LI E) RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 8 as 
 
 B48w 
 
 V.I
 
 WHITE AND BLACK: 
 
 A STORY OF THE SOTJTHEEN STATES. 
 
 I will a round unvarnished tale deliver."— Shakspeaee, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 'LONDON: 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENKY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1862. 
 
 The right of Trandalion is received.
 
 LONDON 
 
 rEINTED BT SPOTTISWOOB E AND CO. 
 
 NEW-STEEKT SQtJAEE
 
 4^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 :^ U 
 
 
 J
 
 o r^ 
 
 WHITE AND BLACK 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Our '^ ower true story" commences v/itli 
 •"^ introducino; to the reader a traveller who 
 z arrived at tlie little tov/n of JeiFersonville 
 ,j one evening in the year 1857 — time, six 
 ^ o'clock. JeiFersonville is a small town 
 c\ lying in the northern part of the State of 
 ^^ South Carolina, in the then United States 
 Y of America. Small as it is, not countins: 
 L more than fifteen houses, it boasts a rail- 
 ^ way station, several stores, and two rival 
 z, taverns ; and towards the smallest of these 
 J" the traveller now took his way. He sto23ped 
 
 at the raihvay, and learned, to his evident 
 ". vexation, that there would be no train 
 "-■ northwards that evening. He had arrived 
 \ at the village on foot, carrying a small 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 Z WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 black bag, appeared mucli fatigued, and 
 limped painfully on one foot. He was 
 about thirty years of age, tall and well- 
 made, and his expression of countenance 
 was an unusually pleasing combination of 
 firmness and benevolence, seriousness and 
 yet frankness. But, nevertheless, he did 
 not please the criticising eyes of the tavern- 
 keeper, who could not understand the reason 
 for the gentleman appearing on foot, when 
 horses and waggons were to be had. The 
 young man, therefore, on entering the tavern, 
 had to answer a perfect fire of questions, 
 of which the result was, that his name was 
 Edward Johnson, that he was a citizen of, 
 and returning to, Cincinnati, and that he had 
 travelled across country from Charleston ; 
 and then he was relieved from the ne- 
 cessity of replying to further questions, 
 for a moment, by the entrance of the Jeffer- 
 sonville letter-carrier. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Sims, and how do you do ? 
 Have you finished? Can you stay and 
 have a cocktail now?" 
 
 " No, I can't stay now. I'm goin' up to 
 Squire Morton's to take a letter." 
 
 "Do tell — but his nigger Jim comes
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 down every two days to ask for tlie letters, 
 doesn't he ?" said a small lad wlio was 
 busily chewing tobacco, and aiding the 
 master of the house to order about his 
 
 negro servants. 
 
 " Well, now, he does ; but Squire Morton 
 came down himself to me, Monday, and 
 asked if I would bring up any letters that 
 came while those Britisher folk were with 
 him, for they were in a derned hurry to 
 hear from across the millpond." 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't go out of my way to 
 take letters up for any Britisher — I wouldn't, 
 now," said the boy who had previously 
 spoken ; but the letter-carrier, who had been 
 well paid by the Squire for his trouble, did 
 not deign to take any notice of the remark, 
 and asked : 
 
 " Who was that who came by the cars 
 yesterday, and went up to the Hill House 
 to see Squire Morton?" 
 
 "That's Mr. Ellsland of Madison — a 
 gentleman right down, works five hundred 
 
 nio-g-ers." 
 
 " Do tell— I've never seen him come here 
 before. Didn't know he was a friend of 
 :SIt, Morton's."
 
 4 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Oh ! I calculate Mr. Morton has friends 
 enough when he is at his place near 
 Charleston, for all he lives so quiet here 
 with pretty Miss Irene; but Master Ells- 
 land has o'one off asrain this mornino;. He 
 is tearing round the country, looking after 
 one of those derned Northern abolitionists 
 who are skulking up and down, whom he 
 swears he'll have one of these days." 
 
 "Do you know his name?" asked the 
 young Northerner, who felt that all eyes 
 were turned upon him with such an ex- 
 pression of curiosit}^ and suspicion, that it 
 was better to speak at once. 
 
 " Yes, it was Edward Maxv/ell. Maybe 
 3'ou've heard tell of him?" said the letter- 
 carrier suspiciously. 
 
 " I have heard of him, and seen his name 
 in the ' New York Herald,' " said the other 
 lightly ; and he presently rose, and, taking 
 up his carpet-bag, asked the nearest way to 
 the Louisburg station. 
 
 " Twenty miles; you are not thinking of 
 going there to-night, stranger?" said the 
 letter-carrier suspiciously ; but Mr. Johnson 
 explained that he wished to visit a friend 
 whose house lay midway between that
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. b 
 
 station and JefFersonville, and he intended 
 to take the train again the next morning 
 at Louisburg. Against such good reason- 
 ing there could be no argument, but the 
 tavern-keeper watched the departing guest 
 uneasily as he walked away limping, and 
 the letter-carrier hastily finished his glass, 
 and followed him up the steep ascent which 
 led from the town to the neighbouring 
 pine-barren. 
 
 " Well, now, it svas a pity you did not 
 stop at the tavern, stranger," he remarked 
 as he overtook the traveller; " it is a long 
 march to the next stopping place, and the 
 road is a lonely one. Why could you not 
 stop at the tavern, now?" 
 
 " Oh ! I've no fear of the road," replied 
 his companion gaily; "but can you tell me 
 if this Mr. Morton you spoke of is the same 
 as a gentlemxan of that name who owns a 
 large plantation near Ehnhill?" 
 
 " You ain't fur wrong — that's he, now. 
 lie has two other handsome estates, but he 
 lives there most of his time. His daughter, 
 his only daughter, is here ; and she is quite 
 handsome and elegant, and worth a real 
 fortune by all they say." 
 
 B 3
 
 b WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 "And the English friends he has with 
 him?'' 
 
 " Oh ! they are as much strangers to 
 him as to you, as for any old acquaintance. 
 They came here in the cars a fortnight ago 
 from the North, and the old gentleman was 
 taken out in a fit. People said he was 
 reading the newspapers and saw something- 
 he didn't like about his brother or his 
 money, and it turned him a heap like. He 
 lay in the tavern down there, and his son 
 and the young lady were in a sad ^x with 
 him ; when Mr. Morton came driving down 
 in his waggon, and came in and saw him, 
 and he would take them all back with him 
 to his own house, and there they have been 
 ever since." 
 
 The letter-carrier had more to say con- 
 cerning the travellers, but his companion 
 paid him no attention. He looked to the 
 right and the left, with an uneasy air of 
 which the postman took careful notice, 
 until they came to Mr. Morton's gate, 
 where the postman stopped, and, while 
 opening it, took a long and critical survey 
 of the stranger. 
 
 " Well, what do you see to look at so in
 
 WHITE A^^D BLACK. 7 
 
 me?" said Mr. Johnson good-humouredly ; 
 "you seem only half satisfied with me." 
 
 " You're a likely lad, and I wish you 
 were not from the North," said the letter- 
 carrier ; but he was interrupted by a voice, 
 which drew his attention and that of his 
 companion to a young girl who stood be- 
 side the dark green hedge of live-oaks on a 
 high bank near them. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. Sims ; you have a 
 letter, I am sure. Throw it up to us ; you 
 need not go all the way up to the house." 
 
 " There it is. Miss Irene, and a news- 
 paper too," said the postman, dexterously 
 tossing them up to and over the fence 
 which ran along the summit of the bank. 
 The young lady caught them with a gay 
 laugh, and, turning to a companion behind 
 her, observed : 
 
 " Here, Constance, do I not always pro- 
 phesy truly? I was sure you would have 
 both letter and newspaper to-day. Now, 
 shall we go with them to your father? " 
 
 " No, I would rather show them to my 
 brother first ; my father is still too weak to 
 bear any excitement, so Charles shall open 
 them." 
 
 B 4
 
 8 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 ''' Oh ! very well, supposing they contain 
 any bad news, but I am sure tliey do not ; '^ 
 and the two girls disappeared from sight 
 among the dark myrtle -like foliage of the 
 trees. Mr. Johnson ought to have taken 
 this opportunity to leave his troublesome 
 and unwelcome companion behind, while 
 his attention was occupied by the young 
 ladies ; but his fancy had been so attracted 
 by the bright eyes, golden curls, and clear 
 complexion of the fair speaker, and the 
 delicate little hand grasping the rough 
 railing, that he forgot to move on, and 
 when the young girl turned away, he found 
 himself once more the object of the post- 
 man's unpleasant curiosity. The old man, 
 however, had no desire to follow him up 
 the steep hill any further, and only re- 
 marked, as he turned to descend the road 
 towards the town : 
 
 "If you are one of those Northern fel- 
 lows who come sneaking round amongst 
 us and telling the niggers to run off, you'd 
 best make tracks back again. There are a 
 rough lot up there among those pine-bar- 
 rens, and if they don't like a visitor, they'll 
 not be slow to tell him so."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. \) 
 
 " Oh! thank you for your good counsel; 
 I fear no one," was the cheerful reply of 
 Mr. Johnson; but as soon as the postman 
 had left hhn his whole demeanour changed ; 
 a look of deep anxiety came over his face, 
 and after casting an anxious glance along 
 the road, he turned quickly aside, and, 
 leaping the fence of the adjacent field, 
 pursued his journey by another path. His 
 course was still northward, for his object 
 was to rejoin the railway line at a station 
 some twenty miles further on; but this 
 was a task to which he soon found his 
 ph3^sical powers unequal. The injury his 
 foot had sustained by a fall some days 
 before was very severe, and though he still 
 dragged himself along, it was but slowly, 
 and with great suffering. The descending 
 sun found him worn out and faint with 
 pain, alone and unable to proceed, in a 
 narrow path amongst dark and lonely pine 
 woods. The postman would have been 
 triumphant had he seen him; but another 
 traveller of a different stamp was ap- 
 2)roaching the place, and Johnson was 
 roused from his very gloomy reflections by 
 the sound of a horse's hoofs, and presently
 
 10 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 the rider hailed him, and asked what he was 
 doing there. The new-comer was a young 
 man, good-looking and well-dressed, and 
 was evidently a gentleman of education 
 and well-to-do. The tone of his voice as 
 he addressed the traveller was careless, 
 much the tone with which he would have 
 called his dog or his negro servant ; but as 
 Johnson, dizzy with pain, made no imme- 
 diate answer, the gentleman, evidently mis^ 
 taking him for a foreigner, proffered his ser- 
 vices to him in French, and his voice then, 
 in its well-bred cordiality, was a strange con- 
 trast to his first manner of address. John- 
 son answered that he was a native of Ohio, 
 and was now resting himself, being delayed 
 in his journey by an injury* to his foot. 
 He also asked if there were any house near 
 where he might obtain a night's lodging. 
 
 " If you will mount on my horse, I will 
 soon take you to one," said the other, 
 springing to the ground, "and I will send 
 a servant to the nearest surgeon's at once. 
 Let me assist you to mount." 
 
 Johnson hesitated, so did the stranger; 
 and both looked attentively at each other. 
 It was nearly dark, but features could still
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 11 
 
 be distinguished. Both were mutually- 
 pleased with each otlier's face, and yet 
 neither felt satisfied. The stranger looked 
 at Johnson's black bag and at his lame 
 foot. 
 
 " Your recommending the house ought 
 to be enough for me, Sir," said Johnson, 
 cautiously; "and yet may I ask, is it a 
 regular tavern or a farm-house?" 
 
 "It is neither; it is not my house, and 
 yet I am the master there for the present 
 moment. I can invite you there as if it 
 was my own." 
 
 " I should esteem myself most fortunate 
 in being your guest," said Johnson, hesita- 
 ting ; " but I think under the present cir- 
 cumstances, as I may be invalided for some 
 time, and shall perhaps require to send for 
 some of my friends, I would prefer going 
 at once to a quiet tavern or house of en- 
 tertainment." 
 
 The stranger's dark eyes flashed with a 
 mischievous smile as he answered, " Your 
 foot has borne up very well, Mr. Maxwell; 
 I think I heard you were limping before 
 you left Madison ; " and as the other sprang 
 back with a start of surprise, he added,
 
 12 WPIITE AND BLACK. 
 
 laying his hand on the Northern man's 
 shoulder, " You will hardly outrun George 
 EUsland, Mr. Maxwell ; he is on your trail, 
 and you had best come back with me until 
 he has passed by." 
 
 Mr. Johnson, or Edward Maxwell the 
 abolitionist, as he now stood discovered, 
 felt a cold thrill of horror run through him 
 as he saw himself, helpless and almost 
 unable to move, in the hands of a planter, 
 as he easily guessed the young man must 
 be; but he maintained a steady front and 
 unmoved voice as he asked : 
 
 '' Do you intend to give me up to George 
 Ellsland, then?" 
 
 "No; for I do not think you are in a 
 condition to stand the cowhide yet, nor the 
 tarring he has in store for you. I shall 
 take you with me, and with me you will be 
 safe; he will never look for you in my 
 custody. Will you like to mount my horse? 
 My word of honour you shall not be given 
 up to Ellsland." 
 
 "And who are you?" Maxwell asked, 
 as with some difficulty he got into the 
 saddle. 
 
 " A South Carolinian planter," replied
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 13 
 
 tlie other shortly and haughtily ; and throw- 
 ing over his arm the bridle, which he had 
 never trusted out of his hand for a mo- 
 ment, he led the horse along the narrow 
 lane until they reached the gate of a 
 country-house of little pretensions, but 
 well-built and comfortable, and here as- 
 sisting his guest to dismount, he conducted 
 him to a well-furnished bed-room, where 
 an old negro woman was soon employed 
 in bathing and rubbing his injured ankle, 
 which was in a state of high inflammation 
 and much swollen. 
 
 For three or four days Maxwell could 
 do nothing but lie still, resting his foot, 
 overpowered by the fever into which his 
 four days' wanderings and sleepless, shel- 
 terless nights had thro^vn him. Ilis host 
 came twice a day to inquire after his 
 health, and he wanted for nothing, for the 
 old negress was an excellent nurse, and 
 everything in the house was, he was told, 
 at his disposal; but his state of mind was 
 not an enviable one. Apprehensions of a 
 long detention and captivity, and even of 
 personal violence, haunted him day and 
 night, — more in the last, for he had run
 
 14 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 through great dangers which he tried to 
 prevent dwelling on while awake, but 
 which recurred to him with startling 
 vivacity during his feverish sleep. He 
 had been compelled by private business 
 to travel in the Southern States under an 
 assumed name, for his own was too well 
 known as a friend of certain runaway 
 slaves to be a safe introduction for its 
 owner; and four or ^ye days since, while 
 passing near the estate of Mr. EUsland, 
 a planter in a Western county in the 
 State, he had remembered a promise given 
 to an old slave-woman recently arrived in 
 Philadelphia, that he would inquire if a 
 daughter she had left in slavery was still 
 on that plantation. He approached the 
 place with the design of seeking a con- 
 versation with one of the field-hands, when 
 he was met by the planter himself, who, 
 not liking his Northern accent, and growing 
 suspicious as to his character, warned him 
 rudely oif, and went to inquire particulars 
 of him at the tavern where he had lodo-ed 
 the previous night. Judging, from what 
 he gathered there, that the stranger, Edward 
 Johnson of Cincinnati, was no other than
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 15 
 
 a certain Edward Maxwell of Philadelphia, 
 whose name he knew and hated, he gave 
 an immediate chase. Mounted on a strong 
 horse and attended by two or three gentle- 
 men and overseers, he followed the young 
 man for nearly three days over a cross coun- 
 try, where fortunately his horse's speed was 
 of little use to him, until Maxwell, worn 
 out with fatigue and pain, for he had tra- 
 velled most of the way on foot, sank do^vn 
 exhausted in the little wood where his 
 new acquaintance had found him. How 
 he was to be delivered from his hands he did 
 not know : he saw he was a prisoner, and 
 his host had not yet said a word of releasing 
 him, and Maxwell did not feel by any 
 means assured that he would, or, if he did, 
 that he might not couple his offer of li- 
 berty with some condition for his future 
 conduct, which he would not feel disposed 
 to accept, and he therefore turned his 
 thoughts more to the chances of escaping 
 from his temporary asylum before it was 
 acknowledged to be a prison. Should he 
 remain in the hands of his present gaoler, 
 his escape would be no easy task; for a 
 more resolute countenance he had never
 
 16 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 seen in one so young, for lie judged hiin 
 to be not more than twenty-three or four. 
 But this house was not his host's own, and 
 he might any day be summoned to return 
 to his own plantation further South, and 
 leave his prisoner to a less careful guardian, 
 and in that chance Maxwell placed his 
 hope. However, he was glad to find his 
 health mending, for he knew that his 
 escape must depend on his own strength 
 and quickness of foot when the favourable 
 opportunity came. 
 
 As his fever abated, and his old nurse 
 pronounced him well enough to see " com- 
 pany," his host's daily calls were exclianged 
 for longer visits. He lit his cigar, and sat 
 down by his guest's sofa, and commenced 
 a friendly chat. Carefully avoiding the 
 favourite topic of home politics and the 
 price of cotton, he led the conversation 
 from the beautiful prospect enjoyed from 
 the window of the invalid's room, to paint- 
 ing and fine art, and from that to Italy, 
 which he had lately visited, and in the 
 political struggles of which he was deeply 
 interested. The news of the daring but 
 ill-fated enterprise of the Cagliari had just
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 17 
 
 reached America, and tlie death of its leader, 
 the brave Pisacane, and the sufferings of his 
 companions, seemed to have painfully ex- 
 cited the feelings of the young American. 
 He talked long and earnestly of the heroic 
 sacrifices and efforts the unfortunate Italian 
 nation had made for freedom during the 
 last fifty years ; and he grew so eloquent 
 while dwelling on the subject, that Max- 
 well involuntarily exclaimed, as he listened 
 with kindling sympathy to his narrative : 
 
 " How can a man of your feelings be a 
 friend of George Ellsland, or of men like 
 him?" 
 
 " George Ellsland perfectly shares my 
 feelings about European politics," replied 
 the other; and Maxwell rejoined in sur- 
 prise : 
 
 " He ! I never should have imagined it." 
 
 " You will find, Mr. Maxwell, that the 
 spirit of liberty, and the power to appre- 
 ciate the noble sacrifices men make for 
 freedom, is a distinct privilege of the 
 Southern States. Northern men can wor- 
 ship power and wealth, but to sympathise 
 with the holy efforts of suffering Italy and 
 Poland, needs the chivalry of the South. 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
 n
 
 18 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 When Ingraham defied the tyranny of 
 Austria in defence of one unhappy exile, 
 it was our glory before Europe that he 
 was a slaveholder like ourselves. Only 
 Southern men, I repeat, can sympathise 
 with the heroic defenders of liberty in 
 downtrodden Italy." 
 
 " Their sympathy with liberty in Italy 
 may be very safe, while they themselves 
 out- Austria Austria to their own negroes," 
 interrupted Maxwell incautiously. 
 
 The Southerner's eyes flashed fire, but 
 he made no answer for a moment, during 
 which he evidently struggled with himself 
 for calmness, and then said, " You do not 
 understand our institutions, and have been 
 prejudiced against us by fools and anar- 
 chists. I believe myself that negro slavery 
 is a natural and therefore a divine ordinance, 
 and as for the cruelties which occasionally 
 disgrace it, and which I deplore as much 
 as you do, they are no more part of the 
 system, than the starvation and poverty 
 which exist in the Northern States are 
 part of American freedom." 
 
 " I cannot argue the question with you 
 with any fair hope of success now," said
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 19 
 
 Maxwell, who felt that excitement was fast 
 overpowering both his strength and his 
 prudence ; '' but I think, if you could dis- 
 passionately *' 
 
 "Dispassionately, eh? yes, and quietly 
 this evening. I shall, I hope, see you again at 
 dinner, and we will talk it over then. You 
 will be better able to show cause on your 
 side, and I shall be glad to prove to you 
 that we in the South are willing to give 
 the subject a fair hearing; and so now 
 good morning." 
 
 An offer of this nature from a Southerner 
 was an unusual favour, and confirmed Mr. 
 Maxwell in the high opinion he had already 
 formed of his host, and protector, for such 
 he really was while concealing him from 
 the vindictive pursuit of Mr. Elisland. He 
 responded to his courteous challenge by 
 coming to the encounter with as much 
 patience and as much consideration for the 
 necessary prejudices of a planter as he 
 could possibly muster; and as a good din- 
 ner is no bad introduction to a discussion, 
 the two gentlemen conducted their argu- 
 ment in a very friendly and conciliatory 
 spirit for nearly an hour, only occasionally 
 
 c 2
 
 20 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 suspending their conversation for a moment 
 in consideration of the negro who waited at 
 table, although enough was said by the 
 young planter himself to have aroused the 
 attention and curiosity of any slave. At 
 last, when there seemed no probabilitv that 
 the opinions of either disputant were likely 
 to undergo the slightest modification, they 
 stopped awhile, as if by mutual consent; 
 but when they were again alone, Maxwel] 
 luxuriously installed on his sofa, and the 
 Southerner soothed and comforted by his 
 cigar, the latter continued : 
 
 " Now to resume our argument. If you 
 look back to history as you proposed doing, 
 we shall still find that slavery, either re- 
 cognised or unrecognised, has been a neces- 
 sary element of every successful republic. 
 The governing class must not be so nu- 
 merous as to become unwieldy, and yet 
 it is in vain to expect social or political 
 virtue from men whose civil rights are not 
 fully recognised. You require a system 
 which would place these men — the workers 
 — under the control of the superior class, 
 who may think for them and be responsible 
 for their good conduct. Pericles, you will 
 remember, found the number of Athenian
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 21 
 
 citizens too great, and was obliged to re- 
 duce more than one fourth of them to 
 slavery to save Athens ; and the Roman law 
 of which we were speaking " 
 
 " But for us who live in a totally different 
 civilisation, the example of ancient Rome 
 is no guide whatever," interrupted Max- 
 well; " that you must allow." 
 
 " Oh ! I agree there," said the planter 
 quickly; "that was my own argument. 
 The rules that were good for other states 
 are no rules for ours. It is on our own 
 natural need of the institution that it ought 
 to be defended; the soil, the climate, the 
 conditions of America, our peculiarities as 
 a nation and a race, and our form of govern- 
 ment, all cry out for slavery as a necessary 
 part of their well-being, and a thing re- 
 quisite for the real development of their 
 destiny. If you want proof of this, take 
 the British West Indies, which are geogra- 
 phically a part of the United States, as 
 I trust they will be politically at no distant 
 day ; and what an absolute ruin they show 
 us, in spite of being bolstered up with home 
 protection, and in spite of their great ad- 
 vantages of soil and climate ! " 
 
 c 3
 
 22 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " No, I deny that they are ruined," said 
 Maxwell; "English statistics prove the 
 contrary f and he treated his companion to 
 a well-learnt table of figures, to show that 
 the prosperity of the West India Islands 
 had not decreased since the emancipation 
 of the slaves. The Southerner smiled in- 
 credulously. 
 
 " Of course a government will take care 
 to prove its own policy answers ; but we have 
 more reliable information from the plan- 
 ters themselves, which I wish I had here 
 for your reading." 
 
 It was now MaxwelFs turn to smile, but 
 he made no answer, and the Southerner, 
 politely pushing the wine decanter again 
 nearer to his guest, continued : " I believe 
 myself, — I am sure that slavery is right ; it 
 is a natural institution, and clearly enjoined 
 by religion. If we begin with the Old Testa- 
 ment — ah! I see what you are going to 
 object. A peculiar people, barbarous times, 
 no example for us who have a better dis- 
 pensation. Well, then, as a Christian, I 
 maintain that slavery is justified and even 
 recommended by the New Testament ; no, 
 perhaps I should not say recommended, 
 but "
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 23 
 
 " No, I should think not," said the 
 Northerner indignantly, "when it tells 
 the masters to give that which is just and 
 equal to their servants." 
 
 " Well, but that which is just and equal 
 for them is not necessarily civil and poli- 
 tical equality," replied the planter, smiling; 
 " those texts about servants, which include, 
 remember, ' obedience to masters,' are only 
 rules for the proper relation between owner 
 and slave — of course you are aware that 
 the ancient term servant meant slave. The 
 very existence of these rules proves that the 
 Apostles thought slavery to be quite com- 
 patible with, and desirable for, the new 
 church." 
 
 Maxwell had much to say of the necessity 
 of judging Christianity by its general spirit, 
 not by individual texts, showing that many 
 sentences could be quoted by tyrants and 
 kings against rebellious subjects, while, 
 nevertheless, no republican would allow 
 that Christianity was opposed to a righteous 
 defence of his liberty; but his antagonist 
 replied carelessly, "We mean the same 
 thing there. I allow that Christianity does 
 not positively by words enjoin slavery, and 
 
 c 4
 
 24 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 I grant that a man may be a Christian 
 without holding slaves, though I think 
 Christianity contemplates his doing so ; the 
 spirit of our religion, I feel certain, when 
 properly interpreted, would justify the in- 
 stitution. You are a Christian, I believe. 
 Sir. I know many of your associates pride 
 themselves upon disbelieving our religion." 
 
 " They might well disbelieve a religion 
 which could support such a system as that 
 which you would persuade yourself is sanc- 
 tioned by it. It is as a Christian that I '^ 
 
 " You are getting warm, my dear Sir," 
 said the Southerner, bowing. " It is true, 
 as you say, that Christianity seeks the 
 greatest good of all mankind, but I main- 
 tain, and I am a Christian too, that slavery 
 has done positive good to the inferior race 
 whom it controls, and certainly good to 
 ours. I believe a good many of the aboli- 
 tionists in the North are almost professed 
 unbelievers. But if they are, their natural 
 and inductive religion would support our 
 institutions, if it is founded, as they say, 
 on the natural specialities and capabilities 
 of races and classes of men ; and universal 
 tradition shows slavery always existing
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 25 
 
 from the remotest times, and, therefore, it 
 probably will exist as long as the human 
 race lasts." 
 
 " There is no need to inquire what true 
 religion enjoins," replied Maxwell hotly. 
 " The question is answered by the far 
 lower arguments of dollars and cents." 
 
 " I assure you. Sir, that for my part, if 
 I did not feel that Christianity sanctions 
 slavery, I should be very unhappy as a 
 slaveholder." 
 
 The young man spoke so earnestly at 
 this moment that Maxwell, though angry 
 with his sophistry, felt he liked him more 
 than ever, and began to entertain some 
 faint hopes of converting him at last. 
 
 " Can you reconcile the flogging and 
 torturing of your slaves with the precepts 
 of Christian charity, then ? " he asked, 
 shifting the point of attack. 
 
 " Not unnecessary punishment, of course 
 I do not," replied the planter. " Pray help 
 yourself to the wine. I know power may 
 be abused, and so may everything else 
 given to man, but a good man will treat 
 his niggers and his cattle well and consi- 
 derately; that is his duty, and it is theirs
 
 26 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 to serve him faithfully, and if we some- 
 times are a little harsh when they neglect 
 their work, it is the fault of their and our 
 imperfection, not of slavery itself. 
 
 Maxwell was ready with his reply, and 
 they continued the subject for some time 
 longer, but it was inexhaustible and pain- 
 fully exciting; and when both had risen 
 from table in despair, and the planter was 
 walking up and doAvn the room in a vain 
 attempt to grow calm again, the accidental 
 return of the servant was accepted by 
 them both as a fortunate interruption ; a 
 new conversation was begun, and with some 
 effort on each side the evening finished 
 amicably. Maxwell, however, passed a 
 feverish night, and felt that he had foolishly 
 over-excited himself in his present weak 
 condition. 
 
 The next morning his host said to him, 
 " I am now returning to my plantation at 
 Madison, but I beg you to stay here never- 
 theless. I feel privileged to ask you in the 
 name of the master of this house, but as 
 soon as you are able to travel I advise you 
 instantly to go north. If you linger on 
 the road, you will certainly find Mr. Ells-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 27 
 
 land on your tracks. I trust, Mr. Maxwell, 
 you will have gained a warning by this 
 adventure, and mil be content to remain 
 at home and leave us to manage our own 
 affairs in our own way." 
 
 " If I have not gained a warning, Sir, I 
 shall at least take back with me a most 
 grateful impression of your courtesy and 
 kindness, which I shall never forget, and I 
 only wish I could see you at the North, and 
 no longer a slaveholder." 
 
 " You have had your warning, Mr. Max- 
 well, I hope," interrupted the other shortly. 
 " I trust you will not venture here again, 
 for if you do you will certainly rue the 
 attempt. I have protected you this time, 
 because I did not wish you to be the victim 
 of Ellsland's and Benson's indignation ; but 
 you are now well cautioned, and I tell you 
 fairly that if ever I meet you on Ellsland's 
 plantation or on mine, I will shoot you 
 through the head as 1 would do a wolf who 
 brings anxiety and mischief along with him 
 everywhere." 
 
 A proud glance of defiance shone in Max- 
 well's eyes ; but he answered, " For my own 
 sake and yours too. Sir, I shall not mllingly
 
 28 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 give you tlie chance. I told you that I 
 came here only on my own private business ; 
 but, feeling as I do that slavery is a wicked 
 and accursed thing, I cannot pledge myself 
 to give up my war against it, and if, by 
 coming down here, I can by any way aid 
 the cause of the oppressed and downtrod- 
 den, no danger will, I hojDc, deter me." 
 
 " You have had your warning," repeated 
 the planter coldly, and he turned to go, 
 but suddenly retracing his steps, he shook 
 hands warmly with Maxwell, and said, 
 " Though I feel you are grievously mis- 
 taken about us and our institutions, yet I 
 sympathise with your courage, and trust 
 we shall never meet again but as friends. 
 Farewell."
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Our story returns to tlie two young ladies 
 whom we left in the garden of the hill- 
 house at JefFersonville, happy in the arrival 
 of the much longed-for letter. Irene Mor- 
 ton, the youngest and the loveliest, we 
 have already tried to introduce. Constance 
 Annersly, the English girl, who, after a 
 fortnight's acquaintance, had become a 
 very confidential friend of her merry com- 
 |)anion, was a few years the elder, and, 
 though the inferior in beauty, yet very 
 attractive and lady -like in personal appear- 
 ance, her dark hazel eyes, black hair, and 
 pale though not unhealthy complexion, 
 forming a strong contrast to the sunny- 
 browed, fair-tressed Irene, who, chattering 
 with the usual vivacity of sixteen, now did 
 the honours of the garden to her. 
 
 "Oh! we need not return ourselves to 
 give your brother the letter," said Miss 
 Morton. " Mary shall take it, and we can
 
 30 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 finisli our walk. It will go safely, you 
 need not fear — she is very careful; and 
 there again is another advantage of having 
 a servant who cannot read and peep into 
 the corners of the envelope." 
 
 " If you mean to allude to the question of 
 slave servants, you know I cannot admit 
 or find any excuse for it ; but, dear Irene, 
 I am so tired of arguing, I do not want 
 another discussion to-day," replied Miss 
 Annersly, carelessly. 
 
 " Oh ! well, then, I won't tease you, you 
 dear thing. You will think differently of 
 it some day, and come to like us a little 
 better, dear Constance." 
 
 " No, that I am sure I cannot do ; I love 
 you now too much, and nothing can ever 
 express the gratitude I feel to your dear 
 father for all his kindness to us and his 
 care of Papa." 
 
 " Well, I hope you will show your gra- 
 titude, as I said, by staying with me a 
 little longer. You don't know what a 
 treat your company is to me. You are 
 the first friend of my own age that I 
 have had. I do so want you to stop ; your 
 father will say yes, I am sure, although
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 31 
 
 your brother is in sucli a hurry to get 
 away from us." 
 
 " Charles is very anxious to get back 
 to England now," answered Miss Annersly. 
 " My father has intrusted a great deal of 
 money to a person of whose power of ma- 
 naging it we now feel great doubt, and we 
 have heard some news that has made us very 
 uneasy. Charles would have gone back 
 already if my father had not been taken 
 so ill; and I dare say you have guessed 
 that his illness arose in great part from 
 anxiety." 
 
 "Oh! I trust, dear Miss Annersly, the 
 letter we have just sent to your brother will 
 remove all your uneasiness: of course, 
 though, he will read it before Mr. An- 
 nersly sees it." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, for fear there should 
 be any bad news. But, dear Miss Morton, 
 you were saying Charles was in a hurry 
 to leave you and your father. I assure 
 you, on the contrary, he is very unwill- 
 ing to do so: he thinks you the most 
 charming girl in America." 
 
 " Oh yes, I understand the full force of 
 that compliment," replied Irene, laughing;
 
 32 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 but her colour rose, and her eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure nevertheless. " He thinks 
 very little of my countrywomen. Now, 
 had he said the most charming girl in 
 Italy, that might mean something indeed. 
 Italian ladies are, I see, his ideal." 
 
 " He said in America or England, and 
 he means by that in the world," said Miss 
 Annersly; and then she blushed as her 
 companion blushed, and they walked on 
 for a few minutes in silence, until Miss 
 Morton said: 
 
 "Let us go again to your father, Con- 
 stance, and beg him to let you remain 
 with me while he goes on to Charleston 
 with Mr. Charles. It would be such a 
 kindness to me, for I have no friend of 
 my own age here at all, and it is like a 
 new life to me to be with you." 
 
 " You must feel very lonely when your 
 father is at Elmhill or at Charleston. Is 
 he much away?" 
 
 " Oh ! almost always now, and I do 
 sometimes feel very tired of dear good Mrs. 
 Lessing ; but I hope Papa will take me to 
 Charleston this fall and let me come out. 
 That is my hope, my aspiration. But 
 look! there is Mary running to call us."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 83 
 
 Half an hour before this conversation 
 took place, Mr. Bernard Morton and his 
 guests had been at dinner. When the two 
 young ladies had left the dining-room for 
 their walk, he and the younger English- 
 man sauntered out upon the terrace; the 
 elder Annersly, who was still very weak, 
 remained in his arm-chair, saying as his 
 son went out, 
 
 " Charles, let me have the letters as soon 
 as they come, and the ' Times,' should a 
 copy be sent. 
 
 " Certainly, father, you shall have them 
 directly," replied Charles Annersly, and 
 he went into the garden, where his host, 
 Mr. Morton, Avas already talking with 
 Mrs. Lessing, an elderly widow lady, who 
 for four years had been governess for 
 Irene, and housekeeper for him. The good 
 woman was full of sympathy for the An- 
 nerslys, and of curiosity about their affairs 
 likewise. 
 
 "So you know nothing about it, Sir? 
 They are evidently very anxious, and you 
 know it was bad news which made the old 
 gentleman so sick." 
 
 " I know nothing, my dear Madam; they 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 would probably tell us of tlieir anxiety 
 if we could be of the slightest use to them. 
 Till then, I feel it is more hospitable to 
 think nothing about it. Will you take 
 care that the letters are brought up di- 
 rectly they come? " and Mr. Morton turned 
 towards his guest who now approached 
 them. 
 
 The young Englishman was, like his 
 sister, a favourable specimen of his country. 
 He was like her in feature, but less quiet 
 and serious in manner, though at that 
 moment a shade of anxiety on his coun- 
 tenance made him look more thoughtful 
 than was his wont. He, however, entered 
 cheerfully into conversation with his host, 
 and asked several questions about the 
 growth of cotton and other Southern in- 
 terests. Mr. Morton answered them at 
 some length, and concluded by saying, 
 
 "But you shall see for yourself; you 
 must pay a visit to my other estates. 
 Come down with me to Charleston while 
 your father and sister remain here, and 
 then we will go on to Elmhill. It is a 
 plantation worth seeing." 
 
 " I suppose it is, I have been told so by
 
 " WHITE AND BLACK. 35 
 
 many people, and you have a third as large, 
 have not you ? You are an extensive 
 proprietor." 
 
 "Yes, I am; but what is the use of 
 being so without a child to inherit it?" said 
 Mr. Morton; and as Annersly looked at 
 him in astonishment, he added, "I mean 
 with no son to inherit it from me." 
 
 '' But with such a daughter you need 
 not lament the want of a son," said Charles 
 quickly ; " what would you have ? " 
 
 " Oh ! a son as good," said Mr. Morton 
 laughing, and then he continued, "But a 
 daughter does not inherit your name ; she 
 is merged in your son-in-law." 
 
 " I should think you might choose your 
 son-in-law from the best families in America, 
 when once Miss Morton has been introduced 
 to general society." . 
 
 " She is beautiful, you are right," replied 
 the father in a tone of gratified pride; "but 
 she will choose for herself. I shall not 
 attempt to influence her heart." 
 
 The arrival of Irene's servant with the 
 letter here put an end to the conversation, 
 and Mr. Morton, divining that his guest 
 would rather peruse its contents alone, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 begged him to excuse his absence, and 
 calling Mrs. Lessing to him, led the way 
 into his study. He had an important and 
 embarrassing piece of information to com- 
 municate to her, and hardly knew how to 
 begin; so she got the first word, and 
 opened upon him unexpectedly with a re- 
 proof, — a rare piece of courage in Mrs. 
 Lessing, who was generally somewhat afraid 
 of the planter. 
 
 " My dear sir, you are too open ; forgive 
 me, but you really are too cordial with that 
 young Englishman : you talk to him in a 
 way that would — that would almost en- 
 courage him to propose to your daughter 
 himself." 
 
 "Do I, Mrs. Lessing? I do not; but 
 what if he did? He is a most estimable 
 young man, and if Irene liked him, perhaps 
 I should not object to him either. I see he 
 is smitten with her already." 
 
 " An Englishman ! To lose her, and let 
 her go to England!" exclaimed the gover- 
 ness indignantly ; but moderating her tone 
 she added, " But perhaps he would stay 
 here. Of course he would, because of the 
 estates."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 37 
 
 " I do not think my estates will belong 
 to him," said Mr. Morton coldly; " I shall 
 give Irene a good portion when she marries, 
 and keep my estates for any future claim I 
 may have upon me. By the bye, do you 
 remember, my good lady, your advice to me 
 four years or so ago, about choosing a wife 
 for myself, to help me to keep house and 
 be comfortable?" 
 
 Mrs. Lessing was perfectly silent, but 
 when the gentleman repeated the question, 
 she replied, 
 
 " Yes, I remember it. Sir, it was when 
 Miss Morton was a child, and had no one 
 to look after her. I said then, that she 
 needed a friend, a mother, and that you 
 would do well to marry for her sake ; but 
 the case is very different, now that Miss 
 Morton is grown up to be a young woman." 
 
 " Indeed, I am sorry that is your opinion 
 now, Mrs. Lessing ; I did not then care to 
 marry, for I had not met the lady who 
 would have made me happy, but during 
 the past year things have changed for me." 
 
 Mr. Morton was now silent in his turn, 
 evidently waiting for Mrs. Lessing to ask 
 him further questions ; but the lady seemed 
 
 D 3
 
 38 VmiTE AND BLACK. 
 
 unwilling to do so, and it was some mo- 
 ments before slie said, with visible con- 
 straint in her manner, 
 
 " I had heard. Sir, a report — it is some 
 weeks since, — that you were already mar- 
 ried, but I did not pay any attention to it, 
 as you had not intimated anything of that 
 kind to Miss Morton." 
 
 Mrs. Lessing spoke in a tone of quiet 
 displeasure that showed she felt the slight 
 offered her pupil and herself, but Mr. 
 Morton refused to notice it, and answered, 
 
 " I felt sure, my dear Madam, that you 
 must have heard of it, and that you had 
 already acquainted Irene with it. However, 
 it is owing to the unforeseen visit of our 
 new friends that I have not already sought 
 the occasion of informing you of my mar- 
 riage. It took place, as you rightly sup- 
 pose, two months since." 
 
 Mrs. Lessing made no rejoinder. She 
 had already ascertained that the chance 
 report of Mr. Morton's marriage that had 
 reached her was true, and was not at all 
 surprised to hear it now confirmed ; but she 
 was deeply chagrined that her darling pupil 
 had not been present at the marriage, and
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 39 
 
 the reflection that Irene was no longer the 
 presumptive heiress of her father's great 
 property did not console the affectionate 
 old lady. After some minutes' silence she 
 said, 
 
 " Miss Morton has not yet seen the lady, 
 Sir." 
 
 " No ; I am sorry it has so happened, and 
 unfortunately she will not as yet, for we 
 are going down to Augusta to visit Mrs. 
 Morton's uncle. You now see my excuse, 
 Mrs. Lessing, for not staying here these 
 last ten days with our guests. I have left 
 Mrs. Morton at Elmhill. However, now 
 about Irene ; I wish her to see something of 
 society. Will you write for me to your 
 brother, Dr. May worth in Philadelphia, and 
 ask him to take suitable apartments there 
 for you and her? She ought to be out in 
 society, and she could not have a better 
 chaperon than you, my dear Madam." 
 
 " To Philadelphia ? why, in the name of 
 all common sense?" said Mrs. Lessing in 
 astonishment ; " will she not go with you to 
 Charleston, Sir?" 
 
 " No ; there is a reason against that, there 
 would be no one to go out with her; Mrs. 
 
 D 4
 
 40 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Morton is hardly older than Irene herself. 
 And Miss Annersly, of whom Irene seems 
 already very fond, is going to Philadelphia 
 with her father, and that is a good reason 
 for choosing it." 
 
 " But, my dear Sir, it is so much more 
 natural that a young lady should first see 
 society among her father's friends, and you 
 have none in Philadelphia." 
 
 " None, certainly, that I should choose 
 her to meet ; but as to Charleston, I have 
 told you I shall be absent from it for some 
 time. I am going now to Augusta, and 
 then somewhere else. But, my dear Madam, 
 you yourself know so many people in Phila- 
 deljDhia, that I should be quite content for 
 Irene to make her debut amongst your ac- 
 quaintances, and under your care, and I 
 shall be infinitely obliged to you." 
 
 Mrs. Lessing saw that the case was 
 settled; it was evident the young Mrs. 
 Morton had no desire to chaperon her 
 growing -up step-daughter, and that was 
 the real secret why Irene should not go 
 to Charleston. The governess was na- 
 turally glad for her own sake not to lose 
 her pupil, and Mr. Morton had skilfully
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 41 
 
 found the riglit balm to soothe her injured 
 feelings. She was proud of her own rela- 
 tions in Philadelphia, and liked the idea of 
 returning to them accompanied by Irene, 
 decked out by the liberal allowance which 
 Mr. Morton said he was prepared to make 
 her. It was therefore arranged that, as 
 soon as the Annerslys left them, Irene and 
 her governess should follow them to Phila- 
 delphia, and Mrs. Lessing, at Mr. Morton's 
 request, sat down to write to her bro- 
 ther, and Mr. Morton to read his news- 
 paper, from which he was roused by the 
 entrance of Irene with a face of conster- 
 nation. 
 
 She told him that the news received by 
 their guests was most serious, and that 
 the servant had incautiously carried the 
 newspaper to old Mr. Annersly, and while 
 his son was considering how best to break 
 the evil tidings to him, he had read it al- 
 ready in its columns. Weak and faint 
 from his late illness, he had been over- 
 powered by the shock, and was found by 
 his son lying speechless and paralysed in 
 his chair a few minutes later. The news 
 was worse than he had expected. He had
 
 42 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 long since retired from business himself, 
 but had entrusted much of his capital to 
 his brother, and had been induced by his 
 entreaties, in defiance of his own better 
 judgment, to go on placing more and more 
 of it in his hands, until the unsuccessful 
 merchant suddenly failed, and Mr. An- 
 nersly found himself and his children to- 
 tally ruined. For some weeks he had 
 been uneasy about his affairs, and would 
 have already returned to England to set 
 his mind at ease, but his health was af- 
 fected by the heat of the climate and the 
 fatigue of travelling ; and when the first in- 
 timation of the impending disaster reached 
 him, his excitement and agitation quickly 
 produced the illness which detained him at 
 Jefi'ersonville. 
 
 From this first attack he had partly re- 
 covered under the kind care of Mr. Morton, 
 but now his enfeebled frame was unable to 
 bear up against the confirmation of his 
 misfortunes, and he sank completely under 
 it. He regained consciousness at the end 
 of some hours, but the gleam of hope thus 
 aroused in his children's hearts was quickly 
 dispelled; he pressed their hands afiec-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 43 
 
 tionately, but could not speak, and soon 
 relapsed into insensibility. After linger- 
 ing a few days in this condition, he died, 
 quietly and apparently without pain. 
 
 I pass over the grief of his children, as 
 it is unnecessary to sadden the reader with 
 the recital of a sorrow only too common, 
 and yet almost impossible to be truly and 
 adequately described. Charles and Con- 
 stance Annersly had loved their father 
 with the warmest affection and veneration. 
 Two years before this, their mother's death 
 had left him their only friend and coun- 
 sellor, and taught them also, by the loss 
 of one parent, how dear the surviving 
 one was to them. The presence of stran- 
 gers, sympathising though they were, soon 
 obliged them to assume a calm demeanour, 
 but their grief only lay the deeper and 
 stronger for being driven from the surface. 
 The kind and delicate sympathy of Mr. 
 Morton was now more than ever shown 
 towards the bereaved and disconsolate 
 strangers. He took the whole direction 
 of the funeral upon himself, as fully and 
 as completely, as if he had been a friend 
 of the deceased for many years standing,
 
 44 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 instead of an acquaintance of only a fesv 
 weeks. He asked no intrusive questions, 
 oiFered no officious advice, but did all that 
 was needful, and his sympathy with their 
 sorrow was so unaffected that Charles 
 Annersly soon found himself talking to 
 him about his future prospects and seeking 
 his counsel as that of an old friend. He 
 even submitted to what his own proud 
 spirit of independence would in any other 
 case have rendered impossible, in accept- 
 ing his offer of hospitality for his sister, 
 until he should have arrived in Eng- 
 land and could write to her from thence, 
 when he had seen what little could be 
 saved from the wreck of their property. 
 Constance, whose strength, already taxed 
 and exhausted with nursing her father, 
 had temporarily sunk under the grief for 
 his loss, and who had become much at- 
 tached to Irene Morton, acquiesced in the 
 arrangement, though very reluctant to be 
 separated from her brother. She felt a 
 superstitious yet perhaps natural fear that 
 they should not meet again if she parted 
 from him now; but his arguments for her 
 remaining, the uncertainty of his finding
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 45 
 
 a home still existing to receive her, and the 
 hindrance which her presence in England 
 might prove to his intention of going out 
 to the Continent to collect some debts due 
 to his father, at last prevailed with her. 
 
 Kesolved to make his task as easy as pos- 
 sible, she controlled her own grief and bade 
 him good-bye as calmly as she could force 
 herself to do. Charles was unwilling to part 
 from his sister so soon, but he knew he ought 
 to be in England, and he was now anxious 
 to leave Mr. Morton's house. He felt the 
 attractions of Miss Morton growing upon 
 him day by day, and he knew himself to 
 be no fitting match now for the young 
 heiress of Elmhill; and Mr. Morton, who 
 though Charles had never recognised it, 
 had done all in his power to encourage the 
 young Englishman's admiration for his 
 daughter, now felt naturally desirous to 
 see him gone from her society. He begged, 
 however, that he would be slow to send 
 for Constance from their house, for he saw 
 that Irene clung to her as a sister. 
 
 " You will not be afraid of leaving her 
 with us," he said; "we will take good and 
 loving care of her, ' slave-owners' though we
 
 46 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 be. I know you English have a strong 
 prejudice against us poor Southerners. We 
 have hot and fiery tempers, in truth, but 
 to our friends we can " 
 
 " I assure you, Sir, I require no assur- 
 ance of Southern kindness and hospitality. 
 I have had indeed cause to change my 
 views upon the South since I came here. 
 Your kindness towards my sister and to 
 my father will ever be, — you have been the 
 truest and best friend we have ever had." 
 
 " Don't speak of it, don't speak of it. 
 Farewell, and God speed you," said Mr. 
 Morton, shaking his hand warmly. '* We 
 will take good care of your sister till you 
 send for her." 
 
 " And, Mr. Annersly, you will not send 
 for her for a long time, please," said Irene. 
 
 " That is right, pretty one ; get him to 
 promise that," said her father. 
 
 "Oh! Miss Morton, how shall I thank 
 you for all your kindness to her and to 
 me?" said Annersly, seeking to prolong 
 for another moment his last look at her. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Annersly, I have done 
 nothing but what it was quite natural I 
 should. I love Constance almost like a
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 47 
 
 sister now, and I am too happy to think I 
 can be of any use to her and to you," Irene 
 answered, her bright eyes growing still 
 brighter with gathering tears. " I hope you 
 will not send for her soon, but come back 
 to America yourself, as my father pro- 
 posed. Pray leave Constance ; now do, Mr. 
 Annersly, I can take good care of her," 
 she added with a playful gesture of sup- 
 plication. Annersly could not prevent 
 himself from taking both her little beautiful 
 hands and pressing them to his lips. 
 Irene coloured and fell back to her father's 
 side, but when the parental arm was round 
 her, she said, 
 
 '' I take that as a promise that you wiU 
 let me have her as long as I like, and that 
 will be till you come back to fetch her, 
 Mr. Annersly, will it not ? But Constance 
 wants to see you alone; she asked me to 
 tell you." 
 
 Charles went to his sister, for he and she 
 had much to say to each other which would 
 admit of no stranger's presence, not even 
 that of the sympathising Irene, about their 
 own future prospects. Charles did not 
 expect to find anything left of their pro-
 
 48 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 perty; lie hoped, however, to find some 
 situation as a foreign agent in some port 
 of the Mediterranean, for which he was 
 well qualified; and it was agreed between 
 them that Constance should endeavour to 
 procure employment as a governess in 
 some family in the United States for a few 
 months, until they could know his destina- 
 tion, as both brother and sister were too 
 high-spirited and independent to wish to 
 trespass longer on Mr. Morton's kindness. 
 
 All these things arranged, they parted, 
 and Charles sprang into Mr. Morton's car- 
 riage, and drove with him down to the 
 railway. 
 
 The train was late, and the engine-driver 
 seemed determined to make up for lost 
 time by shortening the few minutes allowed 
 for waiting, and Annersly was only able 
 to jump into the car before the engine 
 started. It moved on for a couple of hun- 
 dred yards, and was then backed again, 
 with a snorting and pufiing that tried even 
 the nerves of a quiet hack pony who stood 
 near, and so startled Mr. Morton's high-fed 
 and spirited horses, that they set ofi* before 
 the driver could seize their reins, and their
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 49 
 
 terror increasing as the engine commenced 
 blowing oif steam, tliey burst away, with 
 Mr. Morton inside, and plunging and kick- 
 ing, rushed away towards their own house 
 along an unfinished road, which, forty 
 yards further on, became a hopeless bar- 
 ricade of mounds and cart-ruts. Towards 
 this dangerous place, where the carriage 
 must inevitably overset, the bystanders, 
 unable to afford any assistance, now saw 
 the unfortunate gentleman hurried, and 
 stood still in motionless horror, expecting 
 every moment to see him throAvn from his 
 seat, or overturned with the carriage ; but, 
 happily for Mr. Morton, a stranger, who 
 was walking slowly down the rough path, 
 saw the disaster a moment before the ve- 
 hicle passed, and being, therefore, prepared 
 to act, sprang forward, and at the imminent 
 risk of his own life, seized the rein, and 
 though he was dragged several yards by 
 the excited horses, at last succeeded in 
 bringing them to a halt. Mr. Morton, half 
 jumping, half thrown out, scrambled to his 
 feet, and, panting and breathless, grasped 
 the hands of his unexpected preserver. 
 
 VOL, L E
 
 50 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Other assistance now arrived, and the 
 struggling terrified horses were secured. 
 
 " You are not hurt, I trust, sir," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 " No, not in the least, though it's thanks 
 to you that I am not," replied Mr. Morton ; 
 "but you are, I fear." 
 
 " Well, I am afraid I have got a wrench 
 in the shoulder," said the other, and Mr. 
 Morton saw that his coat sleeve was much 
 torn and dirtied, and he insisted that he 
 should return with him to his house, as he 
 found he was proceeding to the station, 
 where it was no use his going, as no other 
 train would leave that evening. He little 
 knew that he was inviting to his own house 
 the Edward Maxwell, the abolitionist, for 
 whose capture his friend Ellsland had so 
 earnestly begged him to use his best en- 
 deavours. Maxwell, who had only that 
 morning left his hiding-place, where a fresh 
 attack of fever had detained him, and owed 
 his second loss of the train to his having 
 preferred to walk, weak as his foot still was, 
 to drawing attention on himself by sending 
 for a conveyance, was at first very unwilling 
 to accompany Mr. Morton ; but on finding
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 51 
 
 that he was the proprietor of the Hill 
 House, he gave way, and accepted his invi- 
 tation, prompted by what he felt was a 
 weak curiosity to see once again and speak 
 to the lovely girl who had so struck his 
 fancy a month before. He had some 
 misgivings about following Mr. Morton 
 home, feeling apprehensive lest with all his 
 care he should not by some heedless word 
 or expression betray himself; but he ceased 
 to regret having accepted the invitation, 
 while listening to Irene, as she thanked him 
 warmly and with tears for preserving her 
 father's life. Mr. Morton, whose nerves, 
 though he scorned to confess it, had been a 
 good deal shaken by the occurrence, went 
 to seek quiet in his own room, and left his 
 daughter to entertain the visitor until din- 
 ner; but Irene slipped away to find Miss 
 Annersly, and tell all to her. 
 
 " With your permission, dear Irene, I 
 will stay up here. I had rather not meet a 
 strano^er at dinner.^' 
 
 " No, dear, I thought you would not like 
 it. I am very sorry for your sake that he 
 will stop, and now, unfortunately, I must 
 go down to amuse him, and I haven't the 
 
 E 2
 
 bZ WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 least idea how to do so. Can you advise 
 me?" 
 
 "How old is he?" 
 
 " Between twenty and thirty, I suppose; 
 but he looks really serious. Oh ! I'll give 
 him the newspaper, with the letter papa 
 liked so much to-day ; " and she went back 
 to the drawing-room with the Charlestown 
 paper in her hand. 
 
 " Have you seen this letter upon our 
 relations with the North?" she asked MaX' 
 well, who, it must be remembered, was all 
 this time supposed to be an inoffensive Mr. 
 Johnson, from Cincinnati. " It is extremely 
 well written, papa thinks. It is, he be- 
 lieves, by Mr. Chauncey Burgoyne, the one 
 who wrote that wonderful pamphlet, papa 
 says, on the necessity for re-opening the 
 slave-trade, a while since. This letter has 
 not his name to it, but it is dated West 
 Creek, and the style and language are un- 
 mistakable. Even papa says, and he is 
 quite against it, that that pamphlet is won- 
 derfully written." 
 
 " Yes ; I have read the pamphlet you 
 allude to. Miss Morton, and I could not 
 help remembering what some poet says,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 53 
 
 that Satan is tlie prince of logical reasoners, 
 and I think that pamphlet on the slave- 
 trade might justify his theory. I never 
 read anything so ably written against the 
 cause of humanity." 
 
 " Well, papa disapproves of it extremely, 
 but he says he is, nevertheless, a v/riter of 
 great genius, and one of the most remark- 
 able men in the country. He is very young 
 still, but he will soon be one of our leading- 
 men — a second Mr. Calhoun, papa says. 
 All men's eyes are fixed on him. But Mr. 
 Johnson, will you come? There is the 
 dinner bell, and I must go." 
 
 "Well, dear Irene, and how did the dinner 
 go off ? " said Constance Annersly, dashing 
 away some tears, and trying to put on a 
 cheerful look as Miss Morton re-entered 
 her room. " Do you like your guest? " 
 
 " Oh, dear ! you must have wondered 
 what kept me so long," replied Irene; "but 
 I and Mrs. Lessing stopped on and on, in 
 order to keep the conversation from turning 
 on politics. Somehow, papa don't seem to 
 like Mr. Johnson, and," said Irene, with 
 some horror in her voice, " papa believes 
 him to be almost an abolitionist at heart." 
 
 E 3
 
 54 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " And what do you think of him, dear? 
 Is he an abolitionist? " Constance asked. 
 
 "An abolitionist! No, indeed! I should 
 hope not. Oh, no! he is quite the gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " And are no abolitionists gentlemen, 
 then ? I thought they were sometimes 
 men of property and education." 
 
 " Of property and education, perhaps 
 they may be," said Irene, contemptuously, 
 " but they are not gentlemen. If they 
 were they would not abuse us and insult us 
 as they do, or support newspapers to vilify 
 and calumniate everything we say. They 
 may be ricli^ but they are never well-born ; 
 and have no sense whatever of the cour- 
 tesies and civilities of life, or of Christian 
 charity either." 
 
 " Well, that was not my idea of them, 
 I must say. I thought they were often 
 bigoted and intemperate, but still that 
 they were men who really meant well." 
 
 " Oh ! they are hardly Christians. They 
 are all sectarians and atheists. They do 
 not scruple to invent any amount of false- 
 hood when it serves the hatred they bear 
 us. They steal our negroes, persuade the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 55 
 
 poor creatures to run away, and tlien call 
 us tyrants^ if we try to bring tliem back 
 home. I believe all tlie cruelties of which 
 slaveowners are accused at the North 
 exist only in the heads of these anti- 
 slavery fanatics. I know our servants are 
 well-treated, and most other people's are so, 
 too; but these lying hypocrites will say 
 anything against the South. Why, they 
 even laugh at our saying we are more chi- 
 valrous than they are! I dare say you 
 heard us all abused at the North." 
 
 " Ah ! we were but little at the North ; 
 but, dear Irene, Charles and I shall know 
 what to believe in future. We often heard 
 Southern chivalry spoken of there and in 
 England too, but we never could have 
 foreseen the kindness which we have re- 
 ceived from your father and you. I shall 
 have faith in Southern courtesy and chi- 
 valry hereafter, whatever I hear said against 
 it." 
 
 " You would have found the kindness 
 that you think so much of, darling, in 
 every Southern family. We really are a 
 chivalrous and high-souled people," pur- 
 sued Irene seriously, "let the North say 
 
 E 4
 
 56 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 what it will; but we are shamefully ca- 
 lumniated, as I suppose the aristocracy of 
 a nation always must be by the vulgar. 
 But, hark! there is the carriage coming 
 round, and Mr. Johnson is taking himself 
 off, I suppose." 
 
 It was so. Maxwell, not choosing to 
 trespass longer on the hospitality of a man 
 to whom he was personating a false cha- 
 racter, had declined the invitation to re- 
 main all night, and returned to Jefferson- 
 ville to be ready for the early morning 
 train, by which he started, and soon left the 
 Southern States, and his pursuer, George 
 Ellsland, behind him.
 
 57 
 
 , CHAPTER III. 
 
 Constance Annersly was not the girl 
 who could willingly and patiently endure 
 dependence on any one, and although the 
 hospitality of Mr. Morton was offered with 
 a grace and delicacy which made its ac- 
 ceptance as little painful as it could be in 
 her circumstances, she turned her thoughts 
 earnestly towards supporting herself, and 
 had already discussed with Irene the pos- 
 sibility of finding a governess's situation 
 in some school or family for the weeks or 
 ]3erhaps months which might elapse before 
 she could join her brother. 
 
 " We have no relations in England whom 
 I care to meet except my aunt, my mother's 
 sister, and she now must be depending on 
 some of her friends for a home, since ours is 
 broken up," she said to Mrs. Lessing, who 
 was rather doubtful whether she ought not 
 to counsel her young friend to return to 
 her own country. " Charles advised me to
 
 58 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 stop in America till he could fetch me, or 
 have a settled home for me to come to, and 
 I feel his idea is right. I would rather go 
 to him, but he does not think it to be best. 
 He told me to ask the advice of Mr. Morton 
 and his sweet daughter, and be guided by 
 them even more than by himself, because 
 being nearer me, they can judge best for 
 me ; so pray judge now, dear Irene." 
 
 " Well, then, I judge like you, remain 
 here," replied Miss Morton; " we will soon 
 find you a situation near us. If you 
 went to England, you would feel it very 
 painful to have to meet old acquaintances, 
 and revisit old scenes with a changed 
 heart. I think you would be able to com- 
 mand very good terms, and I do not know 
 why we should not soon meet with a nice 
 situation, unless your being an English- 
 woman stands in the way at all." 
 
 " Oh ! and then you can say I have left 
 England two years ago, and have been tra- 
 velling in Italy and Germany ever since; 
 that will mitigate the offence, and perhaps 
 prove an attraction." 
 
 " And shall we say you are entirely free 
 from all British prejudices? Though for
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 59 
 
 that matter you are not^'^ answered Irene 
 laughing. " Well, we will try; but re- 
 member that we have plenty of time. We 
 need not accept the first offer, unless it 
 is really an eligible one ; for you can remain 
 with us as long as ever you like, though 
 never long enough to please me," she 
 added, kissing her friend warmly. 
 
 " Oh ! you are so kind, so very kind, dear 
 Irene; but you are going to Philadelphia 
 next week." 
 
 " And you can go too with us, and we 
 shall have more chance of suiting you 
 there. I wish next week were come. Now 
 that papa is gone I long to be off. I mean 
 to enjoy myself there; but how I wish he 
 were coming too, and Mrs. Morton too. I 
 want to see her so. Ought I to call her 
 mamma, Constance? I suppose she will 
 wish it. Oh ! I wish next week were here." 
 
 " You must be very busy preparing, and 
 I have never thought of helping you," said 
 Constance. "Let me come and work with 
 you and Mary. May I?" 
 
 " Oh ! do if you like, dear, I hardly liked 
 to ask you," answered Irene, involuntarily 
 glancing at her friend's black dress; and,
 
 60 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 indeed, Constance felt out of place in the 
 work-room, where the bright ribbons and 
 coloured gauzes were being prepared for 
 Miss Morton's debut in Philadelphia. 
 
 Dr. Mayworth, the brother of Mrs. Les- 
 sing, had provided suitable apartments for 
 his sister and her pupil at a boarding- 
 house near his own residence, and on their 
 arrival he begged Irene to consider his 
 house her own whenever she liked, and 
 come in and out at her own pleasure as 
 if one of his own family. 
 
 " But I do not suppose my library will 
 have any attraction for youth and beauty, 
 for I presume you will have no end of 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I hope so, indeed," said Irene; 
 but Mrs. Lessing added in a low voice to 
 her brother — 
 
 " On the contrary, John, we shall be de- 
 pendent upon your friends for all our society, 
 for Mr. Morton has not introduced us to 
 any of his own. I think he has acted 
 shamefully towards her; but he says his 
 friends are mostly unmarried, and he does 
 not know the families of the others, so he 
 would rather we chose her acquaintance,"
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 61 
 
 " Oh! well, he is certainly right. His 
 bachelor friends would not be very suitable ; 
 and, my dear sister, it will not do to call 
 any man's conduct shameful, when he comes 
 down with the cash so handsomely as Mr. 
 Morton seems inclined to do. Well, we 
 will do what we can for your pupil; and, 
 by the bye, we shall have a few friends here 
 to-night, so go home and prepare her to be 
 seen." 
 
 Mrs. Lessing went home, much excited 
 with the pleasure of dressing her darling for 
 her first appearance. Her task was a satis- 
 factory one; the eyes which were turned 
 on Miss Morton as she entered the draw- 
 ing-room, all expressed approval of the 
 young debutante, 
 
 " By heaven, that's the handsomest girl 
 I've seen this season," exclaimed one gen- 
 tleman, enthusiastically. " What glorious 
 hair!" 
 
 " It is perfect sunlight itself — threads of 
 living gold," said a young merchant, who 
 affected the poetical; "and what eyes! 
 They are diamonds!" 
 
 " You depreciate them, Mr. Wyatt," said 
 another ; " to call them diamonds is an in-
 
 62 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 suit. ' Such eyes as might have looked 
 from heaven ! ' " 
 
 " You are eloquent to-night, Mr. Max- 
 well, and the lady seems to appreciate your 
 distinctions," said Mr. Wyatt, as Irene, 
 catching sight of Maxwell, and too inno- 
 cent of drawing-room etiquette to hesitate 
 a moment, came forward eagerly, and 
 said — 
 
 "It is most unexpected pleasure, Mr. 
 Johnson, to meet you here. I was not at 
 all aware you were in Philadelphia." 
 
 " I am too happy to be here, since it 
 procures me the pleasure of seeing you, 
 Miss Morton; but I must beg the good 
 offices of Dr. Mayworth to introduce me 
 to you under a different name than the one 
 I bore when I had the good fortune to meet 
 you at Jeffersonville," replied Maxwell, 
 who saw the general surprise excited by 
 the lady's addressing him by this new name. 
 "Dr. Mayworth?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly! Ah! I under- 
 stand. I see I must help this chrysalis to 
 unfold his true colours. Miss Morton, may 
 I present to you my friend, Mr. Edward 
 Maxwell — of this city shall I say, Edward, 
 or of Boston?"
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 63 
 
 " Of Boston, if you please. Do you 
 think I will forego my birthright for 
 Philadelphia? May I hope, Miss Morton, 
 that you will still recognise me as an 
 acquaintance, though circumstances, un- 
 happily, obliged me to remain under an 
 incognito when I was in South Carolina." 
 
 " No change of name can ever alter the 
 obligations which I and my father must 
 always feel for you," replied Irene, grace- 
 fully ; " but may I not know the reason of 
 your incognito?" 
 
 " Now you are in for it. Maxwell," said 
 the Doctor, laughing. " Miss Morton, let 
 me show you my library. I consider it a 
 thing worth seeing. And you, Edward, 
 come too, and make out as good a case for 
 yourself as you can." 
 
 " What does the Doctor mean by having 
 that crack-brained enthusiast here?" said 
 Mr. Wyatt to his neighbour. " He ought 
 not to be admitted into good society." 
 
 " He is crack-brained enough with re- 
 gard to his own interest," replied the other, 
 laughing ; " but he is a sound man of busi- 
 ness, nevertheless, and his sister is a con- 
 firmed invalid, so the Doctor has, without 
 doubt, his own motives for inviting him."
 
 64 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 The Doctor had, meantime, conducted 
 Miss Morton and Mr. Maxwell to his 
 library, and set them down to a large 
 portfolio of engravings, at which they 
 could either look or not, as might please 
 them best. 
 
 " NoAv, I must confess to you. Miss Mor- 
 ton, that I am one of those unfortunate 
 abolitionists against whom your father has 
 conceived so strong an impression, — I mean 
 who have been so misrepresented to your 
 father." 
 
 "Impossible! no, I cannot believe it," 
 said Irene, starting back in amazement, 
 and with something almost of horror. 
 " You, Mr. Johnson, an abolitionist ! " 
 
 " I am one, indeed, and unfortunately, 
 Mr. Ellsland, who is one of your father's 
 friends, I think, was in hot pursuit of me 
 when I was in South Carolina, and so to 
 change my name was a sad necessity. I 
 hope you will forgive me." 
 
 Irene was silent, and then turned to 
 examine the pictures, and talked about 
 them, until Dr. Mayworth re-entered with 
 some more visitors. 
 
 " Well, do you find anything to interest
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 65 
 
 you, my dear Miss Morton?" he asked; 
 " are the pictures worth your attention?" 
 
 " Oh ! I like them very much, and I 
 should like to come and have a long day's 
 look at them. I think looking at en- 
 gravings of these great painters must im- 
 prove our sense of art and beauty." 
 
 " Do come then, and welcome. My 
 library is open to any one who really wishes 
 to profit by it." 
 
 " I shall be thankful to do so. Dr. May- 
 worth," said Mr. Wyatt. " With your kind 
 permission I shall come also, to improve 
 my sense of the beautiful," he added, glanc- 
 ing at Irene. 
 
 " And I also demand the privilege, if 
 Mr. Wyatt has it," said Maxwell. 
 
 " And I also," said another gentleman, 
 laughing. '' We all wish to improve our 
 minds with the study of beauty. Dr. May- 
 worth, pray let us know what would be 
 the best evenings for our minds to be 
 improved?" 
 
 " Nay, for my part, any and every even- 
 ing," said the Doctor, laughing good- 
 humouredly. " From all I can see, you 
 younger men will no doubt know better 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 66 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 than I what evenings will be most suitable 
 for your study of beauty." 
 
 Irene, though not fully comprehending 
 all that was said, was conscious of a general 
 flutter of admiration round her, which was 
 far from displeasing. 
 
 " Pretty little innocent !" said the Doctor 
 to his sister, looking at her; " what a pity 
 that it cannot last ; but she will be spoiled 
 in a week." 
 
 " Of course she will, but it cannot be 
 helped; and it will be all the same two 
 years hence," replied the gratified Mrs. 
 Lessing, philosophically. " But I must 
 find some young lady friends for her." 
 
 " Certainly. Well, Mr. Wyatt has sis- 
 ters — very nice girls too, I believe. He 
 is immensely rich, just come into his 
 father's property. The old man worked 
 hard, and spent little; the son will spend 
 well, but I think he will work hard too, so 
 there's no harm in it. And you do not 
 know, perhaps, that Mrs. Stuart Randolph 
 is here with her daughter. Her cousin you 
 know is in Congress ; but she is going back 
 to the South soon ; and by the by she 
 might help you to find a situation for your.
 
 WHITE AISTD BLACK. 67 
 
 friend Miss Annersly, for she is looking 
 out for a governess for one of lier friends. 
 You had better go and call upon her.'^ 
 
 Mrs. Lessing took her brother's advice, 
 and the result of her visit was that the 
 next day she took Constance with her to 
 see the lady. Mrs. Stuart Randolj^h ap- 
 peared much pleased with Miss Annersly, 
 promised to write directly to her friend 
 about her, and said she did not imagine her 
 being an Englishwoman would prove any 
 objection. 
 
 " I have little doubt of your obtaining 
 the situation, my dear," said Mrs. Lessing, 
 in the evening, as they discussed the morn- 
 ing's work; " and it is a most eligible one. 
 I could not have wished for you better, for 
 Colonel Burgoyne's family is one of the 
 very best in Carolina ; they are very clever, 
 and take a high position in everything. 
 One of the sons is the author of that 
 pamphlet of which everybody has been 
 talking. I think Mrs. Burgoyne will be 
 so pleased with Mrs. Randolph's description 
 of you, that she is sure to write to you; 
 and besides, Mrs. Randolph's eldest daugh- 
 ter is just married to young Mr. Burgoyne, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 and slie has begged lier to use all her in- 
 fluence to recommend you to the family." 
 
 " What ! Eleanor Eandolph ! is it the 
 family where she is married ? Oh ! she is 
 such a sweet dear creature," exclaimed a 
 young sister of the Doctor, who was then 
 on a visit to them. " If you go where she 
 is, Miss Annersly, you will be quite happy, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " Indeed, if all you say of her. Fan, be 
 true, I congratulate the gentleman much 
 on his marriage," said Dr. Mayworth. 
 " She has certainly left a most aifectionate 
 impression behind her in the hearts of all 
 you young people, though she was here but 
 so short a time." 
 
 " Oh ! she was an angel ! " said the 
 young lady enthusiastically, " and no one 
 knew how well she behaved about the music 
 prize which Charlotte Wise took, though it 
 was by all rights Eleanor's, and Charlotte 
 behaved abominably. But Eleanor never 
 said a word ; and, after all, she gave Char- 
 lotte her vote for the general ' Amiability ' 
 prize." 
 
 " Again I congratulate Mr. Burgoyne. 
 Is it the eldest son, do you know ? "
 
 WHITE A^'D BLACK, 69 
 
 Mrs. Lessing could not tell, but Con- 
 stance had an impression that it was, and 
 that Mrs. Randolph had spoken of her 
 daughter as Mrs. Mavor Burgoyne. 
 
 " Oh ! not Chauncey Burgoyne, then ? 
 he is the only one I have heard anything 
 about," said Irene. " Do you know what 
 the family consist of, Constance?" 
 
 " These two elder sons; then a daughter 
 of fifteen, a boy of fourteen, and two little 
 ones. So Mrs. Randolph told me ; she said 
 I should have to finish off the young lady, 
 and the young gentleman also. This last 
 task is beyond me, and one, I think, I ought 
 to decline." 
 
 " Oh ! if he has two elder brothers, your 
 work will be limited to hearing him repeat 
 his verbs. I am so glad you are to go into 
 a Southern family." 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Annersly would prefer 
 the North, on the contrary," said Mr. 
 Maxwell, who at this moment joined the 
 party. 
 
 "No; I do not think I 'should. I am 
 predisposed to like a Southern family," re- 
 plied Constance, looking affectionately to- 
 wards Irene. 
 
 r 3
 
 70 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " I thouglit that being an Englishwoman 
 you would find living on a plantation ra- 
 ther painful." 
 
 Constance coloured; and then, unwilling 
 to displease Irene, replied, " I do not like 
 that part, certainly, but I dare say it will 
 not really affect me in the least. I shall 
 hardly see anything of the negroes ; and if 
 they are a refined and educated family, they 
 will probably be kind masters." 
 
 " That is right," said Irene, glancing in- 
 dignantly at Maxwell; "don't be prejudiced 
 against the South, Constance." 
 
 " Little danger of that, dear," replied 
 her friend, affectionately ; " and as I do 
 not wish to talk upon the subject, I hope I 
 shall never be called upon to give any 
 opinion on it." 
 
 " Do not mention this gentleman's name, 
 then, or say he is a friend of yours," said 
 the Doctor laughing, and laying his hand 
 on Maxwell's shoulder. 
 
 " May I quote you, Doctor? " said Con- 
 stance archly. 
 
 " Oh ! dear yes, certainly. I am a most 
 unobjectionable man — strictly professional 
 — a very safe person, though I have all
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 71 
 
 kinds of people at my house. Quote me, 
 my dear, by all means, and whenever you 
 like, and always with praise and affection." 
 
 " Unless Mrs. Burgoyne is an allopa- 
 thist," said Irene laughing; for Dr. May- 
 worth was of an opposite school, and a 
 fierce propagandist and champion of his 
 own system. 
 
 " Don't make unpleasant allusions. Miss 
 Morton, but give us a little singing. You 
 have a nightingale's voice, and should not 
 be allowed to be idle/^ The Doctor was 
 right. Irene had a voice of singular power 
 and sweetness, but which had received only 
 an indifferent training from Mrs. Lessing, 
 and Constance advised her to secure an 
 Italian master for it; and as a maestro^ a 
 political refugee, was forthcoming at the 
 time, the suggestion was taken, and the 
 lessons forthwith arranged. 
 
 After some days of anxious expectation 
 Constance heard that Mrs. Eandolph had 
 received an answer from her friend ; Miss 
 Annersly was accepted and requested to 
 come South immediately. She would fain 
 have waited a week longer to gather cou- 
 rage ; but this was not possible, and with a 
 
 F 4
 
 72 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 very sinking heart, she prepared to leave her 
 friends, and go to seek her own way in the 
 world among new faces. Her preparations 
 were soon made, for her new stock of 
 mourning was slender, and though she 
 took all her books and drawings, yet most 
 of her luggage was to be left at Philadel- 
 phia for the present. It gave her a pang 
 even to part with these dresses, which she 
 had brought with her to America, and 
 which seemed to speak to her of home and 
 happier times. She felt more and more 
 nervous too as the day of her departure 
 advanced, and on the evening before her 
 journey, Irene found her alone struggling 
 hard to repress her tears, and in sad need 
 of sympathy. 
 
 " But I know I shall never succeed," 
 was her final answer to all Miss Morton's 
 cheering visions of the kindness she would 
 meet with in her new home. " I am too 
 inexperienced ; I know nothing of teach- 
 ing." 
 
 " You will succeed, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Lessing ; " take my word for it ; and I am 
 an old governess. You have a natural 
 aptitude for teaching ; I have seen it when
 
 WHITE AND BLACK, 73 
 
 you were hearing Fanny Mayworth read 
 German, and if Mrs. Burgoyne finds you a 
 trustworthy lady to leave with her child- 
 ren, she will excuse any little shortcomings 
 in your acquirements." 
 
 " Do you think so, dear Mrs. Lessing ? 
 Now I want to ask you for a little counsel. 
 Do you think the position of a governess 
 is always as bad as what we read of in so 
 many books ?" 
 
 " No, my dear, I do not ; but much de- 
 pends on the natural temperament of the go- 
 verness herself. Many women are obliged 
 to 2:0 out and teach who have no talent for 
 it — who would find it difficult even to 
 manage their own children if they had any, 
 and of course their profession is an arduous 
 one. And many of them, poor things ! are 
 foolish and sensitive, morbidly dwelling on 
 their o-wn position, on the qui vive to re- 
 cognise ill-treatment in anything the lady, 
 their mistress, may say, and therefore in- 
 vite, if they do not create, the unpleasant- 
 ness they dread. I think a governess's 
 position is very difficult, though not neces- 
 sarily a painful one, and I think that of 
 the lady of the house is often even more
 
 74 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 SO. She has to be constantly in the com- 
 pany of one who is neither a guest nor a 
 servant, whom she must treat with the 
 courtesy due to a friend, and yet who she 
 knows is bound to her by no ties but those 
 of interest. A young governess should 
 remember that her relation with her em- 
 ployers is merely a contract to do so much 
 conscientious work for so much salary, and 
 that if she would be willing to leave them 
 directly for a hundred dollars extra per 
 year, she has no right to expect further 
 consideration from them than civility and 
 good-treatment. It is my opinion that if 
 girls, on going out to teach, looked at the 
 matter in this light, they would find it 
 much easier to be contented in their new 
 life." 
 
 " I will try and think of all this," re- 
 plied Constance, " and, if I can, profit by 
 your advice." 
 
 " And now one word of advice from me," 
 said Irene, "and this is more important 
 than all the rest. Do not compromise 
 yourself about our black servants. It wiU 
 give great offence, as I have told you 
 already ; and remember, you may be preju-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 75 
 
 diced, and perhaps we are tlie best people 
 to understand and manage our own affairs." 
 
 " I will remember that also," said Miss 
 Annersly, and the next day, after many 
 kind leavetakings from the Doctor's family, 
 she drove with Irene and Mrs. Lessing 
 to the railway, and set off on her long 
 journey. 
 
 As Mrs. Lessing and her pupil returned 
 from the station, they were met by Mr. 
 Maxwell, who asked anxiously whether 
 Miss Annersly had yet accepted Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne's offer, and seemed disappointed 
 when told that she had, and was already 
 gone. He said he had been making inqui- 
 ries among his friends in Boston, and had 
 heard of a very eligible situation for her. 
 Irene thanked him for his kindly interest 
 in her friend, though she laughed at his 
 expense when he had left them. 
 
 "He is mad about this abolition non- 
 sense," she said to the Doctor. " His 
 anxiety to prevent Constance going South 
 is really ludicrous. Only think of his 
 taking the trouble, with all his business, to 
 send and inquire about a governess's situa- 
 tion."
 
 76 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Perhaps it was done with the wish to 
 please you^ my pretty Miss Irene," said the 
 Doctor. He is bewitched with you and 
 your singing too." 
 
 " I do not think the singing has much to 
 do with it," replied Irene, taking a passing 
 glance at the glass as she spoke. Poor 
 child ! It had taken a fortnight, not a week, 
 to spoil her, as the Doctor had prophesied ; 
 but it had been done, and she was now 
 quite conscious of her own charms, and 
 prepared to take full advantage of them. 
 '' It was not the singing. He does not un- 
 derstand music at all, I can see that." 
 
 "Does he not? I thought he did. He 
 always goes to those long, classical concerts, 
 and that ought to prove him an amateur," 
 said Fanny May worth. 
 
 " Yes," said the Doctor, "but he goes to 
 escort his sister, for whom he will do any- 
 thing. Indeed I do not imagine that, if 
 he did care for music, he would choose to 
 spend so much on himself, for he never 
 affords himself any luxury but that of 
 doing good." 
 
 " Why not ? He can well afford it; he 
 has a good business, Mr. Wyatt says," said
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 77 
 
 Fanny. " I do not like people to be so 
 very close and saving wlien there is no 
 need." 
 
 "I wish he would save more," replied 
 the Doctor. " He spends enough, though 
 not on himself. He has nearly fifty de- 
 pendents, mostly poor, wretched coloured 
 folks, to provide for or keep more or less ; 
 and then with helping fugitive negroes, and 
 paying fines for so doing, and paying other 
 people's fines, he keeps himself as short of 
 cash as a man with a good business can 
 conveniently be, and never spends anything 
 on himself. I know he can't." 
 
 " Well, he's wrong there," said Miss May- 
 worth. " Those abolitionists do more harm 
 than good ; they irritate the planters, and 
 excite general ill-will." 
 
 " That's possible ; but still the individual 
 man " 
 
 "Is much to be admired," said Irene 
 warmly. " I perfectly agree with you, 
 though I am a Southerner. The indi- 
 vidual man is very much to be admired 
 and pitied."
 
 78 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was a dark rainy evening when Constance 
 arrived at her new home, the Chestnut 
 Brook plantation, near Madison. A thun- 
 derstorm had deluged the road, and brought 
 down many withered leaves from the tall 
 trees. The wheels sank deep in the heavy 
 mud, and the great ilexes by the wayside 
 shone out, glittering with wet, like phan- 
 toms amidst the darkness, as the carriage 
 lamps shone on them one after another. 
 Colonel Burgoyne had sent his carriage to 
 meet her, and this mark of attention seemed 
 a pleasant assurance of the kind considera- 
 tion she would meet with in his family; 
 but, nevertheless, she was very downhearted 
 and dispirited. She was tired and worn 
 out with travelling; and the return to 
 South Carolina — to the same scenes, and 
 even on the same railway where she had 
 last travelled with her brother and father, 
 had recalled the loss she had sustained
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 79 
 
 vividly to her, and her own forlorn con- 
 dition amongst strangers formed a strange 
 contrast to that happy, social journey. 
 She was more and more afraid of meeting 
 them. All that she had ever heard of the 
 irritable tempers and fierce spirit of the 
 Southerners came before her, and she was 
 certain she should not be able to prevent 
 herself from saying something very offen- 
 sive about the negroes. She wished from the 
 bottom of her heart that she had declined 
 the offer, and waited to see if any situation 
 could be found in Philadelphia ; but it was 
 now too late for regrets, and she tried to 
 brace herself up to meet her employers 
 with self-possession. 
 
 " And, above all, let me remember 
 Mrs. Lessing's last advice," she thought, 
 as Irene's words, '' Don't forget that we 
 Southerners have quick tempers," kept 
 ringing in her ears. " Mrs. Lessing said if 
 I expected kindness and consideration I 
 should find it, and that the surest way to 
 get myself snubbed and slighted was to 
 be looking out for insult and annoyance. 
 "Well, I will be courageous, and take kind- 
 ness on trust till I find it in fact." And
 
 80 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 she had just repeated this wise resolution, 
 when the carriage drove up to a large hall 
 door, which opened on a blaze of light and 
 a crowd of servants. 
 
 Constance was at first dazzled and be- 
 wildered, and she felt it was a kindness to 
 be shown at once by the housekeeper to her 
 own room. It was at the end of a long 
 corridor, but it looked very comfortable. 
 There was a table set for her tea, and a 
 pretty quadroon girl waiting to help her to 
 take off her travelling things. The house- 
 keeper told her that Mrs. Burgoyne thought 
 she would like to have some tea before she 
 came down, and a very substantial meal 
 was immediately placed on the table. Con- 
 stance appreciated Mrs. Burgoyne's fore- 
 thought, but she was too ill at ease to have 
 much appetite. But while she still sat 
 playing with her tea-spoon, the door opened, 
 and a young and elegantly-dressed lady 
 entered. Even if the quadroon girl had 
 not announced her as Mrs. Mavor Bur- 
 goyne, Constance would have felt sure it 
 was the young bride, to whose interest she 
 owed her introduction into the family; for 
 Fanny Mayworth had excited her imagina-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 81 
 
 tion to expect a most sweet face and smile, 
 and both were even beyond her imaginings. 
 
 " You will, I am sure, excuse me for in- 
 truding so soon upon you, Miss Annersly, 
 but I do so much want to hear of my 
 mother. You saw her just before you left 
 Philadelphia, I suppose — Mrs. Stuart Ran- 
 dolph; you remember." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I did. Madam; and Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph was very well, and told me she ex- 
 pected to return to the South in a fortnight 
 at the most." 
 
 " She said so, indeed 1 Oh ! I am very 
 glad. You have brought me good tidings. 
 And how was my sister? Letta, bring 
 another cup and saucer. I will have a cup 
 of tea with Miss Annersly;" and she sat 
 down at the table, and Constance, in less 
 than ten minutes, found herself becoming 
 less nervous, and very reconciled to her 
 new home, if such a sweet voice and smile 
 would be near her in it. 
 
 " I dare say you are rather anxious to 
 see Mrs. Burgoyne?" said Mrs. Mavor. 
 Oh ! she is so kind, and the children are 
 dear affectionate things : they are most 
 anxious to see you. Now, I will leave you, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Miss Aniiersly, and when you are ready to 
 go do^vn, I will come for you here," and 
 she quitted the room. 
 
 Constance hastily finished her toilette, 
 and when her new friend tapped again at 
 the door, she was quite ready to go down 
 to the drawing-room. But Mrs. Mayor's 
 protection was forcibly withdrawn from 
 her before the dreaded moment of meet- 
 ing Mrs. Burg03me, for they were met 
 in the hall by a gentleman who was romp- 
 ing with a little girl. Him, the young 
 lady introduced with joyful pride as "my 
 husband." 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Annersly," said 
 Mr. Mavor Burgoyne; "I fear you have 
 had but a wretched journey to Chestnut 
 Brook, or Chestnut Swamp, as it ought 
 rather to be called in this weather. Let 
 me present this young lady to you;" and 
 lowering his voice so as only to be heard 
 by the ladies, he added, "the youngest 
 of your plagues, Miss Annersly. Here, 
 Georgy dear, kiss that lady, and take her 
 into mamma." 
 
 The little girl with charming friendli- 
 ness took her hand, and Mr. Mavor, drawing
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 83 
 
 his young wife's arm within his, led her off, 
 saying : — 
 
 " Now, they will not want us in the 
 drawing-room, and we can have an hour or 
 two at the piano in the library, dearest." 
 
 Constance, though left without any 
 friend, was not, however, alarmed now. 
 The voice and face of the eldest son of the 
 family had produced a most pleasing im- 
 pression on her. 
 
 "What a sweet smile he has! If his 
 mother is like him, I am sure I need not 
 be afraid," was her soliloquy, as her little 
 pupil led her into the drawing-room, where 
 she found herself face to face with Mrs. 
 Burgoyne. Constance thought there was 
 rather a haughty expression in her counte- 
 nance, at the first glance, but her sweet 
 gracious smile, and her voice, soft and 
 musical, reassured her, and dispelled her 
 exaggerated fear of the lady. She was 
 hardly less pleased with Colonel Burgoyne 
 when she saw him; he was like his son — 
 undeniably the gentleman in manners and 
 appearance. 
 
 When she came to know more of them 
 she found her eldest pupil. Miss Burgoyne, 
 
 G 2
 
 84 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 a clever though indolent girl; Eustace, the 
 next to her, was Miss Annersly's favourite 
 from the first day, and he seemed to appre- 
 ciate her partiality. For the two other 
 children, it was impossible to care much. 
 Frank was only eleven, and showed no par- 
 ticular traits of character, except that of 
 a provokingly firm will ; and Georgina, 
 though only three years his junior, was, 
 being the youngest, and extremely small 
 and delicate, treated yet as a baby and a 
 confirmed pet, and hardly promoted to the 
 school-room. The second son, the rising 
 politician, Constance did not see. 
 
 "When you have seen Chauncey, you will 
 be able to say whether he or Mavor is most 
 like me. I mean to copy him in every- 
 thing," said Eustace, confidentially, " only 
 I haven't got an uncle to leave an estate to 
 me — wish I had. Uncle Herbert, that is, 
 Mr. Herbert Chauncey, mamma's brother, 
 made a great pet of Chauncey, and left 
 him the West Creek plantation when he 
 died, as Chauncey had managed it for him 
 a couple of years. You see he was with 
 my uncle at his place at the North for 
 several years, so uncle grew fonder of
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 85 
 
 him than all the rest. He wanted to make 
 him a preacher, but papa wouldn't hear of 
 it, and so Chauncey came back to be a 
 senator some day ; he studied law, too, for 
 that reason." 
 
 " Then Mr. Chauncey lives alone on his 
 plantation?" 
 
 "Yes; it's very hard, that he has his 
 own place and his own niggers, while 
 Mavor, the eldest, only helps papa, and 
 buys a few when he can afford it ; but of 
 course it was all right that Chauncey should 
 have West Creek, because he was named 
 after uncle, you see. Stoughton Harwich, 
 that's my cousin (papa's sister, Mrs. Har- 
 wich, is my aunt Mary), Stoughton says 
 he guesses Mavor hates Chauncey like 
 anything for having got a plantation while 
 he hasn't, but I told him just to hold his 
 tongue if he didn't want to have to give 
 me satisfaction." 
 
 "Satisfaction! what? with fists, — you 
 would hardly know how to use a pistol," 
 said Miss Annersly, laughing. 
 
 "Don't I, though? I am a very good 
 shot already, and I am learning the rifle 
 too; Chauncey began teaching me. He has 
 
 G 3
 
 86 WHITE AND SLACK. 
 
 given me six lessons since he came back 
 from Europe, that is four months ago ; and 
 he says I make first-rate progress." 
 
 The following letter was written by Miss 
 Annersly to her brother, a fortnight after 
 her arrival at Chestnut Brook : — 
 
 « Chestnut Brook, October 1857. 
 
 "Dear Brother, — I am settled at last, 
 and arrived here a fortnight ago in my new 
 home, which promises to be a comfortable 
 one. You see I am again in South Carolina ; 
 I was rather unwilling to go so far, but 
 Miss Morton decided for me, as the offer 
 was the most advantageous of all she could 
 hear of. Besides, she says that I shall be 
 near her when she comes home, and that I 
 shall be more comfortable in a Southern 
 than in a Northern family. Of course she 
 thinks so, being a Southerner herself; but 
 they do seem very pleasant people — all well 
 bred and refined — voice and manners those 
 of educated persons; and the children are 
 most affectionate and lovable. 
 
 " I have one real friend already, I believe, 
 in the wife of the elder son; she has been 
 very kind to me from the first moment.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 87 
 
 She is one of the most beautiful women I 
 have ever seen in America (of course I must 
 except Miss Morton), and one of the most 
 amiable I hear from those who have known 
 her in Philadelphia. It is through her I 
 have been recommended here, so I hope 
 she will be interested in me and take my 
 part. 
 
 " I can hardly tell you, but you will feel 
 for me how painful it was to go over the 
 same ground again which we came with 
 our dear father : it seemed like living 
 through all those sad weeks again ; and yet 
 I feel a strange comfort in knowing I am 
 only a comparatively short distance from 
 the place where he is buried. Irene has 
 promised that when she returns to Charles- 
 ton, or to Elmhill, where Mr. Morton now 
 lives, if Mrs. Burgoyne can ever spare me 
 a week, she Avill go down with me to Jef- 
 fersonville and visit his grave. I look 
 forward to that so much, though I know I 
 shall dread it at the time. Irene was so 
 kind, oh ! so exceedingly kind, I never 
 can be grateful enough. You said my last 
 letter contained nothing about myself. I 
 hope this is egotistical enough ; I have not 
 
 G 4
 
 88 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 even left myself time to ask what you are 
 doing. 
 
 "• God bless you, dearest brother. Your 
 
 ever loving " Constance." 
 
 Constance did not see everything in her 
 new home quite so couleur de rose as she 
 made it appear in her letter. She found 
 that she had undertaken no easy task in the 
 education of Mrs. Burgoyne's children. 
 Clever, but indolent ; warm-hearted and 
 passionate ; accustomed to run wild and 
 tyrannise among a crowd of negro children, 
 unused to any regular hours and rules, and 
 strictly exempted from any punishment 
 more severe than a few hours' seclusion 
 from the others, they were as unpromising 
 a group of pupils as any governess was 
 ever offered. She soon saw that no ordinary 
 system of management would do for them, 
 and that they must be controlled by alter- 
 nately appealing to their good feelings or 
 their reason, as occasion offered ; so she 
 applied herself chiefly to winning their 
 affections, and as she really possessed con- 
 siderable tact in the art of instruction, as 
 Mrs. Lessing had already noticed, she
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 89 
 
 found matters go on much smoother than 
 she at first expected. She was often very 
 tired and very heartsick ; but she rallied her 
 courage, thought of her brother's trials and 
 difficulties in England, and resolved to be 
 worthy of him in her own troubles. 
 
 She was kindly invited to dine with the 
 elders if she liked, but as she was also to 
 superintend the schoolroom dinner at an 
 earlier hour, she generally preferred joining 
 her pupils there, as by that means she 
 secured a quiet evening for herself after 
 their tea. With the exception of Sunday, 
 when all the meals were taken in the dining- 
 room, and the whole family drove together 
 to church, at the town of Madison, twelve 
 miles distant, she saw little of either Colonel 
 Burgoyne or his son, but what little she 
 saw she liked much. Mrs. Burgoyne and 
 she were now good friends, and though the 
 former was not quite satisfied with the 
 theological state of her governess's mind, 
 which did not accord with her own strict 
 Calvinistic tenets, yet as they agreed well 
 on other subjects she overlooked this, and 
 indeed Constance was very careful not to 
 awaken any discussion on the point.
 
 90 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 As to negro slavery, the rock on which 
 Edward Maxwell had prophesied she would 
 split, she remembered Irene's warnings, and 
 escaped it. Mrs. Burgoyne saw her look 
 of horror when she heard her one day 
 order a slave to receive a slight punish- 
 ment, and kindly forbore afterwards to 
 give any such command in her presence. 
 Constance was at first distressed at the 
 imperious and sometimes unkind behaviour 
 of her pupils to their negro playfellows, and 
 their mother admitted that they had been 
 much injured by the bad example of their 
 cousins, with whom they had been staying 
 a few weeks, but the servants were all very 
 fond of them ; a fact which the nurse with 
 many expressions of warm affection con- 
 firmed. Mrs. Burgoyne took Constance to 
 walk round the plantation and see the 
 slaves at their work, and Miss Annersly 
 saw one of their negro cabins. It belonged 
 to a woman who had been Colonel Bur- 
 goyne's nurse, and had a boarded floor and 
 a glazed window. She found it less un- 
 comfortable than some wretched cottages 
 she had once seen in England, and was 
 satisfied to find that the slaves were well
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 91 
 
 cared for, and she soon felt no more anxiety 
 on the point. It must be remembered that 
 she was on a very well-managed plantation. 
 Mrs. Burgoyne confessed that some cruel 
 things did occasionally happen among their 
 neighbours, and the rough brutal fellows 
 who occasionally succeeded in buying a few 
 negroes, but she seemed so unwilling to talk 
 of this that Constance, from a natural 
 dislike of giving pain, let the subject drop. 
 But, in fact, she had very little opportu- 
 nity for either observing the negroes, or 
 asking questions about them, for only three 
 weeks after her arrival the two youngest 
 children fell seriously ill, and she had to 
 assist their mother in the painful task of 
 nursing them. At last she took entire 
 charge of little Georgina, for Mrs, Bur- 
 goyne was occupied with her house as well 
 as the sick room, and would place no confi- 
 dence in the mulatto nurse, though she 
 allowed she was a most affectionate crea- 
 ture, but quite unfit to be trusted with 
 medicine. Nor had she power to admi- 
 nister it, as Constance soon found ; and 
 when poor Miss Georgy with blows and 
 kicks had successfully resisted all her
 
 92 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 nurse's attempts to medicine her, the go- 
 verness was surprised and flattered to find 
 that her arguments and persuasions could 
 prevail, and the unpleasant dose was swal- 
 lowed. Georgy, however, did not mend, 
 though Frank slowly recovered, and Mrs. 
 Burgoyne began to feel exceedingly anxious 
 about the little girl ; for while her brother 
 grew strong and lively again, she continued 
 pale and languid, indiflPerent to her toys, 
 and too spiritless to seek amusement with 
 him. Mrs. Mavor Burgoyne, who with 
 her mother, Mrs. Kandolj^h, had been a 
 devoted admirer of Dr. Mayworth, spared 
 no pains to induce Mrs. Burgoyne to con- 
 sult him, even by letter ; and she was se- 
 conded by her husband, who being utterly 
 ignorant of, and sceptical too, of any system 
 of physic, of course adopted her opinions, 
 as in duty bound. 
 
 " In fact, mamma, I believe Eleanor is 
 right (when was she anything else in his 
 eyes? his mother mentally remarked), and 
 I am of the same opinion myself," conti- 
 nued Mr. Mavor, taking his seat on the 
 floor by his young wife's footstool, so that 
 while talking he could have an excuse
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 93 
 
 for looking up into her face all the time. 
 " Georgy really is ill, and she ought to 
 have better advice than this old humbug- 
 ging Jeffries can give us; and I should 
 say, send her to Philadelphia to see this 
 Dr. May worth." 
 
 "What! a journey of that length while 
 she is so weak," said his mother, indignantly. 
 
 "It's better than letting the child get 
 worse and worse for want of proper advice, 
 mamma, in time ; and I am sure we could 
 find some family going to Philadelphia who 
 would escort her ; and, Eleanor, I think 
 your mother would receive her in her house 
 for my unworthy sake — would not she ?" 
 
 " Of course she would ; but you know, or 
 ought to know, that she has left Philadel- 
 phia six weeks ago, Mavor. I told you 
 that." 
 
 " No, you did not. I beg pardon, I 
 meant to say I don't remember it. I was 
 thinking of you, and not of your words." 
 
 " And you expect me to forgive you for 
 the sake of that compliment, eh ?" said his 
 wife, tapping his cheek gently, and colour- 
 ing and smiling as he caught and kissed 
 her fingers. " But now to business.. Do
 
 94 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 you think, dear Madam, she could possibly 
 bear the journey? She could be received 
 as a boarder at Dr. Mayworth's, I am sure ; 
 for he has done that before, as a special 
 favour." 
 
 " I wonder what Chauncey would think 
 of it ?" said Mrs. Burgoyne, who generally 
 paid her absent son the compliment of de- 
 siring his opinion on any important sub- 
 ject ; and Mavor now observed, with a 
 laugh — 
 
 " We had better then withhold our opi- 
 nions until we know which way the oracle 
 has declared himself. Write to Chauncey, 
 mamma, and get him over here. He will 
 come immediately." 
 
 " I wish he would come without being 
 sent for," said Mrs. Burgoyne, as she took 
 her pen at the table where Constance had 
 arranged her writing materials. " He 
 studies too much, I fear. I thought him 
 looking very pale and spiritless when I 
 saw him at Madison the other day." 
 
 " You must forgive a rising politician if 
 he is somewhat unsocial, mamma," said 
 Mavor ; " when everybody is coming to 
 compliment you on such a son — the sa-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 95 
 
 viour of his country — the second Calhoun 
 — you will no longer regret his hermit-like 
 seclusion at West Creek. It is a fine thing 
 to be a statesman in prospective." 
 
 "Why are not you a politician, then?" 
 said Eleanor, softly. 
 
 " Who — I ? Why, my love, because two, 
 that is papa and Chauncey, are enough in 
 one house. Besides, I should not shine 
 beside him, and it is disagreeable to be 
 voted a mere copyist of your younger 
 brother. However, I think I must make a 
 name and individuality for myself too ; for 
 as it is at present, I am continually sup- 
 posed to be Chauncey, and people come to 
 congratulate me on my last speech, or 
 blame my plans for reducing the coloured 
 folks to order, and then I have to explain 
 that those extreme opinions are not mine 
 at all, and so forth. But do you wish me 
 to be a politician, my own Eleanor ? If 
 you like it, 1 will." 
 
 Another kiss of her hand, and the young 
 couple moved away to discuss their affairs 
 in a more private conversation. 
 
 " I have an idea how to manage, if we 
 can hear of any one going to Philadelphia,"
 
 96 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 said Mrs. Burgoyne. " I shall ask Cliaun- 
 cey to send me old Sarah ; he can do with- 
 out a housekeeper for a little while, and I 
 have real confidence in her carefulness. 
 Well, now I have written, and I shall be 
 glad to know what he thinks best." 
 
 Constance had been exceedingly desirous 
 to see Mr. Chauncey Burgoyne, the daring 
 pamphleteer, whose genius even Mr. Mor- 
 ton had acknowledged, while he so con- 
 demned his ultra views. She met the 
 future senator, therefore, with highly 
 raised expectations, and was rather disap- 
 pointed ; he was very like his brother 
 Mavor, but extremely quiet. She had 
 hoped to hear some flight of eloquence 
 from him during his visit, but his conver- 
 sation, though he seemed well read enough, 
 had no sigQ of the orator or the successful 
 writer in it. He advanced no political 
 theories ; for at the first attempt Mavor 
 made to bring up the subject, his father 
 interrupted him with the request that no 
 treason against the Union should be talked 
 of before him, and Mr. Chauncey seemed 
 utterly indifferent whether he talked or 
 not. He entered into his mother's anxiety
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 97 
 
 for his little sister, and supported Eleanor's 
 opinion that she should be sent to Dr. 
 May worth, adding that his housekeeper 
 was entirely at Mrs. Burgoyne's service ; 
 and that probably Miss Annersly would 
 feel competent to take charge of the child 
 to Philadelphia. 
 
 Constance felt her heart beat fast at the 
 prospect of paying a visit to Irene. She 
 waited in suspense to hear if Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne would approve of her son's advice. 
 To her great joy she did so, and asked her 
 if she thought herself able to take care of 
 the little one to Philadelphia, which Con- 
 stance unhesitatingly declared herself com- 
 petent to do. Mrs. Burgoyne gave her the 
 choice between taking the child's present 
 nurse, or the old woman in whom she 
 placed such confidence — she having been in 
 the nursery when Mr. Mavor was a child. 
 Constance, however, preferred taking the 
 girl she was used to; and in high spirits 
 went to write Lo Irene and announce her 
 coming to her. 
 
 Mr. Chauncey Burgoyne stayed at his 
 father's house that night, but returned to 
 his own plantation the next morning. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " You must be very busy at home, for 
 you quite shun us, Chauncey," said his 
 mother, a little reproachfully. " I dare say 
 you have a particular engagement this 
 time ; but you might ride over a little 
 oftener to see us.^' 
 
 " I will come, and gladly, mother," he 
 replied, " if I only knew when I should 
 find you all alone ; but the last three times 
 I have been here, you have invited people 
 to meet me, and I do not want to see any- 
 body but yourselves.'* 
 
 " I invited them because I thought they 
 would amuse you, Chauncey," said Mrs. 
 Burgoyne. " I do not like your being there 
 at the Creek amongst all those books, with 
 no friends but Jackson and his brother. 
 They are not fit for you." 
 
 "I never see them, mother, not unless 
 they come upon business — wretched, dissi- 
 pated fellows, both of them" — but he was 
 interrupted by Lucy, who, in a tone of 
 extreme distress, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Oh ! mamma ! that wretched Laviny ! 
 she has ironed my muslin dress with a 
 dirty iron, and the flounces are all utterly 
 spoiled. The tiresome thing ! I will have
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 99 
 
 her whipped, for it's the second time she 
 has done it." 
 
 " Tiresome, indeed ; but can't you let 
 her off this once?" said Chauncey. " Can't 
 she iron the dress for you again? Make 
 her sit up all night to do it." 
 
 "You don't know anything about it, 
 Chauncey!" said his sister impatiently. 
 " The dress is perfectly spoiled, but that is 
 just like you and Mavor — you always beg 
 the girls off." 
 
 "Well, I do think she does deserve a 
 whipping," said Mrs. Burgoyne, who sym- 
 pathised with her daughter's distress. " It's 
 always so with those pretty but tiresome 
 girls ; nothing will manage them. I wonder 
 how you can manage to keep order at West 
 Creek, Chauncey." 
 
 "For the simple reason, I suppose, be- 
 cause there isn't a single pretty girl on the 
 plantation. Elizabeth is as ugly as sin, 
 and all the others are old and steady-going 
 as grave-diggers. Oh, yes ! now I bethink 
 me, there are two good-looking women in 
 the field, but they have each got a husband 
 to keep them in order. One of them is 
 really pretty, though she is quite a dark 
 
 H 2
 
 100 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 mulatto. I met her tlie other day in the 
 field with a little brown — no, it was almost 
 black, papoose, and she came to ask me — 
 listen Lucy — if she might have the honour 
 of naming it after Miss Burgoyne; — that 
 means, if she does, will you send it a present ? 
 I granted the honour in your name, — was 
 I right?" 
 
 " Oh ! quite right ; and I'll send her a 
 handkerchief for the baby," replied his 
 sister; " I'll get it at once if you are going 
 off now. Chauncey, if you're generous, 
 some day you'll give me that baby, 
 now?" 
 
 " Perhaps I will, if you'll promise not to 
 whip her Avhen she rumples your flounces," 
 he answered, laughing as he kissed her, and 
 they followed him to the door to see him 
 mount. 
 
 " Mavor," said Colonel Burgoyne to his 
 son, as the others went out, " is Chauncey 
 really engaged in a political work, or is he 
 still fretting and making a fool of himself 
 about that girl?" 
 
 " Both, sir ; he really is writing, but he 
 mopes too, and I wish I could get him here 
 to divert his thoughts. I have done all I
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 101 
 
 could to set him riglit. I offered to find 
 him another quite as pretty, but he wouldn't 
 hear of it. However, it can't last much 
 longer." 
 
 " I hope not," said his father, ''for really 
 Chauncey has been quite melancholy ever 
 since. He looks quite moped." 
 
 ''What, Chauncey, is it? Yes; does he 
 not look pale and sad?" said Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne, as she returned from seeing her son 
 ride off. He is not like himself, he wants 
 amusement I am sure; he does not look 
 nearly as well as he did before he went to 
 Europe." 
 
 "I think he finds West Creek rather 
 dull," said Colonel Burgoyne, lighting his 
 cigar while Mavor left the room. " His 
 next neighbours, Jackson and Grant, can 
 hardly be much to his taste." 
 
 " Oh ! I wish he would marry," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Burgoyne earnestly." 
 
 " Oh, Lucilla ! nonsense ! Marry at his 
 age ! only twenty-four. No ; he had better 
 wait till he gets a jDosition to command 
 what alliance he likes." 
 
 " Well, I hope he will give his mind to 
 politics entirely then, and not waste his 
 
 H 3
 
 102 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 time at West Creek by liimself, or with 
 such fellows as Jackson." 
 
 " I do not care for hurrying him on ; he 
 has ambition enough ; and he is young, and 
 some of his crotchets are ridiculous. I 
 dare say one reason why he keeps away from 
 here is that I have oifended him and his 
 friend Ellsland by forbidding that non- 
 sensical theory of secession to be discussed 
 in my presence. They both have a hobby 
 of being consistent and thorough-going, 
 and I believe they would ask the man in 
 the moon to draw up their state constitu- 
 tion, if anybody would only persuade them 
 such a request was consistent with their 
 former statements. JSTow, Lucilla," he con- 
 tinued, laughing, " don't look aggrieved, 
 though I know you are, if I breathe a word 
 against your darling. Ah ! people may 
 talk of the equality of mother's love and 
 all that, but there is a deal of favouritism 
 in it at times. Chauncey has given us 
 more anxiety than all the others, and yet I 
 am sure you love him the most. You are 
 fond enough of Eleanor, but if Chauncey 
 brought home a wife, you would love her 
 better than our own girls, unless, indeed, 
 you grew jealous of her."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 103 
 
 " That I am sure I should do," said his 
 wife smiling. " Gome into the verandah 
 with me, Francis ; I have something to tell 
 you about Mavor and Eleanor — the dear 
 silly things." 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne opened the window and 
 went out. The Colonel, hov/ever, stopped 
 as a young quadroon woman entered the 
 room, and chucking her under the chin in a 
 decidedly affectionate and fondling manner, 
 said, — 
 
 " What's the matter, Hester ? You don't 
 look bright, girl." 
 
 " Oh ! mas'r, I 'spects I'se too much 
 work," said the saucy slave girl, as she 
 began lazily flirting the dust off the tables 
 with the corner of her apron. 
 
 " Well, take care of yourself, and don't 
 work too hard," said her master, giving 
 her a small piece of silver, and, with an- 
 other caress, he left her and went to join 
 his wife, who from the verandah had wit- 
 nessed the colloquy. The smile had left 
 her face, and she walked on in silence, 
 irritated with natural jealousy, and she 
 said nothing until Colonel Burgoyne asked, 
 in his usually suave and cordial voice, — 
 
 II 4
 
 104 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Well, what were you going to tell me 
 about Mavor and Eleanor?" 
 
 "Nothing; at least nothing that I re- 
 member," replied Mrs. Burgoyne, feeling 
 no longer any wish to relate and laugh at 
 the little proofs of lover-like egotism which 
 had amused her in Mavor and his wife 
 that morning. The Colonel saw his lady 
 was vexed, but said nothing, and walked 
 away. If Mrs. Burgoyne rapped Hester's 
 knuckles sharply that evening, when repri- 
 manding her for work left undone, it could 
 hardly be wondered at.
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Constance and her little pupil readied Phila- 
 delphia in safety, and found Dr. Mayworth 
 expecting them, as previously arranged, and 
 very comfortable quarters prepared for 
 them in his own house. Of course he ex- 
 pressed his opinion that the child had been 
 very unscientifically treated, and prophesied 
 that she would get well and flourishing in 
 a fortnight under a rational system of 
 medicine. Constance felt relieved of much 
 anxiety on hearing this, and as soon as she 
 could leave her little charge, happily pre- 
 paring for sleep, with the careful nurse who 
 had accompanied her, she went down to 
 the drawing-room, where Miss Morton and 
 Mrs. Lessing, who had been warned of her 
 arrival, were waiting. Irene received her 
 with a perfect ecstasy of delight, seeming 
 almost unable to leave off kissing her, and 
 asked question after question as fast as 
 they could be answered. It was only when
 
 106 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 she bad fairly tired herself out, and could 
 do nothing but sit holding her friend's 
 hand in hers, repeating from time to time, 
 " Oh, I am so glad to see you," that Con- 
 stance was able to ask for information re- 
 specting herself and her life in Philadelphia 
 during the past two months. 
 
 " Oh ! I have enjoyed the time very 
 much. We go out quite often. We begin 
 to know a great many people, and I hear," 
 added Irene, dropping her voice, and look- 
 round to see that Mrs. Lessing had left 
 them, — " I hear that I am immensely ad- 
 mired everywhere. And, dear Constance, 
 I am not idle or dissipated at all, as you 
 feared I would be. I read quite steadily 
 every day, and practise the piano two 
 hours. I like Signor Bianchi extremely. 
 My voice is really improved under him, 
 and now he reads Italian with me also." 
 
 " Do let me hear you sing then, dear 
 Irene," said Constance, and Miss Morton 
 very willingly sat down to the piano, and 
 began a little Italian air. 
 
 " Yes, your voice is much improved, but 
 you smile too much, and " 
 
 " And am abominably affected ; you may
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 107 
 
 as well say it out, Constance, I see it is in 
 vour face. I know I am, but it is one of 
 my company songs, and I cannot help it; 
 but I will sing you the piece I am prac- 
 tising for Signor Biancbi, and you will like 
 me better in that. He allows no smiles 
 nor graces whatever." 
 
 " And he is quite right then," answered 
 her friend. '' Yes, you sing that beautifully, 
 dear Irene. I always thought your voice 
 was a good one, but the improvement is 
 far beyond what I expected." 
 
 " Ah ! I have come on in another accom- 
 plishment also, which you would never ex- 
 pect, and that is plain needlework. Think 
 of it ! but I was forced into the measure. 
 Miss Maxwell (you remember her brother), 
 and you know she is a boarder with Dr. 
 May worth — well, she is a regular New 
 England needlewoman, and she is fond of 
 me^ alas ! and has undertaken my educa- 
 tion in that department, so I am obliged 
 to learn in spite of myself. She sets me 
 down to stitch in the evening, when her 
 brother comes to see her and the Doctor, 
 and so there is no escape for me until they 
 send me to the piano to sing for them."
 
 108 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Then you see a great deal of Mr. 
 Maxwell?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he comes very often ; he is a 
 most affectionate brother. It is a pity he 
 cannot have his sister with him, but he 
 lives near to his place of business, and she 
 wants to be close to Dr. Mayworth. Be- 
 sides, I fancy they see as much of each 
 other as they wish to." 
 
 "Why so? I thought he was so par- 
 ticularly amiable and aifectionate." 
 
 " Yes, he is ; but she is utterly scan- 
 dalised, like everybody else, at this anti- 
 slavery nonsense. She cannot bear it, and 
 she wants him to give it up. It is ruining 
 his prospects, and all his family are very 
 vexed about it. His father is thoroughly 
 disgusted with him, and so am I, in fact." 
 
 " Of course, it is natural that you, a 
 Southerner, should be so," said Constance, 
 laughing; "but why should they, being 
 New Engianders, feel so strongly about it? 
 Have you been converting Miss Maxwell 
 to your opinions?" 
 
 "Oh, dear no ! She is furiously opposed 
 to us, as all the Northerners are before they 
 really know us ; but she is a sensible wo-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 109 
 
 man and does not admire the extravagant 
 theories of her brother. Only think, he 
 actually tried to persuade me ! — me ! — a 
 Southerner! that it was wrong — positively 
 wicked — to have negroes for servants ; and 
 he tallvs so earnestly and so beautifully 
 about humanity and justice, that he almost 
 carries me away with him while he is 
 speaking; so now I have forbidden him to 
 say another word on the subject." 
 
 " I almost wonder that you allowed him 
 to talk of it to you at all. Do you like 
 him personally?" 
 
 " Oh ! very much, and so does Dr. May- 
 worth. He will call him his friend, and 
 have him here, though everybody says he 
 is wrong to encourage him in his folly. 
 But, you know, I must like him, whatever 
 he is, since he really saved papa's life." 
 
 " How is your father? and how is Mrs. 
 Morton? Have you heard from her yet?" 
 said Constance, turning to a subject more 
 interesting to her than Edward Maxwell 
 was. 
 
 " No, not yet. I think it is rather 
 strange and rude of her, and I do so ^vixnt 
 to see papa. I wish he would come here.
 
 110 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 You know, though I often did not see him 
 for many weeks, it was very different to 
 know that he was only at Ehnhill or at 
 Charleston, instead of there being so many 
 hundred miles between us. However, it 
 can't be helped, so I shall enjoy myself 
 here as much as I can, though I am not 
 going to be married to please good Mrs. 
 Lessing." 
 
 " You do not mean to say that she wants 
 you to be married yet?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps not immediately, but she 
 looks forward to it as the summum honum 
 of my existence. You see, now that papa 
 is married, I am no longer the heiress I 
 once was, and Mrs. Lessing wants a rich 
 husband for me ; and I think I know whom 
 she wants, but I won't have him," said 
 Irene, dancing round the room, and throw- 
 ing up her handkerchief for a ball. 
 
 "Who is it? Mr. Maxwell?" said Con- 
 stance, who was sitting soberly by the fire, 
 while Irene danced to and fro. 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell ! no, indeed. He is not 
 rich; he is always losing his money over 
 his runaway niggers and poor coloured 
 people, whom, having decoyed from their
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. Ill 
 
 masters and homes, he feels in honour 
 bound to support now. Besides, my dear, 
 what do you think papa would say to him ? 
 It is not only his theory that is dangerous, 
 my dear — he is a regular abolitionist agi- 
 tator — writes articles, incendiary articles, 
 against the South — helps off runaway 
 niggers, I told you, and makes inflam- 
 matory speeches at the abolition meetings. 
 He is fairly execrated by the South, and 
 with reason, too. No; it's not him, but a 
 Mr. Wyatt, whom Mrs. Lessing likes." 
 " And whom you do not like, I infer?" 
 " No, indeed, I do not. I like no one, 
 unless — well, to confess the truth, Con- 
 stance," said Irene, kneeling down by her 
 friend's side, and playfully resting her head 
 on her knee, " I did like Signor Bianchi 
 very much. I think I was very near falling 
 in love with him ; but one day, when we 
 were talking, he told me he expected to 
 return to Europe again as soon as he heard 
 there was any fighting in Italy, for he had 
 vowed to devote his life to the cause. of his 
 country, so I found it was time to forget 
 aU that I had been thinking of; and so no 
 more of him — eh ! don't you agree ? "
 
 112 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 She shook back her bright curls, and 
 looked up mischievously in Miss An- 
 nersly's face, and then springing up, ran 
 back to the piano, played a quick galop, 
 and then bei^^an ao:ain. 
 
 " Oh ! I do like dancing, and I am never 
 tired any evening. I want to see your 
 little pupil very much. I shall come in 
 here to-morrow directly after breakfast for 
 half an hour, before my singing lesson, and 
 see the little pet. Constance, they really 
 are very kind, are they not, and treat you 
 properly?" 
 
 " Yes, very kind. What do you call 
 properly?" asked Constance, putting her 
 arm round Irene's little waist and drawing 
 her nearer to her. 
 
 " Well, are you allowed some time to 
 yourself ? Do you see their visitors ? Have 
 you a maid? In short, are you treated as 
 you ought to be?" 
 
 " I am very comfortable there, indeed. I 
 have not seen many visitors, for I have 
 been upstairs with Georgy most of the 
 time. I do not want any maid, but Mrs. 
 Burgoyne told me I could have hers when 
 I liked, if she did not want her."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 116 
 
 "What, her OAvn maid? That is good of 
 her. Is it Letta, the one of whom you 
 wrote? Is it her own particular maid?" 
 
 " Not exactly her particular maid. I be- 
 lieve Letta is really an u^^per housemaid, 
 but she sometimes waits on Mrs. Mavor, 
 and sometimes on her mistress. There is 
 another girl, Hester, who was Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne's maid, but she does not like her, 
 and often takes Letta, so I really never see 
 a chance of finding her not wanted, and do 
 without help very well. By the bye, how is 
 your Mary ? I suppose she likes being in 
 a free state ? " 
 
 "Oh! not at all; she is miserable; but, 
 hush ! here is Mr. Maxwell. I am so glad, 
 and Mr. Wyatt also. They are my visitors, 
 I suppose, for Dr. Mayworth is not at 
 home, and they have not come to see 
 Fanny or Mrs. M. I know." 
 
 " You SY/eet child; but you are half 
 spoiled ])y flattery," thought Constance, as 
 she saw Irene's greeting of the two gentle- 
 men, and the pretty little aiFectations and 
 coquetries vfhich she displayed at every 
 moment, until something Mr. Maxwell said 
 appeared to interest her, and she forgot her 
 
 VOL. r. I
 
 114 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 graces in very earnest attention. Mrs. 
 Lessing endeavoured to console Mr. Wyatt 
 for Irene's capricious neglect of him, and 
 tried to make him and Miss Annersly in- 
 terested in each other, while she talked to 
 Mrs. Mayworth; but the merchant's con- 
 versation failed to interest Constance or to 
 rivet her attention. She preferred to listen 
 to the gentler and more earnest voice of 
 Edward Maxwell, but she could not see 
 much of him; for, though he came up. and 
 spoke to her for a few moments, he had 
 evidently no thoughts but for Irene, by 
 whose chair he remained all the rest of the 
 evening. 
 
 The next day Miss Morton appeared at 
 an early hour at the Doctor's house to 
 make friends with Georgy and chat with 
 Constance. 
 
 " You have not told me anything about 
 your brother," she said, after she had made 
 Georgy happy with her watch-chain and 
 bunch of tiny trinkets thereto appended. 
 " I have forwarded a letter to you from 
 him." 
 
 " He need not trouble you now to for- 
 ward letters," said Constance, " for he
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 115 
 
 knows my address, and I dare say lie will 
 not send them to you any more." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I thmk he will, for he begged 
 permission to do so, in a little note he en- 
 closed in the envelope," said Irene, looking 
 down upon Georgy's curls. " He has sent a 
 few lines to Mrs. Lessins; and me each 
 time ; he said I should always know your 
 address, and therefore it was better to send 
 them here." 
 
 " Oh ! very well," replied Miss Annersly, 
 but seeing her friend's colour rising, she 
 changed the conversation. 
 
 In the evening Constance paid Miss 
 Morton a visit, and found her very ele- 
 gantly dressed, sitting reading with Mrs. 
 Lessing. She was evidently dressed for 
 visitors, and Mrs. Lessing looked rather 
 annoyed and vexed, which Constance un- 
 derstood when Irene whispered, — 
 
 " Mr. Maxwell and his sister will be here 
 to-night ; we shall have a really nice chat, 
 which we could not have yesterday." 
 
 *' Yesterday ? Why, he talked to you the 
 whole time. What would you have ? " said 
 Constance smiling. " Do you hope he is 
 o^oins: to be converted into a Southerner?" 
 
 I 2
 
 116 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 "No; I don't indeed. Ah! you do not 
 know him, or you would not indulge so 
 sweet a hope ; but I shall like you to see 
 him just as he is." 
 
 " Now, my dear Miss Annersly, I want 
 to hear a little about vour new home. I 
 have not been able to ask you any questions 
 yet," began Mrs. Lessing mildly, but she 
 was interrupted by Irene. 
 
 " Have you seen the vara avis^ the 
 Phoenix, Mr. Chauncey Burgoyne, yet, 
 Constance?" 
 
 "Oh! yes; I have had that happiness 
 once. He has only come once to the house 
 while I have been there. He lives at his 
 own plantation, some fifteen miles away; it 
 was left him by his uncle, Mr. Herbert 
 Chauncey, of West Creek." 
 
 " Chauncey is a Northern name," said 
 Mrs. Lessing. 
 
 " Yes ; Mr. Herbert Chauncey, from 
 whom he inherits, was from New England, 
 and he himself lived some years in the 
 North with that uncle. He has lately re- 
 turned from a journey to Europe. He is a 
 scholar, I believe; at least they are very 
 proud of him, and expect him to support
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 117 
 
 the family honour in the legislature, if not 
 in Cono^ress." 
 
 " Do they speak of him with much affec- 
 tion?" asked Irene. 
 
 "With more pride, perhaps; and yet I 
 don't know ; the children are constantly talk- 
 ing of brother Chauncey, and seem anxious 
 to win his good opinion. His mother often 
 wishes that he would not devote so much 
 time to his books at the Creek, but ride over 
 occasionally to them, and I think he might 
 do so; he seems too much absorbed in his 
 own plantation and affairs." 
 
 " Perhaps he has something which keeps 
 him there," observed Irene, exchanging 
 a glance of significance with her gover- 
 ness. 
 
 " I do not know," replied Constance ; 
 " but why are you so curious about 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh! nothing at all," said Mrs. Lessing 
 quickly, but Irene answered, — 
 
 "Why, we heard a story about him the 
 other day, which Mrs. May worth is much 
 shocked at ; but I don't think it worse than 
 many other people whom she sees no harm 
 in."
 
 118 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Mrs. Lessing looked distressed at this 
 speecli, but Irene went on. " But he has 
 been in love with some quadroon girl 
 there at his plantation a very long time ; 
 long before he went to Europe ; and of 
 course it's very wrong ; but Mrs. Mayworth 
 irritated me by being so extremely angry 
 with him, while I know she can pardon 
 such things in others; and I believe it's 
 only because she hates Southern people." 
 
 "Well," said Constance, "I should hardly 
 have thouo;ht Mrs. Mavworth would have 
 overlooked such a thing in any one. She 
 professes to think much of moral principle." 
 
 " There is some one on the stairs," said 
 Mrs. Lessing, looking much relieved at the 
 interruption, even though it was Edward 
 Maxwell who entered. 
 
 "Is not Anne with you?" said Irene, as 
 she saw he came without his sister. 
 
 " No ; she has not been to me. I thought 
 she would have come with Miss Annersly. 
 She prefers staying with Mrs. Mayworth 
 apparently," replied Maxwell lightly; but 
 Constance thought there was a little shade 
 of annoyance in his manner, and she re- 
 membered that Miss Maxwell had stayed
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 119 
 
 at borne, in spite even of tlie doctor's press- 
 ing iier to tempt tlie night- air for once, 
 and go to meet lier brother at Miss Morton's. 
 There was evidently some misunderstand- 
 ing bet^v^een the relatives, and she saw 
 Irene was hastily trying to find another 
 subject of conversation. Mrs. Lessing 
 supplied it, saying, — 
 
 " Well, my dear Miss Annersly, you have 
 not told us of the ladies of Chestnut Brook 
 jet. You like young Mrs. Burgoyne ex- 
 tremely, do you not?" 
 
 "Is young Mr. Burgoyne married?" 
 asked Edward. " I had not the least idea 
 of it." 
 
 " It is Mr. Mavor Burgo}me, not Chaun- 
 cey — not your friend," said Irene laughing. 
 
 "Why do you say my friend?" said 
 Maxwell, with a little start. 
 
 " Because I know you hate him so much. 
 He is the politician." 
 
 " I do not hate him — on the contrary, I 
 have personally a great regard for him," 
 said Maxwell, and then he stopped sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "You know him, then? Is it possible? 
 Why, you never said a word when Mr. 
 
 I 4
 
 120 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Jedediah Back was talking of liim. That 
 man I mean wlio was so full of South 
 Carolina news." 
 
 "And to whom you talked the whole 
 evening," said Edward, and then added, " I 
 said nothing, because what I have to say 
 would not raise Mr. Burgoyne in the esti- 
 mation of his countrymen generally. But 
 I can trust your discretion." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," replied Constance, 
 but Irene said indignantly, — 
 
 " Not raise his credit ! Remember that 
 Mr. Chauncey Burgoyne is my country- 
 man. Well, what has he done?" 
 
 " Do you think that it would please your 
 countrymen to know that he protected and 
 sheltered a hunted abolitionist three months 
 a2:o?" said Maxwell smilino;. 
 
 " Chauncey Burgoyne ? Impossible!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Lessing, while Irene sprang 
 up, clapping her hands in ecstasy, crying — 
 
 "Oh! I am so glad. You who won't 
 believe in Southern chivalry and generosity, 
 to owe that to him!" 
 
 " It is just what I should have expected 
 from one of the Burgoyne family," observed 
 Constance.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 121 
 
 " The man who wi'ote those letters in the 
 ' Courier,' " said Mrs. Lessing. " I cannot 
 believe it." 
 
 " That is his theory, not his practice, 
 dear Madam," answered Maxwell. " He 
 would hang all the abolitionists on paper ; 
 but he treated me with admirable kindness 
 while I was a necessary prisoner in his 
 house;" and, speaking with more than his 
 usual animation, Edward continued, " you 
 know I had to go South on business of my 
 own. It was nothing that would have 
 annoyed the Southerners, but I thought it 
 prudent to change my name. Ah I I un- 
 derstand those looks of reproach — but to 
 proceed, you have seen Sarah Gold, that 
 poor coloured woman who spoke to me the 
 other day?" 
 
 " To whom you spoke you mean," said 
 Irene. " Nobody but you would have 
 dreamt of talking to a coloured woman 
 in the streets of Philadelphia, as you did, 
 and almost bowing as you left her." 
 
 " Well, never mind if I did quite. She, 
 poor thing, before I went there, came and 
 begged me with tears, and such prayers as 
 no man could resist, to stop and ask at Mr.
 
 122 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Ellsland's plantation if her daughter Gassy 
 were still there, and I did so. There I met 
 Mr. Ellsland, who ordered me off the place, 
 and when I returned to my lodging I found 
 he had been making inquiries after me, so 
 I thought it was better to leave directly. 
 I went with a farmer in his cart before 
 daybreak, as far as he could go, and then 
 walked till night. I heard from some 
 person that Mr. Ellsland and several men 
 were in pursuit, so I had nothing to do but 
 to hurry on as I could, riding whenever I 
 had a chance, and sleeping in the open air 
 like a fugitive slave myself. But at last 
 I could go no further, for I had hurt 
 my ankle at the first setting out, and I 
 could not drag on any more. I lost the 
 train at Jeffersonville, and broke down in 
 trying to get on that night, for I did not 
 dare to ask for a waggon or a horse, as the 
 people were already suspecting me. Then 
 I fell in with Chauncey Burgoyne, and he 
 took me to a friend's house, and treated me 
 with such true courtesy and generosity that 
 I shall always remember him as a real 
 friend^ though our opinions must ever be at
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 123 
 
 " And I hope you understand that he is 
 but a fair specimen of his countrymen and 
 mine," said Irene proudly. 
 
 '' On the contrary, Miss Morton, his 
 mother was my countrywoman," answered 
 Maxwell, "and I think he is a singular 
 exception to his class in every way." 
 
 "Well, that is too bad," said Irene, 
 throwing down her work, and running off 
 to the piano. She did not begin to play, 
 however, but sat watching the others, and 
 turning over her music rather abstractedly. 
 
 " You have seen his sister, my little 
 pupil, if you called at Dr. Mayworth's to- 
 night," said Constance to Edward. He 
 shook his head. 
 
 " She is a nicely-disposed child ; but she 
 has a dreadful temper," said Mrs. Lessing. 
 " She was beating and pinching her poor 
 nurse to-day in a most cruel manner." 
 
 " Of course. Southern children are 
 allowed to do it." 
 
 " Now, of course you say so, Edward, 
 and it's very wrong," said Irene, coming 
 back and taking his hand in hers, and 
 looking up in his face with a sweet childish 
 frankness which made Constance and Mrs.
 
 124 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Lessmo; exchan2:e smiles witli eacli other. 
 " You would fain persuade everybody that 
 Southern children are coaxed into order by 
 the bribe of a whip to flog a nigger with, I 
 know; but it is a libel on us. I am sure I 
 was never allowed to whip my nurse — no^ 
 indeed!" 
 
 " I dare say you never wished to be so 
 cruel," said Maxwell, looking fondly at her; 
 " but other children do, and they are in- 
 dulged in it. I appeal to Miss Annersly." 
 
 " Yes ; Mrs. Burgoyne admits that her 
 children are very self-willed," said Con- 
 stance; "but I must say that I find the 
 condition of the negroes far better than I 
 expected." 
 
 " There, Edward ; and she is a witness 
 on your own side," exclaimed Miss Morton 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "Yes; but she is in a very amiable 
 family, and has not had time to study the 
 subject." 
 
 "Yes, indeed I have," said Constance; 
 " and though I feel just as strongly against 
 slavery, I am glad to say that I think the 
 evil is over-rated, and that there is more good 
 at the South than I gave them credit for."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 125 
 
 " But are the slaves never punislied at 
 Chestnut Brook, then?" said Edward. 
 
 " Sometnnes, but not very often, I be- 
 lieve; and I see that their well-being is 
 thought of and cared for. I was rather 
 surprised, at first, to see how often the 
 house-servants slept on the floor instead of 
 beds ; but I think they have different kinds 
 of enjoyment to ours, and do not feel the 
 same things a hardship. They are well 
 nursed if they are ill, and Mrs. Burgoyne 
 tells me she has often gone herself to dress 
 the wounds and cuts which they get in their 
 work, and the house-servants seem very 
 happy." 
 
 '' Well, of course, it is unlikely that 
 planters would ill-feed and overwork their 
 slaves, for it would injure their value," said 
 Irene, appealing, however, to Maxwell. 
 '' Their being their own property is a most 
 effectual check against any ill-usage." 
 
 " It might be so if the slaves were passive 
 under them, and were easily managed," 
 replied Maxwell; "but even cattle and 
 horses are often cruelly iU-treated by their 
 owners when they are angry with them, or 
 die from insufhcient feeding and exposure
 
 126 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 to the weather. That is clearly a loss to 
 their owners, but, nevertheless, they let them 
 die from carelessness or neglect." 
 
 " But I never hear of these terrible cases 
 of neglect and cruelty, and I am in the 
 midst of it," remarked Constance. " If 
 they were so frequent as you seem to think, 
 I should hear something of them." 
 
 " But have you been looking out for 
 them?" replied Maxwell. "Do you not 
 think, on the contrary, that you are rather 
 inclined to take the planter's word for the 
 truth in this matter?" 
 
 " No, no, Edward, that is prejudice 
 again," interposed Miss Morton. " Keep 
 firm, Constance, use your own eyes, and 
 judge of us fairly and impartially." 
 
 Maxwell offered no rejoinder to Irene, 
 and the conversation flowed into another 
 channel. 
 
 A fortnight passed away very happily 
 for Constance, and Georgina's health im- 
 proved in a manner that gave Miss 
 Annersly great satisfaction; but Dr. May- 
 worth looked more serious than at first, 
 and said, — 
 
 " No ; I certainly see the child is stronger
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 127 
 
 than when she came; but she is not going 
 on as she should. I was too hasty in 
 attributing all her illness to mismanage- 
 ment, though there has been some of that. 
 But I fear there is great constitutional 
 weakness: I tell you the worst candidly, 
 Miss Annersly, because Mrs. Burgoyne has 
 sent to me from such a distance, and there- 
 fore you need not think I am keeping any- 
 thing behind. The child will require con- 
 stant watching and care, and perhaps she 
 will grow stronger eventually, but she 
 really has no constitution at all, as half 
 those Southern children haven't. It is 
 astonishing what a degenerate lot that 
 Southern population are now. Drinking 
 and excess in the fathers have done this 
 work among the children, that is certain; 
 and it is my belief that they would die out 
 if they were not recruited with some good 
 Northern blood from time to time. Well, 
 I shall prescribe for your little pupil, and 
 you must take great care of her; so you 
 had better return to Carolina at once be- 
 fore the winter gets colder, and look after 
 her health as well as possible. Don't you 
 overwork her, Madain schoolmistress, mind
 
 128 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 that. Perhaps I'll be coming to the South 
 myself one day, and if Mrs. Burgoyne 
 likes, I will call and see the little lady; I 
 shall come very near," 
 
 " So you have your conge^^ said Irene, 
 when Constance told her that the Doctor 
 would not counsel any further stay in 
 Philadelphia. " I am very sorry you should 
 go so soon, I hoped you were settled for the 
 winter ; however, you will now be in time 
 to save your nurse from being spoiled. 
 She has been talking a great deal too much 
 to a coloured woman who comes here, and 
 I fear, if you had stayed much longer, you 
 would have had some difficulty in finding 
 her to take her back South." 
 
 '' Oh ! she is too affectionate to leave the 
 child, I think." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but they are often very 
 ungrateful. I dare say I shall lose Mary 
 before I return home. They are persuaded 
 to run off poor things, and they are so easy 
 to entice away from their masters." 
 
 " And is that to be accounted no proof 
 that they are unhappy as slaves, Miss 
 Morton?" said Maxwell, who, unseen by 
 them, had entered the room. " If they
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 129 
 
 esteem freedom such a blessing, it is a sign 
 they are discontented with slavery." 
 
 " I never knew one of them who did 
 desire to be free," said Irene, — " no, never ! " 
 and Constance added, — 
 
 " And I must say I was rather disap- 
 pointed to find the slaves at Chestnut Brook 
 so perfectly contented with their position. 
 It does not speak much for their intellect ; 
 but, indeed, many of them are so brutal and 
 stupid-looking that they can hardly have 
 any ideas at all, poor things. I have asked 
 three or four whether they are happy, and 
 whether they would like to be free, and they 
 always answer they would not, and say that 
 they are very contented where they are." 
 
 '^ And you give them credit for speaking 
 the truth to you, then?" said Edward. 
 '^ How do they know that you will not 
 betray them to their owners? — unintention- 
 ally, it may be, and so get them a flogging 
 for having thrown discredit on the divine 
 institution. Why, a negro never speaks 
 the truth on that subject to a white man, 
 unless he knows he is an abolitionist." 
 
 " They do speak it to you, then? What 
 do they say ? " 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " They do not take me into their confi- 
 dence until they are perfectly assured of 
 my character," replied Edward. " I have 
 often talked with a negro, some apparently 
 merry, thoughtless fellow, unable to give a 
 rational answer to any question, and chat- 
 tering in a dialect that a savage might 
 envy. I have heard him say that he did 
 not wish to be free, and he was much better 
 off as he was. And then by some sign I 
 have let him know that I was his friend, 
 and it was a marvel to see what a change 
 came over the man, and over his language 
 at once; so sad and thoughtful, as, with 
 tears in his eyes, he speaks, perhaps, of his 
 wife or children sold away from him, or 
 placed under a master perhaps more cruel 
 than his own, ending by saying that there 
 is not a negro in the South but wishes he 
 were free, and adds, ' But I never shall be 
 free, sir, till I die!' Miss Annersly, you 
 know there are those who having ears, hear 
 not, and having eyes, see not. If you ask 
 questions from those wretched slaves who 
 dare not speak but as they are bid, you 
 must learn to distinguish between the 
 slave's answer given in fear of the lash,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 131 
 
 and the confession of tlie man himself 
 offered to a friend. As long as they see 
 you willing to receive their master's testi- 
 mony, they will be afraid of giving their 
 own ; so you cannot hope to learn the whole 
 truth. But do not bring their poor parrot- 
 learned and cowardly professions of love to 
 their tyrants as any testimony against them- 
 selves. Should we be any braver than they 
 are to speak were the lash hanging over 
 us?" 
 
 Maxwell spoke fast and earnestly, the 
 colour rising to his face in his excitement ; 
 but he stopped suddenly, on hearing his 
 sister's voice, and left the room. 
 
 " Ah ! now he was getting really excited. 
 I wish he had gone on," said Irene to Con- 
 stance. " I am so glad you have heard 
 him for even this one minute. Is not his 
 voice eloquent, and his look? I have been 
 trying to rouse him to speak and argue for 
 hie last week, but he is too unhappy about 
 the last letter from his father. I hardly 
 thought he would have answered you so 
 now, but is it not a treat to hear and see 
 him? I mean to go some day to one of 
 their anti-slavery meetings, not of course to 
 
 K 2
 
 132 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 hear their wretched trash, but just to hear 
 him speak." 
 
 " Perhaps he will convert you, then, who 
 knows?" said Constance, laughing, as she 
 kissed her; and as she looked at Irene's 
 sweet, young, and childish face, so lovely 
 and so innocently happy in the conscious- 
 ness of her own beauty, she sighed and said 
 to herself, "It is to be hoped her father 
 will fetch her back to her own home before 
 mischief is done." 
 
 " Well, good-bye, dearest Irene, take care 
 of yourself, and remember that you are the 
 •daughter of a Southern gentleman." 
 
 " Trust me, I shall never forget my birth. 
 I am a true Carolinian," replied Irene, 
 proudly ; and then laughing merrily, as she 
 understood her friend's glance, she added, 
 " Oh! you need not fear, Constance, I am 
 •quite too proud, I assure you. All will be 
 right. Good-bye ! "
 
 133 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A FEW more days, and Constance readied 
 the Chestnut Brook plantation agam. She 
 was welcomed by the children with wild 
 demonstrations of delight, and by Mrs. 
 Burgoyne in a very affectionate manner. 
 The marked improvement in little Georgy's 
 appearance was a reward to her mother for 
 the sacrifice she had made in parting with 
 the child, and she warmly thanked Con- 
 stance for the evident care she had taken 
 of her. Georgy kept close to her mother 
 the whole evening ; and the younger boy, 
 Frank, would not leave his little sister for 
 any persuasions of the others ; but Eustace 
 and Lucy attached themselves to Constance, 
 who, after a few cordial words from Mavor, 
 and a warm pressure of the hand from 
 Eleanor, was obliged to give herself up 
 entirely to her young admirers. 
 
 " Now you must come and sit here, and 
 we will give you your tea. I am so glad 
 
 K 3
 
 134 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 to get you back ; now we shall have regular 
 drill agam," cried Eustace, as he seized her 
 hand and threw her into an arm-chair, by 
 which he and Lucy had placed their own. 
 
 " Why, your mamma said you were going 
 on with your lessons all the time," said 
 Constance, after she had disposed of about 
 a third of the tea and cake they pressed on 
 her, and sat enjoying their bright welcom- 
 ing smiles, and listening to their joyous 
 talk. '' Did she not read with you, and 
 hear your geography and history ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, she tried to ; but she was al- 
 ways so interrupted, and so busy," replied 
 Eustace; "that plan would not do at all. 
 It was, ' Please Missis Burgoyne you are 
 wanted,' and ' Wait till I come, my dears,' 
 every ten minutes, so she gave it up; and 
 then papa tried, but he was always in a 
 hurry, and wanted to go and ride, or see 
 somebody; he made us race helter-skelter 
 through the lessons, asking us all the ques- 
 tions, and telling us the answers too, if we 
 were in the least slow about remembering 
 them; so mamma said we were learning 
 nothing, and papa was dismissed." 
 
 " Gently, dear — say papa gave it up,"
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 135 
 
 interposed Constance; and Eustace, accept- 
 ing the correction, continued, — 
 
 '' Gave it up; so we tried Mavor. Then 
 we did pretty well, though his lessons were 
 very dull and steady; but, though Mavor 
 never was angry with us, we liked Chaun- 
 cey better.'^ 
 
 " How ? Has your brother Chauncey 
 been here ? When did he come ?" 
 
 " Oh, soon after you went'; but he rides 
 backwards and forwards from the Creek 
 every other day or so. We liked him to 
 teach us ; but then his blessed system was 
 so different from Mavor's blessed system 
 that we were a good deal troubled. For 
 Mavor made us keep to the very words of the 
 book, and he did not mind about our finding 
 the places on the map, or the Latin roots 
 in the dictionary, but heard us straight 
 through ; and Chauncey did not care 
 whether we knew the words properly or 
 not, if we looked for every town or coun- 
 try, and could go through the whole conju- 
 gations from beginning to end. He used to 
 explain to us a great deal too, though we 
 often could not understand him, about the 
 things we had learned, or ought to have 
 
 K 4
 
 136 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 learned, or miglit, could, or should have 
 learned in each book." 
 
 " Our school time was very pleasant with 
 him," interposed Lucy. 
 
 " Yes, it was ; but then you see he and 
 Mavor had different systems. So, if we 
 had hoped Chauncey was coming, and had 
 learnt our lessons accordingly, we were cor- 
 rected every minute for putting in wrong 
 words, and Mavor never cared a bit for all 
 our work at the maps and dictionaries ; and 
 if we had prepared for Mavor, Chauncey 
 Avas sure to come, and after making us 
 search out every village and castle every 
 time its name occurred in our history, and 
 look in our dictionaries for every inflexion 
 of nouns we knew by heart, would get up 
 and say there was no good in teaching such 
 stupid children, and he thought we — that 
 is me — should be a disgrace to the family." 
 
 " And whose scolding did you mind the 
 most?" said Constance, laughing in spite 
 of her efforts to look grave at his flippancy. 
 " Come, do let me have the pleasure of 
 hearing your sister's voice." 
 
 " Why, Mavor said we deserved a good 
 box on the ears," said Lucy, with her usual
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 137 
 
 little drawl ; " and Chauncey said we were 
 complete blockheads, and he thought you 
 must be a wonderful instructress to have 
 got so much into us as he found." 
 
 " Ah ! but you see, Miss Annersly, the 
 thing is, you teach us without any system 
 at all, and so we get on. You neither tie 
 us to the words, nor overwhelm us with 
 the splitting of hairs, but you tell us what 
 we want to know." 
 
 " Well, we will go to lessons to-morrow, 
 and try if we can get the good opinion of 
 both your brothers," said Constance, and 
 they recommenced the regular studies. 
 But, although her teaching gave her pupils 
 such satisfaction, she often found them a 
 severe trial ; and there were times when her 
 boasted forbearance was especially tested 
 when she saw their cruelty and harshness 
 towards the negro children and the house- 
 servants, over whom they Avere allowed to 
 tyrannise unchecked and unreproved. The 
 slaves, nevertheless, all spoke affectionately 
 of them, and of the whole family ; and Con- 
 stance hoped that this waywardness was but 
 recently developed by their unhappy visit 
 to their cousins, and might soon wear off.
 
 138 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 She thought that she had already done 
 them some good, and that they were less 
 tyrannical, till one day she found Eustace, 
 whom she had reproved for inattention at 
 lessons, venting his ill-humour by beating 
 the groom with his riding whip across the 
 face, and she hastened indignantly to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 " For shame, Eustace ! for shame ! How 
 can you do it ? A common overseer would 
 not do so. What has Jonas done to merit 
 such treatment? Leave Mr. Henning to 
 flog him." 
 
 "Leave Jone to Henning! Why, it^s 
 no good; he never gets flogged; Henning 
 spoils him. I'll flog him. Mavor often 
 does; and Chauncey says he is an imj)erti- 
 nent, saucy nigger, and he hates him. Ill 
 get Chauncey to flog him some day. 
 Chauncey leaves all his whipping to his 
 driver; but I guess he would be a first-rate 
 hand at it if he tried." 
 
 Constance, as much shocked at the boy's 
 excuses as at his cruelty, spoke to him very 
 seriously for some time about the brutaKty 
 and unbecomingness of his conduct, and 
 then left him to his reflections, and did not
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 139 
 
 forgive him until the evening, when his 
 mother begged him oiF from her displeasure. 
 
 " But, Madam, you do not like him to 
 beat and ill-use the servants when they 
 have done nothing wrong." 
 
 " No, indeed, my dear Miss Annersly, I 
 do not ; but I am afraid it is not much good 
 to interfere, for the servants are so annoy- 
 ing and irritating that I am not surprised 
 if Eustace gets angry; and then he knows 
 that when the slaves commit a fault they 
 must be punished; and I hardly see what 
 we can say so long as he does not lose his 
 temper ; that I dare not allow for his own 
 sake; I have seen too much of that with 
 my elder children." 
 
 "Do you not think. Madam, that if he 
 could have a few companions of his own 
 age, it would do him good?" 
 
 " Oh, no doubt it would, if I could find 
 some nice youths of his o^vn age, or 
 younger; but, unfortunately, 1 happen to 
 know of none. The Colonel is anxious he 
 should be more acquainted with his cousin, 
 Stoughton Harwich; but I do not like him 
 at all. There is that young man, Henry 
 Adrian, whom I would not on any account
 
 140 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 have near Eustace. He has asked his father 
 to invite him here, but I would not hear 
 of it." 
 
 " It is very unfortunate that it should be 
 so, for he needs society very much," said 
 Miss Annersly. "His sister and he do 
 not quite suit as companions." 
 
 "JSTo, I wish they did more. I want 
 you, Miss Annersly, to make her more of 
 a child if you can. She is quite vexed at 
 being in the schoolroom now. She thinks 
 that she ought to be considered a young 
 woman already." 
 
 "Why, Madam! she is only just fifteen, 
 is she?" 
 
 " No ; but she knows that many girls are 
 married at that age, or a little older, and she 
 wishes to be grown up too; but I have no 
 wish to see her married so young. I try to 
 keep such ideas out of her head. I shall 
 keep both her and Eustace to their books ; 
 they shall stop in the schoolroom as long as 
 I can manage. There is nothing good to be 
 learnt from the young people they will meet 
 here, I fear." 
 
 " But, Madam, have you not promised 
 Eustace that he shall dine with you on
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 141 
 
 Thursday, when all these gentlemen are 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes, and I was foolish to promise it ; 
 but he asked so much to be with Chauncey 
 all day, that I was obliged to grant it. 
 But, Miss Annersly, if you will join us, 
 and keep Eustace near you, and see that he 
 takes very little wine, I shall be extremely 
 glad, as I should not be able to watch him 
 sufficiently." 
 
 Constance was hard at work the next 
 morning with Eustace, when they were in- 
 terrupted by Ellie, the housekeeper, who 
 came to announce that one of the servants 
 had met with an accident, and had had his 
 foot crushed by the carriage wheel. 
 
 '' Oh, poor fellow!" said Mrs. Burgoyne, 
 springing up. " I will go to him directly. 
 Fetch the key of the medicine chest, Ellie. 
 Who is it?" 
 
 " It's Jonas, Missis ; his foot's dreadful 
 hurt." 
 
 " Jone, yellow Jone," said Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne, her whole manner changing. " He 
 is always getting hurt in one way or 
 another. Constance, dear, will you go and 
 give Ellie the lint and things. She knows 
 very well how to bind up a wound."
 
 142 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " I am afraid I am too ignorant to be of 
 much good, Madam/' said Constance, hesi- 
 tating. But Mrs. Burgoyne sat down again 
 to her writing table, and replied, — 
 
 " Oh, Ellie will be able to manage it. 
 It is nothing at all, I think. 'He is always 
 an awkward fellow. If it is beyond her 
 powers, you can call me of course ; but as 
 I am very tired, I shall be glad to be ex- 
 cused, if possible;" and she went on with 
 her letters, while Constance followed the 
 housekeeper, feeling rather nervous at the 
 responsibility so suddenly laid upon her by 
 Mrs. Burgoyne, who usually attended kindly 
 to such accidents, which were very frequent, 
 owing to the carelessness of the negroes 
 with their tools; and Constance was sur- 
 prised that she should entrust the charge 
 of directing Ellie to her, when a valuable 
 servant was in the case. 
 
 The wound was, however, less ghastly 
 than she had feared, and the stoical com- 
 posure Avith which the mulatto endured the 
 evidently excruciating pain made the ren- 
 dering him assistance less difficult than she 
 had anticipated. 
 
 " How did it happen, Jonas?" she asked,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 143 
 
 as she prepared a bandage, and Ellie bathed 
 the foot. " How did it happen?" 
 
 " Mas'r Mavor was driving very fast, and 
 the wheel went over my foot. Miss," replied 
 Jonas, quietly. The words were almost 
 hissed out between his set teeth. 
 
 " Went over your foot ! Could you not 
 have got out of the way ? A strong active 
 fellow like you," said Constance, approach- 
 ing with the bandage; "hold it fast, Ellie." 
 
 The dressing of the wound was quickly 
 accomplished, and Constance, pleased with 
 her patient's self-control, praised his forti- 
 tude with a smile, as she looked at his open 
 and intelligent countenance. His face al- 
 ways seemed a familiar one to her, although 
 she had not seen him above half a dozen 
 times ; and now she asked him if he knew 
 whether he had any relations at Jefferson- 
 ville. 
 
 Jonas did not know, and professed even 
 to be ignorant where that town was ; and 
 Constance, after cautioning Ellie to keep 
 him very quiet, returned to the sitting-room 
 to find Eustace gone to see Mavor's new 
 horse and gig. 
 
 " You found Ellie could do without me," 
 said Mrs. Burgoyne, quietly.
 
 144 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Yes, Madam, she did ; but it was a 
 serious wound," answered Constance ; and 
 after working for a few minutes in silence, 
 she asked, " Has Jonas any relations in the 
 place to look after him, Madam?" 
 
 " I think not," said Mrs. Burgoyne ; but 
 Georgy said : 
 
 " His mammy is in Alabama, he says, 
 and his sister too." 
 
 " How came you to speak to him about 
 them?" asked her mother, quickly. 
 
 " He came into old Sally's cabin one day 
 when I was there, mamma. I went with 
 Letta to see her baby, and Jone was talk- 
 ing to Letta, and I heard him say that 
 about his mother." 
 
 "Was he brought here then from her?" 
 asked Constance. 
 
 " No ; she was sold to a very good family 
 with her baby. We never separate the 
 mother and infant, I told you ; but Jonas 
 was kept to be a playfellow for Mavor," 
 a,nswered Mrs. Burgoyne ; but she looked 
 so annoyed at the conversation that Con- 
 stance was glad when Mavor's entrance 
 changed her thoughts. He had slept the 
 past night at his brother's house, having
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 145 
 
 ridden over to invite him to join the party 
 that day. 
 
 "Well, Mavor, dear, and will Chauncey 
 come?" 
 
 " Yes, mother, he will be here by one 
 o'clock. I would not wait for him, but 
 came off after a cup of coffee, and I am 
 very ready for breakfast now." 
 
 " And you shall have it immediatel}^, 
 then," said his mother, ringing the belL 
 '• What was Chauncey doing ?" 
 
 " When I got there ? Sitting in the 
 library, with treatises on necessity and 
 free will before him, and casting up a long 
 column of figures, trying, I guess, to settle 
 his accounts, and make both ends meet. I 
 told him he never would come that if he 
 continued to make senseless improvements 
 on that old ruin, and let his niggers get 
 so fat and lazy. But it was of no use talk- 
 ing ; he would have it that his niggers, being 
 sleek and strong, were worth more than any 
 in the neighbourhood, which might be true, 
 but no good to him unless he means to cash 
 them, which he does not. So I told him, 
 and then he began to lament that his over- 
 seer was going to leave him ; whereupon I 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 said, ' So much the better. I will find you 
 another, and you will have an improvement 
 in your receipts after you have had him a 
 year." 
 
 "And what did Chauncey say?" asked 
 Colonel Burgoyne, who had entered soon 
 after his son. 
 
 " Oh ! the old story. Mr. Bland suited 
 him very well ; and then we went out to see 
 the land. Certainly his niggers are a fine 
 healthy set ; but it will never pay him to 
 underwork them as he does, or rather as 
 Bland does, for Chauncey leaves everything 
 to him." 
 
 "Ah ! that's bad — very bad," said Colonel 
 Burgoyne ; " I must really speak to Chaun- 
 cey about that man." 
 
 Constance tried hard to keep her pupils 
 at work that morning, but without much 
 success ; for Lucy insisted on holding con- 
 sultations with her maid about her dress 
 for the evening, and Eustace would watch 
 in the avenue for the coming of Chauncey, 
 so that the lesson-books were still about 
 when the guests arrived, and he darted off 
 to the drawing-room to join them. Con- 
 stance was glad when Mrs. Burgoyne called
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 147 
 
 her to come in there also, for she felt 
 anxious to refresh her impressions of Mr. 
 Chauncey Burgoyne, after what she had 
 heard from Edward. She found him sur- 
 rounded by a host of political gentlemen, 
 among whom was Mr. EUsland, who was 
 already well known to her by reputation as 
 a devoted admirer of Mr. Chauncey. Mr. 
 EUsland swore by Chauncey, but as that 
 gentleman always did swear when he deli- 
 vered his political opinions, that was not 
 perhaps a positive proof of his admiration 
 for his oracle. 
 
 Before dinner the conversation was all 
 of cotton and markets, and Constance was 
 not sufficiently au fait to understand it ; but 
 as they adjourned to the table the general 
 discourse took a turn which awakened her 
 interest, and was within her comprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 ''Have you been lately in Charleston, 
 EUsland?" Mavor asked his friend. 
 
 " No, I have been vegetating at home," 
 was the reply ; " with no amusement for 
 the last fortnight save the driving off of 
 another cursed abolitionist who was coming 
 among my niggers." 
 
 L 2
 
 ]48 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Indeed! one of them down here again? 
 I should hardly have expected it," said 
 Colonel Burgoyne. 
 
 " You mean, sir, they ought to have 
 been deterred by the late lesson we read 
 them on the body of that canting metho- 
 dist ; but they scorn to take warning. I 
 hunted one of the rascals for four days 
 myself through the country, about three 
 months since, and lost him after all when 
 I thought I was sure of him." 
 
 Constance felt the colour rise to her 
 cheeks as she heard this allusion to Ed- 
 ward's escape, and she glanced at Mr. 
 Chauncey Burgoyne to see if he recollected 
 his share in the transaction. There was, 
 perhaps, a covert smile playing round the 
 corners of his mouth, but it speedily passed, 
 and was succeeded by a look of deep atten- 
 tion as he turned to EUsland, who con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Well, he got off, but this last fellow 
 had located himself on some plausible pre- 
 text in the neighbouring town, and from 
 thence he came talking to my hands, and 
 inquiring if they had any grievances. I 
 sent him out of the state with a few me-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 149 
 
 mentos of his visit, which, I trust, will last 
 him one while." 
 
 " You did not cowhide him ? " said 
 another of the guests, quickly. 
 
 " No, I keep the cowhide for niggers ; 
 but I did what I could. I tied him to a 
 tree, and set my coachman to ^og him 
 with the handle of the cart-whip, till the 
 nigger could not lift his arm for love or 
 threats, by which time I guessed the sneak- 
 ing Yankee had had enough of it, and so 
 we untied him." 
 
 Horror-struck at this recital of brutality 
 and outrage, Constance looked round to see 
 what effect it had on the Burgoyne family; 
 they were not thinking of her, and, to 
 her surprise, seemed quite unmoved. Mr. 
 Chauncey's eye flashed, and he frowned 
 slightly ; but when he spoke, it was not to 
 condemn the act itself. 
 
 "• The fellow deserved it, I allow ; but 
 yet I can't approve altogether of your con- 
 duct, Ellsland. I should recommend a dif- 
 ferent plan to be generally adopted." 
 
 " What would it be? We are all anxious 
 for your opinion on another subject," said 
 Ellsland, " but let us hear this first ;" and 
 
 L 3
 
 150 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Constance saw that even the older men of 
 the party turned and listened attentively 
 to the young politician who was to be the 
 future ornament of the Senate and the 
 leader of South Carolina, according to the 
 flattering predictions of his own and his 
 father's many friends. She judged that he 
 must possess either a great deal of natural 
 moderation of character, or a well-balanced 
 reliance on himself, to remain so perfectly 
 cool and unaffected by such unequivocal 
 marks of admiration as EUsland and his set 
 lavished upon him. He replied with per- 
 fect gravity, and the air of one who is ac- 
 customed to give advice, and is no wise 
 elated by the compliment of having his 
 opinion asked. 
 
 " I would do anything myself to stop 
 the scenes of violence which disgrace our 
 towns so often, and, instead of leaving the 
 due castigation of these agitators to po- 
 pular excitement or private resentment, I 
 would let the law judge the case, and let 
 all such disturbers of the public peace be 
 arrested, judged, and hanged under the 
 legal authority of the Sheriff of the county." 
 
 Chauncey ended, and EUsland cried,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 151 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " but others shook their 
 heads, and said the measure was too un- 
 compromising. 
 
 " The threat would be useful, but I 
 would not make it law, Chauncey," said 
 Colonel Burgoyne. 
 
 " Why, you said yourself, sir, you would 
 like to see every abolitionist at the North 
 hanging along the highroad," said Ells- 
 land. 
 
 " So I did, George ; but I only spoke then 
 as to what was my theory. I would not 
 wish to take such severe measures in every 
 case of suspected abolitionism ; and I think 
 we may safely trust the castigation of such 
 offenders to the indignation of the people." 
 
 " But such punishment, inflicted without 
 the sanction of law, is an outrage upon the 
 rights of citizens," said Chauncey, in a 
 quiet, deferential tone. But, as his father 
 looked unsatisfied, he continued, " I do not 
 care whether the punishment is capital or 
 not. Make the penalty what you please, 
 but make it law^ and let it be rigidly en- 
 forced on any stranger who can be proved 
 to be an abolitionist. It is the hope of 
 escape which gives these agitators confi- 
 
 L 4
 
 152 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 dence, and the inefficiency of the law which 
 sanctions the lawlessness of the mob." 
 
 " There is a good deal in what you say, 
 Mr. Chauncey, and there would be an ad- 
 vantage in omitting the death penalty — in 
 that no one would be tempted to break the 
 law and save the offender," said Mr. Selden, 
 a benevolent-looking old man with white 
 hair. 
 
 " Yes, sir. And if this law were fully 
 established, it would be a great point 
 gained," said Chauncey ; " for it would re- 
 move an inconsistency in our statutes. 
 Negro slavery is the law of our land, and 
 any offender against it deserves punish- 
 ment as a felon by the law, and the officers 
 of the law — not by private individuals, 
 and perhaps to escape unpunished after all, 
 as so many do." 
 
 " But the laws do provide," said Mavor. 
 
 " Not enough," said Chauncey. " They 
 should provide so completely that the 
 penalty should be without question, and 
 well known to all the North, so that they 
 may have no excuse whatever in incurring 
 it. But observe, what I wish to show is 
 this: either the laws are insufficient, or
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 153 
 
 their executive authority is insufficient; 
 for public opinion and mobocracy are made 
 superior to the law, which is a dangerous 
 precedent. Mr. Ellsland flogs a methodist 
 preacher with a hundred lashes; Mr. 
 Warren disapproves of so violent a mea- 
 sure. I, myself, have doubts as to whether 
 it is as well to flog a white man ; but these 
 doubts should be settled by an appeal to a 
 higher authority, and there should be no 
 doubt upon it." 
 
 " Well, I prefer the voice of the people," 
 said Mr. Warren. "It is sufficient to my 
 mind for any emergency." 
 
 "Mob law!" replied Chauncey. "It is 
 a disgrace to our country, and a confession 
 of the inadequacy of our statutes." 
 
 " Oh ! Burgoyne, I cannot go with you 
 to that length," exclaimed Ellsland. "I 
 admire consistency in all things, but not 
 a mere attachment to technicalities and 
 forms of law. I can never agree with 
 you there, when I see you sacrificing every- 
 thing to your passionate admiration for 
 them." 
 
 " You agreed with my argument the 
 other day," replied Chauncey. " When we
 
 154 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 were urging the necessity for re-opening 
 the African trade, you acknowledged the 
 value of consistency in our laws and 
 statutes.'^ 
 
 " Yes, yes, by George ! I did then, and I 
 do still on that question ; for, of course, no 
 one can help seeing the injustice of for- 
 bidding us the foreign slave-trade when 
 we may have an international one between 
 the different States/' 
 
 " Oh, but there is a great difference, 
 Mr. Ellsland, allow me to say,'' began 
 Colonel Burgoyne; and then, as if will- 
 ing to depute the task of opposing his 
 guest to another, he added, " Mr. Warren 
 agrees with me, and you also, I think, Mr. 
 Selden?" 
 
 " Indeed I do," said that gentleman. " I 
 do not see the least reason for the revival 
 of that trade, so long forbidden and con- 
 demned by the laws of the Union. We 
 have quite as many negroes as we can 
 manage now." 
 
 " Not as many as the Western States re- 
 quire, sir," said Mr. Ellsland, quickly. 
 " The Seaboard States happen to have been 
 already well supplied, but the South in
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 155 
 
 general is grievously in want of more labour 
 to develope its resources." 
 
 " And whether South Carolina require 
 the introduction of negroes or not, it is too 
 great an assumption of power in the 
 Federal Government to attempt to control 
 our trade and commerce/' said Chauncey. 
 " But my principal motive for urging the 
 revival of the foreign slave-trade is, that it 
 is manifestly inconsistent with our prin- 
 ciples to allow our ports to be shut against 
 the importation of negroes from Africa, 
 when, as Mr. Ellsland says, we may bring 
 them from Virginia every day. Why 
 should there, in justice, be any difference ? 
 It is a restriction which might have been 
 made by a nation who believed the institu- 
 tion of slavery to be Avrong, or at least, 
 undesirable, — not by one that understands 
 and feels that it is a necessary form of 
 its own government. When you show that 
 the slave-trade is wrong, the same reason- 
 ing might apply to slavery itself." 
 
 " Oh, no ! not so by any means," said 
 Mr. Selden. 
 
 " By heaven ! but I perfectly agree with 
 Mr. Burgoyne," said Mr. Ellsland. '' We
 
 156 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 can get first-rate niggers for fifteen dollars 
 apiece in Africa, and are paying eight 
 hundred and a thousand here. It's scan- 
 dalous!" 
 
 " And as a political theory, all true 
 Southerners ought to stand for the slave- 
 trade," persisted Chauncey. " It is a proof 
 of their perfect sincerity. If is the test of 
 their patriotism and political consistency. 
 Our enemies may well say, you do not be- 
 lieve slavery to be right, when you shrink 
 from carrying out your principles by 
 strengthening your resources by the slave- 
 trade; and they are logical and consistent 
 when they say so. We ought to revive the 
 trade as a point of conscience — as a po- 
 litical pledge of our own sincerity — as a 
 sign before the world that we know our- 
 selves in the right." 
 
 " But Congress has made it piracy," said 
 Mr. Selden. 
 
 " I know it has, and there is the injus- 
 tice and inconsistency we complain of," said 
 Chauncey. " In doing so, it has acted in 
 an unconstitutional manner ; it had no real 
 power to make a trade that is necessary to 
 us piracy; it might as well make it pi-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 157 
 
 racy to bring negroes from Virginia here 
 by sea. It might declare the shipment of 
 cotton for England piracy. We have a 
 right to believe the slave-trade as legiti- 
 mate and innocent a trade as any other. 
 By what legal quibble can the term piracy 
 be extended so as to include a lawful 
 traf&c in articles that may be lawfully 
 bought and sold here? However, men are 
 beginning to see that this act of Congress, 
 this unwarranted construction of the law, 
 is, and ought to be, null and disregarded. 
 I have advised, I have suggested, measures 
 for testing the illegality of the trade and 
 the force of public opinion, and I hope the 
 time is not far distant when we shall see 
 negroes landed in our own ports as freely as 
 any other article of commerce." 
 
 " Do you refer to your suggestion of 
 sending out for African emigrants, and 
 bringing them in under the Passenger 
 Law?" said Ellsland. 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied Chauncey, evidently 
 vexed, however, at his friend's indiscretion. 
 " They shall be landed openly under that 
 Act, so as to test the legality of bringing 
 them in. However, the ship has not got
 
 158 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 her clearance yet; and it remains to be 
 seen whether the authorities of Charleston 
 are sufficiently enlightened to recognise the 
 justice of her having one, or the desira- 
 bility of the measure. We wait for them 
 to give us a clearance." 
 
 "Well, for my part, I hope they will 
 not. I do not see the need of opening the 
 trade at all," said Mr. Selden; and an ani- 
 mated discussion ensued, in which the 
 majority of the guests, and even Colonel 
 Burgoyne himself, strenuously combated 
 the arguments of Mr. Ellsland and Mr. 
 Chauncey; and, either from motives of 
 humanity or private interest, maintained 
 the re-opening of the slave-trade equally 
 unnecessary and undesirable. 
 
 Constance, meantime, listened to the de- 
 bate in mingled astonishment and distress ; 
 and, as she heard Mr. Chauncey express his 
 views, wondered how it could happen that 
 Edward Maxwell could feel an interest in 
 him, notwithstanding his services to himself.
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The third day after Mr. Chauncey's arrival 
 at the plantation was Sunday, and as the 
 family were preparing for their drive to 
 church, he volunteered to accompany them. 
 
 " Oh, do come, dear Chauncey, I shall be 
 so glad," said his mother, with evident 
 pleasure. " Mr. Radstock preaches to-day. 
 I was afraid you would have wished to 
 stop at home, for Mavor says, Chauncey, 
 that you have undergone a great change 
 in your convictions this last year. Is it so ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps I do not agree with Mr. 
 Radstock as much as Mavor does," replied 
 Chauncey, ''but he is a good preacher 
 nevertheless ; and I can listen to the service 
 as well in one church as in another. I 
 hope I have no intolerance for any man's 
 religion." 
 
 " I was only afraid you cared less for 
 religion now than you once did, Chauncey." 
 
 '' There is no fear of that, mother," said
 
 160 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Chauncey, earnestly: "whatever my views, 
 I shall never care less for religion. That 
 I do not agree with Dr. Radstock's theo- 
 logy does not make me feel less respect for 
 the man, nor the morality he can teach." 
 
 Chauncey drove with his mother to 
 Madison, but as they returned, after church, 
 he took his seat in Eleanor's carriage, and 
 as Constance and Eustace were there, they 
 enjoyed the benefit of their conversation. 
 
 " But who is going to drive us? That is 
 not one of your servants, surely, Eustace? " 
 said Constance, in some surprise, as the 
 coachman mounted the box. 
 
 " Yes, it is, that is Harvey. Oh ! he was 
 brought from the field to be coachman 
 while you were at Philadelphia. Is he not 
 wonderfully pale and white? He hardly 
 looks like a nigger at all. Papa says he 
 must work hard in the cotton field this 
 summer to get a little tan, or he will be 
 walking off for a white man some day." 
 
 " Do you know," continued Eustace, in a 
 low voice, and looking cautiously around, 
 " he calls himself a white man, and says he 
 was stolen when a boy. You know we call 
 him Harvey for short, but he always wants
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 161 
 
 to call himself Hargrave, which he declares 
 was his name then. Now, only think! 
 suppose he was a white man." 
 
 " Eustace," said Chauncey, interrupting 
 him, "can you remember the sermon?" 
 
 " Yes, of course I do," replied Eustace. 
 " Text, second Chapter, second Gospel; the 
 subject was the Kingdom of Heaven not of 
 this world. Keligion should not be mixed up 
 with politics; Christ and his Apostles left 
 the laws of the countries where they taught, 
 safe, and only taught Eeligion. Eeligious 
 truths are distinct from state questions, 
 and it's particularly applicable to our ques- 
 tion. I quite agree with Dr. Radstock." 
 
 " And I did not agree with him," said 
 Chauncey, " His language is very good, 
 but his reasoning is not true, nor con- 
 secutive either, and his view of religion is 
 altogether wrong. He said, I remember, 
 that the sacred flame of religion is too holy 
 for a state beacon; it was a paraphrase 
 from an immoral simile from some Enaiish 
 novel, and I disagree with the idea. Re- 
 ligion ought to be the guiding star of 
 the state, as of every man in his private 
 and public life alike. To tell us that we 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 may presume the law of the State to be 
 right, because religion takes no thought of 
 laws and temporal concerns, is to leave us 
 without a rule or guide whatever in our 
 political life." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad to hear you talk so, 
 for I did not suppose you cared for religion, 
 since j^ou do not like Mr. Radstock," said 
 Eleanor innocently. Chauncey smiled at 
 this proof of unconscious intolerance, but 
 merely replied, — 
 
 " I esteem religion as the most important 
 good or acquisition in life, although I do 
 not entirely agree with Mr. Radstock. 
 Are you satisfied with me now? " 
 
 " Yes, but why then do you object to 
 the servants having any religious instruction 
 or preaching?" 
 
 "Why, you know the law declared against 
 it long ago, and opinions are very various 
 about it. Some planters think that the 
 negroes are made more gentle and docile 
 by religious teaching; many say it has a 
 dangerous tendency, and leads them from 
 questioning and reasoning about religious 
 subjects to questioning other and political 
 topics." 
 
 " Oh ! but in the catechisms, you know,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 163 
 
 we teach them that it is God who gave 
 them their masters, and that they are com- 
 manded to obey them like God." 
 
 "Does the catechism say so?" said Con- 
 stance in great surprise, and forgetting the 
 discretion which generally kept her silent 
 whenever the topic of slavery was dis- 
 cussed. 
 
 "Yes, it says 'Does God work?' and 
 answers, ' God always works,' and so they 
 ought to work. I think religious teaching 
 can only do them good." 
 
 "I only tell you the different opinions 
 current upon the subject," replied Chauncey. 
 " One of the largest slaveholders in the 
 State told me that the surest way to spoil 
 a nigger is to give him religious instruction. 
 It leads to thinking, and thinking soon 
 ruins him." 
 
 " So you would not have them taught at 
 all?" said Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh! yes, I would. I think it would be 
 cruel to deny them the comfort of religion, 
 it keeps them in good order ; but it should 
 be a faith more like that given to the 
 Catholic peasants of Southern Europe, un- 
 questioning and trusting. They should
 
 164 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 confess their faults to a priest, and receive 
 absolution, and I think there need be no 
 dangerous result from such teaching." 
 
 "Well, but you might as well leave 
 them heathens; you will not save their 
 souls by making them Catholics," expostu- 
 lated Eleanor, looking alarmed. 
 
 " I do not suppose that the form of a 
 man's faith is of much consequence, if he 
 believes it with a firm heart," answered 
 Chauncey, '' and I think the simple childish 
 faith of the Koman Church is rather pecu- 
 liarly adapted to the niggers, who have 
 warm affections, and whose reasoning 
 powers must not be brought out." 
 
 " I do not agree with your theology at 
 .all," replied Eleanor ; "but I suppose you like 
 Bishop Meade's sermons for servants." 
 
 " T es, they are very good, but more an 
 illustration of my theory than yours, I 
 think;" and as Constance looked curious, 
 Eleanor said: — 
 
 " I will show you the book this afternoon. 
 It is what I sometimes read to the house- 
 servants." 
 
 "Do they like to come and hear it?" 
 asked Constance.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 165 
 
 " Oh ! of course they do ; you shall see 
 how attentive they are." 
 
 As the little town where they attended 
 church was but an hour's drive from the 
 plantation, they reached home early, and 
 Mrs. Mavor gave the summons to the 
 housekeeper to assemble her Sunday class 
 in the verandah. Poor Eleanor! perhaps, 
 had she heard the graceless remarks with 
 which some of the nio;o^ers received her 
 kindly-meant offer, she would not have 
 been quite so much pleased with her audi- 
 ence as she read — 
 
 "Almighty God has been pleased to 
 make you slaves here, and to give you 
 nothing but labour and poverty in this 
 world, which you are obliged to submit 
 to, as it is His will that it should be so. 
 * * * Your bodies you know are not your 
 own; they are at the disposal of those 
 you belong to, but your souls are your 
 own." * =^ * 
 
 " Look at that Jone, he isn't listening 
 a bit, the sulky nig," whispered Eustace to 
 Lucy. " I should like to give the rascal 
 a good kick."
 
 166 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Don't be cruel, Eustace," said Chauncey, 
 " he has done you no harm." 
 
 Eleanor continued her reading, but 
 Constance (who, though she agreed that 
 the bishop's exhortations were exceedingly 
 appropriate to the class to whom they 
 were addressed, found it rather painful to 
 hear the duties of slaves to their masters 
 identified with the duties of Christians to 
 their Maker) left the verandah, and fol- 
 lowed Eustace to the library, where she 
 set the younger children to learning their 
 hymns, as their mother had desired. She 
 told them to be very quiet, as their 
 brother Chauncey was there also, reading. 
 
 "And you said you would show me a 
 favourite hymn of yours. Miss Annersly," 
 said Georgy. " Can I fetch your extract- 
 book?" 
 
 " If you like ; it is on my table," said 
 Constance, and she read and explained 
 the hymn in question. Georgy was not 
 much edified, and gave up the book to 
 Eustace, who was anxious to turn it over. 
 
 " What a lot you've copied out," said 
 Eustace. " Ah ! what is this? " 
 
 " One of my favourite pieces. You can 
 read it too if you like."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 167 
 
 " Oh ! I should think I knew this ! ' How 
 happy is he born and taught,' It is 
 Chauncey's great pet ; he made me learn it, 
 and then never would hear me say it, 
 because I blundered a little bit at the begin- 
 ning." 
 
 " You blundered intentionally, that was 
 why I sent you away," said Chauncey. 
 
 " Well, may he say it now, Mr. Chauncey, 
 as carefully as he can?" said Constance, 
 drawing the boy close to her side. " Now, 
 Eustace, take pains." 
 
 , Eustace immediately repeated the whole 
 poem very carefully, though Constance 
 saw by the smile in the corners of his 
 mouth that he remembered having made 
 many wilful mistakes in his former repe- 
 tition of itc 
 
 " Have you an extract-book too, Chaun- 
 cey? " he asked as he finished. 
 
 "An extract-book? No, I keep what I 
 like in my own head, and I think that is 
 the way to enjoy it." 
 
 " Yes, if one can do it : I suppose you 
 think I ought to. You said there was a 
 hymn or something you wanted me to 
 learn — what is it ? " 
 
 M 4
 
 168 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 ''I will bring you the book from the 
 Creek when I next come over," said 
 Chauncey, looking rather bored. "It is by 
 an English poet, though, I dare say, Miss 
 Annersly has never read it, for I have 
 never yet found any English person ac- 
 quainted with it." 
 
 "Well, how does it begin then? Let's 
 have it," said Eustace. 
 
 "It is a prayer, Eustace," replied his 
 brother, checking his merriment somewhat 
 severely. " It begins — 
 
 * Father of Light I great God of Heaven, 
 Hear'st thou the accents of despair.'" 
 
 " Oh ! I know it well, it is an old fa- 
 vourite of ours," said Constance. 
 
 "Indeed! is it?" said Chauncey. "It 
 is not generally known." 
 
 "It is not printed in all the editions 
 of Byron's works, but my brother was 
 very fond of it," said Constance, turning 
 away from Eustace to hide an unbidden 
 tear which dropped on the page of the 
 extract-book, where the poem was written 
 in Charles's handwriting. She rose pre- 
 sently, and remembering that she had
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 169 
 
 promised to take anotlier volume of ser- 
 mons to Mrs. Mavor, sought for it on the 
 shelves, and went to find her. 
 
 Eleanor was not in the drawing-room, 
 and Constance followed her up stairs to her 
 own apartment; she knocked at the door, 
 but receiving no answer, she went in Avith 
 the intention of leaving the book on the 
 table, and to her surprise found Eleanor 
 lying on the sofa with her face hidden 
 in her handkerchief. She started up on 
 hearing a step, and answered Constance's 
 hasty apologies for her entrance by saying 
 that she had had a headache, but it was 
 better now, and accompanied Miss An- 
 nersly down stairs. 
 
 As they descended into the hall, they 
 met Mrs. Burgoyne, who was evidently 
 extremely annoyed and vexed. 
 
 "Who has been in my dressing-room?" 
 she said angrily; "all the drawers are 
 tumbled and disarranged by somebody. 
 Who has dared to unlock them? Jessy, do 
 you know who it was? " 
 
 " It was Hester, I know, missis," said a 
 negro girl who assisted the housekeeper 
 by running messages and bringing her
 
 170 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 reports of the doings of her fellow-servants. 
 She was hated by them universally, but 
 was a useful spy, and seldom failed to dis- 
 cover their derelictions. 
 
 "Send Hester here directly; she shall 
 go down to Mr. Henning this evening," 
 said her mistress indignantly. 
 
 " Do not have the girl whipped, Lucilla," 
 said Colonel Burgoyne. He spoke in a 
 very quiet tone of remonstrance, but it 
 seemed equivalent to a command, for his 
 wife made no reply; and when he offered 
 to reprimand the offender, she merely 
 observed. 
 
 " You may do so if you like, but it is of 
 no use." 
 
 Hester came in with downcast eyes, and 
 trembling in evident expectation of a severe 
 sentence. 
 
 " You are a saucy impudent girl, Hester," 
 said her master in a severe tone. " You 
 deserve to be whipped, but your mistress 
 is very kind, and is going to let you off 
 this once." 
 
 Hester dropped a deep curtsey and of- 
 fered to take her mistress's hand and kiss it, 
 but Mrs. Burgoyne turned away from her
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 171 
 
 with a movement of disgust. The Colonel 
 followed his wife into the study, and Con- 
 stance proposed to Eleanor to come and 
 join the children. She would have com- 
 plied, but Mavor appearing in the hall 
 drew her arm in his and led her away, 
 saying, 
 
 "What is the matter, dear one? You 
 look sad to-day." 
 
 " Oh ! it is nothing, dearest, but I was 
 rather foolish," said Eleanor, kissing his 
 hand playfully. " It is of no conse- 
 quence." 
 
 Colonel Burgoyne, having placed a chair 
 for his wife, took a letter from his desk, 
 and began. 
 
 " Lucilla, I have been thinking over this 
 Sprague business, and I see it must be 
 compromised. T have a letter from the 
 old woman's lawyer, hinting that his client 
 would ofPer some compensation if a com- 
 promise was offered; and I think I shall 
 accept it, for I find that the law is hardly 
 on our side, though this woman has clearly 
 ruined the niggers by starving them; yet 
 as 1 did not specify how many quarts of 
 corn they w^ere to have per week when she
 
 172 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 hired them from me, and only stipulated 
 for a fair allowance, I shall, perhaps, have 
 no redress.* I will not have niggers at a 
 distance again; it is a perfect nuisance. 
 I will either sell them, or bring them to 
 the plantation at once under my own eye." 
 
 "And now you will accept a compen- 
 sation; but you swore you would not do 
 that, Francis." 
 
 " Yes, I know I did, and therefore I 
 cannot appear in the business ; you must go 
 and play the mediator. It is a long journey 
 for you to take into Missouri, but I will go 
 with you nearly to their door, and it must 
 be done ; must not it, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes; I know it must," said Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne resignedly. 
 
 "But you don't like going, Lucilla, I 
 see; of course you don't; but you see it 
 must be, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it must, and I can visit 
 
 * It is a singular fact that while the legal allow- 
 ance of food to negroes is about a peck of corn per 
 week, persons desirous to hire slaves will offer ten 
 quarts of corn, besides two or three pounds of bacon 
 extra per week as an inducement to the owners to 
 hire them out.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 173 
 
 the Bells too when I am there," said his 
 wife quietly. 
 
 "But you are vexed about it ; so am I, 
 but it cannot be helped, and if you cannot 
 go, I must get Mary to manage it for me." 
 
 " I can do anything that she can do," 
 said Mrs. Burgoyne quickly, " and I think 
 your wife is a much better person to con- 
 duct your affairs than your sister, Francis." 
 
 " Oh ! of course you are, Lucilla ; come, 
 you shall do it when you like; only don't 
 look so cross. You see it must be done by 
 one of us, and it cannot well be by me. 
 Now, don't you see the sense of it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne acquiesced, but very ab- 
 sently. 
 
 " Well, what then ? Are you vexed be- 
 cause I talked of calling in Mary to do it ? 
 No, eh ? Then what is the matter ? Oh, 
 you need not pretend to laugh; you are 
 vexed at something; now what is it, dear 
 girl?" 
 
 " There are some things which I have the 
 right to be vexed at, Francis," said Mrs. 
 Burgoyne with a quivering lip. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! '^ he exclaimed angrily. 
 "I understand your sulks now; the old
 
 174 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 thing, of course. First one girl, then 
 another, that you are jealous about. Why, 
 Lucilla, do not be so ridiculous, my love," 
 he continued, kissing her. " You need not 
 think I care for that girl a bit, not a bit ; 
 would not mind if she was sold to-mor- 
 row ; " and he kissed her again, adding, 
 " You were always a little fool about such 
 things, Lucie." 
 
 His wife said nothing ; she was afraid of 
 losing her self-command if she spoke, but 
 she returned his kisses warmly, and left 
 the room wiping away a few tears which 
 had forced themselves into her eyes, in 
 spite of all her efforts. She did not, how- 
 ever, come into the drawing-room again 
 that evening. 
 
 " Where is mamma ? She looked very 
 tired; I am afraid she is not well," said 
 Eustace. 
 
 " She is in her own room, trying to be 
 quiet," said his father. '' So don't you go 
 and bother her, my boy. Why, Eleanor, 
 my dear, you look as if the ride had fa- 
 tigued you too; or was it the preacher? 
 Confess that, and keep me in countenance; 
 pray do. He bored me horribly."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 175 
 
 Eleanor laughed, but took up her prayer- 
 book, and went up-stairs. The corridor 
 and staircase, being only lighted from the 
 hall, were now quite dark, and Letta was 
 trimming the lamps. Eleanor pushed by 
 her quickly, and went into Mrs. Burgoyne's 
 dressing-room, and leaning her arms on the 
 broad window-sill looked out into the clear 
 moonlight. She remained absorbed in 
 thought for some time, and suddenly rising, 
 found Mrs. Burgoyne sitting by her. She 
 laid her hand affectionately on her daughter- 
 in-law's shoulder, and kissed her forehead 
 as she rose to take a seat near her. There 
 was a candle on the table, but both ladies 
 seemed disposed to turn their faces away 
 from the light, and when they spoke there 
 was a slight huskiness in the voice of each, 
 which betokened all was not tranquil in the 
 bosom of either. 
 
 " I am going to take Letta away from 
 you, Eleanor, and you shall have Hester 
 entirely now. Do you mind ? " 
 
 " Not at all, dear madam ; I do not like 
 Letta much ; she is awkward, I think." 
 
 " She is more thoughtful, and forgets less 
 than the others, and that is why I like her,"
 
 176 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 said Mrs. Burgoyne. " That girl, Laviiiia, 
 is a sad trouble to poor Lucy ; she worries 
 her dreadfully by her thoughtlessness." 
 
 " Is Letta's husband on this plantation ? " 
 said Eleanor, carelessly. '' Who is it ?*' 
 
 "He is not here ; she says he is on a 
 plantation near here, I believe," replied 
 Mrs. Burgoyne, not daring, however, to 
 look her daughter-in-law in the face, for she 
 saw the young wife was already growing 
 suspicious of her own husband, and she 
 hastened to change the subject ^ but Eleanor 
 paid her very little attention, and soon 
 went to her own room. 
 
 " Ah ! poor girl, she will have her own 
 troubles, like every one else," thought Mrs. 
 Burgoyne, drying her own eyes; "but I 
 thought I could have kept her from know- 
 ino^ this. That tiresome Lettv has been 
 bringing the child into the kitchen, I fear, 
 but I will tell her it must not and shall 
 not be." 
 
 Constance, on putting away her extract- 
 book that evening, re-arranged several 
 other volumes, aud amongst them found 
 one which possessed a sad interest for her. 
 Like most young ladies she had at various
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 177 
 
 times attempted to keep a diary or journal, 
 and without much success, for the tempta- 
 tion to seek for the sympathy of her father 
 and brother, by reading it aloud to them, 
 had prevented her writing anything in it 
 not intended for a critical eye ; and at the 
 same time the consciousness of the incom- 
 pleteness of this method of journal-keeping 
 had discouraged her efforts. She had, 
 nevertheless, bought a new manuscript 
 book before starting on their American 
 journey, and its first pages were filled with 
 descriptions of the various sights and 
 scenes they had visited before their father's 
 illness arrested their progress. It was a 
 melancholy occupation to re-read them, and 
 yet, beguiled by their interest, she sat up 
 half the night to do it, and then determined 
 to continue the diary. She could not re- 
 cord the particulars of her father's illness ; 
 it was too painful a task, so she left a 
 blank space of many pages, and began to 
 write from the present date, resolving to 
 continue it steadily. But this fresh reso- 
 lution shared the fate of all the previous 
 ones; she had but little time at her OAvn 
 disposal, and the inclination to write soon 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 left her. Of this unfortunate diary, per- 
 haps some pages were destroyed, but all 
 that remained at last were a few uncon- 
 nected entries before it stopped altogether. 
 
 '''•February 1st. — The excessive cold is 
 passing, for which I am very glad ; the poor 
 negroes must have suffered at their work, I 
 am sure; but Mrs. Burgoyne says they 
 always can have fires at night if they want. 
 I have had the pleasure of reading some of 
 the future Senator's literary productions 
 to-day. I never read anything so, I may 
 truly say, iniquitous. I got through three 
 of them; one on the propriety of re- en- 
 slaving the free people of colour. I never 
 thought any one dare question their right 
 to liberty, but it seems this rising politician 
 does. 
 
 " The second pamphlet was on the much- 
 exaggerated insolence of the North; and 
 the third was on the privileges of the 
 slave-owning aristocracy; and in this he 
 absolutely hints that the poor whites^ as 
 they call all who do not hold negroes, 
 would make as good slaves as the Africans. 
 Is it possible that any man, calling himself 
 a republican, can write this, in his right
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 179 
 
 mind? I felt I could not go on to read 
 the slave-trade articles if they were to be 
 treated in the same spirit, and so aban- 
 doned the task. 
 
 " February 3rd. — The library here is not 
 worthy of the family ; on the contrary, it is 
 very insignificant and trashy. Mr. Chaun- 
 cey, they say, has a magnificent one at 
 West Creek, but as they think their own 
 good, I do not expect much from his. 
 By the by, I think his political theories, 
 which they all so admire, far more to be 
 deplored than his theological errors, which 
 prevent him from worshipping the won- 
 derful Dr. Radstock with them. / do not 
 like Dr. Radstock, and feel very pleased 
 to hear Mr. Chauncey exposing his mis- 
 takes; but as my opposition to the Rad- 
 stock school would do no good if known, 
 I keep discreetly silent on the subject, and 
 am, I fear, considered a devout disciple. 
 Mr. Chauncey discoursed to-day about the 
 necessity for the slave trade in a way which 
 it was difficult to hear without showing 
 one^s dissent. 
 
 " February Uli. — Mr. EUsland, the ora- 
 tor's flapper and worshipper, came to-day
 
 180 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 to show Colonel Burgoyne an article copied 
 from a newspaper published in the North 
 by some of the abolitionists. I was really 
 very sorry that he came, for it was a most 
 foolish and ill-advised article; and it is 
 necessarily very irritating to a kind-hearted 
 slaveholder to find himself classed with all 
 the monsters of cruelty which disgrace 
 the system. I quite felt sympathy with 
 Colonel Burgoyne's anger: apparently, his 
 speech in Charleston, some wrecks ago, gave 
 them great offence, for he is called a perfect 
 ' roll-call of hard names,' to use his own 
 expression. He asked me if he was not 
 justified in having said there were no gen- 
 tlemen whatever at the North, and I really 
 felt he had been hardly used. I am sur- 
 prised to learn hoAV young Mrs. Burgoyne 
 is. She told me to-day she was not seven- 
 teen when her son Mavor was born, and 
 therefore she is now only forty- two; but 
 she looks very much older. I hardly think 
 she can have had a happy life, and yet her 
 husband seems remarkably afi*ectionate and 
 amiable. 
 
 '-''February 11th. — We had a literary dis- 
 cussion to-day, and, I am glad to say, the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 181 
 
 Senator and I agreed singularly in our judg- 
 ment of authors. It was rather amusing; 
 we coincided on almost every point. I wish 
 he came oftener here, for he is really enter- 
 taining; and Eustace works with enthu- 
 siasm when hoping for his approbation. 
 
 '' February 14zth. — I meant to have a long 
 writing this afternoon, but Mrs. Mavor, 
 I thought, seemed so dispirited and low, 
 that it was a duty to stay and try to amuse 
 her. I have had a great deal of trouble with 
 Lucy to-day. She is extremely idle, and 
 most irritable towards her servant. 
 
 " February 15th. — A bad day, and every- 
 body cross, and the poor nurse and Miss 
 Lucy's maid have suffered in consequence. 
 Mr. Chauncey was to have come to-day, 
 but has not, and everyone has been out 
 of spirits accordingly. The children are 
 much disappointed, and I am so too out 
 of sympathy with them, especially as he 
 would have kept them in good-humour. 
 
 ^^ February 17th. — More visitors again, 
 and remarkably agreeable people. Mr. 
 Benson has one of the largest plantations 
 here, and several others elsewhere, and I 
 like the family much better than that of 
 
 N 3
 
 182 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 the Martins, whom we had yesterday. Judge 
 Benson is very gentlemanly and courteous, 
 and so is his brother. I think they are 
 all annoyed at some account of an aboli- 
 tion speech in Congress, that was in the 
 Courier, I wish those well-meaning people 
 at the North could distinguish between the 
 bad masters and the good ones; it must 
 irritate men like Colonel Burgoyne and his 
 sons to hear themselves called tyrants, men- 
 stealers, &c., when they really are meaning 
 to do well by their servants. If I liked 
 to speak of the question, I would explain 
 to Mrs. Burgoyne how we are told in Eng- 
 land only about the worst cases, and know 
 nothing of the kinder-hearted planters; 
 but I feel a repugnance to nfake any al- 
 lusion to a subject on which in the end we 
 must be content to differ. My pretty 
 favourite Letta says the servants here are 
 all happy, and she added, the family was 
 a very good family, so I feel really glad to 
 hear this from a slave. Colonel Burgoyne 
 is very humane, I think; he counselled 
 Mrs. Burgoyne very strongly not to punish 
 that tiresome Hester, who is always doing 
 wrong ; but yet he talks of flogging niggers,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 183 
 
 in a manner that is painful to listen to, 
 but yet I am bound to shut my ears to it." 
 
 About this time arrived a long letter 
 from Miss Morton, which, after many ex- 
 pressions of affection, concluded in the 
 following manner : — 
 
 " I have written to papa to beg him 
 to send for me home, for I must see him. 
 I have sent him my portrait, a sweet little 
 miniature, and I hope he will like it. I 
 wish he would come here, that would be 
 better, but really, in spite of all my ap- 
 parent dissipation, I am very dull. Dr. 
 Mayworth says he hears me complimented 
 on every side, and we have numbers of 
 visitors; but my greatest enjoyment is a 
 quiet evening with his family or with Mr. 
 Maxwell. I believe I am writing very 
 foolishly and ungratefully to papa for 
 sending me here so kindly; I know I do 
 really enjoy the balls and concerts, but I 
 want to see him so much again. I some- 
 times feel as if I must omn away^ to go 
 to him just for one kiss." 
 
 Constance also received a letter from 
 Charles, of which the following fragment 
 remains : — 
 
 N 4
 
 184 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 * * * "So at last I have agreed, and 
 I am off. Do not be frightened at the 
 accounts people bring you of the fever 
 there. I believe it is a mere phantasy. 
 I felt I had no right to refuse the offer; 
 for the salary is high ; and, after all, I am 
 no further off from you on the coast of 
 Africa than in England while you are in 
 Yankeedom, so I sail next week for the 
 station on the Brass river, and, in future, 
 I shall have no thoughts but for palm-oil 
 and cocoa-nuts. So enough of me, and 
 now to yourself." * * * 
 
 This letter, announcing the departure of 
 her brother for a situation he had accepted 
 on the African coast, in the employ of a large 
 firm in the palm-oil trade, gave Constance 
 much distress and uneasiness. She felt, 
 whatever her brother might say, there was 
 a great difference between knowing Charles 
 in England, and three weeks' journey at 
 most from her, and having him far away, 
 almost out of reach of her letters, in a 
 proverbially unhealthy climate, with no 
 friend near him ; and she felt very lonely 
 herself without the power of consulting 
 him, or only hearing his answer after
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 185 
 
 many months. She tried to reason herself 
 into acquiescence, but no philosophy could 
 prevent her being very unhappy. Mrs. 
 Burgoyne saw her distress, and after hear- 
 ing the cause, did not attempt to console 
 her by reasoning, but by kind sympathy, 
 which had a greater success. 
 
 A second part of her brother's letter, 
 however, Constance was obliged to keep en- 
 tirely to herself. It related to her panegyric 
 upon the Burgoyne family, and ran thus : — 
 
 " Now, dear sis', it pains me that you, 
 who should know better, should forget an 
 Englishman's love of freedom, and so com- 
 pletely shut your eyes to all the horrors of 
 this slavery you see about you. At least, 
 don't palliate it to me. I have no doubt 
 the slaves are treated well on Colonel Bur- 
 goyne's estate, but you write almost as a 
 defender of the whole system might. Now, 
 do not be like all the English who visit the 
 South, who begin with an honest abhor- 
 rence of slavery, and when they are wel- 
 comed and entertained by Southern planters 
 "svith good dinners and fair words, stifle 
 their natural feelings, and try to approve 
 all they see out of gratitude for their hos-
 
 186 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 pitality. Of course you like people who 
 are kind to you, and have refined and 
 gentlemanly manners; but remember it is 
 easy for a man to have white hands and be 
 gentlemanly when he steals other men to 
 do his dirty work for him ; and if he is not 
 very brutal, or quite case-hardened to suf- 
 fering, it is because he pays an overseer to 
 do his flogging for him; and avoids the 
 sight of the agony his orders inflict. Do 
 not be angry with me for writing this, dear 
 Constance; I know you yourself have far 
 too much respect for liberty and justice to 
 excuse and sympathise with anything like 
 slavery, and I know also that, in your 
 position, it is diflicult to express dissent 
 from the general sentiments round you; 
 but a word or look might, I think, be given, 
 and be of use ; but be that as it may, re- 
 main true to yourself in abhorring tyranny 
 and injustice in any form. Anyhow, don't 
 write to me as if I was a slaveholder, for I 
 hated it all the time I was at Jefl'erson- 
 ville, only I could not say a word then." 
 
 Constance was much annoyed at this re- 
 proof, all the more as her conscience repre- 
 sented to her that it was a little deserved.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 187 
 
 It was true that dear Charles was absurd in 
 wishing her to betray, by word or look, any 
 dissent from the opinions of her employers ; 
 but still she was aware that she had been 
 v^ry anxious to conciliate them, and very 
 ready to see them all in the best colours. 
 " Stni,'* as she wrote to Charles, " people 
 tell me that, to express any English opinion 
 on the subject, would be to forfeit my situa- 
 tion. I do not believe this, for they are 
 too kind and tolerant to make my thinking 
 so a crime ; but for this reason am I not 
 more bound to keep silent, lest I should 
 pain their feelings in any way ? Of course, 
 it would be very wrong for me to say 
 anything which should introduce doubts of 
 their humanity amongst their children or 
 their servants. Why should I believe the 
 reports of abolitionist journals against my 
 own eyes and the word of my friends ? I 
 know they are kind and good masters, and 
 I will not confound them with the excep- 
 tional tyrants who make the name of slavery 
 so odious to us in England. ''
 
 188 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 " I THINK I shall go and give tliat devil, 
 Jonas, a good whipping,^' said Mavor, one 
 morning, entering the library, where Con- 
 stance was reading with Eustace. 
 
 " Why, what has he done? " asked 
 Channcey, hardly raising his eyes from 
 his book. 
 
 "It is enough to look at the stable to 
 see that a whipping is wanted. It will do 
 him good; he is growing too saucy," re- 
 plied Mavor, breaking off the end of a 
 fresh cigar. 
 
 " I would not whip him much then now, 
 for you will want every hand at work, now 
 the weather is breaking ; and besides, Mavor, 
 I would wait a day or two until there was 
 some plausible reason to report, if I were 
 you," added Chauncey, settling himself 
 more comfortably in his easy-chair. 
 
 " No, I shall not. I hate the look of the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 189 
 
 boy," said Mayor, leaying the room, while 
 Chauncey continued to read. 
 
 " Surely, sir, you will not let Mr. Mayor 
 punish that poor man, when he has com- 
 mitted no fault?" exclaimed Constance, 
 eagerly. 
 
 Chauncey looked up surprised, but an- 
 swered, " It would do no good to interfere; 
 it would only yex Mayor, and ensure the 
 boy a worse whipping;" and he went on 
 with his book, while Constance sat for a 
 moment, confounded at his cool indifference 
 to the poor slaye's suffering. Eustace re- 
 called her to his book, but she quickly 
 turned from him, and appealed again to 
 Chauncey. 
 
 "But you must go, sir, mth Mr. Mayor. 
 You can preyent his flogging the poor man 
 if you like; and he himself says he has 
 done nothing. You cannot let an innocent 
 man suffer such a cruel punishment ! " 
 
 Chauncey shrugged his shoulders a little, 
 and Constance stopped speaking, for she 
 remembered how Eustace had alluded to 
 his brother as haying an especial dislike to 
 the slaye in question, and for a moment 
 she thought of going to Colonel Burgoyne
 
 190 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 in behalf of Jonas, when Chauncey threw 
 down his book, and said he would go and 
 see that Mavor did not carry the joke too 
 far. Eustace jumped up, and said he should 
 follow him, and Constance, upon whom the 
 memory of her brother's letter, re-read that 
 morning, was very strong, followed too, 
 without stopping to consider the desirability 
 of her presence. 
 
 But neither Mavor nor his intended vic- 
 tim could be found. They were not at the 
 negro quarters, nor in the stable-yard, and 
 Constance began to hope he had abandoned 
 his purpose, and gone for a ride, but she 
 saw that Chauncey was becoming uneasy 
 as he walked on still faster, questioning 
 every negro they met if he knew where 
 Jonas was. 
 
 " Perhaps he is in the woodlot," sug- 
 gested Eustace. " Papa told him to take 
 the colts there this morning." 
 
 Chauncey redoubled his pace without 
 waiting for Constance, who followed at a 
 distance, until she reached the gate of the 
 wood-paddock, the extremest part of the 
 farm, while he at the same moment came 
 up to his brother at the further end of the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 191 
 
 field. Jonas was there too, and undergoing 
 his punishment; Mavor had thrown his 
 coat on the ground, and, with the perspira- 
 tion standing on his forehead, was flogging 
 with a heavy cowhide-whip the mulatto 
 slave, who, stripped of his shirt and coat, 
 was tied fast to the door of the cowshed. 
 His shrieks and groans could be heard by 
 Constance and her pupil at the further 
 gate, and they also prevented Mavor from 
 hearing the loud expostulations of Chaun- 
 cey, until he was by his side, and laid 
 violent hands on the whip. 
 
 " Enough, enough, for this time, Mavor ; 
 give me the whip," and, after a short re- 
 sistance, Mavor relinquished it, saying — 
 
 " You are right; he has had enough, 
 perhaps. Have your own way; but why 
 the devil do you take his part? " 
 
 " I don't want him needlessly punished ; 
 and look. Miss Annersly is there." 
 
 " Here, you d — d nigger, you may go," 
 said Mavor; but the mulatto fell to the 
 ground as soon as Chauncey untied him. 
 
 "Confound it! he has fainted," said 
 Mavor, giving the senseless body a kick 
 to test the truth of its unconsciousness.
 
 192 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Come along, we will go and send Jim 
 for him. " 
 
 " Will you go and keep Miss Annersly 
 away?" exclaimed Chauncey, angrily, but 
 as he spoke Constance reached the place, 
 and stood still, struck dumb with horror. 
 
 " Go back. Miss Annersly; you can be of 
 no use. Why are you here ? " said Chauncey, 
 turning crimson with shame and anger 
 that a foreigner should be a witness to this 
 scene. '' Or stop, you could tell them to 
 bring water from that cabin. Go after her, 
 Eustace, and do not let her come back," he 
 added, as she hurried away towards the 
 little hut that stood on the other side of 
 the fence. A deep ditch of black mud 
 arrested her course, and while she ran 
 along it to the bridge, Mavor crossed it by 
 a long leap, and arrived at the hut as she 
 did. Its occupants were a mulatto man, 
 decrepit and feeble, lying on the floor near 
 the stick-fire, and a woman and her two 
 little children, whom Constance would have 
 supposed to be whites, had not Mavor, on 
 entering, addressed them as d — d niggers. 
 
 "Where is Jim? not here?" and he 
 went out, swearing as he stumbled over the 
 child on the floor, while Constance, catching
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 193 
 
 up the only jug the cabin afforded, ran out 
 to the little well, and with some difficulty 
 succeeded in filling the pitcher; but Eus- 
 tace, arriving in breathless haste, took it 
 from her, and telling her Chauncey said 
 she was to remain where she was, darted 
 off with it. 
 
 Constance had little inclination to dis- 
 obey his orders, and the quadroon woman 
 said earnestly — 
 
 "Better not go, miss; you will only 
 make the gentlemen more mad if you go, 
 and then he'll catch it more quickly again." 
 
 Constance sat down, thoroughly sick with 
 what she had just witnessed. 
 
 "Had he been flogging him long?" she 
 asked. The woman made no answer, but 
 the man who lay before the fire partially 
 raised himself to reply. He was blind, but 
 Constance did not then notice that. 
 
 " Yes, a long time ; I hear him screech, 
 and I thought Mr. Mavor was a whippin' 
 him. I knew he'd be doin' it again some of 
 these days. He will be whipped again 
 many a time before they've killed him." 
 
 "Kill him? they do not want to kill 
 him?" said Constance, almost gasping for 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 breath. The old man listened attentively 
 to her voice for a moment, as if he were 
 uncertain who she might be, and said — 
 
 " Kill him : yes, they will; they mean to, 
 and the missis will thank 'em for it. It's 
 she who sets them on ; but it's always so ; 
 brother against brother, and the old lady at 
 the bottom of it." 
 
 "Hush, hush! Uncle Will," whispered 
 the woman, hurriedly bending towards him. 
 " It's the young lady stranger ; take care." 
 But Constance started up, exclaiming — 
 
 " Brother against brother 1 what do you 
 mean?" and she stopped horrified, as the 
 truth flashed upon her. 
 
 She was, of course, perfectly well aware 
 that the slave children of planters, if not 
 sold to the Southern market, must remain 
 on the estate, but she had never supposed 
 that Jonas was one of these, nor had she 
 ever realised what must be their probable 
 fate, unrecognised and unprotected by their 
 father, and exposed to the bitter hatred of 
 the lawful wife, and her sons, who found a 
 savage pleasure in thus avenging the slights 
 offered to their mother. She remembered, 
 now, Mrs. Burgoyne's refusal to assist Ellie 
 in binding up the mulatto's wounded foot.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 195 
 
 and Eustace's confident assertion that he 
 should be well whipped Avhen Chauncey 
 came, and a shudder passed through her 
 as she thought how often must similar 
 cruelties occur where there were such 
 natural causes of dislike, and unlimited 
 power to indulge it. As to Mavor and 
 Chauncey, they now appeared to her more 
 like fiends than men, and when she heard 
 steps approaching, she drew back into a 
 corner, unwilling to meet them, and hoping 
 to remain unobserved. Chauncey and 
 Eustace, assisted by a strong negro, carried 
 in a rough litter, made of a hurdle, on 
 which lay poor Jonas. A frown was on 
 the young planter's brow, and Eustace was 
 very pale, and Constance shuddered as she 
 saw the marked likeness between their 
 faces and the inanimate countenance, dis- 
 torted by suffering, which lay before them. 
 There was a silence. Constance heard a 
 sound as if drops of water were falling one 
 by one upon the ground. She saw it was 
 the blood that dripped slowly off the hur- 
 dle. She could bear it no longer, but, 
 hastening from her place of concealment, 
 she hurried into the open air. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 A minute afterwards slie was joined by 
 Eustace, but he made no remark, and, pro- 
 bably, had been told not to do so by his 
 brother, for when Chauncey came out of 
 the cabin he looked gloomy and vexed, and 
 led the way homewards without saying a 
 word. As they passed the cowshed, Con- 
 stance saw spots of blood on the grass, and 
 she hurried on, but her companions stopped, 
 and Eustace picked up a small pocket-knife 
 which had been used to cut the cords 
 that tied Jonas. 
 
 " Here, Chauncey, here is your knife,'' 
 he said, wiping some red specks from oif 
 the haft. "It is the one Lucy gave you. 
 I think you would be sorry to lose it." 
 
 " Thank you; but how came you to be so 
 stupid as to let Miss Annersly come on here, 
 Eustace, and see the boy whipped? How 
 could 3^ou ? Your own sense should have told 
 you that she, a Northerner, an Englishwo- 
 man I mean, should have been kept away." 
 
 " I really don't know; I could not think 
 of anything ; I was frightened to see Mavor 
 whipping Jone so hard. Is that why you 
 look so sober then? I wondered why you 
 vrere so glum. I thought you would not
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 197 
 
 mind Mavor giving Jone a whipping ; you 
 don't, do you?" 
 
 " No, of course I don't, if he wants it, 
 but father will, if he hears of it," and with 
 a few rapid strides he was by Constance's 
 side. '' Miss Annersly, I must beg you 
 not to allude to the present matter at the 
 house." 
 
 Constance, unwilling to speak, answered 
 by a slight inclination of the head, and 
 Chauncey continued — 
 
 " I regret that you should have met so 
 painful a scene. My brother has been very 
 severe, and my father would, I fear, blame 
 him for it, so we will not mention it, if 3^ou 
 please." 
 
 "I have no wish to do so," Constance 
 answered, in a tone in which indignation 
 and disgust struggled with her usual 
 civility, and Chauncey, turning angrily 
 away, said nothing more during the walk 
 home. He entered the house by the li- 
 brary window, and Constance hurried away 
 to her own room, anxious only to avoid meet- 
 ing any of that family, whom, until now, she 
 had believed to be, one and all, incapable of 
 any harshness or severity to their negroes. 
 
 o 3
 
 198 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 The veil had been rudely drawn from 
 before her eyes. She had often, while 
 walking in the shrubbery, heard distant 
 cries and screams, and had shut her ears 
 and heart to them by telling herself it was 
 necessary that refractory negroes should 
 be corrected, and that the overseer was 
 reputed a mild and sensible man, and he 
 would not inflict any needless punishment 
 upon the slaves. But to-day she had seen 
 what a severe whipping was, and had 
 learnt what the humanity of at least one 
 member of the family was worth ; and she 
 trembled to think what scenes might be 
 enacted on this very plantation where she 
 had believed and said the slaves were 
 as well off as the free labourers of the 
 North. 
 
 She was startled from these reflections 
 by a hurried knock at the door, and the 
 voice of Eustace saying, " Can I come 
 in. Miss Annersly ? " She opened the door, 
 and saw him looking much excited and 
 frightened. 
 
 "What must I do?" he said; "papa is 
 calling me, and he will ask me if I have 
 seen Jonas. He is asking everybody where 
 he is; he suspects something, and what
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 199 
 
 can I say? I will not get Mavor into 
 trouble." 
 
 " Tell the truth, if he asks you," replied 
 Constance ; " besides, you owe your father 
 a greater duty than you do Mr. Mavor." 
 
 "Oh! well, I must tell the truth; but 
 I would rather stick by Mavor in this 
 business," said Eustace, and he turned to 
 go, but saw his father on the stairs, and 
 remained by his governess as if seeking 
 her support, while Colonel Burgoyne said — 
 
 " Eustace, I have been calling you some 
 time. Do you know where Jonas is? 
 Mavor knows nothing of him." 
 
 Eustace gave Constance a significant 
 look, and replied, " I think he is down at 
 Jim's cabin." 
 
 "And what doing? Why does he not 
 come back to his work?" asked Colonel 
 Burgoyne, and, as his son hesitated, his 
 suspicions re-awakened, and he sternly in- 
 sisted on an answer ; and after much cross- 
 examination, drew the whole truth from 
 the unwilling Eustace. 
 
 " Always so," he exclaimed, with a deep 
 oath, and stamping his foot on the ground ; 
 " they will spoil every hand on the planta- 
 
 o 4
 
 200 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 tion ; " and he added, sotto voce^ as he walked 
 away, " I must sell him, I believe, or they 
 will kill him by inches." 
 
 Eustace waited until he had descended 
 the stairs, and then ran down them two 
 steps at a time, leaving Constance alone, 
 confounded at the prospect of his probable 
 education with the example set before him 
 by Mavor. She felt in no humour to go 
 down after him, and when the dinner-bell 
 rang, and she knew she must go, in con- 
 sequence of a special invitation that morn- 
 ing, it was a most painful effort. As she 
 crossed the hall, she heard one of the 
 housemaids observe to Letta — 
 
 " Will missis come down to dinner, 
 Letty? was not Master real angry? " 
 
 "Oh ! yes, he was ; they were talking ever 
 so long in master's study. He said she set 
 Master Mavor on to whip Jonas, and Missis 
 went up to her room as white as a sheet." 
 
 " Oh ! I had better not go in," thought 
 Constance, and she was gladly turning away, 
 when Eleanor's voice called her to enter. 
 The whole family (except Mavor, who had 
 chosen to go off for his ride) were assembled, 
 and if there had been any ill-humour among
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 201 
 
 them, they seemed to have philosophically 
 forgotten it. Mrs. Burgoyne certainly 
 looked pale; but they all talked much as 
 usual, only Chauncey carefully avoided 
 speaking to Miss Annersly, or even looking 
 towards her. It was a great relief to 
 Constance that Mavor was not there, and 
 when, towards the end of the meal, his step 
 was heard in the hall, she rose, and hastily 
 alleging the usual pretext of a headache, 
 begged Mrs. Burgoyne to excuse her, and 
 left the table. She passed Mavor at the 
 door without turning her head, and went to 
 her own room, wondering how she should 
 ever meet and speak to him again with 
 civility. As she recalled the horrid scene 
 of the morning, a painful curiosity seized 
 her to know more of the treatment which 
 the slaves on the plantation suiFered. She 
 remembered Edward Maxwell's saying 
 that she need not delude herself with the 
 idea that she would hear complaints from 
 the negroes if they were ill-used, unless 
 they saAV reason to consider her a special 
 friend ; and she was angry with herself 
 for having felt such indifference to their 
 misfortunes, and having so thoroughly iden-
 
 202 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 tified herself with their owners, — their 
 tyrants as she now called them. She had 
 never encouraged the quadroon girl, Letta, 
 to talk to her, from a secret, unconfessed 
 fear that her history was a sad one, for 
 her very smile was mournful, and her 
 laugh, though silvery, had something bitter 
 in it. But now, when Letta came in to 
 arrange her room for the night, Constance 
 detained her for some trivial reason, and 
 began her inquiries. She approached the 
 subject, not Avith much art it must be 
 confessed. 
 
 " Are the servants kindly treated as a 
 rule here, Letta ? There are not often such 
 whippings as the one Jonas has had, I pre- 
 sume?" 
 
 " Oh, mas'r is a very good mas'r, and 
 the family is very kind, miss," replied the 
 quadroon. It was her usual answer when 
 the question had been asked, and hitherto 
 Constance had let it satisfy her ; but it 
 would not do so now. 
 
 " They may be very kind to you, Letta; 
 but this flogging of Jone is the most dread- 
 ful thing ; I never dreamt of such. Are 
 such punishments common, or not ? You 
 need not fear that I shall tell any one what
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 203 
 
 you say to me, Letta ; but I want to know 
 the truth." 
 
 Letta fixed her dark eyes on Constance, 
 as if she would read her very soul; and, 
 after a long scrutiny, answered — 
 
 " They really are not worse than others, 
 miss. I think they would be called a kind 
 family ; but dreadful things do happen 
 sometimes ;" and, as she uttered these words, 
 a knock at the door made her start and 
 tremble so violently that she could scarcely 
 move to open it. 
 
 " Please, Miss Ann'sly," said Jessy, 
 "please, missis says will you let Letty 
 come down ? Ole Sally is wantin' her ; 
 her baby's took sick ; and I can do anythin' 
 you'se wanting, miss," she added ; while 
 Letta, with a cry of terror, sprang to the 
 door, but there stopped, waiting for permis- 
 sion to depart. 
 
 " Run doAvn, Letta, and bring your baby 
 up to me," said Constance, and she declined 
 any assistance from Jess, whom, in secret 
 truth, she rather disliked. She kept her 
 with her, however, until Letta returned 
 with her child. It was crying pitifully, 
 but quietly, for its mother's whispered in- 
 junction to be quiet lest missis should hear
 
 204 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 it, appealed witli full force even to its two- 
 year-old intellect. Constance prescribed 
 for the child as best she could, and told the 
 mother to sit down there and rock it to 
 sleep, which she gladly did, and the poor 
 little thing's wail ceased in a few minutes. 
 Constance dismissed Jessy, and busied her- 
 self by writing in her diary, occasionally 
 looking up to inquire how her little patient 
 was sleeping. At last she laid do^YIi the 
 pen, and took a seat near Letta. 
 
 " Do you think old Sally takes good care 
 of it? Has she any others to attend to, 
 Letta?" 
 
 " Three or four, miss. She does as well 
 as she can ; but she is very old to attend to 
 so young a child; and I fear they ain't 
 much looked after." 
 
 "Are not you able to go to it some- 
 times ?" 
 
 " No, miss, only for a minute. I used 
 to have him up in the kitchen, but when 
 the young missis came, it was sent away 
 from the house, and now I never see it ex- 
 cept I run down in the evening just to give 
 him one kiss, when my work is all done. 
 Poor thing ! "
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 205 
 
 " Poor child 1 and poor mother ! " said 
 Constance, sympathisingly ; and, as if her 
 heart had been opened by the kindness 
 shown to her child, Letta suddenly threw 
 away her former cautious reserve, and 
 answered — 
 
 " Oh, yes, it's very hard — very hard, 
 miss, to know that it's fretting and cold, 
 and no one able to soothe it, and to be 
 obliged to go on working away from it; 
 and I dare not go down to see after it, 
 even when I could find tune, for fear missis 
 should be angry. And then I am so afraid 
 that it may be taken to be sold, or I'll be 
 sold myself, and never see it again." 
 
 Letta shed no tears, but her voice had a 
 hopeless sadness in it that was more painful 
 to hear than louder complaints. " You 
 will not be sold ; I do not see any likeli- 
 hood of it," was all the comfort Constance 
 could offer. 
 
 Letta shook her head. "He perhaps 
 would not ; but others may, miss. Jone's 
 mother was sold, and old mas'r loved her 
 better than anyone else, but he could not 
 prevent missis from sending her off when 
 he was out of the way."
 
 206 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 "But there was a reason then, Letta?'' 
 continued Constance, as a painful surmise 
 crossed her mind. " Have you no friends 
 here ? Where is your husband ? — on whose 
 plantation is he ?" 
 
 Letta coloured and bent over her baby, 
 which woke at the same moment. It smiled 
 as it saw her, and the smile changed the 
 whole expression of its face, and answered 
 Miss Annersly's doubts only too painfully. 
 That peculiar smile was not to be mistaken ; 
 she had never seen it but on two faces, and 
 she drew back with a natural feeling of 
 indignation and anger as she asked abruptly 
 and sharply — 
 
 " Is it Mr. Chauncey or Mr. Mavor, 
 Letta?" 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Mavor, miss," answered the 
 quadroon, rising and wrapping the child 
 in her shawl. "I know, miss, the Bible 
 says it's very wrong, but I could not help 
 it. I am but a slave, and cannot do as I 
 would like." 
 
 Constance was touched by the sadness in 
 Letta's voice. 
 
 " How can you, being a slave, love a 
 master who is so cruel as he has been to-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 207 
 
 day?" said she, preventing her by a sign 
 of the hand from leaving the room, as she 
 was about to do. 
 
 " Love him ! — I ! God knows I do not. 
 I hate him. Don't think, miss, that I was 
 brought up to this. I'm not like them all 
 downstairs. No, indeed ; though they 
 don't love him ; but only try and please 
 him that they may shirk their work, and 
 not get whipped, and have extra tea and 
 rum. Clara, poor thing! — whom you saw 
 at Jim's cottage, miss, — she does love 
 him ; and if it had not been for her nursing 
 he never would have got through the fever 
 last year ; but now she is sent away to Jim's 
 cabin, to manage as she can with her baby 
 this cold weather ; and mine has been sent 
 from me to Sally, lest Madam Eleanor 
 should see it ; but she'll find it out some 
 day, and then, poor baby ! she may sell it 
 away from me; or, if it isn't, it will be 
 whipped, when it's grown up, by her chil- 
 dren some day, as Jonas is." 
 
 "But is Jonas worse treated than the 
 other negroes by Mr. Mavor?" 
 
 " He needn't be ; there are plenty others 
 whom he might hate just as well, for that
 
 208 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 matter ; but still lie do hate him more than 
 all. Missis does so ; she couldn't bear his 
 mother. Missis went on her knees, they 
 say, to mas'r to sell the girl, and when he 
 wouldn't, she Avatched her time and sold 
 her to a soul-driver, who took her down 
 south with her baby, and mas'r never could 
 hear of her again." 
 
 ''And Jonas?" said Constance, drawing 
 a deep breath. 
 
 " Oh ! he was left, miss ; the trader didn't 
 want him, and he was made Mr. Mavor's 
 boy, and cruelly enough he used him ; but 
 still he would sometimes prevent Mr. 
 Chauncey from treating him worse, and 
 Jonas always helped Mr. Mavor to fight 
 Mr. Chauncey. But now Mr. Mavor is 
 the worst, and he is always whipping him, 
 and some day he will kill him, old Will 
 says — he that's blind, miss." 
 
 " Kill him! oh no, Letta, you do not 
 know what you say." 
 
 " Yes, he will, miss ; he tried to do it the 
 other day; he drove the new gig right at 
 him, and meant to have gone over him, 
 but the horse wouldn't do it, for it knew 
 Jone, and it jumped to one side, and the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 209 
 
 wheel only went over his foot. You 
 helped Ellie bmcl it up, miss, you re- 
 member, and you wondered how he ma- 
 naged to get it done. It was Master 
 Mavor did it." 
 
 Lett a had now forgotten all her doubts of 
 her listener's sympathy or good faith. She 
 spoke apparently freely and unreservedly, 
 and as she saw that Miss Annersly was 
 still attentive, she continued — 
 
 " My mother often told me of her 
 brother, whom she remembered seeing 
 killed. His master, who was his father, 
 sent him away to work in another town, 
 but when he died all the slaves were 
 brought back again by the young mas'r, 
 his son, and he soon began to whip my 
 uncle cruelly, and at last he took his pistol 
 and shot him dead — he did, miss, — shot 
 him dead." 
 
 " And where was your mother ? " Con- 
 stance asked, making an eiFort to speak in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " She was by, miss, and saw him buried 
 in a hole in the negro quarters ; but her 
 mas'r sent her the next day to a drover, 
 and she was sold to a rich gentleman. He 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 WHITE AND BLACK. - 
 
 was very kind to lier, and slie was very 
 fond of him ; but he married a few years 
 afterwards, and sold her and both her 
 little children, and the man who bought 
 her did not want the children, and he sold 
 them." 
 
 Letta stopped for a minute, and then 
 went on. " She was nearly crazed with 
 losing her baby, and for some time they 
 thought she would never be sensible again ; 
 but she got right at last, and then my 
 father bought her, and then she had me. 
 She lived with him many years : when he 
 died I was fifteen years old, and there 
 were seven of us. We lived in a pretty 
 cottage on his estate, a good way from the 
 great house where the missis Avas. She, the 
 missis, had two children, a boy and a girl, 
 and when the master, my father, died, they 
 settled to divide the slaves between them. 
 My mother was in her share with the five^ 
 younger children, and I and my brother 
 were in his. I never saw mother again ; 
 I believe she died two years afterwards. 
 My brother was sold to a hard master, who 
 flogged him so that he wouldn't stand it, 
 and preferred to take his chance, and he
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 211 
 
 ran away ; and I never heard of him after- 
 wards, but I think he was shot. Mas'r 
 was very ill for a long time, and I nursed 
 him through it, but when he got well he 
 sold me, and I came here." 
 
 " And here, Letta, you told me the 
 slaves were well treated, and you said 
 your master was very kind : why did you 
 say that ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Ann'sly, but I didn't know 
 but what you'd tell what I said to missis, 
 and I should have been whipped, per- 
 haps. But they really are a kind family 
 amongst masters : much better than Mr. 
 EUsland or Mr. Benson; and Mr Chaun- 
 cey's niggers, they say, are very kindly 
 treated, better, even, than the hands here." 
 
 " Then he is not so cruel as his brother?" 
 
 " EUie says he used to be much the 
 worst, miss, for he was so passionate he 
 would do anything; but, indeed, before he 
 went to Europe he was entirely managed by 
 the lady — for Miss Helen was a lady. Miss 
 Annersly, though she was sold for a ser- 
 vant — whom he had with him at the Creek. 
 He was very fond of her, and she never let 
 him be very cruel to his servants."
 
 212 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " She is dead, is she not, Letta ? '^ 
 
 " Yes, miss, she died a year and a half 
 since. He went over the sea after that. 
 He fretted a good deal, I believe, about 
 her; he was really fond of her.' ^ 
 
 " Why did he not set her free and marry 
 her, then?" said Constance, half to herself. 
 
 Letta laughed and then sighed. 
 
 " I do not know, miss; but it is never 
 done, and it is sometimes very difficult, I 
 believe. Her father meant to have set her 
 free, and he thought he had done so, they 
 said, but it was all a mistake, and when he 
 died she was sold. I knew a woman, she 
 had five children, and they were all made 
 free as well as herself by their master, but 
 they were all sold again, and were made 
 slaves. One of those boys is at the Creek 
 now." 
 
 " And you, Letta, were you brought up 
 as a slave ? — you do not speak like the other 
 servants." 
 
 Letta smiled sadly c " I don't know, miss; 
 mother always hoped she should get my 
 father to set us free, and she took great j)ains 
 with us all ; but, perhaps, we are only the 
 more unhappy for that. If I felt differently
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 213 
 
 from as I do, I miglit be less miserable; 
 and yet I would not be like Hester for 
 anything." 
 
 " You have told me some terrible things 
 which I never thought to hear, Letta," 
 said Constance, sighing. 
 
 "Oh! Miss Annersly, I can tell you of 
 many more. I can tell you of a man who 
 was burnt alive by Mr. Ellsland's father. 
 They were at it for a whole hour, and his 
 eyes were burnt out of his head before he 
 died, and his shrieks! — Jonas says he shall 
 never forget them, let him live ever so long. 
 And there was a woman I knew " 
 
 " Oh! no more, Letta, that will do," 
 exclaimed Constance, terror-stricken ; but 
 Letta would not be stopped. Her tongue 
 was fairly unloosed, and she hurried on 
 from one scene of horror to another, some 
 of which she had witnessed, and others 
 could vouch for on good authority, till 
 Constance, overcome with disgust and heart- 
 sickness, was obliged to silence her revela- 
 tions and send her away. But she could 
 not so banish the painful scenes which her 
 recital had called up ; they filled her mind 
 sleeping or waking, and in her dreams the 
 
 r 3
 
 214 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 floo^ofino^ of Jonas came back ao-ain with 
 startling vividness. She saw Mavor with 
 his hands all stained red, Eustace clean- 
 ing the knife from the specks of blood, 
 and Chauncey's hard, cold look of mere 
 vexation when he found her a spectator of 
 the scene. But yesterday they had ap- 
 peared the very personification of kindly 
 feeling and gentlemanly high -breeding; 
 now they were changed into ruffians, and 
 she wondered how she should ever be able 
 to meet and speak with them again. In 
 the morning the prospect of breakfasting 
 with them, which, as it was Sunday, she 
 would be obliged to do, and the drive to 
 church with them, distressed her in the 
 extreme, and she revolved a dozen times 
 in her mind the proper manner of meeting 
 them, so as not to betray in her counte- 
 nance all the abhorrence she felt towards 
 them in her heart. She must not show 
 that ; she was still their mother's governess, 
 but it would be very difficult to hide it. 
 
 She put off the evil hour as long as she 
 could, and when the breakfast-bell sounded, 
 went reluctantly downstairs, fearing greatly 
 that she was about to enrage them and
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 215 
 
 distress Mrs. Burgoyne by betraying her 
 horror of Mavor. 
 
 " I never could speak to him," she said 
 to herself, " after seeing his fingers all red 
 with the blood of that poor creature. I 
 must go from here ; it is no question of 
 right or wrong, whether I ought to stop or 
 not — I cannot ;^^ and with these words on 
 her lips she went downstairs.
 
 216 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was a lovely morning. The liall was 
 sweet witli the fragrance of fresh flowers, 
 and a little bird was fluttering up and 
 down the staircase, pursued with shouts of 
 glee and caressing persuasions by little 
 Georgy with a handful of bread crumbs. 
 
 " Oh ! come and help me. Miss Annersly," 
 she cried, running to her; "this poor little 
 bird cannot find its way out, and I want to 
 show it him." 
 
 " Open the upper window, and then run 
 down into the hall," said Constance, kissing 
 her. " Look ! there he goes, free and 
 happy. Where is Frank?" 
 
 " In the breakfast-room. It's Sunday 
 morning. Carry me in in your arms, Miss 
 Annersly." 
 
 " No, indeed! you are too heavy," replied 
 Constance, laughing. 
 
 '' Oh ! I shall make you, Miss Annersly, 
 indeed I shall."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 217 
 
 " You will have to catch me first then," 
 said Constance, running round the hall, 
 pursued by Georgy, who was, however, 
 caught up by Mavor, and carried, laughing 
 and screaming, into the breakfast-room. 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Annersly," he 
 said, cheerfully; "I have lost m}^ wager 
 with Eustace. I said we should have three 
 wet Sundays, and this morning is as lovely 
 as a spring day." 
 
 " I am very glad of it," replied Constance, 
 hardly able to speak, and not daring to 
 look at him; but he seemed perfectly un- 
 conscious of her distress, and beo-an talkinsr 
 in his usual pleasant, cordial tone. Con- 
 stance was obliged to reply, and finally to 
 laugh ; and as she listened to his kind 
 chatter with the children, and his earnest 
 and afi'ectionate conversation with his sister 
 Lucy, she could hardly recognise the same 
 man whom she had seen under such cir- 
 cumstances of horror the preceding day. 
 Eustace seemed to have forgotten it alto- 
 gether, and Chauncey was in better spirits 
 than she had as yet seen him; and after 
 some time she found herself gradually 
 losing the recollection of the inhuman
 
 218 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 scene ; it seemed a horrid dream, and one, 
 too, she was anxious to forget. She could 
 not remember it when she saw Mayor's un- 
 usually pleasant smile, which, indeed, ex- 
 ercised always a kind of fascination over 
 her; she was obliged to put Jonas and the 
 slaves from her mind whenever she met 
 their masters, and after a time she was 
 glad it was so, for it would have been 
 a real pain to have had to meet Mr. Mavor 
 every day if she had recollected all that 
 she had heard against him. 
 
 Yet all could not be forgotten; a new 
 light, or rather gloom, seemed cast upon 
 the whole household, and all that was done 
 or said therein ; and the thought of Jonas 
 would sometimes come back when Mavor 
 Burgoyne or his father showed signs of dis- 
 satisfaction with any of the servants. Her 
 ears, too, seemed to have been sharpened 
 for disagreeable sounds she had before 
 ignored, and sometimes she heard distant 
 screams and cries to which she now pos- 
 sessed a painful key. One night she started 
 from sleep, roused by a groan which seemed 
 close to her ear. She listened, but all was 
 still, and she was at last fain to persuade
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 219 
 
 herself that it was only a dream. Still the 
 thought of Jonas haunted her that day ; it 
 was a week since his punishment had taken 
 place — she had not seen him since near the 
 house, and she determined to go down to 
 the cabin in the wood-field and learn how 
 he was. This was a bold resolution, nor 
 was it taken all at once, but gradually 
 framed itself as in the afternoon she was 
 walking alone in the same path which 
 Chauncey had taken to find Mavor on the 
 day of the flogging. She hesitated, and 
 doubted whether her going there might not 
 be considered an impertinent intrusion in 
 the affairs of the household, but at last she 
 found herself at the gate of the field before 
 her decision was made, and having gone so 
 far, she went further, and entered the cabin. 
 It was one of the usual negro huts — 
 perhaps not one of the least comfortable. 
 Constance had seen it already, but at a 
 time when she was too excited to remark 
 its desolate condition; but its mud floor, 
 unglazed windows, and lack of all furniture, 
 save two old mattresses on the ground, 
 struck her now with pain, when she re- 
 collected Letta's saying that Clara had
 
 220 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 been a favourite of Mayor's, and had nursed 
 him devotedly during a long and dangerous 
 illness. The children were almost naked, 
 and wretchedly thin, and as their light 
 complexion and handsome features brought 
 forcibly before her their parentage, Con- 
 stance felt shocked to see them so little 
 cared for, and asked their mother if they 
 had no other clothing. 
 
 "No, no other;" but Clara said such 
 small children as they were, often went 
 without any. '' Colonel Burgoyne is very 
 good to his hands, and all the children here 
 have clothes, at least in the winter." 
 
 "And you have plenty of blankets?" 
 asked Constance, while a glance at the 
 mattresses made her rather doubtful of the 
 fact. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; they had all they wanted. 
 Colonel Burgoyne was a very good master," 
 said Clara again ; but the blind slave, whom 
 Constance had seen in the hut when there 
 before, and who had been listening atten- 
 tively, with his head bent on one side, to 
 the sound of Miss Annersly's voice, now 
 suddenly broke in. 
 
 " You may speak free to the lady, Clara,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 221 
 
 slie won't tell mas'r of us and get iis into 
 trouble." 
 
 "Yes," said Constance, "I wish you 
 would tell me exactly the truth." 
 
 " We dursn't always speak free," replied 
 the old man — " not till we know who we's 
 speaking to; but it's fearful cold here in 
 winter, and there's no glass in the winders, 
 and " 
 
 " Hush ! hush 1 Will," interposed the 
 woman, in much agitation; "you's always 
 complainin'." 
 
 " She won't tell on us; I know it in her 
 voice," said the old man in a half whisper, 
 while Constance asked — 
 
 " You do not mind the hot weather, then, 
 as much as the cold, I suppose?" 
 
 " I don't know ; it's awful hot to work, 
 and the fog is so heavy," he answered, 
 "and then them 'squitoes, they worry me to 
 death like a' most." 
 
 " Oh, it's dreadful for the little ones, the 
 cold weather," said the woman; " they's so 
 few clothes, and then the shoes is so bad, 
 and wears out so easy, and their feet gets 
 so cut with the frost, and then they's so 
 hungry, and the hands don't get their
 
 222 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 breakfast till it's so late, and if I ain't able 
 to warm it for tliem, they has to eat it cold, 
 the potatoes." 
 
 Constance listened with painful interest 
 to these complaints, and to the further 
 recital of sufferings, from cold and over- 
 work, detailed by the poor woman, who 
 wound up, nevertheless, by declaring that 
 Colonel Burgoyne's niggers were well 
 treated amongst others, and that he was a 
 good master. Constance was glad to hear 
 this, and yet her heart sank to think what 
 must be the condition of slaves under over- 
 seers and owners acknowledged to be se- 
 vere ; and she returned home very sadly, 
 having previously learned that Jonas, 
 though still very weak, had been summoned 
 to his usual duties. She walked slowly 
 back, taking the narrower paths of the 
 shrubbery in order to avoid meeting any 
 person ; but as she reached the garden gate 
 she came upon Chauncey. He evidently 
 guessed where she had been, for he said — 
 
 "You found your protege " 
 
 " Jonas ?" said Constance. 
 
 "Yes, you found him recovered suffi- 
 ciently to go to work. Miss Annersly ? "
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 223 
 
 "I found lie had been sent to work — 
 though not recovered," Constance was 
 about to add, but she checked herself, 
 feeling she should offend him, and as she 
 stopped, he continued — 
 
 " A white man would have been ill for a 
 month after such a whipping, but niggers 
 get over it very quickly." 
 
 Constance had real difficulty in restrain- 
 ing the answer which was on her lips, but 
 she succeeded in doing so ; and she had oc- 
 casion to practise her forbearance the next 
 day again, when Mavor made some remark 
 about a planter who half starved his slaves, 
 and Chauncey said, evidently for her to 
 hear, — 
 
 " The man's a fool as well as a brute to 
 spoil his hands so; but as a rule they are 
 well fed. It is absurd to suppose the con- 
 trary. It is for the master's interest they 
 should be, and moreover they require less 
 than white labourers do," and he glanced 
 at Constance defyingly. 
 
 Constance was inclined to express dis- 
 sent, but she did not. Scarcely a day 
 passed now that, with her re-awakened 
 sense, she was not painfully obliged to re-
 
 224 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 cognise some of the cruelties of slavery, and 
 often and often a condemnation of the 
 whole system rose to her lips; but she 
 maintained a resolute silence, and forbear- 
 ance gradually became easier to her. It 
 was true there was nothing so startling as 
 the whi^Dping of Jonas to arouse her feel- 
 ings, and she tried not to listen Avhen she 
 heard cries from the overseer's quarters. 
 She found that Mrs. Burgoyne had been 
 much annoyed at hearing that she had 
 been to Ckira's cottage, and she resolved 
 not to question the servants for the future 
 as to their condition. She could not help 
 them ; it was possible she might even 
 awaken them to a greater sense of their 
 own hardships by injudicious sympathy, 
 and why should she harass her own feel- 
 ings, and incapacitate herself for fulfilling 
 her duties in the family properly, by making 
 inquiries which could lead to no good? 
 Slavery was dreadful ; she could never 
 think otherwise; but she was powerless to 
 mitigate the evil ; and from what she could 
 hear she was convinced that the Burgoyne 
 family, as a whole, — even including Mavor 
 — were kind-hearted and considerate mas-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 225 
 
 ters. Her duty was plain, to instruct the 
 cliildren ; slie was not there to be a censor 
 of their parents; in fact, it was infinitely 
 better not to interfere where she could not 
 do any good. 
 
 Thus she continued to reason with her- 
 self; and, as we have said, at first it was a 
 hard business — but alas! and alas! the 
 worst part was yet to come. 
 
 A change arose gradually in herself; 
 never could she have believed, had it been 
 prophesied to her, that she could alter on 
 such a subject. In justice to her we must 
 say the change was very gradual, but still 
 her feelings did undergo a change; but 
 could she have foreseen how soon she her- 
 self would begin to harden — to accept as 
 inevitable, evils which a few months before 
 she knew to be curable — how injustice 
 and oppression, which at first had cruelly 
 wounded her sense of right, now ceased to 
 pain — she would have shrunk in horror at 
 the deterioration of her own moral standard. 
 She did not remember that if we are sur- 
 rounded with evil without making any 
 attempt to alleviate it — that if we make 
 no protest against the wrong — gradually 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 our sense of right becomes lowered; we 
 tolerate, we soon accept, and at last perhaps 
 defend a wickedness from which formerly 
 we should have shrunk with dismay. 
 
 " Laisser le crime en paix c'est s'en rendre complice.** 
 
 And so it was with Constance. The 
 good-humour, the urbanity, the outward 
 charm, which was in all the Burgojme 
 family, attracted her strongly; there was 
 a high-bred manner, which she told her- 
 self arose from their habit of command, 
 which pleased her — an easy indifference 
 as to small cares, which contrasted favour- 
 ably with what she had observed in 
 New England the preceding spring. They 
 were truly specimens of the '' chivalry of 
 the South," which she had often heard 
 spoken of in England, and about which 
 they often spoke themselves, as distin- 
 guishing " the South " from " the North." 
 Their treatment of her was like half guest, 
 whole friend, never as a dependant, and 
 Constance could scarcely recognise that she 
 held the much-abused position of " the 
 poor governess," so entirely did their cor- 
 dial politeness veil the fact that she was
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 227 
 
 there in tliat doubtful position. Eleanor 
 was almost a sister, and Mrs. Burgoyne's 
 manners were so kind and flattering that 
 they made her in good-humour with her- 
 self. She was scrupulously punctual and 
 careful in fulfilliDg her own part of the 
 engagement, and felt that she merited their 
 approbation by her care and zeal. Colonel 
 Burgoyne, always gentlemanly, behaved 
 with fatherly kindness, mingled with deli- 
 cate gallantry: Mayor, kind-hearted and 
 good-mannered, was pleasantly familiar: 
 and Chauncey was — well perhaps Chaun- 
 cey's manner did not show her to be quite 
 so much of a favourite with him ; but still 
 he paid marked attention whenever she 
 spoke, and she felt sure she was on the 
 high road to his good opinion also, and she 
 did not conceal from herself that she con- 
 sidered this good opinion as of more worth 
 than either of the others, for his approbation 
 would not be lightly given; he was well- 
 read, well-bred, had seen and travelled 
 much, and she felt that he, more than all 
 the rest, could appreciate character. And 
 that he was so beginning to do she was 
 convinced ; but her self-satisfaction was 
 Q 2
 
 228 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 checked one day by over-hearing, as she 
 sat at the window, Mavor say — 
 
 "And so you condemn her for that 
 fault ?" 
 
 "I do," replied Chauncey ; " she is a 
 thorouofh coward. All the Northerners 
 are. I can see well she doesn't agree with 
 us ; she blames us in her heart, and she is 
 nevertheless all smiles and acquiescence to 
 our faces. I hate cowardice in man or 
 woman." 
 
 " It is more excusable in a woman 
 though," rejoined the kindly voice of 
 Mavor. 
 
 " Not moral cowardice. Physical cow- 
 ardice is of course excusable, but not 
 moral," said Chauncey. 
 
 " Except that physical courage strength- 
 ens and supports moral courage, and in fact 
 is often its real source," replied Mavor. 
 " No, I dislike cowardice, but I can see 
 some excuse for poor Miss Annersly; you 
 could hardly expect any one to be brave 
 against such a battery as we should .all 
 bring to bear upon her." 
 
 Constance felt her cheeks tingle vvith 
 anger and shame as she listened to this
 
 AVHITE AND BLACK. 229 
 
 conversation. Mayor's good-natured de- 
 fence gave her no satisfaction ; the word 
 '' coward " stung her to the quick, and 
 moreover she recognised it was partly true. 
 She was hiding what she felt, and acting a 
 degree of tolerance towards all they said 
 of their institutions that was unworthy of 
 herself and her principles. But still what 
 was she to do? She could not mark her 
 disapprobation of slavery without painfully 
 annoying Mrs. Burgoyne, and probably 
 irritatino^ her husband and sons. This last 
 she persuaded herself she did not care for, 
 it was only a fear of distressing those whom 
 she already loved that should sway her; 
 but timidity grows with caution, and ere 
 lono' she micrht have added fear of en- 
 da^ngering her own position to her motives 
 for silence. This fear was hardly a defined 
 dread. She was not even yet aware of 
 the jealous susceptibility of the South 
 against any condemnation of its pet insti- 
 tution. She had not then heard of gover- 
 nesses dismissed from their situations for 
 expressing a natural northern dislike of 
 slavery, and did not realise that her show- 
 ing an English feeling on the subject might 
 Q 3
 
 230 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 be the signal for her departure.* She was 
 really at first more afraid of annoying Mrs. 
 Burgoyne and her kind friend Eleanor, 
 than of incurring the displeasure of the 
 Colonel; but, as we have said, in moral 
 questions caution too often ends in fear, 
 and Constance had certainly begun to 
 listen very patiently to all that was said 
 of slavery before her. 
 
 Meantime Chauncey was eloquent in 
 praise of Southern spirit and institutions, 
 and Mavor, less patriotic and more prac- 
 tical, talked unreservedly before her of 
 whipping and breaking in niggers. Once 
 she had a strong impulse to turn round 
 from her writing and catch his eye, to see 
 if he would meet her look ; but she hesitated 
 a moment, dipped her pen again in the ink, 
 and wi^ote on without looking up. She 
 said to herself, " It would do no good for 
 me to speak; perhaps only do the poor 
 negroes harm," and so she tried to forget 
 
 * This, it must be remembered, was in 1858. The 
 South was still then the chivalrous South — still 
 willing to grant some apparent tolerance and indul- 
 gence for the " prejudices " of Englishmen and North- 
 erners on the negro question.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 231 
 
 the subject, and appease her conscience by 
 improving the minds of her pupils, and 
 trying to make them good masters and 
 mistresses at some future time. And yet, 
 withal, her conscience was not satisfied, and 
 one day was rudely startled by meeting the 
 following words, copied in her extract-book, 
 in her own handwriting, only a year before. 
 
 " To the eye and ear, the loathsomest 
 sounds and sights, if constantly presented, 
 become in time less ofi'ensive, if not alto- 
 gether indifferent. It is the same in morals. 
 Let the inhabitant of a slave country re- 
 tain as much as he may of the kindest 
 feelings of humanity, his slumbers will 
 scarcely be disturbed, at any rate his nerves 
 will thrill with little of the horror that 
 would be felt here at the sound of the lash 
 on human bodies, or the scream of pain. 
 Circumstances have impaired in him, I do 
 not say his moral rectitude, but one blessed 
 constitutional preservative of mankind from 
 cruelty." 
 
 Constance closed the book impatiently, 
 
 and then re-opened it, and read the passage 
 
 many times over; it was true, too sadly 
 
 true; she had recognised its justice when 
 
 Q 4
 
 232 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 a 
 
 she copied it out, but liad never tliought it 
 could so painfully apply to herself. She 
 had, indeed, become indifferent to the suf- 
 ferings of the unfortunate, and it had im- 
 paired not only her sense of humanity, but 
 her moral rectitude as well. She had been 
 weak and cowardly to a pitiable extent, and 
 not only she, but the Burgoyne family 
 recognised this, and she saw accordingly 
 they treated her with less consideration on 
 this subject than formerly. Once they paid 
 her the compliment of trying to present 
 their peculiar institution before her in 
 softer colours; now they considered her 
 almost as one of themselves, and had no 
 scruples in acknowledging their severe deal- 
 ings with their servants. The subject of 
 slavery was continually brought up, and 
 they seemed disappointed that she did not 
 help them to defend it. She saw they 
 looked upon her as a proselyte in whom 
 want of zeal was a crime, and silence a 
 species of treason. 
 
 " Oh ! why did I ever let it come to 
 this?" she thought. "Why did I not 
 assume the position of an Englishwoman at 
 once, as I might have done ? Then I could
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 233 
 
 have said I wished to avoid the question of 
 slavery, and have been safe under the pro- 
 tection of my country's name. They would 
 have tried to keep it all from me, and 
 perhaps my being here might have done 
 the poor slaves some good, and have saved 
 them from ill-treatment ; now I am helpless, 
 no one respects me, and I cannot respect 
 myself. Charles was right; I have been 
 led astray by refined manners and kindness, 
 if not by white hands and good dinners, as 
 he said." 
 
 Such were Miss Annersly's very painful 
 reflections. She had no friend from whom to 
 seek advice now that her brother was no 
 longer in England, and many weeks, perhaps 
 months, must elapse before she could hear 
 from him. She had no counsellor to tell 
 her what to do ; whether she ought to irri- 
 tate Mrs. Burgoyne, who had been so kind 
 to her, by declaring herself an enemy to all 
 their favourite theories and institutions, or 
 to remain silent and be supposed an approv- 
 ing witness of all they said or did before 
 her. She wanted some practical sugges- 
 tions, and great indeed was her delight 
 when a friend and adviser, as she hoped,
 
 234 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 suddenly appeared in the person of Dr. 
 May worth, who, chancing to travel through 
 South Carolina, passed near Chestnut Brook, 
 and remembering that he had formerly had 
 a little patient there, thought her mother 
 would be rather disposed to welcome him 
 if he called in for an hour on his journey. 
 Mrs. Burgoyne was enraptured at his 
 coming; Georgy was not strong, and his 
 arrival was a piece of unexpected good 
 fortune, and Mrs. Burgoyne, ever hospita- 
 ble, insisted on his staying two or three 
 days with them. 
 
 Here was a friend to give Constance the 
 advice she so much needed. She imme- 
 diately determined to avail herself of it, and 
 be guided entirely by his counsel. Fortune 
 could not have sent her a better. " He 
 was no hot-brained enthusiast like Edward 
 Maxwell, but still his friend, and an enemy 
 to slavery, and therefore his suggestions 
 would be sound and moderate at the same 
 time." She would not have been so anxious 
 for his counsel had she known more of the 
 good doctor's character, and the position 
 he occupied in Maxwell's good books. Ex- 
 cept in the one article of medicine, he hardly
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 235 
 
 possessed any opinions of his own, but 
 adapted them to the views of those who 
 for the moment had influence over him. 
 He was a friend to Maxwell when he was 
 with him, though he never went so far as 
 to defend him from the charge of " enthu- 
 siast" when out of his company. In 
 Philadelphia he belonged to an Anti-slavery 
 Church Society, which was always address- 
 ing "conciliatory messages to its Southern 
 brethren; and at the South he was quite 
 unprejudiced and prepared to swallow all 
 he heard, and forget it again when once 
 more under Maxwell's tuition. His counsel 
 to Miss Annersly may therefore easily be 
 inferred. 
 
 " You have done quite right, my dear; 
 go on, you could not do better. Certainly 
 it would not do to distress their feelings, 
 and were you once to begin, we should 
 probably see you in Philadelphia before a 
 month. Well, I don't know, perhaps they 
 are different from most Southern people. 
 You think so, but as a rule they hate all 
 interference in their affairs. Besides, your 
 duty is not to preach abolition, like Ed- 
 ward, but to teach the children, and you
 
 236 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 can do that without saymg a word about 
 slavery. I'm tired of the subject, Edward's 
 always at it. I believe he will bring your 
 pretty Miss Morton over to his views by 
 dint of perpetually harping on the same 
 string, j^ow, my dear Miss Annersly, I 
 have told you my opinion. Keep on as 
 you are, you cannot do better ; and here is 
 Mrs. Mavor coming towards us. What a 
 handsome creature she is! Fanny was 
 quite right." 
 
 "Oh! and she has been so kind to me," 
 said Constance, '' always seeming to re- 
 member she was the cause of my coming — 
 •and making me her pet^ as it were," she 
 added, laughing at the word, for Eleanor 
 was four years her junior, and was entirely 
 free from any patronising affectation to- 
 wards the governess. She now joined 
 Constance, as Colonel Burgoyne drew away 
 the doctor, and linking her arm in hers, 
 led her off to the house.
 
 237 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Mrs. Burgoyne says you must breakfast 
 and dine with us wliile Dr. ]\Iaywortli is 
 here," said Eleanor, as she and Constance 
 left the doctor's hearing; " and to-morrovv^ 
 there is a scheme afloat in which you must 
 take part, for wx are engaged at Colonel 
 Benson's. Chauncey is to drive Dr. May- 
 worth over to the Creek, and you and 
 Eustace go too to make conversation. Do 
 you like the idea? You will like the ride, 
 I think." 
 
 "Oh! I shall enjoy it very much," an- 
 swered Constance, who, still believing the 
 doctor to be a staunch abolitionist, antici- 
 pated hearing a conversation between him 
 and Chauncey, much as Mr. EUsland would 
 have anticipated seeing a fight between two 
 well-matched game cocks. She was more- 
 over desirous of seeing the Creek, of which 
 she had heard a good deal, as it was a 
 favourite subject of conversation ; Chauncey
 
 238 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 being very proud of the improvements he 
 had made in the grounds, and Mavor in- 
 sisting that the only improvement worth 
 making would have been to pull down the 
 old house and construct a new one. She 
 had also a wish to see his negroes, who 
 were reported so spoilt with good usage, 
 and his overseer, who managed to work 
 them with but a trifling amount of whip- 
 ping. Probably these last were the real 
 objects of interest that Dr. May worth was 
 to see, for Colonel Burgoyne was very 
 anxious to let him take away a favourable 
 idea of Southern institutions. He was 
 walked round the plantation that morning, 
 and shown a picked gang of men at work, all 
 talking merrily and loudly, and at the same 
 time proceeding rapidly with their labour, 
 or standing quietly resting when at the end 
 of their row ; and as he did not know that 
 they had had a treat of a half glass of rum 
 each in honour of his arrival, and that Mr. 
 Henning had told them to show themselves 
 brisk smart boys to the gentleman if they 
 did not want to be skinned, he thought 
 them a fine set of hands, and as cheerful 
 and ready with their work as any free
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 239 
 
 white labourers up North. He was shown 
 the granary where their provisions were 
 kept, and a woman, who he was told cooked 
 for the hands, that their food might be 
 ready for them when they left off work, 
 without hearing further that that food was 
 (when not unground corn) only sweet 
 potatoes, served up cold even to the chil- 
 dren, and not given to anyone before ten 
 o'clock, a late hour for breakfast for work- 
 ing men and women. He commended the 
 care and kindness of the overseer, and went 
 on to see the infirmary, where, he was told, 
 those who were ill were brought, though, 
 except in times of fever or serious acci- 
 dents, it was not often any slave was 
 allowed to be ill at Chestnut Brook ; and he 
 especially admired Sally's cabin, where the 
 little semi-orphaned children of Letta and 
 two other servants were kept when, as he 
 was told, their mothers were too busy to 
 attend to them properly. The doctor, hav- 
 ing no power or inclination to disprove all 
 these facts, returned from his walk highly 
 pleased with all he had seen, and acknow- 
 ledged to Mrs. Burgoyne that Southern in- 
 stitutions were much maligned at the North.
 
 240 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " I am glad you recognise that, sir," said 
 the Colonel, " we are shamefully traduced, I 
 know. One or two brutal fellows, not fit to 
 hold niggers, are allowed to stand as the 
 representatives of all the Southern aristo- 
 cracy. Of course such rascals are not fit to 
 be trusted with niggers, or cattle either ; but 
 the negroes of gentlemen are as well treated, 
 or better than your free labourers." 
 
 "But such fellows as you speak of, are 
 they many?" asked Dr. May worth. 
 
 " Oh ! fortunately but very few, and they 
 die out year by year ; they will soon be ex- 
 tinct." 
 
 " Indeed ! that is well. They say at 
 the North that they were increasing, and 
 that the tendency of slaveholding institu- 
 tions was to make men like them; but of 
 course I don't believe half what I hear." 
 
 " You must judge for yourself," replied 
 Colonel Burgoyne, laughing. " My father 
 owned niggers all his life, and his father 
 and grandfather. I don't think mine are 
 worse ofi* than theirs in any respect." 
 
 " Besides, it stands to reason that their 
 condition must improve as education and 
 gentlemanly feeling extend among their
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 241 
 
 owners," said Mavor. " Slave-holding in- 
 stitutions are confessedly productive of a 
 higher tone of feeling and a greater spirit 
 of chivalry than any other. Look at the 
 ]N"orth ! Look at America ! Where, except 
 the men of science (and their education is 
 not American, but cosmopolitan), where 
 will you find the American gentleman? 
 Only at the South. All the rest are vulgar, 
 money-making pari"^72W5, betraying the shop 
 and trade of their fathers by every word 
 they utter. No; the American gentleman^ 
 who is welcomed as such in Europe by 
 people and princes alike, is, you will iind, 
 always the Southerner." 
 
 *' And we are the only class, as a class, 
 who can sympathise with the liberal move- 
 ments in Europe," added Mrs. Burgoyne ; 
 " who can appreciate such men as Kossuth 
 and his heroes. You know, of course, that 
 Ingraham, the brave American who defied 
 Austria in defence of the unfortunate exile, 
 was a slaveholder. A Northerner would 
 not have done it." 
 
 " I shall certainly go back home with 
 very different notions about the South to 
 those I once entertained," said the Doctor. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Oh ! if you stayed here a few weeks, 
 you would see how grossly misinformed 
 they all are at the North," said his host. 
 " Even your friend, Miss Annersly, who 
 came here a furious abolitionist, has learnt 
 that there may be worse things in the 
 world than a kind master, with his well-fed 
 and contented servants about him." 
 
 Constance had been listening to this con- 
 versation with mixed feelings of sorrow and 
 dismay. She had fondly hoped that the 
 Doctor would have enunciated some anti- 
 slavery sentiment, have sustained the cause 
 of the oppressed, and (what she no longer 
 felt the courage to do) shown the Bur- 
 goynes that their arguments were not all 
 incontrovertible. Her heart grew sad as 
 she heard him quietly acquiesce in all their 
 assertions, and she again, for the fiftieth 
 time, repented her own weakness ; but when 
 Colonel Burgoyne appealed to her as a wit- 
 ness in favour of his own opinions, taking 
 it for granted she would agree with him, 
 her own natural spirit was roused, and, for- 
 getful of consequences, she said — 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, sir, I never acknowledged 
 it;" but as all eyes turned upon her, her
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 243 
 
 coLirage quailed, and she wished she had not 
 spoken. She would not go back, neverthe- 
 less ; the right was on her side, and she re- 
 solved manfully to expiate her past mistakes 
 by a truthful declaration ; and though her 
 voice faltered, and the colour deepened on 
 her cheeks, she continued : " I have not said 
 anything on the subject, because I thought 
 a stranger could not judge impartially of 
 the difficulty of the question ; but I do still 
 hold my opinion, that the system of slavery 
 is a most unfortunate, a most cruel system, 
 and one, I hope, that may soon be done away 
 with;" and, almost gasping for breath, she 
 stopped, feeling she had said enough, or too 
 much. There was an utter silence when 
 she finished, but every one looked angry 
 and surprised; indeed, her evident agita- 
 tion had not disarmed their resentment, for 
 it betrayed how completely it was an effort 
 of conscience that made her speak. Mrs. 
 Burgoyne and the Doctor looked distressed 
 and alarmed, Mavor's dark eyes flashed fire, 
 and his father with difficulty repressed an 
 angry rejoinder. Chauncey alone seemed 
 to appreciate the moral effort which in- 
 duced her to speak. His eye kindled with 
 
 B 2
 
 244 milTE AND BLACK. 
 
 a kind of sympathy as he said, in a tone of 
 half amusement, — 
 
 "Well, you are worthy to be a Southerner, 
 Miss Annersly, for your spirit in defying us 
 all; but you have not been long enough 
 here to judge us fairly, as you yourself ad- 
 mit. I shall be happy to discuss the question 
 with you at some convenient time, but for 
 the present let us leave it. I am going to 
 show Dr. May worth the view from the hill, 
 and ask him some questions about Phila- 
 delphia; perhaps you will like to accom- 
 pany us? If so, will you show him the 
 way through the shrubbery, and I will 
 come after you with the telescope ? " 
 
 He opened the glass-door as he spoke, 
 and Constance gladly escaped, followed by 
 the Doctor, who was rather surprised at 
 what he considered a want of tact in his 
 young friend. Chauncey, meanwhile, began 
 fitting the glasses of the telescope together, 
 while, as soon as Miss Annersly was gone, 
 the Colonel exclaimed to his wife — 
 
 " Oh ! my dear, I can't have this, you 
 know. If she is to put this nonsense into 
 the children's heads /don't want her." 
 
 " She's a tiresome little stupid," said
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 245 
 
 Mayor. '' Once got on this tack, slie'U 
 keep on it, and I fear slie'U have to go." 
 
 " Oh! no, not for that, by no means; 
 she is so kind to the children ! I cannot do 
 without her, indeed," said Mrs. Burgoyne, 
 eagerly, and Chauncey immediately se- 
 conded her objections. 
 
 " Oh ! she will soon learn to think dif- 
 ferently, and even if she does not, her 
 feeble opposition, were she ever so great an 
 abolitionist, can do us no harm; and she is 
 the best governess mamma has ever had." 
 
 "Mavor, dear, she must stay," said 
 Eleanor, drawing him away, while Eustace 
 pursued his father into his study to con- 
 vince him of the necessity of overlooking 
 Miss Annersly's fault ; and Mrs. Burgoyne 
 turned to her son, saying — - 
 
 '•'- Chauncey, Constance really must stay. 
 I have not the health to look after those 
 children myself now, and she is the first 
 governess who has succeeded Avith them; 
 and poor Georgy is so fond of her." 
 
 " I think we ought to keep her, on your 
 account, mother," replied Chauncey, aiFec- 
 tionately; " and I should be sorry for 
 her to be banished for that one little burst 
 
 K 3
 
 246 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 of courage. I do like to see spirit for con- 
 science sake, and I think better of Miss 
 Annersly for coining out with that unfor- 
 tunate sentiment ; but I will give her some 
 sound advice, and I think we can manage 
 to keep her." 
 
 " I know you do not like her much, 
 Chauncey." 
 
 " Who? I like her? I do like her, and 
 should have done more, but I have been so 
 painfully conscious that she was acting a 
 part by keeping so still, that, for my 
 part, I like her all the better for showing 
 her true feelings. It is really very brave 
 of her to beard us all in that manner," he 
 added, laughing ; " but I will speak a warn- 
 ing word to her, nevertheless ; " and, taking 
 his hat, he set out to join the Doctor and 
 Constance. 
 
 He could not at first find an opportu- 
 nity for giving the good counsel he medi- 
 tated, and Constance was looking so happy 
 and animated Avhile talking of her Phila- 
 delphian friends, that to give her a lecture 
 did not seem so easy as he had at first antici- 
 pated ; and, in fact, he forgot to do so until, 
 as they returned to the house, the conver-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 247 
 
 sation that had occurred before they left 
 it came back to his recollection, and with 
 it the necessity of giving some words of 
 warning : so he began abruptly — 
 
 " My dear Miss Annersly, I hope you 
 will not feel it an impertinence for me to 
 oiFer you some advice. I now understand 
 your reluctance to speak of a question on 
 which you do not sympathise with us. I 
 understand it, and I admire it ; but, if you 
 can listen with patience to a few words 
 from a slave-owner, I must warn you that 
 others would find it more difficult to accept 
 such a free expression of your opinion. I 
 hope you will not quarrel with us ; for my 
 part, it will give me great pleasure to discuss 
 the question with you, for I know we are 
 right; but other people are not of my 
 opinion about discussion, and it will per- 
 haps be better not to speak so freely before 
 persons generally ; that is, some persons 
 have an objection, you know, to hearing 
 our institutions blamed." 
 
 Chauncey certainly did not express him- 
 self with the eloquence that might have 
 been expected from the second Calhoun. 
 
 " But I do not wish any one to suppose 
 
 R 4
 
 248 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 that I do approve tlie institutions," Con- 
 stance began. 
 
 Chauncey felt it was rather inconsistent 
 witli liis former animadversions upon Con- 
 stance for her want of courage to be now 
 counselling her to practise discretion again ; 
 but, consistent or not, he felt he must doit. 
 He knew the temper of his father and 
 Mavor, and before he left Miss Annersly 
 he made her fully understand that she 
 must not say another word upon the un- 
 fortunate subject except to himself, and 
 poor Constance found that her good reso- 
 lutions to be brave and true were remorse- 
 lessly nipped in the bud. 
 
 She resolved, however, to make good use 
 of the liberty of speech left her, and if 
 Mr. Chauncey really would argue, and 
 argue fairly, some impression, she thought, 
 might possibly be made upon him ; but as 
 she entered the drawing-room a copy of 
 the celebrated pamphlet, on the desirability 
 of re-opening the slave-trade, met her eye, 
 and she felt her hopes of success in that 
 quarter considerably damped. She was, 
 however, very glad that she had found 
 courage to speak her true thoughts, and
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 249 
 
 reflected that, even if she were obliged to 
 be always silent on the subject, she should 
 now escape hearing some of its praises, and 
 was in some degree a witness against it. 
 
 Chauncey told his father that he had cau- 
 tioned Miss Annersly against any unwise 
 repetition of her offence, and he thought 
 her friend. Dr. Mayworth, was about to do 
 the same ; and represented to Colonel Bur- 
 goyne her value as a companion for his 
 mother, and the necessity of overlooking 
 her unfortunate prejudices. He succeeded 
 in making all smooth again, to his mother's 
 great joy, and promised himself much plea- 
 sure in convincing the young English- 
 womeji of her mistake. He flattered him- 
 self that the excursion to the Creek would 
 open Miss Annersly's mind, for he knew 
 his own negroes were well fed and sleek, 
 and if questioned by her, as he suspected 
 they might be, would one and all join in 
 blessing him, and eulogising his overseer. 
 If they did so, the overseer deserved it ; he 
 was a humane man, and, indeed, found his 
 occupation a most uncongenial one; and 
 Chaimcey's slaves were far better off^ than 
 those on his father's plantation, who, in
 
 250 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 their turn, were considered blessed by the 
 neo^roes of Mr. Ellsland and Judge Benson. 
 
 Chauncey praised his overseer to Dr. 
 Mayworth the next morning, during a 
 hasty breakfast, before their departure for 
 West Creek. 
 
 " He is really a most sensible man, and 
 I feel I may trust the well-being of the 
 hands entirely to him. He dislikes punish- 
 ment for itself; and long ago I made a 
 salutary law on that head, that no severe 
 castigation should be given without refer- 
 ring the case to me two days after the 
 offence, by which time any natural irri- 
 tation may have subsided, and we can 
 judge the fault impartially." 
 
 " Capital ! most excellent and humane ! " 
 said Dr. Mayworth, while Constance list- 
 ened curiously, not knowing whether she 
 was to believe this or not, when she remem- 
 bered Chauncey's expressions concerning 
 the slave-trade and the abolitionists. 
 
 " Miss Annersly," said the Doctor, sud- 
 denly turning to her, " your brother has 
 gone to Africa, I hear, and I suppose he 
 will be able to bring us some accounts of 
 the niggers in their natural state?"
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 251 
 
 " Oh, yes ! '' said Mavor, for Constance 
 only replied by an affirmative sign, not 
 wishing to continue the subject. " He will 
 see the poor devils in their primitive igno- 
 rance and barbarism, and will recognise 
 the imj)rovement that has been made in 
 their condition and intelligence here." 
 
 '' Yes, the poor half-naked savage of 
 Africa is now well clothed and comfortably 
 housed, and taught a useful trade," said 
 Mrs. Burgoyne; "and, moreover, which is 
 the greatest blessing for him, he is admitted 
 to the consolations of religion. Instead of 
 being sunk in the grossest idolatry and 
 superstition, he is now a Christian, and 
 may become a child of grace." 
 
 "It is to me a very great pleasure to 
 remember that we, as a nation, have been 
 instrumental in teaching the precious truths 
 of Christianity to so many poor creatures 
 who must have otherwise perished in dark- 
 ness," said Mrs. Mavor to her husband. 
 
 " Ah ! your nigger catechisms are a 
 mistake; take my word for it, sister, they 
 will lead to no good," said Chauncey, as he 
 followed the Doctor to the carriage, where 
 Eustace and Constance were already seated.
 
 252 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 As tliey drove oif Eustace remarked, " I 
 like the new horse Mavor has bought, but 
 he is nothing to your Firefly, Chauncey; 
 what did you give for him?" 
 
 " Less than he was worth, I think now, 
 though I thought it a good price then," 
 replied his brother; " and that brown colt 
 will be a fine creature when he is fit to 
 ride." 
 
 " Yes, but Jone cannot break him in at 
 all, Mavor must do it. He can manage 
 any horse, though Jone has a gift that way 
 also." 
 
 " The old rule, ' Do it yourself if you 
 want it done,'" said Dr. May worth; "it 
 applies in full force to the servants down 
 here, I suppose, Mr. Burgoyne?" 
 
 " Indeed it does, and to an extent you 
 can have no idea of," said Chauncey. " No- 
 thing can be trusted to them, they will do 
 nothing, not even exert the little reason 
 they have (except under a fear of their 
 masters), and require looking after like 
 children. You would hardly credit it, but 
 if they have a wound or an injury, we have 
 to see that they are properly attended to; 
 they will not look to it."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 253 
 
 " But tliey are not all so stupid," said 
 Constance, who had grown bold since her 
 conversation with him the previous even- 
 ing ; " and besides, Mr. Chauncey, you would 
 hardly wish to find very intelligent ones. 
 You prefer them stupid, do not you ? Did 
 not your brother say, the other day, that 
 Hargrave, the new coachman, was so bright 
 that he would be worth a hundred dollars 
 more if he were less so?" 
 
 " That's also because he's so white he 
 may run away," said Eustace, inadvertently ; 
 and then, seeing from his brother's eye that 
 he had made a mistake, he added, hastily, 
 " but bright niggers are always a nuisance, 
 and bad servants." 
 
 " I wonder why," said Constance to 
 herself, " they call their slaves servants 
 almost invariably? It seems a conscious- 
 ness on their part that slavery is wrong," 
 and she replied to Eustace, saying — 
 
 " They make bad slaves^ I dare say, but 
 they might be very good free servants, and 
 would use their intelHgence for their own 
 and their employer's advantage." 
 
 Eustace looked outraged, but Chauncey's 
 evident attention encouraged Constance to
 
 254 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 go on ; but tlie Doctor, afraid that she would 
 compromise herself again, hastily changed 
 the conversation by saying, as the Southern 
 gentleman lighted his cigar, — 
 
 "Ah! you smoke. Of course — certainly; 
 but it's very bad for the health, you know." 
 
 Chauncey exchanged a smile with Miss 
 Annersly, for she had been present when 
 Mavor had laid a wager that his mother 
 would get them all under Dr. Mayworth's 
 regimen, if he only stayed there three days. 
 
 u Yepy ]3ad, I suppose, according to your 
 system of medicine ; but it suits me exactly." 
 
 " It's a shocking habit, permit me to say, 
 a shocking habit," said the Doctor, who 
 could be bold enough when medicine, and 
 not a political question, was at stake. " I 
 know every one smokes down South, but 
 that does not alter it ; it's bad. Miss 
 Annersly, don't you agree with me that 
 it's an objectionable habit?" 
 
 " I am quite used to it," answered Con- 
 stance, and, not choosing to join in this 
 conversation, she turned to Eustace. The 
 Doctor argued some time about tobacco, 
 and then went on to wine and spirits. 
 
 " Oh ! I give up the point," said Chaun-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 255 
 
 cey, laughing. " I have not indulged in 
 them for a long time. My temper is too 
 savage to risk their influence. Now, Miss 
 Annersly, here is the most beautiful view 
 for thirty miles round ; I must demand all 
 your attention for it.'' 
 
 They stopped the carriage to enjoy the 
 wide- stretching prospect for a few moments 
 before plunging into a dense pine forest 
 whose thick stems shut out the distant 
 country from them. There was nothing, 
 however, to prevent the eye from pene- 
 trating amongst the trees far into the 
 gloomy recesses of the wood, for no bushes 
 and no lower timber grew beneath the 
 dark foliage. A fire had swept through 
 the woods the year before and burned 
 everything but the solid pines themselves. 
 Many a tall, black, and charred stem, bare 
 of leaves and branches, remained as mourn- 
 ful mementoes of the destructive fire, and 
 Chauncey said that during the winter the 
 road had not been without its perils, from 
 the sudden fall of these half-burned giants 
 across the path. 
 
 " You have been in Europe, Mr. Bur- 
 goyne?" said the Doctor, when they were
 
 256 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 once more in motion. '• You were in Italy, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 '' Yes, I was there nearly six months. 
 It is not much longer since I returned." 
 
 " Six months ! — that is a long time. 
 "Why, it would satisfy even an Englishman. 
 Well, they are right to laugh at us for the 
 hasty strides we make from country to 
 country; seeing all Europe in four months, 
 as I have known a law}^er do w^ho was worn 
 out with study, and whom I advised to 
 seek relaxation and rest ; or an invalid tra- 
 velling for change of air. Ah! we can't 
 afford to lose time, we can't ; but it's very 
 bad for the health, all this scampering and 
 racing from place to place, as if a man had 
 the seven-leagued boots of the fairies on 
 his feet all the time." 
 
 " I met several gentlemen from I^ew 
 York performing the same hurried tour," 
 answered Chaimcey; "but I received some 
 valuable advice at the outset from one of 
 your countrymen. Miss Annersly, who 
 strongly counselled me to confine my at- 
 tention to one or two countries, and I chose 
 Italy and England." 
 
 " Why did you not stay longer ? I
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 257 
 
 thouglit you went for a year ?" asked Miss 
 Annersly. 
 
 " I tliouo:lit of doino; so, but I found the 
 love of home very strong," answered Ghaun- 
 cey, and Constance fancied he sighed; but 
 he went on to talk of Italy with her and 
 Dr. Mayworth, whose recollection of his 
 travels was not very distinct, for he had 
 been one himself who had made the rapid 
 tour; and the conversation was at last car- 
 ried on between Miss Annersly and Chaun- 
 cey, while the Doctor and Eustace were 
 asking and guessing riddles across them, 
 until they had finished their journey. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The West Creek plantation was fifteen 
 miles from Chestnut Brook, and was sur- 
 rounded by fine timber, through which the 
 carriage rolled to the gate of the avenue, 
 at the far end of which was the house. It 
 was very old, having been erected when 
 that part of the country was first settled, 
 and was overgrown with creeping plants 
 and various coloured mosses. In some 
 places a few stones had sunk, but a careful 
 hand had stayed this decay, and, while re- 
 spectfully leaving the old pile as venerable 
 as before, had strengthened and prepared 
 it to last yet another century. Chauncey 
 stopped the carriage before they reached 
 the door, that they might view the house 
 from the best position. 
 
 Dr. Mayworth remarked, "It is very 
 curious, certainly. Yery old." 
 
 " Oh, how charming ! " exclaimed Con- 
 stance ; but after looking at it for a minute,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 259 
 
 she felt her eyes fill with tears, and was 
 obliged to turn away. " It reminds me so 
 much of home," she said in a low tone to 
 Eustace, who looked an anxious inquiry. 
 
 " Did you live in a house as old as that?'* 
 
 " Yes ; and it looks so like England. It 
 seems like being there again." 
 
 Chauncey smiled, more pleased by this 
 tribute to his good taste in keeping the 
 house than by all the praise which the 
 Doctor and Constance together now la- 
 vished on the laying out of the grounds; 
 for these were generally allowed to be well 
 done — every one assured him of that; but 
 his old building was the special dislike of 
 Mavor, and regarded as a useless source of 
 expense by his father. Nobody approved 
 of it except Miss Annersly, and her praise 
 was all the more gratifying as she evidently 
 wished to conceal rather than display it to 
 him ; and, with increased regard for her 
 good sense, he did the honours of his garden 
 to her and her companion. 
 
 After walking for some time, he proposed 
 to take the Doctor to see the plantation; 
 but observing that Constance looked tired, 
 he said at the same time —
 
 260 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Miss Annersly, you will doubtless pre- 
 fer to rest in the house. Eustace will be 
 my representative there, and will show you 
 the library, of which I am rather proud. 
 Eustace, lad, you'll take care of Miss An- 
 nersly, and order Sarah to be in waiting 
 on her;" and as Constance gladly accepted 
 the offer, she soon found herself in the 
 house, where she was received by an elderly 
 mulatto woman, who, Eustace on the way 
 had told her, had been once Chauncey's and 
 Mavor's nurse, and was now the house- 
 keeper at West Creek. 
 
 " You would like to see the library, miss ; 
 it's a beau'ful room, and mas'r never had 
 nothing done to it ; kep' it just as it was. 
 This way — mind the step, miss. They've 
 let the floor down 'cause it was too low, 
 and mas'r wouldn't have the ceilin' touched 
 for no account, miss." 
 
 " Well, old woman, you get us something 
 for lunch while we look at the room," said 
 Eustace. "We don't want you;" and old 
 Sarah, with a respectful curtsey, left them. 
 
 "Fine room, isn't it. Miss Annersly?" 
 said the boy, who, duly impressed with the 
 responsibility of showing off the house, as-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 261 
 
 sumed an extra importance accordingly. 
 " Chauncey lowered the floor to get a little 
 height in the room to look at the carved 
 ceiling ; and it's a noble room I think 
 myself.'' 
 
 It is always an interesting thing to enter 
 a library and infer the character and tastes 
 of the collector by the names on the shelves, 
 and when the owner is already an acquain- 
 tance it becomes doubly so, as one's o^vn 
 previous estimate of his talents and bent 
 of mind is confirmed or changed by this 
 view into the secrets of his solitary hours. 
 Constance knew what she expected to find, 
 and she found them. Theology and philo- 
 sophy had a large share of space. Poetry 
 w^as fairly represented ; the law, perhaps, 
 too abundantly, considering its general un- 
 attractiveness, and the physical sciences 
 were scantily provided in comparison with 
 the others. There was a pretty fair pro- 
 portion of history and fiction ; and several 
 well-chosen pictures and statuettes showed 
 the owner's accurate taste in the fine arts. 
 Eustace, finding the inspection of the books 
 rather a dull occupation, left Constance to 
 continue it by herself, and when she was 
 
 s 3
 
 262 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 tired of it, she was obliged to pilot her way 
 alone to the drawing-room, where the lun- 
 cheon was to be prepared. 
 
 She found her way into a drawing-room, 
 but no lunch was on the table, so she sat 
 down in an easy- chair to wait till the others 
 should come in. The room was elegantly 
 furnished, but it had an uninhabited look ; 
 yet newspapers and pamphlets on the table 
 seemed to speak of recent occupants. She 
 took up one of the journals, and started to 
 find that it was of a date nearly eighteen 
 months back, and a thrill of awe came over 
 her as she saw that this room must have been 
 religiously kept in the same order in which 
 its former occupant left it for death. That 
 it was the usual sitting-room of the young 
 girl of whom Letta had told her, there was 
 no doubt, for a workbasket, with needles 
 and cotton in it, stood by the writing mate- 
 rials, and another look round showed her a 
 picture covered with a green curtain on 
 the wall. Constance felt some little hesita- 
 tion about uncovering the picture ; it had 
 never been intended that she should enter 
 the room, and perhaps she was carrying her 
 curiosity too far; but curiosity prevailed,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 263 
 
 nevertheless, and she drew the curtain, and 
 found a crayon drawing of a female face, 
 lovely, indeed, in every sense of the word 
 — faultless features, sweet expression, and 
 withal intellectual and spirited. 
 
 " But she is quite white," said Con- 
 stance, drawing a long breath as she de- 
 scended from the chair she had climbed to 
 remove the curtain. A slight noise made 
 her turn and see old Sarah, who stood in 
 the doorway. Constance felt somewhat 
 guilty, but told her to come in and shut 
 the door, and then asked, " How long has 
 she been dead?" 
 
 " Near a year and a half, miss. The 
 day she took ill is marked in that 'ere 
 writin'-book there on the table. We keep 
 the room as she left it ; mas'r wishes it so." 
 
 " Just before he went to Europe, then?" 
 said Constance, feeling a strong interest in 
 the history of the young quadroon while 
 looking at her portrait. 
 
 The old woman was not sorry to answer 
 her questions; for it was something new 
 to have any one to talk to about Helen, and 
 she improved her opportunity. 
 
 " She was in a 'cline, ma'm, and would 
 
 s 4
 
 264 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 not get well ; but lie never would believe 
 she was a-goin' to die, though the doctors 
 said she would. He fretted about her as 
 if she had been a white lady, just." 
 
 "When did she first come here? Is it 
 long since?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, four years or more, when he 
 first came back from the North. Mas'r 
 stopped, I believe, at the house of Miss 
 Helen's father, and saw her, and when the 
 old gen'leman died, it was found Miss 
 Helen was to be sold, and he brought her 
 down here. He was very kind, and set 
 great store by her. She was a Roman 
 Catholic, for her pa was from Orleans, and 
 she wanted to have a priest of her religion 
 to see her, and mas'r sent for one just for 
 her, and did everything to make her com- 
 f 'able like, and he never cared for any one 
 else all the time, nor since she died, not 
 once. Mr. Mavor and he used to quarrel 
 round dreadful about her, poor thing, for 
 he never would treat her even civil, and 
 mas'r never liked him to see her. He did 
 set great store by her, to be sure." 
 
 "It is a pity he did not free her," said 
 Constance; and the old woman laughed,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 265 
 
 just as Letta had done before at the same 
 remark. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! ma'm, it's never done. I 
 believe it's onpossible. I never heard tell 
 of any gen'leman doing it — no, never. Ah, 
 poor thing ! I thought it was sad to see her 
 lyin' there so young and so pretty; she 
 weren't nineteen when she died, and he 
 takin' on so sadly. But I've thought since 
 it was better and happier for her — better to 
 die so pretty and happy, nor to live on and 
 grow ugly, and be sold to some other gen'- 
 leman." 
 
 "Oh! but it would not have been so; 
 you say he loved her so well. He never 
 would have sold her." 
 
 "I don't know, ma'm; the love doesn't 
 last. It never does. They love while the 
 pretty looks last, and then they see a white 
 lady they like, or, maybe, another girl to 
 buy, and they forget all the old feelins. 
 A gen'leman wants to marry naturally. 
 He wants a lady to keep his house. He 
 can't show such as her up at table. He 
 can't show the children, if there be any, to 
 his friends. He can't ask ladies to the 
 house. There's no one to make him feel
 
 266 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 fond of the girl but herself, and so, when 
 she gets a little older, or they see a prettier, 
 it's all over ; and if they want money, she's 
 sold. Oh, lor! ma'm, it's better for poor 
 Miss Helen to die when she did. And, 
 now, ma'm, if you'll come out, I'll just 
 lock the door, for it's never left open, only 
 I was a-cleanin' the room when the carriage 
 come up, and so forgot it. The grave's in 
 the garden, ma'm." 
 
 " Have you always been a servant here?" 
 asked Constance, as she followed the house- 
 keeper into the room where the luncheon 
 was set. She was struck with the manner 
 of the old woman and her style of talking, 
 which was very different from that of the 
 servants at Chestnut Brook. 
 
 " Here and at the ole' place, ma'm ; but 
 I wasn't born a servant. My mother and 
 father was both free when I were born, 
 and I grew up to be free, too ; but somehow 
 they got me, and said I was to be sold to 
 ole Mr. Burgoyne, the Colonel's pa, that is. 
 He was a fine ole gen'leman, he was, in- 
 deed. There are few like him now-a-days." 
 
 "What! not the Colonel? Is he not as 
 good as his father, and his sons too?"
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 267 
 
 " La, sakes ! ma'm, not a bit. Mr. 
 Chauncey is very kind, but ole Mr. Bur- 
 goyne he was a gen'leman indeed, and so 
 were his friends, real grand folk; but there 
 are no such now. Laws a me ! ma'm, why, 
 when I think of the gen'lemen as used to 
 come to Chesn't Brook when I went there, 
 and that's fifty year ago, and them as I 
 used to see drive past our door when I was 
 a girl, and I see the folk as comes to dine 
 with mas'r here sometimes, I think there 
 are no real gen'lemen left in South Carliny. 
 Such a change from the ole time ! They 
 used to be so grand, so dressed, and talk as 
 if they were in Congress, they did; and 
 now it's swearin' and cussin' every time 
 they open their mouths, and dressed any- 
 how, — and drinkin'. Oh! certain, it's a 
 change. However, I was well treated at 
 Chesn't Brook till ole mas'r died ; and 
 then that Miss Mary, how she did whip 
 and scold, to be sure ! and get her brother 
 to whip too till he married, and then times 
 were better, at least for me. Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne, she was a sweet young lady, from 
 the North she was, and very kind and 
 gentle to the servants at first." Sarah
 
 268 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 stopped, as if she suddenly recollected she 
 was treading on dangerous ground, and 
 then continued : " I helped her take care of 
 Mas'r Chauncey; he was a poor weak child, 
 and always ailing ; and when he came here, 
 after Mas'r Herbert Chauncey's death, his 
 uncle that was, he had me come to keep 
 care of things, and he has been a good 
 mas'r, he has. Won't you eat a bit, ma'm?" 
 
 Constance tried to do so, but she had no 
 appetite, and as Eustace was not there, she 
 went into the garden to find him. She did 
 not see him, and as she had been already 
 shown the pleasure-grounds, she soon 
 wandered down a long narrow path among 
 the trees. It stopped at a high hedge of 
 shrubs, carefully trained and kept in order, 
 which enclosed and sheltered a smooth 
 space of green turf, where a small white 
 tombstone and a young China tree marked 
 a solitary grave. There was no name on 
 the stone, only the date of the past year 
 and the initial H., and a weeping angel in 
 bas-relief on the front. 
 
 " And this was all he could give her after 
 loving her for three years," thought Con- 
 stance. " He was not able to protect her
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 269 
 
 from tlie insults of his brother, nor give 
 her even a name on her grave. It is, 
 indeed, a cruel institution to prevent a 
 good-hearted man from treating her fairly 
 and honourably when he loved her. Poor 
 girl ! ' better dead than alive,' and that to 
 be the end of so much love 1 " 
 
 While she stood leaning on the rail that 
 encircled the grave, she heard voices near 
 her, and distinguished that of the young 
 master talking, as she guessed, with his 
 overseer. They were in a lower walk, and 
 every word was distinctly audible to her. 
 
 " And how about Duke, Mr. Bland? 
 Does your system of kindness succeed any 
 better with him than punishment did?" 
 
 " No, sir, it does not ; he is as sulky as 
 ever, and I must whip him again, and 
 severely. I thought I could have come 
 over him by kindness, but it's no use, I 
 guess." 
 
 " And you think a severe whipping may 
 do him good?" 
 
 " No, sir, I don't expect it; nothing will, 
 I fear. He's grown real sulky since you 
 couldn't buy his wife for him." 
 
 " I won't have him whipped then, if it's
 
 270 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 to do no good. Suppose he is tied up and 
 threatened with the cowhide, and then 
 begged off. I've brought a lady here to- 
 day, and I will bring her near at the right 
 moment, and she will be sure to beg him 
 off. Won't that do, Mr. Bland?" 
 
 " I think not, sir. I believe, Mr. Burgoyne, 
 you have confidence in my humanity," 
 replied the overseer in a tone which be- 
 trayed a slight sense of injury. " You are 
 aware I dislike whipping as much as your- 
 self, sir, but if I am to manage the hands I 
 must have due authority, and Duke has 
 defied me, and there will soon be no making 
 anyone obey if he goes unwhipped." 
 
 " I quite trust your humanity, Mr. Bland. 
 I believe it is greater than my own, in fact, 
 and I've fuU confidence in your judgment; 
 but Duke was rather a favourite of mine," 
 said Chauncey, and his voice sounded less 
 firm than before. " However, if you think 
 it won't do to beg him off, he shall be 
 whipped." 
 
 '^It won't indeed, sir; my good woman 
 begged him off once ; and you may re- 
 member you let Mrs. Mavor Burgoyne do 
 so too a while since, when she came over
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 271 
 
 to see the house. Td let him off, for he'll 
 be none the better for it, but for the sake 
 of the others I must not." 
 
 " Very well, only wait till we are gone, 
 that the lady and gentleman may not be 
 distressed by hearing him," and Chauncey 
 walked off. 
 
 Constance had listened to the conversa- 
 tion in breathless interest. She well un- 
 derstood that no ordinary castigation was 
 in question; a hundred lashes, every one 
 tearing through the naked skin, was the 
 least the culprit could expect. She wished 
 Chauncey would come and take her to the 
 overseer to intercede for him, and for a 
 moment resolved to go to the doctor and 
 make him of some use, but another speaker, 
 and a woman, was now near her ; she heard 
 her say — 
 
 " Well, Stephen, did Mr. Burgoyne say 
 you were to flog him?" 
 
 " Yes ; he came under when I showed it 
 had to be. I guess he was thinking of 
 Miss Helen and the long rides he used to 
 take with her, and Duke following, and he 
 was mighty uneasy to have him whipped, 
 for she liked the boy. I saw how unwilling
 
 272 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 he was, just as when he had to send the 
 brown mare to Chestnut Brook for Miss 
 Lucy to ride, because she had rode it a 
 time or two when Cherry was lame, and I 
 kind of feared he'd have forbidden me to 
 flog the boy, which has got to be." 
 
 " Then when is it to be? Oh, how sorry 
 I am for you, Stephen ! " said the woman, in 
 tones of sad and sincere sympathy. 
 
 " Yes, I'll have to do it this evening. I 
 don't like it, Mary. I'll have to give it up, 
 I guess, after all, though I promised Mr. 
 Burgoyne I'd stay with him another year; 
 but it grows worse and worse to me, this 
 cutting up and slashing of the poor wretches, 
 and their shrieks go right through me. I 
 wish I was back again at the North, for I'm 
 afeared I'll get casehardened to it at last. 
 Mr. Burgoyne is getting so, I can see. 
 He's not as tender-hearted as when he'd 
 just come down from the North." 
 
 "Heaven help you, Stephen! I don't 
 think you will ; it's not in your heart. But 
 come home, dinner's ready." 
 
 The voices ceased, and Constance re- 
 traced her steps towards the house in a 
 saddened mood, pitying alternately the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 273 
 
 slave, the overseer, and tlie master, and 
 lamenting tlie system whicli necessitated 
 such cruelty even among the naturally 
 humane and benevolent; when before she 
 had gone a hundred yards Chauncey met 
 her. He must have guessed that she came 
 from the grave, but though evidently vexed 
 to have encountered her, he politely accom- 
 panied her back to the house. As they 
 paused to admire the vigorous growth of a 
 young sycamore but recently planted, she 
 observed an intellio^ent-lookino; mulatto 
 man standing watching them with evident 
 interest, and a painful presentiment had 
 told her that this was poor Duke even 
 before Chauncey noticed and addressed him. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear that you've been 
 again troublesome, Duke. Mr. Bland will 
 have to give you a good whipping, and I 
 hope it will be the last time I hear of your 
 idleness." 
 
 "I won't work, mas'r; he may kill me, 
 but I won't do it," replied the man sullenly. 
 
 " You won't !" exclaimed his master, his 
 eyes flashing fire as he spoke ; but never- 
 theless, controlling his passion, he strode 
 forward in silence, and after a moment had 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 SO far succeeded in recovering himself as to 
 answer calmly and quietly the indignant 
 Eustace, who, springing from behind the 
 magnolia clump where he had been screened 
 from view, exclaimed, 
 
 "The impudent, blasphemous rascal! 
 "Why don't you tie him up at once, Chaun- 
 cey ? I'd flog him to within an inch of his 
 life, this very hour, I would." 
 
 " And make him useless for work if you 
 did," replied his brother, coolly. " That 
 would be an expensive pleasure, and one I 
 never indulge in. Come in to dinner, 
 Eustace. The boy is to be whipped, if he 
 perseveres in his sulks, so you need not 
 waste your indignation." 
 
 The dinner was well served and well 
 cooked, though the viands were simply such 
 as the estate and poultry yard could furnish 
 at an hour's warning; but Dr. Mayworth 
 was in excellent spirits, and did ample 
 justice to it. Chauncey, in doing the 
 honours of his own table, seemed to have 
 forgotten all his late taciturnity and pre- 
 occupation of mind. He was unusually 
 animated, and played the host con amove. 
 Once or twice when the Doctor, after ab-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 275 
 
 sorbing the conversation to himself with 
 some apparently interminable anecdote or 
 illustration, made a sudden pull up, and 
 the flow of talk ceased for a moment, Con- 
 stance saw that Chauncey was an inat- 
 tentive listener, and she noticed an expres- 
 sion of sadness in his face which she had 
 no difficulty in accounting for, while call- 
 ing to mind old Sarah's narrative. Her 
 pleasure was entirely spoiled by thinking 
 of Duke; and at last, while Eustace and 
 the Doctor were talking together about the 
 possibihty of converting the schoolroom at 
 Chestnut Brook into a laboratory, she 
 attempted to say a word in the slave's favour 
 to Chauncey. She found it difficult to 
 broach the subject, as she had no wish to 
 betray the fact of her having overheard the 
 overseer's interview with his employer ; but 
 when she began, as she thought, very cir- 
 cumspectly, by saying, — 
 
 " Do you mean to punish the gardener 
 as Eustace wants, or will you not let him 
 off to-day?" he gave her a look which suffi- 
 ciently implied that he understood the 
 whole drift of her question, and answered, — 
 
 " He is punished, as I think you know, 
 
 T 2
 
 276 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 for a former oiFence, and will have it 
 severely, as lie deserves." 
 
 " Just like him to say that," thought 
 Constance, " and for the sake of opposition, 
 to make himself out even less humane than 
 he really is." She felt very angry with 
 Chauncey, all the more when she remem- 
 bered that he had proposed to use her as 
 an unconscious tool to promote his own 
 humane designs. She saw that he remem- 
 bered this also, for he coloured a little 
 confusedly, and began speaking of oxides 
 and alkalies with the Doctor, and she knew 
 that, being but indifferently well-informed 
 on matters of chemistry or physical science, 
 he could take but little interest in them, 
 and only offered to assist his brother in 
 forming the laboratory from a desire to 
 change a disagreeable conversation with 
 her. He was merry and lively enough 
 nevertheless during the dessert, over which 
 they lingered an hour, till the carriage was 
 announced, and they left the house. 
 
 But as they passed the gate, Constance 
 saw among the servants, who ran to open 
 it eagerly, Duke, standing sullen and 
 gloomy, and refusing to join in the general
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 277 
 
 cry of — " God speed mas'r and his friends," 
 and the sight of him brought a shade to her 
 countenance, which was immediately no- 
 ticed by Chauncey, who said in a low tone, 
 and bending forward that it might reach 
 her alone, — 
 
 " Miss Annersly, I am as sorry for it as 
 you can be. But what is to be done ? You 
 heard what my overseer says — kindness 
 is lost upon him. What resource have I 
 but whipping?" 
 
 " Xone," Constance was forced to confess. 
 
 " Then, being a necessity," he replied, 
 " we should cease to grieve about it." 
 
 " Pardon me, but it is only a necessity 
 because he is a slave. If he were a free 
 labourer — that is, if you could employ 
 free labour, you would punish an idle work- 
 man by discharging him from your employ 
 and taking another." 
 
 "Yes, if I could find another. But 
 what except the fear of punishment would 
 make these niggers work, do you think?" 
 
 " That which makes men work in the free 
 States, I suppose — the necessity of pro- 
 viding for their wives and families." 
 
 Chauncey shook his head. "It would 
 
 T 3
 
 278 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 be insufficient. They have not energy- 
 enough.'' 
 
 " Have you ever given them a trial?" re- 
 joined Constance, and a long argument 
 ensued; for Chauncey seemed very ready 
 to listen and contest the point fairly — per- 
 haps likiDg the novelty of discussing the 
 much -vexed question with a young and 
 very nice-looking lady, instead of invisible 
 editors or temporising politicians. She 
 was sincere, however absurd he thought 
 her, and as such he found a certain charm 
 in her, and continued the conversation until 
 Dr. Mayworth, whose knowledge of human 
 nature in general did not extend to Chaun- 
 cey in particular, dreading lest his young 
 friend should damage herself irrevocably in 
 the estimation of the young slave-holder, 
 forcibly changed the subject, and obliged 
 Constance to point out and name the 
 various trees and shrubs by which they 
 passed for his edification. 
 
 The Doctor left the next day, but before 
 going he took Miss Annersly aside, and 
 begged her forgiveness if he were about to 
 offer her a few words of advice, which she 
 immediately declared herself most happy 
 to receive.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 279 
 
 "Well then, my dear, it's short enough. 
 You must not talk upon this slavery busi- 
 ness. It will ruin you, and you have no 
 moral necessity to make yourself the cham- 
 pion of all the niggers you meet. Don't 
 say a word more on the subject." 
 
 "To the rest of the family I will not; 
 but Mr. Chauncey seems very willing to 
 discuss it, and therefore it can do no harm 
 to talk of it with him." 
 
 " Hum ! It may. I am afraid he likes 
 the discusser more than the discussion. 
 But, my dear, it would be unfortunate — 
 excuse me, and disagreeable to you, if this 
 young gentleman were to admire you, or 
 say he did, and mean nothing all the while." 
 
 " Indeed it would," replied Constance, 
 laughing. " I am not going to allow a 
 flirtation of the kind with him. You need 
 not fear; I can keep the gentleman in 
 order. But I wanted to ask you something 
 about Irene." 
 
 "Ah! What is it? About her lovers, 
 I presume. Ah! she's a sweet little thing; 
 but Mr. ^lorton ought to fetch her away 
 from Philadelphia, or else he'll be sorry, I 
 guess." 
 
 T 4
 
 280 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " Why, has she so many lovers?" 
 
 ''Oh, six or seven, not more, I fancy; but 
 it would not matter if Edward Maxwell 
 were not the most favoured of all. It 
 would not matter if she were not a planter's 
 daughter. But, upon my honour, it's 
 almost as good as a novel to think of her 
 loving that enthusiastic abolitionist, if it 
 were not likely to be so very, very awk- 
 ward." 
 
 " It will be, indeed," replied Constance 
 gravely. " I wonder Mr. Morton lets her 
 remain so long away from him. He ought 
 not." 
 
 " No, he ought not. But perhaps he 
 finds that his wife has a temper -^ — yo^i^g 
 Southern ladies sometimes have — and does 
 not want Irene. Well, good-bye, my dear 
 Miss Annersly — success to you, and re- 
 member my counsel. Keep clear of the 
 negro question, and be on your guard 
 against the admiration of this young 
 Southerner. I can see it, if you can't. 
 God bless you ! Good-bye."
 
 281 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Whether or not Miss Annersly would have 
 profited by the Doctor's advice, and suc- 
 ceeded in avoiding the dangerous topic, is 
 not to be decided, for Chestnut Brook 
 became the scene of great anxiety and dis- 
 tress, which engrossed the minds of its 
 owners too much to allow her opinions or 
 prejudices to occupy their attention. 
 
 Two days after Dr. Mayworth left South 
 Carolina, a letter arrived informing Mrs. 
 Mavor Burgoyne that her mother was ex- 
 tremely ill with a dangerous fever, and 
 Eleanor, taking alarm from the tone of 
 the letter, set off for Charleston at once. 
 Mavor wished to accompany his wife, for 
 they had never yet been separated a day 
 since their marriage, but Colonel Burgoyne, 
 who was going to Charleston on business, 
 insisted that he should be a sufficient escort 
 for Eleanor, and that it would not do for
 
 282 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 both masters to be absent from home at 
 once. Mavor unwillingly consented to let 
 Eleanor go, promising himself he would 
 join her as soon as his father returned; but 
 before that time he was incapacitated from 
 going by a serious accident. Confident in 
 his own powers of horsemanship, he at- 
 tempted to break in the vicious colt which 
 had proved too strong for Jonas ; and losing 
 command of the animal, he was thrown 
 from the saddle, dragged some way along 
 the ground, and taken up senseless, and 
 with his arm fractured. He recovered con- 
 sciousness at last, but to great suffering. 
 
 Constance, at Mrs. Burgoyne's order, sent 
 off Hargrave and Jonas, one to the town of 
 Madison for the surgeon, and one to West 
 Creek for Chauncey, but neither made his 
 appearance, though seven or eight hours 
 passed on. Mrs. Burgoyne and Constance 
 were no strangers to illness, but their 
 experience only served to make them 
 more anxious until they could hear from 
 the surgeon what was the amount of mis- 
 chief done. Constance wished Mr. Chaun- 
 cey would come, for she knew he would be 
 some comfort to his mother, but neither he
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 283 
 
 nor the surgeon arrived, and every hour 
 increased Mavor's sufferings. Another 
 messenger was despatched to Madison, but 
 it was already evening before Dr. Jeffries's 
 carriage appeared, and when he examined 
 the broken limb, he shook his head, and 
 said valuable time had been lost. 
 
 " Why did you not come sooner, then?" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Burgoyne, in agony, when 
 the Doctor delivered this opinion, after 
 setting the limb. " I sent to you directly 
 the accident had occurred." 
 
 " My dear madam, I only heard of it 
 just before I set out, and I came as fast as 
 my horses would go. But I never had 
 any message from you at all. It was Mr. 
 Ellsland who sent word to me to hasten 
 here, saying there was a report of an acci- 
 dent." 
 
 " I sent off to you ten hours since," 
 said Mrs. Burgoyne, in astonishment. " I 
 thought I had chosen the trustiest servant 
 on the place. And that is why Chauncey 
 does not come, then," she added, turning to 
 Constance. " Those wretched niggers! 
 they will do nothing now the Colonel is 
 out, and they have gone to enjoy a day's
 
 284 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 ride in the wood while my poor boy is lying 
 here dying." 
 
 " Not dying, dear madam — do not be so 
 alarmed," said Dr. JeiFries, soothingly, " I 
 have told you the injury to his head is of 
 no consequence, and I do not think there 
 is any danger to be apprehended. I fear 
 he will have great suffering, but he will 
 recover." 
 
 " Then, dear Miss Annersly, go and send 
 some one off to the Creek, for it is plain 
 Jonas has not gone there," said Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne; and Constance went to do so, but 
 while she was summoning the messenger, 
 Chauncey galloped up to the door, and, 
 springing off his horse, asked in great agita- 
 tion how his brother was. 
 
 " The surgeon says there is no danger, 
 but he is in great pain, and has broken his 
 arm," replied Constance; and Chauncey 
 hurried up to his brother's room. 
 
 Mavor's sufferings increased hourly. The 
 surgeon still persisted there was no great 
 danger, but the unfortunate delay in setting 
 the limb had certainly caused greater in- 
 flammation than he had hoped to see ; his 
 third visit was, however, more satisfactory,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 285 
 
 and he pronounced his patient in as fair a 
 way as he could expect. 
 
 Mrs. Burgoyne had written to Eleanor 
 the most favourable report that she could, 
 for she knew if Mrs. Randolph were dying 
 it would be impossible for her to return, 
 and yet an agony to remain away from her 
 husband; and the next post brought such 
 news of Mrs. Randolph's state, that she was 
 glad she had done so, and thankful to be 
 able to send off the surgeon's last and more 
 cheering report to the poor young wife, 
 whose conflicting duties placed her in the 
 most painful position. However, she knew 
 she had no need to go back for the sake of 
 nursing her husband, for his mother was 
 always by his bedside. 
 
 "How is poor Mavor, this morning?" 
 asked Eustace of Chauncey, the fifth day 
 after the accident had occurred. " Have 
 you had Harvey whipped for loitering when 
 he went for Dr. Jeffries?" 
 
 " I told Henning to whip him, but I 
 countermanded the order, for I find it was 
 not his fault," replied his brother. 
 
 " Not his fault? whose then?" 
 
 " Why, ours, for not making Miss An-
 
 286 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 nersly aware that she ouglit to have given 
 him a pass to Madison." 
 
 "A pass? was it necessary?" said Con- 
 stance, in surprise; " they go so often with 
 the letters." 
 
 "Jonas has a general one for the road; 
 and besides, the letter-bag is a credential; 
 but Miss Annersly, you gave Harvey none, 
 and he was a fool not to ask for it ; and of 
 course EUsland's overseer, who met him, 
 detained him as he had none. Fortunately 
 EUsland, on hearing his story, thought it 
 might be true, and so he sent off a mes- 
 senger himself to the Doctor to come on 
 here on the chance." 
 
 "And Jonas?" asked Constance, biting 
 her lips. 
 
 " He was met by Mr. Jackson, who lives 
 near me, and he waited for some one to 
 send him back by ; but at last brought him 
 to West Creek, aad I came off directly. 
 Miss Annersly," added Chauncey in a very 
 low voice, so that Eustace could not hear 
 his words, " you must have been very much 
 frightened to have forgotten the necessity 
 of giving a properly written pass to a ser- 
 vant when you sent him out."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. . 287 
 
 " I see, I will remember another time," 
 said Constance. " I did not imagine it 
 would be necessary for so sbort a distance. 
 Pray, how many furlongs may you send a 
 servant without a pass to protect him?" 
 
 Chauncey saw the irony concealed under 
 her tone of assumed innocence, and replied 
 promptly : 
 
 " Not a furlong. You think it a need- 
 less precaution, but if some such system of 
 taking up all coloured people found at large 
 without certificates were not generally 
 adopted, we should have no servants left us ; 
 they would run off in all directions to- 
 morrow." 
 
 *' Why, I thought they were all so con- 
 tented and happy ; so much better off than 
 the free labourers in the North," said Con- 
 stance, gravely. 
 
 " So the fools are, if they did but know 
 it, but they are spoiled by talking with 
 runaway niggers in the swamps, and with 
 lying pestilent abolitionists who tell them 
 they will find all play and no work, and 
 everything they like at the North, and put 
 nonsensical ideas of freedom into their 
 heads. And then the first time they re-
 
 288 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 ceive a whipping off they go. I always 
 expect to lose a nigger after one of those 
 sneaking Northerners has been prowling 
 round the farm." 
 
 " Do they come often?" said Constance, 
 willing to hear more, and slowly arranging 
 the envelopes in the writing-case. 
 
 " Not very often, thank goodness ! we 
 take care of that. I caught one of them 
 some months back, and I told him I would 
 let him go then, but if ever I met him 
 again on my plantation I would send a 
 bullet through him, so I hope he will keep 
 away." 
 
 " Then you do not want to shoot him? " 
 said Constance, unable to repress a smile ; 
 and Chauncey, who seemed almost to have 
 the power of reading her thoughts, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "You know him, I am certain. Con- 
 fess now. Miss Annersly ; Mr. Edward 
 Maxwell." 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell, — yes, 1 met him by 
 chance at a house in Philadelphia, and I 
 must say I thought him — " 
 
 " An intelligent man, and a gentleman 
 too," said Chauncey. " I quite agree. I
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 289 
 
 was obliged to keep him with me a few 
 days as a prisoner, for fear EUsland, who 
 was looking for him, should find him out. 
 Of course we argued ' the question ' over 
 and over again, but I think we made no 
 impression on each other. At least, I'll 
 answer for one of the parties. But re- 
 member, Miss Annersly, you need not 
 mention my having let him go to any one." 
 
 " Oh ! I am quite aAvare it would be an 
 indiscretion," answered Constance. " But 
 excuse me, I must go to the children." 
 
 It had cost Miss Annersly many argu- 
 ments to persuade her pupils that they 
 would do well to continue their studies, 
 even though their brother was ill ; but 'she 
 insisted on the point, as she saw it was the 
 only means of securing some quiet in the 
 house. She was not, however, able to 
 superintend them in the schoolroom, for on 
 the second day after Mavor's accident she 
 was called by Mrs. Burgoyne to receive 
 the keys of everything, and requested to 
 overlook the household as well as she could 
 during the mistress's absence in the sick 
 room. Constance promised to do so very 
 cheerfully, not having the least idea of the 
 
 VOL. L U
 
 290 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 responsibilities she was assuming, and 
 therefore supposing it to be the easiest of 
 tasks, a delusion, however, which could not 
 last above a day or two. She did not hear 
 the opinions expressed by the servants of 
 her incapacity, or their rejoicings over her 
 inexperience and probable blindness to 'all 
 their faults, but she soon found she could 
 not command their obedience, accustomed 
 as they were to be kept in awe by very 
 different methods, and she shortly saw her 
 task would be a difficult one. 
 
 For three or four days she made a 
 struggle to attend to the children and the 
 bouse at the same time, but this was be- 
 yond her power. Her authority was not 
 sufficient to control the slaves unless she 
 remained to see her orders actually carried 
 out; and when they once discovered her 
 reluctance to order them any punishment, 
 indeed the impossibility of her making 
 that effi^rt over her own feelings, they took 
 advantage of her tender-heartedness to be- 
 have with the utmost insolence and sauci- 
 ness. They openly disobeyed her orders, 
 stole the wine and provisions with bare- 
 faced impudence, and conducted matters
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 291 
 
 in the kitchen in such a style that even 
 she, inexperienced and ignorant as she was, 
 saw all was not right, and that to fulfil the 
 duties she had undertaken would require 
 her undivided attention and time. 
 
 " Lucy, you must hear Eustace his 
 lessons, and you and he must help Frank 
 and Georgy, for I cannot be with you now. 
 I must give up all the time to looking after 
 Ellie and the other servants." 
 
 " Why don't you whip them and make 
 them mind you, dear Miss Annersly?" 
 said Lucy ; '' but you may quite trust us, 
 we will do our lessons as well as if you were 
 with us." 
 
 Lucy meant to keep her word, but, in 
 spite of the best intentions, she and Eustace 
 were so far from giving satisfaction to the 
 younger ones that Constance, on the third 
 day, after being compelled four times to 
 leave her multifarious duties and hurry to 
 the schoolroom to appease the storm she 
 heard rising, saw that the plan of mutual 
 instruction would never do, and decided 
 on publishing a general holiday until she 
 could herself return to keep order. She 
 went to the schoolroom to announce this 
 
 u 2
 
 292 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 resolution, but was stopped by both Jonas 
 and Jess at once. 
 
 " Please, Miss Ann'sly, my wife Susy 's 
 sick. Won't you come down and see her?" 
 
 ''Miss Ann'sly, there ain't more nor 
 fourteen pair of sheets in the wash, as I 
 can see, and Ellie says there'd ought to be 
 eighteen." 
 
 " Oh ! please, dear Miss Annersly, will 
 you come and hear my French? I won't 
 say it to Eustace," cried Georgy, running 
 out of the schoolroom. 
 
 Constance felt perfectly bewildered with 
 these various applications ; she sent Georgy 
 away into the garden, and promised Jonas 
 she would see his wife presently. Then, 
 turning to Jessy, she said, somewhat se- 
 verely, for she was much irritated by the 
 girl's impudent manner, " You know there 
 must be more sheets." 
 
 '' No, there ain't, miss," replied the girl, 
 saucily. 
 
 " Go and find them, and look everywhere 
 for them," said Constance ; but as Jess did 
 not move she turned away in despair, and 
 prepared to follow Jonas. 
 
 " I wish I could be of any use to j^ou,
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 293 
 
 Miss Annersly," said Chauncey, who just 
 then crossed the hall. " Can I really do 
 nothing? I am perfectly ashamed of 
 being so utterly useless while there is still 
 so much to be done.'* 
 
 " I thought, sir, you were helping to 
 nurse Mr. Mavor." 
 
 " No, my services are dispensed with ; 
 the feminine element is now predominant, 
 and I am voted to be no nurse at all, and 
 ignominiously given permission to ride 
 back to the Creek. But before I go I 
 would fain be of use to you. Can I hear 
 the children's lessons for you?" 
 
 " If you like, but you will need to have 
 a great stock of patience," said Constance, 
 hesitating. He understood her doubts, 
 and laughed. 
 
 " They will tax my forbearance ? Oh, 
 yes, I know that ; but I'll try and manage 
 them;" and he went to the schoolroom, 
 while Constance, feeling many misgivings 
 as to his success, took her hat and followed 
 Jonas to the garden, where, to her dismay, 
 she found that Chauncey, resolved to do 
 his work thoroughly, had called in Frank 
 and Georgy from their play and secured 
 
 u 3
 
 294 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 them also in the schoolroom. However, 
 an hour later she found the children in 
 very high spirits, and all much satisfied 
 with their new instructor, while he said 
 they had made great progress, both in 
 power of attention and quickness of com- 
 prehension, since he last had the task of 
 instructing them. He offered to take 
 charge of them every morning while he 
 remained at Chestnut Brook, and this, with 
 the exception of one or two flying visits to 
 the Creek, he continued to do all the time 
 of his brother's illness. 
 
 Constance was much relieved to know 
 her pupils were in good hands and under 
 rule, and, to her great satisfaction, she 
 found a change had come among the ser- 
 vants, and they all, even the saucy Jessy, 
 were obedient and orderly — an improve- 
 ment which she naturally ascribed to the 
 absence of all punishment, and the employ- 
 ment of judicious, moral suasion. 
 
 Mavor was slowly recovering, but his 
 mother was still constantly occupied with 
 him, being afraid of trusting him to inju- 
 dicious and forgetful servants, although 
 both Letta and Clara, who had been his
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 295 
 
 nurses before in a long fever, were also his 
 constant attendants. His mother was, 
 however, now able to seek the rest she so 
 much needed, and the consciousness that 
 she had a faithful coadjutor and represen- 
 tative downstairs in Constance eased her 
 mind, as she told Chauncey, of many- 
 harassing cares. 
 
 " Now I know that all is going on right 
 down below I can go and keep quiet when- 
 ever Mavor does not want me. That dear 
 sweet girl! I owe her more than anyone 
 will believe. I should have become quite 
 ill w^ithout her help. There are few like 
 her, in spite of all her English prejudices. 
 I am perfectly astonished to find how well 
 she does. I should not have expected her 
 to have half the managing talent she 
 shows. The servants are quite under 
 order." 
 
 Chauncey smiled and made no rejoinder, 
 for he knew the secret of Miss Annersly's 
 success was not in her somewhat overrated 
 power of managing, but in the timely 
 assistance which he, well aware of the im- 
 possibility of controlling a Southern house- 
 hold without the whip, had given her 
 u 4
 
 296 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 unknown to herself. He had pitied the 
 poor girl, too tender-hearted and too new 
 to the business to make proper use of her 
 power, and therefore defenceless against 
 the impudence of the slaves, who mistook 
 her forbearance for cowardice, or want of 
 delegated authority ; and while he was 
 amused at her difficulties, and rather tri- 
 umphant at the failure of her Northern 
 theories, as he considered her dislike of 
 punishment, he applied the check in the 
 right place, by calling the housekeeper and 
 head cook to him and telling them they 
 had full permission to report for flogging 
 to the overseer those under them, so as to 
 keep order in their respective provinces; 
 but that that authority being given them 
 he should hold them responsible for any 
 trouble their subordinates gave Miss An- 
 nersly during the time of her administra- 
 tion. 
 
 " If she is vexed, or complains of any- 
 thing wrong, I shall know to whom to call 
 in Mr. Henning ; so look to the girls your- 
 selves if you wish to escape," he concluded ; 
 and these injunctions, having converted 
 Ellie and the cook into firm allies of Miss
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 297 
 
 Annersly in the task of maintaining order, 
 the household affairs became immediately 
 re-organised, and peace and quiet were re- 
 stored, all which improvements the innocent 
 Constance attributed to her own good ma- 
 nagement and influence, and the absence 
 of all punishment; and she worked with 
 renewed courage accordingly. 
 
 Colonel Burgoyne had now returned 
 home, and Chauncey was able, therefore, to 
 ride over oftener to West Creek, but when 
 he went he returned quickly to keep his 
 father company, for while Mrs. Burgoyne 
 spent her evenings with the invalid, the 
 Colonel was very dull. He had no talent 
 as a nurse, and he liked conversation, so he 
 was glad to invite Miss Annersly to join 
 him and entertain him in the evening when 
 Chauncey was away, and even when he 
 was at Chestnut Brook. Constance was 
 very attentive to all Colonel Burgoyne's 
 wishes and fancies, and they were not a 
 few, and he in return appreciated her 
 society, and even forgave her " unfortunate 
 Northern prejudices," reserving to himself 
 the hope of soon overcoming them by 
 argument or the force of example.
 
 298 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 ^' I CANNOT tell you how grateful I feel, 
 personally, to you. Miss Annersly, for the 
 zeal and energy with which you have 
 assisted my mother at this time," Chauncey 
 said warmly one morning as he approached 
 the writing-table, where Constance was 
 reckoning up and balancing the accounts 
 of the various stores that had been given 
 out. " Without you, she never could have 
 borne so much anxiety and fatigue." 
 
 " I shall be very glad if Mrs. Burgoyne 
 •finds I have been of use to her," said Con- 
 stance, quietly; ''but I fear she will not 
 think much of my housekeeping talents 
 when she comes to investigate them." 
 
 " The friend in need is the real friend, 
 and you have managed to take her place 
 when she most wanted assistance," said 
 Chauncey. "Do you not believe me? I 
 heard her say all this herself. Indeed, I 
 am not adding thereto in the least."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 299 
 
 "How is Mr. Mavor this morning?" 
 asked Constance, rising and putting away 
 her papers. 
 
 " He is better, but much worried in mind. 
 We have had another letter from Eleanor. 
 She tells him her mother is dying, and he 
 is truly grieved at being away from her 
 at such a time. I have offered to go to 
 Charleston to see how she is, if he likes, but 
 he wants my mother to go ; he thinks she 
 could comfort her a little, but I do not 
 suppose she will wish to leave him till he 
 can move to the sofa." 
 
 " Quite right too, with only those stupid 
 servants for his nurses," thought Con- 
 stance; but other people entertained dif- 
 ferent opinions. 
 
 " Why don't missis go to Charleston, if 
 she wants to? " said Ellie to Letta. " We 
 can look after blaster Mavor, and Clara 
 can manage him a deal better nor she 
 can." 
 
 " Madam Eleanor won't thank her for 
 letting him see so much of Clara," replied 
 Letta, drily. 
 
 " Or you either, I s'pose, for that matter; 
 but Letta, child, you look arter Jess — that
 
 300 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 she don't come between Mr. Mavor and 
 you." 
 
 "Jess! with her great black face — there 
 is no danger," said Letta, contemptuously; 
 " and I do not care if she does." 
 
 " Ah ! but she is cleverer nor you think ; 
 and you oughter care, Letta. You wouldn't 
 like t' have Jess in your place, and your 
 Charlie sent right away out of the kitchen, 
 down to the quarters, to be cold and hungry 
 with the other chil'ren. Keep your 'van- 
 tages now you've got 'em." 
 
 Constance, who overheard this colloquy, 
 went downstairs sad at heart, thinking of 
 what poor Eleanor's feelings would be, had 
 she heard it, and was only startled from 
 these thoughts by running against Jessy, 
 who was carrying a cup of chocolate up- 
 stairs for the invalid. Constance alwavs 
 disliked meeting Jess, and often felt even 
 frightened at her. She was perfectly black, 
 with eyes bright as a serpent's, and her 
 ivory teeth were as close set and regular as 
 those of a wild animal. Regular teeth are 
 a charm in any face; but, nevertheless, 
 they have a certain affinity with the savage 
 or natural man, and, consequently, with the
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 301 
 
 brute creation, or rather Avith the splendid 
 types of force and energy exhibited in the 
 carnivora. In a highly intellectual and 
 agreeable countenance they give an ex- 
 pression of strength — in a brutal one, a 
 look of ferocity. Jessy's face was the type 
 of low cunning and mischief, and her shi- 
 ning rows of teeth added so much energy 
 to it, that Constance never beheld her 
 without a little uneasiness and almost su- 
 perstitious dread; and she was glad to 
 ■find other people could appreciate her feel- 
 ings, for when that evening she casually 
 alluded to her singular appearance, Colonel 
 Burgoyne laughed and said — 
 
 ''You are quite right; she is decidedly 
 queer." 
 
 " She startled me the other evening," 
 said Chauncey, looking up from his book, 
 in which, seeing Miss Annersly was enter- 
 taining his father, he had apparently ab- 
 sorbed himself. " I met her in the hall in 
 the dusk, did not know she was there till I 
 saw her teeth and eyes shining at me at 
 once. She has something half wild, like a 
 bird or a panther in her. I think it is not 
 at all displeasing."
 
 302 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 " She is almost a native African," said 
 Colonel Burgoyne. " she was born on the 
 voyage here, and she has a great deal of 
 the savage left in her." 
 
 "Born on the voyage here?" repeated 
 Constance, wonderingly, and then catching 
 the truth from Chauncey's rising colour, or 
 from his father's sudden silence, she asked — 
 
 " Do you mean, sir, that her mother was 
 brought over from Africa ? I thought, sir, 
 you said the slave-trade was totally abo- 
 lished here." 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed it is made piracy by 
 the laws," said Colonel Burgoyne ; "but the 
 Spaniards still maintain it, and sometimes 
 African negroes are brought over surrep- 
 titiously from Cuba into the United States." 
 
 This explanation, so promptly given, 
 would have satisfied Constance, but Chaun- 
 cey added quickly — 
 
 " And there is now and then a cargo of 
 niggers brought to our coast, and their 
 landing is connived at by those planters 
 Avho want fresh hands, though the present 
 laws forbid it." 
 
 Whatever possessed Chauncey that he 
 should offer that piece of unnecessary in-
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 303 
 
 formation Colonel Burgoyne could not tell, 
 nor, perhaps, could Chauncey himself, un- 
 less it were a passing sentiment of honour 
 which forbade him to let Miss Annersly, 
 so just and fair in argument herself, be 
 hoodwinked by a false statement. Perhaps 
 it was part of his usual idiosyncrasy, the 
 dread of being thought better of than he 
 deserved, which induced him to thus de- 
 nounce his countrymen, and as a conse- 
 quence himself included. Be that as it may, 
 he looked triumphant, and smiled a smile of 
 good-humoured defiance at the expression 
 of horror which was on her countenance, 
 while turning to him, she exclaimed — 
 
 " Negroes landed on this coast when the 
 slave trade has been abolished for so long ! 
 Actually landed ! I knew you wished the 
 trade to be revived ; but I did not imagine 
 it could exist in a country like America 
 now." 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment implied," 
 said Chauncey, pushing away his book as 
 if ready for an argument, but his father 
 broke in, saying impatiently, — 
 
 " And I cannot imagine why you, Chaun- 
 cey, want to re-open the trade at all. I see
 
 304 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 no good reason for doing so; it would in- 
 jure us every one. The value of stock will 
 fall to nothing ; and Virginia, and perhaps 
 South Carolina too, would be utterly ruined." 
 
 "I would be very ready to make Vir- 
 ginia a compensation," answered his son, 
 " and to those in our own state who would 
 require it. Of course I and you, sir, would 
 be the losers, if an immense importation of 
 niggers destroyed the value of our own 
 property, but it is not of our interests, but 
 of those of the nation that we are speaking : 
 if that demands the re-opening of the trade, 
 our loss is not worth a moment's considera- 
 tion. Still, I would offer Virginia some 
 compensation, if it were certain that her 
 interests would be materially affected by 
 the revival of the trade." 
 
 " And there you are wrong, Chauncey," 
 said a voice at the open window. It was 
 Mr. Ellsland, who, to the surprise of all, 
 entered the room, followed by two other 
 gentlemen, and apologised for their intrusion 
 at so late an hour, as the consequence of 
 a delay on the road. 
 
 "You are welcome, Ellsland, at any 
 time and hour," said Chauncey, and then
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 305 
 
 shaking hands warmly with one of the 
 strangers, he exclaimed — 
 
 " This is a most unexpected pleasure in- 
 deed ! How came you to be in this neigh- 
 bourhood? Father, let me make you and 
 Mr. Price of Missouri acquainted." 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure," said Colonel 
 Burgoyne, who had been welcoming the 
 third comer. " It has long been my earnest 
 desire to meet Mr. Price — and Chauncey, 
 here is also a friend of whom you have 
 heard much, but never yet seen, I think, 
 — Captain Legh from Georgia, now going to 
 be our neighbour. But why should I say 
 from Georgia, Captain Legh? You have 
 been living on your estate near Charleston 
 these three years, have not you?" 
 
 Chauncey greeted Captain Legh with 
 evident pleasure, while Mr. Price inquired 
 from Colonel Burgoyne about his eldest 
 son^s health, adding, that he had hesitated 
 whether to present himself or not at Chest- 
 nut Brook, from uncertainty as to Mr. 
 Mavor Burgoyne^s state, but that Ellsland 
 had assured him he was going on Avell, 
 and brouf^ht him on with his friend Lesrh. 
 Colonel Burgoyne expressed himself very 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 ^Ob WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 glad Ellsland had done so, and asked Miss 
 Annersly to acquaint Mrs. Burgoyne with 
 their arrival, and order supper for his 
 guests. When she came back, they had 
 finished their inquiries and regrets about 
 Mayor's accident, and had again launched 
 into the old, but ever new subject of po- 
 litics." 
 
 "As to what you were saying, Chaim- 
 cey," began Ellsland. " I would not give 
 compensation; if it's for the good of the 
 slaveholding interest that niggers should 
 be cheap, which it is, I'd let them come in. 
 I should lose by it, I know, and I work five 
 hundred niggers, but I should say, hang 
 it ! never mind.'* 
 
 " If you admit them, Virginia will justly 
 complain," said Captain Legh, "and her 
 rights should be respected. I think so, 
 though I'm from Georgia myself." 
 
 "Very true," said Mr. Price; "but, on 
 the other hand, our western states have 
 claims, natural claims, which must have 
 weight against the privileges of an old 
 aristocracy. We want niggers. We can- 
 not buy enough at your prices to stock our 
 new country ; I would willingly offer you a
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 307 
 
 compensation for your losses, but have 
 more niggers we must." 
 
 Constance had returned to say Mrs. Bur- 
 goyne would soon join them, and now sat 
 an attentive, and it is to be hoped an edified 
 listener to the discussion. 
 
 " Every poor white fellow ought to have 
 the power to own a nigger or two," said 
 Ellsland. " Then we should have a thriving 
 population of good citizens." 
 
 '' I only want the trade made legal, not 
 to be branded as piracy," said the logical 
 Chauncey. " I do not see, for my part, 
 that the pauper whites of this state are fit 
 to hold niggers, or be ' good citizens ; ' 
 they never would be that." 
 
 " But holding niggers would make them 
 so," said Mr. Price. " Not fit ! did you 
 say ? Anyone can hold or manage a nigger, 
 I should think; it's not so difficult a task." 
 
 " It's downright absurd, that when so 
 much American capital and American en- 
 terprise are engaged in the African trade, 
 our captains should have to run their 
 ships to Cuba, instead of landing them at 
 once on our own coast," said Ellsland. 
 
 " And it's absurd that when the want of 
 
 X 2
 
 808 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 niggers is ruining the Western states, we 
 may not have them when there are thou- 
 sands to be had," said the Missourian 
 Price. 
 
 " Not to be wasted in the hands of your 
 wretched drunken paupers, who cannot 
 earn money enough to buy one at the 
 regular price," said Chauncey. " If you 
 want niggers make them slaves. They are 
 fit for nothing else, and the state would be 
 all the quieter for it." 
 
 Colonel Burgoyne and Messrs. Price and 
 Legh looked aghast at this proposition, but 
 Ellsland replied, half laughing, — 
 
 " Well, Chauncey, you are a thorough 
 goer, at all events, but that's too strong 
 even for me. But even if this were done, 
 and the mean whites made into niggers, the 
 supply would still not be equal to the de- 
 mand for labour, without the importation 
 of some niggers from Africa." 
 
 Captain Legh declared himself overcome 
 at the idea of enslaving white men. It 
 was unnatural, horrible to think of. The 
 negroes were an inferior race, created by 
 Divine wisdom for bondage, and consti- 
 tuted for it; but the idea of enslaving a
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 309 
 
 white man was high treason against human 
 rights. 
 
 "It is not a question of negro slavery," 
 said Chauncey. " Negro slavery itself is a 
 mere accident of race; it is the question 
 whether the government of the more intel- 
 ligent, the aristocracy, over the ignorant 
 and degraded, be not wise and desirable, 
 whether the planter shall have servants or 
 not. It is not necessarily a question of 
 race. The early colonists of this country 
 had white men, who had forfeited their 
 liberty by crimes, for slaves. The old 
 Roman laws, which should be the model of 
 our republic, provided that those free men 
 who were too poor to maintain their fami- 
 lies should sell themselves to a master, and 
 so secure a maintenance for the rest of 
 their lives." 
 
 "But, sir, sir," said Mr. Price, ap- 
 pealing to Colonel Burgoyne, "think of 
 the precedent of allowing white men to 
 be held as servants under any circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " I don't see why we should object to it, 
 if you once merge the question of negro 
 
 X 3
 
 310 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 servitude into the natural subjection of the 
 lower to the upper classes," persisted 
 Chauncey. 
 
 " You would make it legal to hold white 
 men in slavery ! " exclaimed the gentleman 
 from the Western states, who, being of com- 
 paratively new blood himself, felt the horror 
 of the proposition keenly. 
 
 " I would get rid of our pauper popula- 
 tion, which is a disgrace to the country," 
 said Chauncey, " They are always willing 
 to sell their children now to us for rum, 
 and I would make it compulsory for them 
 to do so, or remove from the state ; and in 
 a few years this idle, vagabond class would 
 have disappeared, or be incorporated among 
 our niggers." 
 
 At this point the discussion was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Mrs. Burgoyne 
 and Lucy, but after a few minutes of 
 general conversation, the party separated 
 into two groups, and leaving Mr. Price 
 talking to his host and hostess, EUsland 
 and Legh followed Chauncey to the other 
 side of the room, and there renewed the 
 argument. Constance succeeded in chang- 
 ing her seat to one nearer them, but she
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 311 
 
 was only in time to hear Chauncey con- 
 cluding. 
 
 " Yes, it is but fair that the ocean slave 
 trade should be re-opened. I have always 
 said it, and I feel that justice now de- 
 mands it.'' 
 
 Constance, though desirous to remain un- 
 noticed, was unable to repress a movement 
 at this last announcement. Her movement 
 apprised Chauncey of her presence, and he 
 looked towards her with his former rather 
 defiant smile, as if to say he was quite 
 ready to defend his principles again with 
 her if she liked. But his friends now 
 beD:an talkino^ of other thinsrs. 
 
 " I saw a splendid girl the other day at 
 old Thompson's sale," said Legh. " Really 
 splendid! —tall, and almost white. I wish 
 you could have seen her, Mr. Burgoyne." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Chauncey shortly; 
 and by a rapid sign he directed the other's 
 attention to the fact that a lady was within 
 hearing, and the conversation was quickly 
 changed to the kindred subject of the price 
 and value of horses, which lasted until sup- 
 per was announced. 
 
 X 4
 
 312 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 Ellsland and his two companions left 
 Chestnut Brook the next morning, accom- 
 panied by Chauncey on his way to Charles- 
 ton ; whence he wrote home to his mother 
 that Mrs. Randolph had died a few hours 
 before his arrival. 
 
 " I think my coming has been some 
 comfort to poor Eleanor," he wrote. " She 
 is much overcome. She seems to feel her 
 mother's death more than her sister does, 
 and yet she is her comforter in it all. Her 
 resignation and her patience in her grief 
 are most touching." 
 
 It was some days before Chauncey 
 brought back his sister-in-law. The ap- 
 pearance of poor Eleanor in her deep 
 mourning, and with features swollen with 
 weeping, brought tears to the eyes of 
 Mrs. Burgoyne and Constance, who met 
 her at the door. She threw herself into 
 Mrs. Burgoyne's arms, in a burst of silent 
 but heart-breaking grief, and was unable 
 to speak for several minutes, till that lady 
 led her away, and with gentle tact suc- 
 ceeded in calming her by the suggestion 
 that she must not agitate Mavor, and then 
 took her up to his i-oom.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 313 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Colonel Burgoyne, 
 brushing away a tear as he looked after 
 her, " I do pity her from my heart. It shall 
 be my care that she shall be as happy with 
 us as she can. She shall not regret having 
 come into our family. I dare say you have 
 comforted her as well as anyone there 
 could, Chauncey, but she will do better 
 now that she's got back to Mavor; he 
 is the only one who can really console 
 
 " Don't fret, Clara," said Letta, putting 
 her arm gently round her companion. 
 '' You can go back to your child, who is 
 wanting you." 
 
 " I know it does, but I cannot help 
 crying, Letty. Oh ! how I hate her ! " re- 
 plied the quadroon. " Ah ! you don't care, 
 Letty, but you are ungrateful for his 
 love," 
 
 '' Ungrateful ! " said Letta, bitterly. " Oh, 
 yes, very ungrateful for his love; I don't 
 want it. But you, poor thing, you need 
 not fret, you will soon meet him again ; it's 
 only waiting a few months, and he'll soon 
 send for you." 
 
 '' Yes, if Jess don't come between us.
 
 314 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 I don't mind you, Letta, but I fears Jessy. 
 She hates me, she does." 
 
 " You needn't fear, she's after some one 
 else. West Creek is as good as Chestnut 
 Brook, any day. I^ow go home, and look 
 as merry as you can." 
 
 Clara went, while Letta, dashing away 
 a tear, returned to her clearstarching, 
 carrying on a baby talk the while with her 
 little boy, who was sitting on the ground 
 by her. 
 
 " You are vexed enough that Madam 
 Eleanor is come home, I suppose?" said 
 Hargrave the coachman, as he stopped to 
 look at her. There was a sneer in his 
 tone, and Letta replied shortly, — 
 
 " No, I'm not; and if I was, it's no affair 
 of yours." 
 
 " No, I don't suppose it is," he replied; 
 " while you can please him you care for no 
 one else's good word." 
 
 " Harvey, I don't deserve this," said 
 Letta, fiercely, turning away to hide her 
 rising colour and gathering tears. Har- 
 grave walked away with a muttered oath, 
 and Letta, left alone, fairly burst into tears. 
 
 '' He thinks me just as bad as the rest
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 315 
 
 of them, and I dare say I don't seem much 
 better," she thought, "but God knows I 
 don't wish to be ; and if they'd only let me 
 alone I'd be thankful," and hearing the 
 housekeeper's step approaching, she hastily 
 dried her eyes and began singing as she 
 continued her work.
 
 316 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Dr. Mayworth returned to Philadelphia 
 loud in praise of the South, and prepared 
 to convince Maxwell that negro slavery 
 was a mild and even salutary institution. 
 Edward heard him out quietly, and merely 
 observed when he had done, — 
 
 " The Burgoyne family are amongst the 
 most cultivated and educated of their class, 
 and I am not surprised that you are pleased 
 with them." 
 
 '' But I hope we shall convince you yet 
 that all your abolitionism is a humbug," 
 said the Doctor. '' He ought to give up 
 that nonsense, oughtn't he. Miss Morton?" 
 
 "I wish he would think he ought to 
 give it up," replied Irene, sighing; '' but we 
 must change his opinions, not try to make 
 him false to them." 
 
 " All ! and above all, now, to-morrow 
 he and his friends are going to have a 
 great convention, I suppose, and he will 
 come out strong," said Dr. Mayworth.
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 317 
 
 " Is it to-morrow, Edward ! Oh ! I wish 
 I could go and hear your s^^eech," said 
 Miss Morton, quickly; but Mrs. Lessing 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " You go there ! My dear child, what 
 would people say? It is impossible." 
 
 " And what do you, a Southerner, want 
 to go for?" said Dr. Mayworth. "Do 
 you want to be convinced that all your 
 own people are wrong? " 
 
 " Of course not ; and I shall keep my 
 veil down, and nobody will know me. 
 Do you think, Edward, you could possibly 
 find any nice respectable lady to take 
 me?" 
 
 "Very easily, if you will allow that 
 any abolitionist can be a respectable per- 
 son," replied Maxwell, laughing; and the 
 next day he called on her with a kind- 
 looking Quaker lady, who consented to 
 take charge of the young beauty for 
 that evening. She brought her back, 
 it is to be hoped, somewhat edified, 
 certainly much excited with all she had 
 heard. 
 
 " Oh ! how eloquent he was ! How I 
 wish he were not one of these aboli- 
 tionists ! I could love him so much if he
 
 318 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 were not," she exclaimed, unguardedly, to 
 her governess. 
 
 " But as he is an abolitionist, and you 
 do not love him, it is a pity to talk so," 
 observed Mrs. Lessing, calmly. 
 
 u Perhaps it is," replied Irene lightly, 
 kissing her, and all further conversation on 
 the subject was dropped; but the next day 
 Irene talked unceasingly of the previous 
 evening's expedition, and when walking 
 called at an humble little house to patronise 
 a poor coloured woman, promising to give 
 her some needlework to do for her, and 
 condescending to make many inquiries 
 about her affairs, for no other apparent 
 reason than hearing her expatiate on Mr. 
 Maxwell's goodness. All these were un- 
 mistakable signs, and Mrs. Lessing began 
 to feel very uneasy. Two days afterwards 
 she found Irene in tears, and hastily in- 
 quiring the cause, received for answer — 
 
 "Oh! it's nothing; only I have been 
 talking to Edward, and " 
 
 " And he has been making love to you. 
 I knew it would be so," exclaimed the go- 
 verness, indignantly. " He ought to be 
 ashamed of himself. He ought to have 
 remembered who you are."
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 319 
 
 " Oh ! I have told him he never must 
 think of making love to me while he is an 
 abolitionist, for papa would never hear 
 of it." 
 
 " Irene ! you never told him that ? " said 
 Mrs. Lessing in dismay. ''Why, that is 
 tantamount to saying you will love him if 
 he should change his principles." 
 
 " Oh ! he won't change ; he is as firm as 
 his old Plymouth rock," replied Irene. 
 " No, it is all over between us — all broken 
 off." 
 
 " I was not aware there was anything to 
 break off," said Mrs. Lessing, severely. She 
 was much distressed to find matters had 
 gone so far, and when she saw Irene dull 
 and listless while Maxwell never appeared 
 at their house or the Doctor's, she blamed 
 herself more and more for her careless- 
 ness in letting this unfortunate attachment 
 spring up where it should have been so 
 carefully guarded against. 
 
 If Irene was unhappy and listless, J\Iax- 
 well was almost desperate. She loved him, 
 certainly, but she was still too much of a 
 child to love passionately ; Edward was her 
 second love, as Charles Annersly had been 
 her first. But he had loved Iter since the
 
 320 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 day he first talked with her, and the re- 
 collection that he had saved her father's 
 life had given him hope, despite the unfor- 
 tunate barrier which his political principles 
 had seemed to place between them. Un- 
 fortunately Irene had not been able to hide 
 from him that his attachment to the anti- 
 slavery cause was her real reason for dis- 
 couraging his love, and this proof of the 
 animosity his steady adherence to his prin- 
 ciples was awakening against him came at 
 a time when he was sufficiently down- 
 l;earted, without any additional cause of 
 vexation. 
 
 His untiring efforts in behalf of the un- 
 fortunate negroes had brought a storm of 
 opposition upon him. Newspaper editors 
 heaped unqualified and unlimited abuse 
 on his name; men of substance and worth 
 began to fight shy of him; even old ac- 
 quaintances, who had known him from a 
 child, now wrote him warning letters of 
 reproof. The former playmates of his 
 boyhood turned away from him, and when 
 all this might have been patiently endured, 
 he had the further pain of incurring the 
 displeasure of his own parents. At first
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 321 
 
 lie had looked to them for support and en- 
 couragement ; " they had taught him as a 
 boy to honour the right and the truth, and 
 resist wrong ; to respect human rights, and 
 fulfil the duties of a free citizen. How 
 could they, born in Boston, in the free state 
 of Massachusetts, the descendants of men 
 who wandered into voluntary exile for the 
 sake of a free conscience and the privilege 
 to live by it, how could they blame him if, 
 acting on their principles, he devoted his 
 life and energy to procuring liberty and 
 justice to the oppressed and enslaved, whose 
 cry for help had chanced to reach him?" 
 So he said to his parents, but he failed to 
 convince them; his father thought him a 
 fool, his mother said he was too good to 
 succeed in this world, and wished, for his 
 sister's sake, he would be more moderate in 
 his expressions. In vain he showed them, 
 or endeavoured to explain, that moderation 
 on such a subject was impossible; that to 
 do any good to the slaves at alL, he must 
 take active measures either in ransoming: 
 and aiding the fugitives, or oj)posing and 
 condemning the inhumanity of the slave- 
 holders: they shook their heads and said 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 no more, and Edward returned to Phila- 
 delpliia sadly discouraged. He had wel- 
 comed with joy the proposal of his sister 
 to come and stay with him while she con- 
 sulted Dr. May worth, and he devoted him- 
 self to her during her visit, escorting her 
 to theatres and reunions which he hated, 
 and finding friends and acquaintances for 
 her even in families whose society was 
 most irksome to himself, hoping to win her 
 approbation and sympathy for the work he 
 had so near his heart, and through her to 
 mollify the displeasure of his father and 
 brother. But success did not attend him; 
 his sister wrote back to lament that Ed- 
 ward, who it appeared might have been 
 a favourite everywhere, was rapidly outlaw- 
 ing himself from all respectable society by 
 his ridiculous attachment to his hobby. 
 Then several fellow-merchants quarrelled 
 with him in consequence of his making the 
 painful discovery that they were the real 
 patrons and outfitters of a slaver which 
 had just been seized by a United States 
 cruiser ; and when Miss Maxwell returned 
 to Boston, it was only to confirm the gene- 
 ral opinion at home, that Edward was
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 323 
 
 ruining his prospects and good name, and 
 that the greatest kindness possible to him 
 would be to bring him to reason by any 
 means; even by a temporary cessation of 
 intercourse, as a mark of disapprobation, 
 and as an incentive to reform. This con- 
 clusion had been taken and acted on for 
 some time before Maxwell discovered it 
 through the agency of a friend whom, in 
 despair at receiving no answer to his re- 
 peated letters, he commissioned to call on 
 his family ; and he then received a short 
 explicit note from his sister, informing him 
 that his father chose to mark his displea- 
 sure at his folly by continued silence, and 
 hoped that he would be wiser in future, and 
 seek to make himself friends instead of 
 enemies, as he now did by his violent and 
 unpatriotic conduct. 
 
 Edward had not shrunk from danger 
 and suffering; when alone and unprotected 
 he ventured into George EUsland's planta- 
 tion in search of poor Gassy, of whom he 
 had promised her old mother he would try 
 and learn news, nor when he first found him- 
 self a prisoner in Ghauncey's hands, nor 
 when magistrates and mayor cautioned 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 him in severe tones to desist from his ill- 
 advised opposition to the gentlemen of the 
 South, and enforced their admonitions by 
 heavy and but ill-aiforded fines : the con- 
 sciousness of a good cause upheld him then, 
 and he stood firm ; but his courage quailed 
 before this last trial, and he shed tears 
 over his sister's letter as he read this sen- 
 tence of excommunication. He had not, 
 till now, realised the penalty of advocating 
 unpopular opinions, and he realised it well 
 when Irene told him plainly that, unless he 
 gave up his absurd philanthropy, he must 
 not think of her again. 
 
 But, as usual in the minds of those who 
 have devoted themselves to a great cause, 
 Edward, after the first moment of bitter 
 regret, clung more than ever to the prin- 
 ciples which had lost him friends and love. 
 " Enemies ! make friends ! " did his father 
 say? The slaveowners, the oppressors, 
 were of course his enemies; but did he 
 value their friendship ? Was it worth one 
 of the fervent blessings which he had re- 
 ceived from the poor fugitives he had 
 helped to escape from their cruelty? He 
 had friends, too, in many noble men and
 
 WHITE AND BLACK. 325 
 
 women of his own way of thinking in 
 Philadelphia alone; their sympathy was 
 worth more to him than the smiles of the 
 world; and strengthening himself for his 
 task by remembering their steadfastness, 
 he kept to his work, disregardful of the 
 opprobrium and hostility of the slave- 
 owning aristocracy and their Northern 
 apologists. 
 
 Maxwell did not visit Dr. May worth or 
 Miss Morton for a fortnight or more. At 
 the end of that time he received a letter in 
 Irene's delicate but still unformed hand- 
 writing. 
 
 "Dear Edward, — Are we never to see 
 you again ? Why, because I have told you 
 that it never can be as you wished, while 
 you remain still so opposed to papa, are 
 we not to meet as friends 1 Come what 
 may, I shall always remember that I owe 
 my father to you, and you have been my 
 best friend since I came here. Do come, 
 and let all be as it was two months ago. 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 "Irene Morton." 
 
 This invitation was what no man could
 
 326 WHITE AND BLACK. 
 
 have resisted ; either Irene was absolutely 
 unconscious of the depth of Edward's love, 
 or she was trying to win him away from 
 the principles he had adopted. Maxwell 
 thought he. was sure of himself, and went to 
 Dr. May worth's house, where he was met by 
 Irene with a cordiality that revived his 
 hopes, amused the Doctor, and fairly exas- 
 perated Mrs. Lessing and her friend Daniel 
 Wyatt. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUIVIE. 
 
 LOXDOX 
 
 PRIUTED BT SPOTTlSVrOODE AXn CO. 
 
 MflV-STRKET SQUAKli