" "Oh,"
said I, "how prejudiced you all are!" Whereupon they all laughed. "Now,"
said I, "you think, no doubt, that the author of such a piece is malign.
I know nothing of its origin, but I venture to say it was written by one
whose heart overflows with love to everybody, but who is 'laboring under
a delusion.'" I did not tell them of the "delusion" which you were
"under," in the Senior's room, but I said, "I have a nephew in a New
England college who has the Northern evil very badly. But he is so very
kind. Set him to write poetry about the South and he would produce just
such lamentable stanzas." Nothing will cure these fancies, about oranges
and magnolias not blooming for the little negroes, so well as to bring
these good people where they can see them pelting one another with
oranges, such as these poets never dreamed of, and making money by
selling magnolias to passengers at the railway stations.
"Here beautiful mothers, 'mid splendors untold," etc. I went with the
wife of a planter to her "Maternal Association" of slave-mothers. She
gathers the fifteen mothers among her servants once a fortnight, and
spends an afternoon talking to them about the education of their
children, and reading to them; and when she knelt with them and prayed,
I cried so all the time that I hardly heard anything.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122