Jack. There are, it may be, public and national mistakes and errors in conduct, and this is one.

Mast. Have you tried it? You cannot say it is a mistake till you have tried and proved it to be so.

Jack. Your whole plantation is a proof of it. This very fellow had never acted as he did if he had not gotten rum in his head, and been out of the government of himself; so that, indeed, all the offence I ought to have punished him for had been that of stealing a bottle of rum and drinking it all up; in which case, like Noah, he did not know the strength of it, and when he had it in his head he was a madman-he was as one raging and distracted; so that for all the rest he deserved pity rather than punishment.

Mast. Thou art right, certainly right, and thou wilt be a rare fellow if thou canst bring these notions into practice. I wish you had tried it upon any one particular negro, that I might see an example. I would give £500 if it could be brought to bear.

Jack. I desire nothing, sir, but your favour, and the advantage of obliging you. I will show you an example of it among your own negroes, and all the plantation will acknowledge it.

Mast. You make my very heart glad within me, Jack. If you can bring this to pass, I here give you my word, I'll not only give you your own freedom, but make a man of you for this world as long as you live.

Upon this I bowed to him very respectfully, and told him the following story: "There is a negro, sir, in the plantation, who has been your servant several years before I came. He did a fault that was of no great consequence in itself, but perhaps would have been worse if they had indeed gone farther; and I had him brought into the usual place, and tied him by the thumbs for correction, and he was told that he should be whipped and pickled in a dreadful manner. After I had made proper impressions on his mind of the terror of his punishment, and found that he was sufficiently humbled by it, I went into the house, and caused him to be brought out, just as they do when they go to correct the negroes on such occasions. When he was stripped and tied up, he had two lashes given him that were indeed very cruel ones, and I called to them to hold. 'Hold!' said I to the two men that had just begun to lay on upon the poor fellow; 'Hold!' said I; 'let me talk with him.'

"So he was taken down; then I began and

represented to him how kind you, that were his great master,1 had been to him; that you had never done him any harm; that you had used him gently, and he had never been brought to this punishment in so many years, though he had done some faults before; that this was a notorious offence, for he had stolen some rum, and made himself and two other negroes drunk-mad, and had abused two women negroes who had husbands in our master's service, but in another plantation; and played several pranks, and for this I had appointed him this punishment.

"He shook his head, and made signs that he was muchee sorree, as he called it. And what will you say or do,' said I, 'if I should prevail with the great master to pardon you? I have a mind to go and see if I can beg for you.' He told me he would lie down; let me kill him. Me will,' says he, 'run, go, fetch, bring for you as long as me live.' This was the opportunity I had a mind to have, to try whether, as negroes have all the other faculties of reasonable creatures, they had not also some sense of kindness, some principles of natural generosity, which, in short, is the foundation of gratitude, for gratitude is the product of generous principles."

"You please me with the beginning of this story," says he. "I hope you have carried it on."

"Yes, sir," says I, "it has been carried on farther perhaps than you imagine, or will think has been possible in such a case.

"But I was not so arrogant as to assume the merit to myself. No, no,' said I; 'I do not ask you to go or run for me; you must do all that for our great master, for it will be from him entirely that you will be pardoned at all, for your offence is against him; and what will you say? Will you be grateful to him, and run, go, fetch, bring for him as long as you live, as you have said you would for me?'

"Yes, indeed,' says he; 'and muchee do, muchee do for you too (he would not leave me out); you ask him for me.'

"Well, I put off all his promised gratitude to me from myself, as was my duty, and placed it to your account; told him I knew you was muchee good, muchee pitiful, and I would persuade you if I could; and so told him I would

1 So the negroes call the owner of the plantation, or at least so they called him, because he was a great man

in the country, having three or four large plantations.

? To be drunk in a negro is to be mad, for when they get rum they are worse than raving, and fit to do any manner of mischief

go to you, and he should be whipped no more till I came again. 'But hark ye, Mouchat,' says I (that was the negro's name), 'they tell me when I came hither that there is no showing kindness to any of you negroes; that when we spare you from whipping you laugh at us, and are the worse.'

the story. Go on; I expect a pleasant conclu. sion.

Jack. The conclusion, sir, will be, I believe, as much to your satisfaction as the beginning, for it every way answered my expectation, and will yours also, and show you how you might be faithfully served if you pleased, for 'tis certain you are not so served now.

Mast. No, indeed; they serve me but just as they do the devil-for fear I should hurt them; but 'tis contrary to an ingenuous spirit

"Negro. No, no; they no try; they say so, but no try.

"Jack. I hear them all say so.

"Negro. Me tell you the true: they have no mercie; they beat us cruel, all cruel; they never have show mercie. How can they tell we be no better?

"Jack. What! do they never spare? "Negro. Master, me speakee the true; they never give mercie; they always whippee, lashee, knockee down-all cruel. Negro be muchee better man, do muchee better work, but they tell us no mercie.

"Jack. But what, do they never show any mercy?

"Negro. No, never; no, never; all whippee, all whippee, cruel, worse than they whippee de horse, whippee dog.

"Jack. But would they be better if they did?

"Negro. Yes, yes; negro be muchee better if they be mercie. When they be whippee, whippee, negro muchee cry, muchee hate, would kill if they had de gun; but when they makee de mercie, then negro tell de great tankee, and love to workee, and do muchee workee, and because he good master to them.

"Jack. They say no; you would laugh at them, and mock when they show mercy.

"Negro. How they say when they show mercie! They never show mercie; me never see them show one mercie since me live.

'Now, sir," said I, "if this be so, really they go, I dare say, contrary to your inclination, for I see you are but too full of pity for the miserable. I saw it in my own case; and upon a presumption that you had rather have your work done from a principle of love than fear, without making your servants bleed for every trifle, if it were possible; I say, upon this presumption I dealt with this Mouchat, as you shall hear."

Mast. I have never met with anything of this kind since I have been a planter, which is now about forty years. I am delighted with

Jack. It is easy, sir, to show you that you may be served upon better principles, and consequently be better served, and more to your satisfaction; and I dare undertake to convince you of it.

Mast. Well, go on with the story.

Jack. After I had talked thus to him, I said, "Well, Mouchat, I shall see how you will be afterwards, if I can get our great master to be merciful to you at this time."

"Negro. Yes, you shall see; you muchee see, muchee see.

"Upon this I called for my horse and went from him, and made as if I rode away to you, who they told me was in the next plantation; and having stayed four or five hours, I came back and talked to him again, told him that I had waited on you, and that you had heard of his offence, was highly provoked, and had resolved to cause him to be severely punished for an example to all the negroes in the plantation; but that I had told you how penitent he was, and how good he would be if you would pardon him, and had at last prevailed on you; that you had told me what all people said of the negroes, how that to show them mercy was to make them think you were never in earnest with them, and that you did but trifle and play with them. However, that I had told you what he had said of himself, and that it was not true of the negroes, and that the white men said it, but that they could not know because they did never show any mercy, and therefore had never tried; that I had persuaded you to show mercy, to try whether kindness would prevail as much as cruelty. And now, Mouchat,' said I, you will be let go; pray let our great master see that I have said true.' So I ordered him to be untied, gave him a dram of rum out of my pocket-bottle, and ordered them to give him some victuals.

"When the fellow was let loose he came to me, and kneeled down to me, and took hold of my legs and of my feet, and laid his head

apon the ground, and sobbed and cried like a child that had been corrected, but could not speak for his life; and thus he continued a long time. I would have taken him up, but he would not rise; but I cried as fast as he, for I could not bear to see a poor wretch lie on the ground to me, that was but a servant the other day like himself. At last, but not till a quarter of an hour, I made him get up, and then he spoke. 'Me muchee know good great master, muchee good you master. No negro unthankful; me die for them, do me so muchee kind.'

"I dismissed him then, and bid him go to his wife (for he was married), and not work that afternoon; but as he was going away I called him again, and talked thus to him:

"Now, Mouchat,' says I, 'you see the white men can show mercy; now you must tell all the negroes what has been reported of them -that they regard nothing but the whip; that if they are used gently they are the worse, not the better; and that this is the reason why the white men show them no mercy; and convince them that they would be much better treated, and used kindlier, if they would show themselves as grateful for kind usage, as humble after torment; and see if you can work on them.'

"Me go, me go,' says he; 'me muchee talk to them; they be muchee glad as me be, and do great work to be used kind by de great master.'

Mast. Well, but now what testimony have you of this gratitude you speak of? Have you seen any alteration among them?

Jack. I come next to that part, sir. About a month after this I caused a report to be spread abroad in the plantation that I had offended you, the great master, and that I was turned out of the plantation, and was to be hanged. Your honour knows that some time ago you sent me upon your particular business into Potuxent River, where I was absent twelve days; then I took the opportunity to have this report spread about among the negroes, to see how it would work.

Mast. What! to see how Mouchat would take it?

Jack. Yes, sir; and it made a discovery indeed. The poor fellow did not believe it presently; but finding I was still absent, he went to the head-clerk, and, standing at his door, said nothing, but looked like a fool of ten years old. After some time the upper overseer came out, and seeing him stand there, at first said nothing, supposing he had been sent of

VOL. VI.

some errand; but observing him to stand stock still, and that he was in the same posture and place during the time that he had passed and repassed two or three times, he stops short the last time of his coming by. "What do you want," says he to him, "that you stand idle here so long?"

"Me speakee; me tell something," says he. Then the overseer thought some discovery was at hand, and began to listen to him. "What would you tell me?" says he.

"Me tell! pray," says he, "where be de other master?"

He meant he would ask where he was. "What other master do you mean?" says the clerk. "What! do you want to speak with the great master? He can't be spoke by you. Pray what is your business; cannot you tell it to me?"

"No, no; me no speakee the great master, the other master," says Mouchat.

"O! me no let him makee de great master angry." With that he kneeled down to the clerk.

“What ails you?" says the clerk. "I tell you he must be hanged."

"No, no," says he; "no hang de master; me kneel for him to great master."

"You kneel for him!" says the clerk. "What! do you think the great master will mind you? He has made the great master angry, and must be hanged, I tell you; what signifies your begging?"

"Negro. O! me pray, me pray the great master for him.

"Clerk. Why, what ails pray for him?

you, that you would

"Negro. O! he beggee the great master for me; now me beggee for him. The great master muchee good, muchee good; he pardon me when the other master beggee me; now he pardon him when me beggee for him again.

"Clerk. No, no; your begging won't do. Will you be hanged for him? If you do that, something may be.

"Negro. Yes, yes; me be hang for de poor master that beggee for me. Mouchat shall

133

hang; the great master shall hangee me, whippee me anything to save the poor master that beggee me. Yes, yes, indeed.

"Clerk. Are you in earnest, Mouchat? "Negro. Yes indeed, me tellee de true; the great master shall know me tellee de true, for he shall see the white man hangee me Mouchat. Poor negro Mouchat will be hangee, be whippee-anything for the poor master that beggee for me.

"With this the poor fellow cried most pitifully, and there was no room to question his being in earnest; when on a sudden I appeared, for I was fetched to see all this transaction. I was not in the house at first, but was just come home from the business you sent me of, and heard it all; and indeed neither the clerk nor I could bear it any longer, so he came out to me: 'Go to him,' says he; you have made an example that will never be forgot, that a negro can be grateful. Go to him,' adds he, for I can talk to him no longer.' So I appeared, and spoke to him presently, and let him see that I was at liberty; but to hear how the poor fellow behaved, your honour cannot but be pleased."

Mast. Prithee go on; I am pleased with it all. 'Tis all a new scene of negro life to me, and very moving.

Jack. For a good while he stood as if he had been thunderstruck and stupid; but looking steadily at me, though not speaking a word, at last he mutters to himself, with a kind of a laugh, "Ay, ay," says he, "Mouchat see, Mouchat no see, me wakee, me no wakee; no hangee, no hangee; he live truly, very live;" and then on a sudden he runs to me, snatches me away as if I had been a boy of ten years old, and takes me up upon his back and runs away with me, till I was fain to cry out to him to stop; then he sets me down, and looks at me again; then falls a-dancing about me as if he had been bewitched, just as you have seen them do about their wives and children when they are merry.

Well, then, he began to talk with me, and told me what they had said to him, how I was to be hanged. "Well," says I, "Mouchat, and would you have been satisfied to be hanged to save me?" "Yes, yes," says he; "be truly hangee, to beggee you."

die; me no let any bad be with you all while that me live."

Now, sir, your honour may judge whether kindness, well managed, would not oblige these people as well as cruelty; and whether there are principles of gratitude in them or no.

Mast. But what then can be the reason that we never believed it to be so before? Jack. Truly, sir, I fear that Mouchat gave the true reason.

Mast. What was that, pray? That we were too cruel?

Jack. That they never had any mercy showed them; that they er tried them whether they would be grateful or no; that if they did a fault, they were never spared, but punished with the utmost cruelty; so that they had no passion, no affection to act upon but that of fear, which necessarily brought hatred with it; but that if they were used with compassion they would serve with affection as well as other servants. Nature is the same, and reason governs in just proportions in all creatures; but having never been let taste what mercy is, they know not how to act from a principle of love:

Mast. I am convinced it is so; but now, pray tell me, how did you put this in practice with the poor negroes now in bonds yonder, when you passed such a cruel sentence upon them, that they should be whipped twice a day for four days together; was that showing mercy?

Jack. My method was just the same; and if you please to inquire of Mr. your other servant, you will be satisfied that it was so, for we agreed upon the same measures as I took with Mouchat, namely, first to put them into the utmost horror and apprehensions of the cruelest punishment that they ever heard of, and thereby enhance the value of their pardon, which was to come as from yourself, but not without our great intercession. Then I was to argue with them, and work upon their reason, to make the mercy that was showed them sink deep into their minds, and give lasting impressions; explain the meaning of gratitude to them, and the nature of an obligation, and the like, as I had done with Mouchat.

"Did you no beggee me," he says, "at the great master? You savee me, make great master muchee good, muchee kind, no whippee me; me no forget; me be whipped, be hanged, that you no be hanged; me die, that you no

more than to have all my negroes serve me from principles of gratitude for my kindness to them. I abhor to be feared like a lion, like a tyrant. It is a violence upon nature every way, and is the most disagreeable thing in the world to a generous mind.

GOOD IN ALL THINGS.

[Richard Savage, born in London, 10th January, 1697; died in London, 1st August, 1743. The story of his life as told by Dr. Johnson forms a most pathetic and romantic biography. He was the illegitimate son of Anne, Countess of Macclesfield, and Richard Savage, Earl of Rivers. His mother treated him with unnatural severity. His chief poems are: The Wanderer, from which the following passage is taken; various addresses to the queen, under the title of the Volunteer Laureate; and London and Bristol Delineated, a satire.]

My hermit thus. "I know thy soul believes, "Tis hard vice triumphs, and that virtue grieves; Yet oft affliction purifies the mind,

Kind benefits oft flow from means unkind.
Were the whole known, that we uncouth suppose,
Doubtless, would beauteous symmetry disclose.
The naked cliff, that singly rough remains,
In prospeot dignifies the fertile plains;
Lead-colour'd clouds, in scattering fragments seen,
Show, though in broken views, the blue serene.
Severe distresses industry inspire;
Thus captive oft excelling arts acquire,

And boldly struggle through a state of shame,
To life, ease, plenty, liberty, and fame.
Sword-law has often Europe's balance gain'd,
And one red victory years of peace maintain'd.
We pass through want to wealth, through dismal strife
To calm content, through death to endless life.
Libya thou nam'st-let Afric's wastes appear
Cursed by those heats that fructify the year;
Yet the same suns her orange groves befriend,
Where clustering globes in shining rows depend.
Here when fierce beams o'er withering plants are roll'd,
There the green fruit seems ripen'd into gold.
Ev'n scenes that strike with terrible surprise,
Still prove a God, just, merciful, and wise.

Sad wintery blasts, that strip the autumn, bring
The milder beauties of a flowery spring.
Ye sulphurous fires in jaggy lightnings break!
Ye thunders rattle, and ye nations shake!
Ye storms of riving flame the forest tear!
Deep crack the rocks! rent trees be whirl'd in air!
Reft at a stroke, some stately fane we'll mourn;
Her tombs wide-shatter'd, and her dead up-torn;
Were noxious spirits not from caverns drawn,
Rack'd earth would soon in gulfs enormous yawn:
Then all were lost!-Or would we floating view
The baleful cloud, there would destruction brew-
Plague, fever, frenzy, close-engendering lie,
Till these red ruptures clear the sullied sky."

Now a field opens to enlarge my thought,
In parcel'd tracts to various uses wrought;
Here hardening ripeness the first blooms behold,
There the last blossoms spring-like pride unfold;
Here swelling pease on leafy stalks are seen,
Mix'd flowers of red and azure shine between;

Whose weaving beauties, heighten'd by the sun,
In colour'd lanes along the furrows run;
There the next produce of a genial shower,
The bean's fresh-blossoms in a speckled flower;
Whose morning dews, when to the sun resign'd,
With undulating sweets embalm the wind.
Now daisy plats of clover square the plain,
And part the bearded from the beardless grain;
There fibrous flax with verdure binds the field,
Which on the loom shall art-spun labours yield.
The mulberry, in fair summer-green array'd,
Full in the midst starts up a silky shade;
For human taste the rich-stain'd fruitage bleeds,
The leaf the silk-emitting reptile feeds.
As swans their down, as flocks their fleeces leave,
Here worms for man their glossy entrails weave.
Hence to adorn the fair, in texture gay,
Sprigs, fruits, and flowers on figur'd vestments play:
But industry prepares them oft to please
The guilty pride of vain, luxuriant ease.

Now frequent, dusty gales offensive blow, And o'er my sight a transient blindness throw. Windward we shift. Near down th' ethereal steep, The lamp of day hangs hovering o'er the deep, Dun shades, in rocky shapes up æther roll'd, Project long shaggy points, deep-ting'd with gold. Others take faint th' unripen'd cherry's dye, And paint amusing landscapes on the eye; Their blue-veil'd yellow, through a sky serene, In swelling mixture forms a floating green. Streak'd through white clouds a mild vermilion shines, And the breeze freshens, as the heat declines.

Yon crooked, sunny roads change rising views
From brown to sandy red and chalky hues.
One mingled scene another quick succeeds,
Men, chariots, teams, yok'd steers, and prancing steeds,
Which climb, descend, and, as loud whips resound,
Stretch, sweat, and smoke along unequal ground.
On winding Thames, reflecting radiant beams,
When boats, ships, barges mark the roughen'd streams.
This way, and that, they different points pursue;
So mix the motions, and so shifts the view,
While thus we throw around our gladden'd eyes,
The gifts of heaven in gay profusion rise;
Trees rich with gums, and fruits; with jewels, rocks;
Plains with flowers, herbs, and plants, and beeves, and
flocks;

Mountains with mines; with oak and cedar, woods;
Quarries with marble, and with fish the floods.
In darkening spots, mid fields of various dyes,
Tilth new manur'd, or naked fallow lies.
Near uplands fertile, pride inclos'd, display
The green grass yellowing into scentful hay:
And thick-set hedges fence the full-ear'd corn,
And berries blacken on the virid thorn.
Mark in yon heath oppos'd the cultur'd scene,
Wild thyme, pale box, and firs of darker green.
The native strawberry red-ripening grows,
By nettles guarded, as by thorns the rose.