It was not quite ten o'clock when, as we were leaving the attorney's office, we noticed the slave woman and her son seated on the steps of Mr. Blackwell's store opposite.

"Are you all ready, aunty?" asked Preston.

"Yas, massa, I'se all ready; I'se got de gole all heah,” she replied, holding up a small canvas bag; "a hun'red an' twentysevin dollar an' firty cents—so massa Blackwell say; I karn't reckon so much as dat, massa.

The woman had on a clean white neckerchief, and a bran new pair of brogans, and had made an effort to spruce up for the interview, but she still wore the tattered red and yellow turban, and the thin Osnaburg gown-clean, but patched in many places, in which she was arrayed when over the wash kettle.

The merchant then came to the door, and invited us in. Preston handed him the papers to examine, and we all entered the store. As the woman laid the gold on the counter, I said to her :

Aunty, how long have you been in saving this money?" "Four year, massa. Ole massa wouldn't 'gree ter sell de chile till four year ago.”

"And you've hired your time, and earned this by washing and ironing?"

"Yas, sar; I'se had ter pay massa a hun❜red and firty dollar ebery year, 'sides twenty fur rent; an' I'se had ter work bery hard, of'en till 'way inter de night; but I wanted to hab de chile FREE, massa.'

." And have you had no husband to help you?"

"No, massa; I neber had none; I neber tuk ter de men folks."

..........

UNIVERS
OF

CALIFOR

She was, as I have said, of a coal-black complexion, while Ally's skin was a bright yellow. His father, therefore, must have been a white man.

"You have worked very hard, no doubt, aunty. Are these the best clothes you have?"

“Yas, massa; dese am all I'se got."

"Well, here are ten dollars; buy yourself some for the winter."

“Oh! tank 'ou, massa.

'Ou's too good, massa; I tank 'ou bery much; but 'ou'll leff me gib dis ter de Squire, massa, 'on't 'ou? I wants ter pay fur Ally."

"Yes, if he will take it," I replied, for I felt sure he would not.

The merchant had examined the documents, and Preston had counted the money and put it in his pocket, when, handing the papers to Dinah, the Squire said:

"Now, aunty, Ally's free, and I hope he'll grow up a good boy, and worthy of such a mother."

I

"Oh! he will dat, massa; he'm a good chile; but heah'm ten dollar more, massa-it'm de good gemman's, an' he say kin gib it ter 'ou fur Ally."

Preston laughed. "I heard what he said. Dinah. You need it for winter clothing.

of what you owe me."

The shopkeeper said:

I can't take it,

I'll take the risk

"Take it, Squire; I'll let Dinah have what she needs from

the store; she knows her credit is good with me."

"Well," said Preston, taking the money,

"this makes one

hundred and thirty-seven dollars and thirty cents. You need not pay any more, Dinah; Ally is yours now."

"Oh! am Ally free, massa? Am de chile FREE ? "she

exclaimed, taking him in her arms, and bursting into a hysterical fit of weeping.

Every eye was wet, but no one spoke. At last Dinah said:

"But, massa Preston, I wants 'ou ter take de chile. I wants 'ou ter fotch 'im up. I karn't larn 'im nuffin. I doan't know nuffin, massa. He kin git larnin' wid 'ou."

"But he's all you have. At home he'll be a help and a comfort to you."

"I doan't want no help, massa.

doan't want no help no more."

He'm FREE now; I

"Well, aunty, I'll take him, and pay you twenty dollars a year, till he's fifteen. He's twelve, now, isn't he?"

"A'most twelve, massa, a'most. But 'ou needn't pay me

nuffin; jess gib de chile what you likes.

speak ter Boss Joe 'bout 'im, woan't 'ou?

And, massa, 'ou'll

'Ou'll ax 'im ter see Ally gwoes ter de meetin's, an' larns suffin out ob de books, woan't 'ou, massa? I wants him ter know suffin."

"Yes, I will, Dinah ;, and I'll keep an eye on him myself." "Tank 'ou, massa; an' p'raps 'ou'll leff de chile com

down ter see 'im ole mammy once'n a while?"

"Yes, I will—once a month. Come, now, Dinah, get into

the wagon; we go right by your house."

When we

We stepped into the vehicle, and drove off. reached the shanty, the negress got out, and, amid a shower of blessings from her, we rode on to the plantation. For four long years she had worked fifteen hours a day, and denied herself every comfort, to buy her child; and when, at last, she had secured his freedom, she was willing to part from him, that he might "larn suffin out ob de books." Has not her wretched race the instincts and feelings that make us human?

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PLANTATION.

Ir was a clear, cold, sunshiny day-one of those days so peculiar to the Southern climate, when the blood bounds through every vein as if thrilled by electricity, and a man of lively temperament can scarcely restrain his legs from dancing a "breakdown." We rode rapidly on through a timbered country, where the tall trees grew up close by the roadside, locking their huge arms high in the air, and the long, graceful black moss hung, like mourning drapery, from the great branches. The green pine-tassels carpeted the ground, and breathed a grateful odor around us; and the soft autumn wind swayed the tops of the old trees, and sang a pleasant song over our heads. Every pine bore the scars of the turpentine axe, and here and there, in a patch of woods, a negro gang was gathering the "last dipping;" and now and then, in an open clearing, a poor planter was at work with a few field hands. Occasionally we forded a small stream, where, high up on the bank, was a rude ferry, which served in the rainy season as a miserable substitute for a bridge; and once in a while, far back from the road, we caught sight of an old country seat, whose dingy, unpainted walls, broken-down fences, and dilapidated surroundings, reminded one that shiftless working men, and careless, reckless

proprietors are the natural products of slavery. Thus we rode on for several hours, till, turning a slight bend in the road, we suddenly halted before the gateway of my friend's plantation. I had observed, for half a mile, that the woods which lined the wayside were clear of underbrush, the felled trees trimmed, and their branches carefully piled in heaps; and the rails, which in other places straggled about in the road, were doing their appropriate duty on the fences; and I said to Preston:

"I am glad to see you are as good at planting as at preaching."

“Bless you!” he replied, "it isn't me; it's Joe. Joe is acknowledged the best farmer in Jones county."

At the gateway we received a greeting unknown the world over, outside of a Southern plantation. Perched on the fences, swinging on the gate, and hanging in the trees, were a score of young ebonies, of both sexes, who, as we came in sight, set up a chorus of discordant shouts that made the woods ring. Among the noises, I made out: "Gorry! massa'm come." "Dar dey is." "Dat'm de strange gemman." "How's 'ou, massa?” "Glad 'ou's come, massa; 'peared like we'd neber see 'ou no more, massa ;" and a multitude of similar exclamations, which told unmistakably the kind of discipline to which they were accustomed. The young chattels are infallible plantation barometers—they indicate the true state of the weather. One may never see among the older slaves of a cruel master any but pleasant faces, for they know the penalty of surliness before a stranger; but the little darkies cannot be restrained. They will slink away into by-corners or scamper out of sight whenever their owner appears, if he does not treat them kindly.