go to the great Norrurd, and set up a trade, or be a gentleman, may be; and like as not they told him he stood a good chance of being President one of dese days.  They got him off from his good home, and now he’s done for.  He’s gwine to be sold South to-morrow.  He’s a beggin young Mr. Seymour up thar not to sell him, and makin promises, but its no use; he’s goin South.  I bin hearin every word he said to his young master.  ‘Oh, Master George,’ says he, ’let me off dis time.  I didn’t want to go till the Abolitioners told me you had no right to me, kase God had made me free; and you, they said, was no better than a thief, keepin me a slave agin natur and the Bible too.’”

“‘But, Simon,’ said young Mr. Seymour, ’you stole a suit of my new clothes when you went off; and you got money, too, from Mrs. Barrett, saying I had sent you for it.  How came you to do that?’

“’I will ‘fess it all, sir,’ said Simon, ’and God knows I’m speakin truth.  I took de suit of clothes.  The Abolitioner, he said I’d be a gentleman when I got North, and I must have somethin ready to put on, to look like one.  So he said you’d always had the use of me, and twasn’t no harm for me to take de suit, for I was ’titled to it for my sarvices.  He axed me if any body owed my mistis money, as I know’d of.  I told him, yes, Mrs. Barrett did, and mistis often sent me after it without any order, for she know’d I’d bring it straight to her.  Now, my boy, said the Abolitioner, dis money is yourn—­its your wages.  You’ve got a better right to it than ever your mistis had.  You can’t start on a journey without money; so you go to dis lady and tell her you was sent for money by your mistis, and you keep de money for your own use.  Here’s de money,’ said he, ’Master George, take it to mistis, and tell her de truth.’

“‘Damn the rascals,’ says young Mr. Seymour, ’they’re not content with man-stealing, but they’re stealing money and clothes, and every thing they can lay their hands upon.  So much for your Abolition friends, Simon,’ says he.  ’I wish you joy of them.  They’ve brought you to a pretty pass, and lost you as good a home as ever a servant had.’

“‘Oh, master,’ said Simon, ’won’t you take me back?  Indeed I will be faithful.’

“‘Can’t trust you, Simon,’ said Mr. Seymour; ’besides, none of your fellow-servants want you back.  You have no relations.  My mother bought you, when you was a little boy, because she knew your mother; and after she died you were knocked about by the other servants.  My sister taught you how to read the Bible, and you have been a member of the Methodist church.  If you was a poor ignorant fellow, that didn’t know what was right, I would take you back; but you’ve done this wid your eyes open.  Our servants say they wants no runaways to live ‘long o’ them.  Now, if you can get any of your Abolition friends to buy you, and take you North, and make a gentleman of you, I’ll sell you to them; but they wouldn’t give a fip to keep you from starving.  I am sorry its so, but I can’t take you back.’  He said these very words, sir.  He felt mighty bad, sir; he talked husky, but he went out.  Simon called after him, but he didn’t even look back; so I know Simon’s goin for true.”