A CONVERSATION—HOPE BLOSSOMS OUT, BUT CHARLESTOWN IS FULL OF EXCITABILITY.

One evening, during young master's illness, when he was able to sit up beside the fire, Dr. Mandy came to see him, and, as I sat in his room, sewing on some fancy work for Miss Jane, I heard the conversation that passed between them.

"Have you coughed much?" the doctor asked.

"A great deal last night."

"Do the night-sweats continue?"

"Yes, sir, and are violent."

"Let me feel your pulse. Here—it is very quick—face is flushed—high fever."

"Yes, doctor, I am sinking fast."

"Oh, keep up your spirits. I have been thinking that the best thing for you would be to take a trip to Havana. This climate is too variable for your complaint."

Young master shook his head mournfully.

"The change of scene," the doctor went on, "would be of service to you. A healthful excitement of the imagination, and a different train of thought, would, undoubtedly, benefit you."

"What in the South could induce a different train of thought? Oh, doctor, the horrid system, that there flourishes with such rank power, would only deepen my train of thought, and make me more wretched than I am; I would not go near New Orleans, or pass those dreadful plantations, even to secure the precious boon of health."

"You will not see anything of the kind. You will only see life at hotels; and there the slaves are all happy and well used. Besides, my good boy, the negroes on the plantations are much better used than you think; and I assure you they are very happy. If you could overhear them laughing and singing of an evening, you would be convinced that they are well cared for."

"Ah, disguise thee as thou wilt, yet, Slavery, thou art horrid and revolting."

"You are morbid on the subject."

"No, only humane; but have I not seen enough to make me morbid?"

"These are subjects upon which I deem it best to say nothing."

"That is the invariable argument of self-interest."

"No, of prudence, Mr. John; I have no right to quarrel with and rail out against an institution that has the sanction of the law, and which is acceptable to the interests of my best friends and patrons."

"Exactly so; the whole matter, so vital to the happiness of others, so fraught with great humanitarian interests, must be quietly laid on the shelf, because it may lose you or me a few hundred dollars."

"Not precisely that either; but, granting, for the sake of hypothesis only, that slavery is a wrong, what good would all my arguments do? None, but rather an injury to the very cause they sought to benefit. You must not exasperate the slave-holders. Leave them to time and their own reflections. I believe many of the Western States—yes, Kentucky herself—would at this moment be free from slavery, if it had not been for the officious interference of the North. The people of the West and South are hot, fiery and impetuous. They may be persuaded and coaxed into a measure, but never driven. All this talk and gasconade of Abolitionists have but the tighter bound the negroes."

"I am sorry to hear you thus express yourself, for you give me a more contemptible opinion of the Southern and Western men, or rather the slave-holding class, than I had before. And so they are but children, who must be coaxed, begged, and be-sugar-plumed into doing a simple act of justice. Have they not the manhood to come out boldly, and say this thing is wrong, and that they will no longer countenance it in their midst; that they will, for the sake of justice and sympathy with humanity, liberate these creatures, whom they have held in an unjust and wicked bondage? Were they to act thus, then might they claim for themselves the title of chevaliers."

"Yes; but they take a different view of the subject; they look upon slavery as just and right—a dispensation of Providence, and feel that they are as much entitled to their slaves as another man is to his house, carriage, or horse."

"Oh, how they shut their hearts against the voice of misery, and close their eyes to the rueful sigh of human grief. I never heard a pro-slavery man who could, upon any reasonable ground, defend his position. The slavery argument is not only a wicked, but an absurd one. How wise men can be deluded by it I am at a loss to understand. Infatuated they must be, else they could not uphold a system as tyrannous as it is base."

"Well, we will say no more upon this subject," said the doctor, as Mr. Peterkin entered.

"What's the matter?" the latter inquired, as he listlessly threw himself into a chair.

"Nothing, only Mr. John is not all right on the 'goose,'" replied Dr. Mandy, with a facetious smile.

"And not likely to be," said Mr. Peterkin; "Johnny has given me a great deal of trouble 'bout this matter; but I hope he will outgrow it. 'Tis only a foolish notion. He was 'lowed to gad 'bout too much with them ar' devilish niggers, an' so 'bibed their quare ideas agin slavery. Now, in my 'pinion, my niggers is a darned sight better off than many of them poor whites at the North."

"But are they as free?" asked young master.

"No, to be sure they is not," and here Mr. Peterkin ejected from his mouth an amount of tobacco-juice that nearly extinguished the fire.

"Woe be unto the man who takes from a fellow-being the priceless right of personal liberty!" exclaimed young master, with his fine eyes fervently raised.

"Yes, but everybody don't desarve liberty. Niggers ain't fit for to govern 'emselves nohow. They has bin too long 'customed to havin' masters. Them that's went to Libery has bin of no 'count to 'emselves nor nobody else. I tell yer, niggers was made to be slaves, and yer kan't change their Creator's design. Why, you see, doctor, a nigger's mind is never half as good as a white man's;" and Mr. Peterkin conceived this speech to be the very best extract of lore and sapience.

"Why is not the African mind equal to the Caucasian?" inquired young master, with that pointed naivete for which he was so remarkable.

"Oh, it tain't no use, Johnny, fur you to be talkin' that ar' way. It's all fine enoff in newspapers, but it won't do to bring it into practice, 'specially out here in the West."

"No, father, I begin to fear that it is of no avail to talk common sense and preach humanity in a community like this."

"Don't talk any more on this subject," said the doctor; "I am afraid it does Mr. John no particular good to be so painfully excited. I was going to propose to you, Mr. Peterkin, to send him South, either on a little coasting trip, or to Havana via New Orleans. I think this climate is too rigorous and uncertain for one of his frail constitution to remain in it during the winter."

"Well, doctor, I am perfectly willin' fur him to go, if I had anybody to go with him; but you see it wouldn't be safe to trust him by himself. Now an idee has jist struck me, which, if you'll agree to, will 'zackly suit me. 'Tis for you to go 'long; then he'd have a doctor to rinder him any sarvice he might need. Now Doct. if you'll go, I'll foot the bill, and pay you a good bonus in the bargain."

"Well, it will be a great professional sacrifice; but I'm willing to make it for a friend like you, and for a patient in whose recovery or improvement I feel so deeply interested."

"Make no sacrifices for me, dear doctor; my poor wreck of life is not worth a sacrifice; I can weather it out a little longer in this region. It requires a stronger air than that of the tropics to restore strength to my poor decayed lungs."

"Yes, but you must not despond," said the doctor.

"No, my boy, you musn't give up. You are too young to die. You are my only son, and I can't spare you." Again Mr. Peterkin turned uneasily in his chair.

"But tell me, doctor," he added, "don't you think he is growin' stronger?"

"Why, yes I do; and if he will consent to go South, I shall have strong hope of him."

"He must consent," exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, with a decided emphasis.

"You know my objection, doctor, yet I cannot oppose my wish against father's judgment; so I will go, but 'twill be without the least expectation of ever again seeing home."

"Oh, don't, don't, my boy," and Mr. Peterkin's voice faltered, and his eyes were very moist.

"Idols of clay!" I thought, "how frail ye are; albeit ye are manufactured out of humanity's finest porcelain, yet a rude touch, a slight jar, and the beautiful fabric is destroyed forever!"

Mr. Peterkin's treasure, his only son, was wasting slowly, inch by inch, before his eyes—dying with slow and silent certainty. The virus was in his blood, and no human aid could check its strides. The father looked on in speechless dread. He saw the insidious marks of the incurable malady. He read its ravages upon the broad white brow of his son, where the pulsing veins lay like tightly-drawn cords; and on the hueless lip, that was shrivelled like an autumn leaf; in the dilated pupil of that prophet-like eye; in the fiery spot that blazed upon each hollow cheek; and in the short, disturbed breathing that seemed to come from a brazen tube; in all these he traced the omens of that stealthy disease that robs us, like a thief in the night-time, of our richest treasures.

"Well, my boy," began Mr. Peterkin, "you must prepare to start in the course of a few days."

"I am ready to leave at any moment, father; and, if we do not start very soon, I am thinking you will have to consign me to the earth, rather than send me on a voyage pleasure-hunting."

A bright smile, though mournful as twilight's shadows, flitted over the pale face of young master as he said this.

"Why, Johnny, you are better this evening," said Miss Bradly, as she entered the room, rushed up to him, and began patting him affectionately on either cheek.

"Yes, I am better, good Miss Emily; but still feeble, oh so feeble! My spirits are better, but the restless fire that burns eternally here will give me no rest," and he placed his hand over his breast.

"Yes, but you must quench that fire."

"Where is the draught clear and pure enough to quench a flame so consuming?"

"The dew of divine grace can do it."

"Yes, but it descends not upon my dried and burnt spirit."

Mr. Peterkin turned off, and affected to take no note of this little colloquy, whilst Doctor Mandy began to chew furiously.

The fact is, the Peterkin family had begun to distrust Miss Bradly's principles ever since the day young master administered such a reproof to her muffled conscience; and in truth, I believe she had half-declared her opposition to the slave system; and they began to abate the fervor of their friendship for her. The young ladies, indeed, kept up their friendly intercourse with her, though with a modification of their former warmth.

I fancied that Miss Bradly looked happier, now that she had cast off disguise and stood forth in her true character. That cloud of faltering distrust that once hung round her like a filmy web, had been dissipated and she stood out, in full relief, with the beautiful robe of truth draping and dignifying her nature. Woman, when once she interests herself in the great cause of humanity, goes to work with an ability and ardor that put to shame the colder and slower action of man. The heart and mind co-work, and thus a woman, as if by the dictate of inspiration, will achieve with a single effort the mighty deed, for the attainment of which men spend years in idle planning. Women have done much, and may yet achieve more toward the emancipation and enfranchisement of the world. The historic pages glitter with the noble acts of heroic womanhood, and histories yet unwritten will, I believe, proclaim the good which they shall yet do. Who but the Maid of Orleans rescued her country? Whose hand but woman's dealt the merited death-blow to one of France's bloodiest tyrants? In all times, she has been most loyal to the highest good. Woman has ever been brave! She was the instrument of our redemption, and the early watcher at the tomb of our Lord. To her heart the Saviour's doctrine came with a special welcome message. And I now believe that through her agency will yet come the political ransom of the slaves! God grant it, and speed on the blessed day!

I now looked upon Miss Bradly with the admiring interest with which I used to regard her; and though I had never had from her an explanation of the change or changes through which she had passed since that memorable conversation recorded in the earlier pages of this book, I felt assured from the fact that young master had learned to love her, that all was right at the core of her heart; and I was willing to forgive her for the timidity and vacillation that had caused her to play the dissembler. The memorable example of the loving but weak Apostle Peter should teach us to look leniently upon all those who cannot pass safely through the ordeal of human contempt, without having their principles, or at least actions, a little warped. Of course there are higher natures, from whose fortitude the rack and the stake can provoke nothing but smiles; but neither good St. Peter nor Miss Bradly were of such material.

"I am going to leave you very soon, Miss Emily."

"And where are you going, John?"

"They will send me to the South. As the poor slaves say, I'm going down the river;" and a sweet smile flitted over that gentle face.

"Who will accompany you?"

"Father wishes Doctor Mandy to go; but I fear it will be too great a professional sacrifice."

"Oh, some one must go with you. You shall not go alone."

"I do not wish to go at all. I shall see nothing in the South to please me. Those magnificent plantations of rice, sugar, and cotton, those lordly palaces, embowered in orange trees, those queenly magnolia groves, and all the thousand splendors that cover the coast with loveliness, will but recall to my mind the melancholy fact that slave-labor produces the whole. I shall fancy that some poor heart-broken negro man, or some hopeless mother or lonely wife watered those fields with tears. Oh, that the dropping of those sad eyes had, like the sowing of the dragon's teeth, produced a band of armed, bristling warriors, strong enough to conquer all the tyrants and liberate the captives!"

"This can never be accomplished suddenly. It must be the slow and gradual work of years. Like all schemes of reformation, it moves but by inches. Wise legislators have proposed means for the final abolition of slavery; but, though none have been deemed practicable, I look still for the advent of the day when the great sun shall look goldenly down upon the emancipation of this dusky tribe, and when the word slave shall nowhere find expression upon the lips of Christian men."

"When do you predict the advent of that millennial day?"

"I fear it is far distant; yet is it pleasant to think that it will come, no matter at how remote an epoch."

"Distant is it only because men are not thoroughly Christianized. No man that will willingly hold his brother in bondage is a Christian. Moreover, the day is far off in the future, because of the ignorant pride of men. They wish to send the poor negro away to the unknown land from whence his ancestors were stolen. We virtually say to the Africans, now you have cultivated and made beautiful our continent, we have no further use for you. You have grown up, it is true, beneath the shadow of our trees, you were born upon our soil, your early associations are here. Your ignorance precludes you from the knowledge of the excellence of any other land: yet for all this we take no care, it is our business to drive you hence. Cross the ocean you must. Find a home in a strange country; lay your broad shoulder to the work, and make for yourself an interest there. What wonder is it, if the poor, ignorant negro shakes his head mournfully, and says: "No, I would rather stay here; I am a slave, it is true, but then I was born here, and here I will be buried. I am tightly kept, have a master and a mistress, but then I know what this is. Hard to endure, I grant it—but then it is known to me. I can bear on a little longer, till death sets me free. No, this is my native shore; here let me stay." Their very ignorance begets a kind of philosophy that

Now, why, I ask, have they not as much right to remain here as we have? This is their birthplace as well as ours. We are, likewise, descendants of foreigners. If we drive them hence, what excuse have we for it? Our forefathers were not the aborigines of this country. As well might the native red men say to us: "Fly, leave the Western continent, 'tis our home; we will not let you stay here. You have cultivated it, now we will enjoy it. Go and labor elsewhere." What would we think of this? Yet such is our line of conduct toward those poor creatures, who have toiled to adorn our homes. Then again, we allow the Irish, Germans, and Hungarians, to dwell among us. Why ban the African?"

"These, my young friend, are questions that have puzzled the wisest brains."

"If it entered more into the hearts, and disturbed the brains less, it would be better for them and for the slaves."

"Now, come, Miss Emily, I'm tired of hearing you and that boy talk all that nonsense. It's time you were both thinking of something else. You are too old to be indulgin' of him in that ar' stuff. It will never come to any good. Them ar' niggers is allers gwine to be slaves, and white folks had better be tendin' to what consarns 'emselves."

Such arguments as the foregoing were carried on every day. Meanwhile we, who formed the subject of them, still went on in our usual way, half-fed and half-clad, knocked and kicked like dogs.

Amy went about her assigned work, with the same hard-set composure with which she had begun. Talking little to any one, she tried to discharge her duties with a docility and faithfulness very remarkable. Yet she sternly rebuked all conversation. I made many efforts to draw her out into a free, sociable talk, and was always told that it was not agreeable to her.

I now had no companionship among those of my own color. Aunt Polly was in the grave; Amy wrapped in the silence of her own grief; and Sally (the successor of Aunt Polly in the culinary department) was a sulky, ignorant woman, who did not like to be sociable; and the men, with their beastly instincts, were objects of aversion to me. So my days and nights passed in even deeper gloom than I had ever before known.