of the white child, and the bad influence lasts
through life."

"Yas, it's so, stranger; an' it's the biggest keer I hev. It often
'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men arn't no wuss then the'
is."

In those few words that unlettered woman had said, what would--if men
were but wise enough to hear and heed the great truth which she
spoke--banish slavery from this continent forever!

After awhile the farmer told the juvenile delineator of Mrs. Hemans, and
the other poets, to give us a song; and planting himself in the middle
of the floor, the little darky sang "Dixie," and several other negro
songs, which his master had taught him, but into which he had introduced
some amusing variations of his own. The other children joined in the
choruses; and then Jim danced breakdowns, "walk-along-Joes," and other
darky dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fiddle, till my
sides were sore with laughter, and the hostess begged them to stop.
Finally the clock struck twelve, and the farmer, going to the door, gave
a long, loud blast on a cow's horn. In about five minutes one after
another of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seated
themselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin-cup, or a gourd,
into which my host--who soon emerged from a back room[J] with a pail of
whiskey in his hand--poured a gill of the beverage. This was the day's
allowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of mine, told me he
thought negroes were healthier, and worked better for a small quantity
of alcohol daily. "The' work hard, and salt feed doant set 'em up
'nough," was his remark.

Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations for dinner, and
it was soon spread on a bright cherry table, covered by a spotless white
cloth. The little darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and we
soon sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at the South.

We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly clad in a calico gown,
with shoes on her feet, and a flaming red and yellow 'kerchief on her
head. This last was worn in the form of a turban, and one end escaping
from behind, and hanging down her back, it looked for all the world like
a flag hung out from a top turret. Observing it, my host said:

"Aggy--showin' yer colors? Ye'r Union gal--hey?"

"Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back bone;" responded the negress,
grinning widely.

"All th' Union _ye_ knows on," replied the master, winking slyly at me,
"is t