with the Colonel, to inspect the stables of the plantation.  ‘Massa Tommy’ accompanied us, without invitation; and in the Colonel’s intercourse with him I observed as much freedom and familiarity as he would have shown to an acknowledged son.  The youth’s manners and conversation showed that great attention had been given to his education and training, and made it evident that the mother whose influence was forming his character, whatever a false system of society had made her life, possessed some of the best traits of her sex.

The stables, a collection of one-story framed buildings, about a hundred rods from the house, were well lighted and ventilated, and contained all ‘the modern improvements.’  They were better built, warmer, more commodious, and in every way more comfortable than the shanties occupied by the human cattle of the plantation.  I remarked as much to the Colonel, adding that one who did not know would infer that he valued his horses more than his slaves.

‘That may be true,’ he replied, laughing.  ’Two of my horses here are worth more than any eight of my slaves;’ at the same time calling my attention to two magnificent thorough-breds, one of which had made ‘2.32’ on the Charleston course.  The establishment of a Southern gentleman is not complete until it includes one or two of these useless appendages.  I had an argument with my host as to their value compared with that of the steam-engine, in which I forced him to admit that the iron horse is the better of the two, because it performs more work, eats less, has greater speed, and is not liable to the spavin or the heaves; but he wound up by saying, ’After all, I go for the thorough-breds.  You Yankees have but one test of value—­use.’

A ramble through the negro-quarters, which followed our visit to the stables, gave me some further glimpses of plantation life.  Many of the hands were still away in pursuit of Moye, but enough remained to make it evident that Sunday is the happiest day in the darky calendar.  Groups of all ages and colors were gathered in front of several of the cabins, some singing, some dancing, and others chatting quietly together, but all enjoying themselves as heartily as so many young animals let loose, in a pasture.  They saluted the Colonel and me respectfully, but each one had a free, good-natured word for ‘Massa Tommy,’ who seemed an especial favorite with them.  The lad took their greetings in good part, but preserved an easy, unconscious dignity of manner that plainly showed he did not know that he too was of their despised, degraded race.

The Colonel, in a rapid way, gave me the character and peculiarities of nearly every one we met.  The titles of some of them amused me greatly.  At every step we encountered individuals whose names have become household words in every civilized country.[L] Julius Caesar, slightly stouter than when he swam the Tiber, and somewhat tanned from long exposure to a Southern sun, was seated on a wood-pile, quietly smoking a pipe; while near him, Washington, divested of regimentals, and clad in a modest suit of reddish-gray, his thin locks frosted by time, and his fleshless visage showing great age, was gazing, in rapt admiration, at a group of dancers in front of old Lucy’s cabin.