“I suppose, then, you think slavery will always continue, Mr. Weston?” said Hubbard.

“Well, I am only a man, and cannot prophesy, but I think, probably not.  Slavery is decreasing throughout the world.  The slave trade is about being abolished on the coast of Africa.  You Abolitionists are getting a good many off from our southern country, and our planters are setting a number of theirs free, and sending them to Africa.  I know a gentleman in Georgia who liberated a number, and gave them the means to start in Liberia as free agents and men.  He told me he saw them on board, and watched the ship as she disappeared from his sight.  At last he could not detect the smallest trace of her, and then such a feeling of intense satisfaction occupied his breast as had been a stranger there until that time.  ’Is it possible that they are gone, and I am no longer to be plagued with them?  They are free, and I am free, too.’  He could hardly give vent to his feelings of relief on the occasion.”

“And are they such trouble to you, Arthur?” asked Abel.

“No, indeed,” said Arthur, “not the least.  My father treats them well, and they appear to be as well off as the working classes generally are.  I see rules to regulate the conduct of the master and slave in Scripture, but I see no where the injunction to release them; nor do I find laid down the sin of holding them.  The fact is, you northern people are full of your isms; you must start a new one every year.  I hope they will not travel south, for I am tired of them.  I should like to take Deacon and Mrs. White back home with me.  Our servants would be afraid of a man who has worked sixteen hours a day half his lifetime.”

“Deacon White is worth twenty thousand dollars,” said Abel, “every cent of which he made mending and making common shoes.”

“What does he do with it?” said Arthur.

“Hoards it up,” said Abel, “and yet an honester man never lived.  Did I not tell you of the time I hired his horse and chaise?  I believe not; well, it is worth waiting for.  The deacon’s old white horse is as gray and as docile as himself; the fact is, the stable is so near the house, that the horse is constantly under the influence of ‘Old Hundred;’ he has heard the good old tune so often, that he has a solemn way of viewing things.  Two or three weeks ago I wanted to take my sister to see a relative of ours, who lives seven or eight miles from here, and my mother would not consent to my driving her, unless I hired the deacon’s horse and chaise—­the horse, she said, could not run if he wanted to.  So I got him, and Harriet asked Kate Laune to go too, as the chaise was large enough for all three; and we had a good time.  We were gone all day, and after I took the girls home, I drove round to the deacon’s house and jumped out of the chaise to pay what I owed.

“You know what a little fellow the deacon is, and he looked particularly small that evening, for he was seated in his arm-chair reading a large newspaper which hid him all but his legs.  These are so shrunken that I wonder how his wife gets his stockings small enough for him.