'John, ye mustn't talk so ter th' sarvents; it spiles 'em,' said his
wife.

'No it doan't; do it, Aggy?'

'Lor', missus, I doan't keer what massa say; but I doan't leff no oder
man run on so ter me!'

'No more'n ye doan't, gal! only Cale.'

'Nor him, massa; I makes him stan' 'roun', _I_ reckon.'

'I reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't.'

When the meal was over, I visited with my host the negro houses. The
hour allowed for dinner[2] was about expiring, and the darkies were
preparing to return to the field. Entering one of the cabins, where were
two stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectly
serious face:

'Har, boys, I've fetched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'im
all roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?'

'Doan't see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa,' replied one of the
blacks. 'Him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doan't 'pear like
ab'lishener;' and he laughed and scraped his head in the manner peculiar
to the negro, as he added: 'Kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef he war one
of _dem_.'

'What der _ye_ knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? Ye never seed one; what
d'ye 'spose the' luk like?'

'Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massa; but reckon 'tan't so.'

'Wal, the' doan't; the' luk wuss then thet; they'm bottled up thunder
an' lightnin', an' ef the' cum down har, they'll chaw ye all ter hash.'

'I reckon!' replied the darky, manipulating his wool and distending his
face into a decidedly incredulous grin.

'What do you tell them such things for?' I asked good-humoredly.

'Lor' bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners ar thar friends,
jest so well as ye du; and so fur as thet goes, d--d ef the' doan't know
I'm one on 'em myseff, fur I tells 'em ef the' want to put the' kin put,
an' I'll throw thar trav'lin 'spenses inter th' bargin. Doan't I tell ye
thet, Lazarus?'

'Yas, massa; but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter put--lesswise, not so
long as you an' de good missus am 'bove groun'.'

The darky's name struck me as peculiar, and I asked him where he got it.

'_'Tan't_ my name, sar; but you see, sar, w'en massa fuss hire me ob ole
Capt'in ----, up dar ter Newbern-way, I war sort o' sorry like--hadn't
no bery good cloes--an' massa he den call me Lazarus, 'case he say I war
all ober rags and holes, an' it hab sort o' stuck ter me eber sense. I
war a'mighty bad off 'fore dat, but w'en I cum down har I gets inter
Abr'am's buzzum, I does,' an