In Which the Reader Is Introduced to a Man of Humanity
Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February,
two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine,
in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of
P——, in Kentucky. There were
no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs
closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some
subject with great earnestness.
For convenience sake, we have said, hitherto, two
gentlemen. One of the parties, however,
when critically examined, did not seem, strictly speaking,
to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set
man, with coarse, commonplace features, and that swaggering
air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying
to elbow his way upward in the world. He was
much over-dressed, in a gaudy vest of many colors,
a blue neckerchief, bedropped gayly with yellow spots,
and arranged with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping
with the general air of the man. His hands, large
and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings; and
he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle of
seals of portentous size, and a great variety of colors,
attached to it,—which, in the ardor of
conversation, he was in the habit of flourishing and
jingling with evident satisfaction. His conversation
was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar,*
and was garnished at convenient intervals with various
profane expressions, which not even the desire to be
graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe.
* English Grammar (1795),
by Lindley Murray (1745-1826), the
most authoritative American
grammarian of his day.
His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a
gentleman; and the arrrangements of the house, and
the general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy,
and even opulent circumstances. As we before stated,
the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation.
“That is the way I should arrange the matter,”
said Mr. Shelby.
“I can’t make trade that way—I
positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the
other, holding up a glass of wine between his eye and
the light.
“Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon
fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere,—steady,
honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock.”
“You mean honest, as niggers go,” said
Haley, helping himself to a glass of brandy.
“No; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady,
sensible, pious fellow. He got religion at a
camp-meeting, four years ago; and I believe he really
did get it. I’ve trusted him, since
then, with everything I have,—money, house,
horses,—and let him come and go round the
country; and I always found him true and square in
everything.”
“Some folks don’t believe there is pious
niggers Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid flourish
of his hand, “but I do. I had a fellow,
now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans—’t
was as good as a meetin, now, really, to hear that
critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet like.
He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap
of a man that was ’bliged to sell out; so I
realized six hundred on him. Yes, I consider
religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s
the genuine article, and no mistake.”
