“
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hand always points to the
North.
Now, if we were to give you one of these tilings, would you run away 2”
“Yes, mass'r,” said the slave with emphasis; “I would go to-night-and dozens on us would go too.”
I described the perils of a runaway's course as vividly as I could.
He answered it by saying:
Well, mass'r, I doesn't care; I'd try to get to de Norf, if I'd one of dem dings.
The old Baptist slave.
At the same place, early one morning (for I was detained here several days), I saw an old colored man sitting on a pile of wood near the railroad crossing.
Beside him lay his bag of carpenter's tools.
I went up to him. He touched his cap.
“ Good morning, old man,” I said.
“ Good mornina to you, mass'r,” he rejoined.
“Are you a carpenter?”
I asked.
“Yes, mass'r; in a rough way.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixty-two year ole, mass'r.”
“ You stand your age very well, old man, I returned.
I hardly thought you were more than fifty.
But I have often noticed that colored people looked much younger than they are. What is that owing to, do you know?”
“Well, mass'r!”
said he, “I dink it's kase dey's 'bliged to live temperate.
White folks has plenty ob money, and da drinks a good deal ob liquor; colored people kent drink much liquor, kase da hasn't got no money.
Drinkina, mass'r,” remarked the negro, with the air of a doctor of divinity, “drinkina, ”
