Mr. H.’s store was usually crowded, and Cupid was his most valuable assistant.  Gay handkerchiefs for turbans, pots and kettles, and molasses, were principally in demand, especially the last.  It was necessary to keep the molasses-barrel in the yard, where Cupid presided over it, and harangued and scolded the eager, noisy crowd, collected around, to his heart’s content; while up the road leading to the house came constantly processions of men, women, and children, carrying on their heads cans, jugs, pitchers, and even bottles,—­anything, indeed, that was capable of containing molasses.  It is wonderful with what ease they carry all sorts of things on their heads,—­heavy bundles of wood, hoes and rakes, everything, heavy or light, that can be carried in the hands; and I have seen a woman, with a bucketful of water on her head, stoop down and take up another in her hand, without spilling a drop from either.

We noticed that the people had much better taste in selecting materials for dresses than we had supposed.  They do not generally like gaudy colors, but prefer neat, quiet patterns.  They are, however, very fond of all kinds of jewelry.  I once asked the children in school what their ears were for.  “To put ring in,” promptly replied one of the little girls.

These people are exceedingly polite in their manner towards each other, each new arrival bowing, scraping his feet, and shaking hands with the others, while there are constant greetings, such as, “Huddy?  How’s yer lady?” ("How d’ ye do?  How’s your wife?”) The hand-shaking is performed with the greatest possible solemnity.  There is never the faintest shadow of a smile on anybody’s face during this performance.  The children, too, are taught to be very polite to their elders, and it is the rarest thing to hear a disrespectful word from a child to his parent, or to any grown person.  They have really what the New-Englanders call “beautiful manners.”

We made daily visits to the “quarters,” which were a few rods from the house.  The negro-houses, on this as on most of the other plantations, were miserable little huts, with nothing comfortable or home-like about them, consisting generally of but two very small rooms,—­the only way of lighting them, no matter what the state of the weather, being to leave the doors and windows open.  The windows, of course, have no glass in them.  In such a place, a father and mother with a large family of children are often obliged to live.  It is almost impossible to teach them habits of neatness and order, when they are so crowded.  We look forward anxiously to the day when better houses shall increase their comfort and pride of appearance.

Oaklands is a very small plantation.  There were not more than eight or nine families living on it.  Some of the people interested us much.  Celia, one of the best, is a cripple.  Her master, she told us, was too mean to give his slaves clothes enough to protect them, and her feet and legs were so badly frozen that they required amputation.  She has a lovely face,—­well-featured and singularly gentle.  In every household where there was illness or trouble, Celia’s kind, sympathizing face was the first to be seen, and her services were always the most acceptable.