“‘Now, Mr. Baker,’ says I, ’you’re a Christian yourself, or you couldn’t talk dat way.  I know Christians must like to make other people happy; they’re bound to, for their Master, Christ, did.  Well, sir, all de poor creturs dat de Abolitionists got off is cotched—­they’re gwine to be sold, and thar’s one young man thar, that had a good home and a good mistis, and him they ’suaded off, and now he’s gwine to be sold South, whar he’ll toil and sweat in de hot sun.  Now, Mr. Baker, if de Southern gentlemen’s duty’s so plain to you, that they oughter make themselves poor, to make their slaves free and happy, surely you’ll buy this one poor man who is frettin’ hisself to death.  It won’t make you poor to buy jist this one; his master says he’ll sell him to any Abolitioner who’ll take him to the great Norrurd, and have him teached.  Buy him, sir, for de Lord’s sake—­de poor fellow will be so happy; jist spend a little of your money to make dat one poor cretur happy.  God gave it all to you, sir, and he aint gave none to de poor slaves, not even gave him his freedom.  You set dis one poor feller free, and when you come to die, it will make you feel so good to think about it; when you come to judgment, maybe Christ may say, “You made dis poor man free, and now you may come into de kingdom and set down wid me forever.”  Oh! sir,’ says I, ’buy him, de Lord will pay you back, you won’t lose a copper by him.’”

“Well,” said Mr. Weston, “what did he say?”

“Why, sir,” said Bacchus, “he got up and stood by de fire, and warmed hisself, and says he, ’Ole felur, if I’d a had de teaching of you, I’d a larned you to mind your own business.  I’ll let you know I didn’t come to Washington to buy niggers.’  ‘Here,’ says he, to dat white nigger that waits on him, ’Next time dis feller wants me, tell him to go ’bout his business.’

“‘Good mornin’ sir,’ says I, ’I shan’t trouble you agin.  May de Lord send better friends to de slaves than de like of you.’”

“Well, Bacchus,” said Mr. Weston, “you did very wrong, and I hope you will not again take such a liberty with any person.  You see for yourself what an Abolitionist is.  I wish those poor runaways had had some such experience, it would have saved them from the trouble they are now in.”

“Yes, indeed, master.  I’ve been down thar agin, to-day.  I went right early; thar’s an ole woman thar that tried to run away.  She’s gwine too, and she leaves her husband here.  She aint a cryin, though, her heart’s too full for tears.  Oh! master,” said Bacchus, sighing deeply, “I think if you’d seed her, you’d do more than the Abolitioners.”

* * * * *

In the afternoon Mr. Weston usually walked out.  He did not dine with the ladies at their late hour, as his complaint, dyspepsia, made it necessary for him to live lightly and regularly.  Bacchus attended him in his walks, and many a person turned back to look upon the fine-looking old gentleman with his gold-headed cane, and his servant, whose appearance was as agreeable as his own.  Bacchus was constantly on the lookout for his master, but he managed to see all that was going on too, and to make many criticisms on the appearance and conduct of those he met in his rambles.