her will rejoice forever in thy presence those of all ages and climes, mother watched her, as with her hand now pressed on her who looked up from the shadow of the curse, to the blessing which thou brow, noW thrown on the pillow, she slept. Her mind, didst obtain, with thy latest sigh, on Calvary! overtaxed, tried even in. sleep to release itself of its bur-- 18

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" S 146 AUNT PHILLIS's cABIN-; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 147

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} plantation stood in awe of Aunt Peggy. Her having been it

4 ; Africa, and the many Wonders she had seen Y! brought from

} A there; her gloomy, fitful temper ; her tall frame, and long,

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yy !. skinny hands and arms; her haughty countenance, and

f ' t mass of bushy, white hair. Phillis did not wonder most

ti ; people were afraid of her. Besides, Peggy was CHAPTER XIV. thought I i , to have the power of foresight in her old age. The serv- ,

' ', } f t f . AFTER Phillis left Mrs. Weston's room, she was on her ants considered her a sort of witch, and deprecated her

( t # to her cabin, when she noticed Aunt Peggy sitting displeasure. Phillis had too much sense for this; yet i 'way i i alone at the door. She was rather a homebody ; yet she there was one thing that she had often wondered at; that

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i :. reproached herself with having neglected poor old Peggy, was, that Aunt Peggy cared nothing about religion. When She i when she saw her looking so desolate and dejected. employed in the family, she had been obliged to go some- !f times " S; thought to pay her a visit, and bidding her good evening, to church: since she had been old, and left to follow

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9 her own Y' sat down on the door-step. "Time old people were in bed, wishes, she had never gone. Miss Janet fre- °7

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, all quently read the Bible, _ Aunt Peggy," said she; whatt are you settin up for, and explained it to her. Alice,

4 v '{ seated on a low stool by the old woman's side, read to her l.. by yourself?" .

if t up wid me?" said Aunt Peggy. scenes in the life of Christ, upon which servants love to i' "Who's I got to set

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h y VS i "Why don't you go to bed, then?" asked Phillis. dwell. But as far as- they could judge, there were no good ,

r 1= can't sleep," said Aunt Peggy; "aint impressions left on her mind. She never objected, but ; "Can't sleep, 4 ,t, lays awake lookin at de she gave them ; ' d slep none dese two, three nights; no encouragement. This Phillis had often ; as ? moon; sees people a lookin in de winder at me, people thought of; and now as she sat with her, it occurred to

v ,, I aint seen since I come from Guinea; hears strange noises her with overwhelming- force. "Death's a out some- r ! 't I aint never heard in. dis country, aint never hearn sence where," said Aunt Peggy. "I can't see him, but I feels

;E { , him. There's somefin here belongs to him; he wants t from Guinea." it, rY I come you'll and / said Phillis.' "If you go to sleep, he's gwine to have it." iE "All notions," "'Pears to me," said 1 3 forget them all." Phillis, " Death's always about. tt}{ ! go to sleep," said Aunt Peggy; "somefin in me Its well to be ready for him when he 'comes ; 'specially we ,; f Ito, "Can't in my bones; old people." r somefin I never felt afore. It's - won't sleep;

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' "Always " .c mebbe Death' somewhere in the neighborhood." ole people," said Aunt Peggy, "you want to

- ;; t y "I reckon you're sick, Aunt Peggy," said Phillis; make out that Death's always arter ole people. No such 6 f i k you let me know you wasn't well?" thing. Look at the churchyard, yonder. See any little r didn't I. "why I

"7 ,1 ~ , "Aint sick, I tell you," said Aunt Peggy, angrily; graves thar ? Plenty. Death's always arter babies ; 'pears

i 1 like he loves 'em ,Y j "nothin the matter wid me. 'Spose you think there's best of all." i[1li "Yes," said Phillis, "young people die as j nothibd about, 'cep what comes to me." well as old, , . s manner, and but 'taint no harm to be ready. You know, Aunt Peggy, ; Phillis was astonished at her words and

j a' ~r i we aint never ready till our sins is repented of, and our # Most of the servants on the y looked at her intently.

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148 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 149 i souls is washed in the blood of Jesus. People ought to made for nothin else. Now, kase Death's somewhar, think of that, old and young, but they don't." wantin somefin, thinks it must be me." "-Death loves young people," said Aunt Peggy; " always "I didn't say 'twas you, Aunt Peggy," said Phillis. arter 'em. See how he took young Mr. William Jones, "Wants somefin," said Aunt Peggy. "Tell you what, thar, in town, and he healthy and strong, wid his young Phillis," and she laughed, "wants Miss Alice." bride; and his father and mother old like me. See how "What's come over you?" said Phillis, looking at her, he took little George Mason, not long ago, that Uncle terrified. "«aThere's nothing the matter with Miss Alice Geoffrey used to bring home wid him from town, setting but a headache." on de horse, before him Didn't touch his ole grandmo- "Headache !" said Aunt Peggy, a"that's all ?" and she ther ; she's here yet. Tell you, Death loves 'em wid de laughed again. "Think I didn't see her yesterday?

!t# red cheeks and bright eyes." Whars the red cheeks ?-white about her lips, black about r t

+" r J Phillis did not reply, and the old woman talked on as her.eyes; jist like Mistis when she was gwine fast, and de if to herself. young baby on her arm. Death wants Miss Alice-aint "Thinks thar's nothin bad but what comes to niggers; arter me." aint I had nuff trouble widout Death. I aint forgot de "Aint you ashamed to talk so about Miss Alice, when time I was hauled away from home. Cuss him, 'twas a she's always coming to you, bringing you something, and black man done it; he told me he'd smash my brains out trying to do something for you ?" said. Phillis. "You if I made a sound. Dragged along till I come to de river; might as well sit here and talk bad of one of the angels thar he sold me. I was pushed in long wid all de rest of above." 'em, crying and howlin-gwine away for good and all. "Aint talking bad of her," said Aunt Peggy; " aint

4 r t' Thar we was, chained aid squeezed together ; dead or live, wishin her no harm. If there is any angels she's as good a as all one. Tied me to a woman, and den untied me to fling any of 'em; but it's her Death's arter, not me; look r 4' her into de sea-dead all night, and I tied to her. Come here at my arms-stronger than yourn-" and she held out long, cross de great sea; more died, more flung to de her sinewy, tough arm, grasping her cane, to go in the sharks. No wonder it thundered and lightened, and de house. waves splashed in, and de captain prayed. Lord above-! Phillis saw she was not wanted there, and looking in to be assured that Nancy (Aunt Peggy's grand-daughter, who i de captain prayed, when he was stealin and murderin of .I, his fellow-creeturs. We didn't go down, we got safe lived with her to take care of her,) was there, went home across. Some went here, some went thar, and I come and thought to go to bed. But she found no disposition to sleep long wid de rest to Virginny. Ever sence, workin and within her. Accustomed, as she was, to Aunt Peggy's fault slavin; ever sence, sweatin and drivin; workin all day, finding, and her strange way of talking, she b was particularly L impressed with it to-night. workin all night." E 'Twas so G strange, Phillis E thought, that she should have talked "You never worked a bit in the night time, Aunt s', about tfi Peggy-said Phillis; "«andyou know it." being stolen away from Guinea, and things that happened almost " Worked all time," said Aunt Peggy, niggers aint a hundred years ago. Then her saying, so often that, " Death was about." Phillis was no more nerv- ~ii1 13*

C laid down without undressing herself. light," and re-obeyed' at the birth of every day.. Phillis's She slept heavily for several hours, and waked with the heart warmed with gratitude to God who had given to her fir, thought of Aunt Peggy's strange talk pressing upon her. a knowledge of himself. She thought of her many mer- rig She determined not to go to bed again, but opened the cies, her health, her comforts, and the comparative happi- door and fixed the old rush-bottomed chair within it. Bac- ness of each member of her family ; of the kindness of chus, always a very early riser,. except on Sunday, was her master and the ladies; all these considerations affected 'if still asleep ; having had some sharp twinges of the rheu- her as they never had before, for gratitude and love to God matism the day before, Phillis hoped he might sleep them ever inspires us with love and kindness to our fellow crea- off; her own mind was still burdened with an unaccountable tures. weight. She was glad to see the dawning of "another Her thoughts returned to Alice, but all superstitious blue day." dread was gone ; Aunt Peggy's strange wanderings no Before her towered, in their majestic glory, Miss Janet's longer oppressed her ; her mind was in its usual healthy favorite mountains, yet were the peaks alone distinctly state. "The good Lord is' above us. all," she said, "

152 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 153 asleep. Miss Anna told me to walk very easy, for she next idea-Phillis' knees knocked together, and her heart would not have her waked for all the world." beat audibly, for what was before her? Phillis, seeing Aunt Peggy's door open, thought So The What but death ! with all his grimness and despair, would step over and find out if the old lady 1 had slept off balls that were only partially her notions. looking forth from the white covered with the dark lids-showing his power in the cold Aunt Peggy's cabin, had two rooms, in one of which, hands whose unyielding grasp had closed in the struggle she and her granddaughter slept, in the other Nancy with him. Setting his seal on brow and lips, lengthening cooked and washed, and occupied herself with various the extended form, that never would rouse itself from the little matters. Nancy had been up a. short time and was position in which the mighty conqueror had left it, when mixing.some Indian bread for their breakfast. She looked he knew his victory was accomplished. What but death, surprised, at having so early a visitor. indeed! For the heart and the pulse were still forever, "How is your grandmother, child ?" said Phillis; "did and the life that had once regulated their beatings, had she sleep well ?" gone back to the Giver of life. i " Mighty well," said Nancy. "«Sheaint coughed at all The two slave women were alone together. She who as I heard, since she went to bed." had been, had gone with all her years, her wrongs, and "Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Phillis, a"for I thought her sins, to answer at the bar of her Maker. The fierce she was going to be sick, she was so curious last night." and bitter contest with life, the mysterious curse, the deal- " She didn't complain, any way," said Nancy, going on ings of a God with the children of men. Think of it,

:1 with her breadmaking, so Phillis got up to go home. As Oh! Christian ! as you gaze upon her. The other slave she passed 'the door of the other room, she could but stop woman is with the dead. She is trembling, as in the pre- to look in at the hard, iron features of the old creature, sence of God. She knows he is everywhere, even in the as she lay in slumber. Her long black face contrasted room of death. Sheis redeemed from the slavery of sin, most remarkably with the white pillow on which it was sup- and her regenerate soul looks forward to the rest that reported, her hair making her head look double its actual size, maineth to the people of God. She a"submits herself to standing off from her ears and head. One long black arm an earthly master," knowing that the dispensation of God lay extended, the hand holding to the side of the bed. has placed her in a state of servitude. Yet she trusts in Something impelled Phillis to approach. At first she a Heavenly Master with childlike faith, and says, "cMay thought of her grumbling disposition, her bitter resent- I be ready when he comes and calls for me." ment for injuries, most of which were fanciful, her uncom- Phillis was perfectly self-possessed when she went back promising dislike to the servants on the plantation. She to the kitchen. "Nancy," she said, "didn't you think it almost got angry when she'thought "the more you do for was strange your grandmother slept so quiet, and laid so her, the more she complains." Then she recalled her late this morning ? She always gets up so early." talk the night before; of her being torn away from her a"I didn't think nothin about it," said Nancy, "for I mother, and sold off, tied to a dead woman, and the storm was 'sleep myself." di and the sharks; a feeling of the sincerest pity took the " Well there's no use putting it off," said Phillis. «"I place of her first reflections, and well they did-for might as well tell you, first as last. She's dead." 5t the r5 SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 155 154 AUNT PHILLIS 'S CABIN; OR,

"Dead, what do you mean ?" said Nancy. locked up the vacant cabin. Nancy was to be employed I in the house, and sleep in the servants' wing. Then Phil- ~' . "I mean she's dead," said Phillis, a"and cold, and very that death had been there, and she remem- likely has been so, for most of the night. Don't be fright- lis realized bered once more, Aunt Peggy's words, "He's arter somefin, ened and make a noise, for Miss Alice is very sick, and he's gwine to have it; but it ain't me." you're so near the house." wants it, and There is one thing concerning. death in which we are Nancy went with her to the other room. A child would apt to be sceptical, and that is, "Does he want me?. have known there was no mistake about death's being there, if the idea had been suggested to it. Nancy was in a moment satisfied that such was the case, but she shed very few tears. -She was quite worn out taking care l ! tl/ of the old woman, and the other servants were not willing Au to take their turns. They said they "ccouldn't abide the cross, ill-natured old thing." CHAPTER XV. Phillis went home for a few moments, and returned to AUNT Peggy's funeral was conducted quietly, but with perform the last offices. F11 was order and neatness under that respect to the dead which is universal on Southern hers superintendence; and they who avoided the sight of plantations. There was no hurry, no confusion. Two Aunt Peggy when alive, stood with a solemn awe beside young women remained with the corpse during the night her and gazed, now that she was dead. preceding the burial; the servants throughout the planta- !I All but the children. Aunt Peggy was dead ! She who tion had holiday, that they might attend. At Mr. Wes- had been a kind of scarecrow in life, how terrible was the ton's request, the clergyman of the Episcopal church in thought of her now ! The severest threat to an unruly L. read the service for the dead. He addressed the serv- l child was, "I will give you to Aunt Peggy, and let her ants in a solemn and appropriate manner. Mr. Weston keep you." But to think of Aunt Peggy in connection was one of the audience. Alice's sickness had become with darkness, and silence, and the grave, was dreadful serious ; Miss Janet and her mother were detained with ii indeed. All day the thought of her kept them awed and her. The negroes sung one of their favorite hymns, quiet; but as evening drew on, they crept close to their "Life is the time to serve the Lord," mothers' side, turning from every shadow, lest she should their fine voices blending in perfect harmony. Mr. Cald- I'come forth from it. Little Lydia, deprived of Miss Janet's well took for his text the 12th verse of the 2d chapter of company in consequence of Alice's sickness, listened to Thessalonians, " That ye would walk worthy of God, who the pervading subject of conversation all day, and at night hath called you unto his kingdom and his glory." dreamed that the old woman had carried her off to the top He explained to them in the most affectionate and beau- of the highest of the mountains that stood before them; tiful manner, that they were called unto themkingdom and and there she sat scowling upon.her, and there, they were , glory of Christ. He dwelt on the glories of that kingdom, to be forxever. as existi in the heart of the believer, inciting him to a When the next afternoon had come, and the body was faithful performance of the duties of life ; as in the world, buried, and all had returned from the funeral, Philhia

C R 156 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 157 promoting the happiness and welfare of all mankind, and of the Judgment. Many a tear fell, many a heart completed in heaven, where will be the consummation of throbbed, many a soul stretched forth her wings toward all. the glorious things that the humble believer in Jesus the kingdom and glory which had been the clergyman's has enjoyed by faith, while surrounded by the temptations, theme. and enduring the trials of the world. He told them they After he concluded, their attention was absorbed by the were all called. Christ died for all; every human being preparation to remove the body to its final resting place. that had heard of Jesus and his atonement, was called unto The face was looked upon, then covered; the coffin lid salvation. He dwelt on the efficacy of that atonement, screwed down; strong arms lifting and bearing it to the on the solemn occasion when it was made, on the perfect bier. Nancy and Isaac, her only relatives, were near the peace and reconciliation of the believer. He spoke of the coffin, and Mr. Weston and the clergyman followed them. will of God, which had placed them in a condition of bond- The rest formed in long procession. With measured step age to an earthly master; who had given them equal hopes and appropriate thought they passed their cabins toward of eternal redemption with that master. He reminded the place used for the interment of the slaves, on the them that Christ had chosen his lot among the poor of plantation. this world; that he had refused all earthly honor and They had gone a little way, when a full, rich female advantage. He charged them to profit by the present voice gently broke in upon the stillness; it was. Phillis's. occasion, to bring home to their hearts the unwelcome Though the first line was sung in a low tone, every one truth that death was inevitable. He pointed to the coffin heard it. that contained the remains of, one who had attained so "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed!" great an age, as to make her an object of wonder in the neighborhood. Yet her time had come, like a thief in They joined in, following the remains of their fellow- the night. There was no sickness, no sudden failing, servant, and commemorating the sufferings of one who nothing unusual in her appearance, to intimate the pre- became as a servant, that He might exalt all who trust in sence of death. God had given her a long time of health Him. to prepare for the great change; he had given her every It might be there was little hope for the dead, but not opportunity to repent, and he had called her to her ac- less sufficient the Atonement on Calvary, not less true that count. He charged them to make their preparation now; for each and all " did he devote that sacred head ;" that closing, by bringing before their minds that great day for pity which he felt for all, when the Judge of the earth would summon before him "He hung upon the tree: every soul he had made. None could escape his all-pierc- Amazing pity, grace unknown! ing .eye; the king and his subject, the rich and the poor, And love beyond degree!" the strong and the weak, the learned and the ignorant, the white and the colored, the master and his slave ! each While the voices swept through the air, a tribute of lowly to render-his or her account for the deeds done in the body. hearts ascended to God. The servants were extremely attentive, listening with They had now reached the burial ground; all was in breathless interest as he enlarged upon the awful events -_1readiness, and the men deposited t yK 14 158 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 159

earth. Deep and solemn thought was portrayed on business and mechanics in the land, they know that one ,A every face ; music had softened their feelings, and the re- who ever defended their interests is gone, and who shall flections suggested by the hymn prepared them for kind take his place ? The mother-tears burst from her eyes, sentiments toward the dead, though no one had loved her when looking into her child's face, she says, Henry Clay in life. The_ first hard clod that rattled on the coffin, is dead ! for a nation's freedom is woman's incalculable opened the fountain of their tears; she who had been the blessing. She thinks with grief and gratitude of him who object of their aversion was gone from them forever; they never ceased to contend for that which gives to her, social could not now show her any kindness. How many a heart and religious rights. reproached- itself with a sneering word, hasty anger, and Henry Clay is dead ! His body no longer animated with disdainful laugh. But what was she now? dust and ashes. life; his spirit gone to God. How like a torrent thought They wept as they saw her bidden from their eyes, turn- rushes on, in swift review, of his wonderful and glorious ing from the grave with a better sense of their duties. career. His gifte youth, what if it were attended with Reader, it is well for the soul to ponder on the great the errors that almo t invariably accompany genius like his ! mystery, Death! Is there not a charm in it? The Has he in the wide world an enemy who can bring aught mystery of so many opposite memories, the strange union against him ? Look at his patriotism, his benevolence, his of adverse ideas. The young, the old, the gay, the proud, noble acts. Recall his energy, his calmness, his constant

=? r the beautiful, the poor, and the sorrowful. Silence, dark- devotion to the interests of his country. Look, above all, ' ness, repose, happiness, woe, heaven and hell. Oh ! they at his patience, his humility, as the great scenes of life should come now with a startling solemnity upon us all, were receding from his view, and futurity was opening be-

ja for while I write, the solemn tolling of the bells warns me fore him. Hear of the childlike submission with which he

r ° of a nation's .i grief; it calls to millions-its sad reso- bowed to the Will that ordained for him a death-bed, pro- nance is echoed in every heart. tracted and painful. "Lead me," he said to a friend, p f E , J HENRY CLAY IS DEAD! Well may the words pass from " i youth passes along the solemn sentence ; there is a throb of Christian, patriot, statesman, husband, father, master, in his energetic heart, for he has seen the enfeebled form of and friend, and answer if the sigh that is now rending the the statesman as it glided among the multitude, and has heart of his country is not well merited. heard his voice raised for his country's good; he is Yes.! reader, thoughts of death are useful to us all, assured that the heart that has ceased to beat glowed whether it be by the grave of the poor and humble, or with all that was great and noble. when listening to the tolling of the bell which announces The politician utters, too, the oft-repeated sound--Henry to all that one who was mighty in the land has been sum- Clay is dead! Well may he bare his breast and say, for moned to the judgment seat of God. what is my voice raised where his has been heard? Is it for my country, or for my party and myself ? Men of 160 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 161

young heart! Will she perpetuate the name of thy race ? Will she close thine eyes with her loving hand ? Will she drop upon thy breast a daughter's tear ?" What/'does the vision say to thee, oh ! aged woman? "There is still more for thee to do, more for thee to suffer. It is not yet enough of this mortal strife ! Thou mayest CHAPTER XVI. again see a fair flower crushed by the rude wind of death; MR. WESTON and Phillis returned to the sick-room from perchance she may precede thee,, to open for thine en- the funeral. Fever was doing its work with the fair trance the eternal gates !" being, the beloved of many hearts, who was unconscious of And what to thee, thou faithful servant ? aught that was passing around her. There was a startling "There are tears in thine eye, and for me. For me ! light from the depths of her blue eyes ; their natural soft- Whom thou thoughtest above a touch of aught that could ness of expression gone. The crimson glow had flushed bring sorrow or pain. Thou seest, not alone on thy doomed into a hectic ; the hot breath from her parted lips was race rests a curse; the fierce anger of God, denounced drying away, their moisture. The rich, mournful tones of against sin-the curse, falls upon his dearest children. I her voice echoed in sad wailing through the chambers;. it must, like you, abide by God's dealing with the children constantly and plaintively said Mother ! though that mother of men. But we shall be redeemed." answered in vain to its appeal. The air circulated through What to thee, oh, mother ? Thou canst not read the the room, bearing the odor of the woods, but for her it interpretation-a cloud of darkness sweeps by thy soul's had no reviving power ; it could not stay the beatings of vision. Will it pass, or will it rest upon thee forever? her pulse, nor relieve the oppression of her panting bosom. Yet the voice of God speaks to each one; faintly it may Oh! what beauty was about that bed of sickness, The be to the mother, but even to her. There is a rainbow of perfect shape of every feature, the graceful turn of the hope in the-deluge of her sorrow; she sees death in the multi- head, the luxuriant auburn hair, the contour of her rounded tude that passes her sight, but there is another there, one limbs. There was no vacancy in her face. Alas ! visions whose form is like unto the Son of God. She remembers of sorrow were passing in her mind. A sad intelligence how He wept over Lazarus, and raised him from the dead; was expressed in every glance, but not to the objects about_ oh! what comfort to place her case in his pitying bosom! her. The soul, subdued by the suffering of its tenement, Many were the friends who wept, and hoped, and prayed with was wandering afar off, perchance endeavoring to dive them. Full of grief were the affectionate servants, into the future, perchance essaying to forget the past. but most of all, Phillis. What says that vision of languishing and loveliness to the It was useless to try and persuade her to take her usual old man whose eyes are fixed in grief upon it? " Thou rest, to remind her of her children; and her cares; to seest, 0 Christian! the uselessness of laying up thy trea- offer her the choice morsel to tempt her appetite, the re- sures here. Where are now the hopes of half thy lifetime, freshing drink she so much required. She wanted nothing where the consummation of all thy anxious plans? She who but to weep with those who wept-nor rest, nor food, nor has been like an angel by thy side, how wearily throbs her refreshing. 14* KC:.

162 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 163

* * * * * Miss Janet often laid down and slept for an hour or . " It is universal, the consideration that is shown to the two, and returned refreshed to the sick chamber. Her servants at the South, as regards their times of eating and voice retained its cheerfulness and kept Mrs. Weston's of rest. Whatever may have occurred, whatever fatigue heart from failing. "Hope on, Anna," she would say, the different members of the family may feel obliged to " as long as she breathes we must not give her up ; how undergo, 'a servant is rarely called upon for extra attend- many have been thought entirely gone, and then revived. ance. In the Northern country the whole labor of a family We must hope, and God will do the rest." is frequently performed by one female, while five or six This "hoping on" was one great cause of Cousin Janet's will do the same amount of work in the South. A servant usefulness during a long life; religion and reason alike at the South is rarely called upon at night; only in cases demand it of us. Many grand and noble actions have of absolute necessity. Negroes are naturally sleepy- been done in the world, that never could have been ac- headed-they like to sit up late at night,-in winter, over complished without hoping on. When we become discour- a large fire, nodding and bumping their heads against each aged, how heavy the task before us ; it is like drooping the other, or in summer, out of doors; but they take many a eyes, and feebly putting, forth the hands to find the way, nap before they can get courage to undress and go regu- when all appears to us darkness; but let the eye be lifted larly to bed. They may be much interested in a conver- and the heart hope on, and there is found a glimmering sation going on, but it is no violation of their code of eti- of light which enables the trembling one to penetrate the I, quette to smoke themselves to sleep while listening. Few gloom. Alice's symptoms had been so violent from the riI of the most faithful servants can keep awake well enough first, her disease had progressed so rapidly, that her con- to be of real service in cases of sickness. There is a feel- dition was almost hopeless; ere Mr. Weston thought of ~iI ing among-their owners, that they work hard during the the propriety of informing Arthur of her condition. The day and should be allowed more rest than those who are first time it occurred to him, he felt convinced that he not obliged to labor. "iDo not disturb servants when they ought not to delay. - He knew that Arthur never could be are eating," is the frequent charge of a Southern mother, consoled, if Alice, his dearly loved, his affianced wife, "they have not a great many pleasures within their reach; should die without his having the consolation of a parting never do any thing that will lessen their comforts in the word or look. He asked Cousin Janet her opinion. slightest degree." Mrs. Weston, even in her own deep She recalled all that had, passed previous to Alice's ill- sorrow, was not unmindful of others ; she frequently tried ness. As she looked into Mr. Weston's grieved and honest to induce Phillis to go home, knowing that she must be face, the question suggested itself,--Is it right thus, to keep him in ignorance ? She only wavered a moment. S4f gii much fatigued. "«Icannot feel tired, Phillis ; a mother Already the 3ii could not sleep with her only child as Alice isi; I do not traces of agitation caused by his niece's ill- require the rest that you do." ness, were visible in his flushed face and nervous frame; "You needs it'more, Miss Anna, though you don't what then might be the result of laying before him a sub- think soiow. I can take care of myself. Unless you ject in which his happiness was so nearly concerned ? drive me away, I shan't go until God's will be done, for Besides, she felt convinced that even should Alice im- life or death." prove, the suffering which had been one cause of her sick-

fr 164 AUNT PHILLIS' S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIEE AS IT IS. 165 ness, might be renewed with double force if suggested by one whom he has loved, whose voice he is accustomed to Arthur's presence. hear; shall he, through neglect or mismanagement, make «I know, my dear cousin," she said,. u"it will be a terri- 'i a void in many hearts ? Shall he, from want of skill, ble grief to Arthur, should Alice be taken from us, yet I bring weeping and desolation to a house where health and think you had better not write. Dr. Lawton says, that a joy have been? .Alice was very dear to Dr. Lawton, she very short time must decide her case; and were the worst was the companion of his daughters ; he had been accus-

' we fear to occur, Arthur could not reach here in time to tomed to regard her as one of them; he was untiring in a see her with any satisfaction. If he lose her, it will pro- his attendance, but from the first, had feared the result. bably be better for him to remember her in health and Mrs. Weston had concealed nothing from him, she knew beauty." that he considered a physician bound in honour to know Mr. Weston trembled, q' and burst into tears. "Try and a, the affairs of a family only among themselves-she had no k Miss Janet again; a"we are doing all r not give way," said reserves, thus giving him every assistance in her power, 9+ we can. We must hope and pray. I feel a great deal of 9 in conducting 1h the case. She detailed to him, explicitly, hope. God is so merciful, he will not bring this stroke all that might have contributed to produce it. upon you in your old age, unless it is necessary. Why do "You know, my dear madam," the doctor said, that you judge for him? is mighty to save. 'The Lord He at this season we have, even in our healthy country, severe on high, is mightier than the noise of many waters, yea, fevers. Alice's is one of the usual nature ; it could have than the mighty waves of the sea.' Think of His mercy been produced by natural causes. We cannot and power to save, and trust in Him." say, it may it~ be that the circumstances you have been kind enough to In these most trying scenes of life, how little do we confide to me, have had a bad effect upon her. The effort II sympathize with the physician. How much oppressed he to do right, and the fear lest she should err, may have must feel, with the charge upon him. He is the adviser strained her sensitive mind. She must have felt much p -to him is left the direction of the potions which may be distress in parting with Walter, whom she has always the healing medicine or the deadly poison. He may se- loved as a brother. You have only done your duty. I lect a remedy powerful to cure, he may prescribe one should not like to see a daughter I'll of mine interested in fatal to the invalid. How is he to draw i the nice line of that young man. I fear he inherits his father's violent distinction ? he must consider the disease, the ; 19 constitution, passions, yet his early training may bring the promised the probable causes of the attack. His reputation is at blessing. Alice has thatsort of mind, that is always in- stake-his happiness-for many eyes are turned to him, to fluenced by what is passing at the time ; remember what a read an opinion he may not choose to give in words. child she was when Arthur left. There are no more If he would be like the great Healer, he thinks not only broken hearts now-a-days--sometimes they bend a little, i{ of the bodily sufferings that he is anxious to assuage, but but they earl be straightened again. If Alice gets well, of the immortal soul on the verge of the great Interview, you need not fear the future; though you know I disap- deciding its destiny. He trembles -eternal to think, should prove of cousins marrying." he fail, it may be hurried to its account. If he be a friend, " Doctor," said Mrs. Weston, " I know you have not how do the ties of association add to his burden. Here is IIf' -given her up !" 16'6 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 167

" I never give anybody up," said the doctor. "Who time; and leave her quiet, the doctor may be disturbed will say what God intends to do ? I trust she will strug- to-night." gle through. Many a storm assails the fair ship on her The night had passed, and the morning was just visible, first voyage over the seas. She may be sadly tossed as symptoms of the same nature affected the patient. Dr. about with the wind and waves; but may breast it gal- Lawton had seen her very late at night, and had re- lantly, and come back safe, after all. We mustdo what quested them to awaken him should there be any change we can, and hope for the best." These words strength- in her appearance or condition. Oh, how these anxious ened the mother's heart to watch and hope. hearts feared and hoped through this night. What might The doctor laid down to sleep for an hour or two in it bring forth; joy or endless weeping? the afternoon. Cousin Janet, Mrs. Weston, and Phillis This dread crisis past, and what would be the result? kept their watch in silence. The latter gently fanned "Doctor," said Phillis, gently awaking him, a"I'm sorry Alice, who lay gazing, but unconscious; now looking in- to disturb you. Miss Alice has had another little turn, quiringly into her mother's face, now closing her eyes to and you'd better see her." every thing. There was no tossing or excitement about a How is her pulse ?" said the doctor, quickly. -aIs it her, that was over. Her cheek was pale, and her eyes failing ?" languid and faded. One would not have believed, to have "'Pears to me not, sir ; but you can see." looked upon her, how high the fever still raged. Sud-, They went to the room, and the doctor took Alice's denly she repeated the word that had often been on her small wrist, and lightly felt her pulse. Then did the mo- lips-" Mother." Then, with an effort to raise herself, ther watch his face, to see its writing. What was there ? she sank back upon her pillow, exhausted. A sorrowful Nothing but deep attention. The wrist was gently laid look, like death, suffused itself over her countenance. down, and the doctor's hand passed lightly over the white Ah! how, throbbed those hearts ! Was the dreaded mes- arm. Softly it touched the forehead, and lay beneath the senger here ? straying curl. There is no expression yet ; but he takes " Miss Anna," whispered Phillis, a"she is not gone, her the wrist again, and, laying one hand beneath it, he pulse is no lower ; it is the same." touches the pulse. Softly, like the first glance of moon- " Is it the same? are you sure ?" said Mrs. Weston, light on the dark waters, a smile is seen on that kind face. who, for a few moments, had been unable to speak, or There is something else besides the smile. Large tears even to place her finger on the pulse.- dropped from the physician's eyes ; tears that he did not u"It is no worse, if you'll believe me," said Phillis; "it think to wipe away. He stooped towards the fragile suf- may be a little better, but it is no worse." ferer, and gently as the morning air breathes upon the "cHad I not better ,wake the doctor ?" 'said Mrs. Wes- drooping violet, he kissed her brow. " Alice, sweet one," ton, who hardly knew what to believe. he said, a"God has given you to us again." Miss Janet gently touched the wrist of the invalid. Where is that mother? Has she heard those cheering "Do not wake him, my dear; Phillis is right in saying words ? She hears them, and is gone ; gone even from she is no worse; it was a fainting, which is passing away. the side of her only one. The soul, when there is too much joy, longs for God. She must lay her rich burden, See ! she looks as usual. Give her the medicine, it is i

i Y 168 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 169

at the mercy-seat. Now, that mother kneels, but I utters no word. The incense of her heart knows no language, and needs none; for God requires it not. The sacrifice of praise from a rejoicing heart, is a grateful offering that

he accepts. 4

t "Miss Anna," said Phillis, with trembling voicehut CHAPTER XVII. beaming eye, a"go to bed now ; days and nights you have been up. How can you stand it ? The doctor says ALICE steadily, though slowly, improved; and Phillis she is a great deal better, but she may be ill for a good again employed herself with her children and her work. while yet, and you will give out. I will stay with her if Things had gone on very well, with one of her daughter's you will take a' sleep." constant superintendence; but Bacchus had taken advan- " Sleep ;" said Mrs. Weston. "No, no, faithful Phillis, tage of being less watched than usual, and had indulged a not yet; joy is too new to me. God for ever bless you good deal, declaring to himself that without something to for your kindness to me and my child. You shall. go, 5A keep up his spirits he should die, thinking about Miss Alice. rit01{k home and sleep, and to-night, if she continue to do well, I Phillis, lynx-eyed as she always was, saw that such had will trust her with you, and take some rest myself." been the case. Mr. Weston awoke to li hear glad tidings. Again and It was about a week after Alice commenced to improve, again, through the long day, he repeated to himself his that Phillis went to her house in the evening, after having favorite Psalm, " Praise the Lord, oh my soul." taken charge of her for several hours, while Mrs. Weston Miss Janet's joy, deep but silent, was visible in her slept. Alice was very restless at night, and Mrs. Weston happy countenance. Nor were these feelings confined to generally prepared herself for 4 it, by taking some repose the family; every servant on the estate made his mas- previously; this prevented the necessity of any one else ter's joy his own. They sorrowed with him when he losing rest, which, .now that Alice was entirely out of sorrowed, but now that his drooping head was lifted up, t danger, she positively refused to permit. As Phillis many an honest j}ri: face regarded him with humble congratu- went in the door, Lydia was on her knees, just finishing lation, as kindly received as if it had come from the the little nightly prayer that Miss Janet had taught her. highest in the land. She got up, and as she was about to go to bed, saw her mother, and bade her good night. d c "Good night, and go to bed like a good child. Miss a Alice says you may come to see her again to-morrow," s c Phillis replied.

F i Lydia was happy as a queen with this promise. Aunt

S Phillis took her pipe, and her old station outside the door,

f to, smoke. Bacchus had his old, crazy, broken-backed chair i out there already, and he was evidently resolving some- t thing in his mind of great importance, for he propped the t 15

E I 'i 1 , i

170 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR9 SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 171 f

chair far back on its one leg, and appeared to be taking I "I don't," said Phillis, positively; aof no kind." I the altitude of the mountains , s in the moon, an unfailing ; Bacchus was quite discomposed again, but he said in an sign of a convulsion of some kind in the inner man. . appealing voice to his wife, "Phillis, I couldn't stand it ; "Phillis," said he, after a long silence, ; "do you know, it 'i S4 when Miss Alice was so low, you was busy, and could be i i is my opinion that that old creature," i pointing with his a doin somethin for her ; but what could I do? Here I sot " I thumb to Aunt Peggy's house, "is so long used to grum- f1;'' f all night a cryin, a thinkin about her and young master. , , blin' and fussin', that she can't, to save her life, lie still .14 in I-'spected for true she was gwine to die; and my blessed t '1 her grave." 'J; 333333' grief! what would have come of us all. Master Arthur, "What makes you think so ?" said Phillis. :E, j he'd a come home, but what would be the use, and she dead j,4 "Bekase, I believes in j', my ' soul she's back thar this and gone. Every which way I looked, I think I see Miss t ; minute." ; Alice going up to Heaven, a waving her hand good-by to us, '+ ' - ' "People that drink, Bacchus, can't expect nothin' else tu ; and we all by ourselves, weepin and wailin. 'Deed, Phillis, tij' than to be troubled with notions. I was in hopes Aunt ; ;

I couldn't stand it; if I hadn't had a little whiskey I should s + ,, Peggy's death would have made you afeered to go on sin- ;r "u a been dead and cold afore now." ;"l ning. . 'Stead of that, when we was all in t such grief, and "You'll ( be dead and cold afore long with it," said Phillis. E ?

didn't know what 'l was coming' upon t us, you must go drink- "I couldn't do nothing but cry, Phillis," said. Bacchus, + . ' ing. You'd better a been praying, I tell you. But be 1

i snuffing and blowing his nose; "andI thoughtlI might be ;

:itti" i

.'6sin i 'i sure your J will find you out' some day or other. The wanted for somethin, so I jest took a small drop to keep I {?i

F)tyy)t Lord above knows I pray for you many a time, when I'm t; up my strength." f

:. hard at work. My heart is nigh breaking when I think '- Phillis said nothing. She was rather a hard-hearted 2'

( where the drunkards will be, when the Lord makes up his t ';i woman where whiskey was concerned ; so she gave Bacchus j !

jewels. They f v .can't enter the kingdom of Heaven; there q ; :4 no encouragement to go on excusing himself. , is no place for them there. Why can't you repent? 'Spose ; ': "I tell you why I believes in ghosts," said Bacchus, af- sr, you die in a drunken fit, how will I have the heart to work ? ter a pause. "I've see'd one." r !

when I remember where you've got to.; 'where the worm ;' "When ?" said Phillis. ,

5 never dieth, and the fire is not quenched.' " l "I was telling you that while Miss Alice was so ill," I1

Bacchus was ' rather taken aback by this sudden appeal, ftS said Bacchus, acI used to set up most of de night. I don't it and he moved uneasily in his chair; but after a little re- ;i know howI kep up, for you know niggers takes a sight i of ,

,;a flection, and a good long ;,r look at the moon, he recovered sleep, 'specially when they aint very young, like me. Well, his confidence. t I thought one time about Miss Alice, , but more about old ,, "Phillis," said he, i,+ " do you b'lieve in sperrits ?" Aunt Peggy. You know she used to set outside de door

"No, I don't," said Phillis, drily, "of no kind." thar, very late o' nights. It fearedd like 1 was 'spectin . 3 to i1 E-, --- '' Bacchus was at ! a loss ; again; but he pretended not to see her lean on her stick, and come out every minute. Well, ;li understancher, and giving a hitch to his uncertain chair, one night I was sure I hear somethin thar. I listened, and he got up some courage, and said, doggedly, then somethin gin a kind o' screech, sounded like de little "Well, I do." niggers when Aunt Peggy used to gin 'em a lick wid her

do I

SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 173 r 172 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, f E#

E switch. Arter a while I see de curtain lifted up. I couldn't " I wish you'd pray loud to-night," said Bacchus ; "for

f see what it was, but it lifted it up. I hearn some more I aint felt easy of late,, and somehow I can't. pray." - noise, and I felt so strange like, that I shut .de door to, Well, I can't do much, but I can ask God to give us and went to bed. Well, I seed dat, and heard it for two grace to repent of our sins, and to serve him faithfully,"

or three nights. I was gettin scared I tell you; for, Phil- said Phillis. ly 1 lis, there's somethin awful in thinkin of people walking out And they both kneeled down, and prayer went forth of their graves, and can't get rest even thar. I couldn't, from an earnest heart; and who shall say that a more wel- help coming, every night, out here, 'bout twelve o'clock, come offering ascended to His ear in that time of prayer, t for that's time sperrits, I mean ghosts, is so uneasy. One than the humble but believing petition of the slave ! Yr night, de very night Miss Alice got better, I hearn de Phillis was of a most matter-of-fact disposition, and pos-

of mind; 4 } screech an de fuss, and I seed de curtain go up, and pretty sessed, as an accompaniment, an investigating turn r (t,7 .Fit soon what do you think I saw. I'm tellin' you no lie, Phillis. so, before any one was stirring in her cottage, she dressed I seed two great, red eyes, a glarin out de winder ; a glarin herself, and took from a nail a large-sized key, that was at me. If you believe me, I fell down out of dis very over the mantel-piece. She hung it to her little finger, right ty a

1 r ? cheer, and when I got up, I gin one look at de winder, and made straight for Aunt Peggy's deserted cabin. She granted herself a search-warrant, and determined to find and thar was de red eyes glarin agin, so I fell head-fore- r5 most over de door step, tryin to get in quick, and then some clue to Bacchus's marvellous story. Her heart did when I did get in, I locked de door. My soul, wasn't I not fail her, even when she put the key in the lock, for skeered. I never looked no more. I seen nuff dat time." she was resolved as a grenadier, and she would not have 05,.r 4,J

Sf "Your head was mighty foolish," said Phillis, "and you turned back if the veritable red eyes themselves had raised just thought you saw it." the cotton curtain, and looked defiance. The lock was f, "No such thing. I saw de red eyes-Aunt Peggy's red somewhat out of repair, requiring a little coaxing be- eyes." fore she could get the key in, and then it was some time be-

rr "High !" said Phillis, "Aunt Peggy hadn't red eyes." fore she succeeded in turning it; at last it yielded, and 3E. "Not when she was 'live ?" said Bacchus. "But thar's no with one push the door flew open.

to have the matter r, knowin what kind of eyes sperrits gets, 'specially when Now Phillis, anxious as she was {

SFFr they gets where it aint very comfortable." cleared up, did not care to have it done so instantaneously, it she, EEi step in the house before I.j a"these are above us. We've for hardly had she taken one "Well," said Phillis, things t got our work to do, and the Lord he does his. I don't in the most precipitous manner, backed two or three out i

sr of it. E bother myself about ghosts. I'm trying to get to heaven, n and I know I'll never get there if I don't get ready while At first she thought Aunt Peggy herself had flown at r her, and she could hardly help calling for assistance, but I S I'm here. Aunt Peggy aint got no power to come back, yf 3f1 unless God sends her; and if He sends her, its for some making a great effort to recover her composure, she saw good reason. You better come in now, and kneel down, at a glance that it was Aunt Peggy's enormous black cat, and ask God to give you strength to do what is right. who not only resembled her in color, but disposition. Ju- We've got no strength but what He gives us." piter, for that was the cat's name, did not make another .15*

db 174 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 175

grab, but, stood with his back raised, glaring at her, while and heard screeching, with the red eyes glarin at you

Phillis, breathing very short, sunk into Aunt Peggy's chair through the window, I've seen this morning." kip and wiped the cold. perspiration from her face with her "Phillis," said Bacchus, sinking back in his chair, apron. "'taint possible ! What was it a doin ?" "Why, Jupiter," said Phillis, "is this you? 'How on a"I can tell you what its doing now," said Phillis, "its earth did I. happen to forget you. Your eyes is red, to be eating bread and milk and a piece of bacon, as hard as it sure, and. no wonder, you poor, half-starved, creature. I. can. Its eyes is red, to be sure, but I reckon yours would must a locked you up here, the day after the funeral, be red or shut, one, if you'd a been nigh a fortnight locked and I never would a-forgot you, if it hadn't been my up in an empty house, with now and then a mouse to eat. mind was, so taken up with Miss Alice. Why, you're thin Why, Bacchus, how come it, you forgot old Jupiter? I as a snake,-wait a minute and I'll bring you something was' too busy to think about cats, but I wonder nobody to eat."- else didn't think of the poor animal." Jupiter, who had- lived exclusively on mice for a fort- " Sure enough," said Bacchus, slowly recovering from night, was evidently subdued by the prospects of an early, his astonishment, u"its old Jupiter-why I'd a sworn on breakfast. The apology Phillis had made him seemed not the Bible 'twas Aunt Peggy's sperrit. Well, I do b'lieve ! to be without its effect, for when she came back, with that old cat's lived all this time ; well, he aint no cat any a small tin pan of bread and milk, and a piece of bacon. how-I always said he was a witch, and now I knows it, hanging to a fork, his back was not the least elevated, and that same old Jupiter. But, Phillis, gal, I wouldn't say he proceeded immediately to the hearth where the proven- nothin at all about it-we'll have all dese low niggers der was: deposited, and to use an inelegant Westernism, laughin at us." j+(Ytl

1 " walked into, it ;" Phillis meanwhile going home, perfectly "What they going to laugh at me about ?" said Phillis. }

a"I didn't see no ghost." 1i satisfied, with the result of her exploration Bacchus's {I>I{!

toilet was. completed, he was just raising up from the exer- " Well, its all de same," said Bacchus, they'll {, laugh i) tion of putting on his slippers, when Phillis came in, at me-and man and wife's one-'taint worth while to say 4 i! laughing. nothin 'bout it, as I see." This wasan unusual phenomenon, sb early in the morn- «"I shan't say nothing about it as long as you keep. ing, and Bacchus. was, slightly uneasy at its portent, but sober; but mind, you go pitching and tumbling about, and he ventured to ask her what was the matter. I aint under no kind of promise to keep your secret. And .; "Nothing," said Phillis,"a only I've seen the ghost." its the blessed truth, they'd laugh, sure enough, at you, if {, s,

!,,

,; "Lord! what?" they did know it." ;, " The ghost !" said Phillis, "«and its got red eyes, too, And the hint had such a good effect, that after -a while, ' it was reported all over the ,{ sure enough." plantation that Bacchus "had : give up drinkin, for good and all." f " " Phillis," said Bacchus, appealingly, " you aint much }

r, s}

used, to jokiandI know you wouldn't tell an ontruth; ! what do you mean" "I mean," said Phillis, " that the very ghost you saw, '

0 .1 asi

176 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. II !

,, ! No place in the country could have been more delightful { than Exeter was at that, season; but still it seemed neces- , f sary to have a change of scene. September .had come, , <<

4, and it was too late to-make their arrangements to go to .3 ,;, ; , the North, and Alice added to this a great objection to so CHAPTER XVIII. f ,,

doing. A distant relation of Mr. Weston, a very young f I iI IT was in answer to Arthur's letter, expressing great girl, named Ellen Graham, had been sent for, in hopes that anxiety to hear from home, in consequence of so long a her lively society would have a good effect on Alice's un- ( time having passed without his receiving his usual letters, equal spirits; and after much deliberation it was, determined that Mr. Weston wrote him of Alice's illness. She was- that the family, with the exception of Miss Janet, should then convalescing, but in so feeble and nervous a condition, pass the winter in Washington. Miss Janet could not be that Dr. Lawton advised Arthur's remaining where he induced to go to that Vanity Fair, as she called it; and if was-wishing his patient to be kept even from the excite- proper arrangements for her comfort could not be made, ment of seeing so dear a relative. Mr. Weston insisted the project would have to be given up. After many pro- upon Arthur's being contented with hearing constantly of posals, each one having an unanswerable difficulty, the old her improvement, both from' himself and Mrs. Weston. lady returned from town one day, with a very satisfied This, Arthur consented to do; but in truth he was not countenance, having persuaded Mrs. Williams, a widow, aware of the extent of the danger which had threatened and her daughter, to pass the winter at Exeter with her. Alice's life, and supposed it to have been an ordinary Mrs. Williams was a much valued friend of the ~Weston fever. With what pleasure did he look forward, in his family, and as no objection could be found to this arrange- leisure moments, to the time when it would be his privilege ment, the affair was settled. Alice, although the cause of always to be near her; and to induce the tedious interval the move, was the only person who was indifferent on the to pass more rapidly, he employed himself with his studies, subject. Ellen Graham, young and gay as she was, would, as constantly as the season would allow. He had formed like to have entered into any excitement that would a sincere attachment to Abel Johnson, whose fine talents make her forget the past. She fancied it would be for and many high qualities made him a delightful companion. her happiness, could the power of memory be destroyed. Mr. Hubbard was a connection of young Johnson's, and She had not sufficient of the experience of life to appreciate felt privileged often to intrude himself upon them. It the old man's prayer, "Lord, keep my memory green." really was an intrusion, for he had at present a severe Ellen at -an early age, and an elder brother, were de- attack of the Abolition fever, and he could not talk upon pendent, not for charity, but for kindness and love, any other subject. This was often very disagreeable to on relatives who for a long time felt their guardian- Arthur and his friend,, but still it became a frequent sub- ship a task. They were orphans; they bore each other ject of their 'discussion, when Mr. Hubbard was present, company in the many little cares of childhoods, and the and when they were alone. boy, as is not unusual in such a case, always looked to his In the mean time, the warm season was passing away, and sister for counsel and protection, not from actual unkind- Alice did not recover her strength as her friends wished? ness, but from coldness and unmerited reproof. They SOUTHERN 178 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, LIFE AS IT IS. 179 never forgot their parting with their mother-the agony lowed her through a long passage into a room, lighted only with which she held them to her bosom, bitterly reflecting by the rays that found entrance through a broken shutter. they would have no such resting-place in the cold world, in "Only see this," she continued, laying her hand on a crib which they were to struggle. burdened with a small mattress and pillow; heree too," and Yet they were not unkindly received at their future she pointed to a little child's hat that hung over it, from home. Their uncle and aunt, standing on the piazza, which drooped three small plumes. "Whose can they could not without tears see the delicate children in their be?" deep mourning, accompanied only by their aged and re- ".Come out o' here, children," said the nurse, who had spectable colored nurse, raise their eyes timidly, appealing been seeking them. "Your aunt told me not to let you come to them for protection, as hand in hand they ascended the into this part of the house ; this was her nursery once, and steps. It was a large and dreary-looking mansion, and her only child died here." many years had passed since the pictures of the stiff look- The children followed their nurse, and ever afterward ing cavalier and his smiling lady, hanging in the hall, had the thought of death was connected with that part of the looked down upon children at home there. Th4 echoes of house. Often as they looked in their aunt's face they their own voices almost alarmed the children, when, after remembered the empty crib and the drooping plumes. resting from their journey, they explored the scenes of Time does not always fly with youth ; yet it passed their future haunts. On the glass of the large window in along until Ellen had attained her sixteenth year, and the hall, were the names of a maiden and her lover, de- William his eighteenth year. Ellen shared all her scended'from the cavaliers of Virginia. This writing was brother's studies, and their excellent tutor stored their cuts with a diamond, and the children knew not that the minds with useful information. Their uncle superintended writing was their parents'. The little ones walked care- their education, with the determination that it should be fully over the polished floors ; but there seemed nothing a thorough one. William did not intend studying a pro.. in all -they saw to tell them they were welcome. They fession; his father's will allowed him to decide between lifted the grand piano that maintained its station in one of this, or assuming, at an early age, the care of his large the unoccupied rooms of the house; but the keys were yel- estate, with suitable advisers. low with age, and many of them soundless-when at last Ellen made excellent progress in all her studies. 'er one of them answered to the touch of Ellen's little hand, aunt was anxious she should learn music, and wished her it sent forth such a ghostly cry that the two children gazed to go to Richmond or to Alexandria for that purpose, but at each other, not knowing whether to cry or to laugh. Ellen begged off; she thought of the old piano and its Children are like politicians, not easily discouraged; and cracked keys, and desired not to be separated from her Ellen's a"Come on, Willy," showed that she, by no means, brother, professing her dislike to any music, but her old despaired of finding something -to amuse them. They nurse's Methodist hymns. lingered up stairs in their own apartment, William point- William was tall and athletic for his age, passionate ing to the iross-covered rock that lay at the foot of the .when roused by harshness or injustice, but otherwise affec- garden. tionate in his disposition, idolizing his sister. His uncle "Willy, Willy, come ! here is something," and Willy fol. looked at him with surprise when he saw him assume the A

180 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIVE AS IT IS. 181 He independence of manner, which sat well upon him; and turned in his saddle, and bowed to her, just before he his aunt sometimes checked herself, when about to 're- passed from her sight. prove him for the omission of some unimportant form of ".Oh, mammy," she said to her attendant, for she had always politeness, which in her days of youth was essential. thus affectionately addressed her; "«didyou ever see any Ellen dwelt with delight upon the approaching time, when one as handsome as Willie?" " Yes, child," she replied, a"his she would be mistress of her brother's establishment, and father was, before him. You both look like your as important as she longed to be, on that account. Though father ; but Master Willie favors him more than she looked upon her uncle's house as a large cage, in you do. Shut down the window, Miss Ellen, don't you feel the wind? which she had long fluttered a prisoner, she could not but A strong March wind aint good for nobody. Its bright feel an affection for it ; her aunt and uncle often formal, enough overhead to-day, but kind. the ground- is mighty damp and chilly. and uselessly particular, were always substantially There, you're sneezin; didn't I tell you so?" It was a good, though not a cheerful home, and the young Late in the same day Ellen was look for joy and gaiety, as do the flowers for birds and seated at the window, watching her brother's return sunshine. Ellen was to be a ward of her uncle's until she ; gaily watching, until the her shadows of evening were resting on his favorite rocks. was of age, but was -to be permitted to reside with Then she watched anxiously until the rocks could no longer brother, if she wished, from the time he assumed the be seen; but never did he come again, though hope management of his estate. and expectation lingered about her heart until despair rested The young people laid many plans for housekeeping. there in their place. William had not any love affair in progress, and as yet, William was starting on horseback, after an early din- his sister's image was stamped on all his projects for the S_ ner at the tavern in C---, As he put his foot in the future. stirrups, an old farmer, who had just driven his large co- Two years before Ellen came to Exeter, William stood vered wagon to the door, called to him. under his sister's window, asking her what he should bring "You going home, Mr. William ?" said he. her from C-, the neighboring town. "Don't you want "Yes, I am; but why do you ask me ? some needles," he said, " or a waist ribbon, or some candy? "«Why, how are you going to cross Willow's Creek ?" make haste, Ellen; 'if I don't hurry, I can't come home asked the old man. to-night." "cOn the bridge," said William, laughing; "did you t-I don't want any thing, Willie ; but will you be sure think I was going to jump my horse across ?" to return to-night ? I never sleep well when you are "No, but you can't cross the bridge," said the farmer, and I are going on Tuesday to C---; wait, away. Aunt " for the bridge is broken down." stay all night then." and we will "Why, I crossed it early this morning," said William. said William, "I must go ; but you may "Oh, no," de- "«So did I," said the farmer, " and, thank God, I and upop my being back: I always keep my promises. pend my team did not go down with it. But there's been a mighty freshet above, and Willow's Creek is something watching her handsome Ellen leaned from the window, like my wife--she's an angel when she aint disturbed, hut brother as he rode down the avenue leading into the road.

r' ; : } kx

182 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 183

she's the devil himself when any thing puts her out. Now, heritance, had long made this place their home, and they you take my advice, and stay here to-night, or at any rate were acquainted with all the persons who were in the don't get yourself into danger." habit of traveling this way. "I must go home to-night," said William; " I have William, whom they saw almost daily, was a great favo- p ! promised my sister to do so. I can ford the creek ;" and rite with the children. Not only did he pay his toll, but i he prepared again to start. many a penny and sixpence to the small folks besides, and he was accustomed to receive a welcome. a Stop, young man," said the farmer, solemnly, "you

; mind the old saying, 'Young people think old people fools, Now the house was shut up. It had rained frequently but old people know young people are fools.' I warn and heavily during the month, and the bright morning, you not to try and ford that creek to-night ; you might which had tempted the children out to play, was gone, and as well put your head in a lion's mouth. Havn't I been they had gathered in the old house to amuse themselves crossing it these fifty years ? and aint I up to all its as they could. freaks and ways? Sometimes it is as quiet as a weaned The bridge had been partly carried away by the freshet. baby, but now it is foaming and lashing, as a tiger after Some of the beams were still swinging and swaying them- prey. You'd better disappoint Miss Ellen for one night, selves with restless motion. The creek was swollen to a than to bring a whole lifetime of trouble upon her. Don't torrent. The waters dashed against its sides, in their be foolhardy, now; your horse can't carry you safely over haste to go their way. The wind, too, howled mournfully, Willow's Creek this night." and the old trees bent to and fro, nodding their stately "Never fear, farmer," said William. "I can take care heads, and rustling their branches against each other. of myself." "Oh, Mr. William, is it you?" said the woman, open- "May the Lord take care of you," said the farmer, as ing the door. " Get off your horse, and come in and rest; he followed the youth, dashing through the town on his you can't go home to-night." "cIf it were not for this wagon-load, and a"Yes, I can though," said William, a"I have often , spirited horse. ,i there are so many to be clothed and fed at home, I would forded the creek, and though I never saw it as it is now, follow you, but I can't do it." yet I can get safely over it, I am sure." , William rode rapidly homeward. The noonday being "Don't talk of such things, for the Lord's sake,"

t said Mrs. Jones. " Why, my husband could not ford the 3 't long passed, the skies were clouding over, and harsh i c creek now, and you're a mere boy." i spring winds were playing through the woods. t!4 " No matter for that," said William. "I promised my I William enjoyed such rides. Healthy, and fearing

4 .} nothing, he was a stranger to a feeling of loneliness. sister to be at home to-night, and I must keep my word. t k - See how narrow the creek is here ! Good-by, I cannot 3 Alternately singing an old air, and then whistling with notes as clear and musical as a flute, he at last came in wait any longer, it is getting dark." _ "Don't try it, please don't, Mr. William," again said t sight of the- creek which had been so tranquil when he f entreating crossed it in the morning. There was an old' house near, Mrs. Jones. All the children joined her, some

3 t where lived the people who received the toll. A man and William, others crying out at the danger into which their

1 t favorite .p his wife, with a large family of children, poor people's in- was rushing.

{

t .1 Is AS IT IS. 185 184 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE

" Why, you cowards," cried William, "you make more could have saved him? None but thou, Almighty God !" noise than the creek itself. Here's something for ginger- and she kneeled to pray for, she knew not what. bread." None of the children offered to pick up the "Too late, too late !" yet she knelt and alternately money which fell among them, but looked anxiously after prayed and wept. there was William, to see what he was going to do. I Again she gazed into the noisy waters-but a"Mr. William," said Mrs. Jones, " come back; look nothing there, and then calling her frightened and weep- to set forth at the water a roaring and tossing, and your horse is resting children into the house, she determined Iii less already with the noise. Don't throw your life away; alone, for assistance-for what? ' * * * * * * * think of your sister." "I'm thinking of her, good Mrs. Jones. Never fear for Oh! how long was that night to Ellen, though she be- not sleep me," said he, looking back at her with a smile, at the same lieved her brother remained at C . She did Voices in anxious whis- time urging his horse toward the edge of the creek, where till late, and sad the awakening. ; pale faces and weeping eyes, were there was a gradual descent from the hill. pers fell upon her ear and useless As Mrs. Jones had said, the horse had already become everywhere around her-within, confusion; as for an only son; her restless, he was impatiently moving his head, prancing and effort without. Her uncle wept how tenderly she had loved him, who was striking his hoofs against the hard ground. William .re- aunt then felt gone forever. The farmer, who had warned him at the strained him, as he too quickly descended the path, and it when he heard his sad fore- may be the young man then hesitated, as he endeavored tavern-door, smote his breast bodings were realized. The young and the old, the rich to check him, but it was too late. The very check ren- banks of the dered him more impatient ; springing aside from the path and the poor, assembled for days about the of recovering the body, but the he dashed himself from rock to rock. William saw his creek, with the hopes his horse were never seen again. Ah! danger, and with a steady hand endeavored to control young rider and EHen was an orphan now-father, mother, and friend had the frightened animal. This unequal contest was soon de- the lost one. Often did she lay her head The nearer the horse came to the water then more he been to her, cided. iv on the kind breast of their old nurse, and pray for he was alarmed,-at last he sprang from the rock, and he 1- death. and his rider disappeared. ?i As far as was in their power, her uncle and aunt soothed " Oh, my God !" said Mrs. Jones, "he is gone. The her in her grief. But the only real comfort at such a poor boy; and there is no one to help him." She at first time, is that from Heaven, and Ellen knew not that. How hid her eyes from the appalling scene, and then approached could she have reposed had she felt the protection of the the creek and screamed as she saw the horse struggling I Everlasting Arms ! and plunging, while William manfully tried to control him. But time, though it does not always heal, must assuage Oh! how beat her heart, as with uplifted hands, and the intensity of grief; the first year passed after William's stayed breath, she watched for the issue-it is over now. death, and Ellen felt a wish for other scenes than those "Hush! hush! children," said their mother, pale as where she had been accustomed to see him. She had now death, whose triumph she had just witnessed. "Oh ! if little to which she could look forward. your father had been here to have saved him-but who 16* 186 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 187

Her chief amusement was in retiring to the library, and reading old romances, with which its upper shelves were filled; this, under other circumstances, her aunt would have forbidden, but it was a relief to see Ellen interested in any thing, and she appeared not to observe her thus em- CHAPTER XIX. ploying herself. So Ellen gradually returned to the old ways ; she stu- THERE was ,an ancient enmity between Jupiter and rll died a little, and assisted her industrious aunt in her nu- t- Bacchus. While the former was always quiet when Phillis merous occupations. As of old, her abnt saw her restless- came to see his mistress during her life, Bacchus never ness of disposition, and Ellen felt rebellious and irritable. went near him without his displaying symptoms of the With what an unexpected delight, then, did she receive greatest irritation; his back was invariably raised, and from her aunt's hands, the letters from Mrs. Weston, in- his claws spread out ready for an attack on the slightest viting her to come at once to Exeter, and then to accom- provocation. Phillis found it impossible to induce the cat pany them to Washington. She, without any difficulty, to remain away from Aunt Peggy's house; he would obtained the necessary permission, and joyfully wrote to stand on the door-step, and make the most appalling.noises, Mrs. Weston, how gladly she would accept the kind invi- fly into the windows, scratch against the panes, and if tation. A any children approached him to try and coax him away,

tl; he would fly at them, sending them off in a disabled con-

F dition. Phillis was obliged to go backward and forward

tt putting J him into the house and letting him out again. This Y ) was a good deal of trouble, and his savage mood continu- ing, the servants were unwilling to pass him, declaring he was a good deal worse than Aunt Peggy had ever been. Finally, a superstitious feeling got among them, that he was connected in some way with his dead mistress, and a thousand absurd stories were raised in consequence. Mr. Weston told Bacchus that he was so fierce that he might do some real mischief, so that he had better be caught and drowned. The catching was a matter of some moment, but Phillis seduced him into a bag by putting a piece of meat inside and then dexterously catching up the bag and drawing the string. It was impossible to hold him in, so Bacchus fastened the bag to the wheelbarrow, and after a good deal of difficulty, he got him down to the river under the bridge, and threw him in. He told Phillip when he got home, that he felt now for the first time as if ;4. 188 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 18g

1:t Aunt Peggy was really dead, and they all might hope for sick old colored ladies of her acquaintance, and shetold I a little comfort. Twenty-four hours after, however, just Mrs. Weston she might as well make a day of it. Thus it as the moon was rising, Bacchus was taken completely ' was quite evening when she got home-found every thing by surprise, for Jupiter passed him with his back raised, had been well attended to, children in bed, but Bacchus and proceeded to the door of his old residence, com- among the missing, though he had promised her he would mencing immediately a most vociferous demand to be ad- not leave the premises until her return. mitted. Now, if there is a severe trial on this earth, it is for a Bacchus' was speechless for some moments, but at last wife (of any color) who rarely leaves home,-to return after made out to call Phillis, who came to the door to see a day of business and pleasure, having spent all the money what was the double. "Look thar," said he, a"you want she could lay her hands on, having dined with one friend to make me b'lieve that aint ole Aunt Peggy's wraith- and taken a dish of tea and gossiped with another- ground can't hold her, water can't hold- him-why I to return, hoping to see every thing as she expected, drowned him deep-how you spousee he got out of that and to experience the bitter disappointment of finding her bag ?" husband gone out in spite of the most solemn asseverations Phillis could not help laughing. "Well, I never did to the contrary. Who could expect a woman to preserve see the like-the cat has scratched through the bag and her composure under such circumstances ? swam ashore." Poor Phillis! she was in such spirits as, she came home. ".I b'lieves you," said Bacchus, "and if you had throw'd How pretty the flowers look ! She thought, after all, if I him into the fire, he wouldn't a got burned ; but I tell you, am a slave, the Lord is mighty good to me. I have a com- no cat's a gwine to get the .better of me-I'll kill Jupiter, fortable home, and a good set of children, and my old man yet." has done so much better of late-Phillis felt really happy; Phillis, not wanting- the people aroused, got the key, and and when she went in, and delivered all her parcels to the unlocked the door, Jupiter sprang in, and took up his old ladies, and was congratulated on her success in getting quarters on the hearth, where he was quiet for the night. precisely-the desired articles, her heart was as light as a In the morning she carried some bread and milk to him, feather. She thought she would go and see how all went and told Bacchus not to say any thing about his coming on at home, and then come back to the kitchen and drink back to any' one, and that after she came home from town, a cup of good tea, for the family had just got through with where she was going on business for Mrs. Weston, they theirs. would determine what they would do. But Bacchus se- What a disappointment, then, to find any thing going cretly resolved to have the affair settled before Phillis wrong. It was not that Bacchus's society was so entirely should return, that the whole glory of having conquered necessary to her, but the idea of his having 'started on an enemy should belong to him. another spree. The fear of his being brought home some- Phillis was going on a number of errands to L time to her dead, came over her with unusual force, and and she expected to be detained all day, for she understood she actually burst into tears. She had been so very happy shopping to perfection, and she went charged with all sorts a few minutes before, that she could not, with her usual of commissions; besides, she had to stop to see one or two calmness, make the best of every thing. She forgot all

[pr

t a

197 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 191

about the pleasant day she had passed; lost her wish opened it, remembering Jupiter's last unexpected onset; for a cup of tea; and passing even her pipe by, with a when, looking round. by the dim light, she perceived him full heart she took her seat to rest at the door. For some seated opposite Aunt Peggy's big chest, evidently watch-

time every thing seemed to go wrong with her.\ All at ; s ing it. On hearing.the door open, though, he got up and once she found out how tired she was. Her limbs ached, }' raised his back, on the defensive. and her arm hurt her, where she had carried the basket. Phillis, having an indefinable feeling that Bacchus ' eft was She had a great 4 many troubles. She had to work hard. i somehow or other connected with the said elevation, looked

She had more children than anybody else to bother her; } carefully round the room, but saw nothing. Gradually

and when rs she thought of Bacchus she felt very angry. * ''r, the chest lid opened a little way, and a sepulchral voice, .ti ps,

1r He might as well kill himself drinking, at once, for he , issuing from it, uttered in a low tone these words: was nothing but a care and disgrace to her-had always "Phillis, gal, is that you ?" been so, and most likely would be so until they were both The cat looked ready to spring, and the chest lid sud- under the ground. denly closed again. But while Phillis was recovering But this state of mind could not last long. A little herself the lid was cautiously opened, and Bacchus's eyes quiet, rest, and thought had a good effect. She soon began glaring through the aperture. The words were repeated. again to look at the bright side of things, and to be " Why, what on earth ?" said the astonished woman: ashamed of her murmuring spirit. "Sure enough he has " Surely, is that you, Bacchus ?" kept very sober of late, and I can't expect him to give it "It is, surely," said Bacchus; a"but put that devil of a up entirely, all of a sudden. I must be patient, and go tiger out of de room, if you don't want me to die dis s on praying for him." She thought with great pity of him, minute." and her heart bein thus subdued, her mind gradually Phillis's presence always had an imposing effect upon turned to other thin s. Jupiter; and as she opened the door to the other room, She looked at Aunt Peggy's house, and wondered if the and called him in, he followed her without any hesitation. old woman was better off in another world than she was She shut him in, and then hurried back to lift up the 1,

. in this ; but she checked the 'forbidden speculation. And r chest lid, to release her better half. next she thought of Jupiter, and with this recollection "cWhy, how," said she, as Bacchus, in a most cramped came another remembrance of Bacchus and his antipathy condition endeavored to raise himself, a"did the lid fall both to the mistress and her c . All at once she recalled on you?" Bacchus's determination to kil upiter, and the strange "No," groaned Bacchus. "Are you sure de middle

ferocity the animal evinced whenever Bacchus went near t door's shut. Let me git out o' dis place quick as possible, him; and she got up to take the key and survey the state for since ole Peggy left, de ole boy hisself has taken up his of things at the deserted house. There was no key to be 'bode here. 'Pears as if I never should git straight agin." found; and concluding some one had been "Why, look at your face, Bacchus," said his wife. "Did after Jupiter, i she no longer delayed her intention of finding out what Jupiter scratch you up that way." had occurred in that direction. She found the key in the " Didn't he though? Wait till I gits out of reach of door, but every thing was silent. With some caution she his claws, and I'll tell you about it ;" and they both went

" 192 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, out, Phillis locking the door to keep Jupiter quiet, that - --- - night at least. After having washed the blood off his face and hands, and surveyed himself with a dismal countenance in the looking-glass, Bacchus proceeded to give an account of his adventure. After dinner he thought he would secure Jupiter, and have him effectually done for before Phillis came back. He mustered up all his courage, and unlocking the house, determined to catch and tie him, then decide on a mode of death that would be effectual. He had heard some officers from Mexico describe the use of the lasso, and it occurred to him to entrap Jupiter in this scientific manner.' But Jupiter was an old bird; he was not to be caught with chaff. Bacchus's lasso failed altogether, and very soon the c cat became so enraged that Bacchus was obliged to take a three-legged stool, and act on the defensive. He held the stool before his face, and when Jupiter made a spring at him, he dodged against him with it. Two or three blows excited Jupiter's anger to frenzy, and after :several efe forts he succeeded in clawing Bacchus's face in the most dreadful manner, so that it was with the greatest difficulty he could clear himself. Desperate with pain and frights he looked for some way of escape. The door was shut, and Jupiter, who seemed to be preparing for another attack, was between him and it. He had but one resource and that was to spring into Aunt Peggy's great chest, and close the lid to protect himself from another assault. Occasionally, when nearly suffocated, he would rse the lid to breathe, but Jupiter immediately flew at him. bI amch a furious manner, that he saw it would be at -the risk of his life to attempt to escape, and he was obliged:to bide his time. What his meditations were upon while in the chest, wogh& be hard to decide ; but when once more pro- tected by the shadow of his own roof, he vowed Jupiter should die, and be cut in pieces before he was done with himn. J SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 198

Phillis went to Miss Janet, and gave her an account of the whole affair, with Bacchus's permission, and the kind old lady came to him with some healing ointment of her own manufacture, and anointed his wounds. 7 William was sent for ; and the result of the discussion was, that he and his father should, early next morning, shoot the much dreaded cat effectually. This resolution was carried into -effect in the following manner. Phillis went a little in advance with a large bowl of bread and milk, and enticed Jupiter to the hearth. As he was very hungry, he did not perceive William entering with a very long gun in his hand, nor even Bacchus, his ancient enemy, with a piece of sticking-plaster down across his forehead. ';4t' r S gg"* f< h his nose and He went through all ~;L William was quite a sportsman. the necessary formalities. Bacchus gave the word of com- /tr mand in a low voice: Make ready, take aim, fire-bang, and William discharged a shower of shot into Jupiter's

.. , < 4

't r ,_.

t back and sides. He gave one spring, and all was over,

Y,'

i {fr"

F._ Bacchus looking on with intense delight.

°,y;

1 f "' As in the case of Aunt Peggy, now that his enemy was 1 . ; , at5 a "

. r t L 4,p . '" He said t no more, Bacchus became very magnanimous. Jupiter had been a faithful old animal, though mighty . . queer sometimes, and he believed the death of Aunt Peggy had set him crazy, therefore he forgave him for the con-

t , t. dition in which he had put his face, and should lay him

' * 4,

; - ' t' by his mistress at the burial-ground. Lydia begged an old

.k +,. c , , Y .j ,, s candle-box of Miss Janet, for a coffin, and assisted her

." father in the other funeral arrangements. With a secret

5: satisfaction and a solemn air, Bacchus carried off the box, followed by a number of black children, that Lydia had invited to the funeral. They watched Bacchus with great

f attention while he completed his work, and the whole party that Aunt Peggy and Jupi- j fi returned under the impression

': s.; with the morning's transactions. r ter were perfectly satisfied

}'Y, 17 r +'

194 AUNT PIIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 195

in the morning, I was thinking of going to bed when you are done with me." "Nothing more," said Mr. Weston; and Mark retired. "Mark," continued Mr. Weston, "has the greatest pro- CHAPTER XX. pensity for using hard words. His receased means de- ceased. He was excessively angry with Bacchus the other TiE time had come to leave home, and the Westons had day for interfering with him about the horses. 'Nobody,' but one more evening. Neither Mr. Weston nor Alice said he, 'can stand that old fellow's airs. He's got so full were well, and all hoped the change would befiefit them. of tomposity, that he makes himself disagreeable to every- They were to travel in their own carriage, and the pre- body.' By tomposity, I suppose you all know he meant parations were completed. The three ladies' maids were pomposity. Bacchus is elated at the idea of going with to go by the stage. Miss Janet had a number of things us. I hope I shall not have any trouble with him." away in the carriage, which she thought might be / stowed "Oh! no, uncle," said Alice; "he is a good old fellow, useful, not forgetting materials for a lunch, and alittle of and. looks so aristocratic with his gray hair and elegant her own home-made lavender, in case of a headache. The bows. Ellen and I will have to take him as a beau when pleasure of going was very much lessened by the necessity you are out. Aunt Phillis says, that he has pronied her of leaving the dear old lady, who would not listen to their not to drink a drop of any thing but water, and she seems entreaties to accompany them. "You, with your smooth to think that he has been so sober lately that he will keep cheeks and bright eyes, may well think of passing a winter his word." in Washington; but what should I do there? Why, the "It is very doubtful," said Mr. Weston; "but the fact people would say I had lost my senses.. No, we three la- is he would be troublesome with his airs and his tomposity dies will have a nice quiet time at Exeter, and I can go on were I to leave him; so I have no choice." with my quilting and patchwork. -You see, Miss Alice, "Dear Alice," said Ellen, fixing her large dark eyes on that you come back with red cheeks. The birds and the her; "how can I ever be grateful enough to you?" flowers will be glad to see you again when the spring "For what ?" asked Alice. comes." "For getting sick, and requiring change of air, which is "Ring the bell, Alice," said Mr. Weston. "I must }. the first cause of my being here on my way to the great know how Mr. Mason's little boy is. I sent Mark shortly metropolis. Whoever likes a plantation life is welcome to , after dinner; but here he is. Well, Mark, I hope the it; but I am heartily sick of it. Indeed, Miss Janet, good

t little fellow is getting will ?" k ' as you are, you could not stand it at uncle's. Ten miles

R { "He isi receased, sir," said Mark, solemnly. k from a neighbor-just consider it! Uncle disapproves

"He is what?" said Mr. Weston. "Oh! ah! he is .I of campmeetings and barbecues; 4} and aunt is sewing dead-I understand you. Well, I am truly sorry for it. S from morning till night; while I am required to read When did he die?" the Spectator aloud. I have a mortal grudge against "Early this morning, sir," said Mark. "Have you any Addison."

t more orders to give, sir? for as I am to be up mighty early i "But, my dear," said Miss Janet, "you must remember

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l 196 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 197

you are to return to your uncle's, and you must not learn their whiskers and their epaulettes. Let me tell you of a to love the great world too much." young friend of mine, who would marry the man of her "Perhaps," said Mr. Barbour, who was much depressed choice, in spite of the interference of her friends, and one at the approaching parting, "Miss Ellen may not mean to April morning in the honey moon they were seen break- return to her uncle's. A young lady with good looks, and fasting under a persimmon tree. However,, as you are a a heavy purse, will be found out in Washington. She will young lady of fortune; you will always be sure of coffee just suit a great many there-clerks with small salaries, and hot rolls; your good father has made such a sensi- army and navy men with expensive, habits; and foreign ble will, that the principal never can be touched. How attaches, who, being nothing in their own country, turn many fine fortunes would have been saved, if Southerners our young ladies' heads when they come here." had taken such precautions long ago. You will have a " So you think I am destined for no other fate than to fine time young ladies, you must keep an account of your pay a fortune-hunter's debts. Thank you, Mr. Barbour !" conquests, and tell me of them when you come back." " The fact is, Mr. Barbour wants you himself, Ellen, and "Its only Ellen who is going in search of love ad- he is afraid somebody will carry you off. He will pay us a ventures, Mr. Barbour," said Alice. visit this winter, I expect," said Mrs. Weston. " Make yourself easy, Mr. Barbour," said Ellen. " I "Well," said Ellen laughingly, "I'd rather take up mean to have a delightful time flirting, then come back to with him than to go back to my old life, now that I see marry you, and settle down. Mammy says I can't help you are all so happy here." getting good, if I live near Miss Janet." " But your aunt and uncle," said Miss Janet, "you "Well, I will wait for you," said Mr. Barbour. ."a And now must not feel unkindly toward them."- Alice, sing me a sweet old Scotch song. Sing, "'Twas within "No, indeed," said Ellen, theyy are both good and kind half a mile of Edinburgh town." in their way, but uncle is reserved, and often low-spirited. "I can't come quite so near it as that," said Alice, "but Aunt is always talking of the necessity of self-control, and I will sing 'Twas within a mile.'" She sang that, and the discipline of life. She is an accomplished teaze. then a"Down the burn Davie." Then Miss Janet proposed Why, do you know," continued Ellen, laughingly, as she 'Auld lang syne,' in which they all joined; in singing the removed Miss Janet's hand from her mouth, the old lady chorus, Mr. Barbour, as usual, got very much excited, anA ti ti Alice a little tired, so that the music ceased and Alice

i thus playfully endeavoring to check her, a after I had

t took her seat by her uncle on the sofa. AI accepted Mrs. Weston's kind invitation, and mammy and I

c . AFE "Miss Janet," said Mr. Barbour, "you look better than P were busy packing, aunt said I must not be too sanguine, r i disappointments were good for young people, and that I have seen you for a long time." A . something might occur which would prevent my going. I " Thank you," said Miss Janet. "Mr. Washington asked ,1q believe I should have died outright, if it had turned out so." me the other day if I were ever going to die. I suppose, "And so," said Mr. Barbour, " to get rid of a dull like Charles II., I ought to apologize for being so long in dying ; but I am so comfortable and happy with i home, you are determined to fly in the face of fate,,-and my friends, t i are going to. Washington after a husband. Ah ! Miss that I do not think enough of the journey Isoon must take t to another world. How many comforts I have, and how

t Ellen, beware of these young men that have nothing but

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Af 7 198 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, i SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 199

.' i f many kind friends ! I feel now that we are about to be { many a smiling face that tries to hide a sad and aching f separated, that I should thank you all for your goodness heart ; a heart that has ached more painfully than

I r to me, lest in the Providence of God we should not meet yours." again. Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, Ellen, looking up from the ottoman at Miss ff "No," said my poor thanks are most gratefully offered." a Janet's feet, where she was seated; and then bursting into " Oh ! Cousin Janet," said Alice, with her eyes full of tears. " Oh ! thoughtless and frivolous as I am, I shall tears, "why will you not go with us; your talking so makes never forget him. If you knew how I have wept and suf-

1 j s me dread to part with you." fered, you would not wonder I longed for any change that ii " My darling, we must all try to get to Heaven, where would make me forget." there are no partings. I cannot be a great while with you; " Dear child," said Miss Janet, laying her hand on that remember, I am eighty-five years old. But I will not grieve young head, a"I did not mean to reprove you. When God you. We will, I trust, all meet here in the spring. God brings sorrow on the young, they must bear it with resigna- is here, and He is in the great city; we are all safe beneath tion to his will. He delights in the happiness of his creatures, }jSF! His care. Next summer He will bring Arthur home again." and it is not against his will that the young should enjoy

l } Si "Partings should be as short as possible," said Mr. the innocent pleasures of life. Then go you and Alice Barbour. "So I mean to shake hands with everybody, j and into the world, but be not of the world, and come back to be off. Young ladies, be generous ; do not carry it havoc and your homes strengthened to love them more. Cousin Wes- r desolation in your train; take care of your uncle, and come ton has the Bible opened, waiting for us." back again as soon as possible." * * * * * * * He then took a friendly leave of Mr. and Mrs. Weston, In the mean time, Bacchus has received a good deal of and mounted his horse to return home. wholesome advice from Phillis, while she was packing his " What a nice old beau Mr. Barbour would make," said trunk, and in return, he has made her many promises. He Ellen, " with his fine teeth and clear complexion. I wonder expresses the greatest sorrow at leaving her, declaring that he never married." nothing but the necessity of looking after his master in- "Upon my word !" said Miss Janet, "you will be won- duces him to do so, but he is secretly anticipating a suc- dering next, why I never married. But know, Miss Ellen, cessful and eventful campaign in Washington. All the that Mr. Barbour once had a romantic love-affair---he was servants are distressed at the prospect of the family being to have been married to a lovely girl, but death envied him away for so long a time,; even old Wolf, the house-dog, his bride, and took her off-and he has remained true to has repeatedly rubbed his cold nose against Alice's hand, her memory. It was a long time before he recovered his and looked with the most doleful expression into her beau- cheerfulness. For two years he was the inmate of an tiful face; but dogs, like their masters, must submit to what asylum." is decreed, and Wolf, after prayers, went off peaceably with "Poor old gentleman," said len. "I do believe other William to be tied up, lest he should attempt, as usual, to people besides me have trouble. follow the carriage in the morning. " Ah.when you look around you, even in the world, which you anticipate with so much pleasure, you will see :

I 200 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, 1} SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 201 f

as glad of +j ments prepared for them, and their servants [iii their arrival as if they had been separated a year, instead

! of a day.

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1 1 And now, dear reader, I do not intend.discussing Wash- }1 1

S CHAPTER XXI. ington society.. It must be a more skilful pen than mine i that can throw a sun of light upon this chaos of fashionable You are very much mistaken in your estimate of the life, and bring forth order and arrangement. We are only character of a Virginian, if you suppose he allows himself, here for relaxation and change of air, and when our in- or his horses, to be driven post-haste, when there is no valids feel their good effects, we must return with them to urgent necessity for it. It is altogether different with a their q iet, but not unuseful life. Yankee; there is no enjoyment for him from the time he There were many preparations to be made, for our starts on a journey until he young reaches the end of it. He is ladies proposed to enter into the gayeties of the season. bound to be in a hurry, for how knows he but there may Ellen was to throw off her mourning, and her old nurse be a bargain ~1 depending, and he may reach his destination in time to whittle successfully begged her and Alice " to buy a plenty of nice new clothes, for it. for they might as well be out of the world as out of the The Westons actually lingered by the way. There were fashion." They both agreed with her, for they were de- last looks to be taken of home, and its neighborhood; termined to be neither unnoticed nor unknown there were partings among the ll to be given to many objects in nature, fair ones of the Union who were congregated at the capital. dear from association, as ancient friends. Now, the long Do not be astonished; there is already a tinge of red line of blue hills stands in bold relief against the hazy beneath the brown lashes on Alice's cheek. And as for her sky-now, the hills fade away and are hid by thick masses heart, oh! that was a great deal better, too; for it has of oak and evergreen. Here, the Potomac sp e er been found by actual experiment, that diseases of the heart, breast, a mirror to the heavens, toward its low anks, the if treated with care, are not fatal any more than any other broken clouds bending tranquilly to its surface. There, complaints. Mrs. Weston grew happier every day; and as to the river turns, and its high and broken shores are overed Alice's uncle, he hardly ever took his eyes off her, declar- with rich and, twining shrubbery, its branches bending ing that there must be something marvellously strengthen- from the high rocks into the water, while the misty hue of ing in the atmosphere of our much abused city ; while Alice, Indian summer deepens every tint. hearing that Walter Lee was mixing in all the gayeties of Fair Alice raises her languid head, already invigorated Richmond, already began to question her attachment to by the delightful air and prospect. The slightest glow him, and thinking of Arthur's long-continued and devoted perceptible is making its way to her pale cheek, while the affection, trembled lest she should have cast away the love gay and talkative Ellen gazes awhile at the scenery around of his generous heart. her, then leans back in the carriage, closes her brilliant Mr. Weston often felt the time hang heavily upon him, eyes, and yields, oh!. rare occurrence, to meditation. though he saw many valued friends. He would not have Two days are passed in the journey, and our party, ar- exchanged the life of a country gentleman for all the rived safely at Willard's, found their comfortable apart- honors that politics could offer to her favorite votary; and :11! 203 202 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SSOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS.

r 1 for the ordinary amusements which charmed Alice and in sight, and the ragged little negroes stood ready to Ellen, even in advance, the time had come for him to say, . open them. Here we should begin to be patriotic, but do "I have no pleasure in them."- But thinking of Alice's not fear being troubled with a dissertation on this worn-out health only, and, above all, anxious that her marriage with subject. I will not even observe that by the very gate i his son should be consummated during his lifetime, no that was opened for the Westons did the Father of his sacrifice appeared to him too great to make. country enter; for it would be a reflection on the memory The weather was still delightful, and as the soirees, as- of that great and good man to suppose that he would have

d semblies, and matindes had not yet commenced, put his horse to the useless trouble of jumping the fence, ES a party

f i was formed to go to Mount Vernon. The day fixed upon when there was such a natural and easy way of accomplish- ii was a brilliant one, in the latter part of November. A ing his entrance. Ellen, however, declared "that she

is t number of very agreeable persons boarding in the hotel firmly believed those remarkable-looking children that were to accompany them. Bacchus was exceedingly well opened the gates, were the same that opened them for pleased at the prospect. "'Deed, Miss Alice," he said, Washington; at any rate, their clothes were cut after the "I is anxious to see de old gentleman's grave; he was a same pattern, if they were not the identical suits them- fine rider; the only man as ever I seed could beat master selves." in de saddle." Mark objected to his carriage and horses There was a gentleman from the North on the premises being used over such rough roads, so a large omnibus was when they arrived. He joined the party, introduced him- engaged to carry the whole party, Mark and Bacchus going self, and gave information that he was taking, in plaster, as outriders, and a rian in a little sort of a carry-all having the house, the tomb, and other objects of interest about the charge of all the eatables, dishes, plates, &c., which would place, for the purpose of exhibiting them. He made himself be required. The company were in good spirits, but'they both useful and agreeable, as he knew it was the best way found traveling in the State of Virginia was not moving of getting along without trouble, and he was very talkative over beds of roses. Where are such roads to be found? and goodnatured. But some, as they approached the Except in crossing a corduroy road in the West, where can grave, observed that Mr. Weston, and one or two others, one hope to be so thoroughly shaken up? I answer, no seemed to wish a certain quietness of deportment to evince where! And have I not a right to insist, for my native respect for the hallowed spot, and the jest and noisy State, upon all that truth will permit? Am I not a daugh- laugh were suddenly subdued. Had it been a magnificent ter of the Old Dominion, a member of one of the F. F. V's ? building, whose proportions they were to admire and dis- Did not my grandfather ride races with General Washing- cuss; had a gate of fair marble stood open to admit the ton? Did ,not my father wear crape on his hat at his visitor; had even the flag of his country waved where he funeral? Let that man or woman inclined to deny me this slept, they could not have felt so solemnized-but to stand privilege, go, as I have, in a four-horse omnibus to Mount before this simple building, that shelters his sarcophagus Vernon. Let him rock and twist over gullies and mud- from the elements; to lean upon unadorned iron gates, holes; let him be tumbled and jostled about as I was, and which guarded the sacred spot from intrusion; to look up I grant you he will give up the point. and count the little birds' nests in the plastered roof, and Our party jogged along. At last the old gates were . the numberless hornets that have made their homes there I. iJ 204 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 205

too; to pluck the tendrils of the wild grapes that cluster r, Mr. Weston could not but smile at the reproof Bac- here-this simple grandeur affected each one. He was chus had given. He turned and apologized to the gentle- again in life before them, steadily pursuing the great work man for his servant's talkativeness, saying he was an old for which he was sent, and now, reposing from his labor. and much indulged servant. And then they passed on to the old, empty grave. They turned away from that empty grave. The young It was decaying away, yawning with its open mouth as if girls round whom so many affections clustered; the fond asking for its honored. tenement. Ellen glzed down, and anxious mother; the aged and affectionate relative ; and sprang in, and ere the others could recover from their the faithful and valued servant-turned away from that astonishment, or come forward to offer her assistance, she empty grave. When will stay the tum ltuous beatings of looked up in her beauty from the dark spot where sh'e was their hearts? When will they sleep in the shadow of the standing. old church ? Each heart asked itself, When ? " Let me get out alone," said she; "I have such a prize ;" Ere they left this hallowed spot, Mr. Weston addressed and she held in her hand a bird's nest, with its three little a gentleman who lingered with him. This gentleman was white eggs deposited therein. an Abolitionist, but he acknowledged to Mr. Weston that " Oh ! Ellen," said Mrs. Weston, robbing a bird's nest. he had found a different state of things at the South from Put it back, my dear." what he expected. "No, indeed, Mrs. Weston, do not ask me. Think of " Sir," said he to Mr. Weston, "there is- a melancholy my' finding it in Washington's grave. I mean to have it fascination in this hollow, deserted grave. It seems to be put on an alabaster stand, and a glass case over it, and typical of the condition in which our country would be I possess. There, Uncle consider it the most sacred gem should the spirit that animated Washington no longer be Bacchus, keep it for me, and don't crush the eggs." among us. « I won't break 'em, Miss Ellen," said Bacchus, whose Mr. Weston smiled as he answered, a"Perhaps it is good thoughts were apt to run on "sperrits." "I thought for cer- for you to be here, to stand by the grave of a slaveholder, tain you had see'd de old gentleman's ghost, and he had and ask yourself 'Would I dare here utter the calumnies called you down in dat dark hole. But thar aint no dan- that are constantly repeated by the fanatics of my party?' 'Pears as if it hadn't ger of his coming back agin, I reckon. On this spot, sir, the Abolitionist should commune with been long since I followed him to dis very grave." his own heart, and be still. Well was it said by one of "What !" said the Northern gentleman, "were niggers your own statesmen, ' My doctrines on the slavery ques- allowed to attend Washington's funeral ?" tion are those of my ancestors, modified by themselves, a dignified " Colored people was, sir," said Bacchus, in as they were in an act of Confederation. In this one re- manner. "aWe aint much used to being called niggers, spect they left society in the political condition in which but gentlemen and sir. We calls ourselves so sometimes, they found, it. A reform would have been fearful and ladies, sir, mostly calls us colored people, or servants. calamitous. A political revolution with one class was General'Washington hisself, sir, always treated his servants morally impracticable. Consulting a wise humanity, they with politeness. I was very well acquainted with them, submitted to a condition in which Providence had placed and know'd all about the general's ways from them." them. They settled the question in the deep foundations 18 206 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 207

of the Constitution.' Would you then,. sir, destroy the me to say, 'Our Father.' " Remember this, mothers in fabric, by undermining the Constitution? Alas ! this America; and imprint upon the fair tablet of your young would be the consequence, were it possible to carry out child's heart, a reverence for the early institutions of their the views of the Abolition party." country, and for the patriots who moulded them, that * * * * * * " God and my country" may be the motto of their lives. The beautiful words of Harrison G. Otis, delivered in Faneuil Hall, Boston, Aug. 22d, 1835, would have been appropriate here, too. Speaking of the formation of Anti- slavery Societies, he said, " Suppose an article had been proposed to the Congress that framed the instrument of Iif1tf~ Confederation, proposing that the Northern States should CHAPTER XXII. be at liberty to form Anti-slavery Associations, and deluge the South with homilies upon slavery, how would it have "ALICE," said Mrs. Weston, as they sat together one been received ? The gentleman before me apostrophized morning, before it was time to dress for dinner, " if you the image of Washington. I will follow his example, and choose, I will read to you the last part of Cousin Janet's point to the portrait of his associate, Hancock, which is letter. You know, my daughter, of Walter's gay course pendant by its side. Let us imagine an interview between in Richmond, and it is as I always feared. There is a them, in the company of friends, just after one had'signed tendency to recklessness and 'dissipation in Walter's dis- the commission for the other ; and in ruminating on- the position. With what a spirit of deep thankfulness you lights and shadows of futurity, Hancock should have said, should review the last few months of your life ! I have I congratulate my country upon the choice she has made, sometimes feared I was unjust to Walter. My regret at I!c and I foresee that the laurels you gained in the field of the attachment for him which you felt at one time, became Braddock's defeat, will be twined with those which shall a personal dislike, which I acknowledge, I was wrong to be earned by you in the war of Independence; yet such yield to; - but I think we both acted naturally, circum- are the prejudices in my part of the Union against slavery, stanced as we were. Dear as you are to me, I would that although your name and services .may screen you rather see you dead than the victim of an unhappy mar- from opprobrium, during your life, your countrymen, when riage. Love is not blind, as many say. I believe the millions weep over your tomb, will be branded by mine as stronger one's love is, the more palpable the errors of its man-stealers and murderers ; and the stain of it conse- object. It was so with me, and it -would be so with you. quently annexed to your memory.''' That you have conquered this attachment is the crowning But, alas !, the Abolitionist will not reflect. He lives blessing of my life, even should you choose never to con- in a whirlpool, whither he has been drawn, by his own summate your engagement with Arthur. I will, at least, rashness. What to him is the love of country, or the thank God that you are not the wife of a man whose vio- memory of Washington? John Randolph said, "I should lent passions, even as a child, could not be controlled, have been a French Atheist had not my mother made me and who is destitute of a spark of religious principle. I kneel beside her as she folded my little hands, and taught will now read you what Cousin Janet says. 208 ' AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT is. 209 "I have received a long letter from Slii Mr. C., the Episco- " 'It will be well with Arthur and Alice ; you know old pal clergyman in Richmond, in answer to mine, inquiring maids are always the-best informed on other people's love of Walter. All that I feared is true. Walter is not only affairs. When Arthur left home Alice felt only a sisterly gay, but dissipated. Mr. C. says he has called to see him a'I! affection for him; when Walter went away it was really no repeatedly, and invited him to his house, and has done all more for him either, butcher kind heart grieved when she that he could to interest him in those pleasures that are in- saw him so situated: and sympathy, you know, is akin to nocent and ennobling; but, alas! it is difficult to lay aside love. She must remember now the importance that at- the wine cup, when its intoxicating touch is familiar to the taches itself to an engagement of marriage, and not give lips, and so of the other forbidden pleasures of life. To Arthur any more rivals. She was off her guard before, as one of Walter's temperament there is two-fold danger. her feeling an affection for Arthur was considered rather Walter is gambling, too, and bets high; he will, of course, too much a matter of course; but she cannot fail at some be a prey to the more experienced ones, who will take ad- future day to return his devoted affection. In the mean vantage of his youth and generosity to rob him. For, is a time, the young people are both, I trust, doing well. Ar- professed gambler better than a common thief? thur, so long in another section of his own dear country, "'It is needless for me to -say, I have shed many tears will be less apt to be unduly prejudiced in favor of his over this letter. Tears are for the living, and I expect to own; and Alice will only mingle in the gay world enough shed them while I wear this garment of mortality. Can to see the vanity of its enjoyments. She will thus be pre- it be that in this case the wise Creator will visit the sins pared to perform with fidelity the duties that belong to her of the father upon the child? Are are all my tears and position as the wife'of a country gentleman. No wonder prayers to fail? I cannot think so, while He reigns in that my spectacles are dim and my old eyes aching after heaven in the same body with which He suffered on earth. this long letter. Love to dear Cousin Weston, to the girls, In the very hand that holds the sceptre is the print of the and all the servants. JllA s to yourself, nails; under the royal crown that encircles His brow, can "'From COUSIN JANET.' still be traced the marks of the thorns. He is surely, then, kr touched with a feeling of our infirmities, and He will in "'Phillis says she has not enough to do to keep her i r the end, bring home this child of my love and my adoption. employed. She has not been well this winter; her old cough Sij has returned, and she is thinner than I ever saw her. Dr. I often say to myself, could I see Alice and Arthur and : Walter happy, how happy should L. has been to see her several times, and he is anxious for I be-! I would be more '= than willing to depart; but there would be still a care E her to take care of herself. She bids me say to Bacchus he will be for something in this worn-out and withered frame. It that if he have brok his promise, she hopes will be far better to be with Jesus, but He will keep me endowed with strength om above to keep it- better in here as long as He has any thing for me to do. The dear, future. How much can we all learn from good Phillis!' " girls! I am glad they are enjoying themselves, but I long Alice made no observation as her mother folded the let- to see them again. I hope they will not be carried away ter and laid it on her dressing table; but there lay not now by the gay life they are. leading. I-shall be glad when on the altar of her heart a spark of affection for one, who they are at their home duties again-. for a time, she believed to be so passionately beloved. The 18*

It 210 AUNT PIHILLIS 'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 211

fire of that love had indeed gone out, but there had lingered or of some female friend whose memory, like an angel's f' among its embers the form and color of its j coals-these wing, was still hovering around him? Have you not pitied might have been rekindled, but that was past forever. him when you reflected that he was alone, far away from The rude but kind Iij candor that conveyed to her the know- such good influences? Have you not longed to say to him, I' ledge of Walter's unworthiness had dissolved its very I wish I could be to you what she has been, and warn you shape; the image was displaced from its shrine. Walter of the rocks and quicksands against which you may be was indeed still beloved, but it was the affection of a pure shipwrecked. {4J1sister for an erring brother; it was only to one to whom There were many who felt thus towards Walter;, his her soul in its confiding trust and virtue could look up, strikingly handsome face and figure, his grace and intelli- that she might accord that trusting devotion and reverence gence, with a slight reserve that gave a charm to his man- a EiI} woman feels for the chosen companion of her life. of pr ner. To few was his history familar ; the world knew And this, I hear you say, my reader, is the awakening his name, and to the world he was an object of importance, of a love dream so powerful as to undermine the health of for gold stamps its owner with a letter of credit through the sleeper-so dark as to cast a terror and a gloom upon life. many who loved her; it is even so in life, and would you Walter launched into every extravagance that presented have it otherwise? Do you commend that morbid affection itself. He was flattered, and invited to balls and parties; which clings to its object not only through sorrow, but sin? smiles met him at every step, and the allurements of the I, through sorrow-but not in sin. Nor is it possible for a world dazzled him, as they had many a previous victim. pure-minded woman to love unworthily and continue pure. Sometimes, the thought of Alice in her purity and truth th This Alice felt, and she came forth from her struggle passed like a sunbeam over his heart; but its light was 't stronger and more holy; prizing above all earthly things soon gone. She was not for him; and why should he not the friends who had thus cleared for her her pathway, and seek, as others had done, to drown all care? Then the turning with a sister's love, which was all indeed she had thought of Cousin Janet, good and holy Cousin Janet, with ever known, to that one who, far away, would yet win with her Bible in her hand, and its sacred precepts on her lips, his unchanging affection her heart to his own. would weigh like a mountain on his soul; but he had staked Walter Lee's case was an illustration of the fact that all for pleasure, and he could not lose ihe race. many young men are led into dissipation simply from the It is not pleasant to go down, step after step, to the dark want of proper occupation. There was in him no love of\ dungeon of vice. We will not follow Walter to the revel, vice for itself; but disappointed in securing Alice's consent nor the gaming-table. We will close our ears to the blas- to his addresses, and' feeling self-condemned in the effort. phemous oaths of his companions, to the imprecations on to win her affections from Arthur, he sought forgetfulness his own lips. The career of folly and of sin was destined in dissipation and excitement. He fancied he would find to be closed; and rather would we draw a veil over its happiness in the ball-room, the theatre, the midnight revel, every scene. Step by step, he trod the path of sin, until and at the gambling table. Have you not met in the at last, urged by worldly and false friends to a quarrel, changing society of a large city, one whose refined and commenced on the slightest grounds, he challenged one gentle manners told of the society of a mother, a sister, who had really never offended him; the challenge was 212 AUNT PILLIS s CABIN;' OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 213

a cepted, and then Walter Lee was a murderer! out God. Now in this world, there is many a brow bend- e gazed upon the youthful, noble countenance ; he felt ing beneath the weight of its flowers. Could we trace the again and again the quiet pulse, weeping when he saw the stories written on many hearts,-how would they tell of useless efforts to bring back life, sorrow! How many would say, in the crowded and noisy He was a murderer, in the sight of God and man ! for revel, "I have come here to forget; but.memory will never he had been taught that He who gave life,, alone had the die !" power to take it away. He knew that God would require of him his brother's blood. He knew, too, that though the false code of honor in society would acquit him, yet he would be branded, even as Cain. He could see the finger of scorn pointed towards him; he could hear men, good men, CHAPTER XXIII. say, "There is Walter Lee, who killed a man in a duel.!" ALICE and Ellen, accompanied by Mrs. Weston, and Ah!" Cousin Janet, not in vain were your earnest teach- some gentlemen from their section of the country, were to ings. Not invain had you sung by his pillow, in boyhood, attend a private ball, expected to be one of the most bril- of Jesus, who loved all, even his enemies. Not in vain liant of the season. Mr. Weston, not feeling well, retired had- the good seed in the ground, youplanted and watered early, preferring to listen to the young ladies' account of it. Not e in vain are you now kne ling by your bedside, the evening, after his breakfast and newspaper the next imploring God not to forsake forever the child of your morning. When they were ready to go, they came into prayers. Go to your rest in peace, for God will yet bring Mr. Weston's parlor, to obtain his commendation on their him home, after all his wanderings; for Walter Lee, far taste. Mrs. Weston was there awaiting them; and her away, is waking and restless; oppressed with horror at his own appearance was too striking to be passed over without crime, flying from law and justice, flying from the terrors notice. She was still really a handsome woman, and her of a burdened conscience-he is a murderer ! beauty was greatly enhanced by her excellent taste in Like Cain, he is a wanderer. He gazes into the depths dress. Her arms, still round and white, were not unco- of the dark sea he is crossing; but there is no answering vered. The rich lace sleeves, and the scarf of the same abyss in his heart, where he can lose the memory of his material that was thrown over her handsome neck and deed. He cannot count the wretched nights of watching, shoulders, was far more becoming than if she had assumed and of thought. Time brings no relief, change no solace. the bare arms and neck which was appropriate to her When the soul in its flight to. eternity turns away from daughter. Her thick dark hair was simply put back from God, how droop her wings! She has no star to guide her temples, as she always wore it, contrasting beautifully her upward course; but she wanders through a strange with the delicate white flowers there. Her brocade silk, land, where all is darkness and grief. fitting closely to her still graceful figure, and the magnifi- He traversed many a beautiful country; he witnessed cent diamond pin that she wore in her bosom; the per- scenes of grandeur; he stood before the works of genius feet fitness of every part of her apparel gave a dignity and II and of art; he listened to music, sweet like angels' songs; beauty to her appearance, that might haveinduced many but has he peace ? Young reader, there is no peace with- a gay lady who mixes, winter after winter, in the amuse- 214- AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, -SOUTHERNS LIFE AS IT IS. 215

ments of our city, to go and'do likewise. When youth is you cannot be always as fair and young as you are now; gone forever, it is better to glide gracefully into middle but may God keep your heart as pure and childlike, until age; and if half the time and thought that is expended on the he take you to the Heaven which is your destiny." Be- choice of gay colors and costly material, were passed in fore any one could reply, he had bowed to the rest of the IF properly arranging wbat is suitable to age and appearance, company and left the room; and even Alice, accustomed the fashionable assemblies of the present day would not as she was to his partial affection, felt solemnized at the afford such spectacles, as cannot fail both to pain and unusual earnestness with which he had addressed her; but amuse. Mrs. Weston hurried them off to the scene of fashion and Mr. Weston turned to the door as it opened, expecting splendor which they had been anticipating. * the girls to enter; and a little impatient, too, as it was * * * already half-past ten o'clock. The gentlemen had been Mr. Weston was about to retire, when Bacchus suddenly punctual to their appointed hour of ten, but declared that entered the room, preceded by a slight knock. He was three quarters of an hour was an unusually short time to very much excited, and evidently had information of great be kept waiting by ladies. Ellen came first, her tall but importance to communicate. tif well-proportioned figure arrayed in a rose-colored silk " Master," said he, without waiting to get breath, of the most costly material. She wore a necklace and "they're all got took." bracelet of pearl, and a string of the same encircled her "What is the matter, Bacchus ?" beautifully-arranged hair. The rich color that mantled in "Nothing, sir, only they're all cotched, every mother's }p1 her cheeks deepened still more, as she acknowledged the son of 'em." salutation of the gentlemen; but Alice, who entered imme- "rOf whom are you speaking ?". diately after her, went at once to her uncle, and putting " Of them poor misguided niggers, sir, de Aboli- her hand in his, looked the inquiry, "Are you pleased tioners got away; but they're all cotched now, and I'm with me ?" No wonder the old man held her hand for a sorry 'nuff for 'em. Some's gwine to be sold, and some's moment, deprived of the power of answering her. She gwine to be put in jail; and they're all in the worst kind stood before him glowing with health again, the coral lips of trouble." parted with a smile,' awaiting some word of approval. "TWell, Bacchus, it serves them right; they knew they The deep-blue eyes, the ivory skin, the delicately-flushed were not free, and that it was their duty to work in the cheeks, the oval face, the auburn curls that fell over brow condition in which God had placed them. They have no- and temple, and hung over the rounded and beautiful body to blame but themselves." shoulders; the perfect arm, displayed in its full beauty by "'Deed they is-'scuse me for contradictin you-but the short plain sleeve; the simple dress of white; the whole there's them as is to blame a heap. Them Abolitioners, Afi figure, so fair and interesting, with no ornaments to dim sir, is the cause of it. They wouldn't let the poor devils its youthful charms; but one flower, a lily, drooping over rest until they 'duced them to go off. They 'lowed, they her boson. The tears gathered in his large eyes, and would get 'em off, and no danger of their being took agin. drawing her gently towards him, he kissed her lips. "Alice, They had the imperance, sir, to 'suade those poor deluded my beloved," he said, sweetestt of God's earthly gifts, niggers that they ere born free, when they knowed they I 216 AUNT PIHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 217 were born slaves. I hadn't no idea, sir, they was sich axed me if any body owed liars ; but I've been up to de place whar'the servants is, my mistis money, as I know'd of. I told him, yes, and its heart-breaking to hear 'em talk. Thar's Simon, Mrs. Barrett did, and mistis often sent me after it without ny order, for she know'd I'd that strapping big young man, as drives Mrs. Seymour's bring it straight to her. Now, -carriage; they got him off. He's a crying up thar, like my boy, said the Abolitioner, dis money is yourn-its your wages. a baby a month old. He's been a hidin and a dodgin for You've got a better right to it than ever your mistis a week-he's nigh starved. And now he's cotched, and had. You can't start on a journey without money; so you go to dis lady gwine to be sold. He's a raal spilt nigger: his master and tell her you was sent for money by your mistis, and you keep dressed him like a gentleman, and he had nothin to do all de money for your own use. Here'fde day but to drive de carriage ; and he told me hisself, money,' said he, Master George, take it to mistis, and tell her de truth.' when he was out late at night mid de young ladies, at par- "'Damn the rascals,' says young Mr. Seymour, 'they're ties, he never was woke in de mornin, but was 'lowed to not content with man-stealing, but they're stealing money sleep it out, and had a good hot breakfast when he did and clothes, and every thing they can lay their hands upon. wake. Well, they got him off. They made out he'd go to So much for your Abolition friends, Simon,' says he. 'I the great Norrurd, and set up a trade, or be a gentleman, wish you joy of them. They've brought you to a pretty may be; and like as not they told him he stood a good pass, and lost you as good a home as ever a servant had.' chance of being President one of dese days. They got "'< Oh, master,' said Simon, 'won't you take me back ? him off from his good home, and now he's done for. He's Indeed I will be faithful.' gwine to be sold South to-morrow. He's a beggin young "'

dP f

i '''r 218 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, t SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 219

i « I am really sorry for the servants, Bacchus," said Mr. ., , and 'tis, if dese Abolitioners, dat has so much larnin, if

k Weston, "but they won't take warning. I'm told that since ti , S they only had some of the Bible larnin my wife has, how

r'' y;

=7 Abolitionists have come to live in Washington, and have t r , do 'em. My wife says, <'God put her 7",. much good 'twould been going among the colored people, that it is almost im- here a slave, and she's a gwine to wait for Him to set her possible to employ an honest servant; it is on this account free; if he aint ready to do so till he calls her to Heaven, that the Irish are so much employed. Some years ago she's willin to wait.' Lord, sir, my wife, she sets at de the families had no trouble with their domestics, but Abo- feet of Jesus, and larns her Bible. I reckon de Aboli- lition has ruined them. What a wretched looking class tioners aint willin to do that ; they don't want to get so they are, too! lazy4nd dirty; these are the consequences low down; 'pears as if they aint willin to go about doin of taking bad advice." good like Jesus did, but they must be puttin up poor slaves "Well, master," said Bacchus,. "I wish to .de Lord we to sin and sorrow. Well, they've got to go to their ac- could take 'em all to Virginny, and give 'em a good coat count, any how." of tar and feathers; thar's all them feathers poor Aunt Bacchus finally retired, but it was with difficulty he Peggy had in them barrels. We aint got no call for 'em composed himself to sleep. He was still mentally dis- at home. I wish we could put 'em to some use. I wouldn't cussing that great subject, Abolition, which, like a mighty like no better fun than to spread de tar on neat, and den tempest, was shaking the whole country. All at once it stick de feathers on close and thick." occurred to him " that it wouldn't do no good to worry "Well, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "its near bedtime, about it," so he settled himself to sleep. A bright idea and I am not well; so I will retire." crossed his mind as he closed his eyes upon the embers " Certainly, master; you must 'scuse me, I'm afeard that were fading on the hearth in his master's room; in I've kep you up; I felt mightily for them poor creaturs, another moment he was reposing, in utter oblivion of all thar. Lor', master, I aint nigh so weakly as you, and things, whether concerning his own affairs or those of the think I nussed you, and used to toat you on my back when world in general. you was a little boy. You was mighty fat, I tell you-I The next morning, just as Mr. Weston had finished his used to think my back would bust, sometimes, but I'm paper, Bacchus came in with a pair of boots, shining as- pretty strong yet. 'Pears like I could toat you now, if I tonishingly. "«Ibelieve," said Mr. Weston, "I won't put was to try." them.on yet, our ladies have not come down to breakfast, and "Not to-night, thank you, Bacchus. Though if any its hardly time, for it is but half-past nine o'clock ; I think thing should occur to make it necessary, I will call you," it must have been morning when they came home.4- said Mr. Weston. "Yes sir," said Bacchus; a"they aint awake yet, Aunt Bacchus slept in a kind of closet bedroom off his mas- Marthy tells me." ter's, and he went in accordingly, but after a few moments " Well, let them sleep. I have breakfasted, and I will returned, finding Mr. Weston in bed. ;r sit here and enjoy this good fire, until they come." Bacchus lingered, and looked as if he could not enjoy "Will have any thing, sir ?" 4, You .e '.4 'c.

P any thing that morning. "Nothing, to-night." ++. "Well, master, I was thinkin to say one thing more, z~ " Any thing the matter, Bacchus ?" said Mr. Weston.

, 220 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT Is. 221

"Well," said Bacchus, "nothin more I spousee than what gentlemen of de South to set their slaves free, if it did make I had a right to expect of 'em. Simon's got to go. I done 'em poor, kase Jesus Christ, he made hisself poor to set us all I could for him, but it aint nothin, after all." , all free. Warn't dat what you said, sir ?'

'YY 'I didn't know you had such a " What could you do ?" said Mr. Weston. tb S'Exactly,' says he. "Well, master, I was nigh asleep last night, when all at " good memory.'

. i- Mr. Baker,' says I,' you're a Christian your- once I thought 'bout dis here Abolition gentleman, Mr. i 1 "'Now, know Christians Baker, that boards long wid us. Now, thinks I, he is a ia' self, or you couldn't talk dat way. I y a r mighty nice kind of man, talks a heap 'bout God and the : must like to make other people happy; they're bound to, [,t.r 1 Gospel, and 'bout our duty .to our fellow-creaturs. I for their Master, Christ, did. Well, sir, all de poor Y creturs dat de Abolitionists got off is cotched--they're know'd he had a sight of money, for his white servant told (.(( J > thar's one young man thar, that had + jC to be sold, and me he was a great man in Boston, had a grand house thar, F gwine his wife rode in elegant carriages, and his children has the a good home and a good mistis, and him they 'suaded off, best of every thing. So, I says to myself, he aint like and now he's gwine to be sold South, whar he'll toil and the rest of 'em, he don't approve of stealing, and lying, sweat in de hot sun. Now, Mr. Baker, if de Southern and the like o' that ; if he thinks the Southern gentlemen gentlemen's duty's so plain to you, that they oughter make oughter set all their niggers free, why he oughter be willin themselves poor, to make their slaves free and happy, to lose just a little for one man; so I went straight to his surely you'll buy this one poor man who is frettin' hisself room to ask him to buy Simon." to death. It won't make you poor to buy jist this one; who'll " That was very wrong, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, his master says he'll sell him to any Abolitioner sternly. "Don't you know your dutybetter than to be in-, take him to the great Norrurd, and have him teached. be terfering in the concerns of these people? I am exces- Buy him, sir, for de Lord's sake-de poor fellow will make dat sively mortified. What will this gentleman think of me ?" so happy; jist spend a little of your money to and Nothing , master," said Bacchus. "Don't be oneasy. I one poor cretur happy. God gave it all to you, sir, told him I come to ax him a favor on my own 'sponsibility, he aint gave none to de poor slaves, not even gave him his and that you didn't know nothin' about it. Well, he axed freedom. You set dis one poor feller free, and when to think me if I wanted a chaw of tobacco. 'No sir,' says I, 'but you come to die, it will make you feel so good come to maybe Christ may I wants to ax a little advice.' <'I will give you that with about it ; when you judgment, come pleasure,' says he. say, " You made dis poor man free, and now you may into de kingdom and set down wid me forever.' Oh ! sir, "'Mr. Baker,' says

t 222 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 223 to buy niggers.' 'Here,' says he, to dat white nigger that carry a blessing with it. "Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, waits on him, 'Next time dis feller wants me, tell him to as they were going in, you need not point out the servants go 'bout his business.' to me. I will observe for myself, and I do not wish to be "'Good mornin' sir,' says I, 'I shan't trouble you agin. conspicuous." May de Lord send better friends to de slaves than de like There were a great many lounging about, and looking of you.' " round there. Some were considering the scene as merely " Well, Sacchus," said Mr. Weston, "cyou did very curious; some were blaming the slaves; some their mas- wrong, and I hope you will not again take such a liberty ters, some the Abolitionists. There was -confusion and with any person. You see for yourself what an Aboli- constant going in and out. . But though the countenances tionist is. I wish- those poor runaways had had some such of the runaways expressed different emotions, it was evi- experience, it would have saved them. from the trouble dent that one feeling had settled in each breast, and that they are now in." was, there was no hope that any thing would occur to re- "Yes, indeed, master. I've been ddwn thar agin, to-day. lieve them from their undesirable position. I went right early; thar's an ole woman thar that tried to Mr. Weston easily recognized Simon, from Bacchus's run away. She's gwine too, and she leaves her husband description. He had a boyish expression of disappoint- here. She aint a cryin, though, her heart's too full for ment and irritation on his countenance, and had evi- tears. Oh ! master," said Bacchus, sighing deeply, a"I dently been recently weeping. There were several men, think if you'd seed her, you'd do more than the Aboli- one or two of them with bad faces, and one, a light mulatto, tioners." had a fine open countenance, and appeared to be making * * * * * * * an effort not to show his excessive disappointment. In In the afternoon Mr. Weston usually walked out. He did the corner sat the woman, on a low bench-her head was not dine with the ladies at their late hour, as his com- bent forward on her lap, and she was swaying her body plaint, dyspepsia, made it necessary for him to live lightly slightly, keeping motion with her foot. and regularly. Bacchus attended him in his walks, and a"What is the woman's name, Bacchus ?" asked Mr. many a person turned back to look upon the fine-looking Weston in a low tone. old gentleman with his gold-headed cane, and his servant, "I axed her dis mornin, sir. Its Sarah-Sarah Mills." whose appearance was as agreeable as his own. Bacchus Mr. Weston walked up nearer to her, and was regarding was constantly on the lookout for his master, but he her, when she suddenly looked up into his face. Finding managed to see all that was going on too, and to make herself observed, s he made an effort to look unconcerned, many criticisms on the appearance and conduct of those but it did not succeed, for she burst into tears. he met in his rambles. . "I'm sorry to see you here, Sarah," said Mr. Weston, Bacchus followed his master, and found that he was " you look too respectable to be'in such a situation." wending his steps to the place where the arrested run- Sarah smoothed down her apron, but did not reply. aways were confined. This was very agreeable to him, " What induced you to run away ? You need not be for his heart was quite softened towards the poor prisoners, afraid to answer me truthfully. I will not do you any and he had an idea that his master's very presence might harm." 224 AUNT PHILLIS' S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 225

"My blessed grief !" said Bacchus. "No, master couldn't "Yes, sir, it was mighty 'hard though, to think of my do no harm to a flea." poor husband's being sold,-he and I don't belong to the " Hush, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston. same person." There was something in Mr. Weston's appearance that " So, I suppose," said Mr. Weston; a"but you have only could not be mistaken. The woman gave him a look of made your condition Worse." perfect confidence, and said- " Yes, sir ; but I didn't think things would turn out so. "I thought I could better myself, sir." The Abolitionists said they would see that I got off free." " In what respect? Had you an unkind master ?" said " They ought to be cotched, and tied up, and have a Mr. Weston. good whaling besides," said Bacchus, indignantly. "No," said the woman, a"but my husband I was afear'd "'Taint no use wishin 'em harm," said Sarah; -athe might be sold, and I thought I could make so much money Lord's will be done," at the same time.her pale lips qui- at the North, that I could soon help him to buy himself. vered with emotion. He's a barber, sir, lives on the Avenue, and his master, Mr. Weston paused a few moments in deep thought, then when he was young, had him taught the barber's trade. went into the other room. When he returned, she was Well, his master told him some time ago that he might sitting as when he first entered, her face buried in her lap. live to himself, and pay him so much a month out o' what " Sarah," he said, and she looked up as before, without he made, but seemed as if he couldn't get along to do it. any doubt, in his open countenance, "are you a good My husband, sir, drinks a good deal, and he couldn't do it worker ?" on that account; so, a year or two ago his master sent for a I am, at washin and ironin. I have been makin a good him, and told him that he was worthless, and unless he deal for my master that way." could buy himself in three years he would sell him. He "Well," said Mr. Weston, "if I were to purchase you, said he might have himself for five hundred. dollars, and so as you could be near your husband, would you conduct he could have earned it, if he hadn't loved whiskey so, but. yourself properly ; and if I wish it, endeavor to repay me 'pears as if he can't. do without that. We aint got no what I have given for you ?" children, thank God ! so when the Abolitionists advised, Such a thought had not entered the despairing woman's

Y? me to go off, and told me they would take care of me until mind. She was impressed with the idea that she should

i I got out of' my master's reach, and I could soon make a r never see her husband again; other things did not effect

r sight of money to buy my husband, I thought I would go ; her. It was necessary, therefore, for Mr. Weston to re- and you see, sir, what's come of it." peat what he had said before she comprehended his mean- Sarah tried to assume the same look of unconcern, and ing. When she heard and understood, every energy of again she wept bitterly. her soul was aroused. Starting from her seat, she clasped "I don't mean to reproach you, now that you are in her hands convulsively together; her face' became death- trouble," said Mr. Weston, " but you colored people in this like with agitation. city have got into bad hands. God has made you slaves, "Would I, sir ? Oh! try me ! Work! what is work if I and you should be willing to abide by his will, especially could be near my poor husband as long as I can. Buy me, if he give you a good master." sir, only for Jesus' sake, buy me. I will work day and

I 226 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN' OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 227 night to pay you, and the blessing of God Almighty will pay you too, better than any money I could earn." necessary free papers. "You are your own mistress, now, Bacchus, the tears rolling down his cheeks, looked ear- Sarah," said he. "I hope you will prove yourself worthy for him- nestly at his master's face. - to be so. You can assist your husband to pay self. If you are honest and industrious, you cannot fail "Buy her, master, buy her, for the love of God," he said. to do well." Sarah's heart overflowed with unlooked-for happiness. " Sarah," said Mr. Weston, a"I do not like to be in a She thanked Mr. Weston over and over again, until, fear- public place; do not, therefore, become excited, and say ing to be troublesome, she withdrew. Bacchus went as far any thing that will draw observation to me. I have bought as the corner, and promised to look in upon herself and you, and I will not require you to repay me. Come to me husband, repeatedly; which he did. He impressed his new to-night, at Willard's, and I will give you your. free pa- acquaintances with a proper sense of his own importance. pers; I will see also what I can do for your husband. In With the exception of one grand spree that he and Sarah's the mean time, Bacchus will help you take your things husband had together, the three enjoyed a very pleasant from this place. Stay here though a few moments, until and harmonious intercourse during the remainder of the he gets me a carriage to go home in, and he will return to you." Westons' stay at Washington. Sarah perfectly understood that Mr. Weston wanted no The gay winter had passed, and spring had replaced it; thanks at that time. With streaming eyes, now raised to but night after night saw the votaries of fashion assembled, heaven-now to her benefactor, she held her peace. Mr. though many of them looked rather the worse for wear. Weston gladly left the dreadful place. Bacchus assisted Ellen and Alice tired of scenes which varied so little, yet him to a hack, and then came back to fulfil his directions i having no regular employment, they hardly knew how to as regards the woman. cease the round of amusements that occupied them. Ellen Oh! noble heart, not here thy reward! Thy weak and said, "Never mind, Alice, we will have plenty of time for trembling frame attests too well that the scene is too try- repentance, and we might as well quaff to the last drop the ing to afford thee pleasure. The All-seeing Eye is bent cup of pleasure, which may never be offered to our lips upon thee, and thine own ear will hear the commendation again." Very soon they were to return to Virginia, and from the lips of Christ:."Inasmuch as ye have done it unto now they proposed visiting places of interest in the neigh- the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." borhood of the city. Nor thou alone! Many a generous act is done by the One morning, after a gay party, and at a later hour slaveholder to the slave. God will remember them, though than usual, the three ladies entered the breakfast-room. here they be forgotten or unknown. Mr. Weston was waiting for them. "Well, young la- We need not dwell on the unhoped-for meeting between dies," he said, "I have read my paper, and now I am Sarah and her husband, nor on Bacchus's description of it to ready to hear you give an account of your last evening's his master. It suffices to close the relation of this inci- triumphs. The winter's campaign is closing; every little dent by saying, that at night Sarah came to receive direc- skirmish is then of the greatest importance. How do you tions from Mr. Weston; but in their place he gave her the all feel?"

s 228 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 229 aI do not know how I feel, uncle," said Alice, languidly. young lambs gambolling about; but when the old sheep "Alice has expressed my feelings exactly; and Mrs. began to caper too, he'd rather not look on.' There was Weston's too, I fancy," said Ellen. poor old Mr. K., with his red face and his white hair, and Mr. Weston smiled, but said he should not excuse them his heels flying in every direction. (I am ashamed of you from their promise of giving him a faithful description of for laughing at Mr. K., Mrs. Weston, when I am trying the scene. to impress upon Alice's mind the folly of such a scene.) I tV "Well, my dear sir," said Ellen, "I have a decided talent dare say Mr. K.'s wife was at that very moment, five hun- for description; but remember, Mrs. Weston, my genius must ey r+ dred miles off, darning her children's stockings. not be cramped. Do not break the thread of my discourse " All the people did not dance the Polka," continued i

hlY by 'Ellen, do not talk so!' A Washington party is what 5. Ellen; "«andI was dazzled with the pretty faces, and the you have called it, Mr. Weston, a skirmish. You remem- wise-looking heads. Mr. Webster was there, with his deep

t ber how the wind blew last night. When we reached Mr. S. voice, and solemn brow, and cavernous eyes; and close-up -'s front door, the people had collected in such crowds to him, where she could not move or breathe, there was a

0F7 in the hall, to get a little air, thatit was fully ten minutes rte; young face, beautiful and innocent as a cherub's, looking r- before we could get in. We had the benefit of a strong ; ryyf with unfeigned astonishment yF upon S the scene.. There was harsh breeze playing about our undefended necks' and Gen. Scott,'towering above everybody; and Mr. Douglass, shoulders. As soon as we were fairly in, though, we were edging his way, looking kindly and pleasantly at every one. recompensed for our sufferings in this respect. We went There were artists and courtiers; soldiers and sailors; from the arctic to thetorrid zone; it was like an August foolish men, beautiful women, and sensible women; though day at two o'clock. I do not know what they wanted there. 1 There , were speci- "We tried to make our way to the lady of the house, but mens of every kind in this menagerie of men and women. understood, after a long search, that she had been pushed Dear Mr. Weston, I have not quite done. There was a by the crowd to the third story; and being a very fat per- lady writer, with a faded pink scarf, and some old artifi- son, was seen, at the last accounts, seated in a rocking- cial flowers in her hair. There was a she Abolitionist too; chair, fanning herself violently, and calling in vain for ice- yes, a genuine female Abolitionist. She writes for the cream. . After a while we reached the dancing-room, Abolition papers. She considers Southerners heathens; where, in a very confined circle, a number were waltzing 1, looks pityingly at the waiters as they. hand her ice cream. t and Polka-ing. As this is a forbidden dance to Alice and ,. ;;. She wants Frederick Douglass = to be the next President,

'irk me, we had a fine opportunity of taking notes. Mrs. S. and advocates amalgamation. I am quite out of breath; was making a great exhibition of herself; she puffed and but I must tell you that I looked at her and thought Uncle blew as if she had the asthma; her ringlets streamed, and Bacchus would just suit her, with his airs and graces; but her flounces flew. I was immensely anxious for the little I do not think she is stylish enough for him." lieutenanier partner. He was invisible several times; lost "But, my dear," said Mrs. Weston, a"you forget Bac- in the ringlets and the flounces. There were people of all chus has a wife and twelve children." sizes and ages dancing for a wager. I thought of what "cThat is not of the least consequence, my dear our good bishop once said: 'It was very pretty to see the madam," said Ellen; "I can imagine, when a woman ap- 20 230 AUNT ,PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 231 every sense of proves of amalgamation, she is so lost to the great bazaar of America. Here are' senators *and a man propriety that it makes no difference to her whether members-three and four walking arm in arm. Here are ; and if I is married or not. Now, Alice, I resign my post gay young men, dressed in the latest style; here is the you have any thing to say I will give you the chair, while army and navy button ; old people and young children I run up to my room and write aunt a good long letter." with their nurses ; foreigners and natives ; people of every shade and hue. There is our President, walking unat- tended, as a republican president should walk. And see ! there are a number of Indians,-noble-looking men, and a white boy throwing a-stone at them. I wish I had the II young rascal. On our right, in their carriages, are the) (~twives and children of the rich; while, scattered about, CHAPTER XXIV. r right and left, are the representatives of the poor. But " THE afternoon is so delightful," said Mr. Weston, what is this, coming along the side-walk ?" 97 "that we had better take our ride to the Congress burial The girls put their heads out of the window, and saw ground. Your time is short, young ladies ; you cannot F,e a colored man, sauntering along in an impudent, dont-carish afford to lose any of it, if all your plans are to be carried manner. His dress-indeed his whole appearance-was out." absurd. He 'wore a stylish, shiny black hat; the rim The ladies gladly agreed to go, and were not long in slightly turned up in front, following the direction of the their preparation. Mark was a perfect prince of a driver. wgrer's nose, which had "4set its affections on things above." When the ladies had occasion to go into the country, he His whiskers- were immense ; so were his moustaches, entreated them to hire a carriage, but he was always ready and that other hairy trimming which it is the fashion to to display his handsome equipage and horses in the city, wear about the jaws and chin; and for which I know no especially on the Avenue. better name than that which the children give-goatee; He drove slowly this afternoon, and Mrs. Weston re- a tremendous shirt collar ; brass studs in his bosom; a membered, as she approached Harper's, that she had one neck handkerchief of many colors,. the ends of which or two purchases to make. Fearing it might be late on stood out like the extended wings of a butterfly; a gor- "theirreturn, she proposed getting out for a few moments. geous watch chain ; white kid gloves ; pantaloons of a A stream of gayly-dressed people crowded the pave- large-sized plaid, and fitting so very tightly that it was ments. The exquisite weather had drawn them out. with the greatest difficulty he could put out his feet ; pa- E't Belles with their ringlets and sun-shades, and beaux with tent leather gaiter-boots, and a cane that he- flourished canes and curled moustaches. Irish women in tawdry right and left with such determined strokes, that the finery, and ladies of color with every variety of ornament, children kept carefully out of his way. Several persons imitation-of fashion. Now and then a re- looked and ridigalous back to wonder and laugh at this strange figure, spectable-looking negro would pass, turning out of the the drollery of which was greatly enhanced by his limber way, instead of jostling along. style of walking, and a certain expression of the whole " Truly," said Mr. Weston, "Pennsylvania Avenue is outer man, which said, -"Who says I am not as good

.s ~"

' t , 4

232 AUNT PIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, , SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 233

as anybody on this avenue ; Mr. Fillmore, or any one Philadelphian, who, with the greatest coolness and pre- else ?" sence of mind, doubled up his fist and giving the colored Now it happened, that walking from the other direction Adonis two blows with it, (precisely on the middle brass toward this representative of the much-injured colored stud which confined his frilled shirt-bosom,) laid him full race, was a.stranger, who had come to Washington to look length upon the pavement. about him. He was from Philadelphia, but not thinking a . "Now," said the Philadelphian, "you've had a lesson; great deal of what he saw in our capital on a former visit, the next time you see a gentleman coming along, turn out he had quite made up his mind that there was nothing to of the way for him, and you'll save your new clothes." make it worth -his while to come again; but hearing Without another glance at the discomfited beau, who was of the convalescing turn the city had taken since the im- brushing his plaid pantaloons with his pocket-handker- mortal supporters of the Compromise and the Fugitive chief, and muttering some equivocal language that would Slave law had brought comparative harmony and peace, not do here, he went on his way to see the improvements where there had been nought but disorder and confusion, about the City Hall. he suddenly fancied to come and see for himself. He Mark's low laugh was heard from the driver's seat, and was not an Abolitionist, nor a Secessionist, nor one of Bacchus, who was waiting to open the carriage door for restless people, who are forever stirring those unfortunate, Mr. Weston, stood on the first step, and touching his hat, up old difficulties. He had an idea that the Union ought said, with a broad grin, aIDat's de best thing we've 'seen to be preserved in the first place; and then, whatever else sence we come to Washington. Dat beats Ole Virginny." could be done to advance the interests of the human rge firs. Weston came from the store at the same moment, .ii in general, without injury to our national interests, should and Bacchus gallantly let down the steps, and, after se- be attended to. He was always- a good-tempered man, curing the door, took his place beside Mark, with the and was particularly pleasant this afternoon, having on an agility of a boy of sixteen. entire new suit of clothes, each article, even the shirt- Mr. Weston, much amused, described the scene. Mrs. collar, fitting in the most faultless manner. Weston declared a"it! served him right ; for that the ne- As he walked along, he noticed the colored man ad- groes were getting t intolerable." vancing towards him, and observed, too, what I forgot to "I can hardly beli ve," she said, " the change that has Lj mention, that he held a cigar, and every now and then been made in their a pearance and conduct. They think, put it to his mouth, emitting afterwards a perfect cloud of to obtain respect they must be impertinent. This is the smoke. effect of Abolition. The thought occurred to him that the man did not in- "Yes," said Mr. Weston, "this is Abolition. I have tend tq turn out of the way for anybody, and as they thought a great deal on the condition of the negroes in were in a line, he determined not to deviate one way or our country, of late. I would like to see every man and the otherkbut just observe what this favorite of fashion woman that God has made, free, could it be accomplished would do. They walked on, and in a minute came up to to their advantage. I see the evils of slavery, it is some- each other, the colored man not giving way in the least, times a curse on the master as well as the slave. but bumping, hat, goatee, cane, cigar, and all, agahast our "When I purchased Sarah; when I saw those grieving, 20* 234 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT Is. 235

throbbing souls, my own was overwhelmed with sympathy had been several funerals that day. A woman stood at the for them. This is slavery, I said to myself. Poor crea- door of the house, at the entrance of the cemetery, with a tures, though you have done wrong, how severe your pu- baby in her arms; and another child of two years old was nishment ; to be separated from all thatyour life has had to playing around a large bier, that had been left there until make it pleasant, or even tolerable. This is slavery indeed, it should be wanted again. and where is the man, come from God, who will show us a Mrs. Weston met with an acquaintance, soon after they remedy? I look at the free blacks of the North and South. entered the ground, and they stopped to converse, while I say again, this is Abolition ! How worthless, how de- Mr. Weston and the younger ladies walked on. Near a graded they are, after they imbibe these ridiculous notions. large vault they stopped a moment, surprised to see two or When I behold the Southern country, and am convinced three little boys playing at marbles. They were ruddy, that it is impossible to manumit the slaves, I conclude that healthy-looking boys, marking out places in the gravel here, at least, they are in their natural condition. Hereto- path for the game ; shooting, laughing, and winning, and so fore, I feel that I have only done my duty in retaining mine, much occupied that if death himself had come along on his while- I give them every means of comfort, and innocent pale horse, they would have asked him to wait a while till enjoyment, that is in my power. Now I have seen the re- they could let him pass, if indeed they had seen him at all. sult of the Abolition efforts, I am more convinced that my Mr. Weston tried to address them several times, but they duty has been, and will be, as I have said. Could they be could not attend to him until the game was' completed, when colonized from Virginia, I would willingly consent to it, as one of them sprang upon the vault and began to count over in our climate, white labor would answer ; butfarther Souh, his marbles, and the others sat down on a low monument only the negro can labor, and this is an unanswerable ob- to rest. jection to our Southern States becoming free. Those serve. "Boys," said Mr. Weston, " I am very sorry to see you vants that are free, the benevolent and generous Aboli- playing marbles in a burial-ground. Don't you see all tionists ought to take North, build them colleges, and make these graves around you ?" good to them all the promises they held out as baits to al- "We don't go on the dead people," said an honest-faced lure them from their owners and their duties." little fellow. "You see the grass is wet there ; we play Mr. Weston found he had not two very attentive lis- here in the walk, where its nice and dry." teners in the young ladies, for they were returning the "But you ought to. play outside," said Mr. Weston. many salutations they received, and making remarks on "This is too sacred a place to be made the scene of your their numerous acquaintances. The carriage began slowly amusements." to ascend Capitol Hill, and they all remarked the beauti- "We don't hurt any body," said the largest boy. ful prospect, to which Washingtonians are so much accus- "When people are dead they don't hear nothin; where's s tomed that they are too apt not to 'oticeit. Their ride the harm-?" was delightful. It was one of those lovely spring days "Well," said Mr. Weston, "there's one thing certain, when the air is still fresh and balmy, and the promise of a none of you have any friends buried here. If you had, you summer's sun lights up nature so jyfully. would not treatsthem so unkindly." There were many visitors at the burial-ground, and there " My mother is buried over yonder," said the boy on the 236 AUNT PHIILIS'S CABIN;'OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 237

vault ; "and if I thought there was any thing unkind in it, but in life, they who lie here together, were possibly all I would never come here to play again." strangers." "You are a good boy," said Mr. Weston. "I hope you "What is that large vault open to-day for ?" said Ellen, will keep your word. If you were buried there, I am sure to a man who seemed to have some charge in the place. your mother would be very sad and quiet by your grave." "That is the public receptacle," said the man. "We The boy drew the string to his bag, and walked off with- are obliged to air it very often, else we could never go in out looking back. and out with the coffins we put there. There's a good - "I wish," said Mr. Weston, "you would all follow his many in there now." example. We should always be respectful in our con- "Who is there?" said Mr. Weston. duct, when we are in a burial-ground." "Well," said the man, "Mrs. Madison is there, for one, As soon as they were gone, the boys laughed and marked and there are some other people, who are going to be moved out another game. soon. Mrs. Madison, she's going to be moved, too, some j11, Mrs. Weston joined her party, and they went towards time or another, but I don't know when." the new portion of the cemetery that is so beautifully Ellen stooped down and looked in, but arose quickly situated, near the river. and turned away. Two gentlemen were standing near "I think,'' said Mr. Weston, "this scene should remind observing her, and one of them smiled as she stepped back i I us of our conversation this morning. If Washington be from the vault. Mr. Weston knew this person by sight; the meeting-place of all living, it is the grand cemetery of he was a clergyman of great talent, and almost equal eccen- the dead. Look around us here! We see monuments to tricity, and often gave offence by harshness of manner, when Senators and Members; graves of foreigners and stran- he was only anxious to do good to the cause in which his gers; names of the great, the rich, the powerful, men of heart was absorbed. genius and ambition. Strewed along are the poor, the "Ah! young ladies," he said, looking kindly at them lowly, the unlearned, the infant, and the little child. both, "this is a good place for you to come to. You are -"aRead the inscriptions-death has come at last, watched both beautiful, and it may be wealthy; and I doubt not, in 1ti and waited for; or he has come suddenly, unexpected, and the enjoyments of the passing season, you have forgotten undesired. There lies an author, a bride, a statesman, all about death and the grave. But, look you! in there, side by side. A little farther off is that simple, but beau- lies the mortal remains of Mrs. Madison. What an influ- ful monument." ence she had in this gay society, which you have doubtless They approached, and Alice read the .line that was in- adorned. Her presence was the guarantee of propriety, as scribed around a cross sculptured in it, " Other refuge well as of social and fashionable enjoyment ; the very con- have I none !" Underneath was her name, "Angeline." trast that she presented to her husband made her more " How beautiful, how much more so in its simplicity charming. Always anxious to please, she was constantly than if it-had been ornamented, and a labored epitaph making others happy. She gave-assistance and encourage- written upon it," said Mr. Weston. " Here too are mem- ment to all, when it was in her power. She had more bers of families, assembled in one great family. As we political influence than any woman in our country has had, ig walk along, we pass mothers, and husbands, and children; before or since. But think of her now! You could not ".. 238 AUNT PIIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 239

bear to approach the coffin that contains her remains. "Cousin Janet is well, my dear brother," said Mrs. Where is her beauty-and her grace and talent ? Ah! Weston. " I was very thoughtless, but our dear neighbor, young ladies," he continued, "4did she rightly use those Mrs. Kent, is no more." talents ?" " Can it be possible ?" said Mr. Weston, much agitated. lit " It is hardly a fair question to ask now," said Mr..Wes- "Read the letter aloud." ton. "Let us tread lightly o'er the ashes of the dead." Mrs. Weston, turned to the beginning, and read aloud, " Let the living learn a lesson from the dead," said the clergyman, sternly. "You are leading, it may be, a heart- "My DEAR ANNA : less life of pleasure, but, young ladies, forget not this grave. "The time is near which will bring you all in health and She could not escape it, nor will you. Pause from your happiness, I trust, to your home; and could you see how balls, and your theatres, and your gay doings, and ask, lovely it looks, I think you would be tempted to fix upon fF what is the end of it all. Trifle not with the inestimable an earlier day. You see how selfish I am, but I confess gift of life. Be not dead while you live. Anticipate not that I quite count the days, as a child does to Christmas, lii~f the great destroyer. Hear the appeal of one who was once and am ashamed of my impatience. the idol of every heart; she speaks to you from the grave, "Throughout the winter I had no care. My kind friends 'Even as I am, shalt thou be!'" did all the housekeeping, and the servants in the house, He turned from them, and wandered over the ground. and on the plantation, were so faithful, that I feel indebted Mr. Weston led the way to the carriage, and Ellen and to all who have made my time so easy; and your absence Alice thought, that if a lesson of life was to be learned in hasnot, I am sure, been attended with any ill effects, with- the gay ball of the night before, a still more necessary out you find me a little cross and complaining, and Mr. one -yas found in the cemetery which they were now Barbour out of his senses with joy, on your return.. Good ri " leaving, as the shadows of the evening were on the simple Mr. Barbour ! he has superintended and encouraged the monument and the sculptured slab, and their silent te- servants, and visited us forlorn ladies frequently, so that nants slept on, undisturbed by the gambols of thoughtless he must come in for a portion of our thanks too. children, or the conversation of the many who came to "

times I found it hard to prevent her. Her children have he had taken her little lamb, and had gently folded it in been constantly with her; indeed, I have passed a great his bosom, and that he would wander with it in the lovely deal of my own time in her cabin, which, under Martha's pastures of Paradise. She was soon perfectly reconciled superintendence, is so neat and comfortable. to the sad dispensation; sad indeed, for the child was her "You will all perhaps blame me that I have not been thus only earthly solace. Victim of an unhappy marriage, the plain with you before, but Dr. Lawton said it was not ne- dear engaging little boy was a great consolation to her, cessary, as she has never been in any immediate danger, and his amusement and instruction occupied her mind, and Phillis would not consent to my doing-so. She wanted and passed away happily many a weary hour. you to enjoy yourselves, and Alice to have a good chance a"She insisted upon attending the funeral, and I ac- to regain her health. 'No doubt, Miss Janet,' she said, companied her. Mr. Kent was with her, too, much dis- 'the Lord will spare me to see them yet, and I have every tressed, for this hard man loved his child, and keenly felt thing I want now-they couldn't stop my pains any more, his loss. than you, and I feel that I am in the Lord's hands, and I a"She got out of the carriage to hear the funeral service am content to be.' She has not been confined to her bed, read, and was calm until they took up the coffin to lower but.is fast losing strength, though from my window now it into the grave. Then it was impossible to control her. I see her tying up her roses, that are beginning to bud. Placing her arms upon it, she looked around appealingly Some other hand than hers will care for them when to the men; and so affected were they, that they turned another Spring shall come. from her to wipe away their own tears. Her strength «Hr nights are very restless, and she is much exhausted gave way under the excitement, and she was carried, in- plea- t from constant spitting of blood; the last week of sensible, to the carriage, and taken home.

S sant weather has been of service to her, and the prospect "

pS let fever. .The disease )4a young neighbor, Mrs. Kent, has done with all her trials, was fearfully rapid, and soon

7 and I trust they sanctified her, in preparation for the early ended her life. She was, I think, well prepared t to go. r and unexpected death which has been her lot. You are Her solemn and affectionate farewell h to her husband can-

.g s not yet aware of the extent of her trials. A fortnight not fail to make an impression upon him. r ago her little boy was attacked with scarlet fever, in its " I shall have a great deal to tell you of her when you Y most violent form. . From the first moment of his illness return. The past winter has been a sad-one ; a constant his case was' hopeless, and he only suffered twenty-four coolness existing between her and her husband. A short hours. I went over as soon as I heard of his death; the time ago he was brutally striking that faithful old man of poor mother's condition was really pitiable. She was her father's, Robert, and Mts. Kent interfered, insisting helpless in her sorrow, which was.so unexpected as to de- upon Robert's returning to his cabin, and in his presence prive her at first of the power of reason. The Good forbidding Mr. Kent again to raise his hand against one Shepherd though, had not forgotten her-he told her that servant on the plantation;1 Mr. Carter's will, allowing r ,_ u, , AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 248 r 242

t Mr. Kent no authority over his servants, and commending Bacchus entered in time to hear the latter part of this them to his daughter's kindness and care, showed great letter. He had his master's boots in his hands. When discrimination of character. This, though, has been a Mrs. Weston stopped reading, he said, " That's good; bound

i t constant source of irritation to Mr. Kent, and he has for Mister Kent. I'm glad he's gwine, like Judas, to his , i never been kind to the people. Mrs. Kent, usually so own place." f timid,.was roused into anger by his treatment of Robert, I 1 you. She told me of a and interfered, as I have related to t though she s said how unhappy it had made her, t this, and could not blame herself. Since then there has only been 11

i forgiving F them; Mr. Kent not a formal politeness between ,zt nIt CHAPTER XXV. Poor little jam him. t I his wife for the part she took against f '. T X woman! Robert had been her father's faithful nurse in THE carriage was slowly ascending the road to the old t jj! at her feelings on church, a familiar and dear object to each member of the t his long illness, and I do not wonder t Weston family. A village churchyard fills up so gradu- S seeing him struck. 1

Iitirlil ER ally, a that }33k1 who was one is not startled with a sudden change. a the will was read, and Dr. Lawton, Mr. f "Yesterday has left Weston looked from the window at the ivy, and the s present, informed us of the result. Mrs. Kent gothic t windows, and the family vault, where a most of her property to her husband, but her servants many oft his name i free ! The plantation is to be sold, and the proceeds ex- reposed.

l The inmates pended in preparing those who are willing to go to Liberia, of the carriage had been conversing cheer- t i fully, but as they approached the A or where they choose; as they cannot, manumitted, re- point where they would

P see home, each main in Virginia. The older servants, who prefer stay- one was occupied with his or her musings.

i r Occasionally, P, to you, with a pleasant word was exchanged, on the ap- ry as they are, she has left Ka ing in Virginia i 2 as a pearance .of the well-known neighborhood, the balmy air, y t an allowance for their support, considering you and the many shades of green F kind of guardian; for in no other way could she have that the trees presented; E provided for their staying here, which they will like some of them loaded with white and pink blossoms, pro- s

r mising still better things when the season should ad- '. r k better. vance. " Who would have thought she could have made so wise

i r Alice leaned from the window, .watching for the first f S r will? l a i f glimpse of the well-remembered house. She greeted every t ' says that Mr. Kent showed extreme anger t { Dr. Lawton

it tree they passed with a lively look, and i it read. He intends returning to the North, smiled gaily asp f on hearing i the porter's lodge presented itself. The r + and his $30,000 will be a clear gain, for I am told he had gates of it flew open as the carriage approached, and Exeter in its beauty e' , not a cent when he married her. met their view. "' Oh, uncle," she said, aWhte me when you have fixed the time for your turning from the window, "look ! look ! Is there place return, and believe me, with love to all, any in the world . "Your affectionate relative, like this ?" } -"cNo, indeed, 7 JANET WILMER." Alice ;" and he took a survey of the home

{

3 244 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 245 which had been so blessed to him. " How beautiful every II did not answer; Arthur was in her thoughts. thing looks ! and how we will enjoy it, after a crowded, noisy Alice This was his home, every object with which she hotel. Anna, you are not sorry to see its familiar face was surrounded breathed of him. She had thought of it as her home, but again. Ellen, my darling, we have not forgotten you- she had no right here-she was really only a guest. The Exeter is your home, too; you are as welcome as any of thought was new and painful to her. Could the whole of us. Why, you look sober; not regretting Washington her past existence have been dreamed away ?-had she in- already " deed no claim to the place she loved best on earth-was she "No sir," said Ellen, "I was thinking of other things." dependant on the will of others for all the gay and joyous "Well," said Mrs. Weston, " we must look very happy emotions that a few moments before filled her breast ? She this evening. I wonder, Ellen, Mr. Barbour has not thought again of Arthur, of his handsome appearance, his met us." good and generous heart, his talents, and his unchanging "I suppose," said Alice, laughing, " he is too much love to her-of Walter, and of all with which he had had

agitated at the thought of meeting Ellen again-he will } r

ors to contend in the springtime of his life. Of his faults,

.S be over this evening, I dare say." r4f his sin, and his .rt banishment; of his love to her, too, and *"I am sorry I can't keep my word with Mr. Barbour," the delusion under which she had labored, of her returning said Ellen, a"but I have concluded to marry Abel Johnson, 4 it. Arthur would, ere long, know it all, and though he on Arthur's recommendation, and I ought not to give good might forgive, her proud spirit rebelled at the idea that he

Mr. Barbour any false expectations." 1 would also blame. "You must know, dear uncle," said Alice, "that Ellen She looked at her uncle, whose happy face was fixed on and Arthur have been carrying on a postscript correspon- r. the home of his youth and his old age-a sense of his pro- dence in my letters, and Arthur has turned matchmaker, 4. 1 a tecting care and affection came over her. What might the and has been recommending Abel Johnson to Ellen. They {I } short summer bring? His displeasure, too-then there have fallen in love with each other, without having met, would be no more for her, but to -leave Exeter with all its and that was the reason Ellen was so hard-hearted last happiness. winter." Poor child ! for, at nearly nineteen, Alice was only a "Ah! that is the reason. But you must take care of !fa child. The possibility overpowered her, she leant against these Yankee husbands, Miss'Ellen, if Mr. Kent be a spe- her uncle's bosom, and wept suddenly, and violently. rs cimen," said Mrs. Weston. " Alice, what is the matter ?" said her mother, "Are u.I am quite sure," said Alice, "cArthurwould not have you ill?" such a friend." " What is the matter ?" said her uncle, putting his arm Mr. Weston smiled, and looked out again at home. around her, and looking alarmed. They were rapidly approaching the gates, and a crowd "Nothing at all," said Alice, trying to control herself. of littlW-darkies were holding them open on each side. "I was only thinking of all your goodness to me, and how «I wish Arthur were here," said he. "How long he I love you." has been away! I associate him with every object about " Is that all," said Mr. Weston, pressing her more the place." closely to his bosom. "Why, the sight of home has turned 21* s s i i

F 246 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, , SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 2d7

t f I I your little head., Come, dry up your tears, for my old management of children, she never forbade them doing eyes. can distinguish the hall door, and the servants about what she knew they could not help doing. Thus, as the

f .r the house collecting to meet us." carriage passed the lodge, a noisy group of small-sized u I can see dear Cousin Janet, standing within--how darkies were making a public demonstration. ."Massa's happy she will be," said Mrs. Weston. come home," says one. "I sees Miss Alice," says an-

f 1 i " Well," said Ellen, "I hope Abel will make a fuss over other. "I sees Miss Anna, too," said a third, though, as

)' me, for nobody else ever has." 3 yet, not a face was visible to one of them. They put i ; "If you are to be married," said Alice, smiling through their heads out of the carriage, notwithstanding, to speak her. tears, ','you must have his name changed, or always to them, and Alice emptied a good-sized basket of sugar- A ; ptE call him Mr. Johnson." ' plums, which she had bought for the purpose, over their for the i "Never," said Ellen. "«Ihave a perfect passion heads. Abel., There was a picture in my room of Abel r name of s "Take care, Mark," said Mr. Weston, a"don't about r cut t lying down, and Cain standing, holding the club over him. } i with.that whip, while all these children are so near." 'ii Wheneyer I got into a passion, when I was a child, mammy "If I didn't, sir," said i Mark, some of 'em would a been

S i t 1 used to take me to the picture and say, 'Look there, i scrunched under the carriage wheels 'fore now. These t of your I honey, if you don't. learn how to get the better little niggers," he muttered between F his -teeth, "they're jt

{ temper, one of these days you will get in a passion like k' always in the way. I wish some of 'em would get run Cain and kill somebody. Just look at him, how ugly he over." Mark's wife was not a very amiable character, and }

7 3 is-because he's -in such a rage. But I always looked at she had never had any children. I 5[$a[ Abel, who was so much prettier. I have no doubt Abel r y "Hurrah! daddy, is that you?" said an unmistakeable

L f f Johnson .looks just as he does in the picture."; voice proceeding from the lungs of Bacchus the younger. }

{ } They were about to pass through the gates leading to "I been dansin juba dis hole blessed day-I so glad you 4 the grounds; some of the servants approached the car- 7 T come. Ask mammy if I aint ?" riage, and respectfully bowing, said, 'Welcome home, mas- "«How is your mother, Bacchus ?" said Mr. Weston, } 1 ter," but passed on without waiting to have the salutation .# t looking out the window. returned. Mrs. Weston guessed the cause of there not "Mammy, she's well," said the young gentleman;

t outbreak on the occasion of their return. H being a general «how's you, master ?" 4 t i r Miss Janet had.spoken 'to a number of the servants, telling j 4 "Very well, I thank you, sir," said Mr. Weston. "Go r

f t them how unable Mr. Weston was to bear any excitement, ? 1. . down there and help pick up the sugar-plums." take the earliest opportunity of seeing r and, that, he. would h Bacchus the elder, now slid down from the seat by them all at their cabins. As he was much attached to f Mark, and took a short cut over to his cabin. + X Y them and' might feel, a good deal at the meeting after so "Poor Aunt Phillis 1" said Mrs. Weston, looking after x long a se nation, it 'would be better not to give him a him, " I hope she will get well." noisy wetome. "Ah!" said Mr. Weston, "I had forgotten Phillis on prohibi- She had, however, excepted the children in this this happy day. There is something, you see, Anna, to tion, for Miss Janet had one excellent principle in the make us sigh, even in our happiest moments. k SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 249 248 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; 'OR,

¢r R cups with which they played dinner-party, the dolls with- " But you shall not sigh, dearest uncle," said Alice, t out noses, and the trumpets that would not blow. Her kissing his hand, "for Aunt Phillis will get well now that children were not allowed to touch them when the owners J we are all back. Oh, there is Cousin Janet, and little were not there, but they took a conspicuous part in the play, Lydia-I wish the carriage would stop." being the waiters and ladies' maids and coach-drivers of the "You are the most perfect child I ever saw, Alice," little gentlemen and Alice. After Walter and Arthur went said Mrs. Weston. "I think you are out of your senses E4 I f away, Alice was still; a great deal with Phillis, and she, at the-idea of getting home." t 4i; t regarding her as Arthur's future wife, loved her for The carriage wheeled -round, and William let down the him as ii well as for herself. Alice loved Phillis, too, and all her steps, with a face bright as a sunflower. Miss Janet children, and they considered her as a little above mortality. stood at the top of the portico steps, in her dove-colored t Bacchus used to insist, when she was a child, that she never gown, and her, three-cornered handkerchief, with open Jr'ir 1 would live, she was too When, L during arms. Alice bounded like a deer, and was clasped within good. her severe 7 Ep illness, Phillis would go to her cabin to look around, Bac- t them. - Then Mrs. Weston, then Ellen; and afterwards, chus would greet her with a very long face, and say, a

tend to watch you, and make you mind, 4 home. so that you will soon be well." Here were collected all the servants employed about the "I am a great deal better than house, each in a Sunday dress, each greeted with a'kind I was, Miss Alice, but

i there's no i two or three times knowing; howsomever, I thank the Lord that ti word. Alice shook hands with them F he has spared me to see you once more. I want to give over, then pointing to the family pictures, which were 1 Master time to talk to hall, "cLook at them, uncle," said Miss Janet a little while, then I am arranged along the' 1]}

1 '

going in to see him and Miss Anna." ii she "did you ever see them so smiling before ?"

" Oh! come now," said 3f1 They went to the drawing-room, all but Alice, who flew Alice, " or he will be over here." Phillis got up, and walked slowly to the off in another direction. house, Alice at f her side, and 1 Bacchus stumping after her. As they went i is gone to see Phillis," said Mr.Weston, gazing after 1 " She {r in, Alice tripped on first, and opened the drawing-room her. "Well, I will rest a few moments, and then go too." door, making way for Phillis, who looked Never did mother hold to her heart a child dearer to her, with'a happy expression of face towards her master. than Phillis, when she pressed Alice to her bosom. Alice

- "Is this you, Phillis ?" said Mr. Weston, coming forward, i had almostlived-with her, when she, and Walter, and Arthur fx and taking her hand most kindly. Mrs. Weston were children. Mrs. Weston knew that she could not be and Ellen faithful and got up to shake hands with her, too. "I am very glad to in better hands than under the care of so i ,find you so much better than I expected," continued -Mr. a servant. Phillis had a large, old clothes' I respectable f little plates and Weston; "you, are thin, but your countenance is good. basket, where she kept the toys, all the it

f L ,i 250. AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 251

I hope you will get perfectly well, now that we are going and Miss Janet advised her to go home and lie down. to have summer weather." " They shan't tell you of their grand doings to-night, Phil- Y

d 9 "Thank you, sir," said Phillis. "I am a great deal ,XwL lis," she said; "for you have been excited, and must keep

Yafe

quiet. In the morning you will be able to listen to them. .. t better. Thank God, you all look so well, Miss Anna and 1 all. 7"t Don't tell any long stories, Bacchus," she continued. Miss Janet began to be mighty lonesome. I've been S i33 a great trouble to her." } "Dr. Lawton wants her to keep from any excitement at i

"No, you have not," night, for fear she should not sleep well I said Miss Janet; "you never were after it. All you i a trouble to 'any one." travelers had better go to bed early, and wake up bright i in the morning." "Master," said Bacchus, "I think the old ooman looks ;tt

f( Alice went home with Phillis, andcame back to welcome right well. She aint nigh so bad as we all thought. I ,Y t reckon she couldn't stand my bein away so long; she hadn't Mr. Barbour, who had just arrived. The happy evening

nobody to trouble her." Y glided away; home was delightful to the returned family. Bacchus "You will never give her any more trouble," said Alice. gave glowing descriptions of scenes, in which he "Aunt Phillis, you don't know how steady Uncle Bacchus figured largely, to the -servants; and Bacchus the has been; he is getting quite a temperance man." younger devoutly believed there had not been so distin-

fti "Old Nick got the better of me twice, though," said Y t guished a visitor to the metropolis that winter, as his

pf_ 'r respected father. t Bacchus. "I did think, master, of tryin to make t Phillis .4 Dr. Lawton came b'lieve I hadn't drank nothin dis winter;- but she'd sure to regularly to see Phillis, who frequent- , Y ry ly rallied. Her cheerfulness made _i her appear stronger find me, out. There's somefin in her goes agin a lie." -z

r_ ;g than i she was; "But that was doing very well," said Alice; "

"Arthur will be sadly distressed to see Phillis, though he will not realize her condition at first. The nearer her disease approaches its consummation, the brighter she looks." CHAPTER XXVI. "It seems but yesterday," said Mr. Weston, "that Phillis sat at her cabin door, with Arthur (a baby) in her _ "Do sit down, my dear cousin," said Miss Janet to Mr. arms, and her own child, almost the same age, in the cra- Weston, who was walking up and down the drawing-room. die near them. She has been no eye-servant. Faithfully aHere, in August, instead of being quiet and trying to has she done her duty, and now she is going to receive her keep cool, you are fussing about, and heating yourself so reward. I never can forget the look of sympathy which uselessly." was in her face, when I used to go to her cabin to see my "I will try," said Mr. Weston, smiling, and seating motherless child. She always gave Arthur the preference, himself on the sofa; but you must recollect that for three putting her own infant aside to attend to his wants. yearsI have not seen my only son, and that now he is Phiillis is by nature a conscientious woman; but nothing cominghome ii i to stay. I cannot realize it; it is too much but the grace of God could have given her the constant happiness.-. We are so blessed, Cousin Janet, we have so and firm principle that has actuated her life. But this much of world's good, I sometimes tremble 'this lest God example of Christian excellence will soon be taken from should intend me to have my portion here." us; her days are numbered. Her days here are numbered; "It is very wrong to feel so,"-said Cousin Janet; "even but how blessed the eternity! Sometimes, I have almost in this world, He can give his beloved rest." reproached myself that I have retained a woman like I "But am I one of the beloved ?" asked Mr. Weston, Phillis as a slave. She deserves every thing from me: I thoughtfully. have always felt under obligations to her." "I trust so," said Cousin Janet. "I do not doubt it. "You have discharged them," said Mrs. Weston. "Phil- How lamentable would be your situation and mine,.if, lis, though a slave, has had a very happy life; she fre- while so near the grave, we were deprived of that hope, quently says so. This is owing, in a great- measure, to which takes from it all its gloom." her own disposition and rectitude of character. Yet she

S"Are you talking of gloom?" said Mrs. Weston, "and 1 has had every thing she needed, and a great deal more. Arthur within a few miles of us? It is a poor compliment You have nothing with which to reproach yourself." to him. I never saw so many happy faces. The servants a"I trust not," said Mr. Weston. "«Ihave endeavored have all availed themselves of their afternoon's holiday to in my dealings with pny servants, to remember the All- dress; they look so respectable. Esther says they have seeing eye was upon me, and that to Him who placed gone to the outer gate to welcome Arthur first; Bacchus these human beings in a dependant position, would I have went an hour ago. Even poor Aunt Phillis has brightened to render my account. Ah ! here are the girls. Alice,

up. She has on a head-handkerchief and apron white as we had almost forgotten Arthur; you and Ellen remind snow, and looks quite comfortable, propped up by two or us of him." three pillows. " Really," said Ellen, a"I am very unhappy; I have noG 22

t I SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 255 254 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, Alice had known, too, that .it was he. But when we lover to expect. You see that I am arrayed in a plain long to be assured of happiness, we are often slow to be- black silk, to show my chagrin because Mr. Johnson could distinguish every uf lieve. It was not until her eyes could not come now. Alice has decked herself so that Arthur feature that her heart said, a"It is Arthur." Then all can read her every thought at the first glance. She has was forgotten-all timidity, all reserve-all, save that he on her blue barge dress, which implies her unvarying was the dearly loved brother of her childhood; the being constancy. Then -" >L't with whom her destiny had long been associated. She "' I did not think of that," said Alice, blushing deeply, passed from the drawing-room to the porch as he alighted and looking down at her dress; "I only--''- Jj - from his horse, and when his father released him from a "Miss Alice," said Lydia, a"I hears somethin." long embrace, Arthur's eyes fell upon the dear and un- "No, no," said Miss Janet, looking from the window, changed countenance, fixed upon him with a look of wel is nothing ,there " JL^+ come that said more than a thousand words. "Deed the is," said Lydia. "Its Mas' Arthur's horse, I know." "Aunt," said Arthur, a week after his return, as he sat went out on the porch, and the ladies stood Mr.Weston ysn be dis- with Mrs. Weston and Alice in the arbor, a"before you at the windows. The voices of the servants could i came, Alice had been trying to persuade me that she had tinctly heard. From the nature of the sound, there was been in love.with Walter ; but I can't believe it." no doubt they were giving a noisy welcome to their young I never did believe it for a moment. She thought she master. 4 was, and she was seized with such a panic of truth and " He is coming," said Miss Janet, much agitated ; a"the s honor that she made a great commotion; insisted on not in sight." servants would not make that noise were he 1 writing to you, "dk and making a full confession; wanted to tt. laid r « I hear the horses, too," Ellen; "4we will soon P tell her uncle, and worry him to death; doing all sorts of see him where the road turns." desperate things. She actually worked herself into a " There he comes," said Mrs. Weston. a"It must be " 1a L3' fever. It was all a fancy." Arthur. William is with him; he took a horse for Arthur aI have too good an opinion of myself to believe it," house." to the stage said Arthur. The father stood looking forward, the wind gently lift- lJ " I am sorry," said Alice,"« for it is true. It is a pity ing the thin white hair from his temples ; his cheek flushed, ref your vanity cannot be a little diminished." his clear blue eye beaming with delight. The horseman "Why, the fact is Alice, I remember Uncle Bacchus's approached. The old man could not distinguish his face, story about General Washington and his servant, when the yet there was no mistaking his gay and gallant bearing. general's horse fell dead, or rather the exclamation made The spirited and handsome animal that.bore him flew over by the servant after relating the incident: 'Master, he the gravelled avenue. Only a few minutes elapsed from thinks of everything.' I do too. When we were children, the timelie was first seen to the moment when the father no matter how bad Walter was, you took his part. I re- laid his head upon his son's shoulder ; and while he was member once he gave William such a blow because he class ed to that youthful and manly heart experienced sen- stumbled over a wagon that he had been making, and sationis of joy such as are not often fel here. 256 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 257 broke it. I asked him if he were not ashamed to do so, more extended than were Mrs. Primroses's, c'from the and you said, 'Hush, Arthur, he feels bad; if you felt as green room to the brown.' Poor Walter! I wish he sorry as he does, you would behave just in the same way.' would fall in love with some beautiful Italian, and be as So, the fact is, last summ r you saw he felt bad, and your happy as we are." tender heart inundated with sympathy." "Do not fear for Walter," said Mrs. Weston. "He will " That was it," said Mrs. Weston; "it was a complete take care of himself; his last letter to Cousin Janet was inundation." very cheerful. I shall have to diminish your vanity, " You are not in love with him now, are you, Alice ?" Alice, by telling you Walter will never ' die for love of I said Arthur, smiling. Alice Weston.' He will b.e captivated some day with a " No, indeed," said Alice, «"I am not in love with him, more dashy lady, if not an Italian countess. I have no or you either-if being in love is what it is described in doubt he will eventually become a resident of Europe. A life bf novels. I never have palpitation of the heart, never faint- repentance will not be too much for a man whose away, and am not at all fond of poetry. I should make a hands are stained with the blood of his fellowman. The sad heroine, I am such a matter-of-fact person.' day is past in our country, and I rejoice to say it, when a "So as you make a good wife," said Arthur, "no mat- duellist can be tolerated. I always shudder when in the ter about being a heroine." presence of one, though I never saw but one." Mr. Weston now entered, ' A planter's wife has- little occasion for romance," much depressed from a recent interview with Phillis. This faithful and honored servant said Mrs. Weston ; "her duties are too many and too important.- She must care for the health and comfort of her- was near her departure. Angels were waiting at the throne of the family, and of her servants. After all, a hundred ser- Eternal, for his command to bear her purified vants are like so many children to look after." spirit home. I * * * " Ellen would make an elegant heroine," said Alice. "She was left an orphan when very young; had an ex- The master: and t he, slave were alone. No eye save their Maker's looked upon them; no ear save acting uncle-and aunt;t was the belle of the metropolis ; his, heard what passed between them. had gay and gallant lovers; is an heiress--and has fallen Mr. Weston was seated in the easy chair, which had in love with a man she never saw. To crown all, he is been removed from the not rich, so Ellen can give him her large fortune to show other room, and in which his wife had died. her devotion, and they can go all over the world together, Phillis was extended and revel in romance and novelty." on a bed of death. Her thin hands crossed on her bosom, her eyes fearfully bright, a "Well," said Arthur, "I .will take you all over the hectic glow upon her cheek. world if you wish it. When will you set out, and how " Master," she said, a"you have no will you travel? If that is all you complain of in your occasion to feel uneasy about destiny, 1-can easily change it." that. I have never had a want, I nor the children. There was a time, sir, "I do not complain of my destiny," said Alice, gaily. when I was restless about being a slave. When I went with you and " I was only contrasting it with Ellen's. I shall be satis- Miss Anna away from home, and heard the people fied never to leave Exeter, and my migrations need not saying be 22* 258 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN ; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 259

I colored people ought to be free, it made-me feel bad. I 1 Poor Bacchus ! he takes on sadly about me; he always thought then that God did not mean one of his creatures was a tender-hearted soul. Master, when I am gone, I to be a slave; when I came home and considered about it, know you will be good to him and comfort him, but, please I would often be put out, and discontented. It was sir, do something else. Talk to him, and pray for him, wicked, I know, but I could not help it for a while. and read the blessed Book to him ! Oh! if he would only "I saw my husband and children doing well and happy; give up liquor ! I trust in the Lord he will live and die a but I used to say to myself, they are slaves, and soy am I. sober man, else I know we'll never meet again. We won't So I went about my work with a heavy heart. When my be on the same side at the Judgment Seat. 'There's no children was born, I would think <'what comfort is it to drunkards in that happy place where I am going fast. No give birth to ,a child when I know its a slave.' I struggled drunkards in the light of God's face-no drunkards at the hard though, with these feelings, sir, and God gave me blessed feet of Jesus." grace to get the better of them, for I could not read my "I think Bacchus has perfectly reformed," said Mr. bible without seeing there was nothing agin slavery there; Weston, " and you may feel assured that we will do every and that God had told the master his duty, and the slave thing for his soul as well as his body, that we can. But, his duty. You've done your duty by me and mine, sir; and Phillis, have you no wishes to express, as regards your I hope where I have come short you will forgive me, for I children ?" couldn't die in peace, without I thought you and I was all Phillis hesitated-" My children are well off," she said; right together." "they have a good master; if they serve him and God "Forgive you, Phillis," said Mr. Weston, much affected. faithfully they will be sure to do well." "What have I to forgive ?. Rather do I thank you for all "«If there is any thing on your mind," said Mr. Weston, you have done fdr me. You were a friend and nurse to "speak it without fear. The distinction between you and my wife, and a mother to. my only child. Was ever me as master and slave, I consider no longer existing. servant or friend so faithful as you have been !" You are. near being redeemed from my power, and the Phillis smiled and looked very happy. ".Thank you, power of death alone divides you from your Saviour's pre- master," she said, a"from my heart. How good the sence. That Saviour whose example you have tried to Lord is to me, to make my dying bed so easy. It puts me follow, whose blood has washed your soul from all its sin. in mind of the hymn Esther sings. She's got a pleasant I am much older than you, and I live in momentary expec- voice, hasn't she, sir? tation of my summons. We shall soon meet, I hope, in that happy place, where the distinctions of this world 'And while I feel my heart-strings break, will How sweet the moments roll! be forgotten. I have thought of you a great deal, lately, A mortal paleness on my cheek and have been anxious to relieve your mind of every care. And glory in my soul.' It is natural that a mother, about to leave such a family as you have, should have some wishes regarding them. " Oh !>naster,its sweet for me to die, for Jesus is my "I have thought several times," continued Mr. Weston, friend; he makes all about me friends too, for it seems to "of offering to set your children free at my death, and I me that you and Miss Janet, and all of you are my friends. will do so if you wish. You must be aware that they 260 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 261

could not remain in Virginia after they were manumitted. will soon je free, while none will have to wait very long. In In the Middle and Northern states free blacks are in a the mean rime they will be well taught and cared for. My degraded condition. There is no sympathy for or with will is made, and all the forms of law attended to. Arthur them. They have no more rights than they have as slaves and Alice are very much pleased with it. Your older with us, and they have no one to care for them when they children know it; they are very happy, but they declare are sick or in trouble. You have seen a good deal of this they will never leave Exeter as long as there is a Weston in your occasional visits to the North. In Washington, upon it.* .And now, Phillis, are you satisfied ? I shall since the Abolitionists have intermeddled there, the free experience great pleasure in having been able to relieve you blacks have become intolerable ; they live from day to day of any anxiety while you have so much pain to bear." in discomfort and idleness. I mean as a general thing ; "cOh ! master," said Phillis, a"what shall I say to you? there are, of course, occasional exceptions. Bacchus is I haven't no learning. I am only a poor, ignorant woman. too old to take care of himself; he would not be happy I can't thank you, master, as I ought. My heart is nigh away from Exeter. Consider what I say to you, and I will to bursting. What have I done that the Lord is so good be guided by your wishes as regards your children. to me. He has put it into your heart to make me so hap- " They might go to Liberia ; some of them would be py. Thank you, master, and God for ever bless you." willing, no doubt. I-have talked to William, he says he t The tears streamed down her cheeks, as Mr. Weston would not go. Under these circumstances they would be arose to go. Esther had come to see if her mother wanted separated, and it is doubtful whether I would be doing you s any thing. or them a favour by freeing them. Be perfectly candid, "Master," said Phillis, " wait one moment-there's no- and let me know your wishes." thing between me and Heaven now. Oh ! sir, I shall soon "As long as you, or Master Arthur and Miss Alice live, be redeemed from all sin and sorrow. I think I see they would be better off as they are," said Phillis. the glory that shines about the heavenly gates. I have "I believe they would," said Mr. Weston, "but life and never felt myself ready to go until now, but there is death cannot be too much considered in connection with nothing to keep me. The Lord make your dying bed as each other. I must soon go. I am only lingering at the easy as you have mine." close of a long journey. Arthur will then have control, Mr. Weston endeavored to compose himself, but was and will,I am certain, make his servants as happy as he much agitated. "Phillis," he said, "you have deserved can. My family is very small; you are aware I have no more than I could ever do for you. If any thing should near relations. I have made my will, and should Arthur occur to you that I have not thought of, let me know, it and Alice die without children, I have left all my servants shall, if possible, be done. Would you like again to see free. Your children I have thus provided for. At my death Mr. Caldwell, and receive the communion?" they are free, but I would not feel justified in turning them "No, master, I thank you. You and Miss Janet, and into thelrorld without some provision. The older children [ Miss Anna, and poor Bacchus, took it with me last week, can take care of themselves ; they are useful and have good principles. I have willed each one of them to be'free * A number of slaves have been manumitted recently at the South-- in one instance more than half preferred to remain in slavery in New at the age of twenty years. .Thus, you see, most of them Orleans,.to going to the North. 262 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 263 and I shall soon be where there will be no more need to re- soon be married. The Lord make you happy. God bless mind me of the Lamb that was slain ; for I shall be with you, Miss Ellen, and make you his child. Keep close, him; I shall see him as he is. And, master, we will all children to Jesus. Seems as if we wasn't safe when we meet there. We will praise him together." can't see him. I see him now; he is beckoning me to Esther was weeping ; and Mr. Weston, quite overcome, come. Blessed Jesus-! take me-take me home." left the room. Kind master, weep not. She will bear, even at the throne "Esther, child," said Phillis, " don't do so. There's of God, witness to thy faithfulness. Through thee she nothing but glory and peace. There's no occasion for learned the way to heaven, and it may be soon she will tears. God will take care of you all here, and will, I hope stand by thee again, though thou see her not. She may be and pray, bring you to heaven at last. Poor master ! To one of those who will guide thee to the Celestial City; to think he is so distressed parting with me. I thought I the company of the redeemed, where will be joy forever. should have stood by his dying bed. The Lord knows "Weep not, but see in what peace a Christian can die. best." Watch the last gleams of thought which stream from her " Mother," said Esther, willl you take this medicine- dying eyes. Do you see any thing like apprehension? The it is time?" world, it is true, begins to shut in. The shadows of evening " No, honey. No more medicine; it won't do me no collect around her senses. A dark mist thickens, and rests good. I don't want medicine. Jesus is what I want. He upon the objects which have hitherto engaged her observa- is all in all. tion. The countenances of her friends become more and more indistinct. The sweet expressions of love and friend- Reader ! have you ever stood by the dying bed of a ship are no longer intelligible. Her ear wakes no more at slave ? It may be not. There are those who are often the well-known voice of her children, and the soothing ac- there. The angels of God, and One who is above the an- cents of tender affection die away unheard upon her de- gels. One who died for all. He is here now. Here, caying senses. To her the spectacle of human life is where stand weeping friends-here, where all is silence. drawing to its close, and the curtain is descending which You may almost hear the angel's wings as they wait to bear shuts out this earth, its actors, and its scenes. She is no the redeemed spirit to its heavenly abode. Here, where longer interested in all that is done under the sun. Oh! the form is almost senseless, the soul fluttering between that I could now open to you the recesses of her soul, that earth and heaven. Here, where the Spirit of God is over- I could reveal to you the light which darts into the cham- shadowing the scene. bers of her understanding. -She approaches that world "Master," said Phillis, a"all is peace. Jesus is here. I which she has so long seen in faith. The imagination now am going home. You will soon be there, and Miss Janet collects its diminished strength, and the eye of faith can't be long. Miss Anna too. Bacchus, the good Lord opens wide. will brig-you there. I trust in Him to save you. My "Friends! do not stand thus fixed in sorrow around this children, God bless them, little Lydia and all." bed of death. Why are you so still and silent? Fear not " Master Arthur," said she a" as Arthur bent over her, to move; you cannot disturb the visions that enchant this "give my love to Master Walter. You and MViss Alice will holy spirit. She heeds you not ; already she sees the a1et .#

264 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 265

spirits of the just advancing together to receive a kindred soul. She is going to add another to the myriads of the just, that are every moment crowding into the portals of heaven. She is entering on a noble life. Already she cries to you from the regions of bliss. Will you not join her CONCLUDING REMARKS. there? Will you not taste the sublime joys of faith ? There are seats for you in the assembly of the just made perfect, I MUST be allowed to quote the words of Mrs. Harriet in the innumerable company of angels, where is Jesus, the B. Stowe: Mediator of the New Covenant, and God, the Judge of all." "«The writer has often been (or will be) inquired of

i f by correspondents from different parts of the country, yp whether this narrative is a true one ; and to these inquiries

r she will give one general answer. The separate incidents Ali that compose the narrative are to a very great extent authentic, occurring, many of them, either under her own observation, or that of her personal friends. She or her friends have observed characters the counterpart of almost all that are here introduced ; and many of the sayings are word for word as heard herself, or reported to her." Of the planter Legree, (and, with the exception of Prof. Webster, such a wretch never darkened humanity,) she says: "

E I Tom also. has too many times had its parallel, there are many of these slaves, and manu- t go South, and buy a great

if t living witnesses all over our land to testify." Now it would mit them ? They S do go South and buy them, but they

S take the smallest portion of common sense to know that keep them, and work them as slaves too. A great deal of that there is no witness, dead or living, who could testify lV r this misery might be helped. F , to such a fact, save a false witness. This whole history is it Tom arrives at Legree's plantation. How does he fare ? an absurdity. No master would be fool enough to sell the f" Sleeps on a little foul, dirty straw, jammed in with a lot

E+ i' best hand on his estate ; one who directed, and saved, and of others; has every night toward midnight enough corn

s' r managed .y for him. No master would be brutish enough to to stay the stomach of one small chicken; and is thrown rt sell the -man who had nursed him and his children, who k>, into a most dreadful state of society-men degraded, and

4r 5 loved him like a son, even for urgent debt, had he another women degraded. We will pass over scenes that a woman's article of property in the, wide world. But Mr. Shelby pen should never describe, and observe the saint-like per-

:4r

r' ! f does so, according to Mrs. Stowe, though he has a great fection of Tom. He was, orxconsidered t ' himself, a mission-

jt r, f many other servants, besides houses and lands, &c. Pre- ary to the negroes, evidently liked his sufferings, and died,

Y posterous ! by choice, a martyr's death. He made the most astonish- 4

e' And such a saint as Uncle Tom was, too ! One would ing number of conversions in a short time, and of charac-

iI r have thought his master, with the opinion he had of his re- ters worse than history records. So low, so degraded, so ligious qualifications, would have kept him until he died, lost were the men and women whose wicked hearts he sub- and then have sold him bone after bone to the Roman Ca- dued, that their conversion amounted to nothing less than tholics. Why, every tooth in his head would have brought miracles. No matter how low, how ignorant, how de- its price. St. Paul was nothing but a common man com- praved, the very sight of Tom turned them into advanced, pared with him, for St. Paul had been wicked once; and intelligent Christians. even after his miraculous conversion, he felt that sin was Tom's lines were indeed cast in a sad place. I have still impelling him to do what he would not. But not so always believed that the Creator was everywhere; but we with Uncle Tom ! He was the very perfection of a saint. are told of Legree's plantation a"The Lord never visits Well might St. Clare have proposed using him for a family these parts." This might account for the desperate chaplain, or suggested to himself the idea of ascending to wickedness of most of the characters, but how Tom could heaven by Tom's skirts. Mrs. Stowe should have carried out retain his holiness under the circumstances is a marvel to one of her ideas in his history, and have made him Bishop me. His religion, then, depended on himself. Assuredly of Carthage. I have never heard or read of so perfect a he was more than a man ! character. All the saints and martyrs that ever came to un- Legree had several ways of keeping his servants in natural deaths, could not show such an amount of excellence. order-" they were burned alive ; scalded, cut into inch I only wonder he managed to stay so long in this world of sin. pieces ; set up for the ddgs _ tear, or hung up and Wheh, after fiery trials and persecutions, he is finally whipped to death." Now I convinced that Mrs. purchased by a Mr. Legree, Mrs. Stowe speaks of the Stowe must have a credulous mind; and was imposed upon. She never could have conceived such 3 horrors of the scene. She says. though, " it can't be things with

Vr., [1

268 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LITE AS IT IS. 269

all her talent ; the very conception implies a refine- deathbed. Hear him-" The Lord may help me, or not ment of cruelty. She gives, however, a mysterious de- help, but I'll hold on to him." scription of a certain a"place way out down by the quarters, I thought a Christian could not hold on to the Lord where you can see a black blasted tree, and the ground all without help. "Ye can of yourself do nothing." But covered with black ashes." It is afterward intimated that Tom is an exception--to the last he is perfect. All } this was the scene of a negro burned alive. Reader, you { Christians have been caught tripping sometimes, but Tom

$$,k 4, may depend, it was a mistake; that's just the way a tree gr never is. He is bearing everybody's burdens." He appears when it has been struck by lightning. Next time might run away, but he will not. He says, "The Lord you pass one, look at it. I have not the slightest doubt has given me a work among these yer poor souls, and I'll t that this was the way the mistake was made. We have stay with 'em, and bear my cross with 'em to the end." t ; r an occasional wag at the South, and some one has Christian reader, we must reflect. We know where to go

1 practised upon r a soft-hearted New Englander in search of for one instance of human perfection, where the human and

. horrors ; this is the result. She mentions that the ashes t' the Divine were united, but we know not of another. E were black. Do not infer from this that it must have been Tom converts Cassy, a most infamous creature from her t a black man or negro. But I will no longer arraign your own accounts, and we are to sympathize with her vileness, good sense. It was not, take my word for it, as Mrs. Stowe for she has no other traits of character described. Tom i describes it, some poor negro " tied to a tree, with a slow converts her, but I am sorry to see she steals money and fire lit under him." goods, and fibs tremendously afterwards. We hope the Tom tells Legree " he'd as soon die as not." Indeed, he rest of his converts did him more credit. proposes whipping, starving, burning; saying, "it will only The poor fellow dies at last-converting two awful send him sooner where he wants to go." Tom evidently wretches with his expiring breath. The process of con- considers himself as too good for this world ; and after version was very short. "Oh ! Lord, give me these two making these proposals to his master, he is asked, " How more souls, I pray." That prayer was answered. are you ?" He answers : "cThe Lord God has sent his The saddest part of this book would be, (if they were just,) angel, and shut "the lion's mouth." Anybody can see the inferences to be drawn from the history of this wretch, that he is laboring under a hallucination, and fancies him Legree. Mrs. Stowe says, "cHe was rocked on the bosom self Daniel. Cassy, however, consoled him after the style of a mother, cradled with prayer and pious hymns, his now of Job's friends, by telling him that his master was going seared brow bedewed with the waters of baptism. In "to hang like a dog at his throat, sucking his blood, bleed- early childhood, a fair-haired woman had led him, at the ing away his life drop by drop."' sound of Sabbath bells, to worship and to pray. Far in In what an attitude, 0 Planters of the South, has New England that mother had trained her only son with Mrs. Stowe taken your likenesses ! long unwearied love and patient prayers." Believe it Tom dies at last. How could such a man die,? Oh! not, Christian mother, North or South! Thou hast the that he would live- forever and convert all our Southern promises of Scripture to the contrary. Rock thy babe slaves. He did not need any supporting grace on his upon thy bosom-sing to him sweet hymns-carry him to the baptismal font-be unwearied in love- -patient in

. 270 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 271 prayers ; he will never be such a one. He may wander tion loose. After a great deal of mental exercise, the brain but he will come back ; do thy duty by him, and God will jumps at a conclusion, "What are these dogs kept here not forget his promises. "He is not man that he will lie; for ?" The answer is palpable: "6To hunt niggers when nor the son of man that he will repent." they run away." Reader, imitate my charity; it is a rare Legree is a Northerner. Time would fail me to notice all virtue where white faces are concerned. the crimes with which Southern men and women are charg- All the rest of Mrs. Stowe's horrors can be accounted ed ; but their greatness and number precludes the possibility for satisfactorily. It is much better to try and find an of their being believed. According to Mrs. Stowe, mothers excuse for one's fellow-creatures than to be always calling do not love their beautiful children at the South. The hus- them " story-tellers," and the like. I am determined to bands have to go to New England and bring back old maids be charitable. to take care of them, and to see to their houses, which are But still it is misrepresentation ; for if they took proper going to rack and ruin under their wives' surveillance. Oh ! means, they would find out the delusions under which they these Southern husbands, a heart of stone must pity them. labor. Then again, Southern planters keep dogs and blood- Abolitionists do not help their cause by misrepresenta- hounds to hunt up negroes, tear women's faces, and com- tion. It will do well enough, in a book of romance, to mit all sorts of doggish atrocities. Now I have a charitable describe infants torn from the arms of their shrieking way of accounting for this. . I am convinced, too, this is a mothers, and sold for five and ten dollars. It tells well, misapprehension; and I'll tell you why. for the mass of readers are fond of horrors; but it is not I have a mortal fear of dogs myself. I always had. true. It is on a par with the fact stated, that masters No reasoning, no scolding, ever had the slightest effect advertise their slaves, and offer rewards for them, dead or upon me. I never passed one on my way to church with alive. How did the snows of New England ever give my prayer-book in my hand, without quaking. If they birth to such brilliant imaginations ! wag their tails, I look around for aid. If they bark, I im. Family relations are generally respected; and when mediately give myself up for lost. I have died a thousand they are not, it is one of the evils attendant on an institu- deaths from the mere accident of meeting dogs in the tion which God has permitted in all ages, for his inscruta- street. I never did meet one without believing -that it ble purposes, and which he may in his good time do away was his destiny to give my children a step-mother. In with. point of fact, I would.like to live in a world without dogs; The Jews ever turn their eyes and affections toward but as I cannot accomplish this, I console myself by living Jerusalem, as their home ; so should the free colored peo- in a house without one. I always expect my visitors to ple in America regard Liberia. Africa, once their mother leave their dogs at home; they may bring their children, country, should, in its turn, be the country of their adop- but they must not bring their dogs. I wish dogs would tion. not even look in my basement windows as they pass. $ As regards the standard of talent among negroes, I I anmconvinced therefore, that some Northerner has fancy it has been exaggerated; though no one can, at passed a plantation at the South, and seen dogs tied up. present, form a just conclusion. Slavery has, for ages, Naturally having a horror of dogs, he has let his imagina- pressed like a band of iron round the intellect of the 272 AUNT PIILLIS'S ~f't CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 271 colored man. Time must do its work to show what he is, other's brains. The lawyers at the Patent Office have ii without a like hindrance, their hands full. They must keep wide awake, too. Each The instance ' 4 mentioned in a"Uncle Tom's Cabin," of a inventor, when he relate his grievances, brings a witness young mulatto, George Harris, inventing a machine, fr is to maintain his claim. There is no doubt that, after a very solitary. The negroes, like a good many of their while, there will be those who can testify to the fact of owners, are opposed to innovations. They like the good having seen the idea as it passed through the inventor's old way. The hot sun under which they were born, and mind. The way it is settled at present is this-whoever the hotter one that lighted the paths of their ancestors, can pay the most for the best lawyer comes off triumphant- prejudices them against any new effort. I think, when- ly! Poor George is not the only smart fellow in the they do get in Congress, they will vote for agricultural world outdone by somebody better off than himself. against manufacturing interests. I am, sure they would George positively refuses to hear the Bible quoted. He rather pick cotton than be confined to the din and dust of believes in a higher law, no doubt, Frederic Douglas being a factory. An old negro prefers to put his meal bags in editorial expounder; a sort of Moses of this century, a a covered wagon, and drive them to market at his leisure, little less meek, though, than the one who instructed the with his pocket full of the tobacco he helped to raise, and Israelites. George won't hear the Bible; he prefers, he the whole country for a spit-box, to being whirled away says, appealing to the Almighty himself. This makes me bodily in a railroad car, in terror of his life, deaf with the fear his Abolitionist friends are not doing right by him; whistling and the puffing of the engine. When Liberia putting him up to shooting, and turning Spanish gentle- or Africa does become a great nation, (Heaven grant it man, and all sorts of vagaries; to say nothing of disobey- may soon,) t will require many other buildings there, ing the laws of the country. No one blames him, though, before a patent office is called for. for escaping from a hard master ; at least, I do not. George Harris is a natural Abolitionist, with a dark It would be a grand thing to stand on the shore of a complexion. He is a remarkable youth in other respects, new country, and see before you, free, every slave and though I should first consider the enormous fact of George's prisoner on the soil of the earth; to hear their Te Deum as- master appropriating to himself the benefit of his servant's cend to the listening heavens. Methinks the sun would cleverness. Even with a show of right this may be a mean stand still, as it did of old, and earth would lift up her trick, but it is the way of the world. A large portion of voice, and lead the song of her ransomed children ; but, New England men are at thi time claiming each other's alas ! this cannot be yet-the time is not come. Oppres- patents. I know of an ins dance down East, for South- sion wears her crown in every clime, though it is some- erners can sometimes ."taknotes, and prent 'em too." A times hidden from the gaze of her subjects. gentleman took a friend to his room, and showed him an George declares he knows more than his master; "he invention for which he was about -apply to for a patent. can read and write better ;" but his logic is bad. He thus The friend walked off with his hands in his pocket; his discusses the indications of Providence. A friend reminds principles-tad met, and passed .an appropriation bill; the him of what the apostle says, " Let every man abide in the invention had become his own--in plain English, he stole condition in which he is called," and he immediately uses it. Washington is always full of people claiming each this simile : " I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should

't 274 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 275 LI come, and take you a prisoner, away from your wife and anybody, George, unless-well-you'd better not shoot, children, and want to keep you all your life hoeing corn I reckon; at least, I wouldn't hit anybody, you know." for them, if you'd think it your duty to abide in that con- As regards the practice of marking negroes in the hand, dition in which you were called. I rather think, that I look upon it as. one of the imaginary horrors of the you'd think the first stray horse you could find an indica- times-a delusion like spiritual rappings, got up out of sheer i6 of Providence-shouldn't you ?" timidity of disposition, though I have heard of burning This does not apply to slavery. A man born a slave, old women for witches in New England, and placing a in a country where slavery is allowed by law, should feel scarlet letter on the bosom of some unhappy one, who had h the obligation of doing his duty while a slave; but Mr. already sorrow and sin enough to bear. Wilson, carried off by Indians, would feel as if he had It won't do; the subject has, without doubt,'been duly been called to a state of life previous to the one in which investigated already. I'd be willing (were I not opposed he was so unfortunate to be doomed, while he was among to betting) to bet my best collar and neck ribbon, that a savages. committee of investigation has been appointed, consisting of twelve of Boston's George goes on to say-" Let any man take care that primmest old maids, and they have tries to stop me, for I am desperate, and I'll fight for my been scouring the plantations of the South, bidding the negroes liberty. You say your fathers did it: if it vas right for hold out their hands, (not as the poor souls them, it is right for me." will at first suppose, that they may be crossed with a piece of silver,) Too fast, George ! You are out in your history, too. and that they are now ,returning, crest-fallen, to their native city, not having Your master must-be a remarkably ignorant man if you seen a branded hand in all their journeying. Could aught escape their know more than he. Our glorious ancestors were never vigilance? But they will say they saw condemned to slavery, they nor their fathers, by God him- a vast number, and that will answer the self. Neither have they ever been considered in the light of purpose. (Ah! Washington Irving, runaways ; they came off with full permission, and having well mayest thou sigh and look back at the ladies of honestly and honorably attained their liberties, they fought the Golden Age. "These were the honest days, in which every woman for them. stayed at home, read the Besides being of a prettier complexion, and coming of Bible, and wore pockets." These days are for ever gone. Prophetic was thy lament ! Now we may a better stock than you, they were prepared to be free. wear pockets-but, alas ! we neither stay at home, nor There is a great deal in that. read our Bible. We form societies to Then, those very ancestors of ours-ah ! there's the rub reform the world, and we write books I -(and the ancestors of the Abolitionists, too,) they got on slavery!) Talking of our ancestors, George, in the time of the us and you into this difficulty-think of it ! They had Revolution, your ancestors up there in New England, until they found (by-the-by, yours were a set of dear, honest old creatures, for there were no Abolitionists then among you were--so lazy, and died off so in their cold climate, us,) reminds me of an anecdote about George Washington that it did not pay to keep you. So I repeat to you the advice of Mr. Wilson, "Be careful, my boy; don't shoot and a favorite servant. Billy Lee was an honest, faithful 276 AUNT PIILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. '2'"{' man, and a first-rate groom, and George Washington-you need not blush to be a namesake of his, though he was a Beecher Stowe: ".The worst us you can put a man to is to hang slaveholder. him." She thinks s very is worse still; but when "I think of every thing," Iam The two were in a battle, the battle of Monmouth, the forced to differ from her. soldiers fighting like sixty, and Billy Lee looking on at a The most of our Southern convenient distance, taking charge of a led horse, in case slaves are happy, and kindly cared for ; and for those who are Washington's should be shot from under him. not, there is hope for the better. But when a 0, but it was a hot day! Washington used to recall the man is hung up by the neck until he is dead, he is done for. As far as I can see, thirst and the suffering attendant upon the heat, (thinking there is nothing that can b suggested to better his condition. of the soldiers' suffering, and not of his own.) As for Billy I have no wish to uphold slavery. I would that every h Lee, if he did not breathe freely, he perspired enough so i human being that God has made were free, to make up for it. I warrant you he was anxious for the were it in ac- cordance with His will ;-free bodily, free spiritually- battle to be over, and the sun to go down. But there he "free !i indeed!" i stood, true as' steel-honest, old patriot as he was-quiet- Neither do I desire r to deny the evils of slavery, any t ing the horse, and watching his noble master's form, as ', r more than I would deny the evils of the factory system in proud and erect it was seen here and there, directing the England, or the factory and apprenticeship system in our troops with that union of energy and calmness for which i s own country. I only assert the necessity he was distinguished. Washington's horse fell under him, of the existence of slavery at present in our Southern States, and that, x as 3~ 3 dying from excessive heat ; but hear Billy Lee describe it: a general thing, the slaves are comfortable and contented, "Lord ! sir, if you could a seen it; de heat, and dust, and their owners humane and kind. and smoke. De cannons flying, and de shot a whizzing, and # I have lived a great deal at the s North-long enough de dust a blowing, and to f de horses' heels a kickin up, when ; see acts of oppression and injustice there, which, were any

s all at onct master's horse fell under him. It warn't shot- t one so inclined, might be wrought into a "living dramatic X bless your soul, no. It drapped right down dead wid de reality." heat. Master he got up. I was scared when I see him I knew a wealthy family. All 6 the labor of the house and de horse go; but master got up. He warn't hurt ; was performed by aipoor relation," a young and delicate couldn't hurt him. girl. I have known servants struck 2 by their employers. c "Master he got up, looked round at me. 'Billy,' says At the South I have never seen a-servant struck, though I he, 'give me the other horse, and you take care of the know perfectly well such things 4 are done here and every- { new saddle on 4 this other poor fellow.' where. Can we judge of society by a few isolated inci- "Did you ever hear de like?" added Billy Lee, "think- i dents? If so, the learned professors of New England ing of de saddle when de balls was a flying most in our eyes. borrow money, and when they do not choose to pay, they But it-sXalways de same wid master. ie thinks of every i murder their creditors, and cut them in pieces ! or men t thing>' 3 kill their sleeping wives andchildren ! I agree with the humane jurist quoted by Mrs. Harriet Infidelity has been called a magnificent lie ! Mrs. Stowe's 24 278 AUNT PHILLIS'S CABIN; OR, SOUTHERN LIFE AS IT IS. 279

"living dramatic reality" is nothing more than an inte- "4How did you get here ?" he -said to the man. "Are resting falsehood; nor ought to be offered, as an equivalent you not a runaway?" for truth, the genius that pervades her pages; rather it is "Yes, sir," the man replied. "I came from Virginny." to be lamented that the rich gifts of God should be so "Well, of course you are a great deal happier now than misapplied. when you were a slave ?" Were the exertions of the Abolitionists successful, what "No, sir ; if I could get back to Virginny, I would be would be the result ? The soul sickens at the thought. glad to go." He looked, too, as if he had never been Scenes of blood and horror-the desolation of our fair worse off than at that time. Southern States-the final destruction of the negroes in The fact is, liberty like money is a grand thing; but in them. This would be the result of immediate emancipa- order to be happy, we must know how to use it. tion here. What has it been elsewhere ? Look at St. It cannot always be said of the fugitive slave,- Domingo. A recent visitor there says, " Though opposed to slavery, I must acknowledge that in this instance the "The mortal puts on immortality, experiment has failed." He compares the negroes to When mercy's hand has turned the golden key, " a wretched gibbering set, from their appearance and And mercy's voice hath said, Rejoice, thy soul is free." t condition more nearly allied to beasts than to men." the North and in The attentive reader will perceive that I am indebted to j Look at the free colored - people of Canada. Mrs. Stowe for the application of this and other quota-

S tx tions. i I have lived among them at the North, and can judge tr for myself. Their " friends" do not always obtain their af- The author of Uncle Toin's Cabin speaks of good men t. fection or gratitude. A colored woman said to me, «I would at the North, who " receive and educate the oppressed" rather work for any people than the Abolitionists. They (negroes). I know a"lots" of good men there, but none expect us to do so much, and they say we ought to work good enough to befriend colored people. They seem to cheaper for them because they are 'our friends.' " Look me to have an unconquerable antipathy to them. But at them in Canada. An English gentleman who has for Mrs. Stowe says, she educates them in her own family with many years resided there, and who has recently visited her own children. I am glad to hear she feels and acts Washington, told me that they were the most miserable, kindly toward them, and I wish others in her region of helpless human beings he had ever seen. In fact he said, country would imitate her in this respect; but I would " They were nuisances, and the people of Canada would rather my children and negroes were educated at different be truly thankful to see them out of their country." He had schools, being utterly opposed to amalgamation, root and never heard of a"a good missionary" mentioned by Mrs.- branch. Stowe, "whom Christian charity has placed there as a She asks the question, a What can any individual ao ?" shephert to the outcast and wandering." He had seen Strange that any one should be at a loss in this working no good results of emancipation. On one occasion he world of ours. hired a colored man to drive him across the country. Christian men and women should find enough to occupy

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"'In a single volume, not larger than an ordinary duodecimo, the publishers have embraced the In one -large octavo volume. whole of Lord Byron's Poems, usually printed in ten or twelve volumes; and, what-is more remarkable, have done it with a type so clear and distinct, that, notwithstanding itstnecessarily small size, it may be read with tho utmost facility, even by failing eyes. The book is stereotyped ; and never have we seen a finer specimen of that art. Everything about it is perfect -the paper, the printing the binding, all correspond with each other; and it is embellished with two fine wefl worthy the companionship in which they are placed. engravings, SCHOOLORAFT'S GREAT NATIONAL WORK ON THE INDIAN TRIBES OF "' This will make a beautiful Christmas present. "We extract the above from Godey's Lady's Book. 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PUBLICATIONS. LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.'s A DICTIONARY OF SELECT AND POPULAR QUOTATIONS, THE YOUNG DOMINICAN; WHICH ARE IN DAILY USE. OR, THE MYSTERIES OF THE iNQUISITION, TAKEN FROM THE LATIN, FRENCH, GREEK, SPANISH AND ITALIAN LANGUAGES. AND OTHER SECRET SOCIETIES OF SPAIN. Together with a copious Collection of Law Maxims and Law Terms, translated into BY M, V. DE FEREAL. English, with Illustrations, Historical and Idiomatic. WITH HISTORICAL NOTES, BY M. MANUEL DE CUENDIAS NEW AMERICAN EDITION, CORRECTED, WITH ADDITIONS, TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. On-e volume, 12mo. ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS BY FRENCH ARTISTS This volume comprises a copious collection of legal and other terms which are in common use, One voluhe, octavo. With English translations and historical illustrations ; and we should judge its author had surely een to a great "Feast of Languages," and stole all the scraps. A work of this character should have an extensive sale, as it entirely obviates a serious difficulty in which most readers are involved by the frequent occurrence of Latin, Greek, and French passages, which we suppose are introduced SAY'S POLITICAL ECONOMY. by authors for a mere show of learning-a difficulty very perplexing to readers in general. This "Dictionary of Quotations," concerning which too much cannot be said in its favour, effectually A TREATISE ON POLITICAL ECONOMY; removes the difficulty, and gives the reader an advantage over the author; for we believe a majority are themselves ignorant of the meaning of the terms they employ. Very few truly learned authors Or, The Production, Distribution and Consumption of Wealth. will insult their readers by introducing Latin or French quotations in their writings, when "plain English" will do as well; but we will not enlarge on this point. .DBY EAN DA TISTE SAY. If the book is useful to those unacquainted with other languages, it is no less valuable to the classically educated as a book of reference, and answers all the purposes of 'a Lexicon -indeed, on FIFTH AMERICAN EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES, many accounts, it is better.. It saves the trouble of tumbling over the larger volumes, to which BY C. C. MIDDLE, ESQ. every one, and especially those engaged in the legal profession, are very often subjected. It should In one volume, octavo. have a place in every library in the country. It would be beneficial to our country if all those who are aspiring to office, were required by their constituents to be familiar with the pages of Say. The distinguished biographer of the author, in noticing this wori, observes: " Happily for science RVSCHENBERGER'S NATURAL HISTORY, he commenced that study which forms the basis of his admirable Treatise on Political Economy ; a work which not only improved under his hand with every successive edition,but has been translated COMPLETE, WITH NEW GLOSSARY. into most of the European languages." The Editor of the North American Review, speaking of Say, observes, that "he is the most popular, and perhaps the most able writer on Political Economy, since the time of Smith."

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