w hours poor Lunes was brought to me in a most
desolate condition. His clothes were in rags, and his gold-lace gone.
It appeared that "Jim Crow" had outraged his sense of African
character so greatly that he could not restrain his passion; but
vented it in the choicest _billingsgate_ with which his vocabulary had
been furnished in the forecastle of the "Gil Blas." His criticism of
the real Jim was by no means agreeable to the patrons of the
fictitious one. In a moment there was a row; and the result was, that
Lunes after a thorough dilapidation of his finery departed in custody
of the police, more, however, for the negro's protection than his
chastisement.

The loss of his dashing waistcoat, and the sound thrashing he received
at the hands of a London mob while asserting the dignity of his
country, and a night in the station house, spoiled my boy's opinion of
Great Britain. I could not induce him afterwards to stir from the
house without an escort, nor would he believe that every policeman was
not specially on the watch to apprehend him. I was so much attached to
the fellow, and his sufferings became so painful, that I resolved to
send him back to Africa; nor shall I ever forget his delight when my
decision was announced. The negro's joy, however, was incomprehensible
to my fellow-lodgers, and especially to the gentle dames, who could
not believe that an African, whose liberty was assured in England,
would _voluntarily_ return to Africa and slavery!

One evening, just before his departure, Lunes was sternly tried on
this subject in my presence in the parlor, yet nothing could make him
revoke his trip to the land of palm-trees and _malaria_. London was
too cold for him;--he hated stockings;--shoes were an abomination!

"Yet, tell me, Lunes," said one of the most bewitching of my fair
friends,--"how is it that you go home to be a slave, when you may
remain in London as a freeman?"

I will repeat his answer--divested of its native gibberish:

"Yes, Madam, I go--because I like my country best; if I am to be a
slave or work, I want to do so for a true _Spaniard_. I don't like
this thing, Miss,"--pointing to his shirt collar,--"it cuts my
ears;--I don't like this thing"--pointing to his trowsers; "I like my
country's fashion better than yours;"--and, taking out a large
handkerchief, he gave the inquisitive dame a rapid demonstration of
African economy in concealing nakedness, by twisting it round those
portions of the h