“There never was any thing so perfectly false (I cannot help referring to it again,) as that religion is discouraged among our slaves.  It is precisely the contrary.  Most of them have the same opportunities of attending worship as their owners.  They generally prefer the Methodist and Baptist denominations; they worship with the whites, or they have exclusive occasions for themselves, which they prefer.  They meet on the plantations for prayer, for singing, or for any religious purpose, when they choose; the ladies on the plantations instruct them in the Bible, and how to read it.  Many of them are taught to write.

“Religion seems to be a necessary qualification of the female mind—­I think this, because I have been so fortunate in those of our own family.  My mother died soon after my birth; her friends often dwell on the early piety so beautifully developed in her character.  We have a relative, an old maid, who lives with us; she forgets her own existence, laboring always for the good of others.  My aunt is a noble Christian woman, and Alice has not breathed such an atmosphere in vain.  We have a servant woman named Phillis, her price is far above rubies.  Her industry, her honesty, her attachment to our family, exceeds every thing.  I wish Abolitionists would imitate one of her virtues—­humility.  I know of no poetry more beautiful than the hymns she sang to me in my infancy; her whole life has been a recommendation of the religion of the Bible.  I wish my chance of Heaven were half as good as hers.  She is a slave here, but she is destined to be a saint hereafter.”

CHAPTER XIII.

The evening is drawing on again at Exeter, and Alice and her mother are in a little sitting room that opens on the porch.  Mrs. Weston is fanning her daughter, who has been suffering during the day from headache.  Miss Janet is there, too, and for a rare occurrence, is idle; looking from the window at the tall peaks of the Blue Ridge upon which she has gazed for many a year.  Little Lydia stands by her side, her round eyes peering into Miss Janet’s face, wondering what would happen, that she should be unemployed.  They are awaiting Mr. Weston’s return from an afternoon ride, to meet at the last and most sociable meal of the day.

“Miss Janet,” said Lydia, “aint Miss Alice white?”

“Very pale,” said Miss Janet, looking at Alice; then, with a sigh, turning to the mountains again.

“What makes her so white?” asked Lydia, in an under tone.

“She has had a headache all day.  Be quiet, child,” said Miss Janet.

After a moment, Lydia said, “I wish I could have de headache all de time.”

“What do you say such a foolish thing as that for, Lydia?”

“’Kase I’d like to be white, like Miss Alice.”  Miss Janet did not reply.  Again Lydia spoke, “If I was to stay all time in de house, and never go in de sun, would I git white?”