six hunderd you 'cepted fur master Robert, de oder day, in
Newbern--dat ain't counted in,' said Joe.

'Well, all told, it's four thousand, besides the note I have given for
Phyllis. What do you calculate on to pay it, Preston?'

'I don't know. How can we pay it, Joe?'

'We moight sell de two stills, and some ob de hosses; I reckon dey'd be
'nuff,' replied the black; 'but de raal trubble, master Robert, am
what's cummin'; we'm gwine ahind ebery day, 'case we lose money on ebery
crop ob turpentine. Nuffin pay now but de corn and de cotton, and we
don't raise 'nuff ob dem to do no good.'

I turned to the ledger, and found that it showed what the black said to
be true--corn and cotton had made a handsome profit, but turpentine had
'paid a loss.'

'That is because your trees are old, and now yield scarcely anything but
scrape,'[1] I said.

'Yas, sar, and 'case dey am so thin like, sense we cleaned out de pore
ones, dat it take a hand long time to git 'round 'mong 'em.'

'Why not drop turpentine, and cut shingles from the swamp? You've a
fortune in those cypress trees.'

'My negroes are not accustomed to swamp work--it would kill them,'
replied Preston.

'Mr. Kirke,' said Joe,--'you'll take no 'fence, master Robert, if I says
dis?'

'No, go on,' said his master.

'De ting am right in a nutshell, an' jess so clar as apple jack: we owes
a heap; we'se gittin' inter debt deeper an' deeper ebery yar; we lose
money workin' de ole trees; we hain't got no new ones; an', dar's no use
to talk,--master Robert _won't_ put de hands inter de swamp. What, den,
shill we do?'

Avoiding the darky's question, I said: 'I never before understood why
slavery is so clamorous for new fields. I see now--it can draw support
only from the virgin soil. It exhausts an old country: like the locusts
of Egypt, it blasts the very face of the earth!'

'That is true,' replied Preston; 'but Joe has stated the case correctly,
_What shall we do?_'

'One of two things. Sell your plantation and negroes, or take your hands
to a new section, where you can raise virgin turpentine.'[2]

'I cannot sell my negroes--they were all raised with me; and the
plantation--it was my ancestors', over a hundred years ago. I would move
the hands to a new section, but I have not the means to buy land.'

'Ay, dar's de rub, as Shakspeare say,' said Joe, with a pleasant humor,
intended, I thought, to cheer his master, whose face was clouding over
with grave thought