“I am really sorry for the servants, Bacchus,” said Mr. Weston, “but they won’t take warning.  I’m told that since Abolitionists have come to live in Washington, and have been going among the colored people, that it is almost impossible to employ an honest servant; it is on this account that the Irish are so much employed.  Some years ago the families had no trouble with their domestics, but Abolition has ruined them.  What a wretched looking class they are, too! lazy and dirty; these are the consequences of taking bad advice.”

“Well, master,” said Bacchus, “I wish to de Lord we could take ’em all to Virginny, and give ’em a good coat of tar and feathers; thar’s all them feathers poor Aunt Peggy had in them barrels.  We aint got no call for ’em at home.  I wish we could put ’em to some use.  I wouldn’t like no better fun than to spread de tar on neat, and den stick de feathers on close and thick.”

“Well, Bacchus,” said Mr. Weston, “its near bedtime, and I am not well; so I will retire.”

“Certainly, master; you must ’scuse me, I’m afeard I’ve kep you up; I felt mightily for them poor creaturs, thar.  Lor’, master, I aint nigh so weakly as you, and think I nussed you, and used to toat you on my back when you was a little boy.  You was mighty fat, I tell you—­I used to think my back would bust, sometimes, but I’m pretty strong yet.  ’Pears like I could toat you now, if I was to try.”

“Not to-night, thank you, Bacchus.  Though if any thing should occur to make it necessary, I will call you,” said Mr. Weston.

Bacchus slept in a kind of closet bedroom off his master’s, and he went in accordingly, but after a few moments returned, finding Mr. Weston in bed.

“Will you have any thing, sir?”

“Nothing, to-night.”

“Well, master, I was thinkin to say one thing more, and ’tis, if dese Abolitioners, dat has so much larnin, if they only had some of the Bible larnin my wife has, how much good ’twould do ’em.  My wife says, ’God put her here a slave, and she’s a gwine to wait for Him to set her free; if he aint ready to do so till he calls her to Heaven, she’s willin to wait.’  Lord, sir, my wife, she sets at de feet of Jesus, and larns her Bible.  I reckon de Abolitioners aint willin to do that; they don’t want to get so low down; ’pears as if they aint willin to go about doin good like Jesus did, but they must be puttin up poor slaves to sin and sorrow.  Well, they’ve got to go to their account, any how.”

Bacchus finally retired, but it was with difficulty he composed himself to sleep.  He was still mentally discussing that great subject, Abolition, which, like a mighty tempest, was shaking the whole country.  All at once it occurred to him “that it wouldn’t do no good to worry about it,” so he settled himself to sleep.  A bright idea crossed his mind as he closed his eyes upon the embers that were fading on the hearth in his master’s room; in another moment he was reposing, in utter oblivion of all things, whether concerning his own affairs or those of the world in general.