siness; you'll be
shut up here, unable to sell your produce, and it will go to waste."

"Thet's my 'pinion; but I reckon I kin' manage now witheout turpentime.
I've talked it over 'long with my nigs, and we kalkerlate, ef these ar
doin's go eny furder, ter tap no more trees, but clar land an' go ter
raisin' craps."

"What! do you talk politics with your negroes?"

"Nary a politic--but I'm d----d ef th' critters doan't larn 'em sumhow;
the' knows 'bout as much uv what's goin' on as I du--but plantin arn't
politics; its bisness, an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev, 'cause
they've sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four."

"I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like men: but I have supposed
they were not well enough informed to have intelligent opinions on such
subjects."

"Informed! wal, I reckon the' is; all uv mine kin read, an' sum on 'em
kin write, too. D'ye see thet little nig thar?" pointing to a juvenile
coal-black darky of about six years, who was standing before the "still"
fire; "thet ar little devil kin read an' speak like a parson. He's got
hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on
'em. I make him cum inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an'
speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in his shirt tail,
with a old sheet wound round him fur a toger (I've told him th'
play-acters du it so down ter Charles'on), an' spoutin' out: 'My name am
Norval; on de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs!' The little coon
never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's a herd, an' he
thinks 'hog' _sounds_ better'n 'flock,' so, contra'y ter th' book, he
puts in 'hogs,' and hogs, you knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on
th' 'Gruntin hills;" and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit
of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had to join.

When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the turpentine-maker called
out to the little darky:

"Come here, Jim."

The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and wedging in between his
legs, placed his little black hands, in a free-and-easy way, on his
master's knees, and, looking up trustfully in his face, said:

"Wal, massa?"

"What's yer name?"

"Dandy Jim, massa."

"Thet arn't all--what's th' rest?"

"Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina."

"Who made ye?"

"De good God, massa."

"No, He didn't: God doant make little nigs. He makes none but white
folks;" said the master, laughing.

"Yas He'm do;