After I had been in the house a little while, I was summoned out again to receive the petition of certain poor women in the family-way to have their work lightened.  I was, of course, obliged to tell them that I could not interfere in the matter, that their master was away, and that, when he came back, they must present their request to him:  they said they had already begged ‘massa,’ and he had refused, and they thought, perhaps, if ‘missis’ begged ‘massa’ for them, he would lighten their task.  Poor ‘missis,’ poor ‘massa,’ poor woman, that I am to have such prayers addressed to me!  I had to tell them, that if they had already spoken to their master, I was afraid my doing so would be of no use, but that when he came back I would try; so, choking with crying, I turned away from them, and re-entered the house, to the chorus of ’Oh, thank you, missis!  God bless you, missis!’ E——­, I think an improvement might be made upon that caricature published a short time ago, called the ’Chivalry of the South.’  I think an elegant young Carolinian, or Georgian gentleman, whip in hand, driving a gang of ‘lusty women,’ as they are called here, would be a pretty version of the ’Chivalry of the South’—­a little coarse, I am afraid you will say.  Oh! quite horribly coarse, but then so true—­a great matter in works of art, which, now-a-days, appear to be thought excellent only in proportion to their lack of ideal elevation.  That would be a subject, and a treatment of it, which could not be accused of imaginative exaggeration, at any rate.

In the evening I mentioned the petitions of these poor women to Mr. O——­, thinking that perhaps he had the power to lessen their tasks.  He seemed evidently annoyed at their having appealed to me; said that their work was not a bit too much for them, and that constantly they were shamming themselves in the family-way, in order to obtain a diminution of their labour.  Poor creatures!  I suppose some of them do; but again, it must be a hard matter for those who do not, not to obtain the mitigation of their toil which their condition requires; for their assertion and their evidence are never received—­they can’t be believed, even if they were upon oath, say their white taskmasters; why? because they have never been taught the obligations of an oath, to whom made, or wherefore binding; and they are punished both directly and indirectly for their moral ignorance, as if it were a natural and incorrigible element of their character, instead of the inevitable result of their miserable position.  The oath of any and every scoundrelly fellow with a white skin is received, but not that of such a man as Frank, Ned, old Jacob, or Cooper London.

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