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could learn about them was that they had gone
West. After many fruitless attempts to discov
er their location, he returned to the city, and de
voted himself to the duties of his profession.
CHAPTER Xt.
After a lapse of eight years, let us again look
m upon Alice. Her father has long since gone
to his final rest —“a shock of corn fully ripe/’
The girlish curls no longer flow about her shoul
ders, but she looks none the less lovely, with
her soft brown hair comlied smoothly over her
temples. The light, ringing laugh of girlhood
has given place to the quiet smile of the digni
fied matron. The expression of her counten
ance is no less spiritual, no less heavenly, than
when she triumphed over the first and bitterest
trial of her life. Her beauty, though changed,
is not impaired. Two noble boys, bearing the
respective names of George and Alfred, and a
lisping girl, call her by the holy name of mother.
A look of quiet happiness usually rests upon her
placid face, but now there is a shade of anxiety
deepening the faint lines just discernible upon
her brow.
Her husband's health has been for some time
failing. The hectic flush upon his cheek has
been increasing, and his eyes have shone with
more than their natural brilliancy. That insidi
ous destroyer, consumption, has been preying
upon his vitals. Ho knows that the time for
him to leave the world is near, but he is ready.
He has committed his wife and children into the
hands of Him who has promised to be a “ Fath
er to the fatherless, and the widow’s God;” and
now he calmly awaits the summons that will call
him hence. To-day he has seemed much better
than usual. He has even been able to walk out
on the piazza, and inhale the soft breath of the
early spring. But now, a severe fit of coughing
has seemed to exhaust his strength, and lie lies
upon the bed, apparently asleep. His wife has
just noticed an expression in his countenance
which alarms her. While wondering what it
can mean, he opens his eyes, and with a smile
beckons her to him. As she bends over him, he
whispers: “Alice, love, my time has come—l
am going home. You have been a kind and
loving wife to me—meet me in Heaven;" and,
without a struggle, liis spirit wings its flight
from its earthly tenement to the mansions of the
blest.
Bowed by the dead body of him she had
faithfully loved, Alice wept iong and bitterly.
Nature demanded those tears, but Faith tri
umphed, when, rising from her knees, she said:
“ The Lord gave, aud the Lord hath taken
away, and blessed be His holy name.”
A few weeks after the decease of her husband,
Alice dispatched a sen-ant to the nearest county
town, to request a lawyer there, in whose hands
her husband had informed her some time before
his death that he had placed his will, to attend
to the opening and reading of the same. The
lawyer himself was absent, but a gentleman
who had recently become associated with him in
the practice of the law, and who transacted all
the business of the firm in his absence, volun
teered to attend with the will. As he entered
the room where she was sitting, Alice started
suddenly to her feet. Surely she had seen that
face before. That broad, full brow, and the dark
eyes, had a very familiar look; but recollecting
herself, she invited him to bo seated. The
stranger, on his part, regarded her curiously, but
after a few common-place remarks, proceeded to
open and read the Last Will and Testament of
Alfred Wells. After the usual preliminaries,
he read:
“ I give and bequeath to my dearly beloved
Alice—”
The stranger paused and again regarded
her with a scrutinizing look. She seemed much
agitated, and ho proceeded with the reading.
The second bequest read:
“ To my eldest son, George Hastings—”
The lawyer sprang to his feet, and seizing her
hand, exclaimed:
“ I cannot bo mistaken. This is no other than
the friend and companion of my childhood and
youth, Alice Lee.”
Yes, Alice had seen that face before, for it
was the face of George Hastings.
Each learned from the other the history of
their respective lives since they had met last,
and a feeling of joy pervaded the bosom of
George at the thought that, like himself, she
was now free; but he remembered what was
due to the memory of the dead, and repressed
his feelings. He became, however, a frequent
visitor at the house of Mrs. Wells, and she was
socn convinced that, whatever had been the
feelings of his youth, he now entertained for
her something more than a brotherly affection.
Who can realize th ? emotions which a know
ledge of this awakened ? Surely, none but those
who have loved like her.
CHAPTER XII.
“Judge Hastings is in the parlor,” said a ser
vant to Mrs. Wells, one bright spring morning,
about a year after the death of her husband.
Alice immediately laid aside the work on
which she was engaged, and entered the parlor.
She looked very interesting in her black robe
and widow’s cap—at least, so thought George,
as he took a seat beside her on the sofa.
“ Alice,” said he, “ I have been waiting a long
time to speak to you on a subject which engros
sed much of my thoughts. I think you will not
now consider me premature, when I ask you to
lot me fill the place in your heart which was oc
cupied by your late husband. I have always
loved you, even when, fascinated by her beauty,
I asked another to take the place which should
have belonged only to you. Have you—can
you now love me ?”
Alice was very pale, and she remained silent
for a moment, while the closely compressed lips
told of the struggle that was passing within ;
but when she spoke, her tones, though low,
were clear and firm.
“ I have loved you, George: how well, God
only knows, and when I saw another preferred
before me, He alone knows what it cost me to
conquer my sinful passion. I love you now,
and were none but myself concerned, I should
lay this weary head on your bosom, and feel
that it had found its place of rest. But I must
now live for my chi dren, and not for myself.
I have carefully revolved this subject in my
mind, for I have seen what were your feelings
toward me, and I have decided that we can
never bo more to each other than the brother
and sister that we once were.”
George was thunderstruck. He had never
once dreamed of Alice rejecting him. He had
only feared that she would insist on a longer
delay than would be agreeable to him, out of
respect to the memory of her husband, and he
could scarcely believe that he had rightly under
stood her.
“Alice! Alice 1 you surely do not mean to say
that you will never marry me ?"
“ Yes, George, that was what I meant, and I
beg you will not urge mo farthor; for you know
not how hard it has been for me to make this
decision.”
“ Then why not rescind it at once ? What
possible reason could you have for making it ?
I shnll love your children as my own. I will
TME SOVVSIK&ff WIEEB HI
be to them a father in every respect. lam
alone in the world, and I long for something on
which to lavish my affection. Tell me, Alice,
that you retract what you have said—that you
will yet be mine. I will wait any time you
may desire, but tell me you will some day be
my wife.”
In his excitement he had risen, and stood be
fore her, holding her hand clasped in both of his.
How noble he looked! How the old love in her
heart plead for him! But the love of the moth
er triumphed.
“ You know not, George, what you promise,”
she replied. “No human being can love the
children of another as his own. Nature will
not permit it You may be kind to them—you
may love them even, but it will not be with the
love of a father. You can not look with the
same leniency upon their faults that a father
w-ould. As a judge, you have long been accus
tomed to repress all the tender feelings of your
heart, and regard only the stern dictates of jus
tice. In your family, you w-ould still be the in
flexible judge. Had you children of your own,
nature would sometimes be heard, and the judge
would give place to the father, but toward the
children of another this could not be. Your
namesake, my little George, already shows a
disposition which requires a hand gentle, as
well as firm. While I entertain high hopes of
what he may be, if, by the grace of God, lam
enabled to train him up aright, I know that any
undue severity would be his ruin; and it is his
good that I have particularly regarded in mak
ing this decision. Let us be brother and sister
as we used to be, if you will, but ask nothing
farther, for I can not give it."
As she said this, in a firm voice, George drop
ped the hand he held, and paced up and down
the room with folded arms and compressed lips.
At length he paused before Alice, who had been
watching him with tearful eyes, and taking her
hand, he pressed it to his lips, saying in a voice
husky with emotion, “ Farewell, my sister—if
so it must be. You have sounded the death
knell of all my hopes,” and rushing out, he
sprang on his horse and galloped away.
Alice w-atched his receding form till it disap
peared at an angle in the road, and then, with
hands tightly clasped against her heart, she
sought the privacy of her own room.
“ Mother,” said little George, as two hours af
terwards she descended, pale but calm, to the
dining-room, “ what made Judge Hastings go
away so soon ? Aunt Dinah said she knew he’d
come to ask you to marry him, but I hope you
told him no, for I shouldn't like him for a
father.”
“ Why not, my son ?” asked his mother, in a
low tone.
“ Because ho always looks so cold and stern,
only when he is talking with you. I knew he
would never love any of us but you,” sQid the
boy.
“ Judge Hastings will never be your father,”
she replied, “ but ho is your mother’s friend,
and I wish you always to regard him as such."
“ I will do anything you wish, mother,” said
the beautiful boy, “ but I am so glad he is not
going to be my father.”
“Don’t speak of it again,” said his mother,
and he was silent.
Would you learn the result of the sacrifice of
love, recorded in the preceding chapter? Go to
the halls of our National Representatives at
Washington. Do you see that man so nobly as
serting the rights of his constituency, and de
fending them against the attacks of sectional
fanaticism ? You will not recognize him by any
name that I have given, but in the tall form, ex
panded brow and flashing eyes, you will recog
nize one of the noblest sons of the South, whoso
fearless advocacy of right, in whatever form it
may appear, has won for him the undying love
of his constituents, and honor and respect from
his opponents.
Alice Wells resides now with her eldest son,
in one of the fairest of the Southern States.
Her second son is a devoted minister of Christ,
and a talented preacher. Her daughter is the
cherished wife of one high in official position in
her native State. There are many snowy lines
mingling now with Alice’s brown hair, but she
has the same placid countenance that marked
the happy days of her married life.
Twice every year, the now venerable Judge
Hastings comes to spend a week or two with
her; and the coming of brother George, as sho
now calls him, is always hailed with pleasure.
As together they read the honorable mention,
everywhere, of her son's position in Congress,
or peruse one of liis thrilling speeches, the
Judge will often exclaim: “Ah, Alice; you
made George what he is. You did right when
you refused to marrv me, for I never could have
borne with his youthful waywardness as you
did.”
My lady readers—“a word in your ears.”
George Wells is yet unmarried. His mother is,
in his eyes, tho perfection of female excellency;
and the model after which is formed the ideal
wife he sometimes dreams of. Are there are
any among you who could realize that ideal?
The Slaveholder Abroad;
—OR—
Billy Buck’s Visit with his Master,
to England.
INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
From Dr. rieasant Jones to IF. T. Thompson, Esq.
Cotton Cot (nkak Pineviile), May Ist, ISM 1 .
Dear Mu. Thompson : I yield to your sugges
tion, and consent that my letters from England
to Major Joseph Jones shall be published. I
do so, relying very much upon your judgment;
for I am not conscious that I possess any spe
cial gift in tho book making line. Indeed, I had
supposed that there was enough of that sort of
thing in the family, when my cousin, the Major,
took to the business. Not that I wish to be un
derstood as intending to utter a word of dispar
agement of the Major’s books, Mr. Thompson ;
for I must confess that they have exhibited one
of the most satisfactory tests of success—they
have put and are continuing to put, money into
the pockets of their publishers. It cannot be
denied, therefore, that there is something more
of interest about the Major's literature than the
grotesque infelicities of its orthography and
syntax, hideously fascinating as these sometimes
are. This feature, however, was intended, I
suppose, only as a sort of bush to the wine that
was within. Mr. Titmarsh Thackeray, nearly
about the same time, I believe, was finding a
similar expedient quite successful in attracting
attention to the entertainments of the admira
ble Mr. Charles Edward Fitzroy Yellowplush.—
Still, I could not but feel that possibly there was
some luck in the Major’s success, and that, pro
ceeding upon a calculation of the doctrine of
chances, Fortune may have exhausted her favors
in this line for the family. You seem to think
otherwise. lam persuadod to submit, therefore,
and so I consent to the publication of such of
my letters as may be selected for that purpose.
Some explanation, as to the how and wherefore
of their being written, should precede them, I
think : and this I will proceed to give.
I have had no higher ambition during my life,
as you know, than to be a successful planter.—
It is true that, after coming to man’s estate, I
studied medicine, took a course of lectures, and
graduated as M. D. But I preferred the occu
pation of a planter to the practice of my profes
sion ; and, marrying early in life the girl of my
heart, I settled down upon my little patrimony,
near Pineviile, and devoted myself to agricul
ture. In this pursuit I have thriven as well as
’ could be expected, and have cause to be very
i grateful. Several promising children have been
j bora to us, all but one of whom tarried but a
j little while, when a Hand came out of the dark
: ness and hurried them away. After some years,
| constant occupation, cares, and the loss of these
I little ones, so tried my health as to very much
impair it. As it was with poor oid Tobit in the
times of the Apochrypha, and as it has been
with thousands since, in all ages of the world,
“ I went to the physicians, but they helped me
not.” They advised me, however, to travel —to
try a trip to Europe. The World’s Fair, then in
contemplation, and in process of preparation in
London, was exciting an interest even among
our piney-woods. I had just invented a new
plow, having an attachment for cutting roots,
which I thought merited a premium ; and, as I
had acquired a taste forpremiums and silver cups
at our own State Fair, through the aid of some
fat calves and fatter pigs, I yielded to these sug
gestions, and determined to visit Europe for the
benefit of my health and the gratification of
bringing back with me a gold medal for a prize
plow.
What to do for some one to go along with, and
take care of me, in case of increasing illness, was
my greatest difficulty. Circumstances made it im
possible for my wife to leave home. My cousins,
and your friends, Maj. Jos. Jones and Dr. Peter,
were both in tho same situation. The former,
indeed, said that nothing him bet
ter than to go abroad, and perhaps write a book
about what he saw there: “but it was impossible;
for at the first mention of the thing, doar Mary
had taken on so, as almost to break her heart—
she had always been so afraid of the sea, since
the President wasn’t heard of.” Now the truth
was, as I afterwards learned, that to this appeal,
after the manner of the melting mood, “ dear
Mary ” added more decidedly, that “ it wasn’t
just to her, for him to go traipsing off to Eng
land, and leaving her a houseful of children to
take care of; to say nothing of tho everlasting
little negroes, and that he couldn't do it with her
consent —that was flat.” And so she put her
foot down on it, and it was flat.
This difficulty presented a serious obstacle for
• time, but was finally overcome by the sugges
tion of my wife, that I had better take Buck
(my most trusted and efficient servant) with me.
“ The truth is,” said she, that next to myself and
Sally, (Buck’s wife) “ I had rather trust you in
his hands, than in those of any one else.” I
thought the idea a good one, especially as Buck
knew better than any one else how to operate
my plow, how to give it that sort of a twisting
jerk—a wire-dire ho called it —which best served
to snap the roots asunder. It was therefore ar
ranged that Buck and I should voyage together.
After resolution formed, our preparations were
soon made, and we embarked for England, from
the port of New York, in ihe summer of the
year 1851. As the servant who accompanied
me, figures frequently in the letters, whoso pub
lication you recommend, I will tell you some
thing more about him. His tree name is Wil
liam ; but in upper Georgia, for somo reason
which I never understood, William is frequent
ly changed iDto the soubriquet, Buck. It is by
this convenient monosyllable my servant is gen
erally called. He is my confidential servant —
a negroe of the negroes—bora my father’s prop
erty: his father and grandfather before him
having been owned by the family. He is slight
ly older than myself, but was my playmate in
childhood, when he was almost indispensable
to my happiness —though ho occasionally ad
ministered a threshing to me. On one of these
occasions I informed my father of it. He in
quired into the circumstances, found that I had
been to blame in the quarrel, and decided that it
was wrong in Buck to strike me, and he must
not do it again : but that I had deserved all that
I had got. After that, when I caught it too hea
vily from him, I made report to his mother,
“ Aunt Becky;” who occasionally gave him
“ brinjer," as she called it, when he was too
hard on me. But the luxury of licking me he
reserved to himself alone among the boys. If
any others undertook tho same thing, he pitch
ed into them without delay. He has been al
ways sincerely attached to me, I believe, and to
my family. And for the matter of that, his re
gard is reciprocated. He has been loved by my
little ones, too; has guarded and protected
them, and has wept over their beds of death. —
Thoroughly identified with my interests, he has
felt himself about as much the proprietor of me
and my estate as I was of him. In fact, neither
he nor any others of my slaves seem to feel that
I have any exclusive right to what property I
possess ; for they speak of it only as “ ours;”
as, indeed it is, for most of the substantial com
forts of life.. I wish, truly, that they could share
its cares and responsibilities with me sometimes,
and- shift the burthen of some of their own
creation from my shoulders to theirs. Buck is
decidedly “ smart,” as we say in Georgia, and,
for a negro, has not a little vanity ; and, though
not brought up regularly to house-work, he is
very handy. Like most of his race, he is amia
ble and cheerful, and has an unusual talent for
drollery and practical fun —perhaps by habit ac
quiring some of that from bis master’s family,
and Georgians generally He speaks our lan
guage as well as many whites, except when lie
choses to do otherwise. When possessed of
some droll conceit, or desirous of making some
“ divarsion,” as he calls it, lie frequently resorts
to a sort of African patois, or broken speech,
which he has acquired from some of the old ne
groes with whom he associated in his earlier
years—all of whom have now departed, I be
lieve. except Ins grandmother, Mom. Dinah, now
nearly a hundred years old, and for more than
thirty years the superannuated slave of my fa
ther and myself. Buck is sometimes quite amu
sing in this imitation —an instance of which,
and of his drollery, occurred in a scene on board
our steamer after we had been several days at
sea.
Among the passengers, there was a Quaker
gentleman, a member of the Society of Friends
in England, an ardent abolitionist and anti-sla
very man. By the time referred to, I had be
come acquainted with many of my fellow-pas
sengers, and with this gentleman among others.
Buck had been at first quite sick; and, as I was
somewhat a better sailor, I looked after his com
fort as well as I could until he grew better. —
When rougher weather came, and I went down
in my turn, he was in condition to serve me,
which he did with his usual faithfulness. These
things, and the relations between us, had been
observed by the Quaker; and one day, when
wo were enjoying the fine weather on deck he
said to me, “I perceive, sir, that thou art attend-
ed and served by one who calls thee master. Is
he thy slave ?”
I replied that he was.
Quaker —“Art thou not afraid to take him with
thee to England ? Thou knowest that the law
forbids slavery in that country : and that when
; he lands on British soil, he ceases to be thv
slave.” 3
Myself—-' I know sir, that such is the theory
of the thing; but I know at the same time, that
it will not prove to be true in point of fact”
Quaker— (With an expression of much sur
prise.) “ How so, friend ? Ido not understand
thee."
Myself —•• Perhaps I may say I mean geueral
i ly that theoretical freedom and slavery, and
practical freedom and slavery, by the laws of
Great Britaiu, are very different things. But
, what I mean now' specially to say is. that if my
man be left free to choose aud act whilst we are
in England, all the laws in the kingdom cannot
break those ties of affection, of thought, of hab
it, of nature, by which he is bound to me : and
therefore cannot sever the relations which exist
' between us, nor prevent his clinging with uu-
I yielding tenacity to those relations. Os course,
j if he is not left free to choose, he will to that ex
i tent, be enslaved by those who coerce him ; aud
, there fact and theory will certainly clash.”
Quaker —“ That, Doctor, is a view of the case
: which has never presented itself to me before.
Thy servant seems much attached to thee; more
than usually so, I suppose.”
Myself —“ He is attached to me, certainly, and
Ito him. But so it is, though in a less degree,
with my slaves generally. And I and my slaves
are not exceptions to a rule. I think I may say
the same thing of most of my neighbors. But
there is my man. Supposo you talk with him
on the subject. You may say what you piease
to him, and when you please, without offence to
me. He is called Buck.”
Buck, who had been loitering near, and heard
some portions of the conversation, I suppose, was
addressed by the Quaker, and told to approach
more closely.
Quaker —“ I understand thou art named
Buck.”
Buck— -(Taking off’ his hat, bowing, and scrap
ing his right foot backwards, two feet.) “ Billy
Buck, massa—sem time for short, da calls me
Buck.”
Quaker —“ Billy Buck, I understand thou art
a slave, and thy master tells me that thou desirest
not to be free, but art content to remain in sla
very.”
Buok —“ Me slave, massa ? I sprise at my
massa ! He know belly well, he been work lie
self ’most to def at home for he nigger, and da
bleege to sen him way wid me to save he life. —
He de slave—me de gemmon what keeps care
of him. Dat trute, massa.”
“ Come, come, Buck,” said I, amid roars of
laughter on the part of the bystanders. “Come,
come, Buck, have done with your fun. This
gentleman desires to understand from you some
thing about the way our slaves are treated, and
their situation and feelings. Be serious; answer
his questions, and tell him what you know, and
conceal nothing.”
Thereupon Buck at once changed what there
was of the ludicrous in his face and attitude, aud
said, simply and distinctly, “As well as I can,
marster.” A conversation ensued, with which
I will not trouble you, Mr. Thompson—only add
ing, that it seemed greatly to impress the Qua
ker and some others present, and to give them
views of slavery which they had never dreamed
of before.
From what I have said, you may perceive that
I had a travelling companion, who was a cause
of no little amusement to me whilst in Europe;
and who was himself not unfrequently a source
of interest and curiosity to others—sometimes
to my annoyance but never did I hare any trou
ble with him, from the cause suggested by tho
good Quaker.
My first intention was to remain in England
until the close of the Great' Exhibition, when I
proposed to make a short visit to the Continent,
and then return home. But when that period
arrived I was advised to remain longer where I
was; and thus my stay in Europe was indefi
nitely prolonged. My first letters, you will see,
relate chiefly to my private affairs, and to such
casual observation and personal experience as I
thought might interest my family and friends.
But during the year 1842 Mrs. Stowe’s book,
“ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” was published, and it
created a great sensation in England. It was
soon in the hands, heads and mouths of all clas
ses; and I, being from a Slave State, a slave
holder, and having a black slave as my constant
attendant, was continually made the centre of
a little circle of excitement and discussion on
tho subject of slavery. In these conversations
the various features of our social polity in the
Slave States of North America were frequently
talked of, with me, or in my presence. This na
turally excited my attention, and pointed it in
the direction of the contrasted features of tho
social economy among that people with whom I
was sojourning, and set my sharpened faculties
to the task of ascertaining in some degree what
these accurately were. In a short time, and en
gendered by the excitement which Mrs. Stowe’s
book had created, appeared an appeal by the
Stafford House ladies, (as they were called,) at
the head of whom was the Duchess of Suther
land, to the women of America.
* * * * * *
By this time I had seen enough to become
satisfied that this, and all such inteference, was
grossly unjust. I had perceived, that a clever
book, written by a woman of genius, founded
on an exaggerated and extorted view of slavery
—a view which presented tho exception for the
rule, and left out of sight everything which might
tend to elucidate the new rule; and which book
abounded in ingenious appeals to the best sym
pathies of human nature against oppression, and
in favor of helpless sufferers: —that such abook
had succeeded in exciting excellent people of all
classes in Great Britain, until they had become
totally blind to the truth ih connection with the
subject,—blind to the corruption, rottenness, op
pression, outrages and wrongs, with which their
own nation abounded, and which should have
kept their sympathies where charity begins—at
home; at least until they had wrought such
changes and reforms there, as might enable them
to bring other nations into a court of conscience
with clean hands.
From my own observations, I had by this time
become convinced, Mr. Thompson, that in Great
Britain there was more of social profligacy than
in our Slave States, among whites or blacks;
more of suffering, destitution, crime, brutality,
outrages upon the unoffending and the helpless;
more of cruelty and oppression in the treatment
of women and children, and all inferior depend
ents : more of all these things, in a most painful
degree, than in our Slave States. I could not,
therefore, but feel how cruel, how sinful, indeed
was any such attempt to excite the women of
our favored land on the subject of this feature in
our social system, whilst wrongs and evils Buch
as these, surrounded the homes, and ever lay
along the pathways, of those virtuous ladies on
every side. And I could not but think, that,
even if slavery were sinful and wrong, and our
i system in this respect needed reform, such an
exhortation to make it, came with an exceeding
bad grace Irom those who were members of a
body-politic which was productive of more and
greater evils.
Under the infljjence of feelings and reflections
such as these, I commenced to take notes of such
facts as were continually occurring around me
made memoranda of some that had previously
come to my knowledge, and collected reports or
notices of others from the public press. When
I wrote, as I frequently did, to our friend the
Major, I communicated this information, as a
method of giving form and embodiment to the
contrast and comparison of social institutions,
which, as I have suggested, I was anxious to
have made. It is my wish that only such of
my letters written from Europe as relate to, or
have a bearing upon, this particular subject, shall
be published; unless an exception be made of
two or three letters only, which have reference
to the Great Exhibition. This may leave a con
siderable hiatus, (or interval unoccupied with
letters) during the year 1852 and early part of
1833; but the reason for this can be readily
found in the suggestion which I have made.*
I will add, that all the statements which I
have made, as statements of material facts, un
less it be such as are notorious among educated
persons, and all the charges affecting the char
acter of individaals, or of the British people as a
nation, are based upon their own accounts of
themselves, which accompany these charges, or
distinctly refer to the authority upon which the
statement is made ; and I have ventured to make
such charges only where I could furnish some
such evidence of their correctness.
In the form of an Appendix, or of Notes to
these letters, I will submit such facts and sta
tistics, as will serve the reader in the effort to
compare important features in the social econo
my of our slaveholding community, with those of
Great Britain as exhibited by these letters; and
will enable him, for himself, to contrast the con
duct and character of our people with those of
the British people, aud so endeavor somewhat to
ascertain the effect of slave-institutions upon the
virture and happiness of a nation.
I am tempted to add, Mr. Thompson, that, if
the public should ratify your opinion of these
letters from Old England, I may give them, one
of these days, the benefit of similar missives from
(and of a visit by Billy Buck and myself to) New
England.
These are the explanations which I thought it
proper to make; and I am, dear sir,
Very respectfully,
Your ob’dt serv’t,
P. Jones.
To W. T. Thompson, Esq.,
Savannah, Geo.
LETTER i.
Arrival in London—Buck visits the Crystal Pal
ace—llls Description of it.
London, July Btli, 1851.
Dear Major:—l have arrived safely in London.
I came on after resting one night only in Liver
pool; so anxious was Ito reach the Great Ex
hibition as soon as possible, and have my plough
regularly entered for the race.
I had some difficulty in procuring lodgings,
owing to the press of people brought here from
so many nations by this great Fair; and really
I believe I should have had to sleep in the
streets, or have taken up with lodgings some
thing worse, but for the aid of a gentleman whom
I met by accident. My lodgings are upon a
somewhat small scale, though comfortable; and
I find the people of the house accommodating
enough, though their manner of doing things is
so different from that to which I have been ac
customed as to keep me somewhat ill at ease. I
have been otherwise unwell, too, ever since my
arrival, and have not left my room, though it has
been with difficulty that I have restrained my
self from going out to the Crystal Palace. Buck
has made his visit there, however, and has given
me the benefit of the impression which it crea
ted upon him. Finding it advisable for me to
keep my room tills morning, and having no need
for his services, I gave him permission to “ go
out and see the sights.” He tricked himself off
in his best apparel, and started. Soon after he
left the room, hearing his voice below the win
dow, I looked out upon the following scene:
“ Mister,” said Buck to one of the waiters,
taking off his hat quite politely, “ Mister, can
you tell me the way to the Christian Palace ?”
“ Will you ’ave a cab ?" asked the waiter.
“ No, thank you,” said he, with a scrape of his
foot; “ it's tho Great Exerbishun I’m axiu’ for
sir.”
“ Ob, yer are, are yer ? How will yer take it
—warm with, or cold without ? P’raps yer’d
prefer it iced ?”
“ No, I'm obleeged to you ; I wouldn’t chooso
any,” said Buck, humbly and puzzled; “ I wants
to go the Christian Palace, I say, Mister.”
“ Oh, yer do, do yer ? So I heered yer say,
yer ugly old lamp-post; and I asked yer if yer’d
ave a cab. P’raps yor’d like mo to get yer a
’ansom.” [Hansom, you know, Major, is the
name of a vehicle which is used in London for •
the transportation of passengers.]
“ Look here, Mister,” said Buck, “don’t call
names. Es lam ugly, lam as God made me ;
and I shan’t go to you to get handsome, I can
tell you; becase you haint got none of that ar
article to spar, Mister.”
Buck strode away quite indignant, and work
ed his way, by hook or by crook, to the Crystal
Palace. He returned after some hours, in a
state of great excitement
“ How did you like the Crystal Palace ?” said
“ First-rate, Marster. But this here London
town is curoser than it I never spected to see
sich a place in all my born days. Why, Mars
ter, hits so big, tell you, can’t tell you how big
hit is—whar hit begins, nor what hit eends. I
sorter used to think that Pineville was some pun
kins, tell I seed Augusty, and hit tuk the shine
out of it; then I seed New York, and Augusty
was no whar ’longside of it But Marster. you
might take Pineville, an’ Augusiy, an’ New York,
and wrap ’um all up together, and put ’urn all
into one of the pockets of this big town, an’
then you couldn’t find ’um ’thout sarchin’ mighty
close.” *****
* The Doctor’s wish has been complied with.
—Louis Spour, the composer, died recently
at Cassel, at the age of seventy-six. The clas
sical violinist, the lover of sublime oratorio, and
the admirer of German opera may alike have
cause to regret the decease of one of the great
est professors of their art. It is but one year
since that Spohr retired from his duties as Ka
pellmeister to the Grand Duke. Old age mak
ing him longer unequal to the task of directing,
ho thus became musically dead to tho world, and
the parting was a heavy one, but we hardly ex
pected that the morta 1 parting should follow so
swiftly on the other. His “Last Judgment,”
his quartettes and massive violin duets, and
other of his compositions will live through all
time.
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