; . . : . - 
 
IDA MAY; 
 
 of Ijittg!S Actual anft 
 
 MARY LANGDON.c. 
 
 " We speak that we do know, and tettify that we have seen." 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND. 
 
 / 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK: J. C. DERBY. 
 
 1855. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & Co., 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 
 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 HOBART & BOBBINS, 
 
 New England Type and Stereotype Foundry, 
 BOSTON. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THIS story, which embodies ideas and impressions 
 received by the writer during a residence in the South, 
 is given to the public, in the belief that it will be recog 
 nized and accepted as a true picture of that phase of 
 social life which it represents. 
 
 In the various combinations of society existing in the 
 slave States, there may be brighter, and there certainly 
 are darker scenes, than any here depicted ; but I have 
 preferred to take the medium tones most commonly met 
 with, and have earnestly endeavored to 
 
 " nothing exaggerate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice." 
 
 I have not written in vain, if the thoughts suggested 
 by the perusal of this book shall arouse in any heart a 
 more intense love of freedom, or bring from any lip a 
 more firm protest against the extension of that system 
 which, alike for master and servant, poisons the springs 
 
 M32935 
 
IV PEEFACE. 
 
 of life, subverts the noblest instincts of humanity, and, 
 even in the most favorable circumstances, entails an 
 amount of moral and physical injury to which no lan 
 guage can do justice. M. L. 
 
IDA MAY 
 
 CHAPTER I. - 
 
 " A child is always a charming novelty, although Cain was the only 
 
 really venerable and truly original baby." 
 
 DR. 0. W. HOLMES. 
 
 EVERYBODY thought that Ida May was a wonderful child, 
 and everybody said she would be completely spoiled; and 
 it was a matter of congratulation to all who desired her 
 preservation from ultimate destruction, when one day it was 
 announced that Mrs. May had give* birth to a son. 
 
 Great, indeed, was the rejoicing; not only among the 
 " dear five hundred friends," but in the quiet home of the 
 Mays. Every face wore a peculiarly happy and relieved 
 expression, from the old doctor, who met the three years 
 old Ida on the stairs, as he descended from the sick-room, 
 and, patting her dark curls, said, " So, miss, your nose is 
 out of joint, now," to the little nurse-maid Bessy, who 
 1* 
 
4 ID A MA Y. 
 
 , made. an idiotic face ard imitated the wailing of the new 
 infant, -by way: of: illustrating to the child the inestimable 
 treasure of which her mother had become possessed. 
 
 But when Miss Ida was ushered into the darkened room, 
 and saw the formidable array of phials and caudle-cups on 
 the mantel-piece, and the stern face of the nurse, who hushed 
 her first rapturous greeting *of her little brother by point 
 ing to the bed where her mother lay, the young lady began 
 to doubt the extreme benefit she had been told was to be 
 derived from this addition to the family. She stood a 
 moment, gazing around, with her large, dark eyes wide 
 open, and her rosy lips set in a queer expression. 
 
 " Come here, my darling," said her mother s feeble voice. 
 " A n t you very glad you have a little brother, and won t 
 you love him very much ? " 
 
 But the child was not in the mood for sentiment. Climb 
 ing up into a chair, in order to reach her mother, she 
 pointed with one chubby hand to the fireplace, where the 
 nurse was rocking the baby, and said : 
 
 " Mother, did God send that baby here ?" 
 
 " Yes, my love," replied Mrs. May. 
 
 "Well, then," said little miss, dropping her hand and 
 curling her lip in great scorn, "-I should think God might 
 krww better than to send him now, when you are so sick 
 you have to hire that great ugly woman to take care of 
 him." 
 
 But the little stranger, about whose coming the child 
 thus irreverently expressed her opinion, was not destined 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 long to endure the joys and sorrows of humanity. Not 
 many weeks had elapsed before the immortal flower was 
 transplanted to bloom in the gardens of Paradise, and then 
 this bright, beautiful girl was watched over with even a 
 tenderer devotion, and clasped more closely than ever to 
 the parent hearts which death had so cruelly wounded. 
 
 The baby died and was buried ; and, as Ida sat in her 
 father s arms that evening, vainly trying to comprehend 
 what was death, that had thrown such an unwonted gloom 
 over the household, she suddenly broke the silence by 
 saying : 
 
 " Where is the baby, now ?" 
 
 "The baby is an angel in heaven," replied the father, 
 sadly. 
 
 " And my little chicken, you know, father, that I killed 
 hugging it, the other day, and you buried for me, I sup 
 pose, by this time that is an angel in heaven, too. I wish 
 God knew it was mine, and then, maybe, he d let our baby 
 have it to play with." 
 
 The chicken thus referred to was one of a number of its 
 race that had been the victims of Ida^s fond but over-zealous 
 care; for, about this time, and during the summer that 
 followed, she gave her almost undivided attention to that 
 branch of ornithology that concerns the habits of domestic 
 fowls. Her great delight was to watch the chickens in the 
 henery, and many hours each day were spent in following 
 them about, and imitating their motions, until the feathered 
 bipeds came to regard her as one of themselves, and ceased 
 
6 IDA MAY. 
 
 r 
 
 to feel alarm at her presence. Sometimes she was found with 
 her rosy mouth covered with dust, after attempting to peck 
 from the ground, as she had seen her favorites do ; and she 
 came near having her eyes picked out, by an indignant hen, 
 under whose wings she tried to introduce herself, along with 
 the chickens that were brooding there. Often she would 
 climb the hen-roost, and there, supporting herself in some 
 angle, would sit patiently for a long time, balancing herself 
 on her hands and feet; and the only drawback to her pleasure 
 in this position was the melancholy fact that, notwithstanding 
 all her efforts, she could not put her head under her wing. 
 
 One evening she was missing when bed-time came, and, 
 when her mother went to the door to seek her, a childish 
 voice, that seemed to come from the clouds, answered her 
 call. Looking up into a tree that stood near, she discovered 
 Ida safely perched among the branches. 
 
 " Mercy ! " exclaimed the terrified mother, " how came you 
 up there, my child ? " 
 
 " I a n t a child now," was the reply ; " I m a hen, and 
 I m gone to roost, and I ve got up high, so the cats shan t 
 catch me." 
 
 Fortunately her father was near, and his firm arm soon 
 withdrew the little girl from her perilous position. 
 
 One afternoon her mother was telling her of God s care 
 over us all, and that he sent his angels to guard us from evil 
 and incite us to good. 
 
IDA MAY. 7 
 
 " Are they round us always ; in the night, too ? " asked 
 Ida, her eyes dilating with wonder. 
 
 " Yes, they are always with us," replied Mrs. May. " They 
 guard us while we sleep, and give us happy dreams. My 
 darling, you need never feel as if you were alone, for the 
 blessed angels are always near to protect you." 
 
 Ida was not at all timid in regard to physical danger ; but 
 the idea of the supernatural, thus suddenly presented to her 
 excited imagination, impressed her powerfully. She said 
 nothing more, however, and, unconscious of her feelings, Mrs 
 May pursued the subject some moments longer. 
 
 That evening, after she had been undressed and left alone 
 in her little bed, her parents were startled by hearing her 
 call them in a loud, distressed voice ; and, going to her room, 
 found her sitting up in the moonlight, her face agitated with 
 vexation and fear. To their inquiries, she answered with a 
 burst of tears, which could no longer be restrained, 
 
 u I wish the old angels would stay in heaven where they 
 belong. They d better be playing on their harps than stand 
 ing here watching me." 
 
 It was a great pleasure to Ida to attend church. Her quick 
 sensibilities were impressed by the solemn hush of the place. 
 The softened light, the pale face of the minister in the sacred 
 desk, and the music of the organ, thrilled her with a mysteri 
 ous awe. She was always wide awake then, and her child 
 ish soul overflowed with ecstasy ; and, as she was allowed to 
 sleep quietly during the sermon, she was inclined to consider 
 
8 IDA MAY. 
 
 the Sabbath worship, upon the whole, a very pleasant insti 
 tution. Great, then, was her disappointment when, one day, 
 she was detained at home by a slight illness. She begged and 
 cried to be permitted to go, and, as a final argument, she 
 said, looking up into her mother s face, with the greatest 
 earnestness, 
 
 " Do let me go, mother. If you will, 1 II indulge a hope, 
 I will, mother, and be a little mite of a candidate" 
 
 " My dear," was the reply, " I cannot allow you to go to 
 church, and if you really want to be good, you won t tease me 
 any more." The child turned away with a deep sigh, and 
 stood by the window, listening to the ringing of the church- 
 bells, that came musically over the fields on the pleasant 
 summer air. When they had ceased, she turned again to her 
 mother. 
 
 " Mother," said she, a curious expression of triumph 
 breaking over her face, and sparkling through the tears 
 which had been slowly gathering in her downcast eyes, "I 
 don t care if I can t go to church to-day. One of these days 
 I m going to heaven, and it is Sunday there always, and I 
 will go to church whenever I ve a mind to." 
 
 Think not, reader, that, in giving these few anecdotes of 
 her childhood, I can convey to you any proportion of the 
 quaint expressions with which my heroine was continually 
 electrifying this admiring household. Even if circumstances 
 had not made her so peculiarly dear, it would have been im- 
 
IDA MAT. 
 
 possible to withstand the winning ways and childish graces, 
 the sprightliness and intelligence that sparkled in her dark 
 eyes, and moved her restless limbs, and filled her busy brain 
 with the oddest ideas and the most amusing fancies. 
 
 Thus brightly and calmly, tinged with warm roseate hues, 
 and musical with song, dawned the day of life that was to be 
 so changeful ere its close. Thus tenderly, in a down-lined 
 nest, was the birdling brooded, whose wings should wander so 
 far over strange lands, and beneath such darkening skies 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 What, all ! did you say all ? 
 What, all mj pretty chickens and their dam 
 In one fell swpop ! " MACBETH. 
 
 World ! world ! 0, world ! 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
 Life would not yield to age." KING LEA.B. 
 
 " GOOD-EVENING, doctor." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. May, good-evening. Chilly weather this. By 
 the w*ay, I saw Mrs. May out to-day. It won t do for her to 
 breathe this air ; you must keep her in doors." 
 
 " Do you think her disease progressing ? " said Mr. May, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " No, no. Don t be alarmed ; I am not ; but we must be 
 careful ; " and the worthy doctor hurried away. 
 
 A shadow fell over Mr. May s face, and he sighed heavily 
 as he proceeded homeward. His way lay over the brow of 
 the hill, on which stood the church where he worshipped, and, 
 to shorten the distance, he usually went across the church 
 yard. As he entered it, a cloud passed from before the 
 moon, and her light fell brightly on the cross that crowned 
 the church tower ; and the sight of that blessed emblem of 
 
IDA MAY. 11 
 
 our faith raised in his mind associations and feelings that 
 stilled the deep throbbing of his heart. 
 
 Leaning thoughtfully against the low paling that enclosed 
 one of the graves, he gazed around him. 
 
 The village lay beneath him on the slope of the hill, and in 
 the valley, with its houses gleaming white in the moonlight , 
 and the same radiance glittered on the surface of the river, 
 where a vessel was slowly sailing, with her snowy wings 
 spread to the soft breeze. Lights gleamed in many windows, 
 but the quiet of evening had fallen on the streets, and the 
 low rustling of the night wind among the trees was almost the 
 only sound that fell upon his ear. 
 
 " Yes," said he aloud, " the scene suggests only ideas of 
 peace and comfort ; and yet in every home are fears and cares 
 as great as those which disturb mine. Happiness, love, and 
 the domestic ties that make life beautiful, all must end 
 here ! " 
 
 He paused^ for with startling vividness there came ovor 
 him the thought, " What if this were really the end ? " 
 and his memory ran back to the ancient time when the grave 
 was indeed the parting place ; when the eye of Faith was 
 dim, and Hope questioned fearfully of an after life. Alas 
 for the bereaved one then ! From the wide expanse of 
 nature there came no answer to the soul s great question. 
 From the shadowy bourn, whither it had fled, never might 
 the spirit return. Never might the cold lips of the dead 
 murmur a reply to the anguish of that thrilling question, " If 
 a man die, shall he live again ? " 
 2 
 
12 I D A M A Y . 
 
 Hardly can we imagine the agony of the last hours of those 
 blind heathen, when their grappling hold on life was loosened. 
 
 " Dark must have been the gushing of their tears, 
 Heavy the unsleeping silence of the tomb 
 On the impassioned soufTn elder years, 
 When, burdened with the mystery of its doom, 
 
 Mortality s thick gloom 
 Hung o er the sunny world ! " 
 
 With what a gush of exultation should gratitude ascend 
 to Him whose death, rending in twain the mysterious veil 
 that for ages had hung darkly over the portals of the tomb, 
 brought life and immortality to light ! Still doth Love weep 
 over the unconscious bier, but her tears fall not despairingly 
 as of yore. Christ hath risen. 0, words of triumph ! The 
 cherished form is not given up to darkness and the worm, 
 without the assurance that even from corruption shall come 
 forth incorruption, and the glorified body be reunited to the 
 soul that made it sentient. 
 
 Christ hath risen ! and we, too, in whose frail nature is 
 enclosed a type of his infinite being, we shall rise from the 
 sleep of the tomb, and ascend to those bright regions where 
 there is no more night. 
 
 A smile came over his face, and his heart grew less sad, as 
 these thoughts passed through his mind ; for he was a man 
 of strong religious feelings, and now, more than ever, he 
 seemed to find therein the consolation which he sought. 
 
 Eight years had passed since Ernest May brought to his 
 
I D A M A Y . 13 
 
 father s home a gentle and beautiful bride, whom time had 
 only served to make more dear to him. A pleasant home 
 it was ; nestled coseyly in a grove of trees on the hill-side, a 
 little out of the town of M , in the interior of Pennsylva 
 nia. He had inherited from his father this house, in which 
 he was born, and a sufficient fortune to satisfy his unambitious 
 desires ; and here, occupied with his favorite pursuits, and in 
 the society of his wife and child, he had enjoyed a happiness 
 that, until within a few months, seemed wholly without 
 alloy. 
 
 But now dim shadows were stealing over the brightness of 
 his days. A vague fear haunted him, and would not be 
 driven away. The husband and wife gazed on each other, 
 and felt that there was in the heart of each a thought of 
 terror, which they dared not speak. As she leaned more and 
 more heavily on his arm, and her light step grew slow and 
 faltering in their daily walks, as he marked the quick 
 panting of her breath and the fixed flush on her cheek, as he 
 saw how, day by day, her voice grew weaker, and her fair 
 flesh wasted, his heart sank within him; for he feared 
 that consumption had marked her for its victim. 
 
 She knew it also. Well she recognized the footsteps of the 
 silent destroyer, who had borne to the grave all the rest of 
 her family ; nnd, as she felt those icy fingers sealing up the 
 fountain of life, she turned shuddering from the tomb, and 
 clung with trembling hope to the home where love had sur 
 rounded her with so many blessings. For a while the weak 
 human nature prevailed over the divine, and she seemed to 
 
14 I D A M A Y . 
 
 struggle vainly for the attainment of that strong faith that 
 triumphs over death. 
 
 The moon was again hidden behind thick clouds, and the 
 rain was falling, when Mr. May left the church-yard, and, 
 after a few minutes walk, reached his own door. 
 
 Mrs. May sat in a large arm-chair before the fire, in a 
 quiet room, adorned with pictures and books, with a stand of 
 flowers in one window ; and the soft light of an astral lamp 
 filled it with brightness that shone like a welcome into the 
 night-darkness without. She had been musing silently for 
 some time, but, when her ear caught the sound of her hus 
 band s step, her pale face lighted with a smile, and she half 
 rose to meet him as he entered. 
 
 " You look tired, to-night, and sad, or thoughtful. Which 
 is it ? " said he, when he had returned her greeting. 
 
 " Perhaps both," she answered ; " for I took a walk this 
 afternoon, and I have been sitting here thinking, since I came 
 in ; and that is sad work now, is it not ? " she added, looking 
 up with a faint smile. 
 
 Her husband shook his head playfully. " Ah ! imprudent 
 woman, where did you go ? I shall have to stay at home 
 and watch you, if you are not more careful." 
 
 " I did not think it would grow so damp, or I should not 
 have ventured," she replied. " I went to see Mrs. Allin, and 
 sat a long time talking with her. How wonderful it is that 
 she should be so resigned to the death of that favorite child ! 
 He was her only comfort in life ; but yet I believe she is 
 willing, in her inmost heart, that the will of God should be 
 
I D A M A Y . 15 
 
 done. She prefers it ; she is really satisfied that her plans 
 for earthly enjoyment should be thus suddenly crushed. 
 When she was talking about it to-day, I was forcibly reminded 
 of the words of David, < Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace 
 whose mind is stayed on thee. " 
 
 " There is something sublime in such exalted piety," she 
 added, after a pause. " This conquering of all self-will, so 
 that the soul can welcome all things in a holy silence, 
 0, is not this a state of mind worth suffering much to attain ? " 
 
 " There are many qualities of mind, and many conditions 
 of life, that go to make up such a character," said Mr. May, 
 " and few attain to it. Few have strength to continue the 
 self-discipline alike amid the smooth and the rough passages 
 of existence. We are too apt to sink under affliction, with 
 a kind of dumb despair, which, if it does not murmur at the 
 hand that . chastens, says, sadly, Never was sorrow like 
 unto my sorrow. " 
 
 " And in our happy days," said his wife, " we find it easy 
 to content ourselves with a cold and Careless gratitude, that 
 lessens self-control more than even the pressure of grief. We 
 grow cold-hearted and careless, and then, when the hour of 
 trial comes, we find ourselves weak and helpless. 0, if it 
 were not so hard to feel right, and to do right ! " 
 
 Poor Mrs. May closed her eyes, to keep back the tears, 
 and sank down into her arm-chair with a deep sigh. Her 
 husband gazed upon her with a throbbing heart, for he knew 
 whither her thoughts tended; and, like a shadow falling 
 
16 I D A M A Y . 
 
 darkly down to shut her from his sight, there glided into his 
 mind the image of death. 
 
 A shudder passed over him, and, for a moment, his eyes 
 were dim ; but he would not yield to his emotions, and, taking 
 in his own the hands that had clasped themselves involunta 
 rily, as if in prayer, he said, cheerfully, 
 
 " Courage ! courage ! dear one. These tremblings and 
 fears are not for those whom the strong arm of God upholds. 
 This darkness is not for those who walk in the light of his 
 love." 
 
 "0, Ernest J" she answered, mournfully, "I am weak. 
 Never till now did I feel how weak, how incapable of self- 
 abnegation. I admire the perfection of Christian character, 
 but I shrink, weakly, wickedly, from the conflict by which 
 alone it is to be obtained. I am as one who struggles faintly, 
 in a dream, with shadows. Life passes over me, and her 
 warm breath encircles me, but there is no answering life and 
 energy within. Day after day glides from me ; hour after 
 hour more surely my destiny reveals itself. Ernest," she 
 cried, suddenly, raising herself and gazing intently into his 
 eyes, " Ernest, can you read it ? " 
 
 With an irrepressible cry of anguish, her husband caught 
 her in his arms, and clasped her to his breast, 
 
 " 0, God ! " he said, it must not be ! It shall not ,,- V 
 What can I do without you, Mary; and you -could you be 
 happy, even in heaven, without me ? " 
 
 " 0,>sh ! " said his wife, placing her thin hand over his 
 quivering lips. This is wrong. We are both wrong. We 
 
IDA MAY. 17 
 
 have lived too much for each other. Ernest, for thy sake, 
 even the eternal life, on which thou canst not now enter with 
 me, seems less dear, less glorious to me ! And 0, who will 
 guard our child with a mother s care ? Who will love her 
 with a mother s untiring sympathy and patience, if I am 
 taken away ? How can it be best that she shall sustain such 
 an irreparable loss ? O, it is hard ! it is hard to die ! 0, 
 my husband ! 0, my child ! my little child ! " 
 
 She paused suddenly, and a change came over her face as 
 ghe pressed her handkerchief to her lips. When she removed 
 it, it was colored with a bright-red stain. She had ruptured 
 a blood-vessel. 
 
 In a moment all was alarm and confusion in that once 
 happy home. The doctor was called, and the usual remedies 
 applied to stanch the bleeding, and, gently as one would 
 bear an infant, Mr. May bore the wasted form of his wife up 
 stairs to her bed, in that room she was never to leave again 
 till shrouded in the garments of the grave. From the mo 
 ment of that fatal hemorrhage the cruel disease, whose ap 
 proaches had hitherto been so silent and slow, threw oft all 
 disguise, and with sure and rapid progress consummated its 
 work; 
 
 But in that chamber of suffering, where human love wrestled 
 vainly with death, there was felt the presence of an unseen 
 Power, making strong the weak-hearted, and upholding the 
 footsteps that trod the dark valley. The prayers that were 
 offered, the ceaseless, imploring cries for help und comfort, 
 were not in vain. In that fierce furnace of affliction, beside 
 
18 ID A M A Y 
 
 those chastened ones, there walked " One having the likeness 
 of the Son of God," and in that divine companionship the 
 anguish and the terror passed away. He touched their eys, 
 and the barriers that hide the invisible were removed. All 
 that had seemed dark was lightened, all that was obscure was 
 revealed. Calmly they took the bitter cup, and drank it 
 slowly to its dregs ; and, lo ! it became a holy sacrament, 
 whereon the soul feeds as on-Jieavenly manna. 
 
 When the last word was said, and the last token given, he 
 who was left alone at midnight with his dead, bowed his head 
 in a holy and tearless silence ; for he seemed to himself to 
 have seen the portals of heaven opened, and heard the unut 
 terable words wherewith a beautified spirit was welcomed to" 
 eternal bliss. 
 
 But the child, the little one over whom that mother s heart 
 had yearned with inexpressible tenderness, the child who had 
 been borne sleeping to the silent *oom, and laid on the bed 
 beside the dying, that her hands might, till the last moment, 
 retain their ^hold of her dearest treasures; how sad was her 
 waking from that sleep beside the dead ! how pitiful the wail 
 ing cry of childhood, 0, my mother ! give me back my 
 mother ! Sadder still, and more touching, if possible, was 
 her endeavor at self-control, when she became sensible that 
 her paroxysms of grief added to her father s distress, and her 
 efforts to amuse him, wiping with her small, soft hand the 
 tears from his eyes, and striving to amuse him with the play- 
 things of which she took no notice at any other time. How 
 often, in the deep and terribje trouble which afterwards 
 
I D A M A Y . 19 
 
 befell him, did that desolate father recall these winsome acts, 
 and the musical tones of her voice, and wonder that he should 
 have esteemed himself so forlorn while he held that treasure 
 to his heart ! 
 
 For, one day, it was her fifth birth-day, three or four 
 months after her mother s death, little Ida and her nurse 
 walked out to gather flowers that grew along the side of a 
 lonely road, which led through a piece of woodland, not far 
 from the house. It was one of those glorious days in June, 
 that make poets overflow with inspiration, and awaken the 
 dormant organ of ideality in the most prosaic ; and the clear 
 air, the sunshine shimmering through green branches, and the 
 melody of birds that rang through the woods, tempted them 
 to prolong their walk till they reached the top of a hill, up 
 which, after the fashion of our ancestors, the road had been 
 made to ascend. This had once been the mail route from 
 Philadelphia, westward, but a more direct and less hilly one 
 having been constructed, the old road was left to solitude, 
 except for the occasional passing of the farmers carts, and 
 the loitering carriages of the few pleasure-seeking travellers, 
 who preferred it on account of the picturesque scenery through 
 which it wound. Having ascended the hill, Ida seated herself 
 to rest on a fallen tree that lay along a bank by the roadside, 
 and Bessy, the maid, who had gathered her apron full of 
 flowers, sat down beside her to weave them into a wreath 
 with which to ornament her straw hat. As they were thus 
 occupied, a close carnage, drawn by two horses, came slowly 
 up the hill, followed by two men, who sauntered along as if 
 
20 I D A M A Y . 
 
 enjoying the beauty of the hour and the scene. When nearly 
 opposite the fallen tree, the horses stopped of themselves, as 
 if waiting for their driver, who, with his companion, soon 
 
 came up with them. When they saw the two children for 
 
 Bessy, a maiden of fifteen, was small of her" age, and looked 
 much younger they paused, and, after looking at them a 
 moment, said a few words to each other, and then one of 
 them got into the carriage and took the reins, while the other 
 approached the place where they were sitting. Bessy was 
 accustomed to having strangers compliment the beauty of her 
 little charge, and never had she looked so beautiful as now. 
 She had taken off her hat, and her long dark curls were 
 hanging carelessly down her cheeks, and over her neck, twined 
 with a long spray of delicate pink flowers, with which she 
 had ornamented herself. The mourning-dress showed her 
 clear, dark complexion to great advantage ; her cheeks and 
 lips were like blushing rose-buds, and her brilliant eyes were 
 lighted with merriment. Seen in the softened light of her 
 leafy resting-place, with the deep shade of the forest for a 
 background, she formed a picture on which a painter s eye 
 would have-rested with untold delight. But other thoughts 
 were in the mind of the dark-browed man who now ap 
 proached them. Standing beside Ida, he twined her curls 
 around his fingers, and asked her a few questions* such as 
 are usually addressed to a pretty child, seen for the first time, 
 to which she replied fearlessly. At length, turning partly 
 away, afl if to regain his carriage, the stranger stopped sud 
 denly, and said to Bossy,"! find I ve dropped my whip 
 
I D A M A Y . 21 
 
 walkin g up, there t is, lying in the road," he added, point 
 ing to something on the ground, about half-way down the 
 hill, " come now, you re younger n I am ; s pose you run 
 down and get it, that s a good girl, and I 11 stay with the 
 little girl till you come back." 
 
 Bessy hesitated a moment, not that she thought of danger, 
 but she feared the child might not like to be left alone with a 
 stranger. " Will you stay here while I go get the man s 
 whip ? " she asked Ida. 
 
 The child turned her eyes earnestly upon him for an 
 instant, and then, unwilling to own any fear, but yet detecting, 
 with a child s instinct, something sinister in the gaze that was 
 fixed upon her, she rose from her seat, and said simply, " I 
 will go with you." 
 
 "0, no ! " replied Bessy ; " you can t run quick enough, 
 without getting tired, and there s no good place there to sit 
 and rest, as there is here. I won t be gone but a minute." 
 
 " Well," said the child, reseating herself with a dignified 
 air, which she sometimes assumed, and which was amusing in 
 one so young, " the man may go get into his carriage, and 
 I 11 stay here alone and see you go." 
 
 The stranger laughed, and took a few steps forward, and 
 Bessy ran down the hill; but when she arrived at the object 
 pointed out, she found it only a dry stick, and was turning to 
 go back, when a shriek struck her ear, and she saw the child 
 struggling in the arms of the stranger, who put her into the 
 carriage, jumped in after her, and immediately the horses 
 dashed away out of sight. Fear lent her wings ; but when she 
 
22 I D A M A Y . 
 
 reached the spot whence they had started, they were in the 
 valley below, and galloping at a pace that made pursuit hope 
 less. Still she ran after them, filled with terror and anguish 
 for the loss of the child, and yet hoping it might be that the 
 men were playing some rude joke to frighten them both, and 
 expecting every moment to see the carriage stop, and allow 
 her to take her little charge. But no ; it kept on and on, 
 never slackening its speed, and the poor girl followed, calling 
 wildly, and entreating the pity of those pitiless ones who 
 were far beyond the reaah of her voice. So long as the car 
 riage remained in sight, although far distant, she had still a 
 little hope ; and when now and then she paused for an instant, 
 to take breath, she heard, or fancied she heard, the piercing 
 cries of the poor child, and the sound stimulated her to almost 
 superhuman exertions ; so that, when at length a turn of the 
 road hid it from her eyes, and she fell down on the ground, 
 almost dead with exhaustion, she was more than two miles 
 from home. 
 
 How long she lay there, faint and insensible, she never 
 knew, but she was roused by some one shaking her arm a 
 little roughly as he raised her, and a voice that said, 
 " Bless my soul, if this a n t the little gal that lives to Squire 
 May s ! What on airth be you doin here ? " 
 
 " 0, Miss Ida ! dear, little Ida ! " moaned the girl, 
 "they ve carried her off; did you meet them, ha^ve you 
 got her ? " she added, the sudden hope awakening her to life 
 and energy. ^ 
 
 "Got who? Who s carried off? What you talking 
 
I D A M A Y . 23 
 
 about, gal, and how come you here ? " asked the astonished 
 farmer, who, having nearly driven over her, as he rode lazily 
 along to town, now stood half supporting her. Why, y<$ 
 poor cretur," he added, " one o your shoes is off, and your 
 foot s a bleeding, and you re all over dust. Who & been 
 a hurting of ye ? " 
 
 " 0, Mr. Brady ! " said Bessy, who, having by this time 
 collected her scattered senses, now recognized her companion, 
 " did you meet a carriage, with two horses, driving like mad ? 
 I was with little Ida, on the top of the hill, just out on the 
 Bridge-road, and that carriage came along, and two men were 
 after it, and one of them stopped and spoke to us, and asked 
 me to go get his whip that he had dropped, and while I was 
 going, they took the child. I heard her scream, and turned 
 round just in time to see them drive off with her, and so I 
 ran after them till I dropped down here." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Brady, who ever hear n 
 tell ! So they carried away the poor little girl, did they ? I 
 thought they was driving awful fast." 
 
 " Did you meet them ? 0, did you see her ? " said 
 Bessy. 
 
 " Well, I s pose t was them. There was a carriage and 
 two horses, jest down by widder Wilby s farm, in the hollow 
 there, and they was driving like mad. I saw them coming 
 down the hill, and so I hauled up, till they was by." 
 
 " 0, then they do mean to carry her off! O, dear ! O, 
 dear ! what shall I do ? . I shall never dare to go home and 
 
24 IDA MAY. 
 
 tll her father ! " and the girl wrung her hands in despair, 
 and sank down again in the road. 
 
 " Well, now," said farmer Brady, in his slow, calm man 
 ner, " I guess the best thing ye can do is to go home as fast 
 as ye can, I 11 give ye a lift in my wagon, and tell her 
 father, and he can go after em, with horses that 11 stand a 
 better chance o ketchin up with em, than you will." 
 
 This advice was followed, but the Brady "colt," the 
 period of whose birth was lost in the mists of antiquity, hav 
 ing been asleep for the last ten years, it was rather difficult to 
 induce him to quicken his pace on this occasion, and thus 
 some time elapsed before the distressed and impatient girl 
 reached Mr. May s house. He was not at home, and she 
 was just going to town to seek him, when he arrived at the 
 gate. His fir&t glance at the group which came to meet him 
 caused him to quicken his steps, for he knew something was 
 amiss ; and when Bessy ran forward, and, sinking at his feet, 
 sobbed out his daughter s name, a pang shot through his heart 
 so severe as to foretell in some measure the suffering that was 
 before him. 
 
 " My child what of her ? She is not dead ! " he said, in 
 the low, hoarse tones of Intense anxiety. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Bessy, but two men have stolen her 
 carried her away in a carriage ! 0, hurry and go after 
 them ! 0, Mr. May, I shall die if we don t find her ! " 
 
 Paler than death grew the face of that miserable father ; a 
 mist passed before his eyes, and for a moment he leaned heav 
 ily against the fence beside him. It was but a moment, and 
 
IDA MAY 25 
 
 then he sprang forward to order the horses put into the car 
 riage, and, having learned the sad story more explicitly from 
 Bessy, he took her with him to aid in finding their track as 
 far as she had followed it. They had no difficulty in pursu 
 ing the kidnappers forty miles, to a town where they had left 
 some horses three days before, taken in exchange others, 
 which they had now brought back, and, ordering their own, 
 had proceeded on their journey a few hours before Mr. May s 
 arrival in the same place. Without losing a moment, he had 
 fresh horses put in his own carriage, and, leaving Bessy to the 
 care of the landlady, he hired a man to assist him, when he 
 should overtake the fugitives, as he had now strong hope of 
 doing. But, unfortunately, only a few miles from town, one 
 of the linchpins came out and they were overturned. Neither 
 of them was injured, but some .part of the harness was 
 broken, and the accident delayed them an hour or two. 
 
 Once again on the way, they followed the track of the car 
 riage, with ever increasing difficulty, for it had diverged into 
 byways, and stopped at none of the large towns ; but they 
 went on as swiftly as possible to Hagerstown, just within the 
 borders of Maryland. Here they found that only the night 
 before, the object of their pursuit had been returned, with the 
 horses, to the stable from which they had been hired several 
 days previously, by a man whose appearance agreed with 
 Bessy s description of the one who had seized the child ; but 
 he had been alone both in hiring and returning the carriage. 
 By further inquiry, he ascertained that the same person had 
 hired carriages and horses at this stable several times before 
 
2t) [ D A M A Y . 
 
 and, though some curiosity had been excited with regard o 
 him, his movements had never been watched, or any suspici-./na 
 entertained respecting him. And thus the clue was lost ; for 
 the mysterious stranger was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 0, the bitter, bitter anguish of that disappointment! the 
 fearful perplexity and uncertainty with which, all that night, 
 Mr. May paced the floor of his chamber, feeling that the only 
 drop of consolation remaining for him was the thought that 
 the beloved mother of his child had been removed beyond the 
 reach of this woe. Again and again he groaned aloud, 
 " Thou hast taken her away from the evil to come," and in 
 the unselfishness of his true heart his own desolation was for 
 a moment forgotten. 
 
 When morning came, his case had become known to the 
 citizens, and many of them came to offer sympathy and all 
 of help that could be given ; but none knew what to advise, 
 and he was equally uncertain what to do.; for seven roads 
 lead in different directions from the town, and by which of 
 them should he seek his child ? At length it was determined 
 to send messengers along each route, and Mr. May joined one 
 party ; for, worn out as he was, he was too wretched to 
 remain quiet. But nothing was heard of the persons they 
 sought. It seemed almost as if the earth must have opened 
 and swallowed them up, so completely had all traces of them 
 vanished ; and nothing was left for the miserable man but to 
 retrace his steps to his lonely home, and offer a reward for 
 his daughter s recovery, in the hope that avarice might induce 
 her captors to give her up. 
 
IDA MAY. 27 
 
 Poor Bessy was entirely overcome when she saw him 
 return without the lost child, for his prolonged absence had 
 raised her expectations, and no words can tell the dull despair 
 
 of that long day during which they travelled to M . 
 
 Bessy spent it in constant tears, and frequently broke out in 
 lamentations and reminiscences; but Mr. May uttered neither 
 word nor groan, and his glaring and burning eyes seemed 
 incapable of weeping. For six nights he had not slept, and 
 had only forced himself to swallow food, meantime, that his 
 strength might not fail ; and now his whole frame was racked 
 with feverish pain, and his brain seemed bursting. The sun 
 was just setting when they reached the top of the hill where 
 the fatal deed had been accomplished; and, checking his 
 horses almost involuntarily, he looked around. Everything 
 was the same, green and beautiful as on that morning. 
 Could it be the sorrow in his own heart that cast a black 
 shadow over all ? As he sat, absorbed in gloomy thought, his 
 eye fell on something white gleaming behind the fallen tree. 
 Springing out of the carriage, and going nearer, he discovered 
 that it was his daughter s straw-hat, still crowned with the 
 faded flowers with which her own little hands had ornamented 
 it. With a choking sob, that seemed to suspend his very 
 breath, he seized and pressed it to his lips, to his heart ; arid 
 at the touch of that sacred relic of the lost one the torturing 
 tension of his nerves gave way, and throwing himself along 
 the log, he wept freely. \ They were the first tears he had 
 shed, and they saved his reason or his life. 
 
 But, ! the tomb-like silence of that deserted house ! 0, 
 3* 
 
28 IDA MAY. 
 
 the long Jays and months that followed ; the feverish excite 
 ment of hope, that was indulged only to baffle and rack the 
 soul with fresh disappointment ; the wearing heart-sickness 
 of expectations that were never realized, and the harrowing 
 fears and images of terror that haunted him like a nightmare, 
 waking him from slumber trembling and covered with the 
 cold sweat of agony, and making his days a prolonged tor 
 ment ! Handbills were issued, and scattered in every direc 
 tion, offering enormous rewards for the child, or for any 
 information respecting her ; and when they were found inef 
 fectual, Mr. May s friends urged him to believe that some 
 fatal accident had ended alike her sufferings and her life ; 
 but though this thought would have been an infinite relief, he 
 could not indulge it. One idea, suggested by the course the 
 kidnappers had first taken, was constantly present with him ; 
 and the knowledge of the fate to which his innocent and 
 beautiful child would be exposed as a slave, almost maddened 
 him. Restless and utterly heart-broken, he spent two years 
 in travelling through the Southern States, visiting every slave 
 market, and growing more and more sick with apprehension, 
 as he became acquainted with the evils inseparably connected 
 with the system in its most favorable conditions, and saw the 
 unutterable indignities and cruelties of the sla pens and 
 Auctions. 
 
 One thing which he learned, in his search, impressed him 
 
 with astonishment, and that was the number of children, both 
 
 olored and white, that have been in various ways stolen nnd 
 
 )St. From every direction tidings of this sort came to him 
 
 sometimes from those who, with the sympathy of a kindred 
 
IDA MAY. 29 
 
 sorrow, wished to condole with him on his loss, and sometimes 
 from parents too poor to prosecute the search themselves, beg 
 ging him, while looking for his own child, to inquire for theirs. 
 In a few cases he was successful in obtaining information that 
 led to the discovery of the lost ones ; but of his own little 
 wanderer he found no trace, and his hair grew gray, and his 
 form thin and bent and prematurely old ; but, however hope 
 less of success, he could not relinquish his weary journeyings. 
 At length, nearly three years after Ida s disappearance, when 
 he had spent nearly all his fortune, one of his friends in 
 
 M , received a letter from Mr. May, directing him to 
 
 sell the house and grounds, and remit him the proceeds. He 
 had heard of a little girl named Ida, who was sold in the 
 slave market in New Orleans a year previous. True, the 
 description given of the child was not exactly like his own 
 Ida ; but the auctioneer had noticed that there were no traces 
 of negro blood about her, and, as this was the only clue he 
 now possessed, he was determined to follow it. This girl had 
 been purchased by a French gentleman, who soon after took 
 her with his family to Cuba, and thither the father went to 
 seek her. Letters were again received from him at Cuba, 
 saying that the family he sought had left the island a few 
 months before for their native land ; and he was about to 
 embark for France, in the faint hope of finding his lost dar 
 ling. A few days after the date of his embarkation, one of 
 the fearful hurricanes that sometimes visit that latitude, swept 
 over the ocean, and the vessel in which he sailed was never 
 again heard from. 
 

 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " But this is a people robbed and spoiled; they are all of them snared 
 in holes and are hid in prison houses. They are for a prey, and nono 
 dolivereth, for a spoil, and none saith, Restore." ISAIAH 42 : 22. 
 
 FOR a few moments after Ida s capture, she continued to 
 scream violently, partly from fright and partly from anger at 
 the rudeness to which she had been subjected, for she had no 
 definite idea respecting the cause or the duration of her forced 
 drive in that closely-shut carriage. But when her companion, 
 shaking her violently, told her to be still or he would kill her, 
 and enforced his words by a tingling blow on her cheek, all 
 other feelings, even the sense of pain, were lost in the extrem 
 ity of terror, and she shrank away from him and sat silent and 
 motionless, save for the stifled sobs that swelled ber bosom. 
 Yet, as the swift motion continued, and she became sensible 
 that she was being borne rapidly away from home and all 
 she loved, she ventured timidly to ask her companion why he 
 had taken her, and where she was going. 
 
 " 0, I m only going to take you to ride a little way," he 
 replied. You be a good girl and keep still, and we 11 see 
 lots of pretty things." 
 
 " What made you strike me so hard for, then ? " said the 
 
IDA MAT. 31 
 
 child ; " and why did n t you let Bessy come ? I don t want 
 to go without Bessy." 
 
 " O, Bessy 11 come by and by ; and if you are good, I 11 
 give you candy." 
 
 11 1 don t want candy, and I do want Bessy. Bessy ! 
 Bessy ! come and take me ! " she cried, piteously. 
 
 "Come, now, hush!" said the man. "What are you 
 afraid of ? I 11 carry you back. Hush, I tell you ! I 11 
 be good to you, if you won t cry. I m a first-rate fellow to 
 good little girls, and they all like me. Come, stop crying 
 and give us a kiss. You re a mighty pretty little girl." 
 And, as he spoke, he drew her toward him with an ill-feigned 
 show of tenderness, and attempted to kiss her. 
 
 But the child indignantly resisted him. " Get away, you 
 bad man ! " she said ; " you shan t kiss me. You have no 
 right to take me away from papa and Bessy, and I will cry 
 till I make you carry me home again ; " and she burst into 
 wild screams, which could hardly be stilled, even for a mo 
 ment, by the fierce threats and repeated blows that were 
 administered. At length, as they slackened their pace some 
 what, in ascending a hill, the driver opened a small win 
 dow in the screen behind him, that closed the front of the 
 carriage, and said, Shaking his fist at her as he spoke, 
 
 "I see something coming up over the top o the hill, and 
 if you don t stop that young un yelling, the fat 11 be all in 
 the fire. I say, Kelly, stop her" 
 
 11 1 11 fix her, Bill," was the reply ; and, taking a thick 
 woollen scarf from under the seat, he suddenly threw it over 
 
32 IDA MAY. 
 
 her head and around her mouth, in such a way as completely 
 to smother her cries, and almost to stop respiration. Thus 
 they continued for some miles ; and when it was removed, 
 the poor child, overcome by fright and suffering, dared make 
 no further resistance, but wept silently, and at last fell into 
 an uneasy sleep. When she awoke, it was nearly dark, and 
 as soon as she opened her eyes, Kelly ordered the carriage 
 to stop ; and, taking a little cup and phial from his pocket, he 
 poured out a spoonful of dark liquid, which he diluted with 
 water from a large bottle beside him, and then put the cup to 
 her lips. It was very bitter, and, after the first swallow, she 
 drew back. Drink it ! " said he, raising his hand as if to 
 strike her ; and she complied instantly. 
 
 "There, now, that s a good girl," said he; "you shall 
 have some candy," And, as he spoke, he offered her a little 
 piece. 
 
 " I don t want the candy, but I m very thirsty, will you 
 
 give me some water ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," replied Kelly ; and, as she drank it, he added, 
 " You are a little fool not to like candy. You 11 have bitter 
 enough in this world, I m thinking, and you d better take all 
 the sweet you can get." 
 
 "Why will I have bitter enough?" said Ida, .timidly. 
 " What are you going to do with me ? " 
 
 "You ll find that out soon enough," replied her companion, 
 with a sardonic laugh ; you need n t be in any hurry. Lit 
 tie girls had n t ought to ask questions ; have n t you been 
 told that ? " 
 
IDA MAY. 66 
 
 Thus repulsed, the child sank back into her corner, and 
 said nothing more, and soon, yielding to the influence of the 
 powerful soporific she had taken, she fell into a deep slumber. 
 Thus it was that, stretched lifelessly on the seat of the car 
 riage, with her senses fast locked in oblivion, she knew 
 nothing of their stopping at the hotel to have the horses 
 changed, and made no sound by which she could have been 
 discovered. The Q.^ys that followed, during that painful jour 
 ney, were but a repetition of the first, except that her at 
 tempts at resistance became fewer as she yielded more and 
 more to the influence of fatigue, and fear, and suffering. The 
 men stopped at small farm-houses to bait their horses, and ate 
 their own food in the carriage, taking turns at driving and 
 sleeping alternately. At length, one afternoon, just after sun 
 set, the carriage passed along a road which wound round the 
 foot of a mountain, that was covered almost to its summit 
 with an apparently unbroken forest, above which the gray 
 crags, wild and broken, stood out in sharp relief against the 
 clear western sky. Suddenly the driver checked his horses, 
 and, opening the door of the carriage, his companion got out, 
 and took in his arms the passive little figure beside him. 
 Without further pause, Kelly, who was driving, applied the 
 whip, and th horses darted rapidly away ; and almost as 
 quickly, with the child still in his arms, Bill sprang behind 
 the trees, and, after plunging for a few rods through a tangled 
 maze of underbrush, he came out on a footpath, narrow in 
 deed, but distinctly defined even in that uncertain light. 
 Here, putting down his burden, he paused and sat down to 
 
34 I D A M A Y . 
 
 rest. The child stood still, and looked around her. Dim 
 shadows were on every side, in which the huge trunks of the 
 trees stood in griin silence, like threatening monsters ; but, 
 gazing up between the branches that closed above her, she 
 saw far away the blue, cloudless heavens, filled with softened 
 light, just as she had seen them last when she stood with her 
 father beside her mother s grave, and he had told her, in low, 
 loving tones of that dear mother in heaven, and of the Infi 
 nite Father who cares for all. The recollection came back 
 at. that moment, and roused her benumbed and broken spirit 
 to make one more effort to escape ; and, springing away, she 
 ran down the steep and slippery path, anywhere, anywhere, 
 even to die in that black and frightful forest, so she might 
 only be out of the reach of those cruel men. But, poor little 
 thing ! her feeble limbs had not strength in proportion to her 
 resolute soul ; and she had gone but a few rods, when a rough 
 hand grasped her dress, and shook her with such force that 
 the fastenings parted behind, and one sleeve was torn entirely 
 a way. 
 
 " Take that, and that ! " said Bill, violently striking her 
 bare shoulders. " And hark, now, you little fool ! if you re 
 up to any o these tricks, I 11 come nigh to kill you ! Shut 
 up, now ; don t yell it 11 be worse for ye it / ^u do." But, 
 regardless of these threats, and thinking som, one passing 
 in the road beneath might hear her, the courageous child 
 continued to scream loudly ; and it was only by muffling her 
 in the scarf, and carrying her nearly all the way in his 
 a.ms, that the man was able to stifle her cries and force her 
 
IDA MAY. 35 
 
 up the steep path. At length, about halfway up the moun 
 tain, they came out on a level space in front of a steep rocky 
 cliff, more open to the light than the path had been, but still 
 so surrounded with trees as to be hidden from the view of 
 travellers in the road below. Here, before the djoor of an 
 old log hut, sat an aged negro woman smoking. 
 
 This woman, whose name was Chloe, had been through 
 many of the rough passages of life. Her mother, a beautiful 
 colored girl, with eyes full of passion and a heart of fire, had 
 been kept as the mistress, and treated as the wife of her mas 
 ter, a planter in South Carolina, who was really very fond of 
 her, and would gladly have made her free. But the laws of 
 the State rendered that impossible, unless she was sent out of 
 its borders, and, as she was extremely attached to him, it was 
 hard for both of them to separate ; and so the matter was 
 delayed from time to time, until Death, that worst foe of the 
 happy slave, suddenly came, and left her worse than a widow, 
 and her children more than fatherless. Chloe, the eldest 
 child, was old enough to appreciate fully the miserable change 
 in their condition, and to participate in her mother s grief, 
 when the property was divided among several heirs, and they 
 were compelled to give up various articles of valuable jewelry 
 and dress, the gifts now doubly dear of their indulgent 
 benefactor, and sent away from the home where they had been 
 so happy, to live as slaves in another family. In all the 
 reverses of fortune throughout the world there is none so 
 great as this. In all other cases the sufferer has himself left, 
 the slave has not even himself. 
 
36 I D A M A T . 
 
 Ohloe and her mother were both of a bold, imperious dis 
 position, and both had been indulged to the last degree by 
 the easy-tempered man, whose fondness had " spoiled them, 
 completely spoiled them," as their new mistress remarked 
 on one occasion to her friends. " The mother especially is 
 one of the most impudent and ungrateful creatures in the 
 world, even for a nigger, and we all know they are a 
 thankless set enough. She made such a fuss about having 
 her family separated, that we took a good deal of pains to 
 keep them together, and she has never seemed to be the least 
 in the world grateful for it. She will beat her children her 
 self, if they trouble her, but if one of us touch them, she 
 makes a terrible time." 
 
 And so, indeed, it was ; and a hard time had both mistress 
 and servant to live along together. Elsie had so long had 
 her time at her own disposal, and lived in luxury and ease, 
 that the plain dress in which she was now clothed, the bare 
 walls and scanty furniture of her mean dwelling, and the 
 menial service required of her in her new position, were hard 
 to be borne, and added to the poignancy of grief with which 
 she mourned for the dead. That very grief became a source 
 of contention ; for her mistress, having been always accus 
 tomed to regard the negroes as not having feelings and rights 
 in common with the white race, insisted that it was sulleuness, 
 and not sorrow, that made her sad, and sternly forbade her to 
 mention her master s name in her presence ; telling her she 
 ought to be ashamed of the connection instead of making a 
 parade of it, and loading her with opprobrious epithets, 
 
IDA MAY. . , 37 
 
 she dared call herself his wife. Judge not Mrs. Gorham toe 
 harshly; her words were but the effect of her education, and 
 she did not know she was cruel. It is not the least evil of 
 slavery, that it checks and renders impossible the kindly flow 
 of woman s sympathies towards the suffering and degraded. 
 Neither was Mrs. Gorham naturally a bad-tempered woman ; 
 but she had a desire for neatness and thrift, and the effort to 
 attain these in a household of idle and careless servants, who 
 had no ambition to excel, and evaded their work in every 
 possible manner, had gradually worn out her patience. She 
 could seldom bring herself to have them whipped, however 
 much they exasperated her ; but she never praised, and she 
 often scolded them from morning till night. This was annoy 
 ing even to those who, having grown up with her, were accus 
 tomed to it, and to the high-spirited Elsie it was almost 
 intolerable, and often provoked insolent replies. Then, too, 
 this slave-mother had been encouraged to believe, that she 
 had a right to her own children, and she found it very hard 
 to be silent when her plans for them were frustrated, or 
 when she saw them always blamed for any childish quarrel 
 that occurred, and obliged to yield their rights and wishes to 
 the caprice of their young masters. The young olive- 
 branches that were growing up in this house were no more 
 crabbed or crooked than others of their species ; but, in a 
 family of ten girls and boys, there is always more or less of 
 human nature, and the apparent equality between the black 
 and white children that played together in the yard, only 
 eoade more galling the real superiority that was continually 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 JL.AJ.I 
 
 whole 
 
 .,u ; , 
 
 assumed by the latter. Poor Chloe, who never forgot her 
 father, and was proud to be his child, was continually rebel 
 ling against the authority of her little companions ; and many 
 were the occasions on which her mistress found it necessary 
 to interfere, and by taunting words, or by blows, to remind 
 her that, after all, she was " nothing but a nigger," and must 
 learn her place. 
 
 It was at one of these times, when the child had gone cry 
 ing to her mother, that Mr. Gorham overheard Elsie break out 
 into a perfect torrent of insolent reproach, and actually by 
 force prevent the punishment that his wife was about to ad 
 minister because Chloe had struck one of the children. 
 Stepping forward to the group, who were gathered near the 
 door of Elsie s room, in the yard, he said, " Is this the way 
 you talk to your mistress ; and you, Mrs. Gorham, do you 
 allow such impudence ? It 5 s enough to spoil all the negroes 
 on the place. Here, James, Henry," beckoning to his two 
 sons, who stood by, bring that girl here." 
 
 This command being obeyed without difficulty, for the 
 lole party were struck with a sudden panic, Now," he 
 old, "boys, you hold her, while your mother punishes her as 
 much as she thinks proper." 
 
 Mrs. Gorham looked at her husband appealingly. Her 
 
 temper had cooled, and she did not care now to inflict the 
 
 lows ; but she saw that he was angry, and she knew that if 
 
 she refused he would take the stick, and give Chloe a severe 
 
 hipping, so she struck a few times lightly, and then let her 
 
 Mr. Gorham was satisfied with having established hia 
 
IDA MAY. 39 
 
 wife s authority, and said nothing more at that time ; but 
 when he met Elsie again, in crossing the yard, he told her that 
 if she ever used such language again, as he had heard that 
 afternoon, he would have her tied up and whipped. " You 
 dare n t whip me," she exclaimed, in a dreadful rage ; " you 
 know I was almost your brother s wife, and these are his 
 children, your own nephews and nieces, you are knocking 
 round this way. It is enough to make him rise out of his 
 grave ! I dare you to whip me ! " 
 
 Mr. Grorham answered not, but his face was white with 
 passion as he turned away, and that night Elsie was sent to 
 the city jail to be severely flogged. Desperate at this treat 
 ment, she embraced the first opportunity to run away, was 
 pursued and taken, and locked up again in jail. " Shall I give 
 her a good cutting-up ? " said the jailer, as he received her. 
 " No," replied Mr. Gorham, who stood by ; " it s no use. I 
 can t be troubled with her any longer, and I won t have her 
 lamed, so as to spoil the sale of her. I 11 find a purchaser 
 that will take her out of town ; " and, in pursuance of this 
 determination, the next week Elsie went southward with a 
 gang of slaves for the sugar plantations. 
 
 Chloe knew all this, and, not seeing the necessity of the 
 case, or understanding how much her mother s conduct had 
 annoyed her master and mistress, she persisted in thinking 
 herself and her mother very badly treated, and became more 
 sullen and ill-tempered than ever. Thus she grew up, chang 
 ing masters occasionally, and with these early memories rank 
 ling in her breast, she was never a favorite or a useful ser- 
 4* 
 
40 I D A H A Y . 
 
 vant. Then came other troubles. Every one who has lived 
 with the slaves, knows that deep conjugal affection and 
 fidelity, though sometimes found, are comparatively rare among 
 that class. The uncertainty that attends their union, and 
 their frequent separations, universal habit, and the laws of 
 the land, all tend to prevent it. It is not to be supposed that 
 Chloe often felt very deeply the breaking of those liaisons 
 which, at various times, she formed in common with others of 
 her race ; but the whole energy of affection in her fierce nature 
 was centred on her children, whom she loved with a fondness 
 that, coupled as it was with the fear of losing them, made life 
 and love itself a torture!. When the last one was taken from 
 her she fell down in a fit, and, from that moment, no one ever 
 saw her manifest any trace of the kindlier feelings of our 
 nature. Compassion had no effect upon her, and harshness 
 she returned with a wild and defiant rage, that made cruelty 
 itself draw back appalled. 
 
 It may easily be supposed that a servant so troublesome 
 would be often exposed for sale, and that kind masters would 
 hardly care to purchase her; and thus, after a life of vicissi 
 tudes, gradually growing sterner and more terrible, she fell 
 at last into the hands of a man who was connected with a 
 gang of kidnappers. It was necessary to have some rendez 
 vous on the borders of the free States, and she was found to 
 be just the person wanted to guard it. Toward all of the 
 white race she displayed a hatred that might be called 
 inhuman, if human nature had not often showed itself capable 
 of deeds at which fiends might blush, and even towards those 
 
I D A M A Y . 41 
 
 of ner own race, who were in happier circumstances than 
 herself, she was willing to do all the injury in her power. 
 
 By accident these kidnappers had discovered, upon this 
 mountain, a cave, of sufficient size to suit their purposes ; and, 
 by building a hut directly in front of the opening, it was 
 effectually concealed from all eyes. Hither they came from 
 the south, bringing with them provisions for themselves and 
 their horses. Their large covered wagon was Lift hidden 
 among the trees and bushes near the road, but the animals 
 were led up the path, and driven in the cave ; and here also 
 were concealed the children that were from time to time cap 
 tured, until a wagon-load had been collected; and old Aunt 
 Chloe kept watch over all. Her wants were supplied by her 
 masters, and she only went to Hagerstown, a few miles dis 
 tant, with the willow baskets that she wove and exchanged 
 for the necessaries of life, so as to prevent the suspicion and 
 inquiries of the few country people who were aware of her 
 existence in this lonely retreat. Her appearance was per 
 fectly hideous. Her gray hair hung in elf locks over her 
 neck, from under the dirty cotton handkerchief that bound her 
 brows, and her face, tawny, and wrinkled, and seamed with 
 age, was stamped with every bad passion. Her form was 
 bent, and she was covered with a short gown and petticoat, so 
 dirty and patched, that it was difficult to tell of what color or 
 material the original was composed ; and her hands and fin 
 gers, bony, long and claw-like, resembled a vulture s talons 
 more than anything human. 
 
 Such was the being who now rose from her seat beside the 
 
42 I D A M A Y . 
 
 door, and, taking the pipe from her mouth, said, with some 
 appearance of curiosity, "Hillo! what dat ? Reckon yer 
 done rob de white hen-roost dis time ! " and a fiendish expres 
 sion passed over her face, as she stretched forth her snaky 
 fingers, and, burying them in the child s curly hair, drew her 
 towards herself. The act, and her frightful appearance, 
 caused Ida to cry with pain and terror. " There t is again," 
 said Bill " that s just the way it s been every minute of the 
 time the gal s been awake, since we started. Shut up, there, 
 I tell yer ! " 
 
 " Gosh ! what s de good o tellin her to shet up ? " said 
 Chloe. Dey allers cries dat way till you gets em broke in. 
 Crying for your mammy ? " she added, addressing the child ; 
 " got a mammy, a n t ye ? " 
 
 "0 no, no!" sobbed Ida, "poor mamma s dead, and 
 papa s all alone. 0, do let me go back to papa ! " 
 
 " Sorry yer mammy s dead," said Chloe ; wish she wara t, 
 for I knows how she d feel to have ye toted off, how she d 
 cry ! 0, would n t she, though ? and tear her hair, maybe. 
 How I d like to see her, wouldn t I? Has*t I seed de 
 nigger women cry so when dere chillen was toted off to be 
 -don t I member when dey took my darter,-- 0, 
 don t I ? Sorry your mammy s dead, -got a daddy, though, 
 to feel bad, a n t ye ? " 
 
 0,yes. Poor papa! Do, please, take me home again," 
 and the child cried piteously. 
 
 " Shut "P - here, said Bill, striking her. ]) you sup- 
 pose I 11 stand this yelling, much longer ? 
 
 " 
 
I D A M A Y . 43 
 
 " Gosh ! " interrupted his companion, " what de use talkin ? 
 just give her somraat to break her sperit ; dat de way dey 
 do de young nigs when dey cries for dere mammys. I se 
 hearn em cry, and seen em whipped for it, many de time ; 
 and I se hearn heaps o white buckra say dere nothin like a 
 good breakin -in, to save trouble aterwards. Dat s what 
 does it, breaks dere sperit and learns em dere place." 
 
 " Zounds ! I declare, I believe t will be a first-rate plan," 
 said Bill, with an oath, " and it may as well be done now as 
 any time; for, blame me, if the little jade didn t try to get 
 away, cornin up the hill, and I m tired of hearing her yell ; " 
 and, as he spoke, he cut from the tree beside him a long rod, 
 which he stripped of its leaves and swayed in the air to prove 
 its strength. " Come here," he added, seizing Ida by one 
 arm ; " I 11 learn ye to mind." 
 
 But the woman interposed. " Let me" she said, " 0, do ! 
 that s a nice feller,. ye don t know the good t 11 do me. 
 Don t I member when de white man flog my darter, my little 
 girl, dat cried cause she was sold off from me, and dey 
 whipped us both till de blood run down, to make her let go 
 my gown ? 0, do let me do it, now, do ! Ye don t know 
 the good it do me, just to think of it ! " 
 
 " Take it, then ; but mind yourself what you do," said Bill, 
 throwing down the rod and releasing his hold of the child. 
 
 " 0, don t whip me, don t ! " cried Ida; " I 11 be good, I 
 won t cry ! 0, don t whip me ! " 
 
 " I wants ye to cry, I likes to hear ye, it s moosic," 
 said the hag, pausing with the rod uplifted, to enjoy her 
 
44 I D A M A T . 
 
 agony of terror. " Cry now, cry loud ! " and, as she spoke, 
 the rod descended on the bare, delicate shoulders. " Cry, ye 
 white wolf-cub ! cry, ye white bear-whelp ! scream, ye little 
 rattle-snake ! I likes to hear ye, cry away, I 11 make 
 ye pay for the blood of my child, where the whips cut her ! " 
 And fast and heavily fell the blows on the arms and shoulders 
 of the victim, covering them with blue, livid marks ; till sud 
 denly, the shrieks of the child stopped, her struggles ceased, 
 and she fell down at the feet of her tormentor. 
 
 All this had passed in a minute, and Bill, who had stood 
 by, half-amused and half-shocked at this burst of demoniac 
 fury, now sprang forward, with an oath, and raised the child. 
 " You Ve killed her, you she-devil, I do believe," said he ; 
 and, indeed, she lay in his arms as if dead, for this terrific 
 ordeal had been too much for that tender frame, so unused 
 to suffering. She had fainted. Chloe put both hands into a 
 pail of water, that stood outside the door of her hut, and, 
 scooping some up, dashed it into Ida s face, again and again, 
 until she gasped and opened her eyes. 
 
 " There, now," she said, "she s come to. I se glad she 
 a n t dead. I don t like ter have folks die, dat s too good, 
 de a n t no pain in dat, -I likes ter have em live, and, 
 noreudder, I wants dis little brat to live, so I can do it 
 0, wasn t it jolly to hear her yell!" she added, 
 with a chuckling laugh. 
 
 "No you don t, old fool!" sa id Bill, as she again ap- 
 preached with the rod, as if about to carry out her cruel 
 d-re; "noyedon t-handsoff! I was mad, or I would u t 
 
IDA 31 A Y . 45 
 
 a let ye whip her at first. T won t do to spile property this 
 way, or Kelly 11 be in my hair. Besides, she s mighty nigh 
 dead, now, see how still she lays." 
 
 "Gosh! dead, I reckon!" said Chloe. Sich a little 
 whippin as dat kill any young un ! I se seen em bear 
 heap more n dat fore dey faints away, down in Carolina ; and 
 dey don t bring em to wid water, neider, I makes sure, 
 dey takes somepun stronger n dat, 0, a n t I felt it ? 
 don t de pickle put de life into a nigger, when he done had a 
 cuttin -up ? " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you brute ! " replied Bill. " White 
 children a n t to be treated like niggers, and, any way, you 
 never see nigger children pickled, neither. Hold your tongue." 
 
 " White children a n t to be treated like niggers, a n t dey, 
 hey ? " said the other, with a grin that showed her toothless 
 gums from ear to ear. " Mighty sight difference dey 11 be 
 tween dat little brat in yer arms, and dem little niggers in 
 de cave, when ye gets em in de market." 
 
 " Well, hold yer tongue, any way ; I m sick o yer clack," 
 interrupted Bill, " and go into the house and get my supper, 
 and make some gruel like you made for me when I was sick 
 here make it nice, old woman, for I mean it shall do this 
 little cretur some good. She a n t eat enough to keep a fly 
 alive since we got her, and; arter all the expense we ve been 
 at, we can t afford to have her die on our hands." 
 
 Chloe reluctantly entered the hut to obey this order, mut 
 tering to herself, and licking her flabby lips, like a hyena 
 who has tasted blood and is driven from its prey. In a little 
 
46 I D A M A Y . 
 
 while Bill followed, carrying the child, who had not spoken^ 
 and hardly showed any sign of life, except by a low, quick 
 breathing, and a convulsive shudder that now and then passed 
 over her. Laying her on the rude bed, that stood in one 
 corner of the hut, he began to chafe her limbs, and force 
 her to swallow a little water, for he was now seriously 
 ularmed lest she might die. She d be worth a cool five hun 
 dred to us," he said, mournfully, " beside being sich a pretty 
 little thing, as makes me most sorry for her." Jndeed, it 
 would have moved a heart of adamant to see her, as she lay 
 helplessly on that heap of dirty rags, with her long curls wet 
 and clinging round her face, her eyes wide open and dim, as 
 if a mist was before her sight, and her white neck and arms 
 bruised and disfigured with the marks of violence. She 
 allowed herself with difficulty to be fed with the gruel; but 
 she seemed not to know who was feeding her, or be conscious 
 of anything that passed beside her bed, and no threats or 
 entreaties could induce her to speak, or to close her eyes in 
 
 Wearied out at length, Bill left her, and, seating himself 
 at the table, where a hot corn-cake and a rasher of bacon were 
 now smoking, he consoled himself for his fatigues and troubles 
 by a plentiful repast. When he had finished, he stretched 
 himself before the fire. I won der if I 11 have time to uke 
 a nap before Nick Kelly comes," he said. 
 
 " Ye have n t once axed for de little nigs in de cave," said 
 !hloe,withagrin; "don t ye feel anxious bout dem dear 
 little creturs,- praps dey wants some gruel, too." 
 
T I D A M A Y . 47 
 
 " Law, no," replied Bill ; they re safe enough when 
 they re once in your claws. A body might as well try to 
 run away from Satan as to get away from you, no danger 
 of the niggers." 
 
 "But praps dey wants some gruel," persisted Chloc. " Tell 
 ye what, dey s cried for de mammy, much as if dcy was 
 white, and I se had to carry in dis ting more n once, and I 
 neber see but it hurt nigger flesh just as quick as white flesh ! " 
 and, as she spoke, she took from a shelf a stout cowhide, and 
 flourished it around. 
 
 "Get out, ye old hag! you make me sick ye don t 
 seem to think o nothing but whipping," said Bill, with an 
 oath. 
 
 " Dat s cause I se seen so much of it, it s been beat 
 into me ! " replied she. " 0, gosh ! down on de sugar-plan 
 tations is de place; and I ll tell ye what," she added, 
 earnestly, " pears like I neber see white buckra, or white 
 child, but I want to get em somewhar, and tie em up, and 
 gib it to em, pears like twould do me good, pears 
 like t would pay me for de blood o 1 my darter, when she was 
 holdin on ter my gown , and for all de blood ut s been took 
 out o dis yer old black carcass, in some o de cuttings-up I se 
 got." 
 
 " Now, I declare," said Bill, raising himself and leaning 
 on one elbow, " I knew you was "about the wickedest old ha* 
 
 O 
 
 that s managed to keep out of the fire down below, but I never 
 
 saw ye quite equal to this evening. What s come over ye ? " 
 
 " Tt s dat child dat cretur, dat s done it," said Chloe, 
 
48 I D A M A Y . 
 
 shaking her co\vhide towards the bed. " I allus feels so 
 when I gets hold of a white young un. Pears like it bring 
 all my whole life up afore me, to see dese little waxy tings, 
 dat s dressed up and took sich care of, as if dey was n t de 
 same flesh and blood as niggers. 0, a n t it fun to find dey 
 feels jest de same tings hurtin em dat niggers does?" 
 
 " Why, what sets you on so against white folks ? " said 
 Bill. " I never saw as you was treated worse than other 
 folks." 
 
 " Dat ? s de ting," replied Chloe, eagerly ; " dat de bery 
 ting. Ef t was me alone, I might tink, as dey use tell me, 
 t was cause I se given up to Satan, and was worse n odder 
 folks. But I se been in good many places, and seen good 
 many o my peoples, and when dey s best off, dey s no better 
 off n dogs or horses, dat s fed and played wid till de massa 
 dies, and den sold, and when dey s bad off, de Lord knows 
 dat s bad nuff." 
 
 " But the rest of em don t feel so hateful and go on so, 
 why need you ? You say yourself you was ugly, and, I dare 
 My, dosurved all you got." 
 
 " No I did n t, not all," she replied. " What right had 
 ! ".n ar buckra make me work for nothin , and take my chillen 
 jui.l sell em ? Tell ye what ! I se seen tings ! I se had 
 tings to bear! Seven little picininnies I bung into dis yer 
 worle o struble, and see em kicked, and cuffed, and bused, 
 one w:,y n odder, till dey was sold away from me, or I was 
 *>1<1 uwayfrom dem ; and my heart, pears like t were all 
 tore and stuck full o thorns, till t last, when 1 ksew my last 
 
IDA MAY. 4i) 
 
 child was comin , I goes qut in de cane-brake, I, dat luu 
 de little unborn baby a heap site better n my life, and feels 
 as if de child s mouth suckin at my breast would draw away 
 de dreffle pain^ere," and she laid her hand on her heart, 
 " I goes and kneels down in de night, and prays de Lord dat 
 de little cretur may neber draw de bref of life." 
 
 " You pray ! " said Bill, with a sneer. " I reckon the 
 Lord would be astonished to see you on your knees now. 
 You pray, indeed ! a pretty hand you d be at it ! Why 
 did n t you kill it yourself, if you felt so bad? I ve known em 
 do it ! " 
 
 " I could n t" replied Chloe. " I know some o em does, 
 but I could n t. Ebery time I took it in my arms to kill it, 
 pears like all de strength goed out o me, and de little baby 
 was stronger n I was." 
 
 Then it lived, did it ? " said Bill. " The Lord did n t 
 hear ye, t wan t no account, your prayer." 
 
 " Hear me, no ! " she replied, fiercely. " Dere a n t no 
 Lord, dere a u t nothin but de debil, and he hab it all his 
 own way in dis yer country. No fear but he 11 hear when 
 anybody call him." 
 
 " Yes, I think so," said Bill. " Any way, if there is a 
 devil he s some relation o yourn. What s the good o your 
 being so ugly? I never saw a nigger like you." 
 
 " Dey s all like me," interrupted Chloe, " ony dey keeps it 
 in, cause dey s scare ob de white folks, and dey purtends 
 dey purtends it s de ony way to get along easy, is pur- 
 tendin . But / neber could, more n a little while to orice t, 
 
00 I D A M A Y . 
 
 it went agin me, somepun came jrp in my throat and chocked 
 me when I tried to cringe, and be so mighty spectful, like de 
 white folks wants to hab dere niggers. I oilers was imperdent. 
 praps t was cause I had too much o my white daddy 
 in me." 
 
 Bill burst into a loud laugh at this last sally, arid, at the 
 same moment, the form of Nick Kelly appeared in the 
 doorway. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " 0, pity, God, this miserable age ! 
 
 What horrid things, how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, 
 Black-hearted man doth daily perpetrate ! " 
 
 KING HENRI- SIXTH. 
 
 " THERE seems to be plenty o jaw in here," said the new 
 comer, good-naturedly ; " what s the row ? " 
 
 " Nothin ," said Bill, " only we ve been having a canip- 
 meetin , and our beloved sister Chloe s been tellin her ex 
 perience." 
 
 " That s it, is it ? " replied Kelly. Well, then, what s 
 sister Chlce s experience with young niggers ? How are they 
 in the cave ? " 
 
 " 0, dey s peart enuff," said she. " Young uns will whim 
 per little, ye know ; but dis ole nigger s de one to learn em 
 shet up dere mouf." 
 
 " Come on, then, and let us look at em," said Kelly, shut 
 ting and bolting the door ; "the moon is set, and the sooner 
 we get started now the better. How s the child ? " As he 
 spoke he took up the candle and went to the bed ; but the 
 moment his eye fell on her, he started, and exclaimed angrily, 
 5# 
 
52 IDA MAY. 
 
 Who s been meddling with this child ? What did you beat 
 
 her for?" 
 
 Why, you see," said Bill, rising and coming forward, 
 "the little cretur was so obstropolous comin up the hill, that 
 I got mad, and set out to give her a lickin , and Aunt Chloe 
 here took the business out o my hands, and, fore I knowcd 
 it, she gave her a pretty considerable of a brakin in, and the 
 cretur could n t stand it, and fainted, or had a fit, or somethin 
 o that sort ; and ever since she s laid that way. Do you 
 s pose she s shamming ? " 
 
 " There s no sham about this," replied Kelly, " and it s 
 my belief you ve nigh about killed the child. Five hundred 
 dollars jest thrown away, cause you couldn t keep your 
 cursed temper. And as for you, you old hag," he added, 
 turning to Chloe fiercely, "you deserve a good cutting-up 
 for interfering in this way in your master s property." 
 
 " Come on, den," replied she, with a shrug of the shoulders 
 and a malicious grin; "come on, reckon ye better. Dis 
 ole hag don t know enuff to hang ye both, do she? ha! 
 ha!" 
 
 " Know enough ! " responded Kelly ; " to be sure you do ; 
 but what good will that do you ? t a nt law for a nigger s 
 oath to hang a white man in this country, I reckon," 
 
 " Come, now," interrupted Bill, in a low tone, " she can do 
 us considerable harm, if she would n t be allowed in court ; 
 she can inform about this young one here, and a pretty 
 hue-and-cry that would bring round our ears. Don t be 
 quarrelling." 
 
IDA MAY. 53 
 
 Thus reminded, Kelly stifled his anger as best he could, 
 and moved toward the other end of the hut near the cave. 
 Chloe, seeing the turn things were taking, followed, saying, 
 " Sure nuff, what s de good o fightin ? Dey all has to be 
 broke in some time, oilers, and it s easier to hab it 
 done up here dan when you se on de road. Must be mighty 
 onconveuieut den." 
 
 "That s true," replied Kelly; "but it don t do to whip 
 white children like they were niggers." 
 
 " Yes," responded Bill, " white folks is white folks, and 
 niggers is niggers." 
 
 " Niggers is niggers, is dey ? " rejoined Chloe. " I neber 
 could see, fur my part, but de nigger flesh feels jest de same 
 tings white flesh does. Dem two little niggers you toted in 
 here last month, dey was mighty sight like dat white young 
 ; un ater I broke em in ; did n t know but dey was dead sure 
 nuff, dey swine way so long." 
 
 " What made you beat em so ? " asked Kelly, angrily. 
 
 " Bress your soul, I has to, has to make em y fraid to 
 cry, else dey d cry emselves to death fur dere mammys. 
 Allers had to, else you could n t do nothin 1 with em, dey s so 
 obstropolous to git away. Pears like t a nt nateral to em to 
 be stolen, neber is." 
 
 By this time, Kelly had drawn away some pegs by which 
 two or three short pieces of board had been nailed to the 
 logs, apparently for the purpose of holding the domestic uten 
 sils that were hanging on them. This being done, showed 
 that the wall, instead of being formed simply of upright logs, 
 
54 
 
 DA II AY. 
 
 contained a large door, made of boards, ingeniously covered 
 with unbroken semicircular strips of hemlock bark, corre 
 sponding to the construction of the rest of the building. The 
 joints of this door were concealed by the strips of board that 
 had been taken down, and it opened directly into the cave, 
 which was spacious, dry, and well ventilated by a large 
 aperture in the roof. This opening, which had evidently been 
 formed by the same stream of water that originally hollowed 
 out the cave, led, by a winding subterranean course, nearly to 
 the top of the mountain, where it had a small outlet under a 
 flat rock ; and the sound of human voices, the neighing of 
 horses, the shouts of laughter, and the screams of distress, 
 which, thus mysteriously conducted, had been sometimes heard 
 around that spot by the solitary wood-cutter or huntsman, had 
 given the whole vicinity an evil name. There were few who 
 ascended the mountain, even by day, without a thrill of super- 
 stitious fear, and not a man in all the country round would 
 liavc lingered upon it after dark; so that the unearthly horror 
 which had gradually invested the place was an additional 
 shield to the perpetrators of these deeds of wickedness. 
 
 In one side of the cavern a few rude stalls had been con 
 structed, and here the three horses of the kidnappers were 
 ed, while, on the other side, huddled together on a heap of 
 raw, were six negro children, who had been stolen within a 
 few months from different parts of the country, and brought 
 for safe-keeping, until a sufficient number were collected 
 1 the wagon, and make it worth while to proceed south 
 ward with them. It was pitiable to see the condition to 
 
\ 
 
 IDA M A Y . 5l) 
 
 which these children had been reduced by their confinement 
 in this dark place, and the discipline that Chloe had found 
 necessary to make them docile and fit tli-an for the condition 
 of slavery into which they were to be sold. True, they had 
 been fed daily with wholesome food, and taken out separately 
 for exercise, under the care of their jailer, who knew that her 
 masters wished to find them in good saleable condition ; but 
 being seldom washed, they were all more or less dirty and 
 ragged, and in their faces the careless gayety of childhood had 
 given place to the cowering expression Of abject terror. They 
 had evidently been well " broken in," and would make no op 
 position to whatever fate might await them. 
 
 " Well now, my little dears," said Bill, ironically, as he 
 held the candle close to their faces, " a n t ye tired stayin in 
 this dark place? Won t ye like a little ride by way of 
 variety ? " 
 
 The children shrank together, as if for protection, but made 
 no reply, until one of them ventured to ask, in a timid 
 whisper, 
 
 " Will you take us home ? " 
 
 ".No, my little dears," replied Bill, "couldn t do that 
 nohow; twould n t be convenient jest now. Besides, we re 
 goin to do better than that for ye ; we re goin to sell ye to 
 some nice man, that 11 be kind enough to larn ye what yer 
 ought to do, and take care o yer ; and yer can t think how 
 much better off ye 11 be than if yer was to home, where ye d 
 have no good master, nor be nothin but a poor devil of a free 
 nigger when ye got growed up. Yer can t think how happy 
 
56 IDA MAY. 
 
 jer 11 be. We be your real benefactors ; t a n t many folks 
 twould take the pains we does, all for nothin hardly but 
 your good. Yer ought to be thankful to us, instead o 
 snivellin that way. But folks is allers ongrateful in this 
 world, especially niggers," he added, rolling up his eyes, and 
 laying his hand on the place where his heart was supposed to 
 be, with a gesture of mock humility and resignation. Chloe 
 laughed aloud, but Kelly, who was not in a mirthful mood, 
 said gruffly, Come, now, stop your foolin . We ve got some 
 work to do to-night, and the sooner we re at it, the better." 
 
 " Foolin ! me foolin ! " said Bill ; I never was so serious 
 in my life. I m tryin to enlighten these little heathen, 
 kind of a missionary preacher like, ye know, to show em 
 the blessings o slavery, that they ve been growin up in 
 ignorance of. I hearn a minister preach about it wice, at 
 Baltimore, and he proved it all right out o the Bible, how 
 slavery was what the Lord made the niggers for, and how 
 them was particular lucky as was slaves in this land o 1 light 
 and liberty, where they was treated so much better n they 
 would be if they was in Africa, and all that. I can t remem 
 ber jest how twas done, but I know he give it to the aboli- 
 ionists powerful, for tryin to disturb em when they was so 
 happy, and he proved out o the Bible, too, how they ouht to 
 i em back, instead o helpin em away " 
 
 -t of the Bible ! replied Kelly, who had been putting 
 
 the harness upon the horses, in which occupation he was noC 
 
 [ by his companion. "Yes, it s enough to make the 
 
 devil laugh to see what some folks will try to pro^ out of the 
 
I D A M A Y . 57 
 
 Bible. If there is a God, and if he made that book, as they 
 say t.3 did, I reckon he feels mighty nigh used up, when he 
 sees some of the preachers get up in the pulpit, and twist and 
 turn his words all sorts of ways, to prove what will be most 
 for their own interest out of m. For my part, I don t 
 believe in any such things hereafter, as they tell for ; but if 
 there is, won t some of these confounded humbugs have to 
 take it ? " 
 
 P rhaps they will," said Bill, laughing ; " and p rhaps 
 some other folks will stand a smart chance o takin it, too." 
 
 " Well," replied Kelly, with a faint smile, " I believe I 
 have a right to do as I m a mind to, and I do it ; and if I 
 can make more money tradin niggers than any other way, 
 I 11 do it, jist the same as the wolf eats the lamb when he s 
 hungry ; it s a law of nature, and always will be, for the 
 strong to prey upon the weak ; but I tell you what, if I did 
 believe those things, and then shut my eyes and served the 
 devil, I would n t try to cheat myself and other folks into 
 thinking the Lord would be fool enough to believe I could n t 
 open my eyes if I wanted to, and so let me off because t was 
 a mistake." 
 
 Meantime, the horses were harnessed, and the two men pro 
 ceeded to change their clothes, assuming suits of quakerish 
 gray and broad palm-leaf hats. Then, sending Chloe for a 
 basin of water, they took off the wigs that covered their 
 heads, to which Kelly added the black eyebrows, mustache 
 tnd whiskers, he had hitherto worn, and washed thoir faces 
 thoroughly with soap, thus removing from the skin some dark 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 substance that had colored it, and showing them both to bo 
 men of light complexion. Kelly especially, whose hair was 
 nearly red, could never have been recognized as the person 
 whom Bessy had seen carry away her beloved charge. He 
 laughed a little as he surveyed the altered person of his com- 
 de, who, in his turn, was regarding him. " I Ve worn those 
 things so long," he said, pointing to his discarded disguise, 
 that I shall feel strange without em. But come on ; go 
 out with the horses, and by the time you get em harnessed 
 and eome back, I shall have little miss ready. As for the 
 kies, they don t need any preparation." 
 Bill led out the horses through the hut, first flinging across 
 ur backs some sacks containing provisions; and, as it was 
 now so late that he was almost sure of meeting no one, he 
 proceeded fearlessly down the path. Kelly returned to Ida, 
 1 lay on the bed as they had l,ft her, and, takin, off 
 ter garments, he cat her hair close to her head - 
 1 b autifui Slets that had been the pride of her fond 
 rent. He stained her skin with a sponge, dipped in some 
 V,d, until it was the color of a dark mulatto, and then 
 " hCf !n a Suit of % * Nothing, which Chloe produeed 
 "t .T -n, bringing out the negro children, he tied 
 -*">* the, fanning their arms together in such 
 -Hat each might support his neighbor s steps 
 
I D A M A Y . 5V> 
 
 the hut, Kelly following with the almost senseless form of Ida 
 in his arms. 
 
 The path was steep and slippery, but they arrived safelj 
 at the foot of the hill, where, in a little grassy nook, beside 
 the road, stood a large covered-wagon with the horses 
 attached. In the open front was a high seat that served 
 for the drivers ; and the children being placed on straw 
 behind, where they all lay side by side, the leather back 
 was closely fastened down, and they drove rapidly away, leav 
 ing Chloe to return to her hut and restore things to their 
 usual order. 
 
 They continued to travel all night, but at sunrise turned 
 a little away from the road, and soon reached an empty barn, 
 of which they took possession, while the inmates of the 
 adjoining hut, who were of the lowest order of the poor whites 
 of Virginia, cooked their food for them, and made no effort to 
 see the occupants of the wagon. Again they started at 
 nightfall, but the next morning they had proceeded so far 
 southward that there was not much fear of pursuit or need of 
 extreme caution. 
 
 If there is anything which slaveholders regard as a sacred 
 law of domestic life, it is the precept that commands us not 
 to meddle with our neighbor s business. With the indifferent 
 or the cruel, this results from a carelessness respecting the 
 amount of evil inflicted by others upon the helpless and de 
 pendent. The kind-hearted and honorable, startled at the 
 amount of wrongs, which tfiey cannot right, that spring to 
 meet their gaze at the least investigation, shrink back from 
 " 6 
 
GO 1 D A M A Y . 
 
 the ungracious task ; and, obstinately shutting their eyes to 
 all without their own household, satisfy themselves with keep 
 ing things as smooth as possible there, and hug to their hearts 
 the vain hope that, because they strive to be merciful -and just, 
 all others will do the same. Another reason is, that the 
 negro race, inheriting our evil human nature, debased by a 
 long course of servitude, are given to the practice" of all sorts 
 of peccadilloes and crimes, which must be kept within due 
 bounds in one way or another ; and every occurrence of life 
 is looked upon through such a different medium, by the slave 
 and the master, that the negro often represents things in a 
 manner that seems to the white man wilfully false and mali 
 cious. Thus, no one has any hope of arriving at the truth, 
 or cares to interfere with his neighbor s domestic discipline ; 
 and it is considered a flagrant breach of social law for a man 
 to listen to the complaints of any other man s servants, or, 
 except in the most desperate cases/ to make any inquiries 
 about rumors that may reach his ears, so as to lead to the 
 exposure of any injustice. The force of public opinion upon 
 this point is so strong that adjoining plantations, and even 
 adjoining houses, are generally ignorant of everything that 
 happens on a neighbor s premises, except what the white 
 members of the family may choose to tell. Thus it is that 
 some good people innocently affirm, that in a long life among 
 negroes, they never knew an unkind master or an injured 
 slave; and it is perhaps because the southerners are so 
 entirely unaccustomed to questioning or espionage, that they 
 sm: so extremely sensitive to any approach to these things, on 
 
I 1> A M A Y . 
 
 the part of their countrymen at the north, whose totally dif 
 ferent views of this question of " not meddling" they cannot 
 understand. 
 
 Secure, therefore, from all impertinent questioning, Kelly 
 and his accomplice continued their way more openly than 
 before, and with all convenient speed. Sometimes they heard 
 of persons who had been at taverns before them, seeking for 
 a dark-looking man, who had kidnapped a little girl; and they 
 secretly congratulated each other on the adroitness with which 
 they had eluded pursuit. The sufferings of the poor children 
 during this time, though not so great as when shut up in the 
 cave, were sufficiently severe to excite compassion. In addi 
 tion to the extreme weariness of a fatiguing journey of many 
 days in a close carriage, from which they could see nothing to 
 amuse them, and their comfortless, cramped position, crowded 
 together as they were on the straw, and the weary, despairing 
 homesickness, to which they dared not give vent in tears, lest 
 they should attract the ferocious threat, or the still more cruel 
 lash, they were all old enough to realize that they were to be 
 reduced to a condition of which they had, from infancy, 
 heard tales of fear and hatred, and of which they had an 
 indefinite horror. 
 
 Happily for Ida, during all these dreadful days, she was 
 insensible to the heat and dust, and the constrained position 
 from which her companions suffered, and equally oblivious of 
 the heart-sorrows that made all minor evils seem light ; for 
 she knew not whence she had been brought, or whither she 
 *as going. If she felt the jolting of the wagon, she nmni- 
 
62 I D A M A Y . 
 
 festcd it only by a slight movement occasionally, and lay the 
 rest of the time quiet and apparently stupid, as she had been 
 from the moment she sank down at Chloe s feet. When they 
 stopped to rest, they were obliged to lift her in and out of 
 the carriage, and feed her as they would have done a baby ; 
 and she never once spoke, or manifested any consciousness of 
 her surroundings. 
 
 One day, as they were crossing the -southern border of 
 Virginia, they stopped to water their horses at a small stream 
 by the roadside. The heat and dust were oppressive, and, for 
 the first time since their journey commenced, Ida had been 
 restless, and seemed to be suffering pain ; for she moaned con 
 stantly, and sometimes screamed violently for a few moments. 
 One of these paroxysms occurred while the horses were drink 
 ing, and Bill, after looking round at her, as she lay on the 
 straw beside the six weary and dirty children, said to his 
 companion, with a sorrowful shake of the head, 
 
 " T a n t no go, Kelly, that ar spec o yourn. You might 
 a knowd that little waxy thing could n t stand all she d have 
 to take." 
 
 " She d stood it well enough if you and that old hag 
 had kept your hands off her, as I told you to," replied the 
 other. 
 
 "Well, twas too bad, I know, to spile a cool five hun 
 dred ; and I don t blame ye, Kelly, for swearin at me about 
 it, for she would a brought us every cent o that, from some 
 body that deals in fancy articles. Gracious ! " he added, in 
 an excited manner, " she d been worth over a thousand when 
 
IDA MAY. 08 
 
 she growed up, she was so darned pretty. But," continued 
 he, dropping his voice with a sigh, " t a n t no go now." 
 
 " No," replied his companion , " she s mighty nigh dead 
 now, and it s my belief that, if she lives, she 11 be an idiot, 
 she 11 never have no sense again." 
 
 "Well, I reckon she won t," said Bill; "and, as long as the 
 trade is spoilt, I don t mind sayin I m powerful sorry for 
 the little cretur. She did look pretty that day, settin on the 
 log with the posies in her hair. I wish we d a had them 
 two little nigs we went arter, and then we should a let her 
 alone." 
 
 His companion made no reply, but seemed in deep thought 
 for some time. Then he said, 
 
 " I 11 tell you, Bill, what I reckon we can do. I know a 
 man up the mountain, about twelve miles from here, that has 
 a small plantation, and I ve traded some with him in these 
 articles. I 11 make him buy this gal. I reckon I can come it 
 over him to the tune of fifty dollars ; and, as it s mighty sure 
 she won t live till we get to Wilmington, that is better than 
 nothing. If it had n t been for the way you used her up, I 
 might have made two good trades on her. We could have 
 sold her for a good price, and then gone back and given 
 information where she was, and that would have brought us 
 in something handsome. They 11 offer a good reward for 
 news of her, I make sure." 
 
 "That would a beeufust rate," said Bill, deeply impressed 
 with his companion s sagacity. "I wonder I had n t a thought 
 o that. Why did n t you mention it ? you re allers so 
 6* 
 
64 IDA MAY 
 
 mighty mum, Kelly. P raps you meant to have a little pri 
 vate speculation out o that end o the trade, that I was n t to 
 know about, hey ? " 
 
 Kelly laughed. " If I did," said he, " you ve dished me 
 completely." 
 
 " Couldn t we do it now, don t ye s pose ? " asked Bill. 
 
 " No," replied his comrade ; " it would n t pay now to 
 run the risk, she s broke down so. .If they got her alive 
 and well, they d be glad enough to pass over the rest ; but 
 to find her dead, or an idiot, is another matter. There d be 
 too many questions asked, and we might find our trade 
 stopped. No, fifty is the best we can hope to get out o this 
 job, and the sooner we get rid of her the better." 
 
 So saying, he laid the whip over his horses, and in less than 
 two hours they had turned up the mountain road that led to 
 the farm of Mr. James Bell. 
 
 After proceeding for quarter of a mile along a rough but 
 pleasant road, bordered by noble trees, they came to a corn 
 field enclosed by one of those zigzag fences, which are to be 
 found all over the States, but which seem to have been chris 
 tened in Virginia, A few negroes of both sexes were at work 
 honing the growing corn, whose fresh green blades waved in the 
 faint breeze ; and, seated on a stump in an angle of the fence, 
 on the top rail of which he was cracking nuts, was Mr. Bell 
 himself, talking to a negro who stood near. Near the fence 
 stood a horse, with his bridle caught on the limb of a tree 
 above him. At the sound of the wagon, the negroes stopped 
 work, and leaned wearily on their hoes, to look on, while the 
 
I D A M A Y . 65 
 
 overseer and his master turned round ; and the latter, lean 
 ing over the fence, recognized an old acquaintance, ana 
 exclaimed, 
 
 "Why, how d ye, Mr. Kelly, how d ye? Quite a 
 stranger you ve been, latety, in these parts. Going up to the 
 house ? I m coming right along." 
 
 "No, thank you," said Kelly, "can t stop now. The fact 
 is, I ve come up to have a trade with you. I ve got a lot o 
 nigger children from Maryland. Don t you want one ? " 
 
 " Mercy ! " exclaimed Mr. Bell, laughing; "carry coals to 
 Newcastle, but don t bring any young niggers here. I stum 
 ble over them at every step, now." 
 
 " Well," said Kelly, " they re good property. Niggers 
 are rising, and it s my opinion they 11 continue to rise ; and 
 it don t cost much to raise em so the young ones are a good< 
 investment, especially when you can get em cheap; and 
 this one I want you to buy, I 11 almost give away, for she s 
 sick, and it s too much trouble to take care of her." 
 
 " Sick ! " exclaimed Mr. Bell, again, to whose mind at 
 that moment came the remembrance of certain curtain lec 
 tures upon money matters ; " what do you suppose I want of 
 sick niggers ? " 
 
 " Well, but consider what a bargain I offer you. I make 
 no manner of doubt the child will soon get well, if she s kept 
 quiet and nursed up ; but I can t have her taken care of here 
 in the wagon ; so she 11 be likely to die if I keep on with her, 
 and I m willing on that account to let you have her for 
 almost nothing. You will have a chance for a speculation 
 
60 IDA MAY. 
 
 without any trouble or risk, and I shan t lose quite so much 
 as if she dies on my hands ; so we shall both be benefited. 
 Come, now, that s fair." 
 
 " It looks fair, certainly," said Mr. Bell, in a less decided 
 tone than he had before used. "Let me see the young 
 
 one. 
 
 " She was a mighty handsome cretur before she took sick," 
 said Kelly, as he proceeded to unfasten and raise the leather 
 curtain at the back of the carriage. " I tell you, it goes to 
 my heart to have to part with her this way, for she 11 sell 
 for a thousand dollars, as a fancy girl, in ten years. She 11 
 be the handsomest gal you ever saw in the market." 
 
 "She looks like it now!" said Mr. Bell, jeeringly, as his 
 eye fell on the emaciated and squalid form before him, her 
 face crusted with dirt, and her hair tangled into a mass of 
 knots, and filled with bits of the straw on which she lay. Her 
 eyes were closed, and her breast heaved with the short, quick 
 panting of her breath. 
 
 "You see," said Kelly, she stressed like a boy. Her 
 clothes were so ragged, I put on these I happened to have, 
 to keep her from catching cold." 
 
 "Yes, precious good care you ve taken of her, no doubt " 
 replied Mr. Bell, dryly. He was a kind-hearted man, and 
 
 e miserable condition of the child so affected him that he 
 
 "ing to pay a small sum for the privilege of placing 
 * whe* she could haye better ^ Added ^ ^^ ^ g ^ 
 
 fcnmledged thought that, if sho did ^ it would be a 
 good bargain. So, as Kelly, who did not reaJy believe the 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 67 
 
 child would live many hours longer, was anxious to close the 
 trade, after a very little chaffering between buyer and seller, 
 the purchase was effected, and, after receiving thirty dollars 
 for their victim, the kidnappers drove forward to deliver her 
 at the house, followed by Mr. Bell on horseback. 
 
 A few moments brought them in sight of the family man 
 sion, which was pleasantly situated on a knoll at a short dis 
 tance from the road, to which a path led from the front door, 
 bordered with a hedge of the daily rose, and shaded by a few 
 trees. At a little distance a broad, smooth carriage-path led 
 by the end of the house to the stables, which, with the dwell 
 ings of the servants and the kitchen, formed a hollow square 
 behind it. This carriage-road extended some way beyond 
 the stables, and at its termination stood a row of log huts, 
 where the plantation " people " lived. Around each of these 
 huts was a small piece of ground, enclosed with palings, and 
 most of them well stocked with growing vegetables, which, 
 with the hens and chickens about the door, gave further evi 
 dence of comfort. At the end of " the house," opposite the 
 carriage-way, were large and well-cultivated gardens and an 
 orchard ; and the verandah that surrounded the house was 
 shaded and nearly covered with running roses and vines of 
 various description. 
 
 Here sat a lady reading, while two children played near 
 her. Mrs. James Bell was of petite figure, with an abun 
 dance of fair hair, which she wore in long ringlets about her 
 face ; and, although they were not always very smooth, and 
 the children would crush her muslin dress, and pull her apron 
 
1 1> A 51 A IT . 
 
 awry, still she was altogether a neat-looking woman, and cor- 
 responded in appearance with the general air of thriftiness 
 and comfort about the place. She looked up from her book 
 as the party approached; and the children, who had harnessed 
 a little negro to a cart, and were driving him about the 
 piazza, stopped their noisy play to look at the strangers. It 
 was with some trepidation that her husband, having "received 
 from Kelly the almost lifeless form of the little Ida, directed 
 s steps to the place where his wife was sitting, _ for the 
 little lady, though weak enough in some respects"had a will 
 ng enough to have filled the breast of Goliah, and inva- 
 Aly had fits when that will was thwarted, and thus Mr 
 11 was obliged to use some diplomacy to maintain even a 
 semblance of authority in his own family.- 
 
 "Now, James Bell," she exclaimed, in querulous tones 
 
 t have you got there- a dead nigger ? Of all thin ffs 
 
 >n earth, could n t you find some way to spend money but In 
 
 buymg such truck as that, when you knew my life i, f airly 
 
 warned out of me now, with the little wretches ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, perhaps I was foolish," replied Mr. Bell 
 ! down his burden on the bench; but it will be a f mt ! 
 nue bargain if she only lives, and I thought it was worth 
 > run the nsk. I got her for a mere song 
 
 -what s she dressed like a boy for? Bat it a Vt 
 ^ account what it is," continued fe 
 
 ^ eve it, dyi w What a foo, you are Mr. Be, ^ 
 Uenlwaat anything y ou always ^ ^ 
 
 and here you are throwing it away. I dec.are, it s enough 
 
I D A M AY. 
 
 to provoke a saint. I told you the last time I would not 
 have another one bought ;" and she burst into tears, and 
 showed such strong symptoms of hysterics that her husband 
 hastened to say, 
 
 " Well there, dear, now don t cry. I got this one for 
 thirty dollars, or I should n t have taken her ; and, if she 
 lives, she 11 be worth five hundred dollars in a year or two, 
 and you shall have every cent of it. Don t cry ! Venus 
 shall take her to her quarters, and take care of her, and she 
 shan t ask you to go and see her, if she s sick a month; so 
 you won t have any trouble with her. Here, Venus! _ 
 where is she, I wonder? " 
 
 " 0, she s near about here, you may be sure, out in the 
 yard talking with the rest of em, probably. The lazy thing 
 is always lounging round about tea-time, and I ve heard 
 Moll rattling the pans for me to give out supper this quar 
 ter of an hour past. If I m busy reading, she s sure to b e 
 on hand to plague me ; and, at other times, I might call an 
 hour before she d come. Here she is again," and, sure 
 enough, at that moment, a little dark face looked out from 
 the hall that ran from the front to the back door through 
 the house. Please, miss," he said, for about the tenth 
 time, " Aunt Molsey say, time to give out supper." 
 
 " Aunt Molsey is the torment of my life, and so are you," 
 said his mistress, as she rose to comply with the summons. 
 "You go and find Aunt Venus, and tell her to come here , 
 your master wants her." 
 
 The little fellow darted off, and in another moment his 
 
70 IDA MAY. 
 
 voice was hean 1 in the yard, calling, with a prolonged drawl 
 on the first syllable, " Ho, Venus ! ho, Aunt Venus ! Massa 
 James want you on de front piazza." In a little while Venus 
 appeared. 
 
 She was a dark mulatto, of about the medium height, with 
 a full form and high, square shoulders. From long practice 
 in carrying burdens on her head, she had acquired a habit of 
 holding it thrown back, and the chin slightly elevated, which 
 gave her face a queer expression, half pert and half disdain- 
 ful. Her eyes were small, and her negro features had a very 
 stupid and morose appearance, except when she smiled. It is 
 strange to see the magical effect of a smile on a negro face. 
 It is like sunshine breaking suddenly from a cloudy sky over 
 a dull landscape, changing its whole aspect in a moment. In 
 Jhat genial light, Aunt Venus looked intelligent, and even 
 showed that once she might have been almost handsome. 
 But if the smile deepened into a laugh, all the sombre dig 
 nity of her appearance vanished, and her gums, garnished 
 with broken teeth, displayed in a broad grin, her head ducked 
 down between her shoulders, and the indescribable comical 
 giggle that convulsed her whole figure, transformed her into 
 something very much resembling a baboon. Her dress was 
 the scantily-cut blue-striped cotton fabric usually worn by the 
 slaves, and her head was enveloped in an immense red-and- 
 whito bandanna, somewhat the worse for wear. The only dis 
 play of fancy in which she indulged was in the variety and 
 
 iltiplicity of her aprons. In this she prided herself, and 
 four or six of different colors and shapes were the very least 
 
I P A M A Y . 71 
 
 allowance with which she could be satisfied. All the pieces of 
 cloth which she could beg or save were used in this way, and 
 she was ingenious in piecing one color on another, so as to eke 
 out the little bits that must otherwise have been lost. 
 
 On this occasion she came forward with her usual stolid 
 gravity; but an expression of curiosity quickly followed, as 
 she saw the drooping little figure that lay beside her master s 
 knee. " Laws bless us ! " she exclaimed, holding up both 
 hands, " what Massa James done did now ? What dat ? " 
 
 " I bought the child of a man that came along," replied 
 Mr. Bell, " more out of compassion than anything else, for she 
 was so sick it was cruel to have her jolt her life away in that 
 cart. Perhaps she may live, though, if you take her in hand. 
 See what you can do for her." 
 
 Venus took the child, but she made no reply. Sad, and 
 what, if they had found utterance, would have been called 
 impudent thoughts were busy in her brain. She pressed her 
 lips firmly together, and tears rolled slowly down her cheeks 
 arid fell on Ida s purple lips, from which faint moans of dig- 
 tress were now issuing. 
 
 "Don t cry," said Mr. Bell, kindly; "she ll come up, I 
 reckon, if you take her home. You Ve raised many a child 
 as sick as she is. Go along now, I have great faith in 
 your nursing." 
 
 Still Venus answered not. She hardly heard his words , 
 she hardly thought of the present, for the touch of that little, 
 helpless figure that lay on her breast had roused her quick 
 sympathies, and brought up a vision of the past that made 
 ber heart bleed 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " We can tame ourselves 
 To all extremes, and there is that in life 
 To which we cling with most tenacious grasp, 
 E en when its lofty claims are all reduced 
 To the poor common privilege of breathing." 
 
 VESPERS OF PALERMO. 
 
 \ 
 
 IT was late one afternoon, three weeks after, when Ida, hav 
 ing struggled unconsciously with fever and exhaustion, awoke 
 from a deep sleep, with the cool pulses of a new life in her 
 veins. Her glances wandered around, and feebly and by 
 degrees her brain received the impressions they conveyed. 
 The bed on which she lay, covered with coarse but clean 
 clothing, was in one corner of a log hut. Around the walls 
 were hung various articles of dress and cooking utensils, and 
 through an opening at the further end she saw a small fire . 
 burning in the clay chimney that was built outside, and, 
 either from original misconstruction, or from, the wandering 
 propensity apparently inherent in southern property, was now 
 leaning so far away from the wall to which it should have 
 idhered, that it was completely isolated from the house. 
 Through a small window near her, an unglazed opening the 
 wooden shutter of which was nearly closed, she had a glimp.e 
 
I D A M A i . 7b 
 
 of the sky, which was now filled with the sultry heats of 
 July; and a sunbeam that, after glinting brightly on a 
 branch of wild rose, which fell over the opening, came, softly 
 and half subdued, to lighten her dull eyes and rest on her 
 pale brow. 
 
 Near the door opposite the bed, three or four negro 
 children were lying on the sand, or building houses of that 
 frail material ; and on the doorstep sat a tall, dark woman, 
 with her arms folded, talking to Yenus, who, arrayed in a 
 clean gown, and with more than her usual number of aprons, 
 was*"busily mending some coarse garment. The slight rustling 
 movement which Ida made attracted her attention, and she 
 came to the bed saying, 
 
 " Laws bless the child, she s awake ! How d ye, honey ? " 
 
 Ida fixed her eyes on the face bent over her, but made no 
 
 reply. It was some time before her benumbed brain could 
 
 arouse itself to the activity of thought or speech ; and Venus, 
 
 sitting on the foot of the bed, went on with her work, after 
 
 giving some cooling drink to the invalid, who continued to 
 
 regard her with an increasing expression of curiosity and 
 
 .*Jwonder. At length she said, with a faint voice, " What is 
 
 your name ? " 
 
 " Benus, honey old Aunt Benus, my name," replied the 
 nurse. 
 
 Again, after a pause, the child asked, " Who are you ? " 
 " Laws bless the child ! " said the delighted woman, 
 she 11 get peart now, mighty soon ; she s begun to ask 
 questions. Who I be? "she continued, shaking all over 
 
1 4 I D A M A Y . 
 
 with a convulsive giggle. " I s an old nigger- woman, <- 
 don t ye see ? " 
 
 Again there was a pause, and the child looked from the 
 dark face of her purse to her own emaciated hands, that were 
 now returned to their original whiteness. After some mo 
 ments of mental comparison, she said, " Am I a nigger, too ? " 
 
 " Dono , honey," replied Venus. " Dey say you was, and 
 mighty sick one, too. What be ye ? Where was you raised ? " 
 
 " What is raised ? " asked the child. 
 
 " Why, where d ye grow where ye come from ? " 
 
 "I don t know, I can t rememboas" replied Ida; and her 
 face grew anxious and troubled. 
 
 "Well, well," said her kind questioner, "you se done 
 talked enough now; shet your eyes and go to sleep, that s a 
 honey; " and the little patient, weary with this brief conversa 
 tion, was glad to follow this wise advice, while Yenus resumed 
 her seat by the door. 
 
 "Hear de child axing, be I a nigger, " said Mary, her 
 companion, with a low laugh. A n t it funny what ques 
 tions de chillen will ax? T oder day my little Fete come 
 home and say, Maurn Molly, why don t ye neber larn me* 
 say nothin like dey does in de house, out o books wid pictures 
 into em ? Bless you, Pete (I say), I dono nothin mysef _ 
 nothin but hymns, and prayers, and sich like. Well, den, 
 8ays he, larn me demS I could n t help laughin to hear him. 
 Tell ye what, he mighty bright little nig-dat Pete." 
 
 "Didn t you neber larn him his prayers afore?" said 
 Venus ; what you been about, you did n t ? " 
 
IDA MAY. 7b 
 
 " 0," replied Mary, " somehow I neber has time. Dey a 
 allers one ting or noder to do, and I se so busy, half de time 
 pears like I hab to turn round five times in one place." 
 
 " Tears like ye might find time if you jest deavored to," 
 said Yenus. 
 
 " Why, one ting, dey s allers so many round I se shamed 
 to," replied Mary. " One time I thought I would ; and so I 
 telled em all to kneel down and I d larn em de Lord prayers, 
 and dey like it a heap, and larn em right smart ; and ebery 
 night dey tease me, * Come, ma, larn me de Lord prayers 
 g in. But one night Miss Susan, she come along, and she 
 stop and hear me larn em, and she say, * Pooh ! what you 
 bout dere, Mary ? what you know bout de Lord prayers ? 
 Jest tumble em into bed and come here ; I want ye ! and 
 den she laugh, and tells de cook I se gettin pious. I clare, 
 I se so shame I neber larn em de Lord prayers since, nor 
 nothin else." 
 
 " You need n t been shame," replied Venus, indignantly. 
 " It s my suspinion t would n t hurt Miss Susan, nor Mass 
 James, neither, to say dere prayers sometimes, demselves. 
 De fact is, we se an orful onrighteous set on dis yer planta 
 tion, no meetin , no prayers, no nothin , but work and 
 frolickin , cept when we goes to camp-meetin ." 
 
 " Yes," said Mary, " dat de fac. Mass James say he 
 tinks we better go to camp-meetin , and do all de religion up 
 in a heap dat de best way for niggers. Den dey can spend 
 Sunday restin , and doin de odd jobs round dere quarters, 
 
 and not be botherin goin so far to meetin ebery Sunday. 
 
 7* 
 
76 i D A M A r . 
 
 Say dancin heap better n prayin , any time, and puts de life 
 into niggers, and make de work go easy next day." 
 
 " 0," replied Venus, " Mass James good massa, but he 
 curus bout dem tings. Dancin s well enough, I used to 
 like it myself when I se young gal. It makes a body feel 
 happy for little while, but de good o dancin don t last, like 
 de good o prayin does." 
 
 " Dat s what I tell de cook when she laugh at me bout 
 de Lord prayers," said Mary. " I tell her dere a n t nothin 
 so good as prayin pears like it made eberyting go heap 
 easier. But, laws ! Molsey dono nothin bout it. De fac 
 is, she s in a orful persition bout her soul. She say she 
 don t believe nothin bout it, and sich like." 
 
 " She ! " exclaimed Yenus. It s my suspinion de less 
 you keeps company long o her, de better you 11 be. I dono 
 where she s raised, but she do go on de most disgraceful lest 
 since she been here." 
 
 "I know it," replied Molly; "she just stributes herself, 
 permiscuous like, mong all de men on de place. I telled 
 her f other clay, de way she go on mighty nigh spile all de 
 women s character. But she only laugh at me, and tells me, 
 What de good of a nigger woman tryin to be decent ? say 
 U jest drink rum and do what she please, long as she 
 live, and de sooner she die and get put in cle hole, like a clog 
 de better; and she ll have all de fun she can, cause davli 
 be de end ob her." 
 
 " 0, the poor, impidel woman ! said Venus. T a n t no 
 wonder she don t try to be nothin if she b lieves dat. What 
 
IDA MAY. 77 
 
 has a nigger got to keep him up, if dere a n t no world but 
 dis yer. But dere is," she added, with emphasis, " dere is ; 
 and when eberyting dat s been hid in holes and corners is 
 toted out, and shown fore de whole world at de judgment 
 day 0, won t it be orful for de poor sinners den ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" replied Mary; and, awed by the solemn 
 thoughts these simple words had raised, their conversation 
 ceased, and they sat silent and thoughtful, 
 
 The next morning Ida was better. The delicious mountain 
 air, that stirred the vines as it came in at the little window 
 beside her bed, touched with its light fingers a cool brow, and 
 lips no longer parched with fever. Aunt Venus, having given 
 her a breakfast of gruel, and arranged the simple fur 
 niture of her hut, went with light heart to " the house " to 
 get her daily work, for she was seamstress in this establish 
 ment. Soon returning with a large bundle of osnaburgs, she 
 applied herself to cutting out and fitting, while Ida, who now 
 began to feel some interest and curiosity, looked on. " Did 
 I always live here ? " she asked, at length. 
 
 " Laws, no, honey ! You se only been here mighty little 
 while." 
 
 " Where did I come from am I your child ? " she asked, 
 again. 
 
 " Laws, no, honey ! " replied Yenus, giggling at this ques 
 tion. " Don t ye see I se an old black thing, and you se 
 
 " A n t I a nigger, then ? " persisted Ida. 
 
78 IDA MA Y. 
 
 " Dono bout dat," replied her nurse. " Pears like you 
 was n t ; but Mass James say you was, and some niggers is 
 white. It s my suspinion," she continued, after a pause 
 " dat yon se kidnap." 
 
 " What is kidnap ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " Laws, bless de child, she dono nothin ! " said Yenus. 
 " Why, dey kidnaps em away off from dere mammys and 
 daddys, and sells em to white folks. I reckon somebody 
 done kidnap you, and dat de way Mass James come to find 
 you." 
 
 " Who is Mass James ? " asked the child. 
 
 " Mass James why he our massa, your massa and mine. 
 He bought us, so I s pose we b long to him." 
 
 " When did he buy me ? " said Ida. 
 
 " 0, t other day don t ye member ? You se been orful 
 sick since, and I s pose ye don t though ; but can t ye member 
 nothin , where ye come from, nor what your name is ? " 
 
 The child closed her eyes, and her face grew clouded. At 
 last she said, sadly, No, I can t remember. It seems as if 
 something dreadful had happened, something that frightened 
 mo, and then I went to sleep, and when I woke up I was 
 here." 
 
 " Den, honey, pears like you d have to stay here, if you 
 can t member nothin better," said Venus, sadly; and, from 
 that moment, she resolved that, if the child had really forgot 
 ten the past, she would never perplex her with questions that 
 would make her think she had been born in a better condition 
 of life. She knew that white children were sometimes bought 
 
I D A M A I , 7 ( J 
 
 from poor parents in the Southern States, and, though she sus 
 pected that Ida was the child of wealthy parents, and had 
 probably been- stolen, she had no idea that this suspicion would 
 avail anything with the white men who might call themselves 
 her owners. She knew the lot to which the child was doomed 
 was a hard one, even for those who had been born in it, and 
 educated to believe it the only one fit for them, and she felt 
 that it would be harder still if one had the consciousness of 
 having been born to something better. 
 
 No one who had looked on Aunt Venus inexpressive face, 
 as she sat there steadily sewing, would have imagined her 
 capable of the mingled train of wise and bitter reflection that 
 was passing through her brain. She kept her thoughts to 
 herself, and few were aware of the delicate feelings, the 
 womanly refinement, and germs of keen intellect, that lay hid 
 beneath that dark and unpolished exterior. She had still a 
 little hope that with returning strength the child might regain 
 her memory ; but it was not so. The invigorating mountain 
 air, and the judicious care of her devoted nurse, soon restored 
 strength and health to her system ; but the cloud that hid the 
 past was not lifted from her brain. Only one trace of her 
 former life she unconsciously retained. From infancy she 
 had been remarkable for her correct pronunciation and quick 
 understanding of words, and she still continued to speak a 
 pure and refined language, that attracted the attention of all 
 who knew her, from its contrast with the jargon used by the 
 negroes with whom she now associated. But she was the 
 pride and delight of Aunt Yenus, who was never weary of 
 
80 I D A M A Y . 
 
 caressing her, and who gave her the name dearest to her 
 heart, which her own daughter had borne. 
 
 Ae days and months went by, she grew tall, and her delicate 
 limbs assumed the rounded contour of health ; but her cheek 
 and lips were always pale, and her step slow and unelastic, 
 and, though kind and gentle to all, she never joined in the 
 careless sports if childhood, and rarely spoke to any one but. 
 her nurse, unless she was directly addressed. 
 
 " It is queer what ails that child," said Mrs. Bell, one day, 
 when Ida left the room. " She don t seem like other chil 
 dren, and has a slow, dreamy manner, as if she were asleep, 
 and yet she hears quick enough, and she is n t stupid." 
 
 " Old Molsey say," replied Rose, a young mulatto, to 
 whom this remark was addressed, old Molsey say dat some 
 body done conjur de child." 
 
 "Pooh . "said her mistress; " there s^o such thing as 
 conjuring." 
 
 " 0, Miss Susan, how can you say dat ? " said Rose." 
 "I se known heaps of folks dat s been conjur, 0, laws, 
 yes, heaps ! " 
 
 "Pooh!" said Mrs. Bell, again; "you re a fool tf you 
 believe that." 
 
 0, now, miss, dere is such tings. When any individule 
 goes to hurt anybody, dey takes a stick, and gets some old 
 torn bit o dat individule s clothes, and circumwents it all 
 round de stick, and buries it where de one dey hate will 
 walk ober it, and den say something ober it. Den, when 
 
I D A M A Y . 
 
 de individule steps on it, dey grows sick, and pines all 
 away." 
 
 " She don t pine away, at any rate ; she grows more 
 healthy every day ; so I reckon nobody has conjured her," 
 said Mrs. Bell, as she took her work and went out to the 
 piazza. 
 
 The negroes, like all ignorant and demi-civilized people, are 
 devout believers in the powers of darkness, and have great 
 fear of conjurers and the charm of an evil eye ; and it was 
 the general belief on the plantation that Lizzie WhitJ as 
 she was called was a sufferer from this malign influence. 
 Numberless were the charms which Aunt Venus was advised 
 to hang around the neck of her protege to counteract the mis 
 chief that had blighted her; but it was all in vain. She did 
 not seem unhappy, but she was companionless, and sometimes 
 would sit for hours with her eyes fixed on vacancy, her hands 
 folded idly in her lap, and her whole figure relaxed and 
 motionless, as if in a waking dream, and, when aroused from 
 the trance, she seemed unconscious of the lapse of time. 
 
 " Why do you call me < Lizzy, over and over again thaf 
 way ? " said the child, aa she sat one day at Venus feet, in 
 the door of their hut. 
 
 The smile with which she had been regarding her faded 
 from Venus lips, and, bowed beneath a sudden rush of sad 
 memories, she let her work fall to the floor, and, covering her 
 ace with her hands, wept bitterly. Ida sprang up, and put 
 
/ 
 82 IDA M A Y . 
 
 her arm around the old woman s neck. " Don t cry so," she 
 said, " don t, mauma I did n r t mean to hurt you." 
 
 " You didn t hurt me, honey ; it s the old hurt here, that 
 aches," said Venus, pressing her hand to her breast. " When 
 you looked up at me den so tender, pears like I saw my own 
 child, my own little dear child, that was sold away from 
 me, when we was all toted off from Florida. 0, dear ! pears 
 like sometimes I could n t bear it no longer ! " and she wept 
 again, swaying herself to and fro, and murmuring in low 
 tones amid her weeping the names of husband and children, 
 that had long since become to her as the names of the dead. 
 At length the paroxysm of grief exhausted itself, and she sat 
 up and uncovered her face. " Don t cry, honey," she said to 
 the child, down whose cheeks tears were silently rolling; 
 " twas n t what you done said. It comes ober me dis yer 
 way sometimes all in a minute, and pears like I could n t 
 bear it, noways. Dese last tree years since you done staid 
 wid me, I se been more comforble, so ye a n t seen me so 
 often, and I shan t be so gain, maybe. I tries to forget," 
 she added, taking up her work, while her face assumed an 
 expression of stern despair ; t a n t no count cry in . I se 
 a poor nigger woman, and I neber shall see em again my 
 young husband nor my chillen." 
 
 " You told me you d tell me about em some day, bui you 
 need n t, if it makes you cry," said her sympathizing listener. 
 
 "Dono how tis," said Venus; pears like I wanted co 
 talk about em sometimes, and yet it makes me cry. 0, what 
 a gay young thing I was when I lived long o Miss Lizzy 
 
I D A M A 7 . 83 
 
 down in Florida ! little I knew bout de strouble in dis yer 
 world ! " 
 
 " Where is Florida, and who is Miss Lizzy ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " 0, Miss Lizzy was an angel, one o de Lord s angels, 
 right out o heaven. She was dot good to us, poor niggers, we 
 would a laid down and let her walk over us ; we d a died 
 for her, we would. 0, I se dot happy, honey," she added, 
 dropping her work again, and taking Ida on her knee, I se 
 dat happy, I neber spected what I se comin to. I had my 
 husband and my chillen! my young husband, honey, and 
 he so kind, he never let me want for anything, and he work 
 all night sometime, when he come in from hoe de cotton, so to 
 fix things comforble for me and the chillen ; and Miss Lizzy 
 she done come in very often, and read to me, and talk bout 
 de chillen, specially bout my little Lizzy, dat I name for 
 her ; used to think a heap o her, she did." 
 
 " Where is she now, and where are your children ? " said 
 Ida. 
 
 " She ! 0, we se all sold way off from her long ago, and 
 save my life and soul, I couldn t tell where my husband and 
 chillen is dis day ; " and Venus sighed heavily. 
 
 "If she was so good to you, I shouldn t think she d let 
 you be sold," said Ida. 
 
 " O, she could n t help it ! said Venus. It was dis yer 
 way t happened : Miss Lizzy done got married, and her hus 
 band pears like he wasn t quite good enough for Miss 
 Lizzy, nobody was, but she loved him. O, how she 
 ove ! him ! I se seen her eyes shine like two stars, and her 
 8 
 
I D A M A Y . 
 
 cheeks flush up when he come near her ; and he love her, too, 
 and we have great- times when de weddin come off. 0, my 
 soul ! de pies and de cakes and de good things dere was in de 
 great house ; and every poor nigger on the place had a new 
 suit and a piece o fresh meat, cause Miss Lizzy say she s so 
 happy ; pears like she wanted everybody else to be happy 
 too. Well, things goes on four years more, and Miss Lizzy 
 have two chillen, and den I sees things wasn t jist right. 
 When I se settin sewin in de house I se seamstress dere, 
 honey, same s I be here I don t hear Miss Lizzy singin 
 over de baby any more, but sometime I hear her talk to 
 Mass William long time in a low voice, like she was cry in , 
 and sometime he gone way long time, and den. she was dot 
 anxious ; and sometime in de mornin I say, * Miss Lizzy, you 
 done cried last night instead o sleepin , and den she d smile 
 little, and say, 0, no, Benus ! But I knew de strouble was 
 comin , and sure nuff, it come mighty quick. One day I goes 
 in wid my work, and I lay it down and say, Here, Miss 
 Lizzy ! but she take no count of it, and pears like she did n t 
 see me ; but when I turn to go out, she say, * Stop, Benus," 
 and when she turn round, I see she was cryin . Den she tell 
 me Mass William done loss all de property ; and the plan 
 tation was sold, and all de people, and us house servants was 
 gwine be put up at auction, cause de man dat took de place 
 did n t want us. 
 
 " Den, honey, pears like de room all swim round and 
 round, and I dat blind I could n t see nothin , for my husband 
 he field hand, and if I se sold I lose him. But Miss 
 
I D A M A Y . 85 
 
 Lizzy, she say, quick like, Don t you be feared, Benus, 
 you se allersbeen good girl, and Mass William gwine look out 
 for ye. We se loss eberything, but t a n t Mass William s 
 fault, and you mus n t blame him ; cause, ye see, I se dat 
 stounded I se muttering something bout him in my throat, 
 and she knew it, so she say, * You mus n t blame him ; and 
 he s gwine ask de new massa, that Joe (he my husband, 
 honey) be sold, too, and p raps you be sold together. 
 
 " Well, dere little comfort in dat, but 0, dis heart was 
 sore when I go back to the chillen, and Joe ; he done heard 
 it out in the field, and he come home, and we cries, and de 
 chillen dey cries too for company. 0, dat de dark night for 
 us all ! Well, in de mornin Miss Lizzy come out in de yard 
 where we all standin talkin , and she look dat pale, and de 
 red all round her eyes, stead o bein in her cheeks and lips, 
 where t ought to be, and she speak so sorrowful like, and say, 
 she feel for us, dat we all set right down on de ground, and 
 cry out loud ; and Miss Lizzy, she break down, and cry, too. 
 Den Mass William, he come out de door, and put his arm 
 round her, where she stood leanin up gainst de piazza, and 
 lead her into the house. Den he come out and talk to us all 
 so kind, and say what she want to say and couldn t. 0, 
 dear, dear, de Lord know what a time dat was ! " She 
 paused a long time, and her sad eyes assumed a dreamy ex 
 pression, as if she was living over again that scene in the 
 oast. 
 
 " Was your husband sold with you ? " asked Ida, wiping 
 
86 % I D A M A Y . 
 
 with her delicate hand the tears that were slowly dropping 
 from that black face. 
 
 " No, honey," replied Venus, with a convulsive sob ; " no, 
 honey. Dey hoped Miss Lizzy and Mass William did 
 dat somehow dere d be enough left when all was settled up 
 dat was out gainst de property, for Miss Lizzy to buy in Joe 
 and de chillen, and me and my sister Ann, cause Miss 
 Lizzy and Ann and me was raised together, most like we was 
 all sisters, and Ann was de chillen s nurse, and her husband 
 die little while before, so she wanted us perticlar, and we was 
 kep to be sold last. Miss Lizzy told everybody she wanted 
 to buy us in, cause Mass William say if folks knew it, dey 
 would n t bid against him. But" t was n t no count. 
 
 " When de time come, we se all toted off to de court 
 house, and Miss Lizzy so anxious, she and Mass William go 
 together in a carriage, all shut up, and wait under a tree just 
 outside de crowd. I see de carriage, and know dey was in 
 it, and somehow I felt more comforble. Well, de oder ser 
 vants was sold, and den dey put Joe and me and de chillen 
 up, and jist dat minute I see Mass William get out o de 
 carriage and go speak to a man. Den de auctioneer done knock 
 wid his hammer, and de sale begin. Mass William s man bid 
 for de lot, and for a minute everybody was still, and pears 
 like I could a screamed for joy, for I thought wv was safe. De 
 men all look to one noder, like dey understood all bout it, 
 and wasn t gwine bid, and we was jist gwine be knocked down 
 to Mass William, when somebody spoke up and offered more. 
 0, how I feel ! and de auctioneer look cross a minute, and 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 8? 
 
 den Mass William s man he bid little higher. Den I breathe 
 again ; but 0, de oder man he bid up too. De men dat was 
 standin round begin to look at him and scowl, and talk low 
 like, and den he steps up close and jumps on a stump, and 
 say, Gen lemen, is dis a fair sale, or am it not ? 
 
 " Well, den, de auctioneer say, Ob course it fair ; and 
 dey is all quiet a minute, and den somebody steps up and 
 whispers to de man. But he swear and say out loud, I 
 dono nothin bout dat. I hear of a sale o niggers, and I 
 come, and I see a lot that I want to buy, and I make a fail- 
 bid for em. I want to know if I have n t a right to do so ? 
 Certainly I has, and I won t give up my rights to any man. 
 You may scowl at me, he say, as much as you please ; I can 
 protect myself if I se interfered with. And out he draws a 
 pistol. Den dey all bustle up, and some turns away, and 
 some pulls out dere pistols, too, and dere knives ; but just den 
 Mass William stept forward, wid his face all so pale, on y his 
 lips trembled a little, and his voice sounded pressed down, 
 like he was holdin on to his feelin s wid both hands, and he 
 sav , 0, I can hear his voice dis yer minute, I members so 
 well what he said ! says he, < Gen lemen, I beg there may 
 be no blood shed or quarrelling on my account. I thank you 
 for your sympathy in my misfortunes, but if any one chooses 
 to take advantage of them, to distress me and my family, of 
 course I am powerless, and the law must take its course. 
 Den he step back, and stood in his old place. 
 
 " Well, den, I thought we must be safe, and I bless de Lord 
 P OT Mass William. But fore I know it, de man on de stump 
 8* 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 began to bid again, and Mass William s man he stop, and 
 we was knocked down to de stranger. De men all turn dere 
 back on him, and say Shame ! but he came up to us as bold 
 as brass, and say he knew his rights, and he d have em, and 
 he would never be bullied out of em by anybody. So de 
 folks had to let us go. Dey could n t help us, but dey all say 
 dey s sorry for us, and for massa and miss, too. dear, 
 dear, what a time it was den ! De man he hurry us away, 
 and when we go by de carriage, de door open and Miss Lizzy 
 call me. I run up to her, and she put her arms round my 
 neck and kiss me, de good angel, and she cry and say 
 pears like t would kill her. Den dere was great shout when 
 de men see dat, and de boys begin throwin pine burrs and 
 dirt at our new massa. Den he turn round and draw his 
 pistol again, and say he d shoot anybody dat interfere wid 
 him ; and so we was driv away to de calaboose, and shut 
 up." 
 
 " 0," said Ida, that was dreadful ! What did you do ? 
 
 "Do!" replied Venus, "we couldn t do notTdri but jist 
 salt down our grief with our tears. Nobody could help us 
 we was slaves and de laws is fixed so dat folks dat wants 
 to, can t be good to slaves." 
 
 " But what became of your husband and children ? asked 
 [da, whose flushed cheek and trembling voice showed how 
 much she was interested in this recital. 
 
 " dear, honey, dat was de worst of all ! De man dat 
 bought us was a speckerlator ; and he took us up to Savannah 
 and when we was sold dere, we was n t put up together Joe 
 
I D A M A Y . 89 
 
 was sold to one man, and de two oldest chillen and little Lizzy 
 and my little boy Joe to anoder, and I se sold way from em 
 all. dear, pears like it will kill me to think o dat time ! 
 O Lord, help me ! 0, comfort dis old broken heart ! " 
 
 The child wept with her, but she could poorly understand 
 her feelings. Impossible was it for her to know, how from 
 out the buried past came the phantoms of husband, children, 
 all that had once lifted her for a few short years out of the 
 dreary coldness and darkness of her slave lot, to the warm 
 sunshine of happiness and love ; impossible to realize how the 
 scar of that old wound yet throbbed with a keen pain, even 
 beneath the touch of the gentlest fingers. 
 
 Suddenly Ida grasped the hands of her nurse with a quick, 
 nervous motion. A new thought had entered her brain. In 
 the painless and monotonous life she had led hitherto, there 
 was little to remind her of a fact which at this moment 
 recurred to her, startling her with a sudden sense of danger. 
 " Venus," she said, earnestly, " tell me, am I a slave ? " 
 
 Yenus looked at her sadly a moment. That word which 
 the negroes never use except in moments of the greatest bit 
 terness, impressed her strangely, coming from the lips of 
 another. "Yes," she said, slowly, "you are a slave" 
 
 " And must I be treated so when I grow up ? Can t I get 
 away from it some how ? 0, tell me, Venus ! I never thought 
 about it before ; " and the child trembled all over, and looked 
 around with a terrified expression, as if seeking a way of 
 escape. 
 
 Venus was frightened at this overpowering emotion in one 
 
90 I D A M A Y . 
 
 usually so gentle and calm ; and, controlling her own feelings 
 by a violent effort, " Don t be frightened," she said, sooth 
 ingly. " I se heard white folks say de most o servants was 
 happy, so I s pose some is ; and p raps you may allers be 
 treated well. If I d staid with Miss Lizzy, I know she d 
 allers been good to me. Any way, honey, you won t allers 
 feel like you do now bout it, you 11 get used to it, we 
 does get used to eberything. 0, honey, don t be frightened, 
 p raps the Lord 11 be good to ye, and let you die while you re 
 little, fore you come to any strouble." 
 
 Ida made no reply. She grew calm and cold as ice in all 
 her veins, and, sinking at Venus feet, she leaned her head 
 against her knees, and sadly and dreamily she repeated those 
 fatal words, " A slave ! a slave ! " 
 
 At that moment the sound of footsteps and voices reached 
 their ears, and Yenus had hardly time to snatch her work 
 from the floor, before Mr. and Mrs. Bell rode by, on their 
 way to see one of the negroes who was sick in the " quarters." 
 In a little while they returned. They were on horseback, and 
 just starting for their morning ride; and, as they passed 
 slowly, they looked complacently at the two who were sitting 
 there together. 
 
 "They look very comfortable," said Mr. Bell. Aunt 
 Venus really shows some taste in the way she trains those 
 vines over her door." 
 
 "Yes," replied his wife, "they are happy enough; but I 
 am sorry Aunt Venus is setting her heart so much on that 
 
IDA MAY. 91 
 
 child, for we shall have a bad time when they come to 
 part." 
 
 " To part ! " said Mr. Bell, inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes, of course," was the reply. " We shall have to sei. 
 Lizzy, by and by, she is growing so very pretty. I believe 
 you will make something on that speculation, after all my 
 laughing at you so much for buying a dead nigger." 
 
 " I don t think I shall sell her," said Mr. Bell. " I ve 
 altered my mind about her. She has pretty manners, and is 
 gentle and quiet, and I like to have such servants about the 
 house. When she gets a little older, you can take her in to 
 wait on the table, or take care of the children." 
 
 A light flashed from Mrs. Bell s blue eyes, and she rode 
 her horse before her husband, turning so as completely to fill 
 the narrow path ; and, looking straight in N his eyes, she set 
 her teeth with an almost fierce expression, as she said, 
 
 " I shall do no such thing. The girl will be too pretty. 
 I will have no more such scenes as I had with Ellen ; you 
 remember her impudence. What I suffered with that girl 
 passes the power of language. I 11 have no more handsome 
 servant girls, telling me my husband thinks more of them 
 than he does of me ! " 
 
 Mr. Bell colored slightly ; and, seizing her riding-whip, he 
 struck the horse playfully, and they went on again for a short 
 Distance. 
 
 " Of course," continued his wife, when their pace became 
 slower, " I never believed her insinuations ; but they were 
 ix)0 disagreeable even at that rate. She was respectful enough 
 
92 IDA MAY. 
 
 when you was by and you never would believe how dread 
 fully impudent she was sometimes. I never shall forgive you 
 for not having her whipped that day before she was sold 
 never. Why would n t you ? " 
 
 Mr. Bell did not answer, but his features assumed an odd 
 expression, and he cast a queer, sidelong glance at his wife s 
 face. Then giving a long, low whistle, he spurred his horse, 
 and they rode rapidly forward. 
 
 Far up the mountain, on the lower southern slope of which 
 lay the Bell plantation, were the springs that fed a rivulet 
 which came dashing, sparkling and leaping down its steep, 
 rocky bed, occasionally spreading out for a little space into 
 small pools, where the birds came to drink, and where the 
 sunbeams, glinting brightly through green leaves, kissed the* 
 flowers that mirrored themselves in the smooth waters. Then 
 hurrying on again, it played "hide-and-seek" around huge logs, 
 the wreck of some forest tornado ; or piles of drift-wood that 
 its own course had heaped ; or immense boulders, preordained 
 obstructions flung in its path by the throes and struggles of 
 the primeval world. On it went, darkling in rocky chasms, or 
 beneath the roots of trees, and then flashing out again to the 
 light with a merry tinkling, like the silvery laugh of child 
 hood ; now stealing softly, with a low, musical murmur, over 
 mossy levels, where the overhanging branches bent coyly to 
 touch its surface, or interlocked their arms to form green 
 triumphal arches over it, and then, with a sudden whirl, and 
 a reckless plunge that changed it to a sheet of brilliant foam, 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 95 
 
 it sped onward downward till, just opposite Mr. Bell s 
 house, it came out on the road, alongside of which human 
 hands had scooped for it a channel. Through this it ran 
 silently and swiftly, as if anxious to perform with suitable 
 dignity the office assigned to it, of filling a reservoir at the 
 junction of the mountain path with the county road, where 
 passing travellers might refresh themselves and their weary 
 beasts ; after which, as if to escape their thanks, it hid itself 
 modestly under a narrow bridge of logs, and went on its way 
 to lose its individuality in that of the river which at length 
 received it. 
 
 To this watering-place at the roadside, one afternoon, at the 
 sunset hour, there came a traveller on horseback. Throwing 
 the reins on the neck of the animal, that he might drink, the 
 man sat up and looked about him. Was it the lovely land 
 scape at his feet, the purple light in the valleys that changed 
 to a golden glory on the hilltops, the green mountain side 
 that rose above him embowered in trees, whose leaves now 
 thrilled with the vesper songs of birds was it any or all of 
 these, or was it some subtle or unseen influence, that filled his 
 breast with such a strange and delicious sense of repose, and 
 stilled the gnawing pain of his heart ? His dress was shabby 
 as if from neglect, his tall form was thin and bent, and his 
 face had an expression of peering and anxious inquiry, for he 
 was a wayworn and miserable man, to whom there remained 
 but one consolation, but one shield against the despairing 
 insanity that at times seemed clouding his brain. It was the 
 belief that in some way, however incomprehensible to the 
 
94 T D A M A T . 
 
 weakness of mortal vision, through the infinite power of Ono 
 " who maketh the wrath of man to praise Him," good would 
 at last be evolved from this fearful evil, his own eternal 
 good, and the well-being of one dearer to him than life. That 
 poor heart, wrung and tortured, had taken refuge in the sub 
 lime mystery of Faith, and to that he clung firmly, albeit at 
 times with the frozen and senseless grasp whereby the ship 
 wrecked mariner clings to the spar that supports him amid 
 the chilling surges of the ocean waves. 
 
 He raised his eyes to heaven and spoke aloud. " God ! " 
 he said, " I thank thee that even unto my soul, weary and 
 seared with woe, there come sometimes moments of peace. I 
 thank Thee that sometimes my stern grief is softened by the 
 sweet influences of nature, and that the sunshine, which falls 
 alike on the evil and the good, reminds me to forgive mine ene 
 mies as I would be forgiven. O, that this long search might 
 end ! 0, that my past suffering might suffice ! 0, that Thou 
 wouldst give me back my child my only one! God, 
 my child ! my child ! " . 
 
 He stretched out his arms as if he would embrace her, but 
 they clasped the empty air, and his head dropped languidly 
 on his breast. The horse stopped drinking, and stood pawing 
 the ground at the bottom of the brook. The action aroused 
 his master from a dreamy revery. He raised his head, and 
 saw near him a narrow road that led up the mountain, and 
 its green shadow seemed to invite him. Half unconsciously 
 he turned his horse towards it, but he had gone but a few 
 steps, when a voice in the road he had left called out, 
 
IDA MAY. 95 
 
 " Hillo, stranger ! you ve mistaken the road. That s only 
 a woods road, and it s mighty nigh night, and you 11 stand a 
 smart chance o getting lost up there among the stumps." 
 
 " The road looks pleasant," said the man thus addressed ; 
 " does nobody live u|) here with whom I could stay all night ? " 
 
 " Nobody, as I know of; but you 11 find a good tavern two 
 miles below here," and the traveller passed on. 
 
 The horseman paused a moment to look up the road, that 
 had still a strange fascination for him, and then reluctantly 
 retraced his steps down the hill. For a few rods he went on 
 slowly, and then there came over him again the gnawing pain, 
 the feverish restlessness, that had been for a little, while 
 allayed, and, striking spurs into his horse, he dashed rapidly 
 along the way. 
 
 O, unhappy father ! to be so near the object of all thy 
 desires, and not to know the influence that attracted thee ! 
 0, wretched man ! whose harder and duller nature was uncon 
 scious of the magnetism that thrilled over the delicate organ 
 ization of thy child, rendered more impressible by her mental 
 disease. 
 
 For, at that hour, Ida, sitting listlessly in her usual place, 
 on the door-step of Aunt Venus hut, started up suddenly, 
 her eyes flashing with a new light, her whole frame trembling 
 with excitement, and her heart-strings vibrating even to pain- 
 fulness, with the rushing of long silent emotions. " I hear, 
 I hear ! " she exclaimed ; " who is it ? where are you ? " 
 
 "What s come over de child ? " said Yenus, looking round 
 9 
 
96 IDA MAY. 
 
 from the hoe-cake she was mixing; " dere s nobody calling, 
 honey, as I hears." 
 
 The child did not answer, and seemed not to hear her. She 
 stood a moment with her head thrown back, her eyes glisten 
 ing, and her hands clasped and pressed against her heart ; 
 and then, swifter than a bird, she flew rather than ran down 
 the mountain road, till she reached the high bank above the 
 reservoir. Here suddenly the irresistible power that had 
 drawn her along seemed to desert her. Pausing, she looked 
 round a moment with a bewildered air, and then, sinking down 
 on the ground, she wept bitterly. 
 
 " What was it, honey ? " said Venus, when, an hour after 
 the child entered the hut, with her usual languid step. 
 
 " I don t know," she replied. " It seemed as if somebody 
 called me, somebody that I used to know in the time ) 
 can t remember, before I came here, and 0, for a minute i- 
 seemed as if I SHOULD remember ; but now it is all dark 
 again ; " and, overcome by the reaction of that strange ex 
 citement, she fell fainting in the arms that were fondly suj> 
 porting her 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Full well I know 
 
 There is not one among you but hath nursed 
 Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make 
 One conflict of his life. What ! think ye Heaven 
 O erlooks the oppressor, if he bear awhile 
 His crested head on high 1 I tell you, no, 
 The avenger will not sleep ! " 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! we are beset 
 By snares on every side, and we must learn 
 In silence and in patience to endure." 
 
 VESPEBS OF PALERMO. 
 
 FIVE years Ida spent on the Bell plantation, and they were 
 not, on the whole, unpleasant. Mr. Bell was a kind-hearted 
 man, that liked to see those around him comfortable and 
 happy. He would never have allowed cruelty to a horse or 
 a dog, and on the same principle he treated his negroes well. 
 His farm was not very large, and he took pleasure in manag 
 ing it, and though obliged to delegate some authority to one 
 or two servants, in whom he could trust, he retained a general 
 supervision of its affairs, and was careful that his " people " 
 had no greater tasks assigned them than could be performed by 
 sunset ; and then, if they were not too tired or too lazy, they 
 
98 IDA MAY. 
 
 might improve the remaining hours in cultivating their own 
 little gardens or taking care of their pigs and poultry. In 
 winter, wood was abundant on the mountain, and, as some of 
 them were then employed in cutting and hauling it to market, 
 it was easy for all of them to supply themselves, by fair or 
 foul means, with sufficient to keep them warm. In addition 
 to these comforts, they were sometimes allowed to go to 
 neighboring farms, or to have a gathering on their own, and 
 the riotous mirth that then issued from the cabin where they 
 were assembled, might have given occasion for some of those 
 sententious remarks upon the perfect happiness of the negro, 
 with which the indignant charges of over-zealous people at the 
 north are frequently met. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, these merry-makings came to an abrupt 
 conclusion, as, for instance, on one occasion, when a party of 
 young men, who were acting as patrol for that night, broke 
 into the hut where they were assembled, and, regardless of 
 passports, and not content with scattering them by blows and 
 curses, like a flock of frightened deer, tied up one or two of them, 
 and administered a whipping so severe as to put the victims on 
 the sick-list for several days. One of these sufferers happened 
 to be a favorite servant of Mr. Bell, and a man whom he 
 had never needed to strike since he had owned him, and his 
 master was angry enough ; but nothing could be done. The 
 patrol was a part of the system of government that could not 
 be safely dispensed with ; and if a party of lawless youth, ex 
 cited by whiskey, and bent on a frolic, sometimes carried 
 matters a little too far, why, nobody was- hurt but " the nig- 
 
IDA MAY. 99 
 
 gers," and, after all, it was better for them not to get into a 
 habit of meeting too often. They had far better be at 
 home resting themselves, than to be dancing all night, and so 
 unfitting themselves for labor the next day. So said the 
 neighbors, with whom Mr. Bell talked on the subject, and 
 thus the matter ended. 
 
 Another source of enjoyment were the " camp-meetings " 
 that occurred now and then, and which many of the negroes 
 affected even more than dancing parties. To these dark and 
 systematically degraded minds, emotion supplies the place of 
 intellect, and anything that can excite "or arouse them from 
 the dreary monotony of their existence is eagerly welcomed. 
 What can do this so well and so untiringly as the awful mys 
 teries of religion, before whose sublime heights and depths the 
 keenest mind shrinks helpless and amazed ? Thas, to them 
 these religious meetings, with their searching appeals, their 
 indignant rebukes, and terrific denunciations, and winning in 
 vitations, heard amid the darkness of night or the stillness of 
 the solemn groves, and contrasting so vividly the bliss of a 
 future state with the miseries of their present condition, sup 
 plied to their impressible natures an intoxicating stimulus, 
 which, sometimes, no doubt, enlightened the conscience, and 
 left behind a deep and radical change ; but which oftener 
 passed, leaving no trace save an indistinct idea of a futurity, 
 when all wrongs would be righted, and of a sovereign, some 
 where, to whom they might appeal, with prayers, that, like 
 the inarticulate cries of animals, may perhaps reach the ear 
 >f Infinite compassion. 
 
100 IA MAY. 
 
 Five years, as we have said, Ida passed on the Bell plan- 
 tation. As she grew older, the trances that at first had givsn 
 indication of a diseased brain, became less frequent; but her 
 love of silence and solitude manifested itself in the long, 
 lonely hours she spent in rambling through the woods that sur 
 rounded her home, and it might have been some undefined 
 association with the past that made her delight to dress her 
 hair with flowers, and twine them into wreaths with which 
 she ornamented the walls of their hut. Indeed, for a 
 long time, the only interest she manifested in things around 
 her was shown in her enthusiasm for these beauteous gifts of 
 nature, which she was never weary of seeking and forming into 
 bouquets, that displayed marvellous taste and skill in one so 
 young. Very little else was ever required of her. For some 
 reason, Mrs. Bell did not seem to like to have her about the 
 house, and she was left wholly to the care of Aunt Venus, 
 whose hut stood a few rods from the dwellings of the other 
 house servants, in the rear of the garden, and had an air of 
 neatness, and even of rustic beauty, nestled, as it was, beneath 
 the shade of a spreading walnut-tree, and almost covered with 
 gourds and wild vines, that had been trained over its rugged 
 walls. Here, save for the utter want of all intellectual train 
 ing, she was almost as fondly cherished as if she had been in 
 her own home ; for the simple religious, instruction which she 
 received from her protector, was that " saving knowledge " of 
 repentance and faith, which is the direct gift of God through 
 the whisperings of the Divine Spirit, and worth more than all 
 the dogmas taught in the schools. Mr. Bell was an uncom- 
 
IDA M Ay . ,, , .101 
 
 mo*ily kind master, and his p.ereants had all ,the real aacce- 
 saries of life, food and clothing and tite, and the "Warm 
 heart of Venus overflowed to her little charge with a pride, 
 and a tender affection that could hardly have been exceeded. 
 The negro nurses are generally very fond of the white chil 
 dren committed to their care. They delight to dress them 
 elegantly, and carry them abroad to attract the gaze of 
 strangers, and will quarrel as heartily about the merits of 
 their respective charges, as if their own children were the 
 subjects of their discussion. What, then, must have been the 
 eager joy with which Aunt Venus welcomed this delicate and 
 beautiful child who had been, in some degree, given to her as 
 her own ! To her impoverished heart how priceless seemed 
 this pearl, which the stormy waves of life had cast at her 
 feet ! She was never weary of arranging the shining tresses 
 that had now grown long again, and hung in ringlets over 
 Ida s brow and neck ; and she mourned incessantly at being 
 obliged to dress her lovely pet in the coarse and scanty gar 
 ments provided for the other slave children. When, occasion 
 ally, by dint of selling some of her allowance of food, or by 
 sacrificing some of her beloved aprons, or by various other 
 expedients, best known to herself, she contrived to obtain from 
 the neighboring town a bright pink or blue calico dress, in 
 which to array her idol, her satisfaction knew no bounds. 
 Some of her fellow-servants envied her, and some laughed at 
 her for the self-denial she exercised, to enable her to gratify 
 her pride in Ida s beauty; but it mattered little to her. She ; 
 would have slaved night and day, she would have suffered 
 
102 .-. IDA MAY. 
 
 > j, C 
 
 celd-a^&$tarycijiH,- to ^obtain comforts and luxuries for this 
 child, whom she loved as if she had been her own, and yet 
 reverenced as belonging to a higher race, and who seemed to 
 absorb her thoughts and her affections in the place of all 
 those she had lost. 
 
 Venus was profoundly ignorant ; she could neither read nor 
 write ; but a life of degradation and toil had not crushed 
 entirely the native delicacy of her soul, and she could thus 
 sympathize with the child s emotions and thoughts, and, in 
 some measure, shield her from the rude touches that some 
 times shocked the sensibilities of a nature which was now 
 *\ Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh." 
 
 This care Ida repaid with a deep and exclusive affection, 
 and she would have been happy, but for the dim, haunting 
 memories that came over her in dreams and in her waking 
 hours, rousing an undefined pain, as for something lacking 
 from her life, and for the stern consciousness of her present 
 position, which, though dimly realized at first, became as she 
 grew older more and more the engrossing topic of thought and 
 fear, and led her to shun more entirely those sports and that 
 companionship with her young masters and mistresses which 
 exposed her to the necessity of recognizing the relation in 
 which she stood to them. Many of her hours were spent in 
 wandering among the forest trees, and following the course of 
 the mountain streams ; and from the day when she had been 
 so strangely drawn to the high, tree-crowned bank that 
 bordered the further side of the brook, where it discharges 
 itself into the reservoir, that was her favorite place of resort. 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 103 
 
 One afternoon, as she sat hidden from view by the, kalmia 
 bushes that grew between two venerable oaks, a traveller on 
 horseback came along the road, and paused as he saw the 
 watering-place, which was a clear, shallow pool, of a few 
 yards in diameter, formed partly by nature and partly by the 
 hand of man. He was a frank, fearless-looking boy, just in 
 that golden age of dawning manhood, when the present is 
 enjoyed with a keen zest never experienced in later years, and 
 the brave heart, untried with sorrow, believes all things 
 desirable to be possible, and longs to rush into the arena, and 
 mingle in the tumult of life s battle. Patting the neck of his 
 horse, he said, as he turned towards the brook, " Ah, Dandy, 
 see there ! Don t that make your eyes sparkle, old fellow ? " 
 and, as the thirsty animal stooped to drink, the loquacious 
 youth continued his monologue by addressing himself to his 
 dog, a large white hound, who, having already slaked 
 his thirst, had improved this opportunity to lay himself down 
 to rest, with his tongue hanging from his mouth, and his great, 
 black, glossy ears falling forward over his eyes, as he settled 
 his head on his outstretched paws, and prepared to refresh 
 himself with a short nap. 
 
 " Tired, are you, Sport ? " said his master, as he watched 
 these proceedings. " Don t you wish, now, you d taken my 
 advice, and staid at home, instead of undertaking this tramp ? 
 I told you you d be awful tired before the journey was half 
 over don t you know I did ? You thought I d let you. 
 ride behind ! 0, Sport, you knew well enough I would n t ! 
 I told you all about that, and, if you did n t understand, it 
 
104 IDA MAY. 
 
 was all your own fault. You should think, now we ve come 
 on so far that you can t get back, I might walk myself and 
 let you ride, hey ? Is that what you mean when you cock 
 uj your eye that way ? Why, the fact is, my dear friend, I 
 don t believe you can ride. I should be very sorry to make 
 any unwarranted assertions, but I really don t think you have 
 the ability. I m afraid you neglected that branch of your 
 education. I don t believe you went to riding-school when 
 you was young, now did you, pon honor ? I m afraid you 
 couldn t carry your tail gracefully on horseback. If you 
 didn t, you might begin now it s never too late to learn. 
 Is that it ? Well, come, then, let s see what sort of a figure 
 you would make on horseback ! " and, laughing aloud as the 
 comical idea occurred to him, he dismounted, and, seizing the 
 dog, managed, after some exertion, to hoist him into the 
 saddle, and make him sit there quietly. Finding resistance 
 vain, Sport, whose face- had always an expression of dignity, 
 that was continually belied and contradicted by his unwieldly 
 form, sat upright in his master s place, with the most imper 
 turbable gravity, and submitted to have the reins placed 
 between his fore paws, and the boy s cap pulled over his ears, 
 out from under which his eyes blinked drolly, and his whole 
 appearance was so funny, that the boy clapped his hands, and 
 fairly shouted with mirth. That s first-rate, Sport," said 
 he. " How do you like it ? Why don t you laugh ? If you 
 knew how queer you look, you d laugh. You a n t going to 
 laugh at trifles ? Don t you know- trifles are the only things 
 of importance in this world ? You defy me to make you 
 
IDA MAY. 105 
 
 laugh ? I 11 see, then, if I can t upset your gravity," and, 
 as he spoke, he struck the horse lightly, causing him to give 
 a sudden start that overturned the unpractised equestrian, 
 and down he went, with a great splash, into the water. 
 
 This feat caused a fresh burst of laughter from his gay- 
 hearted master, who started, and, for a moment, forgot both 
 dog and horse, as he heard his laugh echoed, in clear, silvery 
 tones, from among the trees opposite him. Conscious that his 
 frolic with Sport had hardly been consistent with the dignity 
 of a young gentleman of his years, and withal a collegian 
 and a traveller, he doffed his cap in some confusion, and 
 colored not a little as his eye fell on the face that was looking 
 out at him, half-shyly, from behind the kalmias. For a mo 
 ment he felt inclined to spring upon his horse, and gallop 
 - away from this unknown spectator, for whose benefit he had 
 been performing ; but a second glance showed him that she 
 was but a child, and a very lovely child, too ; and, in another 
 moment, his curiosity was so much aroused to know why such 
 a delicate and beautiful creature should be alone in that soli 
 tary place, and habited in the coarse striped garments which 
 form the livery of servitude, that he rode his horse through 
 the water to the spot where she was standing. She retreated 
 a little as he came near ; but there was something so cheerful 
 and winning in the boy s fresh, youthful face, that she felt no 
 disposition to fly from him, as she usually did from strangers. 
 
 " Come here, you pretty little girl," he said to her, " and 
 give me some of those flowers in your basket. Come, that a 
 a good girl ! " 
 
106 IDA MAY 
 
 The child drew nearer, and timidly, at arm s length, held 
 out her basket. 
 
 " 0, no ! " he said, " I don t want the basket, I want only 
 a small bouquet that I can put in my cap-band. Besides, I 
 can t hold the basket, for, you see, I have to take care of my 
 horse ; so you must sit down here and select some of your 
 prettiest flowers." 
 
 Reassured by his kind voice, Ida seated herself, and began 
 with alacrity to do as he requested. 
 
 " Who taught you how to dress your hair so prettily with 
 leaves ? " he asked. " Was it your mother ? " 
 
 " Nobody taught me," said Ida, in a quiet, sad tone. " I 
 have n t any mother ; I live with Aunt Venus." 
 
 Astonished at her low, musical voice, and her correct lan 
 guage, the boy asked again, "Who is Aunt Venus ? where 
 does she live ? " 
 
 " She lives up the road about half a mile. We belong to 
 Massa James Bell," said the child, simply. 
 
 " We ? " said the boy, " you don t belong to him, do 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes," said Ida, more sadly ; " he bought me a long time 
 ago, Aunt Venus says." 
 
 The boy s face flushed crimson, and he said, quickly, almost 
 angrily, " You don t mean to tell me you are this man s set - 
 vant ; why, you are as white as I am." 
 
 Ida looked up in his face a moment, with an agitated man 
 ner, and her eyes filled with tears as she said, " Yes, I m a 
 
IDA MAY. 107 
 
 servant now But I didn t always live here, I know I 
 did n t." 
 
 " Where did you live ? " asked the boy, whose interest was 
 deeply aroused. 
 
 " I can t remember," replied Ida, and her eyes assumed the 
 dreamy expression they always wore when she referred to 
 this subject. " Sometimes I feel as if I was just going to 
 remember, and then it all goes away again. 0, if I only 
 could ! I know something dreadful happened ; I remember 
 being frightened, and then I went to sleep ; and, when I woke 
 up, Aunt Yenus was taking care of me." 
 
 " Strange ! " said the boy, musingly. " Can t you even 
 remember your old name ? What do they call you now ? " 
 
 " They call me Lizzy," said the child. "Aunt Venus named 
 me ; but I can t remember what my other name was. 0, I 
 wish I could ! I don t believe I was always a servant." 
 
 " That s a fact," said tjie boy, eagerly ; " your whole lan 
 guage and appearance tell that you was n t ; and it s a great 
 shame for anybody to keep you so. I 11 go straight myself, 
 and talk with Mr. Bell about you ; you shall show me the 
 way," and our young Don Quixote gathered up his reins, 
 valorously, to begin the fight in behalf of this wronged prin 
 cess ; but she stopped him, by saying, earnestly, 
 
 " O, don t, don t ! he will be so angry ! The only time he 
 ever scolded us was once when mauma Venus told him she 
 thought I was n t a nigger. 0, he got so mad, it frightened 
 me ! and he swore dreadfully, and said, nigger or not, he had 
 bought me, and paid for me, and I belonged to him ; and if 
 10 
 
108 IDA MAY. 
 
 she put such notions into my head, he d sell her. ( , don t 
 tell him I said anything about it, for I know she d feel so 
 bad to be sold ! 
 
 The boy looked kindiy down into the little face that gazed 
 at him so imploringly. He felt strongly tempted to carry her 
 away with him, and place her where she would escape the 
 fate which awaited her ; and again his face grew crimson as 
 he thought of what would probably be the fate of one who 
 bid fair to be so surpassingly lovely. But a moment s reflec 
 tion convinced him of the impracticability of this first impulse 
 of an honest and manly heart. 
 
 " It is a great shame," he said ; " I wish I could do some 
 thing for you. Can t you remember anything at all that 
 could tell who your own friends are ? I wish I could find 
 them." 
 
 " No, I can t remember," said the child, in a tone of the 
 deepest sadness. 
 
 Her new friend sat thinking for a while, and then, remem 
 bering that he had yet some miles to travel before night, he 
 said, " Well, then, I suppose I can t do anything about it ; 
 but my name is Walter Varian, and I live really, I don t 
 know exactly where I do live," he added, laughing ; " for I 
 have two homes, and just now I am in college ; but a letter 
 directed to the care of my uncle, Charles Maynard, Barnwell 
 Court-house, will reach me. You can write, can t you ? " 
 Ida shook her head. 
 Nor read ? " added he. 
 " No ; nobody ever taught me. Mass James don t like his 
 
IDA MAY. 109 
 
 servants to learn such things. He says they a n t as happy 
 if they do, and he hates to see discontented faces round 
 him." 
 
 " Master James is a selfish, hard-hearted villain ! " said the 
 boy, with a burst of indignation ; " and he ought to be ashamed 
 of himself." 
 
 " 0, no ! " said Ida, " he is very kind to us all. Mauma 
 Bays he is the kindest massa she ever saw, and it s only be 
 cause he s curus, she says, makes him think that." 
 
 " Curus, I think ! " said Walter Varian. Well," he 
 added, sighing, " I can t stay here any longer. I was going 
 to say, if ever you do remember or find out anything that 
 could enable you to regain your friends, write to me, or get 
 somebody else to write, and I will do all I can to help you. 
 You won t forget my name ? " 
 
 " 0, no, indeed ! " replied Ida, eagerly ; " I shall never for 
 get you ; and you have such a pretty name ! But see, here 
 are your flowers ; you came near forgetting them." 
 
 " So I did ; thank you," said her friend, placing them 
 securely in his cap. " Now let me see if I have n t something 
 to give you for a keepsake," and he took from his purse a 
 small gold coin, perforated in the middle, and, producing from 
 one of his capacious pockets a black cord, he strung the coin 
 upon it, and hung it over her neck. " There, now, keep that 
 to remember me by," he said, " and give me a kiss for good- 
 by, you dear little girl, for I must go new. Don t want to ? " 
 he added, as she drew back, shyly; "well, then, good-by 
 without it ; " and, with a lingering glance over his shouldei 
 
HO IDA MAY. 
 
 at- the child who had so interested him, he went on his way 
 down the hill. Ida stood looking after him as long as he 
 remained in sight, stiL holding in her hand the coin he had 
 given her. She was ignorant of its value, but she was 
 greatly pleased with the gift, and her meeting with this 
 handsome and kind youth seemed to her like a revelation of 
 a new and happier phase of existence. When he was no 
 longer in view, she turned her steps homeward, and before 
 long she met Aunt Venus, who was coming to meet her. 
 Ida ran towards her, eagerly showing the gold piece and re 
 lating her adventure ; and thus pleasantly conversing they 
 walked, in the growing twilight, up the mountain road. 
 
 At one corner of the field, next the house, stood a large 
 oak, round the trunk of which a circular seat had been con 
 structed, and here the negroes often congregated after their 
 work was finished, as they were returning to their quarters 
 When Venus and her little friend reached this spot, they sat 
 down a few minutes, to rest, beside a group who were loiter 
 ing there. 
 
 " Ki ! " exclaimed a fat, hearty-looking fellow, who at the 
 same moment came up with slow, weary steps, and threw him 
 self at full length on the ground. " Whew ! dis nigger am 
 de tired chile ! Dis yer fodder-pullin am de bery wust work 
 dey makes a feller do. Tears like sometime I d hab to run 
 away, to get clar ob it." 
 
 " Run away ! Lor ! dat a n t sich mighty easy work 
 n other ; tearin and scratchin ober de roots and de thorn- 
 bushes, wil de dogs ater ye, may be; and starvin on berries 
 
IDA MAY. Ill 
 
 and raw fish, or eatin snakes, may be, and freezin your feets 
 walkin in de water, may be, for fear ob leabin de scent. 
 O, Lor ! de a n t no fun in dat ! " said one of his comrades. 
 
 " You se tried it, Bill, may be ? " said the first speaker, 
 " yer seems to know how t feels." 
 
 * Maybe I has, den, when I se on de old plantation fore I 
 fell to Massa Bell. 0, Lor ! was n t I glad to come in and 
 take it, and hab it ober wid ? Better stay where yer is, if 
 /er knows what s what," replied Bill. 
 
 " Well," said a fine-looking fellow, who sat astride a rail 
 fence, " I don t want to run away, and I don t complain ob 
 de work; what we has to do here a n t nothin a n t nothin 
 t all. If I only had my wife and de chillen up here, dat I 
 lef down in Charleston, I d be mighty satisfied ; but I gets 
 dat out o sorts sometime tinkin bout dein." 
 
 " Mcfre fool you, den," rejoined Bill. " Fur my part, I se 
 glad nuff my ole woman fell to Mass James sister, when ole 
 massa died. I se had tree wives, and I likes ebery one 
 better. Take anoder wife, Jim, and don t be boderin bout 
 de ole one. Dat s what I did. I se Mass James pinion, 
 what he say when I ax him might I take Rosa. He say, 
 Dat right, Bill, take all de wives you can get, bariety 
 am. de spite ob life. Dat s what I tinks, de a n t nothin 
 like bariety, specially bout women." 
 
 " 0, get out, you be shame ! " said two or three voices, 
 
 while some others of the group seemed to agree with Bill s 
 
 opinion on matrimonial subjects; and one quite young man, 
 
 risiig and laying his hand on his heart, with rather an ex- 
 
 10* 
 
D A M A Y 
 
 aggerated attempt at sentiment, said, as he ogled a pretty 
 mulatt: girl who stood near, 
 
 " I se zactly ob de pinion ob de gentleman on de fence." 
 "I se got my ole woman and de chillen," said another, 
 when the loud laugh which this last speech occasioned 
 had subsided, " and we se oncoinmon comfortable on dis 
 plantation, and I wouldn t complain if I ony had a chance ob 
 gettin some larniif . I allers did want to know how to read,. 
 and de write would come mighty handy sometime. If I ony 
 know d de?n, pears like I would n t want nothin more." 
 
 " Ki ! " said Bill, " de read and write a n t no berry easy 
 work, neither. When ole massa live, I tinks once I d like 
 larn em, I se house sarvent part de time den, so I hab 
 good chance, but, 0, Lor ! dey s mighty sight harder dan 
 fodder-pullin t wan t no go for dis nigger ! " 
 
 " Dat cause you so stupid," said the young fellow who had 
 before spoken. " I larn all de letters once, in no time, out ob 
 young Massa James book." 
 
 " 0, you shet up when your betters am talkin !" said Bill. 
 " What you know bout larnin ? Tell ye it s heap harder n 
 fodder-pullin ." 
 
 " Now, fur my part," said a middle-aged, sedate-looking 
 man, " I don t. I dono nothin bout larnin, not de leastest 
 ting in dis yer world, and don t neber spect to ; but pears 
 like I should like to hab my chillen. larn read and write. 
 Dere s my little Pete, now, uncommon smart chap dat 
 Pete, and he want larn readin dat bad ; and sometime he 
 get some de buckra chillen larn him little, but Mass James, 
 
IDA MAY. 113 
 
 when he know it, allers swear he won t have no sich. Say 
 t a n t good fu: niggers. Now my Pete is dot bright it don t 
 seem zactly right fur Mass James say dat. Somehow tings 
 your chillen has to take, pears like dey tetch ye more dan 
 tings you has take yourself, and my Pete " 
 
 "0. Lor ! what a rungrateful set ob niggers ! " interrupted 
 Bill, snapping his fingers till every joint rattled like castanets. 
 " Here you is, wid plenty to eat and drink, and good warm 
 close for winter dat s comin on. and here ye is grumblin 
 like yer had n t no good massa, like Mass James. Ef you d 
 ony been where I se been, and seen de holes some niggers 
 lives in, and de cuttings-up dey gets if dey don t work de 
 skin off dere bones O ; Lor ! ef you was in some places, ye 
 might grumble. Tell ye what, niggers, ye s dat rungrateful 
 pears like ye did n t sarve none o your blessings ; " and, 
 jumping on the seat around the tree, he added, with a comical 
 grimace, " Gen lemen and ladies, we will now close dis 
 meetin wid singin , after which we will disjourn home, and 
 get supper ; " and forthwith he struck up a lively air, embody 
 ing it in some incoherent and nonsensical rhymes, with a 
 chorus of vowels and cachinnations oddly jumbled together"; in 
 which many of those around him joined, with a zest that 
 showed how easily their mercurial temperament could throw 
 off the weight of discontent ; but the older and graver men 
 turned away, with moody faces, and sought their cabins. 
 
 The sound of their singing came, softened by distance 
 into a pleasant melody, to the piazza where Mr. Bell and his 
 
114 IDA MAY. 
 
 wife w.ere sitting. The gentleman, who was lolling in an easy 
 chair, with his feet on the railing of the verandah, laid down 
 the papei. which it was now too dark to read, and, after listen 
 ing a few moments, he said, 
 
 " They are having a nice time down there, singing. Who 
 says the negroes a n t happy and contented ! " 
 
 "Your negroes are happy enough and contented enough,", 
 replied Mrs. Bell, " and well they may be. I never saw a 
 man get so little out of a gang of people as you do. Half 
 the number you keep would do all there is to do on this farm, 
 if they were only properly worked ; but, there ! if you won t 
 have them whipped, you must expect them to be lazy. There 
 never was a nigger yet would work if he could help it." 
 
 "My dear," said her spouse, witn great good-nature, "the 
 best of folks are mistaken sometimes, and you are so good that 
 you make mistakes very often, at least upon the subject of 
 governing negroes. Why, my love, I pride myself upon not 
 being obliged to use the whip. It s a great deal easier and 
 pleasanter to manage them this way. Those that are good 
 for anything will do twice as much work to be used as I use 
 them, than they will to be driven- to death ; and, beside, what 
 man would want to be always whipping ? Faugh ! it s too 
 brutal. If they won t do their work without that, why, then 
 I 11 sell em, and let somebody else do it. I want to get 
 along the world easily, and I mean to." 
 
 " Well, you must acknowledge, Mr. Bell," said his lady, 
 " that you have a great many more hands than are necessar3 T . 
 now there art 1 so many children growing up on the place. 
 
IDA MAY. 1" 
 
 The fact is, we an literally swarming, and we must coloni 
 goon, or we shaL be eaten out of house and home, 
 would n t be so bad if you kept em in the cheapest possit 
 way, as most persons do ; but it really seems to make y 
 nervous i they don t look just so comfortable." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Bell,." I can t be bothered with havi 
 them complaining round me ; beside, as I said, it pays 
 keep them well." 
 
 " Perhaps it does," replied his wife, " where one has or 
 a limited number; but where a place is overrun, as ours is, 
 is too expensive. In fact, it has come to just this eitt 
 you must sell some of them, or your family must go withe 
 many things they need. Susv and Mary ought to have 
 accomplished governess, and it won t be long before Wi" 
 ought to begin to fit for college ; and where is the mon 
 coming from ? For my part, I think it is really wicked J 
 you not to provide for your own children." 
 
 " I mean to provide for them," said Mr. Bell ; " but y 
 see I ve held this dread of being sold as a threat over t 
 niggers to make em work, and, as I do think they all 
 about the best they can, I don t fairly like to sell em as lo 
 as I can avoid it." 
 
 " They are good servants," replied the lady. " I \* 
 thinking, the other day, it was seldom one saw such an int 
 Hgent, good-looking set of peo s le, take them all together, 
 ours are ; but, for that very reason, it is more your duty 
 sell them, they 11 bring so much better price in the mark 
 Besides, what a preposterous idea for a man to think he mi 
 
ll() IDA MAY. 
 
 give his servants a reason for being sold ! A n t they your 
 property ? Have n t you a right to sell them ? " 
 
 " To be sure I have," said her husband, and then, after a 
 little pause he added, "I had an offer to-day for some of 
 them. There s a trader at the tavern below here, who is 
 making up a gang to take south. He .bought six of our 
 neighbor Elton. He gave a good price for them, too ; negroes 
 are very high just now." 
 
 " 0, do sell, then ! " said his wife, earnestly. " You must 
 sell soon, and perhaps the market won t be so good. Come, 
 now, go down to-morrow and make a bargain. It s a shame 
 to have so much money lying dead, as we have on our 
 place." 
 
 " As to that matter, I reckon you 11 find it anything but 
 dead when the time of sale comes. Bless my soul ! what a 
 time there d be ! I ache to think of it." 
 
 " 0, they 11 get over it soon ! They re all so used to it, 
 they don t mind it much after a few days. T is n t as if they 
 were refined and educated, and didn t expect it. They are 
 mere animals." 
 
 " Pooh, nonsense ! " said Mr. Bell ; " you know better than 
 that. I ve seen niggers manifest as much feeling as any 
 body could ; but then they are mere children, 4nd, as you 
 say, seem to get over everything just as a child forgets its 
 troubles. You seldom hear them say much about anything 
 that s past, if they only get enough to eat and drink at the 
 present moment. Well, perhaps I may as well sell now as 
 any time ; prices are so high I shan t have to part with so 
 
IDA MAY. 117 
 
 many, to raise what money I want, as I might at some other 
 seasons." 
 
 " I am thankful to hear you talk sensibly for once," re 
 plied his wife. " Sell, by all means, now you have a good 
 opportunity. If you don t want to endure the scenes there 11 
 be, you can go off somewhere for a little while, after you ve 
 made the bargain, and stay a few days, and by the time you 
 get back they will have got over the sulks, I reckon. I can 
 stand it well enough. They won t make much fuss where 1 
 am, they are more afraid of me than they are of you. 
 You are too soft-hearted; /ought to have been the man 
 in this family." 
 
 " Perhaps you do wear the pantaloons," said her husband, 
 xaughing. " Well, then, whom shall we sell ? " 
 
 " I don t care who goes of the field hands," Mrs. Bell re 
 plied; "but one thing I m determined on, and that is, that 
 Aunt Venus Lizzy shall go." 
 
 " What do you want to sell that child for ? " said Mr. 
 Bell, in a tone of vexation. " She 11 be no use to pick 
 cotton." 
 
 "She s no earthly use here, you may make sure," the 
 lady said, in a firm voice, " and the older she grows the lazier 
 she is. There is n t a thing she knows how to do, except 
 dress her hair and rig herself up with flowers. She s the 
 vainest little minx I ever saw, and as pert as you please." 
 
 " Is she pert ? " said Mr. Bell. " I always thought her 
 remarkably gentle and retiring. She has very pretty man 
 ners, I m sure." 
 
118 IDA MAY. 
 
 " yes, no doubt you think so ! " said Mrs. Bell, mock- 
 "iiiiily. " I should n t in the least wonder if, after a while, 
 you should think as much of her as you did of Ellen ! Mr. 
 Bell, you" re enough to provoke a saint." There was a flash 
 ing in her eye, and a quiver in her voice, that the husband 
 knew too well ; and like the " coon," who, upon recognizing 
 the hunter, said, " You need n t fire, I 11 come down," 
 Mr. Bell hastened to avert the siege by a conditional 
 surrender. 
 
 " Well, my dear," he answered quickly, " I don t care, - 
 she shall go. Only I advise you to let Venus go too, for she 
 is getting old, and won t be worth much as seamstress much 
 longer ; and her heart is so set upon Lizzy that she won t be 
 good for much after she s gone. I heard you say the other 
 day that Hose and Milly were very good with the needle 
 They can take her place well enough." 
 
 " I suppose they can. Aunt Yenus don t sew as well as 
 she used to; and I think, if her sight is failing, perhaps 
 t would be as well to sell her. I ve always thought," 
 added . Mrs. Bell, in a mollified tone, "that I should like 
 to know who that child is. She don t seem like common 
 children." 
 
 " She s the child of some poor white, probably," replied 
 Mr. Bell, carelessly ; and, after some further conversation, 
 it was settled that, beside these two, Molsey and her children 
 and four of the field hands should be disposed of. 
 
 Venus was sitting before the fire in her hut, for it was 
 now the middle of November, and the evenings were chilly. 
 
IDA MAY. 119 
 
 The pine knots cast a cheery glow and warmth over the room, 
 and over the dusky faces that were seated in various posi- 
 tionsj more easy than graceful, around the hearth. Lizzy 
 sat on a low bench, with her head resting on her hand, and 
 her eyes fixed dreamily on the fire, apparently unmindful of 
 the conversation which Venus was holding with two of her 
 fellow-servants. 
 
 " Did you hear how de fellers was singin and actin down 
 by de big tree, to-night ? " said Venus, after a little pause 
 had occurred. 
 
 " Yes," said Mary. " I goed down to meet Joe, and dere 
 dey was goin it powerful. Dat yer Bill am de actingest 
 nigger ! " 
 
 " So he be, sure nuff," said Tenah. " Well," she added, 
 with a sigh, " let dem sing as feels like it : fur my share, 
 t a n t often I a n t clare ober on de oder side de fence, and 
 feels more like cry in ." 
 
 " Lor ! what de good ? " said Mary. " Laughin s a 
 heap better n crying, any time ; and singin s better n either. 
 Pears like singin lifted de load right up off de heart, and 
 made eberyting go easy. I allers sings when I feels bad." 
 
 " I don t den," said Tenah. 
 
 " We is a light-hearted set we niggers, dat is de fact," 
 rejoined Venus ; "and I se sure it s a blesnin , for de Lord 
 knows what we d do if we could n t throw off our stroubles 
 sometimes, and forget em like. I clare fore goodness, I 
 do believe, jist soon as de load ? lifted off dere back de 
 leastest mite, de niggers will allers dance and sing like 
 11 
 
1 20 I I> A M A Y . 
 
 dey had n t no strouble in de world ; but they don t ftel so 
 neither " 
 
 "No," replied Mary, "dey was grumblin powerful to- 
 niffht! What dat?" she added, starting suddenly, as a 
 
 O 
 
 slight noise at the door attracted the attention of all 
 present. 
 
 The latch was lifted noiselessly, and the door, slowly open 
 ing, revealed first a woolly head, then a face that seemed 
 bursting, not only at the wide-open eyes and mouth, but 
 through every feature and muscle, with astonishment and 
 consternation ; and, finally, the lithe form of a young girl 
 glided through the doorway, and closed it behind her. 
 
 " Bress my stair ! " exclaimed Mary, " what for you come 
 dat way, Bell, stealin in like you was some kind ob spooks ? 
 Most scare a nigger, you did." 
 
 Bell, however, took no notice of this exclamation; but, going 
 up to Aunt Venus, and holding up both hands, she said, in a 
 loud whisper, 
 
 " 0, what you tink, Aunt Venus? dere s gwine to be a 
 sale ! " 
 
 / 
 
 A sale ! " cried all three of the women together, cluster 
 ing around her. 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl ; " and you se got to go, Benus, 
 you and Lizzy, fust ob all." 
 
 Venus, who had half risen from her chair, sank back like 
 one stunned by a sudden blow, as she heard these words ; 
 but instantly, almost involuntarily, she put her arms around 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 Lizzy, who now stood beside her, and clasped her close to her 
 bosom. 
 
 "0, you get out, now ! You se just try in to scare us ! 
 What de good ? " said Mary, making a desperate attempt at 
 jocularity. 
 
 " I be n t nother," said Bell, earnestly. " Jest as true s 
 dc stairs is a shinin up in de sky dis yer minute, dere gwirie 
 to be a sale to-morrow ; and I se layin down on de mat in 
 de hall, and hear massa and miss talkin bout it, and dey 
 did n t know nobody hear em." 
 
 " ! " exclaimed Venus, with a groan that seemed to rend 
 her heart. " What on airth has Lizzy and me done did, dat 
 we se gwine to be sold ? " 
 
 " No thin s I hears, ony miss don t like Lizzy, and Mass 
 James say she shan t be sold and toted off away from you." 
 
 " It s one comfort," said Lizzy, timidly, nestling as she 
 spoke still closer to her nurse, " it s one comfort that we can 
 go together." 
 
 " T a n t no count, honey," replied Venus, weeping, " t a n t 
 no manner o count. Mass James means well, but when de 
 speckelators gets us, dey won t mind nothin bout sellin us 
 together. Did n t dey sell my own chillen way from me, and 
 dey won t never b lieve dat you se anything to me. O 
 Lord ! pears like I should die, now, to be all broke up and 
 toted off jest when I se gettin settled like, and little more 
 eomforble ! " 
 
 " Who else ? A n t nobody else gwine cept Benus ? * 
 asked Mary, whose mind now recurred to her own danger 
 
ll>2 IDA MAY. 
 
 which she had for a moment forgotten, in her sympathy for 
 Venus. 
 
 " laws yes," said Bell. " Dere s Molsey and de chil- 
 len, and ole Tom, and Tabe, and Jim, and Mose Brown, 
 dat s all." 
 
 It would have been a study for a physiognomist to have 
 watched the changing and intense expression with which those 
 ,wo women listened, as this list of the doomed ones was called 
 c ?er ; and, when the last name was pronounced, Tenah, throw 
 ing up her arms convulsively, gave one prolonged, wailing 
 cry, and sank down to the floor in a fit. Mose Brown was 
 her husband ; and she had been, for the last three months, 
 almost frantic with grief for the death of an only child. Her 
 master had hesitated a little, on this account, about selling 
 Mose ; but, unfortunately, there were some reasons why it was 
 more convenient to dispose of him than some others ; and 
 Mrs. Bell had suggested that " perhaps it would be just as 
 well to divert Tenah from her unreasonable sorrow for the 
 dead, by changing the course of her feelings into another 
 channel, where she might more easily be consoled. There 
 were plenty of fellows about, who would do just as well as a 
 husband for her, and she could soon supply the loss." 
 
 Mrs. Bell was a fond wife and a tender mother, but it 
 never occurred to her, while she spoke these words, that the 
 " nigger " to whom they referred was capable of emotions as 
 intense as any her own heart could feel under the same cir 
 cumstances. 
 
 An hour possed before the wretched woman could recover 
 
IDA MAY. 12b 
 
 sufficiently to seek her own cabin ; and, even then, her feeble 
 steps were supported by Mary and Venus ; for Bell, having 
 satisfied the mischievous propensity to tell bad tidings, which 
 seems inherent in some specimens of human nature, had 
 long since gone to talk over the news with less interested 
 companions. 
 
 Left alone, at length, in the solitude of her own hut, Venus 
 abandoned herr-elf to the tide of bitter and indignant feeling 
 that swept over her soul. Many hours she sat before the 
 embers on the hearth, crouching down with her face buried in 
 her hands, motionless and silent, save for the deep groans, 
 and the half-uttered ejaculations and prayers that at times 
 escaped her lips. She was a Christian, and through many a 
 severe trial she had trodden with a firm step, upheld by her 
 faith in that which is unseen and eternal ; but now, in this 
 sudden crush and ruin of all her earthly hopes and comforts, 
 she could no longer hear the " still small voice " of the divine 
 Comforter, and an evil spirit seemed mocking her wild prayers 
 and tempting her to despair. 
 
 She had known deeper grief, keener heart-pangs, than those 
 to which this change of life exposed her, but never a more 
 severe disappointment. After her separation from her early 
 friend her adored Miss Lizzy she had passed into the 
 hands of stern men, who ignored the rights and were careless 
 of the sufferings of their servants ; and hard indeed was her 
 bondage to them, toiling from early morning till late at night, 
 to be repaid by the cold, miserable hovel in which she lived, 
 the scanty clothing and insufficient food, which was all that 
 11* 
 
ill 4 IDA MAY. 
 
 her best services could obtain ; and often receiving, in case 
 of failure, harsh words, curses and blows. After some years 
 she had " taken " another husband, induced thereto partly 
 by the incessant importunities, commands, and even threats, 
 of her master, who wished her to be as profitable to him as 
 possible, and insisted that a young, healthy woman, like her, 
 ought to be raising a family of children ; and partly by the 
 vain hope that new family cares and joys might hush that 
 ceaseless cry of her heart after its lost ones. In this hope 
 she was wofully disappointed. Her second choice was a 
 worthless, drunken fellow ; and though he had courted her 
 assiduously, and hidden his vices from her sight until she 
 became his wife, he threw off all disguise from that day, and 
 seemed to delight to abuse and insult her to the extent of 
 his power. Death at last came to release her from this tyr 
 anny ; and for a little while she enjoyed the strange quiet of 
 her wretched hut, and busied herself in giving what care she 
 could to her only child, a bright and active little boy, who 
 seemed to strive to please and comfort, as much as his father 
 had striven to oppress her. But he was not, like her first 
 children, " beloved for the father s sake;" and though she 
 grieved at leaving him when she was sold to Mr. Bell, it was 
 not with that agonizing sorrow which even now, after the 
 lapse of years, was awakened by the thought of those who 
 had first claimed from her a mother s love and care. 
 
 These dark passages of her life made the light tasks, the 
 comfortable home, and the quiet seclusion of her lot, since she 
 hud lived on the Bell plantation, seem like a paradise. Kspe- 
 
r A MA i . 
 
 cially since Ida had come to nestle in her heart, and gladden 
 that :unible dwelling with the sunshine of her beauty, the 
 toil-vo.n and long-harassed woman had dared to indulge in 
 visions of peace and contentment, and of a quiet and haj}py 
 old age. But now to be turned out from this pleasant place, 
 and to leave a kind master, for the wearing labor of a rice or 
 sugar plantation, and the cruel tyranny of a heartless over 
 seer ! 0, it was hard to understand how it could be right for 
 the arbitrary will of another to subject her to this trial ! it 
 was dreadful to feel how perfectly helpless she was, how vain 
 must be all her struggles, how hopeless all appeal from the 
 power that crushed her ! 
 
 These and many more thoughts passed through the mind of 
 Aunt Venus, as she sat there in the cold, dark midnight hour. 
 Every wrong and evil she had borne, every joy she had lost, 
 every friend she had parted from, came before her, till her 
 brain reeled beneath the fearful excitement ; but yet it seemed 
 to her that she could have endured it all, if she could have been 
 sure that her adopted child, the pride and darling of her 
 heart, would continue as she had been, safe and happy, and 
 free from any except the minor evils of her servile condition. 
 She listened to the child s soft, low breathing, as she slum 
 bered on the bed near her, and she thought of the probable 
 separation that awaited them ; and her whole frame quivered 
 and shrank together as she remembered things she had known 
 in the past, and her fancy pictured the scenes of suffering, in 
 sult, degradation and sin, which that innocent and delicate 
 creature would be forced to undergo. 
 
126 IDA MAT. 
 
 With the early dawn of morning, Ida woke from the sweet 
 sleep in which, for a while, she had lost the memory of sor 
 row. Her first thought was for the kind friend who usually 
 lu/ bcside her at that hour ; but she was not there, and, rais 
 ing herself on her elbow, she discovered Venus just rising 
 from the floor, where her weary senses had at length found 
 repose. 
 
 " Why, mauma," she said, " have you been sleeping there 
 all night on those hard boards ? " 
 
 " De boards is good enough, honey, for the like o me," 
 replied Venus, sadly; " if I ori y know d I d alters see you 
 when I wake up in de moruin , I would n t mind sleepiu dere. 
 Dere s things harder n boards" 
 
 " 0, mauma, don t be so sad ! " said the child. " Perhaps 
 we shall be just as well off, and I almost know we shall be 
 sold together." 
 
 Venus shook her head despondingly. , Think so while ye 
 can, honey," she said. You dono nothin bout it, not de 
 leastest mite in de world, and I a n t gwine tell ye fore de 
 strouble come. For my part, I don t spect nothin good. 
 I se jist done made up my mind neber to be happy no more 
 till de day I die." 
 
 Nothing more was said, for her words checked the child s 
 hopefulness, and she knew not what consolation to offer. 
 When their short and simple toilet was completed, Venus 
 opened the shutters, and Ida, throwing open the door, let in 
 Ae cool, sweet morning air, and the golden light that, stream- 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 ing up i-om behind the trees, gave bright token of the coming 
 day. 
 
 " Dere s de sun gwine shine dis day, jist like he allers 
 
 does," said Venus, moodily, as she came and stood outside 
 
 the door with Ida. " I can t stand nothin bout it, how de 
 
 FUII can shine ebery day right on, jist de same ; neber no 
 
 hotter nor no colder, like it was dat onfeelin it neber saw 
 
 none o de hateful things it looks at wid its great starin 
 
 eye. If I was de sun, would n t I come down wid great hot 
 
 sunstroke, clap ! down onto some peoples I se seen, and kill 
 
 em dead ? But, laws ! I se an ole fool, and ta n t no count 
 
 to de sun ; and I se an ole. wicked sinner, too, and I hopes 
 
 fore goodness de Lord 11 forgive me for wishin folks was 
 
 dead, and where dey could n t bother niggers no longer, for 
 
 pears like ta n t no better n murder I se Join . Well," 
 
 she added, with a long sigh, "I se dat wicked, I knows, but 
 
 p raps de good Lord won t be so hard onto us as de white 
 
 folks is, and 11 let us off, if we don t mind every minute. 
 
 De Lord dat merciful, honey, de good book say, like a father 
 
 wid his little chillen. Tears like t would be great comfort in 
 
 dese times, when de debil come up so strong, if I could read 
 
 dem words my own self. If I could on y know de Lord 
 
 orders ebery ting, [/Bars like twould be easier to bear dese 
 
 yer things ; but pears like somehow de Lord did n t have 
 
 nothin to do wid it, and den I feels dat savage ! " 
 
 While she had been speaking, Aunt Venus had taken a 
 knife, and, standing on a high block of wood, she had been 
 digging the clay, which had at some former time been pressed 
 
128 IDA MAY 
 
 tightly into an irregular hole, far up the trunk of the walnut- 
 tree that stood beside the door. This mysterious proceeding 
 had arrested Ida s attention to that degree that she hardly 
 listened to what Venus was saying, and at this moment she 
 interrupted her by exclaiming, " Do tell me, mauma, what 
 you are doing to the tree ! " 
 
 " DLs yer is my closet where I locks up things," replied 
 Venus. You know, honey, I a n t got no trunk wid a lock 
 onto it, so when I wants to keep things hid safe, I put em 
 in some hole like dis, and plasters em up wid clay." 
 
 " What s in there ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " You 11 see in a minute, honey," replied her friend. 
 
 But the minute was rather long, for the bark had grown 
 over the opening a little, and it was some time before Venus 
 could manage to extract from her " closet " a small tin box, 
 closely covered, which she opened with some difficulty, and 
 disclosed to Ida s eyes what seemed a piece of old linen, 
 compactly rolled together. 
 
 " What in the world is it? "said Ida with great curiosity. 
 
 " It b longs to you, honey," replied Venus, as she proceeded 
 to unroll it ; it s de on y thing left dat you had on when 
 you was took away, and toted down here. Now we se 
 gwine to be driv off south, you must take it, and take care of 
 it yourself." 
 
 . It was the upper part of a child s linen shirt, finely worked 
 around the neck, and bordered round the sleeves with thread 
 lace, " Is it mine ? was it on n.e ? where s the rest of it ? " 
 
IDA MAY. IZ 
 
 asked the child eagerly, with flushed cheek and hurried 
 breath. 
 
 " Dere was n t no more of it, honey, neber. De rest was 
 all in rags, where it had got tore wid yer knockin round, 
 when ye was sick, fore yer come here ; so I cut it off. Yer 
 know, honey, I telled yer what a sick little creatur yer was, 
 and how ye was dressed like a boy when I see yer. Well, 
 when I took ye down here I took some water to wash ye, fust 
 thing, cause yer was dat dirty, and, laws bless me ! how I did 
 jump when I find de black wash off ! Well, den, I has my 
 flections on de subject, all the time I se unclressin yer, and 
 *vhen I come to take off dis thing last, and see how nice t was 
 through all de dirt, and de stain dat was on it where de 
 rapscal done painted yer neck, to make it like you was black 
 baby ; specially after I see de lace twas round it, den I tay, 
 Sure miff, dis a n t no nigger, nor no poor buckra child 
 neither. Dis yer poor baby must b long to somebody dat 11 
 cry powerful a ter her. 0, honey, den I cry myself, to think 
 o your poor mammy dat had her baby stole, and toted way 
 from her." 
 
 " 0, Venus," said the child, with quivering lips, while her 
 large eyes slowly filled with tears, " you don t know how you 
 make me feel ! Can t you tell me more ? Is this all you 
 know ? " 
 
 " Yes, honey," replied Venus, sorrowfully, " dat all I 
 know, ebery rag" 
 
 Ida continued wistfully turning over this relic of the past, 
 examining the pattern of the lace, and lingering fondly over 
 
130 II>A MAY. 
 
 the faint traces of a leaf, with stems and small flowers deli 
 cately drawn in indelible ink; for Mrs. May, in an idle 
 moment, had thus fancifully adorned the front of the garment 
 which her own fair hands had made. 
 
 " What a funny little picture this is ! " she said at length. 
 
 " Yes, honey ; dere s where some white folks write de 
 name, but pears like de wasn t any name here, on y a pic- 
 ter." 
 
 And again the two examined closely this spot on which 
 their attention was fixed; but, to their unpractised eyes, the 
 name, which was written in minute characters, in the centre 
 of the leaf, seemed not unlike the other lines that shaded 
 it. 
 
 When Ida was satisfied with looking at it, Venus took it 
 from her, and, enclosing it in a small piece of black silk, 
 which she had picked up somewhere, attached it firmly to the 
 cord by which the precious gold coin was hanging round 
 Ida s neck. " Dere now, honey," she said, " hide dat, hide 
 both ob em , and don t neber be lookin at em where nobody 
 is, nor showin em, nor talkin bout em to nobody, for if you 
 do you 11 lose em. Niggers will steal em, cause dey wants 
 de gold, and white folks a n t no better n niggers sometimes ; 
 and don t neber show em to your massa or missis, cause 
 dey d take em in a minute, for fear of its telling you was n t 
 no nigger, and so gettin away somehow. Some of em s 
 good, I knows, but I se noticed somehow de bery best ob em 
 when dey s bought a nigger and paid for him, peaib like dey 
 could n t bear to tell em go, Twhow. I would n t trust no 
 
IDA MAY. 131 
 
 massa ; but some time, if you find somebody else dat s kind to 
 yer, and speaks pleasant, like dat young gen leman did last 
 night, den you jest show em dis yer piece ob rag, and tell cm 
 how you had it on, and old Benus saved it for you, and den 
 see what dey say bout it. I dono , but it s vealed into me 
 dat dis yer rag will be de mean o findin yer friends and 
 lations for ye, when yer poor ole mauma s sold away off from 
 yer." 
 
 " O, mauma, don t, don t ! I can t live without you ! " ex 
 claimed the child, throwing herself on that faithful bosom, 
 with a burst of tears, as these parting instructions caused 
 every other emotion to vanish in the vivid fears they aroused, 
 that she was indeed about to lose her only friend. 
 12 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " All things are weighed in custom s falsest scale, 
 Opinion is omnipotence, whose veil 
 Mantles the earth with darkness, until right 
 And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale 
 Lest their own judgments should become too bright, 
 And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much light." 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD. 
 
 THE plantation of Richard Wynn, Esq., was situated some 
 where in the green and beautiful Palmetto State. After 
 passing for miles along the flat and sandy road, the traveller 
 was gladdened by the neat white gateway, shaded by a splen 
 did magnolia, that opened into a broad avenue, curving away 
 to the south, leading toward the house which gleamed white 
 in the distance through its embowering trees. On the other 
 side of the gate lay the plantation, acre upon acre, stretching 
 far away, the dead level unbroken by a single fence or 
 tree. 
 
 A southern planter once said to a traveller, "I can t 
 conceive how you invest your money at the north. Here a 
 man s riches consist in lands and niggers." Thus, over the 
 vast space we have described, were scattered in rows and 
 
II>A MAY. 
 
 groups, the other available property of this rich man _ crea 
 tures to be bought and sold, and worked and whipped, and 
 treated in all respects as animals in which property has been 
 invested. As the eye rests on them, one feels tempted to 
 exclaim with Macbeth, 
 
 * What are these, 
 
 So wretched, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like inhabitants of earth, 
 And yet are of it 7 " 
 
 See the heaps of coarse and dirty rags that cover them, or 
 flutter about in the wind, as if they were so many animated 
 scarecrows. Perhaps they lift their eyes a moment to gaze 
 at you, but they pause not in their monotonous toil ; for, 
 sitting on horseback at a little distance, armed with his long 
 whip, they know the overseer is watching them, and he is 
 quick to mark any idleness, and they fear the penalty if their 
 daily task be not accomplished. These creatures are not the 
 sleek, careless, intelligent negroes of story and song. Dis 
 gustingly filthy and. squalid in their attire, their faces have 
 only a sullen, idiotic expression, and, though they are not. 
 emaciated, their skin seems hard, and flabby, and wrinkled, 
 as if the juices of their bodies had been dried up by the corn 
 meal on which they are fed. If y OU should visit that row of 
 whitewashed huts, under the trees, half a mile distant, you 
 would see no gardens around them, no poultry crowding the 
 doors, for Mr. Wynn never interferes with the government | 
 f his overseer; and the overseer is a shrewd, thrifty man, who 
 will allow the negroes no such excuses for neglecting their 
 
1-J4 I1>A MAY. 
 
 work. All the strength they have to labor they owe to the 
 master who has bought and paid for it at the highest market 
 price ; and all the time they spend in care for themselves 
 is so much stolen from him. And as for the negroes, they 
 have plenty of corn to eat, arid they may sleep as soundly as 
 they please from late in the evening till dawn, and they 
 have two suits of strong clothes a year, which ought to keep 
 them comfortable, and if they will be careless and improvi 
 dent they ought to suffer from want, but their masters must 
 not be blamed. And, indeed, who shall in any way blame 
 Mr. Wynn s trusty and well managing overseer ? If one of 
 the wealthiest men in the state can, with impunity, starve his 
 negroes nearly to death, in an economical attempt to feed 
 them on cotton-seed, and if the governor habitually disre 
 gards the law that provides to^ each negro four pounds of meat 
 weekly, and only allows them meat during the festivities of 
 the Christmas holidays, who can expect public opinion to 
 lean so far towards benevolence and indulgence, that its voice 
 shall call upon any merely private individual to recognize his 
 negroes as carnivorous animals, especially while bacon is 
 growing higher in the market every year ? 
 
 But, leaving these wretched beings, whose present con 
 dition and whose future fate, both as regards themselves and 
 their country, it is alike painful to contemplate, let us pro 
 ceed along the avenue towards the spacious and elegant 
 family mansion. How cool and pleasant is the shade of the 
 lofty trees on either side, and how gracefully their trunks 
 and branches are overgrown and festooned with the wild rose, 
 
IDA M A i" . 
 
 now past the season of its blossoming, the ivy and the 
 bullace vines, whose ripe berries gleam amid their green 
 leaves! Passing the end of the house, where they have 
 attempted to atone for the inhospitable southern custom of 
 turning the chimney out of doors, by covering it with running 
 roses, some of which have climbed even to the roof, we follow 
 the sudden sweep of the path round the corner, and find 
 ourselves in front of a large building, two stories high, and 
 shaded above and below by a double piazza, which surrounds 
 it on three sides. At the further end, but hidden from view 
 by a high, vine-covered lattice, are the kitchen and other 
 buildings that make up the domestic menage of a wealthy 
 southerner, arid from the front piazza the land slopes gently, 
 covered with its primitive growth of lofty pines, beneath 
 whose shadow may be seen, here and there, a specimen of the 
 Black Jack, a kind of dwarf oak, whose smooth shining 
 leaves, just putting on their autumn livery of golden brown, 
 deserve a more dignified appellation. 
 
 The season was now far advanced ; the sultry heats of 
 summer had given place to that delightful temperature when 
 the mild sunshine and the delicious airs seem to woo man to 
 a perpetual holiday, and make the simple sensation of life a 
 luxury. The smouldering embers in the fireplaces showed 
 that the early morning had been cool ; but the windows and 
 doors were all open, and idly lounging on the "jiggling^ 
 board," that stood upon the piazza at the end of the house, 
 might at this hour have been seen the form of Walter Varian. 
 In fact he was seen by all who were near enough to see him , 
 12* 
 
A M A Y 
 
 for, though it must be confessed he was lounging, there was 
 about the boy a restless activity, both of mind and body, that 
 made itself manifest wherever he might be, and seldom 
 allowed his tongue or his limbs to remain so long quiet that 
 any one could become oblivious of his presence. And few 
 woul 1 object to this consciousness ; for there was such a bright 
 and genial air about him, such a nobleness in his lithe form 
 and his irregular but handsome features, such a fearless light 
 in his clear brown eyes, such kindly independence in his firm 
 voice and his ringing laugh, and such careless grace in his 
 movements, and even in the waving of his soft, luxuriant 
 chestnut hair, which was never smooth for five consecutive 
 minutes during his whole life, that Walter Varian s presence 
 was like sunshine in any house, carrying life and animation 
 wherever he went. 
 
 Near him, just inside the window, where the sunlight, 
 which was flickering down on the piazza through sprays of 
 rose-leaves and vines that shadowed it, might not fall too 
 Irowningly upon her fair face, sat his cousin, Mabel Wynn. 
 She was at this time just entering the "teens;" and though 
 girls at that age are usually in the transition stage, when hair 
 that has always hung down revenges itself for being turned 
 up and imprisoned in combs, by making the neck seem long 
 and ungraceful, and the shoulders high, and when hands and 
 feet are useless encumbrances, which it is distressing to be 
 obliged to take care of in company, still the heiress of Wymi 
 Hull, conscious of beauty and wealth, carried her haughty 
 little head as high, and moved with as much grace, as one 
 
IDA MAY. 137 
 
 could desire to see. She was, indeed, very beautiful, with 
 features of faultless symmetry, eyes of the deepest and most 
 celestial blue, fringed by long, dark lashes; and the broad 
 mazarine blue ribbons, that fastened the silken braids of her 
 light hair, served to set off the alabaster purity of her com 
 plexion. She was dressed in a light plaid silk, that left 
 bare her snow-white neck and arms ; and, as she leaned back 
 in the depths of a large easy-chair, her delicate hands were 
 idly playing with, and pulling to pieces, a large bouquet of 
 late-blooming roses. 
 
 " See there, now, how you are tearing the flowers I took so 
 much pains to gather and arrange for you this morning ! " said 
 Walter, as he saw her employment. 
 
 " Well, I have nothing else to do," replied the little lady, 
 with a slight toss of her head ; " and roses are not so great a 
 rarity that I should be so very choice of them." 
 
 " Roses ! no, indeed ; but to think that my gift should be 
 ranked with common flowers ! Beside, see what a heap of 
 them you are scattering on the floor," added he, with a little 
 confusion at the smile that curled the lip of his uncle, who 
 heard his attempt at gallantry. 
 
 " 0, that makes no matter ! " replied Mabel ; " Rose can 
 sweep them up again ; she has nothing else to do. But I 
 thought you and Uncle Charles were going shooting this 
 morning." 
 
 " So we are, if he ever gets ready. He went some time 
 ago to order a lunch before we started, but neither Charles 
 nor the lunch seems to be forthcoming. 0, I mistake 
 
138 IDA MAY. 
 
 Please consider that last sentence retracted, taken back, never 
 uttered, for, lo ! in the distance I see Alfred approaching, 
 Alfred the Great, and, behold, he beareth cakes that arc not 
 burnt, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and 
 bread the staff of life, and bacon which in this southern 
 country may be called the terra firma on which that staff is 
 supposed t: rest. Come, Alfred, draw the little table out 
 here, and sot your waiter down, and then go and tell Master 
 Charles that his presence is requested on the south piazza." 
 
 These last words were addressed to a tall, handsome mu 
 latto boy, whose intelligent, good-natured face and neat attire 
 at once prepossessed the beholder in his favor. 
 
 " Yes, Mass Walter," he said with a smile, as he pro 
 ceeded to do as he was told, " Mass Charles would n t let me 
 clean the gun, and he say he be done cleaning himself by 
 luven, but the clock done struck leven some time ago, and he 
 hard at work yet." 
 
 " Go tell him the luncheon is waiting to be eaten, and the 
 partridges are waiting to be shot, and, what is more important 
 than all, Jam waiting, though neither to be shot nor eaten," 
 replied Walter, laughing ; "and say to him, also, it is my 
 humble opinion that if he spends all day in cleaning his gun, 
 it will be dark before he will be able to use it." 
 
 Alfred gave a quick glance of intelligence and affection at 
 the pleasant face that was turned towards him, and withdrew 
 noiselessly, to carry the message. The smile faded fro.n 
 Walter s lips as he looked after him, and her s-aid carelessly, 
 as he turned again to his cousin, 
 
IDA M A 
 
 139 
 
 44 Alfred is a handsome, bright-looking fellow. It $ almost 
 a pity he is n t going to be a man when he grow-, up." 
 
 Mabel lifted her head, and opened her large ey ( 3s in a kind 
 of wonder. " What in the world will he be, if he is n t a 
 man ? " she said. 
 
 " 0, a chattel personal, a boy, an animal, anything else 
 you please, but never a man. Old Homer says, 
 
 * Whatever day 
 Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away ; 
 
 and it is as true now as in the days of the glorious old Greek, 
 that a slave can never be a man" 
 
 " You should have given that quotation in the original ; it 
 would have sounded more learned" said Mabel s father, scorn 
 fully, without looking up from his book ; and Mabel herself 
 replied, with a pretty indignation, 
 
 " I .don t think Alfred would thank you, if he heard you 
 calling him that. If you could only know how fond he is of 
 us all, and so proud of belonging to our family ! It is really 
 laughable to see the scorn with which they all look down 
 on a family of free negroes in the neighborhood. Beside, you 
 have no right to call them such names as you have whenever 
 you have spoken about them since you came back ; papa says 
 that is n t the proper term at all. They are servants, ser 
 vants held to labor, that s what they are called in the consti 
 tution of the United States, and that s what they are ; and 
 it s only the vulgar Yankees that call them anything else." 
 And the girl sank back in her chair, and folded her hands, as 
 
140 IDA MA*. 
 
 if she had settled the question, and there was no appeal from 
 her decision. 
 
 But Walter replied, with most irreverent nonchalance, -as 
 he carved the bacon, " Because they are not called by the 
 right name in the constitution, is no reason why I should not 
 use the right term in speaking of them. They are slaves, and 
 what s the use of mincing the matter ? If a man is n t free, 
 if he don t own his wife, or his children, or even his own 
 nands and feet, he s a slave; and that s quite a different 
 thing from simply being a servant." 
 
 " Free, indeed ! " replied Mabel, her ruby lip curling in 
 great scorn ; " how ridiculously you talk, Cousin Walter ! 
 How fine it would be to send off the plantation people into 
 the free States ! They don t know how to take care of them 
 selves a day, and as for the house servants, they would n t be 
 free if they could, you may ask any of them." 
 
 " Ask them ! " replied Walter. " That would be equal to 
 the farce of taking Daniel Webster to a certain plantation, 
 where everything had been prepared beforehand, and telling 
 him he might ask any questions he pleased, and find out for 
 himself just how the negroes were treated. There is n t a 
 mother s son among them but has wit enough to know what 
 answer to make to anybody his master allows to question 
 him." 
 
 " What an absurd, vulgar manner you have acquired of 
 talking on this subject ! " said Mr. Wynn, laying down his 
 book, and drawing his chair nearer to the window, as he saw 
 his daughter was at a loss for a reply. One would think 
 
IDA MAY. 141 
 
 you were some ignorant northern abolitionist, instead of hav 
 ing been born and raised at the south, and well acquainted 
 with our domestic institution from your infancy." 
 
 " Your pardon, uncle ; but it is we, who are born and raised 
 among servants, that are ignorant, and not the northern aboli 
 tionists. I dare affirm, that a person who sat down intelli 
 gently to think what human nature is, and who remembers 
 how, throughout all history, unlimited power has always been 
 abused, and who reflects on the degradation and deceit of the 
 one class, and the pride, and impatience, and evil passions, 
 that may with impunity be exercised by the other class, 1 
 say such a man, if he had never seen or heard of a slave, 
 would have a more correct idea of what slavery must be, than 
 the most of those, who are educated to believe themselves 
 born to a state of society that must continue, and accepting 
 it as it is, to see, and hear, and know as little about it as 
 possible." 
 
 Mr. "VVynn had been fidgeting in his chair, with difficulty 
 refraining from interrupting his nephew. Now, however, he 
 broke out in a tone of scornful anger : 
 
 " 0, yes ! no doubt you dare affirm a great many other 
 things on the subject as foolish as this last wild proposition 
 has been ; but I beg you won t make my house the scene of 
 such nonsense." 
 
 " I will not insist upon offensive epithets," said Walter ; 
 " but pray, uncle, allow me, before you seal my lips in silence, 
 to tell you how it happens that I, born and raised among ser 
 vants, as you say, have ro suddenly changed my sentiments in 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 142 
 
 regard to them ; and if I am wrong, do convince me of it, for 
 I Lure you I find my present feelings most uncomfortably 
 at war with my pecuniary interests. In truth, when I 
 went to college, I was the most surprised and indignant yo, 
 alive, at the stories poured into my ears respecting the rela 
 tion between master and servant, -horrible stories of cruelty 
 and tyranny, such as it would make your blood run cold 
 hear. But to my surprise I found, after the strictest inquiry, 
 that, as far as human evidence can establish anything, the 
 most of these stories were facts, - yes, and some of them had 
 occurred in this very State, but I had never heard of them 
 before. Then I insisted that these were but isolated instances, 
 and that the great majority of masters were kind, and the 
 servants generally perfectly contented and happy; and to this 
 there came a reply drawn from the sensitiveness of the whole 
 south in regard to this subject; the anger with which we 
 repel the slightest inquiry into our domestic management ; the 
 care we take that our servants should not converse with 
 strangers, either those of their own color or white men, or 
 even talk with our own neighbors about home affairs ; the 
 vigilance committees we establish, and the strictness of our 
 laws, and the insult and even personal injury which those 
 have experienced to whom suspicion has attached of coming 
 among us with sentiments inimical to our beloved institu 
 tion. One day, in a general conversation, a- man said to me, 
 It is not possible that such a state of things should be, if 
 you did not all know that this is a magazine that must not 
 be entered with a lighted lamp. Depend upon it, my dear 
 
IDA MAY. 143 
 
 fellow, said he, if there was not something everywhere to 
 conceal, there would be somebody who would be willing to 
 come to the light ; and, though I have no doubt you are igno 
 rant of it, there have probably events happened in your home 
 neighborhood, or perhaps on your own plantation, that would 
 not read well in a newspaper, even with the fairest construc 
 tion. I mean no offence, he continued, * but human nature is 
 the same everywhere, and though there are noble exceptions 
 in which man is better than human nature, generally speak 
 ing tyranny is and must be the result of unlimited power ; 
 and, for my part, I don t see why you don t acknowledge it. 
 I could never understand, said he, why southerners, who are 
 determined to keep their slaves, and make the bqst of it, don t 
 say right out that they make stringent laws because they are 
 afraid to give the negroes the least liberty, lest there should 
 be an insurrection ; and they will not have them talked to by 
 strangers, because they don t wish them to get an idea that 
 anybody regards them otherwise than as slaves, lest it should 
 increase their present discontent. This would at least com 
 mand respect. But it is an insult to common sense to be 
 told the negroes are perfectly contented and happy, and well 
 treated, and yet forbidden to have anything to say to them 
 upon their own condition. " 
 
 " The insojent Yankee ! " exclaimed Mabel, with flashing 
 eyes ; " why did n t you shoot him, Walter, on the spot ? " 
 
 " I did try to," replied her cousin, half laughing, and with 
 heightened color in his cheek. "That is, I was angry 
 enough to do it ; and, taking the best means 1 then knew to 
 
] 44 I D A M A Y . 
 
 revenge the insult I thought I had received, I sent him a 
 challenge." 
 
 " You did ! Did he accept it ? " asked Mabel, leaning 
 forward with great interest and pride in her cousin. 
 
 "No; he meant nothing personal, he was only talking. 
 But 1 was unused to free discussion ; we have n t much of it 
 down here, you know," he added, with a sly, momentary 
 glance at his uncle. 
 
 " But how could he refuse a challenge ? " said Mabel. 
 " The coward ! I suppose he did n t dare fight ! " 
 
 " Not so fast, coz, he was no coward. I had always 
 liked him before that, and he is a splendid fellow ; you would 
 like him yourself, if you knew him ; he ranks number one 
 in the class." 
 
 " He was a coward, for all that, if he would n t fight," 
 replied Mabel ; " and it s strange you don t think so. I hope, 
 at least, you horsewhipped him, the poltroon ! " 
 
 "I am sorry to disappoint your ladyship," said Walter, 
 smiling ; " but though, regardless of Dr. Watts advice, I let 
 my angry passions rise, he was as cool as the coldest ice 
 cream you ever tasted, and as sweet, and proved as effica 
 cious in cooling the fever of my blood. You will laugh when 
 I tell you how he answered my challenge. It was not ten 
 minutes after I had sent it, before George Hunter himself, 
 the very man against whom I had been breathing out slaugh 
 ter, entered the room." 
 
 "-Was it George Hunter, the friend you have been writ 
 
IDA MAY. 145 
 
 ing about so enthusiasticly for the last year ? " exclaimed 
 Mabel 
 
 "The very same," replied Walter. "He came in, and 
 walked straight up to the side of the table against which I 
 was leaning with both elbows, and, speaking in a pleasant and 
 yet dignified tone, for he has a great deal of dignity, he 
 said, I am sorry, Yarian, that you should have thought I 
 meant to insult you in my remarks this morning. That is 
 nothing here nor there, said I, fierce as a turkey-cock ; I 
 did think you meant to insult me, and I still think so, and 
 now the question between us had better be left to others. I 
 have sent my friend to your room, and I suppose you have 
 referred him to yours, I added, pointedly. He smiled a 
 little. He was some years older than I, and I know must 
 have been a little amused at my vehemence," added Walter, 
 to whom the year that had elapsed since the time referred to 
 had brought so much wisdom and knowledge, that he was able 
 to smile at his boyish folly. 
 
 " He had no right to laugh at you," said Mabol. " I 
 don t see how you could bear it, after his other insult. 
 
 " 0, he didn t laugh at me; he was perfectly respectful," 
 replied Walter; "and there was something in his manner 
 that calmed me in spite of myself. For a moment, he did 
 not answer me, and then he said he had rather peculiar 
 notions about fighting. If I insisted upon it, he would try 
 to give me all the satisfaction it would afford me to shoot at 
 him, but he had not the least desire to shoot me, so that it 
 was not at all necessary for him to consult any friend upon 
 
146 IDA MAY. 
 
 the subject. Well, this was rather a novel way of putting 
 it, and I was a little puzzled what to say, for I had been 
 with him in the shooting-gallery, and I knew he was a bet 
 ter shot than I was so the advantage was on his side if 
 be had chosen to fight. As I did not answer, he went on to 
 say that he might be mistaken about it, but it seemed to him 
 quite likely I could talk with him upon the subject in dis 
 pute as rationally and as satisfactorily with my own lips as 
 through the mouth of a pistol, and he was sure my arguments 
 would be quite as well received ; and though knock-dow7i ar 
 guments were sometimes conclusive, he hardly thought the 
 fact of having shot at him would be admitted in the debatiug- 
 club as proof that I was right and he was wrong. Well, you 
 know I am good-natured enough when the first flash is over ; 
 and there was no great need of a quarrel, after all, for I 
 could n t help owning to myself that he had as much right to 
 his opinion as I had to mine ; and so we talked a while, and 
 then shook hands upon it, and have been good friends ever 
 since." 
 
 " That is a pretty story you have been telling ! " said Mr. 
 Wynn, in a tone of careless scorn. " I don t wonder, after 
 hearing such a confession, that you are not ashamed to have 
 adopted that young man s opinions." 
 
 Walter bit his lip, and cast down his eyes a moment. He 
 had a habit of blushing when strongly excited, and now his 
 cheek and brow were flooded with the crimson tkle that welled 
 up from his loudly throbbing heart, for he was just at the 
 age when the imputation of cowardice is felt derp)y, and 
 
IDA MAY. 147 
 
 those taunting words had wounded. " I did not adopt his 
 opinions," he said firmly, after a little pause, " until I had 
 become convinced that, on most subjects, he judged rightly, 
 and I think, when thus convinced, I showed full as much wis 
 dom in adopting them as I should if I had murdered him for 
 differing from me." 
 
 At this retort Mabel gave a start, and a half-frightened 
 glance towards her father, for he was a man to whose 
 reproofs his family were not accustomed to hear bold replies. 
 A quiet and scholarly gentleman, spending most of his wak 
 ing hours in his library, he could, when he chose, be delight 
 fully gracious, and even, at times, familiar with those around 
 him; but let anything happen to offend him, and he was 
 positively awful. He did not say much, but he used immedi 
 ately to retire behind his spectacles, and through them, as 
 through the embrasure of a fortress, he sent such glances as 
 were more powerful than any argument in silencing and con 
 founding the daring rebel, or the rash opponent. He was a 
 very tall, angular-looking man, and his German descent might 
 be traced in his large bones, his firmly-set jaw, which a long, 
 thin red beard covered, as with a fiery halo, his square face, 
 light hair and light blue eyes ; but every peculiarity of form 
 or feature was lost to one who endured that stony gaze, and 
 all his six-feet altitude seemed covered and concealed by thosp 
 spectacles, behind which he had impregnably entrenched him 
 self. The story of the Gorgon was no longer a myth to the 
 unfortunate offender in such times ; and self-possessed, indeed, 
 must he be who could retain the power of speech, or remem 
 
148 IDA MAY. 
 
 bor what he wished to say, many moments after those cold 
 eyes had assumed that peculiar and fixed expression. 
 
 But Walter was now aroused, and, secure in his con 
 sciousness of right, he found himself on this occasion, almost to 
 his own surprise, enduring, unmoved, the petrifying glanct 
 that was now bent upon him. Turning to Mabel, he said 
 calmly, and with a secret delight at thus defying the relative 
 whom he had always feared, rather than loved, " To return 
 from this digression, it was in consequence of what I heard at 
 the north, from sober and sensible men, that I determined to 
 open my eyes and see for myself. Last year I was prevented 
 by that fever I went through with ; but this year I carried 
 out my intention as far as possible, which, to be sure, is not 
 vory far, for all imaginable impediments and deceits are thrown 
 in the way of an impartial inquirer. I made the tour on 
 horseback, that I might be able to diverge into the byways 
 and small towns ; but I often met with suspicion, and some 
 times almost with insult. It was decidedly the pursuit of 
 knowledge under difficulty ; and once it was only by being 
 able to satisfy the hotel-keeper that I was a Carolinian, 
 and had the honor to be connected with the Wynn family, 
 that I escaped being ordered out of town, as the penalty of 
 my imprudence." 
 
 " Served you right, too," said Mr. Charles Maynard, who 
 had joined them in time to hear Walter s last remark, and 
 saw, by a glance at the face of his brother-in-law, how matters 
 stood. "Served you right, Sir Spy all," he repeated pleas 
 antly, as he seated himself before the table, where stood the 
 
IDA MAY. 149 
 
 untasted luncheon, and then, half turning to Mr. Wynn, he 
 added, with a comical twist of his features, "We mustn t be 
 too severe on him, though, brother Richard. You know he s 
 young" 
 
 11 He s old enough to know better than to talk such arrant 
 nonsense," replied Mr. Wynn, gruffly. 
 
 " 0, young men of his temperament always pass through a 
 fever of enthusiasm ! It is a necessity of their nature, as 
 much as the measles, or the chicken-pox. He 11 get over it ; 
 there s nothing like age and experience, and, above all, some 
 personal interest in having the established order of things 
 continue, to reconcile a man to the existing mode of life. 
 He 11 be a violent conservative, as soon as he gets hold of the 
 plantation at Oaklands ; see if you don t, sir ! " he added, 
 nodding with twinkling eyes at his nephew. 
 
 " It may be so," replied Walter, good-naturedly, " but I 
 don t believe I shall change my sentiments on this subject if I 
 live to be as old and gray as the most venerable rat about the 
 premises." 
 
 " Well, come now, eat your luncheon," said Mr. Maynard, 
 " or those partridges will get tired of waiting, and fly off before 
 we get ready to shoot them. You ve lost an hour hero 
 now." 
 
 " I ve lost it ? " replied Walter, laughing; " I was waiting 
 for you. Now we are on the subject, I just want to tell you 
 one thing, to show how ignorant the whites are of the manner 
 in which the negroes are treated, even in their immediate 
 neighborhood, or else how shamefully they will lie about it. 
 
150 IDA MAY. 
 
 I had been told, everywhere through Virginia, that whipping 
 was an almost unheard-of thing ; and at last one man told me 
 that he had n t known of a nigger being tied up and whipped 
 for ten years, anywhere about there. Well, the next day I 
 had a good chance to examine the whipping-post in that very 
 town, and just for curiosity I touched it with my fingers, and 
 instead of being dry and rusty as they would have been if 
 unused for any length of time, the irons, where the wrists 
 are fastened, and the front of the post where the body presses, 
 were all smooth and greasy with the sweat and fat of the 
 poor fellows." 
 
 " Ugh! " exclaimed Mabel, with an expression of disgust, 
 "how can you say such things ? How horribly vulgar ! " 
 
 " How horribly wrong ! " rejoined Mr. Maynard, half 
 seriously and half in fun. " Why, Walter, you ve come to 
 be a second edition of Paul Pry, enlarged, if not improved. 
 What right have you to poke your sacrilegious fingers into the 
 bleeding wounds of your country, and tear them open in this 
 way? Don t you know you are endangering the Union? 
 Eat your luncheon, boy, and don t get puffed up with the idea 
 that you were born to correct all the abuses in Christendom, 
 for I don t believe you have any such mission. Eat your 
 luncheon, and then acknowledge that you never thought of 
 being so philanthropic till you fell in love with that pretty little 
 girl on the mountain." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said Walter. " But she was a little 
 beauty, and I say it s a shame " 
 
 " Hush, now ! no more of that," interrupted Mr. Maynard, 
 
I D A II A Y . 
 
 throwing a tiny piece of bread across the table, directly 
 against his nephew s lips. If Charles Maynard had lived to 
 be a hundred years old he would always have been something 
 of a boy. 
 
 " Well, I will say, she was too pretty for a servant," per 
 sisted Walter, laughing ; " and yet it was n t so much her 
 face as her musical voice and her grace of manner that inter 
 ested me. Sport knows don t you, Sport ? " he continued, 
 addressing the dog, who lay on a mat near him. 
 
 " If Sport does know, he won t tell," said Mabel, desiring to 
 turn the conversation from a subject that had so offended her 
 father. " He has grown to be terribly lazy since he came 
 down with you. He won t move unless he is compelled, and 
 he sleeps day and night." 
 
 " He is mighty still, indeed," said her Uncle Charles. " It 
 was so bright, last night, that I expected certainly to have 
 heard him ; but he seems to have even given up his favorite 
 habit of making night hideous, by baying the moon." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Walter, patting the dog, who, finding 
 himself the object of remark, began to rub his nose with his 
 huge paws, and stretch himself, and cast side-glances from the 
 corners of his eyes, in a manner that caused a general laugh 
 from all the group except Mr. Wynn, who rose and retired to 
 his study, deeming this the more dignified way of withdrawing 
 the artil>ry that had for once proved ineffectual to silence the 
 offender. Sport was the most affectionate animal ever known ; 
 but it was impossible to see him endeavor to return caresses, 
 without thinking of the fable of the donkey that would be a 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 lap-dog. " Poor fellow ! " repeated Walter, " he is com 
 pletely tired out. The journey was too much for a gentleman 
 of his years, and it has fairly given him the rheumatism. 
 Hi^ joints are so stiff he can hardly move." 
 
 " I should n t think the rheumatism would affect his voice," 
 said Mabel. " Pinch his ears, Walter, and make him say 
 something. I should like to hear one of those long, musical 
 howls that used to run through all the notes of the scale." 
 
 " Howl ! you don t mean to say Sport howls ! " exclaimed 
 Walter. " Why, he is a splendid singer. I pretend to be a 
 judge of music, and I d put him against any Tenore in the 
 world. If you could only have heard him sing * auld laiig 
 syne on the college green at the last commencement. He 
 completely drowned the voices of the graduating class, on the 
 chorus. Can t you give us a specimen now, old fellow ? " he 
 added, pulling one of the dog s long, silky ears. But Sport 
 only replied by an expressive glance, and, giving an immense 
 yawn, turned over, as ff to compose himself to sleep. 
 
 " It is no use ; he won t display his acquirements," said 
 Mr. Maynard, shrugging his shoulders ; " and if he has the 
 rheumatism he ought to be excused. It is not a musical 
 disease." 
 
 " I don t know about that ; it is apt to -bring out the 
 chords" replied Walter ; at which his uncle -aughed, and, as 
 Alfred just then came along the piazza with their guns, powder- 
 flasks and other accoutrements, the two gentlemen arose, and 
 leaving the dog, who could not be enticed from his mat, they 
 sauntered forth down the path that led into the valley. 
 
IDA MAY. 158 
 
 The beauty of the day, and the hope of finding game, 
 tempted them to spend several hours in wandering beneath the 
 green forest arches, and over the levels and hollows where 
 their feet trod softly upon fallen pine leaves and the dry silver 
 sands that everywhere cover the surface of that ancient sea- 
 border, and from which, by some unknown and wondrous 
 alchemy, these lofty pines draw the rich and odorous gums 
 with which they overflow. But the covey of partridges, 
 which, the day before, when he walked without his gun, had 
 persisted in tantalizing him by keeping directly in his path, 
 now very provokingly refused all further acquaintance with 
 Walter, and, after a circuit of some miles, they were return 
 ing homeward, entirely unsuccessful, when suddenly Dash, a 
 little spaniel who had followed them from the house, stopped, 
 and commenced barking furiously at the foot of a large pine, 
 which was nearly bare of branches for thirty feet from the 
 ground. 
 
 They were weary with their long ramble, and it was late in 
 the afternoon, so they tried to call off the dog; but no he 
 would stay there, and he would bark ; and he kept it up so 
 long and so pertinaciously, throwing himself nearly off his 
 feet in the violence of his demonstrations, that their curiosi ty 
 was aroused, and Walter proposed that he should " shin " up 
 the tree, and see what there was there to justify Dash s ex 
 treme excitement. 
 
 " The tree is a pretty tall one, and hard to climb," said 
 Mr. Maynard, measuring it with his eye; "but I see a 
 hollow up there between the lower branches, and if you choose 
 
IDA MAY 
 
 to risk your neck to gratify your curiosity, I won t object to 
 Bitting down on this log to rest myself while you do it." 
 
 I 11 try it, any way ; there may be something there worth 
 having, and, at any rate, Dash seems to think so. Come on, 
 then, Dash, I 11 climb, and you bark, and see which of us will 
 get tired of the tree first; " and, as he spoke, he threw off his 
 shooting-jacket and made a dash at the sturdy old monarch 
 of the woods. 
 
 After infinite toil, and not a few slips and scratches, he 
 managed to reach the lower branches, and, seating himself 
 astride one of them, was about to thrust his hand into the hole 
 to ascertain what might be there, when a slight movement 
 within arrested his attention, and he drew his face suddenly 
 back, as a huge black snake darted his head out with a loud 
 hiss at the intruder. Confound the dog ! " he exclaimed ; 
 and then, instantly recovering from the first shock of surprise, 
 before the creature had time to withdraw itself, he seized it 
 firmly by the neck, and, with a quick motion, jerked it from 
 its nest and flung it down to the ground. " There, Dash," 
 said he, " if that is what you were making such a fuss about, 
 take it." 
 
 His uncle could not hear his words, but he saw the motion, 
 and sprang up in amazement as the snake fell at his feet, 
 Then bursting into a laugh, at the idea ot taking so much 
 pains for such a prize, in which he was joined by Walter, 
 from his elevated seat, Mr. Maynard set the dog on the snake, 
 who was gliding quietly away, and Dash revenged himself 
 id his master, by shaking and biting it until it was dead. 
 
 ana 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 Having reached the b round in safety, but with no very exalted 
 opinion of the sagacity of his canine companion, Walter was 
 j ist putting on his coat, when they were both startled by loud 
 screams, that seemed to come from a spot not very far dis 
 tant, 
 
 In some parts of Carolina there are rounded and elongated 
 lulls of slight elevation, which it is easy to see were once 
 i-lands, by the worn pebbles and debris with which their 
 steep sides are sometimes covered, and by the cliff-like shapes 
 in which the retiring waters have in other places worn the 
 clay, which lies many feet -in thickness beneath the sand that 
 covers their flattened tops, and has been washed down into 
 the shallow vales that-wind between them. In these valleys 
 and bowl-shaped depressions are many clear springs of water 
 that, during the short course they run before losing themselves 
 in the loose soil, moisten the roots of various kinds of hard 
 wood trees, oaks, elms, and walnut, that are usually overrun 
 with various luxuriant flowering or fruit-bearing vines. In 
 the spring, especially, while the woods are filled with the 
 delicious fragrance of the yellow jasmine, one can hardly im 
 agine a more beautiful picture than these valleys present, 
 filled as they are with a soft, green light, and bright with 
 flowers, and echoing with the songs of birds; and if the vista 
 be enlivened, as usual, with a group of negro women, singing, 
 or talking, or scolding, over their washing around the spring, 
 and children, most picturesquely primitive in their habilt 
 mntei bringing broken branches and pieces of "fat-wood" to 
 llr-1 the fire beneath the large kettles where the clothes aro 
 14 
 
156 IDA M A V . 
 
 boiling, nothing ^eems wanting to complete the picturesque 
 effect. 
 
 Through these woods, feeding plentifully upon fallen nuts 
 and the " mast " of the pine burrs, there wander droves of 
 swine, of all colors and sizes. Their roving life renders them 
 almost as swift and agile as goats ; and sometimes the males 
 will resent any annoyance most fiercely. They have often 
 been known to attack smaller animals, or children, who came 
 in their way, and the tusks that have been taken from some 
 of them are long enough and sharp enough to have graced the 
 heads of their ferocious ancestors, the wild boars of Europe. 
 
 The shrieks, which Mr. Maynard and his nephew still con 
 tinued to hear, directed their steps to the brow of the eleva 
 tion whereon this little scene of the snake hunt had occurred 
 and, looking down into the valley, they saw plainly the cau? 
 of the outcry. One of these wild swine had attacked a litt" e 
 girl, who had escaped him only by springing upon the rugged 
 stump of a tree that had been blown down. There she was 
 one or two feet above his reach, but the stump was old and 
 rotten, and the standing-place insecure. The enraged animal 
 had already with his tusks torn into splinters the bark around 
 the root, and was now tearing off long pieces of the decayed 
 wood, and, though the child still balanced herself, her footing 
 was every moment growing fearfully uncertain. 
 
 Without waiting for a moment s thought. Walter, who hnd 
 left his gun at the foot of the tree he had climbed, seized a 
 stick, and, leaping down the steep bank, ran to the spot, 
 followed by the valiant Dash and Mr. Maynard. Forta- 
 
IDA MAY. 157 
 
 nately this last gentleman had his gun in his hand when he 
 was first startled by the child s screams, and, still retaining it 
 ready loaded, reached the scene of action in time to take an 
 unerring aim directly into the face of the boar, who, diverted 
 from his first charge by their approach, had killed poor Dash 
 by piercing him to the heart with one blow of his tusk, and, 
 having snapped in pieces the stick with which Walter de 
 fended himself, might have injured him severely, had not Mr. 
 Maynard come to the rescue. The charge of small shot, with 
 which the gun was loaded, of course did not kill the animal, 
 but it blinded him so completely that it was easy to keep out 
 of his way till the piece could be again loaded with a bullet, 
 which soon laid him on the ground in a death struggle. 
 
 This being done, Walter hastened to the place where the 
 child, half-fainting with terror, had sunk down at the foot of 
 the stump. She was dressed in soiled and torn clothing, and, 
 as her head rested on her hands, a coarse muslin sun-bonnet 
 hid her face. Laying his hand on her shoulder, and stooping 
 down, he said, kindly, " Are you hurt, little girl ? Look up 
 and tell me your name." 
 
 At the sound of his voice the child started, and, looking 
 up, eagerly seized his hand, exclaiming, " It is you ! 0, how 
 I did hope we should find you ! " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " exclaimed Walter, at the same moment. 
 " Why, Lizzy, can this be you ? Are you a witch or a fairy, 
 child, that you thus appear to me all alone in the woods ? If 
 your adventure with the pig had not been so entirely human, 
 I should be almost afraid of you," he added, laughing. 
 
Ib8 IDA MAY. 
 
 But Lizzy did not laugh in return. Her large Drown eyes 
 filled with tears, and, still grasping his hand in both her own, 
 she said, "0 Master Walter Varian, we have been sold, and 
 we are going to some dreadful place, and you said " The 
 words died away in a convulsive sob, and the tears ran down 
 over her pale cheeks ; but those wild, melancholy eyes were 
 still fixed imploringly on his face, as if to remind him of the 
 promise she hardly had the courage to claim. 
 
 " I said I would help you, and I will if I can, don t 
 cry," replied Walter, cheerfully, and, turning to his uncle, 
 who had stopped to look at Dash, and was now approaching, 
 he added, " Whom do you think we have saved ? It is my 
 mountain maid, my woodland nymph, it is the little girl I 
 told you of. Come and see her." 
 
 A change had come over Ida during the few weeks that 
 had elapsed since their first meeting. The excitement and 
 variety that had so suddenly succeeded to the monotony of 
 her former life, had roused her mind to unusual vigor. Her 
 face had lost its quiet and dreamy expression, and her eyes 
 had a restless, searching glance of inquiry and of fear. Yet, 
 despite the poverty and disorder of her attire, she was still 
 uncommonly beautiful, and, from the moment he saw her, 
 Mr. Maynard was as much charmed with her appearance as 
 his nephew had been. She still retained her hold of Walter s 
 hand, and now, half-sitting, half-crouching, at his feet, she 
 looked searchingly into the face of the new comer, as if to 
 read what influence he might exert on her future fate. 
 
 " She is a delicate-looking child, too delicate to bear rough 
 
IDA MAY. 159 
 
 usage. How came she here ? " asked Mr. Maynard, after a 
 moment s silent scrutiny. 
 
 " She says she has been sold from her former master," 
 replied Walter. " Tell us about it, Lizzy. How- came you 
 here ? " 
 
 " They are over on the other side of the hill,-" answered the 
 child, reassured by his kind manner, " and Maum Venus was 
 so tired and thirsty I came down to the spring to get some 
 water. Then I saw those pretty red berries, pointing to a 
 holly-bush not far distant, and, when I came to get them, 
 the pig chased me." 
 
 " And you were frightened, and jumped on the stump, 
 poor child ! Well, you were in some danger," said Walter. 
 " But tell me, how happened you to be sold, and where are 
 you going ? " 
 
 " I don t know," replied Ida, simply. " They said Mass 
 James wanted to raise money, and so he sold us, Maum 
 Venus and I, and seven more niggers. A trader bought us, 
 and we ve come ever so far. 0, I m so tired, and so is 
 Venus ! " and she sighed heavily. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Walter, pityingly, did you walk all 
 the way ? " 
 
 " No," replied Ida. " Maum Venus walked, but sometimes 
 he let me ride. The children took turns in riding with him 
 in the wagon. The wagon got broke to-day, and that s the 
 reason we camped so early." 
 
 " And are you going much further ? " asked Mr. Maynard. 
 
 " I don t know," replied the child, her tears again flowing. 
 14* 
 
160 IDAMAY. 
 
 " Maum Venus says we 11 all be sold again before long, and 
 she thinks we 11 go to some dreadful sugar plantation, or 
 somewhere else, where I can t be with her." 
 
 " Poor child ! don t cry ; I 11 see what can be done," re 
 turned Walter; and then, addressing his uncle, he added, 
 u It will never do to let this child be exposed to the chances 
 of a public sale. There is probably a large gang of them, as 
 they have been driven so far, and I don t doubt the trader 
 ,vill be glad to sell this one." 
 
 " And you mean to buy her ? " asked Mr. Maynard, mus- 
 
 " Yes, I want to," said Walter j " that is, of course, with 
 all due deference to you as my guardian. I know I am not 
 rich, but I must be allowed this piece of extravagance." 
 
 " You can t afford it," replied the uncle ; " but I have never 
 denied you anything since the night you cried for the moon, 
 when you were a two-year-old, and I suppose it s hardly 
 worth while to begin now. I will make the bargain with the 
 fellow, who I see is coming after his stray goods. I can do 
 the thing better than you can." 
 
 Walter looked up the valley as his uncle spoke, and saw 
 the driver approaching. He was a short, thick-set man, with 
 a brutal expression, and his bloated face gave token that 
 he sometimes indulged in beverages stronger than water. 
 The child shrank closer to her protector as she saw him com 
 ing near, and exclaimed, in a frightened whisper, "0, see, 
 he s got his whip in his hand, he s angry because I Ve 
 been gc ne so long ! Don t let him whip me, will you, be 
 
IDA MAY. 161 
 
 beats the.-i dreadfully sometimes, when he s angry, see 
 there ! " and, raising her arm, she showed a cut, several 
 inches in length, where the lash had fallen, through her torn 
 sleeve. 
 
 * Did he whip you ? " cried "Walter, with flashing eyes. 
 
 "No," replied Ida, "but he whipped mauma, cause he 
 said she was always lagging behind; and I put my arms 
 round her, and so he hit me. Poor mauma was sick, and 
 could rit walk fast." 
 
 Walter bit his lip to keep down the indignation he felt ; 
 and the driver, coming up at this moment, put out his hard 
 hand to seize the child, saying, as he did so, 
 
 " Here you are, then, you little runaway ; what you been 
 gone so long for ? come along now ! " But Walter, by a 
 quick movement, placed himself between the slave-driver and 
 his trembling victim ; and Mr. Maynard, touching his arm, 
 drew him a little aside, and demanded what he would take 
 for the child. It made little difference to the man where or 
 when he sold, provided he could get a good price for his 
 slaves, and as Mr. Maynard was acquainted with the market 
 value of such articles, it was not long before a transfer was 
 effected ; for, having determined to buy the child, the worthy 
 purchaser felt no disposition to hold long parley with the 
 man, whose coarse jokes and allusions to what Ida would 
 goon be worth as a "fancy girl," aroused disgust and anger. 
 
 Meantime, Walter had remained beside Ida ; and soon his 
 uncle returned to where they were standing. "I have bought 
 
162 IA MAY. 
 
 her for you," he said ; " but you will have to pay five hun 
 dred dollars for her." 
 
 " So much ! " returned the nephew. " Well, it will be 
 worth that to be able to do what I want to for her. You 
 belong to me, now, Lizzy. You shan t be treated badly any 
 more." 
 
 "0, how good you are ! " cried the child, her expressive 
 face glowing with thankfulness and joy. " " And Venus too ! 
 have you bought mauma, too ? " she added, eagerly. 
 
 At this question, Walter looked rather blank, for, as he 
 had said, he was not rich, and he felt that he had already 
 reached the extent of his ability. But Mr. Maynard said, 
 with an expressive shrug of his shoulders, 
 
 " Venus too ! no, indeed ! Where were you raised, 
 child, that you have so little idea of the value of money ? 
 A man can afford to expend five hundred dollars worth of 
 generosity, upon a rare occasion ; but a thousand or fifteen 
 hundred, that s a tune of another metre. You must be sat 
 isfied with being well off yourself, and let Venus go." 
 
 At these words a shadow fell over the child s beaming face, 
 and, after a moment s silence, she slowly dropped Walter s 
 hand, which she had not released until now, since she first 
 seized it, and turning slowly away, with her eyes fixed on the 
 ground, she began to walk up the valley. 
 
 "Where are you going?" cried Walter, a little disap 
 pointed at this movement. 
 
 At the sound of his voice, the child turned round, and still 
 walking slowly backwards, she said, 
 
IDA MAY. 163 
 
 I m going )ack to Maum Venus. Perhaps somebody 
 else will buy us together." 
 
 And won t you go with me unless I buy Maum Yenus 
 too ? " said Walter, a little piqued. 
 
 His tone touched the feelings of the sensitive child, and 
 running to him she again seized his hand, and, pressing it to 
 her lips, she exclaimed, 
 
 "0, yes ! Don t be angry with me. I shall always think 
 you are the best man that ever lived, but I can t leave 
 mauma. It won t make much difference to you, but I am 
 all she has got in the world ; and she says she shall die if 
 I m sold away from her. Don t be angry with me. I must 
 go back to mauma." 
 
 " No you don t do no such thing ! " said the driver, now 
 coming forward and laying his hand on her shoulder. " I 
 a n t going to have you kicking up sich a bobbery as ther 11 be 
 if she finds you re sold. I don t low no sich fooling. A 
 bargin s a bargin, and now the gents has bought you, they 
 must keep you." 
 
 " You might at least allow her to go back and say good- 
 by, and get her clothes," said Mr. Maynard. " She must 
 have something more decent than these rags, has n t she ? " 
 
 " No she ha n t, nother," replied the man. " I don t low 
 my niggers to tire ^mselves with carryin sich a bundle o 
 truck as th^n gals Mr. Bell s brung with em. The clo se 
 they has on, gen ly ,asts em till they gets to market, and 
 then them that buys em must give em somethin to put on. 
 So I allers takes away their clo se and sells em fore I start 
 
164 I D A 1ft A. Y .. 
 
 Sometimes these Ginia niggers has fust-rate clo se, and brir 
 me in consid able." 
 
 "Well, well," said Walter, impatiently, "it will do 
 harm for her to bid Maum Venus good-by." 
 
 Yes t will, too ! " replied the driver. " I never lows 
 sich things as good-bys. If the niggers gets an idee t] 
 you re goin to look out for their feelin s the least bit, wl 
 they re all over your head in a minute. You jist has to 2 
 em down, and keep em down" he added, stamping his f< 
 heavily on the ground, as if he were crushing somethii 
 " You see, gents, it is very different with us traders fr 
 what it is with you that -lives on plantations. The nigg< 
 gets kind o settled down like, and feels at home, and is m< 
 contented, so you can ford to let ^em have feelin s if tl 
 wants to. But us that jist buys and sells, we can t low 
 sich nonsense, for they nat ly makes a fuss bout leavin th 
 old masters, and their lations, and children; and if we lo\\ 
 em to make a fuss, they would n t be fit to travel. Now 
 patient, gents, and I 11 tell you," he added, as Mr. Mayni 
 was about interrupting him. " You see that ar Venus 
 powerful tender on that child, and if they bids each otl 
 good-by, and all that stuff, she 11 make sich a devil of a fu 
 that she won t be fit to travel to-morrow, and she 11 lag 
 hind and hender the whole gang. But if she finds it < 
 gradual, and don t see no more of her, she won t realize it 
 much, and I shan t have no trouble with her. That s 1 
 way with niggers. While a thing s happenin they make 
 powerful fuss, but when it s over and they know it s did z 
 
IDA MAY. 165 
 
 it can t be undid, why then they settle down quiet, and a n t 
 no trouble." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said Walter, impatiently, "the child wants 
 to see her mauma again, and I say she shall, come, Lizzy." 
 He took her hand as he spoke, and was leading her away ; 
 but, with a brutal oath, the trader sprang before him in the 
 path, exclaiming, 
 
 " I say she shartt then. She belongs to you, but Yenus 
 belongs to me ; and npw I should like to know how you re 
 going to help yourself ? " 
 
 Walter was about making an angry reply, when the discus 
 sion was cut short by the approach of the object of dispute ; 
 for Yenus, becoming alarmed at the child s prolonged absence, 
 had managed, unobserved, to leave the group of slaves, who 
 - were sitting and lying together beneath the trees on the other 
 side of the hill, guarded by one of the traders. The moment 
 she saw her, Ida dropped Walter s hand, and, like a bird 
 darting into her nest, she threw herself upon the bdsom of 
 that faithful friend, and, clasping her hands around her neck, 
 burst into a flood of passionate tears. 
 
 " 0, honey, I se powerful scared bout you, where ye 
 been ? " said Yenus, gazing with surprise at the two strangers, 
 the angry face of her master, and the dead animals that lay 
 near. 
 
 " There, now, I telled you so," said the driver, as he saw 
 this act ; " ther 11 be an awful fuss to get em apart now ! n 
 Then, turning to Yenus, he raised his whip threateningly, and 
 said, "Look here now you jest let go o that gal, and go back 
 
166 IDA MAY. 
 
 where you came from. You a n t no business here ; and that 
 gal s sold to these gents, and you a n t got nothin more to do 
 with her." 
 
 With a deep groan, Venus staggered back, and would have 
 fallen to the ground but forjihe tree that stood directly be 
 hind her. Her arms dropped helplessly from that little 
 clinging form, and her face fell forward on the child s head 
 that lay on her breast. The blow, which for three weeks she 
 had been fearing, had fallen at last, and for a moment all 
 was darkness and blindness. In a little while the faintness 
 passed away, but she made no further outcry, and shed no 
 tears. Her sorrow was too stern and crushing for any such 
 outward demonstration ; but it seemed to her that an iron 
 hand had seized her heart, and was wringing thence the last 
 drops of her life-blood. Sinking slowly down against the 
 trunk of the tree, as if her limbs had lost their strength, she 
 drew the child down to the ground with her ; and, sitting 
 there, she rocked her body to and fro, as she bent over her, 
 and uttered a low, inarticulate, murmuring sound, so expres 
 sive of anguish that it touched even the obdurate feelings of 
 the slave-trader, and, dropping the whip he had raised to 
 strike her, he stood gazing at her in silence. 
 
 " I can t stand this any way," exclaimed Mr. Maynard, 
 impatiently, after a painful pause of a few moments. "Either 
 you must take back the child, or you must sell me the 
 woman. I won t be instrumental in such cruelty as this." 
 
 The trader was not so far overcome, but that he was 
 as much on the alert for " a trade" as ever. Moreover, he 
 
IDA M A Y . 167 
 
 was a little frightened. One, who seemed to know every 
 phase of human feeling, has said, 
 
 " The grief that does not speak, 
 Whispers the o er-fraught heart and bids it break ; " 
 
 and this man had once before seen just such an exhibition of 
 intense agony, on the part of a mother, whom he had parted 
 from her only child ; and in that case, the sale being com 
 pleted, and the child taken away, the mother dropped dead at 
 his feet. It was, therefore, with no little pleasure that he 
 found the prospect of a like disastrous issue for his present 
 speculation averted by this proposition of Mr. Maynard, and 
 he quickly replied by asking what he would give for Venus. 
 
 " She looks like an old woman," replied Mr. Maynard ; 
 you could not get more than five hundred dollars for her." 
 
 " Say six hundred, and you shall have her," said the 
 trader, quickly. He had discovered that Venus was nearly 
 blind of one eye, and he thought he was making a good trade. 
 Mr. Maynard was careless about money, and too much ex 
 cited now by his compassionate feelings to make any very 
 particular examination of the " article " he was purchasing ; 
 and, using the top of the stump for a table, he gave his note 
 for the amount, and then hastily went towards the place 
 where they were sitting, for he had drawn a little aside in 
 concluding the bargain. 
 
 Venus looked up when he touched her shoulder, for she 
 thought he meant to take away her darling, and, clasping her 
 yet closer in her arms, she said in low, husky tones, " Who 13 
 it honey, that s bought ye ? " 
 15 
 
}f,8 I^A MAY. 
 
 " It s Master Walter Varian, the good young man I told 
 you about," replied the child. " 0, ask him to buy you, too ! " 
 " T a n t no use," said Venus, shaking her head despair 
 ingly ; "but, 0, honey, t a n t quite so bad to have you go, 
 if he 11 only treat you well ! " 
 
 " Don t you understand," said Mr. Maynard, " that I ve 
 bought you ? and you shan t be separated from the child." 
 
 She bad, indeed, been unconscious, deafened by misery, 
 while this change in her fate was being effected, and now she 
 seemed unable to realize the great and sudden joy. " Me ! 
 did you say me ? " she cried in a shrill voice. " 0. God ! did 
 he say he d bought me too ? And may I go with Lizzy ? 
 0, massa, you would n t be joking with a poor old nigger 
 woman that has her heart almost broke ! " she added, looking 
 earnestly in his face. 
 
 "No, I am not joking," said Mr. Maynard, kindly. 
 " Come, get up and come along now, for it s getting late, and 
 we ve had no dinner." 
 
 Venus rose from the ground at these words, with the child 
 still clinging around her ; but, as her new master was about 
 turning away, she threw herself at his feet, and, clasping her 
 hands as if in prayer, she exclaimed, " I calls down de bless 
 ing ob de Lord on you, out of heaven, and twill do ye good, 
 if t is a poor old creatur brings it. You shan t neber have 
 casion to be sorry for this thing you ve did, massa, neber. 
 I 11 work for you mornin and night, and if ye a n t got nothin* 
 for me to do, ye may hire me out, yo may do any airthly 
 thing ye want to wid me, massa, if I can on y see my Lizzy 
 
IDA MAY. 169 
 
 ebery day, and know how she s comin on. 0, massa, de 
 Lord bless ye ! Ye can t tell no thin beut what dat child is 
 to me. I se lost husband, and chillen, and eberything, and 
 she s instead ob em all." 
 
 " Well, that 11 do now. Come on, we re getting late," 
 said Mr. Maynard ; but the tears stood in his eyes as he 
 turned away, and, linking his arm in his nephew s, they went 
 up from the little valley in the path that led homeward, with 
 Venus and Lizzy following at a little distance behind. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Now, the soul alone is -willing, 
 
 Faint the heart and weak the knee, 
 And as yet no lip is thrilling 
 
 With the mighty words, Be free. 
 Tarrieth long the land s good angel, 
 . But his advent is to be." J. GL WHITTIER. 
 
 " I DON T know but we have done a foolish thing," said Mr. 
 May iard at length, to his nephew, as they walked along, 
 " What shall we do with these new possessions of ours, I 
 wonder ? The fact is, I do hate to feel badly, and I can never 
 see anybody in distress without doing all I can to help them. 
 It s foolish, I know." 
 
 " It is a folly which becomes a wise man more than all his 
 wisdom," said Walter, pressing his uncle s arm affection 
 ately. 
 
 "Thank you, but it s a folly nevertheless, and a misfortune 
 too ; for there is so much distress in the world that one can t 
 relieve, that the little one can do seems of no use. For that 
 reason I make it a rule never to go where people are in 
 trouble, if I can help it. I can t even live on my own estate. 
 I tried it awhile ; but, as I said before, I hate to feel badly, 
 
IDA MAY. 171 
 
 and there were so many troubles always occurring, that I 
 could n t help, that I gave it up." 
 
 " You did n t give up the plantation ! " cried Walter, m 
 amazement. 
 
 " No ; but I gave up living at home. After your poor 
 mother died, the place grew too lonely, so I got an overseer, 
 whom I knew T could trust, and, having made a calculation, 
 and found how much the place would bring yearly, with the 
 negroes well fed and moderately worked, I told the over 
 seer I wanted so much, and he might have good wages, if 
 he d carry on things just to suit me, and take the whole 
 3harge." 
 
 " It seems to me that you place great power in the hands 
 of your overseer," replied Walter, gravely. "What if he is 
 a dishonest man, and, giving you only the sum you fixed upon, 
 works the people to death, to make as much more for him 
 self? " 
 
 " 0, he don t, I reckon," said the uncle. " I run down 
 upon him when he least expects me, and take a gallop round 
 the place to see that the general aspect of things is right. 
 I won t have any cruelty, and he knows it ; but otherwise I 
 don t interfere with the plantation discipline." 
 
 " But you are here at Uncle Richard s much of the time. 
 You must see some things here that go wrong, as well as on 
 your own plantation," persisted Walter. 
 
 " No, indeed, I don t," replied the other. " I know no 
 more about the state of his negroes than the man in the moon- 
 T never go near them, and I ask no questions. It is the only 
 15* 
 
172 IDA MAY. 
 
 way for a man to live easy under this troublesome domestic 
 institution of ours. One must either think of the negroes 
 only as brutes, and be perfectly careless of their feelings, or 
 else one must shut one s eyes and ears, and let things slide as 
 smoothly as possible. Beside, if I do see any wrongs here, I 
 don t foel any responsibility about them, and that is a great 
 weight off one s shoulders." 
 
 " Still," said Walter, " I don t see that by running away 
 from your plantation, you get rid of the responsibility that 
 attaches to the possession of negroes. The only way to do 
 that is to free them." 
 
 Mr. Maynard shook his head, and almost groaned. " I 
 can t do that," he said : " conscientiously, I could n t. I 
 wish I could. If I thought they would or could take care 
 of themselves, I d free them to-morrow, and thank the Lord 
 for being rid of them. You look as if you did n t believe me, 
 Walter, but I would. Bo what you will, as long as you keep 
 men and women in slavery, you can t satisfy them or make 
 them happy ; and I m sick and tired of trying to do it, and 
 meeting only complaints. People are always saying negroes 
 are ungrateful, and I don t know but they are, for they can 
 have but little idea of the dilemma their masters are in. I 
 wish that the ships that brought the first ones over here had 
 been sunk in the sea with all on board. They are the plague 
 and the curse of the country, ari nobody knows it better 
 than their owners." 
 
 Walter was astonished at this outburst of feeling, for ho 
 had never heard his uncle speak so decidedly upon the sub- 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 173 
 
 ject. " If you think so," said he, " why don t you free 
 them ? " 
 
 ; - 1 can t, I ought not to. They are not fit to take care 
 of or govern themselves, and least of all to do it in a republic 
 like ours. They have been debased by generations of ig 
 norance and ill-usage, and kept so long in a depressed and 
 dependent state, that the best of them are mere children, and 
 haven t the least idea of self-government. I really think 
 flat if I were to send mine to the free States, each with a 
 hundred dollars in his pocket, to start in the world with, 
 in five years they would every one be vagabonds and paupers ; 
 and I certainly have no right to inflict this burden on those 
 States." 
 
 " But why not educate them, and teach them to conduct 
 themselves like men that have an object in life, and let that 
 object be their ultimate freedom ? If the old and infirm must 
 always be what they now are, the children and the grand 
 children might become worthy to receive their rights as 
 men/ 
 
 " I would willingly do it, but it is impossible. The laws 
 of the State positively forbid education, and that lies at the 
 foundation of any preparation for freedom. My dear boy, 
 I ve thought of this matter in every possible light, and I find 
 my hands completely tied. Neither public opinion nor the 
 laws would allow me to do anything to arouse in the minds 
 of my own negroes the idea of liberty ; for the spark which I 
 kindled on my own hearth might spread till it made my 
 neighbors homeless. I happen to be so situated that I could 
 
174 IDA MAT. 
 
 sacrifice great pecuniary interests without wronging any one, 
 but very few of my acquaintance are in like circumstances. 
 Their negroes are all their property, for the land is worthless 
 without negro labor, and if the negroes are freed, their wives 
 and children must be plunged in poverty; I cannot blame 
 them that they thus dread to have the subject agitated, when 
 they are so utterly unprepared to meet the sure result of that 
 agitation, and I cannot feel it right to disturb the peace of 
 the community in this manner. No, I am completely fet 
 tered. I cannot do the good I would, either to myself or my 
 negroes, and the evil I would not, somebody else does." 
 
 " Still," replied Walter, " it seems as if something might 
 be done. With an evil in our midst, that is our curse at 
 home and our disgrace abroad, it seems unmanly for those 
 who realize it, to sit supinely mourning over their lot, and 
 doing nothing else. If you cannot move one step towards ex 
 tricating yourself from this dilemma till there is a change in 
 public opinion, why not endeavor now to correct public 
 opinion ? We need not be ashamed of evils which we have 
 inherited, if we do all in our power to remedy them ; but we 
 are we must be responsible, if we aeglect the duty 
 of at least commencing a reform; don t you think so, 
 uncle ? " 
 
 " Walter, my boy," replied Mr. Maynard, " you left home 
 so young, and have resided at the north so much of the time 
 since, that you seem to have forgotten that the trail of the 
 serpent is over us all. The fact is, there is little freedom of 
 action, and still less freedom of discussion, in this glorious old 
 
IDA MAY. 175 
 
 Carolina, of which we are so proud. It is the working of the 
 curse, the negroes are not the only slaves. A man may 
 do what little he can, secretly, to instruct his people, but if he 
 do so much that the neighboring negroes get discontented from 
 the contrast, he is pretty sure to have the laws enforced 
 against him by somebody. There are always enemies enough 
 around a man, who are glad to thwart his favorite plans 
 when they have an opportunity. And as to talking with my 
 neighbors, and spreading free opinions, it won t do, my boy, 
 it won t do. What little light I have I must hide under a 
 bushel, in the midst of this evil and adulterous generation. 
 Men will agree* with you in general terms that slavery is an 
 evil, and the negroes are a plague, and it is a pity we can t get 
 rid of them ; but once seriously propose to them to commence 
 the work of reforming the laws that sanction the abuses of 
 slavery, or in any way to take the first step towards its aboli 
 tion, at a period however distant, and you 11 see how sincere 
 they are. You will be lucky if you escape being mobbed as 
 an abolitionist, and, from that moment, you will be a sus 
 pected person, whom it will not do to be too intimate with. 
 I don t mean that all are insincere; but the majority have too 
 much at stake to really desire any movement that will affect 
 their pecuniary interests. We don t live in the age of mar 
 tyrs, my boy, and now-a-days men carry their hearts in their 
 pockets and their principles in their purses. Great is Diana 
 of the Ephesians ! we 11 worship her fervently, lest the hope 
 of our gains should be gone." 
 
 " How in the world then, shall slavery ever be abolished ? 
 
176 IDA MAY. 
 
 cried Walter, if nobody has any power to agitate the subject 
 in any way ? " 
 
 " it never will be abolished. ! " replied his uncle, " ?ievcr ! " 
 
 They were now near the house, and, at tnis moment, Sport, 
 who had condescended to come a little way to meet them, 
 thrust his cold nose into Walter s hand, which hung by his 
 side. 
 
 " Hillo, old fellow ! " said he, " were you lonesome to-day 
 without me ? Did they treat you well while I was gone ? I 
 really hope you were able to sleep a little, you ve been so 
 broken of your rest lately. See here, Lizzy," he added, 
 turning to the child who was now close behind him, rt here a 
 Sport, a n t he a fine old dog ? " 
 
 Lizzy laughed, for seeing him brought to remembrance his 
 comical appearance as he sat on horseback by the mountain 
 brook. " You have n t learned to ride yet, have you, Sport ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Ah, you remember that, don t you ? " said Walter, laugh 
 ing also. 
 
 Then, seeing she carried a bundle in her arms, wrapped in 
 her old sun-bonnet, he asked her what it was ; and, unrolling 
 it, she showed him the dead body of poor Dash. 
 
 " I did n t like to leave him there for the pigs to eat," she 
 said. 
 
 " And you were the only one of us that remembered him ! 
 You are a good little girl," said Walter, touched by this 
 proof of kind feeling at a moment when the child might have 
 been excused for thinking only of herself. 
 
I D A M A Y. 177 
 
 " You know he got killed in trying to help me," she re 
 plied simply; " and I thought, perhaps, if I brought him here, 
 you would let me bury him." 
 
 "So I will," replied he. "We will have Dash buried 
 with military honors." 
 
 They went on to the house, where they found Mabel and 
 her mother waiting for them on the piazza, a little uneasy at 
 their long absence, and wondering greatly to see them so 
 attended on their return. 
 
 " This is a new purchase of mine," said Mr. Maynard, in 
 reply to the inquiring glances directed towards him as he 
 came near, pointing as he spoke to Venus, who, with her 
 arms folded, stood meekly at the foot of the steps, " and that 
 little thing clinging to her, is a chance acquaintance of 
 Walter s, a pearl that he found cast before swine in the 
 wilderness, and he has redeemed it from the hand of the 
 spoiler ! " 
 
 "What do you mean? Where have you been detained 
 so long ? " asked Mrs. Wynn. 
 
 " In plain prose, then," resumed her brother, " we have 
 been, as one has said, * through scenes and unscenes ; and, 
 moreover, Walter and I have made a purchase this afternoon, 
 the reasons whereof we will give you some other time. Now, 
 having brought home our merchandise, as you see, we would 
 crave the gracious lady s permission that they may be wftli 
 taken care of for the present. But, first of all, where is the 
 dinner we should have eaten three hours ago ? for our inner 
 man groaneth, yea evon fainteth, for lack of nourishment. 
 
178 IDA MAY. 
 
 Verily, at this moment I could, like Esau of old, sell myself 
 for a mess of pottage." 
 
 " I would n t advise anybody to buy you," said Walter, 
 laughing, "for, according to the sentiments you have been 
 expressing, you would not be very safe property." 
 
 " Hush ! remember that is strictly entre nous" said his 
 uncle, in a low tone, turning round to say it, as they followed 
 Mrs. Wynn to the dining-room, where a plentiful repast 
 awaited them. 
 
 Leaving them to discuss the viands she had provided, Mrs. 
 Wynn returned to the piazza, where she found Venus still 
 standing with the weary child leaning against her. 
 
 " You may sit down," said Mrs. Wynn, kindly ; " you 
 must be very tired." 
 
 Mabel had been asking her questions, and eying the 
 shrinking child from head to foot, but it had not occurred to 
 the little lady that either of them were fatigued. 
 
 "Thank you, missis," said Venus; and at this permission 
 she seated herself and took Lizzy on her knee. 
 
 The poor woman had been somewhat awed by Mabel s 
 haughty glances. She did not as yet even know her new 
 master s name, and she felt the keenest anxiety to learn the 
 character of the female influence to which she and her pre 
 cious little one should be subject. At Mabel s manner she 
 was somewhat disconcerted, but Mrs. Wynn s kind voice 
 reassured her. A few moments sufficed to answer the few 
 questions Mrs. Wynn cared to ask, and then, calling a young 
 
IDA MAY. * 
 
 girl from the yard, she bade her tell Maum Abby to come to 
 her. 
 
 Giving one curious glance at the strangers, the messenger 
 hastened away. Passing round the corner of the house, she 
 went to the end of the piazza, which, as we have said, only 
 surrounded it on three sides, the fourth side being shaded by 
 six or eight very large and widely-spreading trees, that made 
 quite a little grove, into which the sun s rays could hardly 
 penetrate, and which completely hid the yard and kitchen 
 offices from the view of persons passing along the avenue that 
 led to the house. Under these trees stood a small frame 
 building, neatly painted outside, and containing two rooms. 
 It was close to the piazza, though concealed by the angle of 
 the building, for here lived Maum Abby, a valued servant, 
 who had once reigned supreme over the corner bed-room, 
 when it was Miss Mabel s nursery, and who was now ex 
 pected to be always within the sound of Mrs. Wynn s voice, 
 if she should need her there at any time. This corner room, 
 no longer needed as a nursery, Mrs. Wynn herself occupied, 
 and, though there was a younger and more sprightly damsel 
 who claimed the honor of being her maid, the gentle lady 
 liked better to be waited upon by Maum Abby, whose refined 
 manners, correct language, and quiet demeanor, might have 
 graced a higher station in life. She was a quadroon, of a 
 tall, slender form, with mild black eyes, and regular features, 
 which always wore a pleasant and winning expression. She 
 was a great favorite with the whole family, and Mrs. Wynn 
 loved her more as a companion than a servant ; for she had 
 16 
 
ISO IDA MAY. 
 
 been her playmate in childhood, although ten years older than 
 herself, -and had also shared her studies in some measure. 
 Tim* Abby had learned to read and write, and by improving 
 every opportunity for reading and study she possessed far 
 more general information than was suspected even by those who 
 knew her most intimately. When her young mistress was 
 married, she removed with her to Wynn Hall, accompanied 
 by her husband and four children, as bright, as happy, and 
 almost as much delighted with her new home as was the 
 young bride herself. But after this change the sunshine of 
 her life departed. Mr. Wynn was fond of his wife, but 
 he had not the genial disposition of the Maynard family, and 
 Abby was made, in various ways, slight indeed, but notice 
 able to one so petted as she had been, to feel that the favors 
 of her lot were favors granted, not rights receivea ; and that, 
 despite all her advantages, she belonged to the inferior race. 
 Then, after some years, in one sickly season she lost her 
 three eldest children, and before the next spring her husband 
 died. This accumulation of troubles, which she felt most 
 keenly, combined with long and wearisome watching over the 
 sick, broke her constitution and saddened her whole nature, 
 and she would have pined herself into the grave, had not 
 Mrs. Wynn watched over her with a sister s sympathy, and 
 with Christian love poured into her heart the blessed conso 
 lations of religion. It was long before her deep and bitter 
 sorrow could be alleviated ; but, as time went on, her heart 
 recovered power to receive the precious promises which the 
 Scriptures offer to the afflicted, and then her mistress felt the 
 
IDA MAY. 181 
 
 satisfaction of seeing that her cares had not been in vain, and 
 that the words which had apparently fallen on deaf ears, had 
 been silently, and almost unconsciously, acting as a healing 
 balm for the sufferer. She resumed by degrees her maternal 
 duties to her only remaining child, and the various light em 
 ployments to which she had been accustomed ; and at length 
 no trace remained of the storm through which she bad passed, 
 except the subdued and chastened expression which she wore, 
 instead of her former gay and buoyant manner. She was 
 deeply grateful to Mrs. Wynn and warmly attached to her, 
 and she had no wishes ungratified except those connected with 
 her boy. 
 
 Alfred had inherited his mother s thirst for knowledge, 
 and early gave promise of uncommon intellect, and she longed 
 for and appreciated the advantages of education for him. 
 She could not bear to think that her handsome and precocious 
 boy should grow up ignorant and degraded like the most of his 
 race are, or be content to dwarf the mind, and debase the soul, 
 and regard the condition of the fawning and petted servant 
 as the highest and most favored to which he might aspire. 
 
 0, how she longed that poor slave mother for the 
 advantages of schools, and books, and teachers, which are 
 within the reach of the most destitute of white children in 
 the free States ! Her heart seemed to die within her when 
 she looked forward to his future, and saw him growing up to 
 manhood amid the trammelling and deforming influences that 
 now surrounded him. With great care and secrecy, lest Mr. 
 Wynn, who angrily opposed such things, should know it, sho 
 
182 IDA MAT. 
 
 taught him to read and write, and by slow degrees she re- 
 signed herself to the idea that when he became a man she 
 would in some way manage to effect his escape from bondage, 
 though that act would most probably separate them for the 
 remainder of her life. The chains of servitude to her had 
 been golden links, worn lightly and easily, but they became 
 iron fetters when she saw them laid upon her son, and she 
 could endure to be leftjilone, provided she could know he was 
 free. 
 
 She was sitting by the window of her room when the mes 
 senger from Mrs. Wynn came to seek her. Everything about 
 her was neatly and tastefully arranged, and on her lap lay 
 some fine embroidery, upon which she had been at work; but 
 it was now too dark to sew, and she was leaning her head on 
 her hand absorbed in deep thought. 
 
 " On y think, Maum Abby," said the girl, " that ar young 
 Mass Walter be the spiletestest feller ! what you reckon he 
 done fetch home dis time ? " 
 
 " I have no idea ; what is it ? " said Abby, looking up. 
 
 " Why, nothin else but two niggers, a black one and a 
 white one. A n t that powerful queer ? Miss wants you 
 to come and take care of em ; so do come long, for I m dyin 
 to know how he come to catch sich like in de woods " 
 
 Abby rose, and, laying her work aside in a pretty work- 
 box, followed the girl to the piazza, where Mrs. Wynn still 
 remained. 
 
 " Here, Mauma Abby," she said, " is Venus, a new ser 
 vant that Mr. Maynard has brought home. I wish you would 
 
IDA MAT. 183 
 
 take her and the little girl, and get some clean clothing for 
 them both, and let them have Alfred s room for a few days. 
 He can sleep somewhere else." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Emma, I 11 attend to them," said Abby ; and 
 Venus arose and followed her. She was quite surprised, when 
 ushered into Abby s apartment, to see the neat carpet on the 
 floor, the tastefully-arranged curtains at the windows, and the 
 painted furniture. She had never before seen a servant s 
 room so richly arrayed, and, simple and unexpensive as was 
 everything there, she was almost afraid to sit down amid what 
 seemed to her so elegant, or to feel herself on an equality 
 with the delicate-looking woman who conducted her. After 
 leaving her alone for a few minutes, Abby returned, and led 
 her into the adjoining room, which her son usually occupied. 
 " This will be your apartment for the present," she said. 
 
 " We must have some water, and get washed up, Lizzy 
 and me, before we can get into dem nice clean sheets," re 
 plied Venus. " 0, it do seem mighty good to have a roof 
 over a body again, when night comes, and a bed to sleep onto ! 
 We se most fagged out, Lizzy and me is, sleepin on the 
 ground dis three weeks. We a n t been used to it." 
 
 " You had a comfortable home, then," said Abby. 
 
 " Yes, mighty comforble," replied Venus. " Not so fine as 
 dis yer, but comforble for niggers. I done guv up entirely, 
 when we was sold, and thought de Lord done forget all bout 
 us." 
 
 " The Lord never forgets," said Abby, speaking in a low 
 tone, as if rather to herself than her companion. " His ways 
 16* 
 
184 IDA MAY. 
 
 are dark and mysterious, and he covers the path with clouds 
 along which he leads us ; but he never forgets us, never, and 
 at last he will bring us where all is brightness. Let us trust 
 Him through all, for the end will come at last." 
 
 " I reckons you se got larnin , somehow, you talk so nice," 
 said Venus, gazing at her with unfeigned admiration. 
 
 Miss Emma has always been very kind to me, and I have 
 had many advantages," said Abby, with a slight blush. " But 
 I must not stay here talking, while you are tired and hungry. 
 I see the poor little girl looks like she would cry from weari 
 ness. You will find plenty of water here, and some clean 
 clothes, and you had better bathe her and put her in bed, 
 while I get you something to eat, and she can take her supper 
 lying down." 
 
 " I clare, you se too good. We did n t think o being sich 
 a heapo strouble," replied Venus. Abby smiled, and left the 
 room, " on hospitable thoughts intent." 
 
 The next morning, notwithstanding her fatigue, Venus rose 
 early, that she might be ready if called upon by her new 
 master. But she saw nothing of either Mr. Maynard or 
 Walter, for they were occupied with company which had 
 arrived the previous evening, and, as Mr. Wynn had invited 
 several gentlemen to dine with him that day, the whole 
 household was busy, and Abby was left alone with the new 
 comers, nearly the whole morning. Waltei had privately 
 requested that the little girl might not be dressed in the 
 coarse clothing usually provided for the servants, and so Mrs. 
 Wynn had given Abby a cast-off merino dress of Mabel s, 
 
IDA MAY. 185 
 
 which she was busy over all the morning, making it, with 
 Venus help, into quite a handsome and well-fitting garment. 
 Meantime, Lizzy, who was now literally of the sans culottes 
 class in society, was " making a business " of resting herself, 
 and was quite refreshed by the time she was permitted to 
 arise. Great was Venus delight at the child s appearance, 
 when, having washed her, and carefully arranged her glossy 
 curls in the most becoming manner, she arrayed her in the 
 bright blue dress, whose soft folds seemed so much better 
 suited to that delicate form than anything she had previously 
 worn. 
 
 " I dare, honey," she exclaimed, " pears like you was n t 
 a nigger, now ! These is powerful * good folks we se got 
 amongst dis yer time. Dere s Miss Emma corned in to call 
 Maum Abby just now, and she axed for you, honey, and spoke 
 so pleasant. I clare, I loved her de fuss minute I sot eyes 
 onto her ! " 
 
 Venus had been improving the opportunity, while they 
 were working together, to acquire some knowledge of her 
 new surroundings. Abby was never weary of talking about 
 the Maynard family, and she had given her companion a 
 history of each member. Perhaps the reader would enjoy 
 being equally enlightened. 
 
 Charles, Mabel, and Emma Maynard, were early in life 
 left orphans. - But the sorrow of this bereavement was greatly 
 lessened to the two young girls by the watchful love and care 
 of their brother, who was twelve years older than themselves, 
 and who, receiving them as a sacred charge from their dying 
 
186 IDA MAT. 
 
 mother, devoted his whole time to them afterwards, for many 
 years. They were all of peculiarly refined natures, and 
 affectionate dispositions ; and thus, happy in each other, they 
 passed many pleasant years, growing up to womanhood in the 
 seclusion of their fine old family-seat at Oakland. After a 
 time, Mabel, the eldest, married ; but her husband proved to 
 be dissipated, and a spendthrift. Two infant children she 
 laid in the grave, and then one of those terrible steamboat 
 explosions, so common on the south-western rivers, suddenly 
 deprived her of her husband, and four years from the time 
 she left her home as a bride, she returned there, ruined in 
 fortune, and broken-hearted, to give birth to a son, and then 
 to die. This child, which she lived long enough to see chris 
 tened with his father s name, Walter, she commended to her 
 brother s care, beseeching him to adopt him as his own ; and 
 well and faithfully had that request been fulfilled. A year 
 or two after Mabel s death, his other sister, Emma, had given 
 her hand to Mr. Wynn. Many wondered that a woman so 
 gentle and timid should have fancied one so cold in manner, 
 and of a disposition so unbending, as characterized Richard 
 Wynn. But people are often attracted by their opposites, 
 and there is something akin to magnetism in the influence by 
 which a man of strong will compels the assent of a woman of 
 feebler organization, and less marked individuality. Emma 
 Maynard was a pretty little creature, with one of tnose char 
 acters that expand into beauty, and acquire use and strength, 
 only when constantly surrounded with an atmosphere of love. 
 She was dependent and affectionate, inclined to take a low 
 
IDA MAY. 187 
 
 estimate of her own acquirements or abilities, frightened at a 
 frown, and silenced by a look. Her husoand was undemon 
 strative, and not very warm-hearted. He liked his wife 
 better than anybody else except himself, but he had an 
 almost morbid horror of sentiment, and did not think it at all 
 worth while to indulge her in any such weakness. He was, 
 moreover, extremely opinionated and self-reliant, and had an 
 imperious manner, so that, almost unconsciously, his wife lost 
 her sprightliness and gayety, and subsided into a very quiet, 
 unobtrusive woman, beloved by her servants, for whom she 
 contrived many indulgences, but possessing little influence 
 over either her husband or her daughter, and depending for 
 her happiness almost wholly upon the society of her brother, 
 who, since her marriage, had spent the greater part of each 
 year at her house. 
 
 Walter, growing up under these influences, and inheriting 
 all the genial and impulsive qualities of his mother s family, 
 had always loved his aunt, who knew little difference between 
 her feelings for him and those with which she regarded her 
 own daughter, and felt for his uncle Charles Maynard the 
 same affection and respect he would have cherished for a 
 father. But for Mr. Wynn, who, though he treated him 
 kindly enough when he happened to think of it, took little 
 notice of him usually, he experienced an indifference that was 
 tinged with dislike ; and he had, by turns, quarrelled with 
 and petted the little Mabel, who, with advancing years, was 
 developing a disposition compounded of both parents, but 
 containing the best qualities of neither 
 
188 IDA MAY. 
 
 Venus, who was a great talker, was detailing to the child 
 a lengthened account of the various events and characters of 
 which the morning s conversation had given her information, 
 when Patra, the girl who had been sent to call Abby the 
 night before, thrust her head into the window of the room 
 where they were sitting. 
 
 " How d ye, smornin ," said she, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Thank ee, we se rested some, Lizzy and me is, and got 
 clared up mighty comforble," replied Venus. 
 
 " I reckoned you must be siderble freshed by dis time," 
 said Patra. " I d been in to see you fore, but we se gwine 
 have a dinner-party to-day, and we se all been dat busy. 
 Got de table done sot now, though, and it do look mighty 
 fine. Would n t you like come look at it. fore de dinner s 
 toted in?" 
 
 This was what Venus had been longing to do, for she began 
 to be tired of staying all day in one room, and it was now 
 three o clock in the afternoon. So she eagerly accepted the 
 invitation. 
 
 " Come, den, and I reckon you never see sick like in all 
 your born days. Sich powerful heap ob plate ! My stair ! 
 De silver and de glass do shine so ! We se got more dem 
 things in dis family en anybody all roun here, and Maum 
 Abby, she does derange em most beautiful. Miss Emma 
 always leave all dat to Ma am Abby, she got sich powerful 
 taste at deranging de tables when we has company. You 
 may bring the little girl, too." 
 
 Venus held out her hand for the child, but she drew back 
 
IDA MAY. 189 
 
 She preferred remaining alone, rather than encountering so 
 many strangers ; and, having given a hasty glance in the 
 glass, to see that her new turban was tastefully folded, and, 
 from the force of habit, given her dress the smoothing touch 
 she usually bestowed on her aprons, the beloved aprons 
 which had, alas ! fallen victims to the cupidity of the slave- 
 trader, Venus departed with Patra, who felt a personal 
 pride in displaying to her astonished and delighted companion 
 the riches of plate and glass with which the tables were orna 
 mented. Afterwards, in speaking of it to Lizzy, Venus 
 acknowledged, " You know, honey, I never did see nothin 
 half so splendiferous in all my life, but I war n t gwine to tell 
 her so, the nigger ! cause for fear she d think I se some 
 poor cretur t had n t been used to de fust fam lies." There 
 fore, under the influence of this not unnatural desire to make 
 an impression, and keep up appearances, she restrained her 
 surprise as best she might, and affected a nonchalance equal 
 to that of the most fashionable leader of the " ton." 
 
 Patra was a little disappointed when she saw the indiffer 
 ence with which Venus seemed to regard the glittering dis 
 play before her ; but one s manner has a great effect in im 
 posing upon the darker as well as the more enlightened circles 
 of society, and it was with her respect heightened, by several 
 degrees, that she conducted her companion to the kitchen, 
 and introduced her to the servants there. Venus was willing 
 to make herself useful, and anxious to acquire a reputation 
 in the family ; and, as there was plenty to do, she was soon 
 deeply engaged, under the superintendence of the cook, who 
 
190 IDA MAY. 
 
 was really quite a culinary artist, in the mysteries of taking 
 up and preparing the dishes for the table. 
 
 More than an hour had passed away, and the child was 
 still alone, amusing herself with watching from the window 
 the various groups in the yard, when suddenly she saw Venus, 
 approaching with a pace so rapid, and a manner so agitated, 
 that she hastened to the door to meet her. Tears were run 
 ning down her cheeks, but the expression of her face was 
 anything but sad ; and her appearance was irresistibly comi 
 cal, as she trotted along, with her head thrown back, her 
 mouth distended, her small eyes twinkling, and her whole 
 figure, even to the tips of her fingers, shaking with a univer 
 sal giggle. 
 
 Seizing Lizzy s hands, she exclaimed, " 0, honey, I se 
 found him ! You must come now, for I se found my son 
 John, dat I lef a little feller, when I was sold way to Ginia. 
 Come and see him, honey. On y think how he membered his 
 ma Benus all dese twelve year I a n t seen him ; and I clare 
 fore goodness, honey, he s growed so handsome, I se clar 
 shamed of him." 
 
 As she poured forth her overflowing joy in these words, 
 she drew the bewildered child along to a room adjoining the 
 kitchen, where the servants of the guests were assembled, 
 and here she found the boy whose unexpected recovery had 
 nearly made his mother crazy with delight. He was the son 
 who had cheered her last unhappy marriage, and, left alone 
 as he was when his mother was sold, he had had abundant 
 cause to remember her fondly, as the only being from whom 
 
IDA 31 A Y . 191 
 
 he could claim the unselfish kindness arid care which every 
 human being longs to receive from some one. He was now a 
 tall stripling of seventeen, black as a mulatto could be, but 
 with good features and a pleasant expression, which might 
 justify his fond mother s opinion of his beauty. Learning 
 from the servants the incident of the day previous, which was 
 by this time generally known, and finding that the woman 
 was named Venus, he made inquiries which led to a mutual 
 recognition. 
 
 The child fully sympathized with her friend s delight, but 
 she hardly knew what to say to the boy, who was himself 
 somewhat embarrassed at attracting so much observation ; 
 for the news had spread rapidly through the yard, and the 
 door and windows were now crowded with heads of various 
 sizes, shapes and colors, all with eyes wide open and eager to 
 see the meeting between Col. Ross John and his mother. For 
 a little while Lizzy endured this battery of eyes, a^nd gestures, 
 and exclamations, in common with Yenus and her son ; but 
 at length the crowd dropped off in various directions, and the 
 child, glad to escape observation, slipped away quietly, and 
 was returning to her room, when her attention was attracted 
 by some pots of rare and beautiful flowers, which had been 
 removed from the conservatory and placed for ornaments on 
 the piazza, opposite the dining-room windows. The most 
 common flowers had a magical influence over Lizzy s mind, 
 and she was lost in admiration of these, which surpassed 
 everything she had ever seen. Forgetting everything else, 
 Bho walked before them, touching them gently with longing 
 17 
 
192 IDA MAY. 
 
 fingers, and bending over them to breathe the delicious fra 
 grance which they exhaled. 
 
 While she was thus occupied, some of the gentlemen wno 
 had finished their dinner, and were sitting talking over their 
 wine, began to turn their chairs a little from the table, pre 
 paratory to joining the ladies in the parlor. In doing this 
 one of them noticed the child, and remarked to Walter Yarian 
 who sat near him, that he was not aware Mr. Wynn had a 
 daughter^ young. 
 
 " That child is not Uncle Richard s daughter," s said Wal 
 ter, laughing. " I have had the pleasure of owning that 
 dainty bit of flesh and blood since yesterday evening. Yes, 
 sir," he added, as he met his companion s astonished gaze, " I 
 bought her and paid for her, to a man who claimed to own 
 her, and so I suppose, by all the laws of the country, I may 
 say she s mine" 
 
 " Still, I am astonished," replied the gentleman, " for she 
 is so delicate in appearance, it hardly seems that she can be 
 a servant, or come of that lineage. She is beautiful enough 
 to make some father s heart glad. How can she be a ser 
 vant ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt she is of white parentage," replied Wal 
 ter. " You notice that though she is not very fair, her skin 
 has the clear darkness of a brunette, and not the yellowish 
 tinge which marks the lighter shades of the negro race. Her 
 features, her whole form and mien, show that she is wholly of 
 the Anglo-Saxon lineage ; and if you should hear her speak, 
 you would see, by her correct pronunciatidn, that she has at 
 
IDA MAY. 193 
 
 some time in her life been taught by refined and educated 
 persons. See, there she goes, gliding out of sight. She 
 has heard our voices, and I have noticed that she is very 
 shy." 
 
 "How conies she here where did you get her?" asked 
 his friend. 
 
 " I found her yesterday in the woods, and bought her from 
 a gang who were being driven southward ; but I saw her first 
 a few weeks since, while travelling through North Carolina, 
 just on the northern border of that State. It was in quite a 
 romantic spot, and she had dressed herself with leaves and 
 flowers, and looked like a little fairy. I talked a little with 
 her, and became quite interested in her, and so when I found 
 her again yesterday, in such a forlorn situation, I could n t 
 refrain from purchasing her." 
 
 " She will be well treated here," remarked the other, as 
 Walter paused. 
 
 " I shall advertise, and see if I cannot find her parents," 
 replied he, quickly. " Of course, such a child as that must 
 have friends who will be glad to claim her. She was doubt 
 less stolen from them." 
 
 " It may be so," said another gentlema n ; " but she may 
 be one of the poor whites, and in that case, she would be 
 much better oft 7 to be a servant here than to live at home. 
 It may be, too, that she was sold instead of being stolen. I. 
 have frequently seen white children who were thus thrown 
 into the market. These miserable clay-eaters often sell 
 their children, and I suppose the Virginia crackers do the 
 
194 IDA MAY. 
 
 same ; and in my opinion, it is the best thing they can do for 
 their children." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " said Walter. " Can servitude 
 slavery be in any case the proper condition for a parent 
 to force a child into ? I know they are miserably poor, but, 
 still, is not liberty the greatest of all blessings, man s immor 
 tal birthright, which none should willingly give up ? " 
 
 " In some cases it may be and undoubtedly is, a birthright 
 which should be kept sacred as life ! " replied his companion ; 
 "but "there are many cases where servitude is much more for 
 the real good of a person, or a class. Thesfe poor whites 
 among us are an instance of how utterly impossible it is that 
 all men were born to be equal. They are lower even than 
 our negroes, and if they were all to come under negro laws 
 to-morrow, it would be far better for the next generation 
 than it will be for them to remain as they are. It has always 
 been so, and always will be. There must be two classes 
 in every society. - The learned, the cultivated, the wealthy, 
 must be the patricians ; and the laboring class must be the 
 plebeians, and it makes little difference whether they are black 
 or white." 
 
 " Simply because a man is poor, you will reduce him to the 
 condition of a serf ! " exclaimed Mr. Maynard, joining the 
 group, who were now sitting near a window ; " we must take 
 care, then, how we become bankrupts." 
 
 " Not simply because he is poor, but if he be ignorant and 
 degraded, the best thing one can do for him is to place him 
 under guardianship. The lower classes are not fit to govern 
 
IDA MAY. 190 
 
 themselves, and it is a false philanthropy that insists upon 
 their having the right to do so. Society would be much 
 better, and government established on a firmer basis, if they 
 did not have it." 
 
 " Would it not be a better plan," said Walter, " to estab 
 lish schools, where they could be educated, so that they might 
 rise in the social scale, instead of enacting laws that would 
 keep them forever degraded. Some of our most renowned 
 countrymen had parents and grand-parents that were poor, 
 and ignorant, also, as compared with what you call the patri 
 cian class." 
 
 " They were exceptions," replied the gentleman. " There 
 are exceptions to every rule, you know." 
 
 " True," replied Walter ; " but nobody can tell if these 
 would have been exceptions, if their parents had lived under 
 the negro laws which you propose to make for the poor and 
 ignorant of our day." 
 
 " I cannot think it right," resumed the first speaker, " to 
 impose negro laws upon the whites. The negro is an inferior 
 race, and was evidently intended for the position of servitude 
 which he has always occupied ; and though the * clay-eat 
 ers may envy the happier position of our negroes, it will 
 never do to place them in a similar state, because it will 
 break down the distinction of races, which ought always to be 
 strictly observed." 
 
 "How unfortunate they are !" said Mr. Maynard, ironi 
 cally ; but his friend went on with perfect gravity. 
 
 " Yes, their situation is indeed deplorable ; but i1 is a pity 
 17* 
 
19t) X IDA MAY. 
 
 that they will sometimes sell their children to the traders ; 
 not so much, perhaps, on their own account, for no doubt the 
 children are benefited, as that this fact, being known, serves 
 as a shield for those vile men who kidnap children born to 
 a better condition of life, as I have no doubt has been the 
 case in regard to the little girl we saw^on the piazza." 
 
 " I agree with you perfectly in that last observation," said 
 another gentleman, who had not till now joined in the con 
 versation. " I shall never forget one poor man, whom I met 
 in New Orleans three years since, searching for his child that 
 had been stolen from him. I never saw a man so bowed and 
 broken with anxiety and sorrow. He said she was his only 
 child, and his wife had died a few months before the daughter 
 was lost. He had traced the kidnappers into Maryland, and 
 there lost their track, and, since then, had been all over tke 
 south and west seeking her in vain. Poor fellow ! his face 
 haunted me for weeks afterwards. I never saw such a pic 
 ture of despair. It was dreadful to think what he must have 
 suffered." 
 
 " Did he tell you the child s name ? " asked Walter, anx 
 iously, for he felt a deep interest in the story. 
 
 " Yes, I asked him particularly, that I might know in case 
 I ever heard anything about such a child. The name was 
 Ida Ida May rather a peculiar name, too " 
 
 He paused suddenly, for with a faint cry the child sprang 
 through the open window and stood before them. When, 
 finding herself the .object of remark, she had glided out of 
 view, she had not left the piazza, as they supposed. fc Between 
 
IDA MAY. 197 
 
 the windows of the dining-room there was a low seat, and here 
 she had placed herself, that she might still gaze on the beauti 
 ful flowers, and also hear the voice of her kind friend Walter, 
 for whom her young heart beat with an enthusiastic admira 
 tion and love. There she had lingered, listening to the con 
 versation, until, as the last speaker began his simple story, 
 her attention became aroused and fixed. The stirring events 
 of the last few weeks, which had so painfully broken the 
 monotony of her existence, had excited in her mind a dim and 
 confused memory of scenes and events in the past which had 
 likewise brought fear and suffering, and something in that re 
 cital seemed to clear away the thick haze that clouded her 
 mental vision, and when at length the name her name 
 was mentioned, the "electric chain " was touched, and vividly, 
 as with a lightning glare, all the long hidden years were 
 visible before her. 
 
 Standing in the midst of the startled circle, with her head 
 bent forward, and her small hands clasped imploringly, she 
 threw around one quick glance of agonized inquiry, arid ex 
 claimed wildly, " That s it, that s my name, Ida May ! 
 I remember it all now, and poor papa, and my dead mother s 
 grave, and Bessy, and the flowers, and those dreadful men, 
 and 0, that dreadful woman that whipped me so ! (), 
 I remember it all now ! Where have I been so long, and 
 where is papa, and dear, dear mamma, where is she ? " and 
 with these words she fell down insensible on the floor at their 
 feet. 
 
 Almost petrifie; with surprise, they had listened to her, 
 
198 IDA MAY. 
 
 and now Walter, springing forward, lifted her in his arms and 
 carried her into the open air, while Mr. Wynn, whose soto 
 voce conversation, with a few politicians at the other end of 
 the table, had been thus interrupted, hurried forward with his 
 guests to see what was the matter. 
 
 It was some time before the child could be revived from 
 that long and death-like swoon, and then it was succeeded by 
 a burst of weeping so violent and hysterical, that Mrs. Wynn 
 was obliged to withdraw her entirely from the excited group 
 which had gathered round her. 
 
 The sense of sorrow and of loss, which, through long years, 
 had been mercifully hidden from her by her mental disease, 
 now came over her with the intensity of a re~cent occurrence ; 
 and she turned with a child s wild and unreasoning home 
 sickness from the strange faces around her, although those 
 faces expressed but kindness. It was only after an opiate 
 had been administered, and Mrs. Wy-nn, taking her in her 
 arms as she would have taken an infant, had soothed her with 
 low-breathed words of hope and promise, that Ida became 
 calm, and yielded to the gentle slumber which was now steal 
 ing over her. Having attained this point, she had her 
 removed to a small room adjoining Mabel s, and, undressing 
 her with Venus help, she laid ber on a cosey little white- 
 curtained bed. While doing this, she discovered the gold 
 coin which the child wore around her neck, and the little roll 
 of silk which Venus had attached to the same cord. 
 
 " What is this ? a charm ? " she asked of her assistant. 
 
 Laws, no, missis ! " replied Venus. " Tears like it s a 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 199 
 
 charm, but t a n t. You see, missis, I knowd from the very 
 fust dat dis yer child never was n t no nigger, and so thinks I, 
 I 11 just save dis yer, dat I reckoned she had on when she 
 was kidnap, and maybe some day somethin would turn up 
 bout her." 
 
 " Why did n t you show it to your master ? " asked Mrs. 
 Wynn, regarding with great interest the little roll that lay in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Well, missis, I didn t zackly know how he d-take it. I 
 don t want say nothin gainst Mass James, but you know, 
 missis, what some folks is bout dese yer things," replied 
 Venus, with a wary fear of committing herself by any obnox 
 ious candor. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn smiled at her caution, and, thus encouraged, 
 Yenus went on. 
 
 " I did tell him I thought she was kidnap, one day, when 
 he corned in to ax how she s gettin on ; but he telled me shut 
 up, cause, if she was kidnap, she was some poor buckra child, 
 and t was n t none o my business. So, den, missis, I see 
 p rhaps twould be jist as well to take care of it my own self, 
 and so I did. But when we was sold, I tied it round her 
 neck, cause I se scare dat she d be sold way from me some 
 time, and den you know she done loss it altogeder." 
 
 Commending her care of the child s interests, Mrs. Wynn 
 left her to watch by the bedside, and, detaching the roll from 
 the cord, she took it with her to the parlor, where her 
 guests were busily engaged in discussing this unexpected 
 event. The child s words and her earnest, artless manner had 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 struck an instant conviction of her truthfulness through the 
 heart of each one that had listened to her, and they had ob 
 tained from Walter every particular of his first meeting with 
 her on the mountain, and from the gentleman who had seen 
 her father, all he could remember of that incident. Mrs. 
 Wynn produced the fragment of linen, which she had ex 
 tracted from its silken cover. " Here," said she, " is a piece 
 of the child s dress, which Venus had the good sense to save. 
 in hopes it might, at some time, lead to a discovery. She says 
 there is no name on it, but you see it is very prettily and 
 fancifully marked." 
 
 As she spoke she handed it to her brother, who, after a 
 moment s careful examination, exclaimed, triumphantly, 
 " There is a name traced here in the centre of the leaf, but so 
 delicately that it is almost impossible to read it." 
 
 44 Give it to me," said Walter, seizing it eagerly. " You 
 know, as you told me yesterday morning, I am younger than 
 you are, and perhaps my eyes will prove better. Yes. here is 
 a name, the Tiarjie, Ida May ! What further proof is 
 needed ? " 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ** With warmer faith lot woman s lips 
 
 Whisper the child whom they caress; 
 Learn from the hand that shelters thee, 
 In love, to succor, pity, bless. 
 
 f " For the brave world is given to us, . 
 For all the brave in heart to keep, 
 Lest thoughtless hands should sow the thorns 
 Which bleeding generations reap." 
 
 PASSION FLOWEKS. 
 
 A MONTH after the events related in the last chapter, one 
 afternoon, Walter Yarian, with Mrs. Wynn and her brother, 
 were seated together near the windows of the south parlor. 
 A wood fire was burning in the fire-place, and the room, with 
 itd brightly-flowered carpet, and damask curtains, had assumed 
 a very different aspect from that it wore in its summer dress. 
 IJut the cool matting and the muslin hangings at the windows 
 would hardly have suited this time of year, for it was now^past 
 Christmas, and even to the "sunny south," winter brings 
 many a cold and dark and gloomy day. 
 
 They were sitting together, but they were not conversing; 
 and every few minutes, as Mrs. Wynn glanced her eyes up 
 
i>02 i A M A y . 
 
 from her sewing, or Mr. Maynard looked over the top of the 
 book he was reading, their gaze sought the window, which 
 commanded a view of the avenue for a short distance, as if 
 expecting the arrival of some one. At length, Mrs. Wynn 
 looked at her watch, and said, " He ought to have been 
 here half an hour ago; what can have delayed him so 
 long?" 
 
 Walter threw down the scissors, with which he had been 
 cutting a skein of thread into little bits, and exclaimed, 
 " Here he is, at last. Now for news, for we shall certainly get 
 some reply to-day." 
 
 At this moment a horse came galloping furiously up the 
 avenue, and a little woolly-headed negro, who rode him, 
 throwing himself off in a manner to impress the beholder with 
 admiration for his skill in "ground and lofty tumbling," 
 brought the animal s career to a sudden close, by a jerk of 
 the bridle, that nearly threw him on his haunches. Then, 
 throwing the bridle over the limb of a tree, the boy bounded 
 up the piazza steps, and Walter, opening the glass doors 
 which communicated with the piazza, took from his hand the 
 calico bag, which contained the treasure he had brought from 
 the post-office, half a mile distant. 
 
 " Reckon I se done fetched it dis time, Mass Walter," he 
 said, pulling a forelock that hung down directly over his eyes, 
 as if cultivated for purposes of civility, and making a scrape 
 of the foot that would have done honor to any dancing- 
 master, as he gave the bag into Walter s hand " Reckon 
 1 se fetched it dis time ; heap ob letter in der " 
 
IDA M A y . 203 
 
 Walter closed the door again, and, opening the bag, looked 
 anxiously over its contents, until he found a letter with a 
 Pennsylvania post-mark, which he gave to his uncle. Mr. 
 Maynard read it aloud. Part of it was- as follows : 
 
 " But the pleasure with which the news, your letter con 
 tained, was received through our village, where every heart 
 had thrilled with a painful sympathy for the sufferings of the 
 lost child, was damped by the recollection that there was not 
 one of her relatives left to rejoice at her recovery or provide 
 for her future wants. Her father s parents were both the 
 only children of their respective families. Mr. May had one 
 sister, who died young, and his wife s brothers and sisters had 
 all been carried to the grave by the same pulmonary disease 
 that caused her death. Thus the lost child had, except her 
 father, no relatives but some young cousins, whom she had 
 seldom seen, and who, being now minors, are not in a con 
 dition to take charge of her. Her father, whom you mention 
 as having been seen Hy a friend at New Orleans, did, indeed, 
 go there, after he h ad spent nearly the whole of his moderate 
 fortune in searching for her., all over the State s, and hearing 
 while there of something which encouraged his hopes, pro 
 ceeded from there to Cuba, in order to find her. All the 
 property he had left he turned into money, and took with 
 him, and that is the last that was ever heard from him. 
 He wrote that he was going from there to France ; but as he 
 has never returned, or sent any report of himself, it is sup- 
 that he was either lost at sea in a hurricane that oc- 
 
204 IDA MAY. 
 
 rurred about that time, or died with the island fever ; for he 
 was there at a sickly time of year, and his health was much 
 impaired by his suffering and anxiety. 
 
 " These are painful details, but I thought it right that you 
 should know them. You have been kind to the little girl, 
 and perhaps you are the best friend she has left on earth. I 
 have communicated with her mother s two brothers-in-law, 
 but they are in poor circumstances, and do not offer anything 
 more substantial than congratulations on her recovery. 
 There is a young woman here, who took care of her when she 
 was a baby, and was with her picking flowers on the day she 
 was stolen, who is very truly delighted to hear from her 
 again, and offers her a home at her house. She is married to 
 a small farmer, and has two children of her own to provide 
 for, but I have no doubt she would do the very best she coulr 1 
 for the child, if you will bring her here ; but she has no means 
 to send for her travelling expenses. Indeed, the five years 
 that have elapsed since she left here have somewhat changed 
 the population of our village, and there seems to be nobody 
 in particular to propose any plan for the child, and I hardly 
 know what to advise. I enclose a letter for Ida, from the 
 woman I spoke of, who seems really anxious to have her once 
 more under her care, for she has always blamed herself 
 bitterly for leaving the child alone with strangers, and thus 
 occasioning her loss. Hoping to hear again from you on 
 this subject, < I remain, fee., &c." 
 
 There was a general expression of dissatisfaction on the 
 
IDA MAY, 200 
 
 faces of the listeners, which was in unison with J^jfcJIaynard s 
 own feelings, as he closed this letter ; but, for a moment, 
 neither spoke. Walter "was the first to break the silence. 
 Shrugging his shoulders, and shivering all over, as if with 
 cold, he said, " I wonder how low the mercury gets, about this 
 time of year, up among the hills in Pennsylvania ? Judging 
 from this specimen, which has n t lost its frigidity in coming- 
 all this distance, I should imagine the thermometer must 
 have indicated forty degrees below zero the morning it was 
 written." 
 
 " I don t like the tone of it at all," replied his uncle. " The 
 writer is evidently determined to avoid all responsibility 
 respecting the poor little orphan. Shame on it ! I 11 burn 
 the letter;" and he flung it indignantly towards the fire. 
 
 But Walter sprang forward, and, taking it carefully with 
 his handkerchief, as if afraid of being frozen if he touched it, 
 he laid it on the mantel-piece. 
 
 " It won t melt, even in so warm a place as that," said he, 
 his eyes twinkling mirthfully, " and Aunt Emma can keep it 
 and put it into the refrigerator next summer. She won t 
 need to buy any ice." 
 
 Mrs. Wynn smiled, but her face grew grave again, and she 
 colored a little, as she turned to her brother, saying, " It is a 
 very strange combination of circumstances, by which this little 
 girl is left so forlorn." 
 
 " Very strange, indeed ! " replied he ; " but no doubt such 
 things do sometimes occur." 
 
 " I should be happy to keep the child myself," pursued 
 
206 IDA MAY. 
 
 Mrs. Wynjjflsvith a little hesitation. " Indeed, I had spoken 
 to Mr Wynn about a plan I had, of adopting her as our own, 
 in case it seemed advisable ; for, from what Col. Vance Saul, 
 that day of the dinner-party, I felt it was doubtful if her 
 father was alive. But. you know, Mr. Wynn is peculiar in 
 some things," she added, casting down her eyes as she spoke, 
 " and he did not think it would be advisable, he thought it 
 might make trouble hereafter, and his ideas of our duty to 
 our own child would not admit of it. Indeed, I did not 
 insist upon it as I should if I had consulted the dictates of 
 my own heart, for Mr. Wynn said he was sure Mabel would 
 not like it ; and, though I blush to say it7 I had myself seen 
 some traces of jealous feeling on her part." 
 
 Mr. Maynard s lip curled with a pitying smile, as he looked 
 at his sister s glowing cheek, and listened to the timid and 
 deprecating tones of her low voice. The idea of the little 
 woman having courage to insist upon anything, after her 
 lordly spouse had pronounced his dictum upon it, had been 
 dismissed from his mind long ago. But he did not tell her 
 so. He only said, in reply, " I am sure the impulses of your 
 heart are all generous, my dear sister, and you will do all 
 you can for the child who has interested us both so much." 
 Then he seemed to fall into a reverie, from which he was 
 aroused by Walter, who, after a few moments, stopped drum 
 ming on the mantel-piece, an occupation he had been diligently 
 pursuing since he laid down the letter, and, pressing his 
 hands together so firmly that the blood left them, he threw 
 himself heavily into an arm-chair, exclaiming, " How conven- 
 
IDA MAY. 207 
 
 lent it would be, just now, to b rich ! Uncle Jjharles, if I 
 had Oakland now in possession, which you are so continually 
 promising me, I know what I d do." 
 
 " Would you ? " said his uncle, his face brightening. " Then 
 I 11 have no further doubts about my plan. Having given 
 you a thing so often, I did n t want really to take it back, 
 and yet, the final result of my purposes would demand a little 
 sacrifice from you, and also some help from your Aunt Emma. 
 To be short about it, I should enjoy amazingly, to adopt this 
 child ; but, in order to do it, I must curtail your pocket- 
 money a little now, and you must spare a reasonable slice off 
 the Oakland estate bywand-by, so that my adopted child may 
 be well provided for. It won t be felt much now, or for 
 some years to come ; but I find every year my income grows 
 a little less, the lands are all wearing out, in fact, under 
 our ruinous system of cultivation, and, by-and-by, when 
 you want to spend money like water, as all youngsters do 
 when they are travelling, as I mean you shall do, after you 
 leave college, you will have to economize a little. Think a 
 minute count the cost, my boy." 
 
 " I don t need to think," said Walter, eagerly ; " how kind 
 you are, uncle ! It was what I was longing to propose, but 
 I did n t want to seem generous with what was n t really mine. 
 You shall never suffer, if the land does wear out. I can 
 work ! " and he stretched forth his young, elastic arms, and 
 clenched his fists, as if he would defy the world. 
 
 His uncle look jd at him a moment, with a proud and ten 
 der expression. How he loved the boy ! How he felt his 
 18* 
 
208 IDA MAY. 
 
 youth rene^pil, as he looked on that vigorous form, and that 
 fine face, globing with enthusiasm ! If there were weak 
 places in that character; which had never yet been tried by a 
 single cross, if there was danger in those impetuous impulses, 
 he was not the one to see it. No ! at that moment he would 
 have matched his boy, his Walter, against the universe ; and 
 all on account of what? Because he had consented to an 
 act of generosity that would give him only pleasure at present, 
 and from which he did not seriously believe he should ever 
 suffer any perceptible loss. So fond and blind is love ! 
 
 But it was something to have the boy s impulses on the 
 right side ! 0, yes, no doubt our Walter was a very nice 
 young man ; but not quite, not quite so perfect as Mr. Charles 
 Maynard at that moment imagined. 
 
 Turning, then, to his sister, he went on to say, " Perhaps, 
 then, I am the only selfish one in the room ; for, Emma, I 
 must acknowledge that I have lived this pleasant, wandering, 
 desultory life so long, that I shrink from going back to my 
 old home, there to fix myself, permanently, with a respectable 
 housekeeper and all the steady retinue which the education 
 of a little girl requires. Can you help me ? I think brother 
 Richard must get interested in Ida after a while. She will 
 be no care to him, and she certainly cannot be an annoyance ; 
 and I am not afraid but Mabel will love her, too. She has 
 been so long the only pet of the house, that it is not strange 
 she is a little jealous, now, of the extreme care and attention 
 we have* all been lavishing upon the little orphan for the last 
 month. The child will claim nothing from you that can 
 
IDA MAY. 29 
 
 affect the mo>t partial estimate of your duties toJVIabel, unu 
 I think brother Richard cannot object to having her board in 
 the house, and be under your care. You see I have not once 
 spoken of the additional labor I throw upon you. I know 
 your heart, Emma. It will be a labor of love." 
 
 " You do me but simple justice, brother," said Mrs. Wynn. 
 " Most gladly will I undertake the charge, if Mr. Wynn con 
 sents. I don t think he can have any objection. Poor little 
 Ida ! " she added, after a pause ; " I wonder how she will bear 
 to know that she is an orphan ? " 
 
 " She will not feel so badly now, as she would to have 
 known it when the memory of her past life first came back to 
 her," said Mr. Maynard. " During the last month she has 
 become attached to us, and new associations and new sur 
 roundings will soon dim that glowing picture of her old home, 
 which at first filled her brain. She is such a mere child that 
 she must soon be comforted, as all children are." 
 
 " And she is so interested in learning to read ! " said Walter. 
 " What a bright child she is ! When she came here she 
 did n t know her letters, and now she can read very well in 
 short words." 
 
 " You began with her the day after we found her out, 
 did n t you ? " asked Mr. Maynard. 
 
 " The very next day," replied Walter. " I asked her if 
 she would like to know her letters, and she learned them all 
 in an hjir or two. It is a perfect pleasure to teach such a 
 scholar It is as if her mind had just waked from a long 
 
210 IDA MAY. 
 
 lethargy, and every faculty seems eager to acquire and to 
 understand." 
 
 " What a pity that she has lived so long, without even the 
 first rudiments of knowledge ! She will be so mortified, when 
 sho comes to associate with girls of her own age," said Mrs. 
 Wynn. 
 
 11 She 11 come up with them, I 11 risk her," replied 
 Walter ; and then, as if impressed with a sudden thought, he 
 added, " But what reason and justice is there in the difference 
 we make between her condition, now we know she is the child 
 of white parents, and t le treatment she would have been con 
 sidered entitled to if we had not made that discovery ? Why 
 would n t she have needed knowledge as much then as now, 
 and been as capable of receiving it ? Who knows how many 
 children sold in the slave market, as she was, have minds 
 equally susceptible of cultivation ? What sense is there in 
 making the color of the skin, or the difference of lineage, out 
 weigh every other indication ? " 
 
 "I3top, 0, stop ! " cried Mr. Maynard. " You are asking 
 questions that have puzzled wiser heads than yours " 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted Mrs. Wynn, laying her hand on her 
 brother s arm, to arrest his attention. " I hear the children 
 coming down stairs. I will go and talk with Mr. Wynn. It 
 will be better to say nothing about the letters we have re 
 ceived, until we can tell decidedly what will be done with 
 her." She gathered up the letters and her work, as she 
 spoke, and vanished through the door leading to the library, 
 just as Mabe] and Ida entered the room. 
 
IDA MAY. 211" 
 
 Mr. \\ 71111 opposed but few objections to the proposed plan. 
 In his secret soul he regarded it as foolish and Quixotic, and 
 thought that Ida had much better be sent back to her friends 
 at the north ; but he saw how much his wife was interested 
 for the child, and he knew that his brother-in-law would never 
 be induced, by any argument of self-interest, to give up the 
 scheme. He had nose other to urge, and, moreover, he did 
 not wish, by any unwarrantable opposition, to deprive him 
 self of the pleasure he derived from the society of the good- 
 natured and merry-hearted Charles Maynard ; for plantation 
 life is dull, unless there be cheerful faces and merry voices to 
 make light and music in the dwelling, and, except during 
 Walter s brief visits, the pleasant old bachelor provoked 
 nearly all the noisy mirth that was heard in this household. 
 Mr. Maynard had great facility in adapting himself to the 
 disposition and habits of those with whom he lived. He held 
 his own opinions quietly, and he had great tact in never hit 
 ting them carelessly against the sharp corners of other people s 
 theories. Therefore it was, that, almost unconsciously to 
 either, it had become quite necessary to Mr. Wynn to retain 
 him in his family, and, provided he was not called upon to 
 give money, or time, or care, to the. orphan girl, he was will 
 ing that his wife and her brother should take such measures 
 as suited them respecting her. 
 
 Happy in this permission. 3 Irs. Wynn went back with a 
 light heart to the parlor, where her brother still remained 
 with Walter and the children, and by a word and a gesture 
 signified to him her husband s acquiescence. Then, drawing 
 
212 IDA MAY. 
 
 Ida to her side, she told her, very gently and tenderly, of the 
 news they had received, and that she was now alone in the 
 world, with none to love her as they would love her, who 
 were anxious, from that moment, to adopt her as their own. 
 The child wept bitterly at this disappointment of her hopes, 
 but it was impossible for her to help being consoled by the 
 kindness of those around her. She had a warm heart, and 
 she had already learned to love dearly those who had been 
 the means of rescuing her from her abject situation, and who 
 had done so much to make her happy. 
 
 The letter which the same mail had brought for Ida, from 
 her old nurse, Bessy, was full of the warmest expressions of 
 interest and affection, urging her to come and share her hum 
 ble home, and promising to secure for her every advantage in 
 her power. Ida s eyes overflowed again, as it was read to 
 her, but she expressed no inclination to accept the invitation. 
 Ties later formed were stronger, and, placing her hand in 
 Mr. Maynard s, she said, as she wiped away her tears, " I 
 will stay here and be your little girl, Uncle Charles, yours 
 and Aunt Emma s." 
 
 " And mine, too ! " cried "Walter, who was sitting on a low 
 seat, beside her. 
 
 " Yes, and yours, too, if Mabel will tet me," said Ida, 
 looking up appealingly to Mabel, who was leaning over the 
 back of her mother s chair. 
 
 " I ! I m sure I won t hinder you " exclaimed she, a little 
 roughly, while the roses deepened their crimson on her cheek. 
 
 Mr. Maynard looked from one to the other, and laughed 
 
1 D A M A V . 213 
 
 heartily. Mrs. Wynn looked up, also, and, apparently, a 
 new thought suddenly crossed her mind, for a shadow passed 
 over her face, and she withdrew her arm from the little form 
 it had encircled. In another moment, however, she pressed 
 the child to her bosom again, and kissed her with great ten 
 derness, as if to atone for an involuntary wrong. 
 
 It was settled, then, that Ida should remain in her present 
 home, receiving instruction from Mabel s governess, who, 
 patient soul, was glad at last to have a pupil that really 
 desired to learn, and with the proud and delighted Venus to 
 be still her " mauma." This latter personage was now, indeed, 
 in a state of perfect beatitude, at the change which had come 
 over the fortunes of her little pet. She made herself glorious 
 with aprons of every shape and hue, and tired everybody with 
 her ceaseless repetitions of her own sagacity and Ida s merits, 
 and made everybody laugh by the convulsive giggle that 
 invariably ended the story. 
 
 From the day that Ida s memory was awakened, and her 
 mind recovered its tone, there had been a change in her ap 
 pearance. Instead of the slow, dreamy, and listless manner 
 that had formerly marked her, her eyes now sparkled with 
 life, and her step became quick and buoyant. As she became 
 aware of her own ignorance, she seemed nqt for a moment to 
 relax her eager craving for knowledge, and the readiness with 
 which she seized upon different studies, and the retentiveness 
 of her memory, equally astonished and delighted Mr. Maynard. 
 
 Thus passed some happy years, over which " let the cur 
 tain drop." 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 " At the summit of lier dominion, in the depth of her luxury, her 
 Titanic institutions in full action, and her appetites surfeited with in 
 dulgence, we see that it is all a vision of death. Inarticulate proph 
 ecies of lamentation are in its music, spectres sit around its banquets, 
 and the grim genius of destruction sits and laughs in its strongest 
 places." ANON. 
 
 THE curtain rises. Eight years have past. It is Christ 
 mas eve at Wynn Hall. 
 
 The air is soft and still, but the sky is clouded and the 
 night is dark, and the flood of light, that streams from every 
 window of the mansion, falls in long lines through the misty 
 atmosphere far in among the stately pines that have kept 
 solemn " watch and ward " over so many succeeding periods 
 of Christmas festivity. Lights \re flashing also in yonder 
 grove, which may be seen far away across the cotton fields ; 
 and, beneath the glare of the flaming torches, a joyous mul 
 titude of the "field people" are here, around a well-spread 
 table, gorging themselves with meats o different kinds, which 
 they taste now for the first time in a year. This is a com 
 mencement of the yearly holidays, and every servant has 
 to-duy received a new suit of clothes, a blanket, and a 
 
IDA MAY. 215 
 
 of meat, and has been dismissed from all work for a week ; 
 for Richard Wynn, Esq., is proud of his descent from the land 
 where Christmas is observed most joyously, and he as strictly 
 forbids work, and encourages unrestrained liberty among his 
 people, at this time, as he enforces the contrary rule for the 
 remainder of the year. 0, how delightful is this season of 
 rest ! They have looked forward to it with such longing. 
 The ordinary restraints are removed; they have plenty to 
 eat, new and clean clothes to wear, and all the liberty con 
 sistent with their circumstances. Now the dull, brutalized 
 faces begin to light up with a more human expression of hope 
 and desire, and the care-worn, furrowed brows assume some 
 what the air of content. Christmas eve their master likes to 
 have them gather in this grove, which is well lighted for 
 the occasion, and devote the hours to hearty mirth; and, 
 though not much accustomed to this mood, it is not long 
 before the stimulating influence of unfamiliar food, and the 
 beer with which they are plentifully supplied, raise their 
 animal spirits to the requisite height, and the old woods 
 reecho with laughter and song, and the mingling of many 
 voices in all sorts of discordant sounds. 
 
 The remainder of the week each individual passes accord 
 ing to his inclination. Those who have wives or families on 
 distant plantations are allowed at this time to visit them, 
 
 * s 
 
 provided they may be trusted out of bounds for more than 
 twenty-four hours at once. The remaining servants fish, set 
 traps in the woods, or repair their houses and fortify them 
 selves in various ways against the ensuing winter ; or, more 
 19 
 
216 -IDA MAY. 
 
 frequently, preferring the dolce far niente. lie all day in the 
 sun and sit lounging around the cabin fire, enjoying the un 
 wonted luxury of full repose after the exhausting toil of the 
 summer. Some there are who vary these enjoyments by get 
 ting drunk, ad libitum, which they are now allowed to do if 
 they can procure the means, although temperance is very 
 strictly enforced at other times. In short, this is the season 
 when they may enjoy themselves " to the top of their bent ; " 
 and that these enjoyments are so wholly animal gratifications, 
 is only what may reasonably be expected of these degraded 
 beings, chattelized through long generations. 
 
 It is Christmas eve in the cabin. It is Christmas eve in 
 the hall. Everywhere lights are flashing, and merry voices 
 ring out on the air. Above and below, through the spacious 
 parlors, and over the broad piazzas, light footsteps are falling 
 and graceful forms are flitting, for the hospitable old hall is 
 crowded with guests, and old and young are eager to enjoy 
 the gayety that reigns everywhere. In the drawing-room 
 are gathered the grandfathers and grandmothers, looking on 
 while the blooming young matrons and their husbands, the 
 elderly spinsters, the antiquated bachelors, and the young 
 men and maidens, mingle in a social dance, their airy feet 
 keeping time to the lively strains that proceed from a fiddle, 
 held in the hands of " Uncle Ned." Everybody feels like 
 dancing when Uncle Ned fiddles, and he knows it, and re 
 joices in his power, as he sits on the piazza, just outside the 
 open window, nodding his head, and rolling his eyes, and 
 opening his mouth so that every one of his white teeth glistens 
 
I D A M A Y . 217 
 
 in the light that streams over him ; and if anybody could stop 
 gazing at the dancers long enough, they might almost discover 
 what he had for supper, they can see so far down his capa 
 cious throat. Some of the dancers do smile as they glance 
 at him in the pauses of the dance ; but he rolls up his eyes a 
 little higher and bends his head sideways a little nearer his 
 beloved instrument, and his elbow shakes a little faster, and 
 soon the observers find they have enough to do to " face the 
 music," without attending to the queer looks of the musician. 
 
 In the south parlor, Mr. Wynn with a few of his grave 
 and quiet compeers were coseyly seated around whist-tables, 
 discussing, in a dignified undertone, the affairs of the state 
 and nation, or pausing now and then to look through the open 
 doors into the adjoining rooms, when a fresh burst of music, 
 or a shout of mirth, attracted their attention. 
 
 In the dining-room the tables had been cleared and set 
 against the wall, and the boys and girls, together with a few 
 " children of a larger growth," who had wearied of dancing, 
 were exercising themselves in the time-honored games of 
 hunt the slipper " and blind-man s-buff; " while all along 
 the piazza, the house servants, dressed in all their nnery, 
 were crowding in at the doors and windows, with a keen 
 sense of enjoyment at seeing the fan, and many sententious 
 remarks respecting the merits of the different performers. 
 Their children, neatly, and in some instances tastefully 
 dressed, had gathered in the corners and angles of the dining- 
 room, whispering and laughing, and now and then darting 
 across the floor arid joining in the game, as if they found it 
 
218 IDA MAY. 
 
 impossible to resist the temptation. But their interference 
 was generally received with a good-natured remark, or a 
 pleasant jest, and at length the most of them were mingling 
 unrestrainedly in the sport. Children are usually true cos 
 mopolitans. 
 
 Near the glass door, that opened upon the piazza from this 
 room, a group of women were standing. One of them might 
 readily have been recognized as our friend Venus ; for the 
 passing years had touched her lightly, and she seemed to 
 have renewed her youth instead of growing old. A great 
 improvement was perceptible in her dress. Her turban was 
 of the finest cambric, and her bright plaid dress was of nice 
 woollen material, while her aprons, which, in defiance of all 
 criticism, she still persisted in wearing one above another, 
 were made, one of black and the other of green silk, and 
 abundantly ruffled. 
 
 She turned to one of her companions, and the happy look 
 which she had hitherto worn faded from her face, as she said, 
 with a sigh, 
 
 " Laws bless us ! Patra, how Mass Charles would joy 
 heself ef he was ony here now ! Pears like de Lord might a 
 found somebody dat needed gwine up to heaven more n Mass* 
 Charles, an lef him- down here wid us little longer." 
 
 " Dat was mighty onhansome ting in de Lord, takm Mass 
 Charles dat way ! " replied Patra. " 0, ef you d ony been 
 he-e when de news come ! Reckons dere was powerful heap 
 oh tears shed den. Poor Miss Emma ! she was in de most 
 perdition all dat night ; pears like she die, or be 
 
IDA MAY 219 
 
 stracted, or d ranged, or some such like, she feel so bery bad. 
 An Mass Richard, too, tell you what, it do take some- 
 thin to take him down, an he was took down dat time, 
 sure miff." 
 
 " Must been mighty hard for Mass Walter, too," said 
 Venus, " way off dere in strange country. Must overcome 
 him powerful." 
 
 "Well, tis as tis, and can t be no tiser," replied the 
 mercurial Patra, throwing off the recollection of grief with a 
 prolonged sigh, and turning to the gay group within the room. 
 " We was dat stounded for one while we did n t none ob us 
 tink ob notin , but we se got ober it now some, so t a n t 
 worth while flectin bout it. Look at Miss Mable ! She do 
 look powerful handsome in dat white satin gown, don t she ? " 
 " Dat she do," replied Venus, in a tone slightly acidified, 
 4< handsome clo se does set off some folks mighty powerful." 
 
 " Handsome clo se ! " replied the other indignantly. " Dat 
 jest you ugliness, Aunt Venus. Pore I d have sich a 
 jealous despumsition ! You allers was jealous, cause Miss 
 Mable was heap handsomer n your Miss Ida, allers." 
 
 " Me jealous ! " retorted Venus. " What for I be jealous ? 
 A n t no need o bein jealous, cause a nigger like you don t 
 know nuff to tell who you ought to mire most. You a n t 
 no judge who s handsome." 
 
 " Hush, girls ! " said Maum Abby, who was just then 
 
 passing, and overheard these last sentences. " You have no 
 
 need to quarrel about your young ladies, they are both 
 
 beautiful," and her eyes rested with a long, melancholy gaze 
 
 19* 
 
220 IDA MAY. 
 
 upon the two maidens who stood in the doorway opposite 
 them. 
 
 "Dat fact, Maurn Abby," replied Venus, in a calmer tone; 
 "but t won t neber do for Miss Ida to stan dere no longer. 
 She 11 be gettin chilly fore she knows it. De draft o wind 
 from dis yer door, has clar intercourse all ober her." Away 
 she hurried to give a timely caution, but before she reached 
 the spot where they were standing, Walter Varian had joined 
 them. 
 
 " Here you are, then, young ladies," he said, gayly. " I 
 nave been looking for you. Our guests in the drawing- 
 room are tired of dancing, and have been asking for a little 
 music ; and I am a committee of three sent to inform you 
 of it." 
 
 "We were tired of dancing, also," said Ida, "and came 
 out here to look at the children a few moments. I like to 
 see them playing. How careless and happy they seem ! how 
 entirely they give themselves up to their mirth ! " 
 
 " And how well those dark butterflies, with their crimson 
 trimmings, serve to set off the radiant complexions ot their 
 playmates ! " said Walter, pointing to a group of gayly-dressed 
 negro children, who were clustering around two fair patri 
 cian girls, busily engaged in an attempt to "thread the 
 needle." 
 
 "Yes, they serve very well as foils," said Mabel. "I have 
 often noticed that white children never look so pretty as ID 
 the arms of their colored nurses ; and the good^souls are so 
 proud of them, too ! " 
 
IDA MAY. 221 
 
 " Your father spent that winter in Germany, to some pur 
 pose," said Walter, addressing her. " This is quite equal to 
 Christmas in the Fader-land, only you have no Christmas- 
 tree. I wonder at that omission." 
 
 " We had one last year," replied Mabel, " but it was so 
 much trouble that we concluded to dispense with it this year. 
 Maum Abby was the only one who had any taste in arranging 
 it, and now she has a lame wrist so that she can do but little ; 
 and, after all, they are childish affairs. It is hard for grown 
 people to have much faith in Kriss Kringle." 
 
 "0, it does us good to be children sometimes ! " said Ida, 
 "to go out of our conventionalisms, and our starched-up 
 proprieties, and sympathize a few moments with the simple 
 joys of childhood. For my part, I should much enjoy play 
 ing with the children here a while to-night. Suppose we join 
 the game a few minutes." 
 
 "Simple tastes do well enough to talk about," replied 
 Mabel, with a slight curl of her rosy lip ; " but children 
 always savor too much of bread and milk to suit my 
 fancy." 
 
 "We will join them, perhaps, by and by," said Walter, 
 laughing; " if Ida wishes. I don t object to a good boister 
 ous game now and then. As Ha says, it brings back our 
 youth, and mine, you know, is rapidly departing." His eyes 
 gleamed with mirth as he ran his fingers carelessly through 
 his wavy and abundant hair, which as yet certainly gave no 
 token of age. But he dropped his voice a little, as he added, 
 turning expressively to his cousin, " I am old in the heart s 
 
222 IDA MAY. 
 
 9 
 
 calendar, at any rate, we don t reckon that time by mouths 
 and years." 
 
 " They are calling us from the parlor," said Ida, whose 
 attention being thus turned in another direction, she had only 
 imperfectly heard these last words. 
 
 " Yes," said Walter, " they will call me a dilatory messen 
 ger, if I allow you to stay here longer. Let us go and have 
 some music. Come, Ida ; come, Ma-belle." 
 
 There was something in the tone with which he thus pro 
 nounced his cousin s name, that caused Ida to look up ear 
 nestly into his face. His eyes were bent upon Mabel s with an 
 unmistakable expression, as he offered her his arm ; and for 
 one instant he touched, with a quick, nervous pressure, the 
 white, jewelled fingers that rested there. v 
 
 There was a slight flushing of Ida s~cheek, and a drooping 
 of her eyelids for one moment, nothing more, no other sign 
 of feeling or change of demeanor ; and yet, in that one mo 
 ment, the secret and fondly cherished romance of her whole 
 
 f 
 
 life died out in> Ida s heart, and she felt the cold, sharp stab 
 of the sword-like thought, that she was cut off from the sym 
 pathy on which she had counted to aid her in the prosecution 
 of a great work, and that she was alone in the unsympathiz- 
 ing and distrustful circle, in* which for a while she was com 
 pelled to remain. 
 
 Ida May had only that day arrived at the hall, after a 
 prolonged absence. For three years after her adoption by 
 Mr. Maynard, she had remained under the care of Mrs. 
 Wynn, daily improving in health and pursuing her long-neg- 
 
IDA MAY. 223 
 
 
 
 iected education with an avidity that at the end of that time 
 had advanced her as far in her studies as is common with 
 girls of her age, who have had much better advantages. 
 Then came a general overturning of the sober routine of 
 domestic arrangements. By one of those mysterious changes 
 of climate not uncommon at the south, this part of the district 
 which had hitherto been remarkably healthy, had been grad 
 ually becoming infected, during the summer months, with a 
 sickly miasma. Mr. Wynn began first to fail beneath the 
 poisonous air, and then others of the family being affected, it 
 was reluctantly decided necessary to remove during the warm 
 season to another location. Walter had by this time finished 
 his collegiate course, and Mr. Maynard determined to fulfil 
 a long-cherished plan, and take his nephew with him on a 
 lengthened tour through foreign lands. Mr. Wynn, for whom 
 a sea voyage had been prescribed, accompanied them with his 
 wife through England and Germany, having just placed the 
 two girls at boarding school in Baltimore. In making these 
 arrangements, it had been a question of much debate what 
 should be done with Venus. Ida longed to take her with 
 her, but if she left the State she could not return again, and 
 it was as yet uncertain how long the girls might remain at 
 school. Finding that she must be separated from her nurse, 
 Ida, in accordance with Venus private request, had begged 
 of Mr. Maynard that she might be hired somewhere in the 
 neighboring city, and that she might be allowed a certain per 
 centage on her wages, which would in the course of a few 
 years enable her to buy her freedom. 
 
224 IDA MAY. 
 
 To this plan Mr Maynard readily agreed ; but, when Mr 
 Wynn was informed of it, he made many objections, and, 
 finally, ended the discussion by declaring, that if his brother- 
 in-law chose to be so foolish, and set so bad an example, he 
 would secure himself against being injured by it, for, from the 
 day she was free, Venus should never enter the boundaries 
 of his plantation. He would have no free niggers exciting 
 improper ideas among his servants. Therefore, though Venus 
 had in three years amassed the sum fixed upon as the price 
 of her freedom, slie had refrained from taking any further 
 measures to secure it, lest it should be the means of prevent 
 ing her from visiting Wynn Hall during the vacations when 
 the young ladies would probably return home. This was not 
 so much an act of self-denial as appears at first sight, for, 
 previous to his departure, Mr. Maynard had assured her that 
 his will was made, and, in case any fatal accident happened 
 to him in his journeyings, she would become the property of 
 Miss Ida. 
 
 After a year s residence abroad, Mr. and Mrs. Wynn had 
 returned home, much improved in health ; but the young 
 ladies had continued at school, only returning to the hull 
 once a year, at the Christmas vacation. Mr. Maynard and 
 his nephew, after travelling in Egypt and Palestine, had 
 returned to Europe, and leisurely explored every country 
 that contained things venerable, or curious, or rare, in art, or 
 picturesque in natural scenery. Perhaps there was no part 
 of his life which the genial, happy-hearted man enjoyed so 
 entirely, as the three years thus employed. " He that carries 
 
I D > MAY. 225 
 
 much, brings much away," saith the proverb ; and,- having 
 pursued a course of reading with special reference to this 
 plan, through many previous years, he knew where to look 
 for things, and was fully prepared to understand all the ante 
 cedents and associations connected with them, when found, 
 and to impart these to his companion. 
 
 They rested, at length, from their wanderings, at the uni 
 versity of Gottingen, where it was determined that Walter 
 should remain a year or two to complete his law studies. It 
 was in accordance with his own wishes that he studied a pro 
 fession ; but, even had he not desired it, his uncle would have 
 advised it. He knew that though he should not need it as a 
 means of livelihood, he would be much happier, and more 
 useful, to have some steady employment, and some object of 
 ambition ; and that Walter s restless temperament and active 
 mind, could not with impunity be trusted to the pleasant idle- 
 ness amid which he had glided dreamily down the stream of 
 time. Here, then, he intended to leave Walter, and, after 
 going home for a visit to Mrs. Wynn, who incessantly begged 
 for his return, he would perhaps induce her and her husband 
 to try another voyage across the Atlantic, taking with them 
 Mabel and Ida, for a little tour on the continent, and then 
 they would all return home together when Walter s studies 
 were finished. 
 
 But, " man proposes and God disposes." A week from the 
 night on which these delightful plans had been proposed and 
 discussed, while Walter, for the first time, did the honors of 
 his own room in the university the warm heart of Charles 
 
226 IDA MAT. 
 
 iuaynard had ,eeased to beat, and those lips, on which had 
 ever dwelt words of kindness, were still and cold in death. 
 He had passed through many perils in his journeyings by 
 sea and land, to die of a rapid and fatal fever, in a strange 
 country, with none to weep over him of all whom he had 
 loved and blessed, except his grief-stricken and almost heart 
 broken nephew. 
 
 Compelled to make his uncle s grave in a foreign soil, Wal 
 ter relinquished the purpose of returning home, which he had 
 formed in the first shock of his sorrow. The sods that cov 
 ered that form made a foreign soil seem like his native land. 
 They did more. The living presence of that honored and 
 beloved relative would have been a shield between him and 
 the temptations of vice. The sight of that grave, bringing 
 with it, as it did, so many pure memories of youth and home, 
 n 1 ways aroused the better principles and the refined instincts 
 of his nature, and kept him from falling into the gross dissi 
 pation which too often accompanies a student s life abroad. 
 
 Meantime, Mabel and Ida had continued at school together 
 during three years, associating as of course they must in that 
 connection, but with not much strengthening of affection or 
 intimacy, as time went on. Mabel had from the first been 
 jealous of the attention which her uncle and cousin bestowed 
 upon the orphan girl, and she was naturally too selfish to sym 
 pathize with their benevolent plans respecting her. As they 
 grew older, and it became evident that Ida was greatly her 
 superior^ in intellect, and was, moreover, gifted with a quiet 
 perseverance, by which she was enabled to so surpass her even 
 
IDA MAY./ 
 
 in those superficial accomplishments to which the spoiled child 
 of fortune had chiefly devoted her attention, this jealousy 
 deepened into a feeling of positive dislike, which was only 
 partially concealed from its object, though most artfully 
 hidden from others. By insinuations, and words dropped with 
 seeming carelessness, she contrived to misrepresent many of 
 Ida s actions and sayings, in such a way as to prejudice her 
 father and mother against her ; and though Ida kept up a 
 constant correspondence with Mr. Maynard, there were sev 
 eral causes operating unknown to him during his long absence, 
 to alienate from the rest of his family this child of his adop 
 tion and love. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn was generous and kind-hearted, and she had 
 faithfully discharged the duties she had promised her brother 
 to perform for Ida. But she was human, and, therefore, not 
 quite perfect ; and, as Ida s presence in her family might 
 thwart her favorite plans respecting Mabel and Walter, 
 though she never encouraged Mabel s half-uttered communi 
 cations, and always took Ida s part in any question that arose 
 between them, it must be confessed that there were many 
 times, after the girls had nearly attained to womanhood, when 
 the anxious little lady felt that it would be a great relief to 
 her mind if Ida should find some other home until Walter 
 was safely married to his beautiful cousin. But she struggled 
 conscientiously with these thoughts, and imagined she kept 
 them strictly concealed from every one, and, most of all, from 
 the orphan girl for whom she really had a warm affection, 
 and who had been committed to her as a sacred trust by the 
 20 
 
223 IDA MAY. 
 
 brother she was never to see again. Perhaps they were not 
 noticed by others, and might not have been visible to one ot 
 different nature, for Mrs. "Wymi was invariably gentle and 
 kind ; but Ida, though a clear-headed and strong-minded girl, 
 had one of those delicate organizations that can be impressed 
 by the " sphere " of those with whom it comes in contact, and 
 interpret correctly the latent meaning of a word or a look. 
 
 She had never been much attached to Mabel, and, making 
 many warm friends at school, she did not so much notice her 
 growing coldness, but it was with deep pain that she became 
 sensible of the gradual change which she noticed in Mrs. 
 Wynn. It was nothing of which she could complain, nothing 
 sufficiently palpable even for remark, but, nevertheless, it was 
 there, and when she found that all her efforts could not charm 
 it away, she began to shrink away from them a little ; her 
 letters to Walter grew shorter and more infrequent, for a 
 word and a gesture, which had been made when she at one 
 time received some letters from him, had spoiled all her 
 pleasure in, the correspondence ; she began to spend her vaca 
 tions more frequently at the north, with her friend Bessy ; and 
 thus it was, that, during the two years following the death of 
 her benefactor, she had not visited the place where he sup 
 posed he had secured her a permanent home. 
 
 Fortunately for the poor girl, whom Death seemed to 
 pursue so relentlessly, she had renewed her acquaintance with 
 the devoted friend of her infancy, and was at her house, when 
 she received the dreadful tidings of Mr. Maynard s sudden 
 death. The passing years, that had worked so many changes, 
 
IDA MAY. 229 
 
 had left bright tokens of prosperity to Bessy. Married to the 
 proprietor of a small rocky farm among the hills, she was 
 content with her toilsome lot, and thought she wanted no 
 other treasure than she possessed in her husband and her two 
 children. But one day there came to the mountain farm, a 
 stranger with a book and a hammer. He sauntered about for 
 a while and then went away. The next day he returned with 
 two others, and the whole party seemed bent upon prying 
 into every nook and dingle, and examining the texture of all 
 the rocks, at which Mr. Morton (Bessy s husband) had so 
 -often threatened vengeance. At length they made an offer 
 for the farm so greatly above its seeming value that the saga 
 cious farmer was startled. They told him a plausible story, 
 but he was not to be put off so easily, and, at length, they 
 were obliged to let him into the secret, and admit him to a 
 share in the profits. The little rocky farm covered a coal 
 mine of untold value, and Bessy was the wife of a rich 
 man. 
 
 They removed to Harrisburg, and the first day that could 
 be devoted to that purpose, Bessy set out for Baltimore, to 
 claim recognition from her long-lost pet. Ida had heard of 
 her good fortune, and knew she was coming ; but she found it 
 difficult to see in the richly-dressed and lady-Ike woman who 
 stood before her, any traces of the trim little maiden whom 
 she only faintly remembered. But Bessy knew enough to 
 support her new position with dignity, and Ida found at her 
 house always a cordial welcome, and in its hostess a devoted 
 admirer and untiring friend. 
 
230 IDA MAY. 
 
 Mabel had left school a short time before her uncle s death, 
 and Ida, who was two .years younger, was to remain a year 
 longer. But when she could arouse herself from her deep 
 grie^ at that unexpected loss, Ida determined to remain at 
 school until she was eighteen, which was the time fixed for her 
 majority, in Mr. Maynard s will. This change in her position 
 involved new duties and responsibilities, and gave her a new 
 motive for acquiring a thorough education. Her only means 
 of support was the property which that will secured to her. 
 It consisted of a portion of the estate at Oaklands and a 
 number of negroes, and she was to take possession when she* 
 should be eighteen. Until then Mr. Wynn was to be her 
 guardian. The value of this property was sufficient to secure 
 her from want during her life ; but Ida looked back on the 
 five years she had passed before she knew Mr. Maynard, upon 
 scenes she had never forgotten, upon conversations which, 
 dimly understood at the time, came back with clearness of 
 import that startled her as she recalled them, and she said 
 to herself, " Better toil, better suffer, if need be," than by 
 word or deed to countenance in any way the system who^e 
 blighting curse she had known so well. Until the power was 
 in her own hands, she could only keep her purpose a secret, 
 and prepare herself as much as possible for its fulfilment, for 
 she knew that Mr. Wynn would defeat it, if he suspected 
 i*. while he had control of the property. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn and Mabel had been greatly in hopes that 
 Walter would return home some months previous to the time 
 when it would be necessary for Ida to visit them, in order to 
 
IDA MAY. 231 
 
 take possession of her estate ; but the young gentleman seemed 
 to be in no haste to comply with their wishes, which, to be 
 sure, being unexpressed, he might be pardoned for not regard 
 ing. It was late in October, and they had returned from the 
 mountain retreat, where their summers were now spent, 
 before the wanderer was welcomed to his native land. 
 
 Tearful, indeed, was that welcome at first, for it brought 
 
 O 
 
 back too vividly the memory of one whom they still mourned ; 
 but time had chastened their grief, and in their hearts green 
 grass was growing over the grave whereon once had fallen 
 only the cold, wintry rain of despairing tears. 
 
 Walter Varian was ignorant of bis aunt s purposes respect 
 ing him ; but if he had known them, and been disposed to act 
 the good boy, he could not have obeyed with a more dutiful 
 alacrity; for, almost from the first day he saw Mabel, he had 
 been completely fascinated and enthralled by her beauty. 
 The fair promise of her childhood had been more than ful 
 filled, and she was now, at the age of twenty, most radiantly 
 and peerlessly beautiful.. Words fail to describe her queenly 
 form and mien, the perfect contour of her face and head, her 
 classic features, her blue eyes, that hid themselves beneath 
 long, dark lashes with an expression of dignified repose, the 
 purity and brilliancy of her complexion, which mocked at the 
 commonplace comparison of alabaster or Parian marble, the 
 delicate bloom which tinged her cheek and mantled into 
 brightness on her curved lips, and the glossy wealth of her 
 light brown hair, which she usually wore simply knotted in 
 20* 
 
232 IDA MAY. 
 
 \ 
 
 the Grecian sty .e, or braided and disposed like a crown around 
 her stately head. 
 
 When, in his day-dreams, he had contemplated the possi- 
 Jbility that he might one day be married, Walter had always 
 imagined that, he should require not only personal beauty, but 
 also a heart and a mind, in the woman who should be his 
 wife. But, bewildered and dazzled, he had not stayed to con 
 sider of this now, and perhaps it was but natural that, when 
 those beautiful lips opened, an ardent and impressible young 
 man should mistake the pebbles that fell from them for 
 pearls. 
 
 Walter had been two months at home, and he was already 
 privately betrothed to Mabel Wynn, and had only waited for 
 her father to return from a journey, which had detained him 
 some weeks from home, in order to claim publicly the fair 
 hand of his cousin, and to beg that she might speedily become 
 his wife. Mrs. Wynn was kept too much in awe of her hus 
 band to make him a confidant of the purpose which so long 
 had agitated her gentle breast with contending hopes and 
 fears ; but she had no idea that he would oppose it, and great 
 was her surprise and consternation, when, the night after his 
 return, in the privacy of their own room, she told him of 
 Walter s wishes, and found that he was averse to the union. 
 The proud father looked higher for one with whom to mate 
 his peerless child. He liked Walter very well, but Mabel s 
 husband must be far more wealthy or far more influential than 
 her cousin was likely to be, at least before many years ; and 
 - after rejecting innumerable suitors, in obedience to his corn- 
 
IDA MAY. 233 
 
 a 
 
 manis, it would ill become him, he said, to allow her to 
 marry Walter, whose whole fortune was very moderate, and 
 whose talents and future position in society remained to be 
 established. In addition to these objections he urged the fact 
 -that Col. James Ross, whose plantation was a few miles dis 
 tant, a widower and a millionaire, had lately been fluttering 
 round Mabel, like a moth round a candle, and there was no 
 loubt he would soon propose for her. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn cried bitterly with disappointment, and even 
 ventured to remonstrate, which so astonished her husband 
 that, for a while, he could hardly answer her ; but he con 
 tinued inflexible, and the only concession she secured was a 
 half promise that, if Col. Ross did not propose, he would not 
 forbid Mabel s union with her cousin. 
 
 The next morning, without betraying all that had passed, 
 Mrs. Wynn convinced Walter that he had better, for a while, 
 defer asking his uncle s permission to the marriage, and thus 
 the parties were situated when Ida arrived at the hall. She 
 intended to have been there earlier, but was detained by the 
 impassable state of the roads, and some business delays on the 
 part of the gentleman under whose protection she travelled. 
 She found the household in a bustle of preparation for the 
 festivities of Christmas eve, but she was received with great 
 cordiality by Walter, who had always remembered her with 
 deep interest, and by Mrs. Wynn, who, now that the chief 
 fear of her soul was removed, felt a return of the unselfish 
 affection she had first entertained for the orphan. 
 
 In the excitement of her arrival, and meeting so many old 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 
 
 X 
 
 friends, above all in again meeting Yenus, whom she had not 
 seen for two years, and who laughed and cried over her by 
 turns, in the excess of her joy, ~in the preparations going on 
 throughout the house to entertain the numerous guests, some 
 of whom must remain all night, and finally in dressing for- 
 the party, tho:e had been no opportunity for Ida to observe 
 the new relation in which Walter stood with his cousin. But 
 the little scene I have described had revealed to her the 
 secret, revealed it with lightning power, that for a moment 
 left her stunned and blinded; and though, by the habit which 
 is like a natural instinct to most women, she walked calmly 
 into the drawing-room with her companions, and listened 
 while Mabel sang, and then seated herself at the piano, 
 
 v 
 
 choosing mechanically the gayest songs and the most noisy 
 and rapid music, there was going on all the while within her 
 soul one of those unacted, unwritten dramas, of which the 
 world would be delighted to be spectators, but of which the 
 world is usually profoundly ignorant. 
 
 But she was a brave girl, and, though startled and disap 
 pointed, she was not dismayed. In the secret chambers of 
 her heart the death sentence was read over hopes of whose 
 existence she had been unaware until that moment revealed 
 them ; there was a self-reliant lifting up of her head, a glanc 
 ing of her thought heavenward, and Ida was strong again, 
 and calm of soul. 
 
 That night, when Mabel and she retired to the little dress 
 ing-room, where they were to sleep together, having given up 
 their beds to tear guests, Mabel came behind her as she stood * 
 
IDA MAY. 261; 
 
 before the & irror smoothing out her curly tresses, and, pass 
 ing hei arm round her waist, said, fixing her eyes the whih 
 on the face in the glass before her, in order to perceive any 
 change of countenance, 
 
 " I will tell you a great secret, Ida. I am engaged to my 
 cousin Walter ! " 
 
 " I thought so," replied Ida, and she could not help -adding 
 mischievously, " I congratulate you on your success." 
 
 Mabel was quite taken by surprise, and a little annoyed 
 at this playful rejoinder. She had always fancied that Ida 
 had a secret fancy for Walter, and the thought of triumphing 
 over her had been a powerful stimulus to her desire to num 
 ber Walter among her own suitors, and added zest to the 
 pleasure with which she received his addresses. She had 
 hoped to sefe confusion and pain in the face of one she deemed 
 her rival, when the fact was known, and therefore had chosen 
 a moment when the lights were so placed that every emotion 
 could be detected. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked, half angrily. 
 
 " 0," said Ida, already repenting of her words, " they say 
 matrimony is a game at which we women play, and some 
 win the prize, as you have done. You have been successful, 
 I congratulate you." 
 
 " And you have lost ! " returned Mabel, half maliciously, 
 for she suspected a la : ant sarcasm in her companion s first 
 remark. 
 
 Ida laughed merrily. 
 
 " That cannot be, for I did not enter the lists," she said, 
 
236 IDA MAY. 
 
 and then added n_ore gravely, " now let us be sober. I 
 deserve to have my nonsense recoil on my own head, for I 
 should not have answered you thus. The love of Walter 
 Varian is not a thing to laugh about. If you have the hap 
 piness of his life in your hands, you have a high and precious 
 trust, and I think you must feel the responsibility, Mabel." 
 
 " Mercy ! don t go into heroics, I beg ! " cried Mabel. 
 " I m not going to trouble myself about his happiness, I 
 assure you. I shall expect- him to make it his business to 
 look after mine." 
 
 " And does he agree to this one-sided bargain ? " said Ida, 
 who knew that her companion was not jesting, .but simply 
 expressing the feelings of her heart. 
 
 " 0, he d agree to anything I proposed. I never saw 
 anybody more in love than he is with your humble servant, 
 he is completely blinded, it is really funny. Don t you 
 remember how much he used to think of you how handsome 
 he thought you was ? Well, his head is so completely turned 
 now, that he actually thinks you have grown homely." 
 
 "Is it possible ? poor, infatuated youth ! " exclaimed 
 Ida. 
 
 " It is so," repeated Mabel, provoked that she could not 
 annoy Ida. "He told me, to-night, that he never saw any 
 body whose face so much disappointed him, he expected you 
 would be so pretty." 
 
 Ida looked on the reflection in the mirror before them. 
 She was not so beautiful in her womanhood as she had been 
 when a child. Her figure was slight, and rather under the 
 
IDA MAY. * 237 
 
 medium height, and her face, now more than usually pale and 
 sallow from the effects of a recent illness, could bear no com 
 parison with the perfect and radiant beauty of Mabel s. Ida 
 saw it, and she was conscious of a faint feeling of mortifica 
 tion that Walter should have made the comparison so much 
 to her disadvantage, and have remarked upon it to one who 
 never had neglected any opportunity to gall and wound her. 
 But the next instant she put down the emotion proudly, and 
 replied in the same playful tone she had hitherto maintained. 
 
 " Everything is by comparison, and Walter was very unfair 
 to expect me to devote my whole time to the business of 
 growing handsome, as you have done. Even for the sake of 
 pleasing him, it would hardly have been worth while to sacri 
 fice everything else, and spend these last five years a la grand 
 Lama, in reflecting upon and worshipping myself. He should 
 not have compared me with you, and you may tell him so 
 when he is inclined to do so again." 
 
 " He did n t compare us ; he said there was no comparison," 
 said Mabel, bluntly. 
 
 " I honor his discrimination," replied Ida. " When he 
 becomes still further acquainted with us, I suppose he will 
 come to the conclusion that there is no more comparison be 
 tween the inside than there is between the outside of our 
 heads." 
 
 " And what there is will be all in^my favor, if he is judge, 
 you may be sure," replied Mabel, turning away with a faint 
 blush and an air of vexation. " But, come now, let us stop 
 this nonsense and go to sleep. You are so uncommonly bright 
 
238 I D A M A Y . 
 
 to-night, that 1 find I shall gain nothing in a war of words. 
 Suppose we rest our weapons till to-morrow." 
 
 " Suppose we conclude a treaty of peace for all coming 
 time. I did not mean to offend you, Mabel dear," said Ida, 
 following her, "but I felt a little mischievous. I do sincerely 
 congratulate you." 
 
 " Perhaps you think I am the only party who is to be 
 congratulated in this union," replied Mabel, petulantly. 
 
 " Perhaps so," rejoined Ida, with an arch glance into 
 Mabel s eyes, as she kissed her fair cheek ; and thus the con 
 versation ended, leaving Maber uncertain, as her companion 
 meant she should be, whether her intended triumph had not 
 after all been a mistake arising from her own misconception 
 of Ida s feelings. 
 
CHA-PTER XI. 
 
 * When shall I breathe in freedom, and give scope 
 To those untamable and burning thoughts, 
 And restless aspirations, -which consume 
 My heart in the land of bondage 1 " 
 
 VESPERS OF PALERMO. 
 
 THE next morning, while the servants were yet engaged in 
 the early sweeping, and general putting to rights," which 
 followed the Christmas party, Venus, who was making her 
 self useful with a broom, was surprised to see Ida descending 
 the stairs. 
 
 " A merry Christmas, mauma ! " she said, " and here is your 
 Christmas present. Is n t it handsome ? " and she unfolded a 
 warm, soft, woollen shawl, woven of the bright colors which 
 Venus most affected, and playfully threw it over her head. 
 
 "Bress de honey!" exclaimed she, extricating herself 
 from its folds, and surveying it with admiring eyes; " how she 
 do allers member her ole mauma, and know what she want 
 most uncommon ! Dis yer shawl now dot hansum, pears like 
 I se gwine look powerful pretty in it. Bress de,child ! she 
 done got up might/ airly and dress herself. It be merry 
 21 
 
L iO IDA MAY. 
 
 Christmas sure nuff for ole Benus, when she se( her young 
 miss dis bright mornin . How d ye, honey ? " 
 
 " 0, I m well, and quite rested after my journey," said 
 Ida, as she threw her arms around the neck of her old friend, 
 and kissed her heartily. That dark face, with all its un- 
 couthness, was always pleasant to her. 
 
 " Pears like I neber see you gain, honey," said Venus. 
 " Dis old heart done long for you dis heap o days. What 
 for made her stay way from home so long ? " 
 
 " No matter now, mauma," replied Ida, " we won t be sepa 
 rated again. You shall always live with me if you want to, 
 and go with me wherever I go. 
 
 " Dat ar good news, dat am up and down fact," replied 
 Venus, in a tone of great complacency. " But run long now, 
 honey, for dat ar Patra she dono no more bout sweeping 
 dan tree-toad know bout singing, and she do make such pow 
 erful dust you se getting all covered. De nigger ! she a n t 
 neber been edicated bout sweepin , dat gal a n t. Now, when 
 I sweeps, pears like you neber d know it. De a n t one 
 speck o dust. But some folks is dat stupid." 
 
 This latter sentence was lost to Ida, for she had retreated 
 from the clouds which " cast their shadows before " Patra s 
 vigorously-handled broom, as she approached the parlor door. 
 Stepping out on the piazza, she stopped a moment to caress 
 the dog, who had stretched himself there on a mat, Sport 
 had grown old and feeble, but he did not forget old friends, 
 and, after rubbing his nose most expressively in reply to her 
 
IDA MAY. 241 
 
 affectionate greeting, he even aroused himself to the unwonted 
 exertion of following her, as she went towards the garden. 
 
 Ida had never forgotten her early passion for flowers, and 
 now she sauntered along the well-known walks, stopping now 
 and then to speak to the gardeners, or to gather some buds 
 and blossoms, that were lifting themselves up to the sunshine 
 as joyously as if most of their companions had not perished 
 beneath the chilly touch of approaching winter. She seated 
 herself, at length, in a sunny spot, beneath the hedge of /wild 
 orange that surrounded the garden, while Sport stretched 
 himself at her feet, and, after shaking his ears over his face 
 as though under pretence that the sun hurt his eyes, but 
 really because he was a little ashamed to have his ultimate 
 intentions known, gave himself up to a gentle doze. Ida 
 watched the dignified old dog with a quiet smile, and her 
 thoughts went back to ( the first time she had seen him, to her 
 hiding-place among the trees, and to the brave and handsome 
 boy who had then appeared to her braver and handsomer 
 than aught of mortal mould. She thought of the kind friend 
 who had adopted her when she was a forlorr orphan, and 
 whose care and love had never failed her, until death had 
 torn him from her forever ; thought of him with a tender 
 longing, and not a few quiet tears, that fell like dew-drops 
 upon the roses she was twining together ; for, since last even 
 ing, she had felt that Walter was entirely lost to her. 
 Mabel s husband could not even be her friend; and with 
 Walter, her last hold on the family of her 1 protector seemed 
 gone. 
 
242 DA MAY. 
 
 From this revery sh ,- was aroused by tlie sound of voices 
 on the other side of the hedge, and, looking through a small 
 opening beside her, she saw that near the angle of the hedge 
 where she sat, was the gate of the fruit garden, which was 
 immediately behind the other. At this gate a man and a 
 woman were standing. The man had his back toward her, 
 and seemed to have just opened the gate that his companion 
 might pass out. She had laid her hand on his arm, and was 
 looking up in his face with an eager, imploring expression. 
 She was evidently quite young, and was very pretty, with 
 soft, sad eyes, and a timid air that suited her girlish figure. 
 " You will be sure to come once, at least," Ida heard her say, 
 in tremulous accents. 
 
 " Yes," replied her companion, in low but firm tones, " I 
 will certainly come, though when I can t tell you. He 
 watches me like a cat does a mouse ; and even now, when all 
 the rest are at liberty for a week, he has given me some 
 plans for a summer-house to draw, and has told me to draw 
 on them every morning in the library, so that he may be sure 
 I am not with you, curse him ! " 
 
 The woman looked down a moment, and her lip trembled. 
 "It is too bad ! " she said ; " and now the baby is growing so 
 pretty and cunning I ve learnt him to say a mighty heap 
 of words since you was there." 
 
 " It won t last much longer," said the man ; " even the 
 worm turns when he is trodden upon. I am no worm, but I 
 will turn, too." 
 
 " It is all because I am free, you say," replied the woman. 
 
IDA MAY. 243 
 
 " 0, how often I have been tempted to sell myself for a ser 
 vant, that we might live together in peace as the other ser 
 vants do!" 
 
 " Don t say that, Elsie," said her companion, in a more 
 cheerful tone. " The only thing that has kept me up at all 
 has been the thought that you was out of his power, and that 
 our boy was free. no, Elsie dear, there s an easier way 
 than that to set things straight." 
 
 The woman gave a slight shudder, and said, mournfully, 
 " May be so, but I have n t been able to sleep nights for 
 thinking, what if you should get lost in the woods, and starve 
 to death, or get bitten by rattle-snakes, or drowned jn some 
 of those dreadful swarnps, or torn to pieces by dogs when 
 they are hunting for you." She grew deadly pale, and 
 topped her voice almost to a whisper, as she uttered these 
 last words. 
 
 " Don t be afraid of that that last," replied the man. 
 " Listen, Elsie ; I have a pistol. I will never be taken alive. 
 I will never be torn by dogs. I will die like a man, like 
 a free man." 
 
 " That s what you ve often told me. That s what I m 
 afraid of, that some way you will be killed, and I shall never 
 see you again. Awake or asleep, it s never been out of my 
 mind a minute for a week, and at last I got so frightened I 
 had to come all the. way here, for fear you might have gone 
 without saying good-by, though you promised me you 
 would n t. 0, Alfred, don t go ! " 
 
 She tli rew herself into his arms, as she spoke, with a wild 
 21* 
 
244 IDA MAY. 
 
 burst of tears. He clasped her to his bosom, tightly, convul 
 sively, and his whole frame heaved and trembled ; but, after 
 a few moments, he mastered his emotion, and said, sadly but 
 firmly, 
 
 " Don t say that again, Elsie. You know how long 1 
 have waited, because I could not bear to leave you. It 
 almost kills me to see you crying, don t, dear." 
 
 She made a strong effort to control herself, and lay quite 
 still on his breast, as he went on, more cheerfully, but always 
 in a tone so low that Ida could not have heard, only that she 
 was close beside them, though unseen. 
 
 " You need not distress yourself with these fears," he said. 
 11 A body would n t think you had courage to walk all night 
 alone through the woods to come here and see me, if they 
 saw how you tremble at the idea of my travelling alone in 
 the woods. I shan t be in any danger of losing my way, for I 
 have a compass ; and, as for being hunted with dogs, a good 
 horse will take me out of their reach in one night, and it will 
 go hard if somebody don t miss a horse the morning I rn 
 missing ; he owes me more than the worth of a horse, for 
 all the years I ve worked for him. No, Elsie, I must go 
 now ; it s been getting worse and worse for the last year, 
 and I can t bear it any longer. I want to own myself; I 
 want to be where I can live with you in freedom, and edu 
 cate my children ; they say colored people can do all that in 
 th3 Northern States. 0, Elsie, it is hard for you new, but 
 we shall be so happy by and by ! I shall find ways of letting 
 
IDA MAT. U-ij 
 
 you know where I am, air 1 then you can come to me with 
 our boy." 
 
 " I wish I could go with you," said Elsie, plaintively. " I 
 feel as if I should never be able to find you when you get so 
 ar off, even if you live to get there." 
 
 " It would n t do, any way," replied Alfred, shaking his 
 head with a sad smile. " It would lessen the chances of my 
 escape ; and then, though I don t mind being tired, and torn, 
 arid wet, and hungry, myself, I could n t bear to see you 
 enduring all that, and I know the boy could n t live through 
 it. But we mustn t talk here any longer, Elsie. I shall be 
 missed, and you may be seen. It was a little imprudent for 
 you to come at all, for I have no doubt he would get you 
 taken up for stealing, as he did before, if he should catch you 
 about here." 
 
 " I could n t help coming," said Elsie, submissively. " I 
 felt as if I must see you, or I should certainly die." 
 
 " Poor dear ! " said Alfred, with a fond caress. " I m 
 glad you came, for it seemed as if I could never get away 
 again long enough to go to you." 
 
 There was a long, silent embrace, and then Elsie turned 
 away, turned back again, and, throwing herself into his arms, 
 exclaimed, " Remember, you ve promised me you won t go 
 without saying good-by, you will come and see me once 
 more." 
 
 " Yes, I will certainly come," replied Alfred ; and then, 
 with lingering steps, often turning and looking back, she 
 went away. 
 
246 IDA MAY. 
 
 Ida had listened to this conversation, at first, involuntarily, 
 and then with an undefined alarm and astonishment. When 
 she found she was becoming possessed of what might be a 
 troublesome and delicate secret, her first inclination was to 
 glide silently away ; but a second thought determined her to 
 keep watch lest the servants at the other end of the garden 
 should come too near, or sonie ear, less friendly than her own, 
 should overhear them. She knew nothing of their circum 
 stances, but she could not help sympathizing with their feel 
 ings. She had not seen Alfred at her last visit. at the hall, 
 and now, when, as he stood gazing after his wife, he turned 
 his face towards her, she was surprised to see how he was 
 changed from the animated, happy-looking boy, she remem 
 bered so well. He stood a long time at the gate, after Elsie s 
 slight form had disappeared among the pines, with his arms 
 folded, and his face set with a stern and gloomy expression. 
 Then a deep, deep groan broke from his lips. 
 
 " Poor Eisie ! poor little Elsie ! " he murmured, as slowly 
 he took his way towards the house ; and then Ida also left 
 her seat, and, with loitering thoughtful pace, retraced her 
 steps. 
 
 As she reached the garden gate, she met Walter, who was 
 surprised to find her abroad so early. 
 
 " They must have accustomed you to very singular and 
 primitive habits, up there in the northland, where you have 
 been sojourning so long," said he, when the usual Christmas 
 greeting had passed between them; "and I see you have even 
 enticed Sport into the same practices." 
 
IDA M A Y . 247 
 
 " fes, replied Ida. "Sport and I were always good 
 friends, and I was glad to find that he had not forgotten me. 
 All my old friends are not here to greet me," she added, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " No," replied Walter, who understood this allusion to his 
 uncle ; " and I don t wonder you miss him who is gone. 
 The house seemed so strange to me without him, when I 
 first came home, that I hardly knew what to do with 
 myself." 
 
 " He was such a kind friend, such a generous protector ! " 
 said Ida, with much emotion. " I was doubly orphaned, and 
 the world looked dark, indeed, when he died." 
 
 Walter did not reply. Any allusion to his uncle touched 
 his tenderest feelings, and her emotion affected him. 
 
 " These calm, bright mornings always remind me of Uncle 
 Charles," said he, at length. " He loved the sunshine, and 
 there was a sunny, genial warmth, about all his moods of feel 
 ing, that seemed the reflection of everything calmly bright in 
 the outward world. The last words he spoke were to ask m^ 
 to open the shutters that he might see the sun rise, and then, 
 turning towards it, he prayed. The light from a brighter 
 world broke over him then." 
 
 There was another pause, and then, taking the flowers she 
 had been gathering, Walter said, in a more cheerful tone, 
 
 "You are true to your old loves, I see, flowers, flowers 
 always, where you are. They have often reminded me of 
 you during these years when I have not seen you. I shall 
 never forget how like a wood-nymph, or fairy, you looked the 
 
248 i D A MAY. 
 
 first time I ever saw you, peeping out from behind the kal- 
 niias; do you remember it ? " 
 
 " 0, yes," replied Ida, " I remember it very distinctly, and 
 your tricks with Sport, and his fall into the water ; I thought 
 it was so funny then." 
 
 Walter laughed, and, stooping down, i^e pulled the dog s 
 ears, saying, " We don t frolic so now, Sport, do we ? We ? ve 
 grown older and wiser and more dignified now ; have n t we, 
 old dog ? You were always dignified. 0, yes, I dare say ! 
 But you don t mean to insinuate that I wasn t, do you ? 0, 
 Sport, don t grow slanderous in your old age ! " 
 
 " Sport scorns the accusation, and thinks it unworthy of 
 reply," said Ida, as the dog bounded suddenly through the 
 o pen gate, near which they were standing. 
 
 " Recurring to his old adventure reminds him of water," 
 replied Walter; "he seems to be going towards the well. 
 What is the matter there, I wonder ? Old Aunt Judy seems 
 to be scolding at the top of her voice." 
 
 The well was near the kitchen, and, as they approached it, 
 a savory odor of baking and stewing, coming from the open 
 window, told that breakfast was in active preparation. Over 
 the fire, one or two servants were engaged in culinary oper 
 ations, while in the yard, Aunt Judy, with her head envel 
 oped in a red turban, was fretting and fuming like an enraged 
 turkey-cock. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " Walter repeated, as he came near. 
 What ails A ant Judy? A merry Christmas to you, 
 aunty ! " 
 
1 1> A M A Y . 249 
 
 The little, short, fat woman turned her head as she heard 
 his pleasant voice, but her face did not relax a muscle. 
 
 l< ; T a n t merry Christmas," she answered ; " here de folks 
 most ready hab breakfast toted in, and a n t a drop o water 
 left for boil eggs, and de bucket a n t nowhar, an all dese 
 yer lazy niggers say dey can t fin it. De lazy creters, dey s 
 allers circumlogin rouu when nobody don t wan t em, why 
 don t y come find de bucket ? " 
 
 " The bucket is probably down in the well, for I see the 
 chain is broken," said Walter, taking hold of it. " There 
 is old Bill Gray cutting wood, make him go down and get 
 it," 
 
 " I done axed him heap o time, but he won t do nothiri for 
 me, de cantankerous ole nigger! " said Judy, shaking her 
 fist wrathfully at an old fellow who was at work at a little 
 distance, and whose gray wool, sticking dnt in all directions, 
 and a white bristling beard that nearly covered his face, had 
 obtained for him the soubriquet of Bill Gray. 
 
 " I reckon he 11 go down if I ask him, though," said Wal 
 ter, laughing at the odd faces she made in her indignation. 
 " Here, Bill Gray ! Ho ! Uncle Bill ! come here, I want you 
 to go down the well and see if the bucket is there; Aunt Judy 
 can t find it anywhere else." 
 
 The negro prepared to obey, with sundry angry gestures 
 towards Judy, and muttering all the while to himself. " Put 
 eberyting on ole nigger now ; tink ole Bill do ebcryting. Ole 
 Bill a n t young nigger no more \ he got rheumatiz in cbery 
 one he joints. Ole Bill can t go down de well all time, find 
 
250 l D A M A Y * 
 
 bucket. Ole Judy want drawn dis nigger, she do. Mas/ 
 Walter no hold rope, let he down, all lone." 
 
 Don t you be afraid," said Walter. "For our own sakes 
 we should n t care about dipping you in the water. You don t 
 look as if you would improve the taste of it much," he added, 
 with a smile, as he surveyed the soiled and tattered clothes of 
 
 the negro. 
 
 After some delay the rope was adjusted, and Walter held 
 \t with the help of some young boys, who, by this time, had 
 clustered around. They were inclined to make a joke of the 
 matter, and Ida was greatly amused, as she stood looking on, 
 >o see them rolling up their eyes, and making all sorts of 
 faces, as they swayed themselves backward, pulling on the 
 ropo, and shouting, Nigger down de well ! nigger down de 
 
 well !"" 
 
 In a few moments after Bill s gray head disappeared down 
 the * narrow opening, his voice was heard calling out, " Dat 
 nu ff; _ hole on now, I see him, he down here, pull 
 
 up now ! " 
 
 In obedience to this request, they began drawing up, and 
 slowly old Bill emerged from the well. 
 
 " Where is the bucket ? a n t it down there ? you said you 
 saw it," cried half a dozen voices, as he climbed over the curb 
 and stood before them empty-handed. 
 
 " Yes, he down dere ; me see him," replied Bill, with an 
 air of stupid composure. 
 
 "Why didn t you bring it up, den, you cantankerous ole 
 fool ? " cried Judy. " Here de breakfast time mos come, and 
 
IDA MAY. 251 
 
 de water for boil de eggs down in de bottom de well, and no 
 bucket to tote it up wid." 
 
 " Mass Walter no tell me bring he up, say, see he down 
 dere" replied the negro, looking round with an expression of 
 injured innocence. 
 
 Walter could not help laughing heartily at this ridiculous 
 blunder, in which, however, he suspected a spice of malice, 
 and he was about ordering the old fellow down again, when 
 suddenly Alfred came up from the fruit garden. As he saw 
 the group around the well, he paused in his rapid walk, 
 , and came towards them. 
 
 " What is it ? " said he ; " the bucket down there ? 0, 
 yes, I remember, I broke the chain myself, arid then some 
 body called me away, and I forgot about it. I ll get it in a 
 minute ; " and, as he spoke the last words, he sprang down the 
 slippery stones, disdaining the aid of a rope, seized the lost 
 bucket, and, reappearing above ground, gave it to Judy, and 
 walked hastily away. 
 
 Something in his manner arrested Walter s attention, and 
 made Ida s heart throb quickly. His face was clouded, and 
 no smile relaxed its gravity, though all around were laughing 
 at Bill Gray. He seemed to perform the deed mechanically, 
 as if his thoughts were elsewhere, and he had not the 
 deferential glance and smile with which the servants, even in 
 their most hurried moments, acknowledge the presence of 
 their masters. 
 
 Walter looked after him a moment, and then followed Ida. 
 She had retreated to the piazza, and was now relating to some 
 
452 IDA MAY - 
 
 of their guests, who had joined her there, old Uncle Bill s 
 amusing misconception of Walter s command 
 
 Ida told a story well. When she was amused or excited, 
 the most beautiful color flushed her cheeks, usually so pale, 
 and her clear dark eyes flashed and sparkled. She had one 
 of those faces whose chief attraction consists in their power 
 of expression. At times she might have seemed to a casual 
 observer simply as a delicate-looking girl, with an intellectual 
 expression and a finely-formed head ; but once let that face 
 become animated, and it arrested the eye, and stamped itself 
 on the memory ; when many others, more perfect in regular 
 ity of feature, or purity of complexion, had faded and been 
 
 forgotten. 
 
 Now, as Walter looked at her, animated as she was by the 
 conversation, and glowing with the bloom she had caught 
 from the fresh morning air, he was surprised at his own blind 
 ness in having been disappointed in her appearance, when, 
 after so long an absence, he had first met her the day before. 
 He looked from her to Mabel. There was no comparison 
 between the two, in regard to feature or complexion, but there 
 was something, some intangible expression of beauty about 
 Ida s face, that Mabel s seemed to need, and while he was 
 trying to think what it was, the bell rang, and they all went 
 in to breakfast. 
 
 The whole family, with their guests, were driven to church 
 in carriages. It was a neat little church, tastefully trimmed 
 with oak wreaths, intermingled with the pearl-like berries of 
 the mistletoe, and the holly, with its thorny leaves and shining 
 
IDA MAY. 253 
 
 fruit, red as coral. But, as they entered the door, Ida saw 
 Maum Abbj, who had come with them, kneeling apart in 
 one corner, and she noticed that, instead of the usual simple 
 invocation, she was praying and weeping bitterly ; as if, now 
 she was in the house of God, she were hastening to throw oft 
 the weight of some secret grief, at the feet of the merciful One 
 who has bidden the weary and heavy laden to come to him 
 and find rest. The sight recalled to Ida Alfred s pale, sad 
 face, and the scene she had witnessed in the morning, and, 
 plunged in serious and perplexing thoughts, she hardly 
 noticed the whisperings of her merry companions, or the kind 
 greetings all around her ; and it was not till there was a sud 
 den hush in the assembly, and the sublime words of the ser 
 vice fell upon her ear, that she was reminded of the pre 
 occupied manner in which she was listening to solemn wor 
 ship. 
 
 Immediately after dinner their guests departed, and then, 
 as they drew their chairs around the fire, in the deepenino- 
 twilight, Ida said to Mabel, " What has Alfred been doing 
 with himself all these long years that I have been at the 
 north ? " 
 
 " I was going to ask the same question," said Walter. " I 
 have noticed he has entirely lost the polite manners and 
 bright, happy look, for which he was distinguished wheu 
 a boy. I remember I liked him better than anybody about 
 the house ; but he won t talk to me at all now." 
 
 " 0, we have had a heap of trouble with Alfred," replied 
 Mabel, " and I call it too bad in him, and a downright 
 
254 IDA MAY. 
 
 shame in his mother, Maum Abby, to encourage him in 
 it as she does, after all ma has always done for them 
 both." 
 
 " What has he done ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " Well, in the first place, he wanted to marry a free girl, 
 named Elsie, one of a miserable family of free niggers that 
 lived a mile from here. It was a most obstinate fancy of his, 
 for he knew from the first that papa is decided against having 
 any of his servants mingle with the free negroes in any way ; 
 and he never allows one of them on his premises if he can help 
 it. Then, when he asked leave to marry her, of course, papa 
 was angry at his impudence in thinking of such a thing, and 
 told him so." 
 
 " He did n t allow it, then," said Ida. 
 No, indeed ; of course not ; but Alfred was angry about 
 it, and so was his mother. She talked to ma about it, till she 
 almost made her think it was unreasonable, though papa had 
 explained to her that he was conscientious in the matter. At 
 length there was so much trouble about it, that papa found he 
 must take some stern measures, for Alfred kept going there 
 slyly; and one night, when the girl had come here secretly, as 
 she thought, to see what had become of her beau, whom papa 
 had kept quite close for a day or two, he had the girl 
 arrested, and accused her of stealing some little thing that 
 had been missed from the house, and threatened to send her 
 to jail, where she would have been whipped for it, you know. 
 She was dreadfully terrified, and begged, and prayed, and so, 
 after papa had kept her locked up all night alone, he let her 
 
IDA MAY. 256 
 
 \go ; for he did not really suspect her, and only wanted to 
 frighten her. But he went down there that day, and told the 
 girl s father he might move ten miles away in any direction 
 he pleased, or he would prosecute her for stealing. Of course 
 they could not help themselves, arid were obliged to move ; 
 for, even if they were innocent, they were too miserably poor 
 to do anything at law with a man in father s position ; and so 
 we got rid of them nicely." 
 
 Walter winced a little at the triumphant tone in which this 
 little story was concluded. He looked up quickly to see if 
 there was not some expression of face, to contradict the feel 
 ing the tone would indicate. But no. That blue eye was 
 calm and cold, and those beautiful lips wore a smile of exult 
 ation, as she turned to him, as if expecting his sympathy. 
 For the first time, since his return home, his cousin s smile did 
 not make him supremely happy, and there was a very percep 
 tible bitterness in his tone as he said, " It is almost a pity 
 you did not let Alfred marry the girl, as he wanted to. 
 What harm could have come of it ? " 
 
 " 0, it would never have done at all ! " replied Mabel, 
 warmly. " You have no idea how ugly and discontented the 
 servants get if they associate much with the free negroes. 
 Papa always said so, and declared that he would not have 
 one of them about here. They don t belong together, and 
 ought not to be together. I am sure it has proved so in 
 Alfred s case, for ever since that time he has been as sulky 
 and as discontented as possible. He is downright ungrateful 
 22* 
 
256" IDA MAY. 
 
 and so I tell Maum Abby, who is always in the dumps if he 
 can t have everything he wants." 
 
 " He is her only son, you know," said Ida, gently. " It is 
 not strange she should sympathize in his feelings." 
 
 " But he has no business to have such feelings," persisted 
 Mabel. " You have no idea what ridiculous notions he has 
 about himself. It is not only that he could n t marry Elsie, 
 though I do believe the deceitful fellow has managed to 
 keep company with her ever since, but papa don t choose to 
 take any notice of it, but he is always teasing papa for 
 leave to buy his own freedom. Papa took all the pains to 
 send him to Columbia and have him learn a carpenter s trade, 
 so he is now a superior workman, and he has really a genius 
 for architecture, you should see some of the plans he has 
 drawn, and now, after all that, he isn t willing to stay 
 here and work ! He thinks the little things we have for him 
 to do are quite beneath his dignity, the proud puppy ! " 
 she added, with a sneer. " He says if he could go to some 
 city, he could earn enough in a few years, by working out of 
 hours, to buy himself. As if he d be any better off, then ! 
 It is very annoying." 
 
 " It must be exceedingly so, to have a servant get into 
 such an unwarrantable frame of mind," said Ida. "It is 
 very strange, considering all the circumstances, that Alfred 
 can t be happy and contented here." 
 
 " It is, indeed & replied Mabel, unconscious of the sarcasm 
 intended. " And to think he should turn out so, after we 
 have done so much for him ! I m sure he was treated almost 
 
IDA MAY. 257 
 
 like one of the family, till he began to be so obstinate, and, 
 even then, papa did all he could for him. He told him he 
 might marry any one of the servants he pleased, and should 
 have a mighty fine wedding, a perfect jubilee, and be 
 married by a minister, too ; but the ungrateful fellow did n t 
 so much as thank him." 
 
 " What an instance of human depravity ! " exclaimed Ida, 
 mockingly. " I wonder at your father s forbearance ! It 
 seems to be a great mistake, in the economy of nature, that 
 this Anglo- African race are possessed of a mind and a will." 
 
 " I agree with you there," replied Mabel. " There is 
 nothing that spoils a servant like having a will of his own. 
 He has no need of it. It don t belong to the station for which 
 he is born, and there is nothing to be done but to put it down 
 at once ; for one can have no further peace in a house where 
 a servant has set himself up in opposition to his master. But 
 papa has been unwilling to resort to harsh measures, because 
 mama feels so badly whenever anything happens to make 
 Maum Abby sorry." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Wynn, who, as she sat in her arm-chair 
 in the corner, had quietly listened to the conversation thus 
 far, " I am very much attached to Maum Abby, and I can t 
 help feeling for her. Alfred is her only son, and it is n t 
 strange she should think he ought to be indulged, even if he 
 is a little unreasonable. Beside, Mabel, you know that Alfred 
 always does what he is told to, and does it well ; and it seems 
 a little hard to punish him for being sulky, when we know 
 h e is very unhappy." 
 
258 IDA MAY. 
 
 The gentle little lady spoke in a timid, apologizing manner, 
 as if she thought her kind feeling was a weakness which re 
 quired excuse. But Mabel only replied, " He ought not to 
 be unhappy, he has no cause. If he would be less obsti 
 nate, and get rid of these foolish notions of liberty he has got 
 from associating with the free negroes, he would be happy 
 enough. I think some discipline, that would take down his 
 pride a little, would be the best thing that could happen to him, 
 and make him far more agreeable to us that have to endure 
 his sulky moods so often now. As Ida says, it is mighty in 
 convenient to have them have a will of their own." 
 Ida had determined to be very calm and discreet. She 
 had many reasons for avoiding whatever might offend or 
 wound those around her, but she could no longer endure to be 
 so misunderstood. 
 
 " Is it possible," she exclaimed, " that you did not under 
 stand me, Mabel ? 0, think what are Alfred s real circum 
 stances, think what trials of feeling he must endure ! No 
 doubt he loved this Elsie, with a deep and true affection, and 
 she returned it. Think what an insult to every right feeling 
 it is to offer him another wife, and compel him to abandon 
 -Elsie, simply to gratify the arbitrary wish of his master ! O, 
 Mabel, what if it were yourself, how would you feel in like 
 circumstances ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Ida, don t go into heroics ! 1 did give you 
 credit for having gained a little common sense since I saw 
 you last, but it seems I was mistaken," replied the beauty, 
 with a scornful laugh. 
 
IDA M A Y . 259 
 
 " I am talking common sense," persisted Ida. " I am 
 appea _ng to the best feelings of your heart. Don t dismiss 
 the subject with a sneer and a laugh. Try to learn compas 
 sion for him by thinking how you would feel " 
 
 "I shall do Jio such thing," interrupted Mabel; "and I 
 don t thank you for the comparison. There is a vast differ 
 ence between Alfred and myself." 
 
 " 0, no doubt you reckon yourself composed of the porce 
 lain of human clay ! " replied Ida, almost bitterly ; " and yet, 
 I read in my Bible that God hath made of one blood all. 
 men that dwell upon the face of the whole earth. " 
 
 She paused a moment. The firelight, which fell over he* 
 as she bent forward a little, and raised her hand in the 
 earnestness of her speaking, showed her face animated with 
 a noble and pure expression, and her eyes almost flashed with 
 indignation, as she continued, " There is nothing, nothing in 
 all the wrongs and woes which this system of domestic servi 
 tude is heaping higher and higher continually, nothing that 
 seems to me such a fraud upon humanity, such infidelity 
 towards the Creator, as this attempt to crush and root out 
 that God-given thing the human will. I know this domin 
 ion over the will of the servant is essential to his value as 
 property, I know the master could not live in peace with 
 out it, I kr,yw public tranquillity depends upon this utter 
 subordination ; but all that, instead of reconciling me to the 
 fact, deepens my abhorrence of a system that demands so 
 horrible a sacrifice. Think what incredible strength there is 
 in the human will! what noble, what mighty deeds it has 
 
260 IDA MAY. 
 
 achieved ! to what heroism it has nerved the feeble and the 
 timid ! what tortures men have endured with smiles, be 
 cause this innate principle triumphed over the quivering 
 muscles and the fainting frame ! - O, what a prolonged agony 
 prolonged through many generations it must be, which 
 crushes and destroys the will ! The old torture of the peine 
 forte et dure was nothing in comparison with it." 
 
 She spoke rapidly, and with an energy that bore down all 
 interruption, and, when she had ceased, a thoughtful silence 
 succeeded. Mabel was the first to break it. She did not 
 like the expression with which Walter s eyes were fixed upon 
 Ida s face. 
 
 " Come," she said, " let us have some music, and drive 
 dull care away. The world may be spinning round the 
 wrong way, but, if it is, my head is spinning in the same 
 direction, and I fail to perceive the confusion." 
 
 Her words were mirthful, and carefully toned to the gentle 
 accent she knew he most liked to hear ; but they jarred upon 
 the ear that was yet echoing with Ida s grave and earnest 
 utterance, and upon thoughts which, after lying long dormant 
 in his brain, seemed now rousing themselves to a new and 
 startling power. She perceived this, and, leaning forward, 
 she placed her warm, soft hand on his, and, looking up into 
 his eyes, said, softly, " Come, Walter." 
 
 She knew that touch, and that tone, would thrill every 
 nerve in his frame, like an electric shock ; and she cast back 
 ward upon Ida a quicV glance of triumph, as he led her to 
 the piano. 
 
IDA 31 A Y . 261 
 
 / 
 
 Ida looked after them in silence. She saw the lingering 
 pressure with which Walter relinquished Mabel s hand ; she 
 heard the low tone in which words, indistinct to her, were 
 spoken ; she marked the rapt and entranced attention with 
 which he listened to her singing, and a keen pain wrung her 
 heart. Walter, from whom she had hoped so much, who 
 had been from childhood her beau ideal of all that was noble, 
 and generous, and manly, was he, after all, no better, no 
 wiser, no more unselfish, than the rest of mankind ? Had he 
 forgotten the grand schemes of benevolence that had been the 
 dream of his boyhood ? Now that the time for action had 
 come, was he about to repress his first fresh impulses, and 
 adopt ideas less at war with his pecuniary interests ? He, 
 the hero the all-conquering was he about to sacrifice 
 to mammon, or, for the sake of a blind love, bind himself to 
 a course he had once abhorred ? It must be so, else why had 
 he not spoken one word in token of sympathy with her, when 
 he saw her combating alone against a host of prejudices ? 
 Her eyes filled with tears of bitter disappointment ; for, of all 
 the trials of womanhood, there is none greater ,than that 
 which so many have to endure, in discovering the idol of 
 their youthful imagination to be made only of common clay, 
 and its grand proportions dwarfed to the common standard of 
 humanity. 
 
y 
 
 CHAPTER ill. 
 
 " This is sad ! this is piteous ! but less would not have sufficed the 
 purposes of God. The future is the present of .God, and to that future 
 he sacrifices the human present. Therefore it is that he works by 
 earthquake. Therefore it is that he works by grief. 0, deep is the 
 ploughing of earthquake ! 0, deep is the ploughing of grief ! but less 
 than these fierce ploughshares would not have stirred the stubborn soil." 
 
 THOMAS DE QUIXCEY. 
 
 IT was a clear, frosty night. The moon was sinking slowly 
 to the western .horizon, but the first faint light of dawn had 
 not yet appeared, and the stars were looking through a thin, 
 misty veil down where deep shadows lay over the landscape. 
 Through the darkest of these shadows, keeping as much as 
 possible among the trees and along the fences and hedges, a 
 man was walking with a quick, light step through the TTynn 
 plantation. Pausing a moment now and then, as he came 
 nearer the house, to hush some one of the numerous dogs 
 that at various points started up with a bark to meet him, 
 but who, upon recognizing him, slunk silently away, he went 
 on till he reached the yard, crossed it, and, pushing open the 
 door of Maum Abby s room, entered and threw himself 
 heavily upon a chair. 
 
IDA MAY. 263 
 
 The little room was, as usual, in perfect order, but it was 
 evident that the bed ha<J not been occupied through the night, 
 and the dim candle that burneu on the table showed a face 
 anxious and pale with watching, as Maum Abby rose from 
 her seat by the fire. Going to the man, who was now leaning 
 his head on his hands, she removed the hat which was pulled 
 down over his brows, and, smoothing back the damp curls of 
 glossy dark hair, she pressed her lips repeatedly upon them 
 upon his forehead, and the hands that covered his face, her 
 features working convulsively all the while, as if it was only 
 by a strong effort she could refrain from tears. 
 
 The man sat silent, making no token of reply to her 
 caresses, for some minutes, and then his head sank lower and 
 lower, till it rested on the table before him ; a shudder passed 
 over his whole frame, as if all its cords and muscles were 
 giving way, and sobs burst from his bosom, thick, gasping, 
 as if tho tempest of grief would break the strong heart it 
 
 was convulsing. 
 
 Maum Abby made no further endeavor to restrain the 
 expression of her own sorrows, but, sitting down beside him, 
 with one arm over his neck, she leaned her forehead upon 
 his shoulder and wept silently. At length they both grew 
 calmer, and, as the violence of his emotion became exhausted, 
 she raised herself, and, lifting his head with a gentle force, 
 she drew it down till it rested on her bosom, and with a 
 trembling hand she wiped his tear-wet face, and stroked his 
 hair with a low murmuring sound, as one would soothe a 
 child. 
 
 23 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 " 1 shall tire you, mother," he said, at length attempting 
 to rise. 
 
 " No, Alfred, no," sne replied, in a tone of quiet sadness. 
 " You have found comfort for many sorrows in resting them 
 upon your mother s heart, and it will not fail you now. Rest, 
 my boy. You must be very weary, and this may be the lat 
 time my bosom can be your pillow." 
 
 Her voice choked again, but she shed no more tears. 
 There was a long pause, for Alfred was exhausted in body 
 and mind. After a time, however, he raised himself, and 
 then his mother asked, 
 
 " Did Elsie bear it well, at last ? " 
 
 "Better than I expected," replied -Alfred; "and in fact 
 for her sake I am glad that this parting is finally over. Ever 
 since she was here last week, Christmas day, you know,x 
 she has been in a perfect fever of anxiety and expectation 
 I expect she will be sick ; perhaps she will die. She has n t 
 much constitution, and I can see how dreadfully the trials of 
 the last three years have worn her. It won t take much now 
 to kill her." 
 
 He said this with a gloomy calmness, that was more pain 
 ful to his mother than tears. 
 
 " Poor boy ! poor boy ! " she said softly, " how she loves 
 you ! " 
 
 A convulsive sigh swelled Alfred s breast, but he restrained 
 all further demonstration of grief, and after a few moment 
 replied in a quiet tone, 
 
 " Yes, she loves me, and that love has been the curse of 
 
IDA MAY. 265 
 
 &er life. It has caused her to be persecuted by Mr. Wynn, 
 and has eaten up her health and strength with anxiety for 
 me. It would have been better had I minded what you said 
 from the first, and by attempting this escape long ago, as you 
 wanted me to do, left her free, while she could perhaps have 
 loved somebody else who could have made her happy. And 
 yet," he added, lifting his head, and speaking in a more 
 earnest, animated tone, " and yet, what a blessing, what a 
 comfort she has been to me, in spite of all ! O, mother ! I 
 have often thought, for a little while, that I was richer and 
 happier than he is," and he pointed towards the room where 
 Mr. Wynn was then sleeping, " in the possession of this 
 feeling that made me forget everything else. 0, mother ! 
 nobody can tell, but those who have known from experience, 
 the strength of the tic that binds us together, who have no 
 other joy, no other comfort, nothing else to make life bright ! 
 It is stronger than the love of freedom, stronger than the 
 hatred of servitude ; it makes us indifferent to everything else, 
 and contented if we can have that one thing we love ! If I 
 could have lived with Elsie in peace, I would never have 
 tried to be free. Mr. Wynn is a fool! " he added, rising, 
 with a bitter laugh ; "he has strained the bow till it has 
 broken." 
 
 Maum Abby looked at her son as he walked to and, fro 
 in the narrow room, and -her heart swelled with contending 
 emotions. She knew how deep was his affection for his wife, 
 and the struggle it had cost him to repel her fears and resolve- 
 to leave her. Yet she felt that the sacrifice of present com 
 
260 IDA MAY. 
 
 
 
 fort to future good, which the husband and wife were making, 
 was nothing in comparison to that required of her. Elsie 
 was a timid, girlish little creature, and she had a thousand 
 fears as to what might become of herself and her boy, in case 
 Mr. Wynn s vengeance should alight upon them, when he 
 found Alfred was gone. She had also a deeper and more 
 unselfish anxiety, which was wearing out her life, lest the 
 hardships and perils of his long and venturesome journey 
 towards the land of freedom, should prove too much for her 
 husband s strength and life ; or that some of the numerous 
 enemies, that would beset his path behind and before, should 
 force him to a combat where escape was hopeless, and a 
 speedy death from his own hand, the most merciful fate she 
 could anticipate for him. 
 
 But, if he succeeded, if he reached the blessed land where 
 his powers would no longer be fettered, where his inothei* 
 fondly dreamed he would acquire wealth, and education, and 
 all the advantages of freedom, there Elsie might go to him ; 
 she could live with him in happiness the rest of her days, 
 and be proud of his prosperity. But his mother had no such 
 hope to cheer her. After the setting of another sun she 
 should never more behold the face that had been dearer tc 
 her than the daylight more precious, more fondly cherished 
 than her own life. It was her right, her duty, to secure 
 liberty for her son ; but she felt that the ties which bound hei 
 to her mistress were such as could never be broken. Mrs 
 \Vynn depended upon her for much of society, and for assist 
 ance in the cares of housekeeping ; and gratitude and love 
 
IDA MAY. 2G"i 
 
 alike forbade her to leave one who had always been to her 
 like a younger sister. To these duties she must devote her 
 self so long as Mrs. Wynn lived. She might hear of her son s 
 success, and rejoice in it, but she could never see him again. 
 It was under the influence of this train of thoughts that she 
 said, 
 
 " Mr. Richard has been harsh and cruel to you and 
 Elsie, I know ; but even if he had not, it would have been im 
 possible for you to have been contented to be always a ser 
 vant. You have powers of mind which must expand ; and 
 the little education I have been able to give you has given 
 you a taste for more. You already know an amount which 
 is considered dangerous." 
 
 " Yes," said Alfred, smiling ; " they will have reason to 
 consider it so, when I get far enough away to emerge from 
 the swamps, and travel in the public conveyances. I have 
 papers and letters enough to prove to anybody, that never 
 saw me, that I am a free negro, moving north from Ala 
 bama." 
 
 Alfred was very handsome, notwithstanding his dark skin ; 
 for he had straight, well-formed features, and silken, wavy 
 hair. His mother gazed at his face, lighted now by a smile 
 of hope and triumph, and she almost groaned aloud as she 
 thought how lonely her home would seem when he was 
 gone. 
 
 "0," she exclaimed, "it was for this I taught you to 
 write, for this I stimulated your thirst for knowledge, and 
 used every means to procure books for you to read ! It wa? 
 23* 
 
ZbO IDA MAY. 
 
 for this I rejoiced when I saw you quick to learn, quick to 
 remember, ingenious, active in body and mind ! It was for 
 this I mourned when I saw how your love for Elsie diverted 
 you from the intense desire for freedom, after I had educated 
 you to know your rights as a man, and to long to claim them. 
 0, Alfred, it was for this, for this very hour; and now it has 
 come, my heart fails me ! When you reach the north, you 
 can have Elsie and your boy ; but O, my son, you will never 
 see your mother again, never ! " 
 
 Her voice died away in a low moan, and she bowed her 
 head despairingly ; but Alfred was now aroused from the ex 
 treme depression and the violent grief which parting with his 
 wife had caused him, and hopefulness had taken the place of 
 despondency. He comforted his mother with tender words, 
 and bright pictures of the future ; and though she shook her 
 head sadly, when he spoke of having her with him in his 
 northern home, she was half persuaded to believe that by and 
 by, when she was old and feeble, so that she could no longer 
 be of service to Mrs. Wynn, she might go to live with him, 
 In the mean time, he would write to her. Some way would 
 be found by which they could correspond, and she would be far 
 happier to know he was prosperous and happy at a distance 
 from her, than to have him with her, and see him coerced 
 and threatened like a dog. The more he talked to her, the 
 brighter his own hopes grew, and it was with hearts com 
 paratively^ light and happy that they sought their respective 
 bods, just as the day was dawning. 
 
IDA MAY. 269 
 
 That morning, a3 the family was sitting around the break 
 fast-table, after their morning repast, was finished, Mr. Wynn 
 said to Ida, " Now that the Christmas frolics are over, and 
 we have come back to the sober routine of life, I suppose 
 you will expect me to give an account of my stewardship, 
 and deliver to you the title-deeds of Miss Ida May s estate." 
 
 Ida smiled, and said she was in no hurry to assume respon 
 sibility and care. * 
 
 " Nevertheless," replied Mr. Wynn, pleasantly, " since it 
 must be done, you may come to the library after dinner, and 
 I will endeavor to be ready for you." Then turning to Wal 
 ter, he added, " You remember I advised you, some weeks 
 since, to sell your plantation and stock, and yesterday I heard 
 of a gentleman who, I think, will purchase. He will proba 
 bly also buy the negroes, if you wish to sell. It would be 
 better, I think, for you to sell all who are too old to change 
 their habits ; the others it will be more profitable to hire out. 
 They will bring you in quite a revenue ; and if you are to 
 live in the city and practise law, you won t want the care of a 
 worn-out plantation. If you like, we will drive down to Col. 
 Ross place, where I met the gentleman who talks of purchas 
 ing." 
 
 Ida glanced wistfully at Walter while his uncle was speak 
 ing. She had longed to know what disposal he meant to 
 make of his property ; but the change that had taken place in 
 kirn, and the slight restraint that had sprung up between 
 them, had prevented her from recurring to a subject on which 
 she feared they would have u r coincidence of opinion. Wai 
 
270 I D A M A Y . / 
 
 ter looked thoughtful and grave for a moment, and then he 
 said quietly, "I should prefer thinking of the matter a little 
 first. I have hardly been over to Oaklands since my return 
 and I know little, of the state of affairs there. Is the gentle 
 man going to leave immediately ? " 
 
 " Not that I know off; a few days will make no differ 
 ence," said Mr. Wynn, a little coldly. 
 
 " And he cannot go to-day, at any rate," said Mabel gayly, 
 " for he has promised to go out with me to try my new pony, 
 your Christmas-gift, papa." The beauty laid her hand on 
 her father s arm, and looked up at him with her bright eyes. 
 She was the only person in the house who was familiar 
 with him. There seemed to be a perfect sympathy between 
 them. 
 
 Her father smiled, but made no objection. He had con 
 fidence in Mabel. He understood her quite well, and he had 
 no fear that she would balk his schemes for her through any 
 foolish sentimentalism. So long as she did not entangle her 
 self with any engagement, Walter might pay her any atten 
 tions she chose. Just then the door opened, and a woolly 
 head was thrust into the room, and the voice of a young- 
 negro waiter said, " Please, Miss Emma, you se done finished 
 breakus, ole Uncle Billy want see you mighty bad. He not 
 so bery well heself dis mornin ." 
 
 " Tell him I will come soon," replied Mrs. Wynn, and the 
 boy disappeared ; but returned again, in a few moments, say-^ 
 ing, " Uncle Bill say you must come right way now. He 
 done hurt he sore toe, and it do ache powerful." 
 
ILA MAY. 271 
 
 Mrs. Wynn rose to tjis second summons, and went out 
 She was surgeon and doctor to most of her servants, as, 
 indeed, the mistresses of plantations usually are. When Ida 
 and the rest followed, a few minutes after, they found her 
 bending over the negro s huge, dirty foot, and, with her soft 
 white hands, cleansing and binding up the wounded part. 
 As Ida stood by looking on, Walter remained a moment beside 
 her. 
 
 " What you said the other night," he said, in a low voice, 
 referring- to it, abruptly, for the first time, " was very true ; 
 and yet there is another aspect in which to view the subject. 
 Look at this instance, What northern woman, of Aunt 
 Emma s station in life, would perform these menial offices 
 for a sick negro ? " 
 
 " Many would, I trust, if it were necessary," replied Ida. 
 " There are kind-hearted and charitable women there, as well 
 as here. But it is disgusting business in itself considered." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Walter ; " and yet it is part of the 
 duty which every lady owes her servants, and pays them with 
 out a murmur. Ah, Ida, the cloud may have a silver lining, 
 after all ! " 
 
 " God forbid that it should be all darkness when there is so 
 much light in human homes ! But, Walter," she added, with 
 an arch glance from under her long eyelashes, " if this man had 
 always been free, if he had not always been treated as 
 a child, he wou d probably have known enough himself 
 to take, care of ST simple a wound as this; and he would, 
 perhaps, have had the means to procure medical attendance, 
 
272 IDA MAY. 
 
 or ointments and soft linen k> wrap it with ; and he might 
 have had a wife and a* child, who would have been capable 
 of performing this office; so that the delicate ladies, like 
 Mrs. Wynn, might be relieved from employments so repul 
 sive. Ah, Walter ! " 
 
 Walter laughed, and ran his fingers through his hair. 
 How that gesture always recalled to Ida the days when she 
 first knew him ! " The same trenchant little Ida as of 
 yore ! " he said. " I believe ^m have changed less than 
 anybody." 
 
 " Is that intended for a compliment ? " replied Ida ; " be 
 cause, if it is, I will endeavor to behave properly under the 
 infliction; " and she cast down her eyes with a comical ex 
 pression ; " but it won t do to throw away my blushe-, if 
 you mean that I am the only one who has not been improved 
 by the lapse of years." 
 
 Walter was about to make a merry rejoinder, when his at 
 tention was attracted by seeing one of the plantation people 
 peering round the corner of the house near them. He had 
 come up the steps of the front piazza, and, hearing voices, had 
 ventured near. 
 
 " What a wicked-looking face ! " exclaimed Ida, in a low 
 voice, as her eyes fell on him. 
 
 " Yes," replied Walter ; " that is a specimen of the class 
 that puzzle philanthropists." Then, raising his voice, he 
 added, " Ho, boy ! what are you looking for here ? " 
 
 " Want see massa," the man mumbled out, after some 
 hesitation. 
 
IDA MAY. 273 
 
 " Go to yonder door, then, and you will find him," replied 
 Walter. " I hear him talking in the hall." 
 . "Want see he lone, got somethin tell," muttered the 
 
 " Go then and see him lone," replied Walter. " Here you, 
 Dick," beckoning to a small scion of the colored race stand 
 ing near, " go show this boy to your master." 
 
 The fellow went after his guide, with downcast eyes and 
 a shuffling gait ; and through the open door they saw that, 
 after a few words, Mr. Wynn led the way to the library the 
 negro following; 
 
 " Now, then, what is it ? " said Mr. Wynn, as he closed 
 the door behind them, and seated himself in his study chair. 
 "I warn you, beforehand, that I will listen to no com 
 plaints." 
 
 " T a n t no complaint, zactly, I se gwine make, massa," 
 said the man, his small eyes glancing around the room with a 
 cunning and treacherous expression. 
 
 "What is it, then ? be quick ! " said Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " I se got somethin for tell massa, maybe massa like 
 know," replied he, in a low tone, and with the same restless 
 glances. 
 
 " Here you ! what s your name ? " asked Mr. Wynn. 
 
 "A n t got no name, zactly ; dey calls me Number Tree, 
 replied he, with a grin. 
 
 "No name. how happened that?" exclaimed his 
 master. 
 
 " See, massa, I se mighty little when I se sold, and de 
 
274 IDA MAY. 
 
 auctionee he forgit my name, so he calls me * Number Tree, 
 and dat be my name eber sence. Do jes well, massa." 
 
 " Well, then, Number Three, look right at me, and tell 
 me what you ve got to say, and waste no mpre time about it. 
 Do you hear ? " said Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " yes, massa, me hears ; me allers hears powerful quick ; 
 me got mighty long ear for hear, else me neber hear dat I se 
 gwine tell massa, las night." 
 
 He paused, and again Mr. Wynn exclaimed, impatiently, 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Massa know bout dem mis eble free nigger, live down by 
 de branch tree four year go, dem dat ar Alfred boderate 
 massa bout, fore massa tote em way off. Massa mem 
 ber ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember them. What of them ? " 
 
 " I se down dar whar dey lib, las night, massa, and I se 
 creepin long under de bush, cause I se so scare de patrol, 
 and 1 sees " 
 
 " What were you there for ? " exclaimed Mr. Wynn, an 
 grily ; and then, as the man hung his head in a disconcerted 
 manner, he added, " Stealing- corn, I suppose. But go on ; 
 you did n t come to tell me of that, of course. You saw " 
 
 " Ki, massa," said the fellow, scratching his head. " Twarnt 
 dat, zacly, I come for tell massa. I sees bright light shinin 
 out under dar door, and bimeby a man come and open it, and 
 a woman jump right in his arms ; and de light shine all over 
 him when he was huggin her, and I sees twas Alfred. 
 Well, massa, I a n t nothin but nigger, but I se hearn tell 
 
IDA MAY. 275 
 
 a heap bout Alfred and dat wench, so t inks I, Number 
 Tree 11 watch and catch what he can, and maybe massa give 
 him button." 
 
 He looked up slyly, and Mr. Wynn replied, " Yes, you did 
 right ; I will reward you. What did you see ? " 
 
 " Well, massa, de fire he crack and snap so, I did n t 
 zacly hear much when he was in dar, ony somebody cryin 
 some de time ; but when he come out to go home, den I hear 
 de wench talk to him, and he talk to her. I can t tell zacly 
 what dey say ; but I hear nuff for know dat ef massa don t 
 look mighty sharp, he lose he nigger fore to-morrow 
 mornin ." 
 
 " Lose him, how ? " exclaimed Mr. Wynn, excitedly. 
 
 " Yes, massa, done loss he entir ly ; he be gone goose fore 
 to-morrow mornin , ef massa don t grab he dis bery day. He 
 say he steal de swif hos, and ride like streak ob lightnin all 
 night." 
 
 "Zounds!-" exclaimed Mr. Wynn, letting his hand fall 
 heavily upon the table before him. " I should hardly* have 
 thought that of him, sulky as he has been of late. He was 
 going to steal a horse, and ride off to parts unknown, was 
 he ? " 
 
 " Yes, massa, dat jis it ; and when he done settle dar- 
 whar he gwine go, den he gwine send for de wench and de 
 baby." 
 
 " I 11 settle him ! " said Mr. Wynn, as his brows grew dark 
 with anger. "You are very sure, you are certain it was 
 Alfred, are you ? " 
 
 24 
 
276 n> A MAY. 
 
 . No, massa," replied Number Tree, again resorting to 
 his favorite manipulation, and, rubbing his wool with great 
 violence, " No, massa, I can t say dat I se zacly certain, 
 but I se right sure." 
 
 Mr. Wynn sat a few moments buried in thought. He hac. 
 sent Alfred and one of his fellow-servants some distance that 
 morning, with some plants from his conservatory, which he, 
 wished to present to a neighbor ; and, at first, he feared Alfred 
 might seize that opportunity to escape ; but, after a little 
 reflection, he felt convinced that the plan the negro had men 
 tioned was the most feasible, and would, therefore, most prob 
 ably be tried ; and that his best course would be to keep his 
 discovery a profound secret until Alfred s return, lest some 
 thing should transpire to give him a hint of it, and thus in 
 duce a premature flight. Telling the negro, therefore, that 
 he would come down to the quarters the next day and reward 
 him handsomely for his fidelity, he charged him to mention 
 the matter to no one, and to return to his work without delay, 
 and thus dismissed him. 
 
 The morning wore slowly away. The sun, which had arisen 
 so brightly, shrouded itself in clouds, and suddenly there 
 poured down one of those incessant, deluging rains, that mark 
 a southern winter. There could be no riding party that day, 
 and the horses, that had been brought round, were ordered 
 back to the stables; and Mabel, whose brow always grew 
 cloudy with the sky, was making up her beautiful lips to pout 
 a little at the prospect of staying in-doors all day, when a 
 carriage drove to the door, and Col. Ross was announced. 
 
IDA MAY. 27~ 
 
 This was fortunate for Mabel, who was delighted to tease 
 Walter by a little flirtation with the gallant widower. But 
 the young gentleman was less pleased. He had hardly had 
 a moment of quiet conversation with his cousin during the 
 past week, as they had been constantly visiting, or enter 
 taining guests, and he did not like it that she should be 
 so evidently flattered by Col. Ross attentions. He began to 
 fear that Mabel was more artificial, less content with home 
 joys and quiet pleasures, than he should like his wife to be ; 
 that she had less intelligence and discernment than he had 
 imagined, or she would not have frowned at the idea of a 
 quiet morning with him, and she would not have welcomed 
 that old fop, who was now whispering compliments in her ear, 
 as they stood together beside the flowers at the window oppo 
 site him. Yes, he was sure that was a compliment, it was 
 just so she had cast down her eyes and blushed bewitchingly, 
 when he had told her, the day before, in that very spot, that 
 she was fairer and more stately than the calla lily, whose 
 pellucid cup they were now admiring. He thought he was 
 only scornful" of such coquetry, but he was in fact dissatisfied 
 with himself for thinking she could be less than perfect, and 
 at the same time intensely jealous of her. 
 
 Meantime, Ida, after going into her room to lay aside 
 her riding habit, had not returned to the parlor. She felt 
 nervous and restless. A vague presentiment of coming evil 
 oppressed her, and she dreaded the meeting with Mr. Wyhn, 
 which had been appointed for the afternoon. She knew he 
 would oppose her with harshness, and, though she was not 
 
278 l D A M A Y 
 
 afraid of him, it would be very disagreeable. She sat for a 
 while thinking about her future course, and then went down 
 to find Maum Abby, and have a little chat with her. She 
 longed to tell her that she knew her troubles, and sympa 
 thized with them, but whenever she had attempted to converse 
 with her, since her return, Maum Abby had pleaded the 
 constant occupations of the busy week, as a plea for leav 
 -ing her, evidently because she did not want to talk of 
 Alfred. 
 
 This morning she was sitting sewing in her neat little 
 room. She looked worn and weary, and Ida saw that sht 
 had been weeping ; but she was not disposed to be talkative, 
 and, after a few fruitless efforts, Ida left her, and returned to 
 the parlor. 
 
 Mabel and Col. Ross were sitting in the bay window, play 
 ing backgammon, and apparently carrying on an animated 
 conversation. Walter, at the centre-table, was looking over 
 the plans for the summer-house, which Alfred had completed 
 with great neatness and elegance. It was to be a tiny Gothic 
 temple, placed in the centre of the garden, not much in keep 
 ing with the other edifices truly, but very tasteful in itself 
 and planned to suit Mabel s fancy, whose ideas upon archi 
 tecture were rather peculiar. 
 
 As Ida entered the room, Walter placed a chair for her 
 beside him, and turned over the drawings for her inspection. 
 As she did so, and saw the taste and talent displayed in them, 
 she said, almost unconsciously thinking aloud, 
 
 " I don t biam Alfred for wishing a wider scope for his 
 

 IDA MAY 
 
 279 
 
 powers, and greater remuneration. It is a great shame that 
 he is not allowed to buy his freedom." 
 
 " Treason ! treason ! " said Walter, in a low voice, play 
 fully, and then added, more gravely, " After all, would he be 
 happier then ? " 
 
 " If you had spoken those words five years ago, they would 
 have been transposed a little, and the question would have 
 been an affirmation," said Ida, looking up archly. 
 
 Walter colored slightly, as he met her glance. " Ah ! per 
 haps so," he said ; " I was young, then, and enthusiastic. 
 Now I have grown older and wiser, and am inclined to let 
 the windmills of society turn in peace, secure from any Quix 
 otic attacks of mine." 
 
 " You now prefer to employ yourself in grinding your corn 
 at the mill, rather than in fighting it," replied Ida, in a play 
 ful manner. 
 
 " I understand you ; you think I have grown selfish," said 
 Walter, quickly. " Perhaps I have. Selfishness is the grand 
 conservative element in society. People always outgrow their 
 early enthusiasm, and it is well they do, or the world would 
 be strangely turned upside down." 
 
 " If you mean the enthusiasm which is the result of mere 
 animal spirits, the effervescence of youthful ignorance and 
 thoughtlessness, I agree with you," said Ida ; " but the en 
 thusiasm for truth and right, which is the first instinct of a 
 noble soul ; the scorn of wrong that yet contains no Phari 
 saical contempt for the wrong-doer, should this abate as 
 years move on ? Shoulc 1 this grow so cold, that a man 
 24* 
 
280 IDA MAI. 
 
 can at length do that which once he would not allow in 
 another ? " 
 
 " I know to wha* you refer," said Walter, gravely ; " but 
 other men have done this, wise and good men, statesmen, 
 law-divers, and clergymen have done this, and justified them 
 selves in it. Why should I affect to be wiser or better than 
 they ? Why should I not do as others do ? " 
 Ida raised her clear, dark eyes to his face, and the flowery 
 crimson of her cheek deepened, as she replied, in a low, 
 earnest tone, " Because * every man shall give an account 
 of himself to Go&\>" 
 
 Walter was startled by this unexpected and solemn reply. 
 He was not wilfully irreligious, but he was thoughtless, care 
 less, as are most young men of his age, and these few simple 
 words seemed to put the whole subject in a new light before 
 him. Instinctively he glanced across the room to see if they 
 had been overheard ; but Mabel and Col. Ross were talking 
 so gayly over their game, that they evidently had no thought 
 for any one but themselves. 
 
 Ida had spoken from the first impulse of her own thoughts, 
 and was half afraid the next moment that he might be 
 offended ; but he was not. 
 
 " I acknowledge the reproof," he said, as he met her 
 inquiring look, " and henceforth I will try not to measure 
 my duties by another man s conscience. But this is a per 
 plexing maze in which I find myself involved. I do not 
 think just as I used to about holding servants, honestly, 1 
 do not. The subject has its shadows, I know, in some cases 
 
IDA M A V . 281 
 
 but it seems to me that, with kind and just masters, the lot 
 of our servants might be made a blessing to them, as well as 
 
 V 
 
 convenient for us." 
 
 Ida smiled. " It is the old story, we first endure, then 
 pity, then embrace. " 
 
 " No, it is not that, it is not the callousness of familiarity 
 vith evil. It is merely choosing the less dangerous horn of 
 the domestic dilemma. I see what is wrong, and hate it 
 much as ever ; but I am uncertain what to do in my own 
 case. 7 should not be a hard master; my servants will be 
 happy, perhaps more so than if I free them." 
 
 " Dare you trust yourself with the possession of absolute 
 power over the lives, and persons, and destinies, of your fel 
 low-men ? Dare you incur the temptations which follow in 
 the track of this usurpation of authority, which God never 
 meant one man to have over another ? Who ever did so and 
 came out from the trial unscathed ? If you dare do it, I 
 dare not. I shall free my negroes as soon as they become 
 legally mine." 
 
 " I supposed you would do so," replied Walter ; " but what 
 will you then do ? you will be left penniless. Pardon me 
 the /uncivil question," he added, coloring violently. " I shall, 
 of course, be most happy to have you share my home, when 
 I get one in which to receive you," and he glanced towards 
 Mabel. 
 
 " Thank you, Walter," said Ida, quietly; " but I shall be 
 dependent upon no one. I have already made arrangements 
 to teach school. I have some warm friends at the north, who 
 
282 IDA MAY. 
 
 will assist me in providing for my servants when we arrive 
 there. I suppose the sale of the land will be sufficient to 
 establish them, and then, with health and education, I do not 
 fear but I can support myself. 1 
 
 Walter looked at the slight form and youthful face of the 
 speaker, and was half astonished at her energy, half annoyed 
 at the idea of any one in whom he felt interested being com 
 pelled to work for a living. He had been brought up in the 
 false ideas on this subject which prevail everywhere in a slave 
 country, and he had yet to learn the dignity and beauty of 
 labor. 
 
 " Yet it will be a great sacrifice," he said. " Do you think 
 you have given sufficient thought to the subject, to know all 
 it will cost you ? " 
 
 " 0, yes ! " replied she, and her tone was a little sad. " I 
 have counted the cost, and the only part I shall dread to pay 
 is the risk I encounter of losing the friendship of this family, 
 who have been so kind to me. I know I shall offend their 
 strongest prejudices." 
 
 " Not mine ! you surely do not fear losing my friendship, 
 by this act of self-sacrifice ! " said Walter, in a tone so 
 earnest that Ida s heart thrilled with a strange emotion. 
 
 " I will not fear, after this morning," she replied ; " and, 
 perhaps, I shall be glad to Jiave your aid in the matter. I 
 do not expect much help from Mr. Wynn." 
 
 " No, he will only cast obstacles in your way," said Walter, 
 "and if you escape serious annoyance you will be fortunate 
 It will be braving the lion in his den. " 
 
IDA MAY. 28b 
 
 " I know h ; I dread it a little. Mr. Wynn is formida 
 ble when he is offended." 
 
 " And, after all, Ida, it is doubtful if those miserable crea 
 tures will be able to take care of themselves, or happier for 
 the change." 
 
 "Perhaps the oldest and most degraded will not be," replied 
 [da ; " but you must remember that it is not these few alone 
 whom I shall benefit. I am giving liberty, and a chance for 
 improvement, to their children, and their children s children, 
 to remotest generations ! " and, as she spoke, her eyes kindled 
 and dilated, as if she was already looking, through the coming 
 years, upon the countless host who should arise to call her 
 blessed. 
 
 " Still," persisted her companion, " the benefits are distant 
 and uncertain, and it is with the present you have to do. 
 The same results may be brought about in some other way, if 
 you wait ; and you seem so young and fragile, to cast your 
 self so boldly on the world, and to brave the slings and 
 arrows of outrageous fortune. You are treading a toilsome 
 and dangerous path, and you must tread it alone." 
 
 " 0, no ! " said Ida, roused by this continued discourage 
 ment, " 0, no, I am not alone ! Those who tread this path 
 way may be so few and far between, that each one may seem 
 to be the first ; but yet, many have preceded me, and many 
 units make a multitude, you know, Walter. I suppose that 
 in some places, at least, we each of us leave foot-prints on 
 the sands of Time, though the work of each one seems so 
 little. It is a comfort to know that, though individual traces 
 
284 IDA MAY 
 
 may be lost, the tramp of passing generations will wear a 
 broad and permanent pathway, on which those who come after 
 may march into the new kingdom, wherein dwelleth righ 
 teousness, that, we are assured, shall one day be established 
 on this globe of ours. You see," she added, smiling at her 
 own earnestnes^, " that I have great hopes of our race, and 
 for myself I do not fear. I can work, if I am little." 
 
 Walter s eyes were beaming with admiration, as they rested 
 on her. Her self-abnegation, her earnest faith, her courage, 
 impressed him deeply. Her words seemed to melt the ice of 
 worldliness and selfishness that had gathered about him. and 
 awaken to new life all his heart s best impulses. 
 
 But, unconsciously, she had raised her tone a little, and 
 attracted the attention of the occupants of the bay-window. 
 
 " Your little friend seems to be very much in earnest," 
 said Col. Ross, in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mabel, raising her voice that her words 
 might be audible to Ida, " Miss May has a habit of inflicting 
 little speeches and sermons upon her particular friends. 
 They are very eloquent, I can assure you." 
 
 " And extremely edifying, I have no doubt you meant to 
 add," rejoined Ida, pleasantly. 
 
 Mabel laughed, one of her short, malicious laughs, that 
 expressed more than words, but Walter, shooting an indig 
 nant glance from under his frowning brows, retorted, 
 
 " No doubt Miss Ida, like all generous persons, sometimes 
 forgets the ancient proverb, which I will not repeat, since 
 it is more forcible than elegant." 
 
IDA MAY 285 
 
 " About casting pearls before swine, I suppose. Thank 
 you," said Mabel, haughtily, with a withering glance. 
 
 " Lest they turn again,- and rend you" added Walter, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " What is all this about ? " exclaimed Col. Ross, looking 
 from one clouded face to the other, with great astonishment. 
 He was not very quick-witted, and not very familiar with the 
 book- whence this allusion was drawn. 
 
 " Walter seems to be annoyed with my innocent remark," 
 said Mabel, recovering herself. 
 
 Just then Mr. Wynn entered, and the conversation after 
 wards b6came general, until they were called to dinner. 
 
 Dinner was ended, and Col. Ross, having ordered his car 
 riage, was about to depart, when a messenger came to say 
 that the boys sent with the plants had returned. 
 
 " Where is Alfred ? " asked Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " Alfred say, massa, he done come back ; say, ef dere a n t 
 nothin else, he like mighty well go to bed, case he a n t so 
 bery well." 
 
 " Tell him I want to see him a moment in the library, and 
 then he may," was the reply ; but Ida noticed an ominous 
 compression of those thin lips, and an unwonted sternness in 
 the tone with which those simple words were uttered, and her 
 fears were at once aroused. In an instant she thought of the 
 bad face of the man who had been closeted there with Mr. 
 Wynn in the morning, and she was impressed with the idea 
 that Alfred s secret was discovered. As soon as she could 
 escape from the room unnoticed, after Col. Ross prolonged 
 
286 IDA MAY. 
 
 leave-taking, she hastened to Maum Abby s room. But it 
 was empty. Alfred was already in the library, and Ida 
 returned just in time to see Mr. Wynn enter, and shut the 
 door carefully behind him. 
 
 Locking the door as he shut it, an action that startled 
 Alfred not a little, Mr. Wynn walked to the fireplace, 
 and, turning round, put his hands behind him, straightened 
 himself firmly on his feet, and fixed his eyes, without speaking, 
 upon Alfred, who was standing near him, by the table. We 
 have before said that few could endure the peculiar stare with 
 which he .expressed displeasure ; and, least of any, could the 
 man who now stood before him, burdened by the weight of a 
 secret that involved all he held dear in life. He cast down 
 his eyes, shifted himself from one foot to the other, changed 
 his position, played nervously with the cap he held in his 
 hand, and, at last, unable longer to endure this silent torture, 
 he said, respectfully, " Dick said you wanted me, sir." 
 
 " 1 did want you. Give an account of yourself. Where 
 were you last night ? " 
 
 Alfred started visibly at this question, and, through his 
 dark skin, it was easy to see that every particle of blood 
 receded from his face. Twice he essayed to speak, and his 
 lips seemed too rigid to form the words he would have said. 
 He knew, from his master s whole manner, that disguise was 
 useless, that, through some unknown channel, his secret 
 plans had been conveyed to the ear that should never have 
 heard them; to the heart that would know no pity. Nerving 
 himself at length to meet his fate, he looked up, and, with an 
 
IDA MAY. 287 
 
 effort at calmness, he replied, firmly, but still respectfully, 
 " I went to see my wife, sir." 
 
 " Who is your wife ? " said Mr. Wynn, with a sneering 
 emphasis on the last word. 
 
 " Elsie Nellore," replied Alfred. 
 
 " Did I not command you, three years ago, to have nothing 
 more to do with her, or any of her family ? " said Mr. Wynn. 
 And then, as his companion did not reply, he went on, with 
 increasing excitement, " And now is not this just what I told 
 you would be the consequence of associating with them ? You 
 have grown sulky and discontented, and full of notions that 
 ought to have been whipped out of you long ago, but I have 
 been foolishly indulgent, and to-night you were going to 
 steal my best horse, and run away, were you ? You ungrate 
 ful dog ! is this the way you pay me for all 1 have done for 
 you ? " 
 
 Alfred was proud and high-spirited, and, in the desperation 
 of his circumstances, he could no longer restrain the burning 
 words that were struggling for utterance, like the lava in a 
 pent volcano. 
 
 " What have you done for me ? " he exclaimed, lifting 
 himself proudly. " A mighty debt I owe you, sir, but not of 
 gratitude ! What have you done for me ? You made me a 
 plaything in childhood! You fed and dressed me well, be 
 cause you like to see fat and neat-looking servants about you ! 
 You educated me just enough to suit your own purposes, and 
 then rudely checked my craving for further knowledge ! What 
 25 
 
288 IDA M A. t. 
 
 more did you do ? You persecuted the girl I loved, and 
 insulted me by offering me another woman in her place " 
 
 " Silence ! " thundered Mr. Wynn, stamping his foot on the 
 floor. 
 
 " I will not be silent ! I will speak now, if I die for it ! 
 cried Alfred. " Twenty-five years I have served you faith 
 fully ; and because your oppressions at last made me sad and 
 gloomy, you have scolded and threatened me. You did not 
 like it because the man you had wronged would not sing and 
 smile, as well as work for you, because I had a human 
 heart in my bosom, because God made me with the same 
 wishes and powers that he gives the white man " 
 
 " You insolent puppy ! " exclaimed Mr. Wynn ; " dare you 
 talk that way to me ! to me ! your master ? You talk of 
 being wronged ! You 11 find I have a way to take these 
 notions out of your head, you impudent nigger ! You shall 
 be tied up and flogged before all the people in the place. 
 I 11 take the conceit out of you, if I take all the skin off your 
 back first." 
 
 Alfred shivered from head to foot as if with deadly cold. 
 He knew this was no unmeaning threat. But his eye quailed 
 not as he answered : " For your own sake, sir, be careful 
 what you do to me. I cannot bear what some can. I have 
 not been degraded quite to the condition of a beast, and I 
 have the feelings of a man. I tell you I could not bear it, 
 though I know some can. It would ruin me. I should be 
 either an idiot or crazy." 
 
 "You had better be crazy or an idict, than such a rebel* 
 
1 D A M A Y . 289 
 
 lious, impudent scoundrel as you are now ! " said Mr. Wynn. 
 His voice was terribly calm and cold. His anger had 
 reached the point where all outward demonstration ceases. 
 
 Alfred made .a step forward, and raised his hand a little. 
 
 " Twenty-five years have I served you," he said, " and. 
 never a lash has fallen on my back ; and, mark me, sir, never 
 a lash shall fall there ! I have escaped that disgrace and 
 torture, and I never will endure it, never ! " 
 
 As he spoke these last words, Mr. Wynn also stepped for 
 ward, and, seizing a small riding-whip that lay on the table, 
 struck a sudden, stinging blow directly across Alfred s face, 
 cutting the skin slightly from his eye to his chin. Alfred 
 caught it in his hands, as it was descending a second time, and 
 twisting it from his master s grasp, broke it in three pieces, 
 threw it over Mr. Wynn s shoulder into the fire, and sprang 
 to the window. There was a momentary delay in undoing 
 the lock, which was fastened ; and, seizing an oaken chair, 
 Mr. Wynn made one bound across the floor, a heavy blow 
 descended, and Alfred was stretched senseless on the carpet. 
 At the same instant, a wild shriek ran through the house, a 
 prolonged cry of anguish and despair, which curdled the blood 
 of every listener, and Maum Abby rushed through the half- 
 opened window into the room. Stooping down she raised the 
 lifeless form and laid the head tenderly on her bosom. 
 
 " My boy ! my boy ! " she said, in a low tone ; " it is ended 
 then at last, it is all over, and it has come to this ! " 
 and, after those words, she spoke not again during all tho 
 scene which followed. 
 
290 IDA MAY. 
 
 The heavy fall, the scream, the crash of the breaking glass, 
 brought al. the family to the spot. Mr. Wynn hrfard them 
 coming, and he unlocked the door and threw it open. Mrs. 
 Wynn was the first who entered. Starting back at the sight 
 which met her view, she gave her husband a look of terrified 
 inquiry. He answered it as if she had spoken. 
 
 " It maans that I had discovered Alfred to have been pur 
 suing a course of deception and disobedience for three years, 
 and I taxed him with it. He was impudent, and I struck 
 him. He attempted to escape, and I felled him to the floor 
 with the same blow which you see has demolished my 
 window." 
 
 "Is he dead ? " exclaimed Ida. pale with horror. 
 
 " Xo, he is not dead," said Walter, who was bending over 
 the senseless form. " He is not dead, he is stunned and 
 hurt, doubtless ; but his heart beats yet. Bring water 
 take off his neckcloth and loosen his clothes. Aunt Emma, 
 you had .better take his mother away. This is no place for 
 her." 
 
 His rapid commands were obeyed, but Maura Abby 
 silently refused to leave her son, and none insisted that she 
 should. Some time elapsed before life and reason came back 
 to Alfred s benumbed senses and bewildered brain ; but at 
 length he breathed freely, and sat up on the floor unaided, 
 save by his mother s arm, that lightly supported his head as 
 she stood behind him. Then, as the servants and the ladies 
 withdrew a little, Mr. Wynn came forward from the fireplace 
 where he had coked on without speaking, while they were 
 
IDA MAY 
 
 291 
 
 endeavoring to restore him ; and, standing directly before the 
 helpless man, he said, glancing to the servants and pointing 
 to Alfred as he spoke : 
 
 " You all see this fellow you all know how little cause 
 of complaint he has had, for he has been treated better than 
 any of you. Now, listen. This fellow was not content with 
 jeing sulky and disobedient, but he was intending to-night to 
 steal one of my horses, and run away from this place. I tell 
 fou this that you may know what an ungrateful dog he is, 
 and I command every one of you to go down to the quarters 
 to-morrow morning, and you will see how he will be punished. 
 Let it be a lesson to you all. If you do your duty you shall 
 be treated well, but if you are impudent and disobedient you 
 must suffer the consequences, as he will have to do. You 
 remember what I told you," he added, turning to Alfred, and 
 shaking him a little by the shoulder, "I will do it ! You 
 dared to brave my power. You will find it can crush 
 you." 
 
 He spoke in the same tone of deadly vengeance he had 
 used in addressing his victim just before he struck him, and 
 all present felt that this \ms no time to appeal for mercy. 
 The servants drew near each ether, and looked with an air 
 of terror from their master to their offending companion. 
 Walter leaned against the window with his arms folded over his 
 breast and his lips firmly compressed, but his eyes were fixed 
 on Alfred. The ladies had withdrawn a little into the recess, 
 and Maura. Abby alone remained with her son. For a few 
 moments none spoke or moved. Every one of the group 
 
292 IDA MAY. 
 
 seemed petrified, and Mr. Wynn enjoyed his victory with a 
 stern and cruel triumph. * 
 
 Then, motioning three of the strongest negroes to approach, 
 be told them -to. take Alfred and carry him up stairs to the 
 i.tic, where was a large dark closet, in which he was to be 
 Confined through the night. They obeyed, and Alfred, totter 
 ing feebly to bis feet, allowed them to grasp his arms and 
 coat. Mamn Abby made no useless opposition. Only once, 
 as he was rising from the floor, she bent down and pressed her 
 pale lips to his forehead, and gazed a moment into his face 
 with an unutterable expression, and then quietly followed as- 
 they led him away. 
 
 Mr. Wynn followed also. As they passed the hall-door 
 Alfred made a violent effort to free himself from their grasp ; 
 but those who held him were strong, and their master s eye 
 was upon them, and after a short struggle they conquered 
 him. Slowly they ascended, until, at the head of the stairs 
 leading into the attic, they came to a strong oaken door, 
 that opened into a large closet, containing no window no 
 other door no chance for escape. Alfred looked into it, 
 and felt that his doom was sealed. 
 
 None of the family knew for what purpose this place was 
 first constructed, and it had rarely been used during the pres 
 ent generation; but a more secure cmngeon for a prisoner 
 could hardly have been made. The door was very thick, and 
 secured by a ponderous lock that creaked savagely as Mr. 
 Wynn turned the key. As they thrust Alfred into this cell, 
 his mother attempted to enter also ; but Mr. Wynn, with his 
 
IDA MAY. 295 
 
 own hand, drew her back, shut the door, and locked it. Then, 
 withdrawing the key, he said, sternly, " Go down, now, all of 
 you. If I find a person lingering about here, I will have 
 him served as Alfred will be served to-morrow. Do you hear 
 go dmvn ! " he added, turning to Maum Abby, who 
 remained leaning against the wall after the others had disap 
 peared. 
 
 " Can you have a heart to bid me go ? I am his mother ! " 
 she answered, clasping her hands over her heart, and lifting 
 her eyes to his, with an expression that touched even his 
 stern nature in its angry mood, and, without another word, he 
 left her. 
 
 The short twilight of a winter s day was fading, and 
 through the small windows everything looked dim and indis 
 tinct in the large garret ; and as the heart-broken woman felt 
 herself left there alone in her great sorrow, she gazed upon 
 the walls of the closet as upon a tomb, where her son was im 
 mured alive. Sinking down on the floor, she placed her lips 
 to the crack at the bottom of the door, and called in a 
 loud whisper, plaintive and thrilling, " Alfred, my son ! 
 my dear son! I am here. It is your mother, Alfred! 
 speak tc me ! I will never leave you, my son never ! 0, 
 Alfred, speak just one word to me ! " And so on into the 
 night were breathed out those yearning cries of a mother s 
 heart. And he answered her once. The cold lips that 
 pressed the door were warmed a moment by a fevered breath 
 from within, and a low, hoarse tone, that she could scarce 
 
294 IDA MAY. 
 
 recognize, said faintly, " 0, mother dear, pray for me, 
 pray for me, tor I feel that I am going mad ! " 
 
 Amid the gathering shadows of evening, Walter and his 
 companions returned to the parlor. Mrs. Wynn was weeping 
 violently, but Ida was too indignant for tears. Walter was 
 stern and silent, and neither of them felt inclined to talk about 
 the scene they had witnessed, except Mabel, who gave a sigh 
 of relief as she threw herself back in her cushioned chair, and 
 glanced, with a surprise half real and half affected, at the 
 gloomy faces around her. 
 
 " Why are you all so still ? has papa frightened you out 
 of your wits? " she said, laughing. " I declare, he frightened 
 7/ze, though I am pretty well used to his moods. Don t cry, 
 mamma. For my part, I feel relieved that the fuss is over. 
 I ve been expecting it a mighty long while. Alfred has 
 been so cross and sulky that I knew he was planning some 
 mischief, and I told papa so some time ago." 
 
 " You did ! " exclaimed Walter, his lip curling with indig 
 nation and scorn. " Did you advise with your father about 
 the punishment too ? " 
 
 " Really, Cousin Walter, you are getting to be a perfect 
 bear ! " said Mabel, pouting her lips. " When you first came 
 home, I thought you had become quite civilized and tame ; 
 but for the last week you have shown as much brusquerie, as 
 in the days of your youth, when you and I were always 
 quarrelling. What do you mean, sir, by going on so and 
 tome?" 
 
 She dropped her voice a little, with a tender accent on tho 
 
IDA MAY. 295 
 
 last words, and gazed at him out of her fine eyes with a 
 grieved and reproachful expression, that would, a short time 
 since, have melted his heart within him. But now he was 
 almost startled to find that her power over him was gone. 
 Her careless and heartless words had shocked him too 
 severely, and, without answering her, he turned to speak to 
 Ida. But Ida had vanished, and he sat down by his aunt, 
 with whose grief he felt great sympathy. Mabel looked after 
 him with a sly smile, and a strange expression. She was 
 beginning to weary of Walter. His grand airs and abrupt ex 
 pressions did not accord with the admiration and flattery she 
 expected from her admirers, and the respect with which he 
 listened to Ida s absurd opinions, suited her still less; but she 
 was determined he should not withdraw from her until she 
 saw fit to cast him off, and therefore she assumed an anxious, 
 grieved look, whenever her eyes met his, and played the 
 amiable so perfectly, that his feelings changed, and he began 
 to hate himself for the severity he had manifested towards 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Wynn had stopped a moment at the parlor-door, as he 
 descended from the attic, to say that he wished his tea sent 
 into the library, and to request that none of the family would 
 go near the closet where Alfred was confined. Mabel had no 
 disposition to disobey him, and Mrs. Wynn was afraid ; but 
 a gloom hung over the whole household ; the tea was almost 
 untasted, and at an early hour they separated. 
 
 Walter, having gone to his chamber for a book, returned to 
 the deserted parlor, and trimmed the fire, but he could not read. 
 
296 IDA MAY. 
 
 In vain he strove to divert his mind from the serious and 
 perplexing thoughts that filled it ; and, after a while, he gave 
 up the effort, and, walking slowly across the floor, he reflected 
 deeply, more deeply than ever before, upon his present 
 position and his future life. As he paced to and fro in 
 deej. revery, the door opened, and Ida appeared. The light 
 which she held in her hand showed her pale, troubled face, and 
 her eyes red with weeping. 
 
 She set the lamp upon the table, as he came near, and 
 looked up at him as if about to speak, but he interrupted 
 her. 
 
 " 0, Ida ! " said he, with a sigh, "it is from this you are 
 going to redeem your servants ; from this you are going to 
 free yourself. I envy you. This is a dreadful life, so 
 beset with temptations, so full of responsibility ! " 
 
 " And you, you also may be released from it," replied 
 she. 
 
 V I ! ah no ! I am not decided in purpose, as you are," 
 said Walter. "I am not free to act. I am completely tram 
 melled. Mabel would never consent to it." 
 
 " And you love her! " said Ida, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " I am engaged to her," was the reply. 
 
 Ida looked down in confusion. The words had fallen from 
 her lips unconsciously, and his engagement with Mabel was not 
 a subject on which she wished to converse with him. He- 
 covering herself in a moment, however, she said quietly, " It 
 was not of this I came to speak, and we have not time to talk 
 of it now. 0, Walter! cannot something be done for Alfred ? 
 
IDA MAY. 297 
 
 It will kill him, and his mother, too, if that threat is carried 
 out. I have urged your Aunt Emma to intercede for him ; 
 but she is too much afraid, and despairs of availing anything. 
 Perhaps she would not ; but cannot you ? " 
 
 The color went and came in Walter s face, as he replied, 
 "I am the least likely to succeed of any in this house ; 
 my uncle has always delighted to oppose me in everything. 
 I should only make matters worse by my interference." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " urged Ida. 
 
 " The fact is, I dare not, " replied he. " Not that I fear 
 my uncle, but I fear myself. When I am excited, I cannot 
 control my words ; and I feel now that, if I opened my lips, a 
 torrent would now forth. And 0, Ida ! " he added, after a 
 little pause, " what am I, that I should reproach him ? Am 
 not I, too, verily guilty concerning my brother ? Have 
 I not, these three years, been leaving my people in his care, 
 and in the hands of a hired overseer? How many such trage 
 dies may have been acted, of which I know nothing ! No, 
 Ida, it will not do for me to talk with my uncle on this matter." 
 
 " Then I will go myself/ replied the girl, drawing up her 
 slight figure , while her face lighted with a sudden courage 
 and hope. 
 
 " Go, and God be with you ! " said Walter, as she turned 
 away. His eyes rested on her, as she left the room, with a 
 strange feeling of adnjiration and pain. He could not avoid 
 comparing the earnestness and purity and sweet womanly 
 grace of her character, with the cold selfishness which Mabel 
 bad continually manifested where he had seen her brought in 
 
298 IDA MAY. 
 
 contact with others. Among the many thoughts which had 
 burdened him that evening, not a few had been of his connec 
 tion with Mabel. Among the many faults with which he had 
 taxed himself, he was not least severe upon the hastiness he 
 had shown in his rapid wooing, and the fickleness of which he 
 might be accused, could any one know how the fervency of 
 his love had worn away within the last week ; how the glory 
 that surrounded his idol with a dazzling halo had paled and 
 faded, until, now, her verf beauty no longer charmed him, so 
 plainly could he see the deformity beneath. He had accused 
 himself of harshness and inconstancy towards one whose faults 
 were, perhaps, only the effect of her position and education, 
 and, in a repentant mood, he had checked even his purest im 
 pulses, lest they should become sins against one to whom he 
 considered himself pledged in honor ; none the less, that, by 
 her own desire, he had refrained from obtaining her father s 
 consent to their union. 
 
 " 111 what a maze of perplexity have I involved myself! " 
 exclaimed he, as he resumed his restless* pacing to and fro. 
 Fool ! fool ! that I was ! A fair face and a tender voice have 
 made me mad and blind ! " 
 
 Ida tapped once or twice at the library door, and when a 
 voice said, " Come in," she entered. The close wooden shut 
 ters were fastened over the broken window, and the heavy 
 curtains drawn tight, to keep out the cold air. A study lamp 
 burned on the table, and a bright fire of pine knots and oak 
 wood flared in the chimney. The air f cosey comtort, the 
 
IDA MAY. 299 
 
 warm glow that pervaded the room, contrasted strangely with 
 the scene enacted there a few hours before. Seating herself 
 in the chair to which Mr. Wynn pointed her, by the table 
 opposite him, Ida remained a few moments without speaking. 
 Then, although her heart was burning with grief and indigna 
 tion, she said, in a very respectful and submissive tone, " I 
 have ventured to intrude upon your quiet, that I may beg 
 you to abate Alfred s punishment " 
 
 " I beg you will desist from this entreaty," interrupted Mr. 
 Wynn, waving his hand with a courteous gesture. " I 
 never threaten in vain. He must endure his punishment." 
 
 " 0, Mr. Wynn, I fear it will kill his mother ! " said Ida. 
 " If he has done wrong, he has surely suffered for it. Can 
 you not be persuaded to relent ? " 
 
 " I have been foreseeing this crisis for some time," replied 
 her companion, " but have delayed provoking it until the last 
 possible moment, through consideration for his mother, who 
 has been a very faithful servant, and to whom Mrs. Wynn is 
 much attached. But, now it has come, it must be gone 
 through with. It will be better for him " 
 
 " 0, sir," exclaimed Ida, " think of the disgrace and the tor- 
 ture ! " 
 
 " Still," persisted Mr. Wynn, in the same calm manner, 
 " still, I say, it would be better for him. If I yield one iota 
 while he is but half subdued, I shall lose the benefit of what 
 is past, and he will grow refractory again, presuming upon 
 my forbearance. I must go on firmly, and break down his 
 absurd feelings of independence. It is painful and annoying 
 26 
 
300 IDA MAY. 
 
 to all of us, and I should hardly have expecte I that Alfred 
 would have subjected my family to this trial ; but, after it is 
 once over, I do not fear a repetition of it. I seldom have 
 more than one trouble of this kind with my servants. You 
 spoke of the disgrace ; but, my dear young lady, it is no dis 
 grace to a negro to be whipped, and is not considered so by 
 any of them who have right ideas respecting themselves. It 
 might disgrace a white man, but it is the proper punishment 
 for a colored person." 
 
 " What makes the difference ? " asked Ida, quietly. 
 
 " The difference is, that white men, not being held as prop 
 erty, are amenable personally to the laws of the State, and can 
 expiate their crimes by imprisonment. But we have no such 
 recourse for our servants. It would ruin us to lose the time 
 it would take to imprison them in punishment for their 
 offences ; and, beside, the lazy dogs would not mind confine 
 ment that released them from their accustomed tasks. So 
 we have no alternative but to whip them ; for we must 
 keep them in subjection. You see it makes quite a differ 
 ence." 
 
 " Quite a difference ! " said Ida. 
 
 " For that reason," continued Mr. Wynn, " whipping ha? 
 always been the established punishment for servants, and 
 they all expect it ; indeed, they rather like it. They always 
 s. .ein to think more of a master who keeps them up pretty 
 well. Of course, I don t mean one who is too severe, 
 who " 
 
 " Abuses them," suggested Ida, as he paused an instant. 
 
IDA MAY. 301 
 
 " Yes, that s it ; they don t want to be abused, of course ; 
 but no negro, who is not above his place, thinks it a disgrace 
 to be whipped; and the very fact that Alfred thinks it so, and 
 "spoke" of it in that way, only confirms me, in the opinion that 
 it will be the very best thing for him to have. There is no 
 kindness in allowing them to have too high notions ; it only 
 makes them discontented." 
 
 "But think how dreadful it will be! 0, Mr. Wynn, I 
 don t believe he can bear it ! He is of a more excitable and 
 nervous organization than some; and I don t believe he 
 will go through witk it without losing his reason or his life." 
 
 " Let him lose them, then! " said Mr. Wynn, with emphatic 
 sternness. " A dead nigger is better than a disobedient 
 one." 
 
 " After all, what has been this man s crime ? " exclaimed 
 Ida, too much exasperated to retain her calmness longer. 
 " He loved a woman whom he was not allowed to live with 
 openly, and so he met her clandestinely. Is that such a 
 very dreadful sin ? Would you not have done it yourself ? 
 Would not any man of right feelings have clung to the 
 woman who loved him, in spite of all persecution ? He was 
 never unfaithful to you ; he did all your work, and would 
 have done it cheerfully, if continued opposition to his wishes 
 had not made him unhappy. 0, sir, he is your servant; but 
 is he not also a human being, and has he not rights on which 
 you have trampled ? " 
 
 "I beg you will desist from this language," said Mr. 
 Wynn. " A servant has no rights, except such as his 
 
302 IDA MAY. 
 
 master clnoses to allow. Alfred s connection with that woman 
 was not his only offence. He was planning to escape to the 
 north. That is a design which I can never pardon. The 
 severest punishment is not too great for it." 
 
 But you know, Mr. Wynn, that he has repeatedly asked 
 you to allow him to buy himself. He tried every honorable 
 means before he came to this last desperate resort. 0, sir, 
 can you blame him that he desired to be free ? It must be 
 hard for a man like him to realize that he must spend all 
 his powers of mind and body for the service of another ; that 
 he is to be continually restrained in the exercise of his will 
 and his affections by the wishes of another. What man of 
 Alfred s energy and intellect could endure it ? And yet, for 
 this, you say he must be punished ! " 
 
 Mr. Wynn had risen from his chair while she spoke, and 
 now, from his six feet altitude, he looked down upon the 
 daring little being, who was uttering such incendiary doctrines 
 in his ears, with a sort of angry astonishment. 
 
 " It is vain to talk to me on tins subject," he said at 
 length, after keeping his eyes fixed upon her for some time. 
 " What I have said, I will do. No human power shall inter 
 fere with my family discipline. Alfred has been impudent 
 and refractory, and he shall be punished, if I knew he would 
 die under the lash." 
 
 Ida looked earnestly in his face as he spoke these words. 
 He did not seem excited. Darin a 1 the whole conversation he 
 
 O 
 
 had not raised his voice, but nothing could be more hopeless 
 than its eold, quiet monotone, and there was no sign of re- 
 
IDA MAY. 303 
 
 icnting in the stern features where every muscle seemed 
 rigid as if carved of stone. But Ida did not quail beneath 
 those petrifying eyes. Rising from her chair, she came near 
 him, and said, with great earnestness and solemnity, 
 
 " You are about to commit a great sin. Pause, I beseech 
 you, before it is too late ! Think what it is to take the life 
 or destroy the reason of a fellow-being. 0, what right have 
 you. to torture him ? Do you not fear ? " 
 
 Mr. Wynn half turned on his heel, with a short disdainful 
 laugh. 
 
 " Fear what ? " he said. " That the skies will fall ? " 
 
 " No, but that the hour of revenge will come," said Ida, 
 trembling at her own words. " Do you not fear that all this 
 anguish, all these wrongs, will hasten an hour of retribution, 
 when the fearful debt shall be paid which has been accumu 
 lating through so many generations ? What shall hinder its 
 coming soon, if men like Alfred are driven to desperation 
 with persecution and torture ? " 
 
 For reply Mr. Wynn crossed the room slowly and deliber 
 ately, and opening the door pointed into the hall. "Go! " 
 he said ; " you have spoken words that if you were a man you 
 should take back at the point of the sword. As you are a 
 woman, I have no alternative than to bid you leave this 
 room, and beware how you dare attempt such things in 
 this house. Go! " he repeated, in a tone of such deep and 
 concentrated wrath that Ida dared not resist, and silently she 
 left him. 
 
 In the tall she met Walter, who had anxiously awaited 
 26* 
 
304 IDA MAY. 
 
 the result of the conference, though he had little hope that 
 she could effect anything. 
 
 "I see by your face that you have not been successful," 
 he said. 
 
 " I hardly hoped f< be," she replied, " but I could not 
 rest till I had tried to help him. 0," she added, wringing 
 her hands in bitter self-reproach, " why was I so faint 
 hearted why did I not warn him to be more careful ? " 
 
 " Have you known of this before ? " exclaimed Walter. 
 
 " I knew something, and I could guess the rest," replied 
 Ida ; and then she told him of the scene she had witnessed 
 and the words she had overheard the day after her arrival, 
 the week before. Walter was deeply affected. In their ex 
 citement it did not occur to either of these young persons, 
 that all this sympathy with a refractory servant was highly 
 dangerous and improper, and subversive of long-established 
 institutions. 
 
 Leaving Walter after a short time, Ida returned to her 
 own room. Maum Venus was sitting before the fire, soundly 
 sleeping, with her head on the table, and the light footsteps 
 of her young mistress did not wa*ken her, as she hastily 
 wrapped herself in a large, thick shawl, and, taking another 
 on her arm, again left the chamber, and stole softly up stairs 
 to the place where Maum Abby was still keeping watch by 
 ner son. All was dark and chilly in the large, damp garret, 
 and as the light Ida carried fell over her figure, bent together 
 as it was, and her face hidden in her hands, she was fright 
 ened by the stony silence and immobility of her appearance 
 
IDA MAY. 300 
 
 A slight movement and a low moan, which came from the 
 bowed form as Ida wrapped around it the shawl she had 
 brought, gave token of life and reassured the trembling girl, 
 and she sat down on the low step beside the afflicted woman. 
 Looking up when she felt the pressure of Ida s arm arour.d 
 her neck, Maum Abby fixed her eyes upon her in a stern 
 ind gloomy manner. 
 
 ""It is you, is it?" she said, abruptly. "What are you 
 doing here ? Go down." 
 
 " Yes, it is I." replied Ida, gently. " I have come to 
 stay with you ; won t you let me ? I could not bear to think 
 of you here alone." 
 
 Maum Abby gazed at her a few moments absently, as if 
 she was trying to comprehend those simple words, but the 
 gloom of her countenance did not relax. 
 
 " Put out the light, then," she said, at length ; " I can t 
 bear it, it hurts me. There should be no light anywhere ; 
 all the world should be dark, dark and cold, like my life ! " 
 
 Her eyes were still fixed and stony, and her long, thin 
 finger pointed to ther lamp with an air of command. Ida 
 gave a half-terrified glanee into the gloom around her, which 
 to her excited fancy seemed peopled with indistinct forms, 
 that nuoved aftd glided with the rapid beatings of her heart ; 
 but she obeyed the request and extinguished the light. Those 
 slow-moving, solemn, distressful hours! They haunted her 
 dreams, for years after, with even more of horror than she 
 felt while they were passing. Thoughts of all that the strong 
 man armed with power has dared to do, and all that the 
 
306 IDA MAY. 
 
 helpless have been compelled to suffer, of all the fearful his 
 tories that might be connected with that very spot, crowded 
 upon her brain, until the darkness appeared to grow tangible 
 and gather around her with a cold, stifling pressure, like the 
 hands of spectres. The pattering of the rain upon the roof 
 above them seemed like the trampling feet of the vast mul 
 titude who might one day come crying for vengeance on this 
 house, where, through long generations, man had enslaved 
 his fellow; and low voices of wailing sounded in an undertone 
 through the monotonous murmur of the elements. Ida shud 
 dered and drew nearer to her companion, exclaiming, 
 
 " Speak to me, Maurn Abby ; it is frightful to have you so 
 still and cold ! Don t feel as if you were forsaken and had 
 none to help you ; for One who is stronger than the mightiest 
 will not forget you, even now. Who knows but he will 
 deliver your son from his pitiless master ? Let us pray to 
 him, let us call upon him with tears, for he has promised to 
 hear the cry of the needy and the oppressed." 
 
 She would have said more, but Maum Abby checked her, 
 not harshly, but with a frigid quietness, as if she felt the 
 powerlessness of words, the fallacy of hope. 
 
 " You can pity me, you can pray for me ! " she said, " but 
 this is no time for talking. My soul is dried up within me. 
 I have wept over the graves of my children, but I have no 
 tears for this woe. This is the hour of my trial, and God 
 sends no angel to comfort me, only you, poor, kind little girl, 
 that cannot help me. He works no longer by miracles, and 
 nothing k-i a miracle can save Alfred. that I should 
 
IDA MAY. 307 
 
 have Hved to see this hour, when I have no longer any faitn 
 in God ! " 
 
 " Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth 
 them tha fear him, " replied Ida, softly. " He knoweth 
 our frame He rernembereth that we are but dust. " 
 
 Maum Abby bent her face again to her knees without re 
 plying, and took no further notice of her companion, who, 
 pressing close to her side, kept silent watch in prayer for 
 her. That brave, full heart was conscious of its own deep 
 sympathy, but it availed little to the stricken mourner. Too 
 stern was the grasp of her pangs for such solace. Her soul 
 eat veiled in its agony, blind to all without, and conscious 
 only of its crushed hopes, and a sickening, shuddering sense 
 of the torture to which her son was doomed on the morrow. 
 Afterwards, when the sad drama had been played to its close, 
 and her first fierce woe was past, the gentle touch of Ida s 
 hand upon her brow and neck, her few low-toned words, 
 her tears and her uttered sympathy, came back upon the 
 memory of the sufferer with a soothing and healing influence, 
 and she recognized the angel whom Grod had sent to her ; but 
 now, through these long, fearful hours, she was scarcely con 
 scious of her presence. 
 
 An hour or more had passed, when a faint light was seen 
 glimmering through the dense darkness below them, and a 
 figure robed in white swiftly glided up the stairs. It was 
 Mrs. Wynn. She knelt clown before Maum Abby, and 
 strove to clasp her hands, but she drew them hastily away. 
 
 " dear, dear Maum Abby ! " she said, sobbing, I do 
 
308 IDA MAY. 
 
 pity yo 1 ! so ! I do feel for you ! I stole away the moment 
 he was asleep. He told me not to come, and I did n t dare 
 to, lest he should hear me, while he was awake. 0, I do pity 
 you so ! This is terrible, terrible ! " 
 
 Maum Abby raised her head with the same stern look 
 she had fixed upon Ida. 
 
 " Go back to your bed, Miss Emma," she said, authorita 
 tively. " I know you feel for me, but you can t comfort me ; 
 nobody can. I am a poor, desolate, old woman, and to-mor 
 row my only son is going to be whipped to death. He said 
 so. I was listening at the window and heard him, and you 
 j:now he never .relents." She threw her arms wildly upward, 
 and cried out, " Lord God, hear me ! How long, how long 
 shall the wicked triumph ? " 
 
 " Don t curse us ! 0, don t curse us ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 "Wynn, seizing her hands and "trembling violently. "It is 
 the fault of our false and cruel position ; of our laws that 
 give men unlimited power over their servants. He would 
 never have been what he is but for that. 0, Maum Abby, 
 pray for us ! pray for him ! Don t curse him ! " 
 
 " I will try to pray for him," she replied, relapsing into 
 her former stern, despairing calmness ; " but 0, it is hard to 
 do it now now, when the devil is tempting me to curse God 
 and die. Go away, and pray for him yourself, pray for us 
 all. You can do no good here. I don t wan t to talk. 
 When I talk I can t hear my son s breathing, and that is 
 all I have of him now. Go away, you come between me 
 and my son ! " 
 
IDA MAT. 
 
 309 
 
 She spoke these last words almost petulantly, and, deeply 
 grieved, Mrs. Wynn turned away. Again silence and dark 
 ness reigned around them. The rain fell with a continuous, 
 dull, heavy plashing on the roof above their heads ; and 
 from below there came up through the murky air the faint 
 ticking of the hall clock. No other sound was heard, save, 
 from the closet behind them, the labored breathing of the 
 prisoner, panting and broken, like the gasping of one in 
 mortal pain, and often interrupted by a heavy sob, or a 
 low moan, or faintly-spoken prayers. Thus the night wore 
 away. 
 
 Just before the first gray dawn of morning, Ida returned 
 to her own room ; and threw herself on her bed, completely 
 chilled and exhausted. Soon a deep and dreamless slumber 
 stole over her wearied senses ; and it was long after the 
 usual breakfast hour, when she awoke. Great was her 
 surprise when, on descending to the breakfast room, she 
 found the servants just bringing in the dishes for the morn 
 ing meal, and Mabel, with a frowning brow, walking to and 
 fro, and giving directions in a tone indicative of no slight 
 degree of vexation. 
 
 " What s the matter with you, Ida ? " she exclaimed ; 
 " you look like a ghost. Could n t you sleep last night ? 
 How mighty hard it rained ! it kept me awake some time." 
 
 "I did n t sleep much," replied Ida ; "but it was n t the 
 rain that prevented me." 
 
 " What ! are you out of sorts too, with all the rest of the 
 household ? I believe papa and I are the only sensible mem- 
 
310 IA MAI . 
 
 bers of the family. Here ma has cried till she has brought on 
 one of her dreadful nervous headaches, and can t leave her 
 bed, and Maum Abby, who knows just what to do for her, is 
 sitting there moping about Alfred, and won t come and take 
 care of her, or see after the servants ; and so everything 
 has gone wrong this morning. I declare this is a world of 
 trouble." 
 
 "It is, indeed," replied Ida, with a sigh, her thoughts 
 reverting to Maum Abby and her son with such intensity 
 that she was almost unconscious of Mabel s selfish application 
 of the trite remark. 
 
 Let us have breakfast, and then I will go away some 
 where. This is getting intolerable! " exclaimed Walter, impa 
 tiently, coming forward as he spoke from the window-recess, 
 where he had been sitting behind the curtain unobserved. 
 
 " Et tu Brute! " said Mabel, laughing and coloring a little 
 " which, being interpreted, means, have you been there all 
 this time, Walter, listening to my soolding of the servants ? 
 If so, I expect you have a most exalted idea of my housekeep 
 ing abilities. Confess, now, you had no idea that was one of 
 my accomplishments. Don t you think I could manage a 
 household finely ? " 
 
 " Excellently well, 1 have no doubt, as far as the discipline 
 of your servants was concerned," said Walter, dryly. 
 
 "That is rather a doubtful compliment, uttered in that 
 tone," replied Mabel, somewhat disconcerted; "but I will 
 impute its deficiencies to the mauvais esprit that possesses 
 
IDA MAY. 311 
 
 
 
 us all this morning ; and, as I see papa coming, we will have 
 breakfast, if you please." 
 
 They gathered round the table, and Mabel, taking her 
 mother s place, performed the honors gracefully ; and made 
 an effort at conversation, for which she was rewarded by an 
 approving glance from her father; but Walter continued 
 absorbed and silent, and Ida was waiting, in suppressed 
 excitement, the moment when Alfred would be brought forth 
 to his punishment. 
 
 Suddenly the footsteps of several men were heard in the 
 hall, and, in a few moments, little Dick came into the room 
 where they were sitting, with a message for Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " Please massa, de oberseer done come, wid de niggers and 
 de handcuff, for tote Alfred off." 
 
 Mr. Wynn took the key of the closet from his pocket, and 
 handed it to the boy. " Give him this," he said, " and show 
 him where Alfred is. I will see him on the piazza when he 
 somes down." 
 
 The boy disappeared, and a dead silence fell upon the 
 group around the breakfast-table. Ida leaned back in her 
 chair, so sick and faint with the violent throbbing of her 
 heart, that it was with difficulty she sustained herself. Wal 
 ter s eyes were fixed on his plate, and he was apparently 
 unconscious that he was gnawing his lip, instead of the piece 
 of meat he was nervously cutting and recutting into the most 
 minute bits. Mr. Wynn sat like an iron statue of decision, 
 and even Mabel looked a little pale and excited. 
 
 Some moments elapsed, and then there was a little confu- 
 27 
 
312 IDA MAY. 
 
 sion heard above stairs, a quick step descended, and Dick 
 again threw open the door, exclaiming, " 0, massa ! come dis 
 minute up star. Dat ar Alfred done kill heself ! " 
 
 " What do you say ? " said Mr. Wynn, sternly, his face 
 growing a little more rigid and white as he fixed his eyes on 
 the child. 
 
 "Fact, massa," repeated he; " dat ar Alfred done kill 
 heself, cut hole in* he troat and let out all de blood. Done 
 shirked he whippin dis time, massa, anyway." 
 
 Mr. Wynn rose quickly and left the room. Walter lifted 
 his head, and his chest heaved with a deep inspiration, as if 
 a load had been lifted from it, while he exclaimed fervently, 
 
 " Thank God for that ! he is dead ! " 
 
 " Why, Walter ! a n t you ashamed to say so ? " said 
 Mabel. " For my part, I "m really sorry, for now who will we 
 get to build our summer-house ? My heart was set upon hav 
 ing that before another year, and there is n t a workman any 
 where around who was equal to Alfred. I d rather have 
 nothing at all than one of those common things. I say it is 
 a downright shame for him to kill himself, when it is so incon 
 venient to lose him." 
 
 Walter listened to her with an expression of utter astonish 
 ment, which gave way to indignation as she completed this 
 last sentence, and, with the bluntness that characterized him 
 when excited, he exclaimed, "Cousin Mabel, if you were 
 empty-hearted as a soap-bubble, one would think you could 
 not speak thus at such a moment as this ; " and, giving her a 
 
IDA MAY. 313 
 
 reproachful glance, he followed Ida, who had already left the 
 room. 
 
 He found her standing beside Maum Abby, in the midst 
 of the whole household, who had by this time gathered around 
 the spot where Alfred lay across the threshold of the closet- 
 door, with his head supported in his mother s arms. Through 
 what intense disappointment, through what utter despondency, 
 through what anguish of mind and heart, that excited brain 
 had grown delirious, only God can know. But he, who gives 
 the fulness of a boundless sympathy and pity to the weakness 
 of our human nature, will pardon that wretched man, who, 
 left thus alone to wrestle with a crushing tyranny, and finding 
 himself cut off from all other refuge, had dared with his own 
 hand to open the gates of death, that through them he might 
 escape from the oppressor. 
 
 This thought was a comfort to the bereaved mother, who 
 sat silently bending over him. It was no shock to her when 
 the men, who, imagining Alfred asleep or sulky, were drag 
 ging him roughly forth, suddenly loosened their hold, ex 
 claiming that he was dead. For two hours she had listened 
 in vain for the quick panting breath which all night long had 
 given assurance that he was still alive ; and, after the first 
 involuntary heart-thrill the knowledge thus gradually attained 
 brought with it a sensation of relief; and, thinking of all he 
 had endured in the past, all he must have endured in the 
 future, more fervently than she had praised God at her child s 
 birth, that mother gave thanks that her only son was dead. 
 As they stood around her silently, even the garrulousnss 
 
314 IDA MAY. 
 
 of the negroes being checked by the pitiful scene, a slow, 
 decided step was heard on the stairs. It was Mr. Wynn ; and, 
 as the sound of his footsteps drew nearer, and the group, scat 
 tering apart, left him face to face with the dead, Maum Abby 
 unclasped her arms from the lifeless form she had been hold 
 ing close against her heart, and, laying it down tenderly upon 
 the floor, arose and stood before him. There was something 
 almost majestic in the solemn reticence of her manner, 
 something awful in the utter desolation in which this tragedy 
 had involved her, that hushed the very breathing of those 
 who listened, as, pointing with one hand to the corpse at her 
 feet, and raising the other a little to demand her master s 
 attention, she said to him, " Look ! there is my boy ! he 
 is dead, and you, you have murdered him ! Do not start 
 back do not frown on me my son is dead, and you can 
 not harm me now ! It is not for me to curse you not for 
 me ! I know not why God has permitted this wrong to be 
 done. I know not, blind worm that I am, how my child s 
 death can cause the wrath of man to praise Him, or my own 
 misery advance the purposes of His holy will ; and yet I 
 trust Him, 0, I will trust Him though he slay me ! ," she 
 added, raising her clasped hands high above her head, and 
 looking upward. For a moment she stood thus, her lips mov 
 ing inaudibly, as if she prayed, and then gradually lowering 
 her arms and fixing her eyes again on Mr. Wynn, she contin 
 ued : " I will not curse you, that you have robbed me of what 
 was more to me than my life ; that you drove him to des 
 peration and insanity, that ended in death. God will pardon 
 
IDA MAY. 315 
 
 him that deed ; but, when He maketh inquisition for blood, 
 will He uot require it at your hands ? you, who could not 
 pity who would not forgive ! What will you answer, when 
 One who judgeth righteously shall ask you, Where is thy 
 brother ? 0, Master Richard, beware ! Learn, while it is 
 yet time, that these whom you are crushing, are men, and 
 repent before God of the evil you have dared to do. Repent ! " 
 and here her voice rose like the pealing of an organ swell, 
 >" Repent ! for, behold, the day cometh that shall burn as an 
 oven, and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall 
 be as stubble, and the day that cometh shall burn them up 
 saith the Lord of Hosts." 
 
 She paused. There was a lurid light in her eyes, and with 
 her pale, stern face, her tall figure elevated to its utmost 
 height, and her hand raised with a prophetic earnestness, she 
 looked like one inspired. Self-possessed as was Mr. Wynn, 
 and firmly as he had braced himself against "any manifesta 
 tion of the feelings that secretly agitated him, he had quailed 
 before the influence that acted like a spell upon those around 
 him ; but when she ceased speaking, he recovered himself, 
 and, stepping a little aside, said half aloud, " These are but 
 the ravings of insanity. Take the woman away." 
 
 She bent forward a little, and laid her hand lightly upou 
 his breast, but he shrank from her touch with a slight shud 
 der. " I go, I go," said she. " I have no more to do here. 
 Bring my son after me, bring him to my room for a little 
 while, a few hours, and then the earth must cover him. 
 27* 
 
316 IDA MAY. 
 
 He will sleep there in peace, and I God help me ! I shall 
 be alone." 
 
 Her words, changed now in tone and manner, had a melan 
 choly and touching pathos, as if they came from the depth of 
 a broken heart ; and she tottered as she descended the stairs 
 slowly, with an uncertain step, like that of one who walks in 
 the dark. Moved by a simultaneous impulse, Walter and 
 Ida sprang to aid her. Her hands were clenched together, 
 and her eyes glazed and dim. The reaction from that unnat 
 ural and desperate calmness was commencing, and in a few 
 moments she was seized with strong convulsions that for many 
 hours threatened her life. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " I tell thce that a spirit is abroad, 
 Which will not slumber till its path be traced 
 By deeds of far-spread fame. It moves on 
 In silence, yet awakening in its path 
 That which shall startle nations." 
 
 DURING several days which succeeded the events that had 
 disturbed, in a manner so painful, the peace and happiness of 
 this family, Ida found herself placed in a very unpleasant 
 situation, by the marked and studied coldness with which 
 she was treated by Mr. Wynn. The funeral services for 
 Alfred had been performed, in a very quiet manner, the 
 evening of the day on which he died ; and, after that, each 
 member of the family instinctively avoided any allusion to 
 the subject, in his presence. Maum Abby secluded herself 
 in her little dwelling, and refused to see any one except her 
 mistress and Ida ; who spent many long hours there, in the 
 vain endeavor to 
 
 * Minister to a mind diseased ; 
 Pluck from th% memory a rooted sorrow ;" 
 
 and all things seemed to go on in the usual routine, except 
 that Mr. Wynn entirely ignored Ida s presence in his man. 
 
318 IDA MAY. 
 
 sion. Since the evening when she had so daringly offended 
 him, he had never spoken to her ; and when, in his inter 
 course with his family, he addressed those who were near 
 her, or engaged in conversation in which she had borne a 
 part, his eyes looked above her, around her, through her, 
 but never once seemed to rest upon her, and his ears man 
 ifested a like insensibility to any sound that might issue 
 from her lips. 
 
 Finding, at length, that she must take some decided meas 
 ure to overcome a course of conduct which, from its perti 
 nacity, was becoming vexatious as well as embarrassing, and 
 also desiring to take possession of the property left her by 
 Mr. Maynard, that she might be enabled fo accomplish her 
 purposes respecting it during the winter which was now pass 
 ing, Ida determined to venture again into the library, where 
 her stern guardian spent his mornings, and thus render an 
 interview unavoidable. 
 
 It was a mild, bright morning in January, when she left 
 her room for this purpose. In the upper hall she met Wal 
 ter, booted and spurred, and twirling Mabel s riding-whip in 
 his hand, as he waited for her appearance. As he saw Ida, 
 his countenance fell, and he exclaimed", 
 
 " Why are you not dressed fer riding ? I thought you told 
 Mabel you would go with us this morning." 
 
 " So I did, in fun. She was only joking when she asked 
 me," replied Ida. You don t suppose I would be Madame, 
 de Trop, do you ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Walter, impatiently, " / was n t in 
 
IDA MAY. 319 
 
 fun when I asked you, and neither was Mabel ; so you 
 shan t have that for an excuse for breaking your promises." 
 
 " It is only telling a little bit of a white lie, so white 
 and transparent as to be almost invisible, to break such a 
 promise as that was," said Ida, laughing. " I thought you 
 both understood me." 
 
 " Lay no such nattering unction to your soul," replied 
 Walter. " I depended upon your word, and have ordered 
 your horse, and hurried Mabel away to dress, that we might 
 have time for" a long ride. It is so pleasant this morning it 
 will do you good, and I m sure you need the exercise. So 
 please go and get ready now, won t you ? " 
 
 " I can t," said Ida, shaking her head and blushing a little, 
 beneath the earnest eyes that were fixed on her. 
 
 " Don t say so," persisted Walter ; " don t shake those 
 ringlets with that positive air, as if that decision were final. 
 Only think how long it is since you have been out with us. 
 I know," he added, in a graver tone, " that you have spent 
 your mornings with Maum Abby, and I honor you, Ida, for 
 your kindness to that poor woman, for your courage and 
 your sympathy with her trouble ; but your own health will 
 suffer if you continue this Jdnd of life much longer. Come to 
 ride with us this morning, do" 
 
 " I can t, indeed," replied Ida resisting by a mighty effort 
 the influence of his pleading voice, and braving, with a mirth 
 ful glance, tho eyes whose peculiar expression thrilled her 
 frame magnetically. " I have devoted this morning to a less 
 pleasing employment. Like Esther of old, I am going to 
 
320 IDA MAY. 
 
 venture into the king 3 presence, unasked, and request an 
 audience." 
 
 " May he hold out the golden sceptre, if such is your rash 
 purpose ! " replied Walter. " But why can t you wait till 
 to-morrow ? I am unavoidably engaged to ride with Mabel 
 this morning, but to-morrow I will remain at home. Uncle 
 Richard has treated you with positive rudeness lately, and I 
 confess I dread to have you encounter him alone. You know 
 how severe he can be." 
 
 " I dread it also, and, therefore, I won t talk any longer 
 about it, lest I lose my courage. Why don t you talk in a 
 more encouraging strain ? Fie, Walter ! A gentleman five 
 feet six inches high, who has experienced Europe, Asia and 
 Africa, and come home bearded and moustached Bke any 
 Buss, to talk of dreading any other mortal man ! 0, fie ! " 
 
 " Don t be saucy, Ida," replied Walter, with a smile, and 
 an expressive glance. " You know it is only for you I fear. 
 You are very brave, but it goes against my ide^s of chivalry 
 to leave a- woman to fight her battles alone, especially where 
 the right is on her side." 
 
 " Thank you," said Ida ; " but Heaven forbid that I should 
 draw you into my quarrel with your uncle ! What trouble it 
 would make ! Your aunt, Mabel, what would they think of 
 me ? No, Walter," she added, sadly, " it is as you told me : 
 I am treading a difficult path, and I must tread it alone." 
 
 " Perhaps not entirely alone," replied Walter, earnestly. 
 " My feelings and my ideas have changed somewhat since that 
 morning. That awful tragedy shall not be all in vain. I 
 
IDA MAY. 321 
 
 shudder when I think that perhaps it was needed to arouse 
 me thoroughly from the indifference that had crept over me 
 regarding this matter." 
 
 " Then you were indifferent ? " said Ida. " Knowing how 
 you felt once, I thought perhaps you assumed it." 
 
 "No, I was indifferent. I had come to regard it as a 
 necessary evil, partly from having been away from home so 
 long that everything connected with home was clothed in the 
 softened light which mantles distant objects, and partly be 
 cause my patriotism was aroused to the highest point by the 
 slurs and sneers I heard cast upon my country when I was 
 in foreign lands. I was forced so often to explain and ex 
 tenuate and defend our social system, when I was among 
 foreigners, who are glad to make it a byword and a reproach, 
 that I almost made myself believe, at length, that all was as 
 right as I wished it to appear." 
 
 " And now ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " Now we will go to ride, if M. le chevalier pleases," said 
 a voice behind them ; and, turning, they saw Mabel standing 
 near. 
 
 How beautiful she was at that moment ! The closely- 
 fitting bodice, and the sweeping folds of her riding-habit 
 showed her queenly form most advantageously, and her black 
 velvet hat, with its flowing plumes, heightened by contrast tnt 
 pearl-like purity of her complexion. And yet, as Walter 
 Varian looked at her, there was no smile on his lip, no tri 
 umph in his eyes. He did not say to himself, exultingly, 
 " This radiant, this peerless beauty is mine, she loves me " 
 
322 IDA MAY. 
 
 Instead of this, a strange pain shot through his heart, a feel 
 ing half of disappointment and half of remorse, and his soul 
 whispered within him, " I am bound to her irrevocably, and 
 yet I know that between us there is no sympathy of thought, 
 and there can be no concord of action." 
 
 He had felt this at times before, when her words had 
 jarred harshly against the emotions which recent events had 
 awakened, dissipating the fascination which her wonderful 
 beauty had at first exercised over him. But never had he 
 been so conscious of it as now, when the admissions he 
 had made to Ida had half committed him to a line of 
 conduct which Mabel would regard with indignation and 
 contempt. 
 
 Really, I grieve to have interrupted so interesting a 
 ttte-a-tete" she said ; " but I must be excused, since it is 
 quite time for us to go. Ida, I see, is not dressed. Did n t 
 you know that Walter ordered your horse ? " 
 
 " I did not know it until he informed me just now," replied 
 Ida. " I thought he understood that we were joking, when I 
 said I would go." 
 
 " I was afraid that was the case," said Mabel ; " but since 
 it is so, I think we shall not be able to wait for you. Come, 
 Walter, it will be too warm by and by." 1 
 
 " What shall be done with your horse ? " said Walter, as 
 they descended the stairs. 
 
 "0, leave him there in the shade. If I feel like it I will 
 ride out to meet you on your return." 
 
 She watched them canter away. Mabel rode finely, and 
 
IDA MAY. 323 
 
 her commanding mien and figure never appeared to better 
 advantage than on horseback. Since the morning when her 
 heartless speech had so irritated Y> alter, and he had turned 
 from her to Ida, she had begun really to fear that her power 
 over him was growing less, and her pride, the strongest pas 
 sion of her nature, was startled, lest Ida should win the love 
 which hitherto she had held so lightly. Accustomed as she 
 was to receive the homage of all who came near her, and see 
 suitors bowing at her feet, she had accepted her cousin s de 
 votion very much as a matter of course, and replied to it 
 favorably, without a very definite idea of holding herself bound 
 by the promise ; but now she was becoming more interested 
 in a game which began to be difficult, and all her powers of 
 pleasing had been exerted to charm back her half-revolted 
 fiance, and, as is often the case, her own feelings were ex 
 cited and enlisted in the effort. 
 
 Mr. Wynn looked up in surprise when Ida entered the 
 library, but he placed a chair for her with a frigid politeness, 
 and tften, retiring behind his spectacles, he continued to gaze 
 at her without speaking. 
 
 " I beg that you will not regard me with such fixed 
 displeasure," said Ida, with an embarrassed manner ; " I am 
 very sorry to have offended you." 
 
 The expression of his face softened a little, and he bowed 
 his head "slightly, in token that her apology was accepted. 
 Then, laying his hand upon a quantity of books and papers, 
 which were piled on the table, he said abruptly, " These docu 
 ments are ready, and should ha^e been in your possession 
 28 
 
324 IDA MAY. 
 
 before now. I suppose you will hardly care to lock over the 
 accounts yourself; but it will be necessary for you to select 
 some one to manage your business, and I think you will find I 
 have done all that could be done with your property during 
 your minority." 
 
 " I have the utmost confidence in my guardian," replied 
 Ida, pleasantly, " and am sure it will be quite unnecessary to 
 go over the records. But, since you have referred to the 
 subject, will you please tell me briefly what is the present 
 state of the property and its amount ? " 
 
 " With pleasure I will do so," said Mr. Wynn. " The in 
 come, above the expenses, since I have had the care of the 
 estate, has been about four thousand dollars, which I have 
 placed in the bank at your disposal. The portion of Oak- 
 lands, which Mr. Maynard gave you in his will, is, as you 
 know, that small detached farm which is separated from the 
 rest of the plantation by a strip of worthless black jack." 
 
 1 S"es, I know it," said Ida. " I rode over there once with 
 you and Mabel, when I was here three years ago. Uncle 
 Charles used to call it the Triangle. " 
 
 " He gave it that name, I believe, from some slight resem 
 blance in its shape to that mathematical figure," continued 
 Mr. Wynn ; " and also, because, having a very trashy set of 
 negroes on it, he found it difficult, with his peculiar notions, 
 to manage them. He used to say facetiously that they tried 
 every angle in his disposition." . 
 
 "Poor Uncle Charles!" said Ida, with a thoughtful 
 smile. 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 " It was unfortunate for my brother-in-law that he was 
 totally lacking in the firmness necessary to plantation disci 
 pline, and consequently his fine estate has been suffering from 
 poor management for many years. Oaklands may come up 
 in the hands of a skilful cultivator, if Walter concludes to sell 
 it ; but I regret to say that -the Triangle, which was never as 
 valuable land as the other, is now entirely worn out, and 
 would bring nothing of consequence in the market. There are 
 about twenty negroes connected with the farm, and you will 
 probably find it for your interest to sell them. But, of course, 
 all that can be arranged with the person whom you shall 
 choose as your agent in business matters. If I might advise, 
 I should recommend you to authorize Walter to act for 
 you. He will take an office in the city, before long, and, I 
 have no doubt, will make the best settlement possible for 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Ida ; but Walter will hardly get 
 established before spring, and there is but one way in which I 
 can allow my negroes to be disposed of, and I wish that ar 
 rangement to be completed during this winter. I shall have 
 free papers made out for each of them," she added, her heart 
 beating a little more rapidly than usual, " and send ijhem to 
 the free States. Four thousand dollars will be sufficient to 
 locate them there comfortably, I think, and make provision 
 for those who are too old or too ignorant to take care of 
 themselves." 
 
 " I am not surprised at this folly," said Mr. Wynn, his 
 cold courtesy of manner instantly relapsing into sternness ; 
 
326 IDA MAY. 
 
 but I think you will find, after you have wasted your fortune 
 in this way, that the people, whom you have thus placed in a 
 false position, will hardly thank you." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Ida, smiling ; " but I think their 
 children will ; at any rate, I shall have a clear conscience, 
 and that, you know, sir, is worth more than a heap of 
 money." 
 
 " But it will hardly give you a livelihood, nevertheless," 
 said Mr. Wynn, scoffingly. " But that will matter little, I 
 suppose. It is the way with these pseudo -philanthropists, 
 to make themselves notorious by some needless sacrifice, 
 and then to be a burden on their admirers ever after. 
 
 " I am afraid your acquaintance with philanthropists has 
 not been very extensive," remarked Ida, quietly ; " but, 
 even if it is so, your observation hardly applies to me, 
 since _a__gimple act of justice ought not to be called philan 
 thropy." 
 
 She paused, but Mr. Wynn deigned no reply, and she saw 
 that she had again offended him. " I beg you will not be 
 angry because I claim the right to exercise liberty of con 
 science," she continued, in a deprecating tone. " I have 
 received much kindness from all your family, and I know it 
 was the wish of one, who was dear to us all, that we should 
 always be friends, and it grieves me inexpressibly to be com 
 pelled thu to offend your prejudices. Believe me, nothing 
 would induce me to risk incurring your displeasure, and for 
 feiting the friendship of your family, except a strong convic 
 tion of duty." 
 
IDA MAY. 327 
 
 " Duty ! nonsense ! " retorted Mr. Wynn. " Your aboli 
 tionist friends at the north have instigated this movement, 
 and you are carrying it out for the sake of effect." 
 
 " You are entirely mistaken, sir," said Ida, respectfully, 
 but with great dignity; " and Ijissurejrou that it is no north 
 ern influence, but what I have seen and heard here in the 
 south, that has made me an abolitionist. Our views of right 
 differ so much, that it is plain we should not prolong this 
 conversation," she add.d, rising from the chair. " I thought 
 it most proper to inform you of my intentions in respect to 
 this property, before taking any legal measures ; and I wished 
 also to ask your permission to order the carriage and drive 
 over to the Triangle. I want to see for myself what is the 
 state of affairs there." 
 
 " I shall give no such permission, or, in any way, 
 countenance these absurd proceedings," said Mr. Wynn, 
 angrily. 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you will allow a servant to ride after me," 
 persisted Ida, whom this sort of opposition only served to 
 render more cool and decided. 
 
 " No servant of mine shall go with you. I tell you, I will 
 not countenance such proceedings," said Mr. Wynn. " If 
 you go to the Triangle on such an errand, you must go 
 alone." 
 
 " Then I will go alone," replied the undaunted girl ; and 
 she turned away suddenly as she spoke, and went to her own 
 room. ^ 
 
 Her heart swelled with indignation and pain. She had 
 28* 
 
328 IDA MAY. 
 
 really desired peace, and she had met with the most unreason 
 able and unreasoning contention. She had only desired 
 liberty to do quietly that which her conscience demanded, 
 and she found herself subjected to the most imperious despot 
 ism. As she went up the stairs, she saw her horse, still 
 saddled, standing where Walter had left him, and the thought 
 occurred to her, that now, better than at any other time, 
 she could accomplish her purpose of visiting her planta 
 tion, without being obliged to call upon any one for assist 
 ance. 
 
 " I will go this very day. The breach is rapidly widening 
 that sunders me from this family, and the sooner the business 
 is accomplished now, the better it will be for us all," she said 
 to herself, as she entered her chamber, and began to put on 
 her riding habit. 
 
 While she was thus, employed, Mrs. Wynn entered the 
 door. 
 
 " Where are you going, Ida ? " she asked, with a quiet sur 
 prise, as she marked the girl s flushed cheeks and hurried 
 movements. 
 
 " I am going to the Triangle," said Ida. 
 
 "To the Triangle! Why, dear child, it is eight mile; 
 away, sixteen miles you will have to ride ! You won t b 
 back before dinner." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Ida. If I don t return, you wii ; 
 please not say anything about it at the table. I think Mr 
 Wynn may not like it." 
 
IDA MAY. 329 
 
 " Mr. Wyim ! what has he to do with it ? and who is going 
 with you ? " 
 
 "Nobody; lam going alone." 
 
 " Alone ! why, my dear girl, you must n t think of it. 
 ;iabel and Walter rode away some time ago ; but you shall 
 Live a servant to go with you, if you are determined to take 
 so long a ride." 
 
 " I had rather not, clear Mrs. Wynn," said Ida, gently. 
 
 * But you must. Who ever heard of a young girl like 
 you riding so far alone? It will be very improper and 
 unsafe." 
 
 " Not exactly according to conventional rules, I know," 
 replied Ida ; " but still not really unsafe. Don t urge me, 
 for, indeed, I must go alone. To tell the truth, I have 
 spoken to Mr. Wynn about it, and he refuses to allow me an 
 escort." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Wynn sat down at these words, as if the allu 
 sion to her hiY^and had taken away all her strength. " 0," 
 said she, " it seems as if we should never know the last of 
 that sad trouble connected with Alfred ! You are a brave 
 girl, Ida, and a great comfort to Ma am Abby ; but sometimes 
 I wish you i ad not tried to intercede for her poor boy. It 
 frightens me to see how Mr. Wynn looks at you ever since ! 
 I do so dread any quarrelling, and now it seems as if we were 
 never to be rt peace again." 
 
 "I fear there will not be peace again while I remain 
 here," said xda, her eyes filling with tears; " but, dear friend, 
 you won t b^ame me, will you ? No one can tell the bitter 
 
* IDA MAY. 
 
 sorrow it has cost me to take this offensive position ; but, with 
 my convictions of duty, I cannot do otherwise ; and, since it 
 must be done, it had better be done quickly, and then I can 
 go away, and you will all be happy again." 
 
 "Don t speak so sadly, Ida," said kind little Mrs. Wynn; 
 " it is not you who have made the trouble, and something more 
 than your departure is needed to restore happiness, to me, at 
 least. Here is poor Maum Abby, who seems to me now like 
 an accusing spirit haunting the house, though, God knows, 
 iny heart aches as if it would burst every time I think of 
 her," she continued in a dejected tone ; " and that unfortunate 
 girl, Elsie, it distresses me to think of her. She was found 
 this morning again stretched senseless on Alfred s grave. 
 This is the third time she has been found there, and once she 
 was completely drenched with a soaking rain, that fell during 
 the night, and she has been in a high fever ever since. I can t 
 have a heart to be cross to her, and tell her she shan t come 
 here ; but I shall not be able to keep it much longer from 
 Mr. Wynn, and I know he will be angry. 0, < /ear Ida, you 
 don t know what trouble and anxiety! see before me for years- 
 to come ; and then to think that it is all because we are up- 
 / holding a terrible wrong ! 0, Ida, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " There is but little that you can do, dear Mrs. Wynn," 
 replied Ida, with an affectionate glance into the face that was 
 clouded with perplexity and grief. "You -have power to 
 render your servants much assistance, and make them far 
 happier than they would be otherwise, and in that you must 
 find comfort, and not distress yourself about those things 
 
IDA MAY. 331 
 
 wherein you are lettered by the authority or the action of 
 others. Impossibilities are never duties , as I told you when 
 we were talking yesterday on this subject. I trust Maum 
 Abby will grow more resigned and cheerful by and by, and 
 as time goes on, she must feel your kindness ; and I think 
 that poor little Elsie will not live long to trouble or offend 
 anybody. But I must not stand here to talk any longer, or 
 I shall not have time for my ride." 
 
 " I will not urge you any more," said Mrs. Wynn, " for, 
 young as you are, you seem to be better capable of guiding 
 me than I am of directing you ; but I do dread to have you 
 go alone, and certainly you must have something to eat before 
 you go. Come with me, and take a snack." 
 
 Ida willingly complied with this friendly suggestion, and, 
 having thus fortified herself against the demands of hunger, 
 she sprang lightly on her horse, who, tired with waiting her 
 pleasure so long, darted away the moment he felt the 
 touch of her whip. As she passed the library window, where 
 Mr. Wynn was sitting, he looked up, and his lip curled till 
 each " separate and individual hair " of his thin red beard 
 seemed bristling with wrath at the audacity with which she 
 had braved his displeasure. 
 
 Imperious and arbitrary by nature, it was not strange that 
 education and the influence of his position should have so 
 habituated him to a tyrannical imposition of his own will 
 upon those around him, that he was totally unprepared to 
 view with equanimity the course Ida was pursuing. That one 
 of his family should assume the right of self-guidance and 
 
3o2 IDA MAY. 
 
 oppose his ex Dressed wishes, or question the propriety of his 
 actions, seemed to him a monstrous and unheard-of act of 
 rebellion. Alfred s death had shaken him for a few hours?, 
 only to leave him more firmly rooted than ever in his habitual 
 self-will. It was an accident, he said to himself, owing 
 entirely to the obstinacy of the servant, and for which he 
 was in no way responsible ; and it irritated him to know or to 
 imagine that any of his household thought otherwise. 
 
 For a mile or two, Ida rode rapidly. It was a clear, sun 
 shiny day, and the swift motion, the brightness all around 
 her, and the pleasant air filled with the aroma of the budding 
 pines, raised her spirits and nerved her energies for the duties 
 that lay before her. But, as the sun rose high in the heavens, 
 and the heat grew oppressive, and the flat sandy road became 
 wearisome, doubts, fears and discouraging thoughts again per 
 plexed her, as she reflected upon the difficulties that must be 
 encountered, and the responsibility she was assuming, and on 
 her own youth and inexperience, and the loneliness of her 
 position, without one friend to aid her, except Walter Varian. 
 The idea of being obliged to involve him in her troubles, or to 
 depend upon him for help, was worse to her than all the rest. 
 
 It was, therefore, with a slower pace, and a somewhat sad 
 dened brow, that, six miles from Wynn Hall, she turned away 
 from the main road, and entered the narrow and shady one, 
 which she recognized as leading to the Triangle, by a tall 
 dead pine-tree, of peculiar shape, that stood at its entrance. 
 It was a pleasant winding path, but intersected by many 
 others which crossed it in all directions ; and, before she had 
 
IDA MAY. 333 
 
 ridden a mile, she began to be puzzled, as many another 
 traveller has been in those pine lands, to know which of the 
 various roads, all looking exactly alike, converging, diverg 
 ing, running in parallels, or meeting in circles, she ought to 
 pursue, in- order to reach her plantation. After making 
 several turnings, she ,began to fear she had lost her way, and 
 seeing at a little distance a deep shady hollow, where an old 
 woman was washing beside a spring, she rode in between the 
 tall, straight trees, which here rose like the pillars of a cathe 
 dral, supporting a roof of closely-woven branches, through 
 which the sunshine came, softened into a dim green light, that 
 suited well the cloistered stillness of the place. 
 
 The woman who was pursuing her labors in this secluded 
 spot seemed to be between sixty and seventy years of age. 
 She was bent and wrinkled, and the hair which showed itself 
 under her scanty turban was literally " white as wool" She 
 wore a sack or short gown, of very thick gray cloth, which 
 came a little below her hips, and the rest of her person was 
 covered by three or four ragged petticoats, which, mingled in 
 a picturesque confusion of tatters, hung from under this upper 
 garment ; and her feet and ancles were bound about with 
 strips of rags in place of stockings, while on the ground, under 
 her washing-bench, was a pair of cowhide shoes, of the rudest 
 and strongest construction. She looked up from her work, as 
 Ida drew near, with an expression of sullen curiosity ; but, after 
 a momentary glance at the fair vision, she seemed to regard 
 her presence as an annoying interruption of her work, and 
 though she answered the questions addressed to her, in a 
 
334 IDA MAY. 
 
 respectful manner, she was evidently little disposed to the 
 loquacity so common among the negroes. 
 
 While Ida was ascertaining the route she must take to 
 gain her plantation, and its distance, certain sounds, which, 
 for the last fifteen minutes, she had heard at intervals, became 
 louder and more frequent, and, as she paused and looked with 
 some alarm in the direction whence they proceeded, a pack 
 of fierce-looking blood-hounds, of the largest size, burst through 
 a low coppice of laurel that grew on the edge of the stream 
 at a little distance, and, with their noses close to the ground, 
 pursued a straight course through the hollow, and disappeared 
 in the woods beyond. Ida drew back, with involuntary dread 
 of the ferocious creatures, who seemed strong enough to have 
 dragged her from her horse and devoured her, if they had 
 chosen to notice her presence. But, to her surprise, the 
 woman manifested no alarm, and made no effort to hide from 
 them, but stood looking after them, without speaking, until 
 the sound of their hoarse baying grew faint in the distance. 
 " Are you not afraid ? " said Ida. 
 
 " No," said she, with a short, bitter laugh, while the gloom 
 of her face deepened, " no, I a n t scare ! I a n t de runaway 
 nigger ! Dem creturs knows what dey bout ! Dey on de 
 track now, yer see ! I knows em ! I se seed em go traight 
 t rough a hull gang, wOrkin in de fieP, an neber tetch one ! " 
 " I ve heard of these things before," said Ida, speaking 
 rather to herself than her companion, but it don t seem as 
 if dogs could be so well trained ! " 
 
 " Dem a n t dogs, dem s debits " said the woman, in a 
 
IDA MAY. 385 
 
 sharp, angry tone. " De a n t nothin hunts niggers like dat 
 ar gang do, thout de debil is in em. Dat de reason why de 
 nigger so scare when he hear em. He know de debil a ter 
 him, he can t git way, no how. Ki ! dem a n t dogs ! " 
 
 Just then two men, on horseback, armed with guns, and 
 ferocious-looking as the dogs they were following, came 
 through the coppice, and passed along near them. They 
 half stopped, and looked at Ida suspiciously, as they saw her 
 talking with the woman, and their rude, lawless gaze made 
 her glad of the presence even of one who could afford little 
 protection ; but they did not speak to her, and, though they 
 often looked back, they offered no molestation. 
 
 " The dogs belong to those men, I suppose," said Ida, 
 breathing more freely when they were out of sight. 
 
 " Yes, dey all brongs togeder, they all sarve dere inassa," 
 replied the woman, sententiously. 
 
 " Do you know who they are after ? ; asked Ida. 
 
 " I reckon ! " replied she, " I hearn massa tellin somethin 
 to dem ar men las night, when I se up de house, pay in my 
 wage. I reckon dere a n t many he s niggers run far thout 
 habin dese yer debils arter em. Teller Sam done kotch it, 
 fore dis day done shed, I tell yer." 
 
 " Who is your master ? " said Ida. 
 
 " Name Massa John Laikin," answered her companion. 
 
 " Are you washing for his family ? Why do you bring 
 your work so far from the house ? " said Ida, who knew 
 where the gentleman referred to resided. 
 
 " 0, I se ole woman, yer see, and so he let me hire myself 
 29 
 
836 IDA MAY. 
 
 and I lives little piece down here by de wood, and gets de 
 washing from de folks in de tavern. Sometime heap o folks 
 dere, and den I does mighty well." 
 
 " What do you pay your master ? " Ida asked. 
 
 " Five dollar, and find myself," replied the woman. 
 
 " Five dollars a month ! that is more than a dollar a 
 week ! " exclaimed Ida. " How can an old wpman, like you, 
 earn enough to pay your master so much, and find food and 
 clothing for yourself? " 
 
 ^ I does n t allers," said the woman, with a half sigh; " but 
 den Mass John keep de count de week when I don t bring 
 de whole dollar, an I pays him up when I gets it. Mass 
 allers manage some way come out square when de month 
 come roun ." 
 
 " But how do you get your own food and clothes ? " 
 
 " 0, I jest does de best I can. Sometimes I gets little 
 guv me. De ladies guv me all dese petticoats, long time go," 
 she answered, taking . hold of her accumulated rags ; " and 
 sometime my chillen send me little. My son, down in 
 Charleston, he skinch heself o trousers, and send me de cloth 
 for make dis nice warm sack, keep me warm in de cole days 
 and nights." 
 
 " I am glad your children help you, for you must find it 
 rather hard to get along," said Ida, compassionately. 
 
 " Well, missis, what wid all dem tings, and getting my 
 little bacca, and my little tea, and my little lasses, and my 
 little bit o bacon, it do come pretty hard, sometime, on a 
 
IDA MAY. 337 
 
 poor old cretur. Nobody knows, but de Lord, he knows," 
 she added, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " But if you can go to Him with your troubles," said Ida, 
 " and ask Him to give you strength and patience to bear 
 them, and to make you good, so that you can go to heaven 
 when you die ; arid, if you can have a sure hope that you are 
 a Christian, you have one comfort that nobody can take away 
 from you." 
 
 It was strange to see how the gloom and the sullen expres 
 sion faded from the old woman s face, as Ida was speaking, 
 and in its place there came a smile of interest and of hope. 
 Those worus nad touched the chords of a spiritual life, which, 
 wherever appealed to, whether in the breast of the high or 
 the lowly, the educated or the ignorant, send forth -the same 
 unfailing strain of joy and triumph. 
 
 " Dat it ! " she exclaimed, " dat it, missis ! It am de 
 sure hope o de odder worle dat helps us when dis worle am 
 all dark. Sometime it look hard, and jest when I tink, now 
 I se done pented, an de Lord, he done forgive me, an I se 
 mighty good Christian, den de debil come, and it all go way, 
 an I don t see nothin but heap o sin all roun me. Den I 
 pray, pray much, pray all night, may be, and den de 
 hope all come back, an I mighty glad gain. But t wont be 
 allers so, missis, I feels t wont ! In de odder worle de debil 
 won t have no chance to upset us, like he do now ; and den 
 how happy vr: will be! 0, de sufferin s o dis yer time a n t 
 * nothin , a n t nothing pared to de glory dat s gwine be 
 Vealed inter us den ! " 
 
338 IDA MAY. 
 
 " That is a blessed promise to the tired and the suffering," 
 said Ida. " Only think how great that glory and happiness 
 must be, which will outweigh all the sorrows we have to 
 endure in this woyld ! And God gives us a great deal to 
 enjoy, even in this world, in thinking of those things which 
 he has in store for us in heaven." 
 
 " Dat it, dat it, pears like we se rich when we has 
 dis sher, ef we don t have nothin else ! " exclaimed the 
 woman, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ida \ "and to the poor and the suffering 
 God often gives more of the consolations of his grace than he 
 does to those who are rich, and have other things to make 
 them happy." 
 
 "Dat it, dat it!" repeated Jhe woman, holding up 
 both hands with a solemn gesture. "0, miss, you se rick, 
 and you se white, and you se free ; but de Lord, up in 
 
 Sheaben, he care for de poor and de lowly, jest de same he 
 do for you ; an ef it wan t for de good probidence o de Lord, 
 I dono what de poor nigger would do." 
 
 The earnest manner in which these simple and touching 
 words were spoken, affected Ida deeply. Nothing had ever 
 so convicted her of her own want of faith nd submission ; 
 for, in her heart, she had been murmuring at the Providence 
 which had ordered for her such a changeful and lonely life, 
 and made her so early fatherless and motherless. She had 
 shrunk despondingly from Jhe trial and the task before her, 
 and almost arraigned the wisdom which had appointed such a 
 duty for one so helpless and so friendless. " ! " said she 
 
IDA MAY. 339 
 
 to herself, " if this miserable woman, aged and destitute of 
 all that makes life a blessing, can have such faith in God, 
 and such submission to his will, how much more should I ! " 
 And it was with a humble and chastened heart that, after 
 having given her companion a small sum of money, she pur 
 sued her way, meeting with no further hindrance or adventure, 
 until she arrived at the entrance of the narrow road that led 
 through the plantation. 
 
 Here she paused a moment, to collect her thoughts, and to 
 survey the scene before her. The whole extent of the farm 
 was visible from the place where she stood ; its level surface, 
 unbroken by fences, and now destitute of vegetation, showing 
 the brown soil formed from the trap-rock, which once yielded 
 such abundant crops, but which had now, by that very means 
 and by subsequent bad management, become thin and ex 
 hausted. Scattered over the field, in the distance, were a few 
 negroes at work, beating down the old cotton-stalks with 
 clubs ; but no one was near, and Ida rode slowly along, 
 towards a group of log-huts, that stood under the shadow of 
 the black jack oaks that skirted the treeless expanse. Her 
 heart sank within her, as she stopped before each door, and 
 looked within the miserable dwellings, which presented only a 
 picture of discomfort and filth, and reflected that, though they 
 seemed hardly fit habitations for cattle, they were the homes 
 of human beings, at the expense of whose poverty she had 
 been living in luxury. Knowing Mr. Wynn s views on these 
 subjects, and his treatment of his own field-hands, she had not 
 expected to find more than the bare necessaries of life, in itf 
 29* 
 
340 IDA M A V . 
 
 lowest estate ; but she was unprepared for such utter destitu 
 tion. In fact, Mr. Wynn himself was hardly aware of it. 
 He had left everything to the overseer, and thought his duty 
 as a guardian was fulfilled in obtaining the largest possible 
 income for his ward. 
 
 At the door of one hut an old woman, evidently blind, 
 was sitting, holding a wretched-looking baby, while two others 
 lay on the ground before her. A little further on several 
 children, no one of them having sufficient clothing to answer 
 the purposes of decency, were playing and quarrelling to 
 gether. Appalled and disheartened, Ida passed them all 
 without speaking, and proceeded some rods further, towards 
 a low building, used for storing cotton and other products of 
 the plantation. As she came near, she heard the sound of 
 voices raised in anger and entreaty, and then a swinging 
 blow, followed by a shriek. Hastily .dismounting from her 
 horse, she pushed open the door and entered. 
 
 A short, ruffianly-looking man stood before her, with a 
 long, heavy whip raised in his hand to give a second blow to 
 the quivering, naked creature who was tied to a beam on one 
 side of the shed, his hands drawn so high above his head that 
 only the points of his toes rested on the floor. Near them a 
 woman was crouching on the floor, her scanty dress half torn 
 from her shoulders, and her face bowed on her knees in a 
 posture of fear and despair. 
 
 At the glare of light which streamed in upon them on the 
 opening of the door, the man turned, and started with aston 
 ishment at the unexpected vision that was revealed. 
 
IDA MAY. 34J 
 
 " What is all this about ? why do you whip that man ? " 
 said Ida, coming forward with an air of dignity and authority, 
 which compelled respect. The man stared at her a few 
 moments, and then she repeated her question. He answered 
 in a tone half sullen and half insolent, 
 
 "I don t know what business you have interfering, but I 
 ha n t no objections to tellin you that this sher wench desarved 
 a noggin , and I told this boy to give it to her, and cause he 
 would n t I ve tied him up, and after I ve given him a first- 
 rate cutting-up, I m going to give her another. I 11 larn 
 ein to tell me they won t, the impudent niggers ! " 
 
 He shook his fist at the kneeling woman as he spoke, but 
 she crept forward a little, and, seeing compassion in Ida s 
 face, she said tremblingly, 
 
 " 0, miss, he be my husband, he couldn t b ar to beat 
 me!" 
 
 Ida laid her delicate little hand on the woman s head, as if 
 to shield her, and turning to the overseer, whom she had seen 
 once before, and whose name she now remembered, she said, 
 
 " Mr. Potter, take that man down immediately, and sead 
 him to his work. I won t have either of them whipped." 
 
 The woman gave a stifled exclamation of joy at these 
 words, and pressed the folds of Ida s dress with both hands to 
 her forehead, as if performing an act of worship ; but the 
 overseer uttered a brutal oath, and, bringing the leaden end 
 of his whip-handle heavily down on the floor, exclaimed 
 
 "Who are you? Go about your business, and leave mo 
 to manage mine ! " 
 
342 IDA MAY. 
 
 c< Your business is mine also," said Ida, kindly but firmly. 
 " I am the owner of this plantation, and of these negroes. 
 I am Miss May ! " 
 
 There was something in her manner that enforced the truth 
 of her words ; and, knowing that if they were true it was for 
 his interest not to offend her, he muttered, in a half-respectful 
 tone, 
 
 " If you be Miss May, they be your n, sure enough ; but 
 how came you here this time o day ? Why did n t Mr. 
 Wynn come with you ? " 
 
 " I chose to come alone," said lui, with a gentle dignity 
 that repressed further questioning. " Do you not remember 
 me ? I saw you at the hall Christmas day. You were just 
 leaving as I arrived there. Mr. Wynn paid you some money 
 as you stood on the piazza, before the library window." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, miss," said the man, gruffly, now fully 
 convinced of Ida s identity. " I does remember somebody 
 comin that day, and I see you knows all about me. But 
 this sher boy and gall does desarve a whippin powerful, an 
 if I m goin ter have the care o the plantation, yer see 
 t won t do fur ye to interfere. That s what Mr. Wynn 
 allers tells his niggers when they complains bout his over 
 seer." 
 
 " We will talk about that some other time," said Ida. 
 At present I want to see that man taken down." 
 
 Mr. Potter obeyed this request without further parley, but 
 with evident reluctance, and he shook his whip threateningly 
 at the man and woman as they crept away cowcringly before 
 
IDA MAY. 343 
 
 his angry glance, thankful for their release from the impend 
 ing punishment, but half doubting if their deliverer had 
 power to ensure them against his future vengeance. Left 
 alone with him in the vacant and dusky building, Ida felt 
 half afraid of the rude nature whose savage propensities she 
 had restrained. Standing in the doorway, she said, 
 
 " I saw a woman standing on the piazza of your house. 
 If you will allow me, I will go up there and rest awhile, for 
 I am very much fatigued with my long ride, and, meantime, 
 we will talk a little about the state of things here. Mr. 
 Wynn tells me you have managed the place admirably since 
 you have been here, and I thought you would be able to give 
 me more direct information about it than any one else." 
 
 This compliment, which was intended to conciliate, had 
 something of its desired effect, for the angry brow cleared a 
 little, and lifting his hat to scratch his head, an operation 
 for which his long black finger-nails, seemed expressly adapted, 
 Mr. Potter said, with an awkward effort at politeness, 
 
 " T a n t much of a place, my house a n t, but sich as t is 
 you r welcome to go and sit down there if you re tired. If 
 I d a known you was comin , I d a told the wench to tidy 
 up a little." 
 
 The house referred to stood a few rods distant, and its 
 occupant had told but the sober truth when he said it was 
 not much of a place. It was a small wooden building, con 
 taining four rooms, two on the ground floor and two above 
 The unfailing piazza surrounded the lower story, and the 
 windows were secured with thick wooden shutters, which were 
 
344 IDA MAY. 
 
 closed in every room except one, thus giving the house, from 
 which the rain had long ago washed every trace of paint, a 
 desolate and jail-like aspect, enhanced still further by its 
 position in the bare open field, destitute of a garden or of 
 any tree or shrub to enliven its dark exterior. In Mr. May- 
 nard s time there had been trees before the house and a 
 garden around it, for the overseer who then presided was 
 blessed with a wife and children, and had some regard for 
 the amenities of life ; but he had quarrelled with Mr. Wynn 
 soon after Mr. Maynard left the country, and Mr. Potter. 
 who took his place, was a different sort of a man. So the 
 trees had been felled, that he might be enabled while walking 
 on the piazza to view all parts of the extensive field, and the 
 garden fence had been burned for fuel, and the garden 
 ploughed up. 
 
 When they reached it, a bold, slatternly-looking mulatto 
 girl, who was sitting on the piazza, engaged in mending some 
 of her master s garments, rose from her chair, and, with a 
 curious stare at Ida, retreated slowly within the house. She 
 took the vacant seat, and Mr. Potter perching himself on the 
 section of a pine log, that lay on the floor, she proceeded to 
 ask him questions about the farm, and to ascertain the ages 
 and the capacities of the different negroes whom she was 
 proposing to transform from " chattels personal " into men and 
 women. He told her what she desired to know with a sort 
 of surly good-nature, and she found him to be a shrewd man, 
 with common sense ideas of business matters, priding himself 
 greatly on his capability for saving money, and caring for 
 
IDA MAY. 345 
 
 little else in this world. The conversation lasted for some 
 time, and Ida was surprised, at length, on looking at her 
 watch, to find that it was nearly four o clock in the afternoon. 
 She rose hastily, and at the same moment a vivid flash of 
 lightning seemed to fall from the heavens above them, and 
 a crashing peal of thunder was heard. Ida sprang down the 
 steps and looked up. The house faced the west, where the 
 sun was shining in the cloudless blue, and thus she had been 
 wholly unconscious of the thick and heavy clouds which had 
 risen from the opposite quarter, and now, towering high in 
 the zenith, and piling themselves up in formidable array, 
 covered nearly half the sky. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " exclaimed she, in perplexity. " If 
 I wait for the shower to be over it will be too late to reach 
 home before dark, and yet there is no hope of escaping it if 
 I start now." 
 
 " That s a fact," said Mr. Potter, who now stood beside 
 her, and cast a weatherwise glance around. " This season * 
 has come up mighty sudden, but we re goin to have a 
 stunner before it s over. I should n t wonder if it rained all 
 night." 
 
 " I should n t care so much for getting wet," said Ida ; 
 " but my horse is afraid of the lightning, and it is really 
 unsafe to be among the trees in such a storm." 
 
 " If you wait, perhaps Mr. Wynn will send the carriage. 
 Tf I may speak my mind, you d a done better to come thai 
 
 * In Carolina " season " is the common term for a shower of rain. 
 
446 IDA MAY. 
 
 way in the first place, but t a n t none o my business, I 
 
 spose." 
 
 This remark, which, by recalling to Ida her morning con 
 ference with Mr. Wynn, reminded her how entirely she must 
 now depend upon herself, decided her what to do ; and, 
 springing upon her horse, she said, 
 
 " I must trust to Providence to delay the storm until I can 
 get to a place of shelter." 
 
 " There is a tavern down in the village, three miles or so 
 from here, taking the fust right hand road after you cross the 
 branch ; ^ but I don t reckon you could even get there, fore 
 the storm. It 11 rain plough-shares and hoe-handles in five 
 minutes."* 
 
 " I must try it, nevertheless," said Ida, who shrank instinct 
 ively from spending the night where she was ; but, as she 
 turned her horse s head towards the road, she was astonished 
 to see little Dick in a wagon standing half way between the 
 house and the entrance of the farm, from which Yenus was 
 just alighting, bearing in her arms a large carpet-bag. Hid 
 ing rapidly up to them, she heard, as she came near, the loud, 
 shrill tones of Venus, exclaiming, 
 
 "Now I say you shall stay till I can speak to Miss Ida. 
 P raps mought be she like to go home with yer." 
 
 " No," said Dick, " you don t cotch dis chile stopping for 
 nothin in dis place, when Mass Richard tell him not, wid 
 dot ar look on he face. Let go de hos head, yer ole fool ! " 
 and, giving the animal a cut with the whip, which also fell 
 
 * That is, brook. 
 
I T) A MAY. 347 
 
 partly on Venus hand, the sable Jehu wheeled around and 
 drove, away. 
 
 " What can be the meaning of this ? " thought Ida, with a 
 sudden faintness of heart, that was not at all alleviated by the 
 expression of Venus face as she turned to her. 
 
 " What ar all dis sher bout ? " she exclaimed ; " what yer 
 been doin make Mass Richard mad ? Bress de honey, I se 
 do wish she let de brack folks lone, not be all time gettin 
 kito scrapes ! " she added, in a tone of vexation. " Spose 
 it s sumthin bout Maum Abby, a n t it ? " 
 
 " I don t know what it is, mauma. How came you here ? " 
 replied Ida, feeling ready to cry, at the dilemma to which she 
 v, T as reduced. 
 
 " How cum I here ? Mass Richard send me," said Venus, 
 " He look like thunder cloud, and say, * Go put up Miss Ida s* 
 night-dress, and get ready to ride with Dick. < Whar ar 
 she, massa ? I say. Den he scowl, and say, * No matter ; 
 and tell me give you dis note, and tell Dick leave me here 
 and go right straight home." 
 
 She handed Ida a note, as she spoke ; and, opening it with 
 trembling hands, she read the following brief epistle : 
 
 " Having left the premises of her guardian, in the most 
 unladylike and contumacious manner, Miss May will see the 
 propriety of not returning until she shall be requested to do 
 so by some member of his family." 
 
 " Cruel ! tyrannical ! What shall I do ? " she exclaimed, 
 30 
 
348 IDA MAY. 
 
 in distress ; and a few hot tears fell on the paper as sh 
 crushed it in her hand, indignantly. 
 
 Meantime, swift as winged messengers of wrath, black as 
 Tartarean gloom, the clouds had spread over towards the 
 west, and the sunlight was growing dim. The air had become 
 heavy and oppressive, and an ominous, death-like stillness 
 brooded over the earth, like the calm with which a brave soul 
 awaits the stroke of doom. There was a distant flash, a long, 
 low peal of muttering thunder, and then, from directly above 
 them, there darted a blinding, enveloping glare, and a tree, 
 which stood by the gate a few rods, distant, fell to the ground 
 shivered into a thousand fragments. Ida s horse reared and 
 plunged violently forward, and it was with great difficulty 
 that she mastered him, and retained her seat ; but the sudden 
 shock, and the violent physical exertion, restored her self- 
 possession, and. beckoning to Venus to follow, she rode back 
 to the house. 
 
 She sprang from her horse, who, snorting wildly, dashed 
 away the moment he felt himself free, and, running up the 
 steps of the piazza where Mr. Potter was standing, who had 
 been an amazed spectator of her meeting with Venus, she 
 said to him, hurriedly, 
 
 " You see, we must stay here to-night. It would be wild 
 to brave this storm." 
 
 " Is that your servant with the big bag ? " the man asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ida. " You can accommodate us in some 
 way, I hope." 
 
 " You 11 have to put up with what you can get, I reckon," 
 
IDA MAY. 349 
 
 said the man, with a short, insolent laugh. " I don t feel 
 right sure that you re what you pretends. It looks powerful 
 strange for one o Mr. Wynn s^ young ladies to be comin here 
 this way, and he as proud as the devil. Likely story you 
 b long to him ! " 
 
 " I assure you," said Ida, earnestly, concealing her fear of 
 his rude manner as well as possible, " I assure you it is as I 
 have said. I had no idea of remaining when I came, but now 
 C must stay, and you surely will own my right to a lodging in 
 my own house." 
 
 " If t is yourn, you re welcome to the whole on t, rats and 
 all," he answered, with another of those disagreeable laughs, 
 that made his listener tremble, while they angered her. "But 
 how am I to know it s yourn ? Here you come fust, and 
 then your gal with this truck," he added, kicking the bag 
 which Venus had now laid on the floor beside her. " It looks 
 mighty like you d been turned out doors, neck and heels ; 
 and I reckon you 11 find yourself mistaken, if you think I m 
 goin ? to have any impostors comin here orderin me round 
 and interferin and askin questions." 
 
 Ida was ready to sink with chagrin and fear ; but, control 
 ling herself, and speaking firmly, though her face was white as 
 marble, and her lips seemed stiffening, she answered, 
 
 "Your language is somewhat rough, but I think you cannot 
 mean what you say. You surely would not turn away any one 
 from your door in such a storm as this ; and you must know, 
 that, even if Mr. Wynn has refused me his house, I am no less 
 
350 IDA MAT. 
 
 the owner of this property, and of that fact I can bring abun 
 dant proof." 
 
 In his excitement, Mr. Potter had not thought of this. He 
 had so long regarded Mr. Wynn as the director of affairs, that 
 it was hard for him to realize the ownership of another ; and, 
 puzzled as he was respecting his unexpected guests, he bit his 
 lip, and turned sulkily away, while Ida and Venus entered 
 the house. 
 
 It was a wretched-looking place. The hall was half filled 
 with pine knots and sticks cut for firewood, and though the 
 mulatto girl, apprehensive that Ida would enter, had hastily 
 swept up the floor of the only room inhabited, and made some 
 slight attempt at order, she had not succeeded in hiding its 
 dreary discomfort. But there was little inclination to note 
 this now. The lightning had become incessant, and the un 
 natural darkness of the hour was lighted with a lurid glare 
 that clothed everything within the room, and all the land 
 scape without, in a weird purple light, indescribably awful. 
 The thunder rolled and reverberated, coming continually nearer 
 with its loud, heavy crashing, until the whole house shook, 
 and the very earth seemed to tremble ; and then, suddenly, 
 swiftly as if the foundations of the firmament were broken up, 
 down came the deluging rain. 
 
 The overseer had followed Ida into the house ; but, as the 
 storm increased, he could no longer disguise his fears, and, 
 after one or two attempts to swear at the mulatto girl, who 
 was trembling and moaning in the darkest corner of the 
 room, he threw himself down on the bed that stood on one 
 
IDA MAY. 35 J 
 
 side the fireplace, and, burying his face in the pillow, remained 
 nilent and motionless. 
 
 Seated opposite the window, at a little distance from it, Ida 
 viewed the scene. She had been harassed and distressed 
 when she entered the room, but soon all that passed away. 
 Her hands, that lay in her lap, were clasped unconsciously, 
 and with her head bent a little forward, her eyes .dilated, her 
 lips apart, she gazed in silence ; but she was pale from excite 
 ment now, and not from fear. All the enthusiasm, all the 
 poetical sensibility of her nature was aroused ; but what moved 
 her more than all was the appeal to her religious feelings. 
 The lightnings, wheret^y it seemed as if an invisible hand was 
 
 writing mysterious truths, in sharp, jagged characters, on that 
 
 . 
 dark wall of cloud ; the livid radiance, tljat quivered through 
 
 the air, and ran along the ground/ amid the dashing of the 
 fast-falling rain; the shock of the thunder, sounding and 
 reechoing from every part of the heavens; all this tumult and 
 strife of the elements spoke to her of God; and before this 
 display of his power her soul exulted and expanded with a 
 sublime faith. She felt his presence. She heard his voice. 
 In the rushing tempest he addressed her, and as she listened 
 she was no longer afraid. That God, whose will alone controls 
 these agencies, beneath which the gigantic products of nature, 
 and the mighty works of the human race, are cast down and 
 destroyed, and at whose lightest touch man shrinks and 
 shrivels like a leaf, was he not able to deliver her from the 
 snares that had been laid for her, from the dangers and evils 
 that beset her path ? Her whole being was bowed in adora- 
 30* 
 
352 IDA MAY. 
 
 tion, as the glory of his majesty was thus revealed, and her 
 heart was filled with confidence and peace. Half uncon 
 sciously, she chanted, in a low voice, those words that were 
 sung in clarion tones of triumph, long ago, among the hills 
 of Judea : 
 
 Then the earth shook and trembled, 
 The foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, 
 Because He was wroth. 
 There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, 
 And fire out of his mouth devoured. 
 He bowed the heavens also and came down, 
 And darkness was under his feet. 
 He made darkness his secret place. 
 His pavilion round about him were dark waters 
 And thick clouds of the skies. 
 The Lord also thundered in the heavens, 
 The Highest gave his voice ; hailstones and coals of fire. 
 At the brightness that was before him his thick clouds passe-l ; 
 Hailstones and coals of fire. 
 He sent from above, he took me, 
 He drew me out of many waters, 
 He brought me forth also into a large place, 
 He delivered me, because he delighted in me. * 
 
 After an hour of incessant fury, the storm abated a little. 
 The lightning became less vivid and incessant, and the house 
 ceased to rock with the violent concussion of the thunder- 
 , peals. The overseer rose from his bed, and stretching him- 
 eelf as if he had been asleep, though no one could have slum 
 bered in the midst of that noise, he came to the fireplace, 
 where a few embers were still burning, and laying his hand 
 
IDA MAY. 353 
 
 with no gentle touch on the shoulder of the girl, who was still 
 crouching; there, he said, with an oath, 
 
 " Why don t you get up and go about your business, you 
 hussy ? Don t you see it s most dark ? What you scared 
 at ? There s been a devil of a row, to be sure, but we ve all 
 lived through it, and I reckon we shall." 
 
 " I be n t scare," said the girl, as she lifted her head. " I 
 was, to de fust, but I be n t scare now ; but dat ar miss 
 am lookin out de winder, and she won t want it shet." 
 
 " Well; go out and bring in the wood for to-night, then, 
 and we 11 see," replied the man. " I reckon I m master 
 here, yet." 
 
 The girl did as she was commanded ; and, meantime, a few 
 low-spoken, rapid words of explanation passed between Ida 
 and Venus, for the latter, knowing that her mistress liked to 
 be left to her own thoughts unmolested, at such a time as 
 this, and having learned from her example a certain fearless 
 ness of the electrical phenomena, very unusual with persons 
 of her class, had refrained from the questions she longed to 
 ask, and sat silently on the floor at Ida s feet, until Mr. Pot-* 
 ter s coarse voice broke the spell, and called her thoughts back 
 from the high regions where they had wandered. 
 
CHAPTEK XIV, 
 
 It gives me wonder great as my content , 
 
 To see you here before me. 0, my soul s joy ! 
 
 If after every tempest come such calms, 
 
 May the winds blow till they have wakened death ! " 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 the mulatto girl had brought in quite a quantity 
 of wood from the hall, she locked and bolted the outer door, 
 and then, entering the room, closed that door also carefully 
 behind her, securing it with two wooden bars, which * crossed 
 it at the top and near the floor, fitting into iron sockets in 
 the casement. Somewhat startled, and wondering to see such 
 precaution that seemed excessive, Ida asked Mr. Potter why 
 he had his door so securely fastened ; but he was stooping 
 down over the fire which he was kindling, and pretended not 
 to hear her. 
 
 The girl then lit a yellow candle, which she placed in a 
 battered brass candlestick, and then, approaching the window 
 she put out her hand to close the- shutter. 
 
 " Don t you do dat," said Venus, interposing. " Miss Ida 
 allers likes to look out when de lightnin shine." 
 
 " It dark," said the girl ; we allers shets em at dark." 
 
IDA MAY. 355 
 
 " Leave it a little while longer," said Ida, gently. She 
 felt an undefined dread of being barricaded thus in this 
 small room with such companions. 
 
 " It dark now ! " persisted the girl. " Dey allers comes 
 and looks in ef we leaves em open ater dark." 
 
 " Dey ! who dey be ? " asked Venus, still keeping hold of 
 the window. 
 
 " Dey looks in, I say," repeated she. " Let me shet em. : 
 
 " Who be dey ? What harm dey do when dey looks in ? " 
 said Venus. , 
 
 " Dey ! why de ghosts, you stupid nigger ! " retorted the 
 other, bluntly. " Dey allers comes bout dis time, ef I don t 
 shet em." 
 
 Venus retreated a little, and looked with a bewildered air 
 at the window and then at the girl ; but she rallied in a 
 moment, and said, 
 
 " Ghosts ! de a n t no sich. My miss say dere a n t, you 
 fool ! " 
 
 " Dey is, too ! " replied the girl, with an earnest air, as if 
 she fully believed her own words. " Dey all bout dis yer 
 house nights. Lor ! we hears em de whole time, trampin 
 and poundin . Lor ! you wait ! " 
 
 " But did you ever see them ? " asked Ida. " Are you 
 sure it is not the rats you hear ? " 
 
 " See em ! Lor ! miss, yes," replied she. " Many time, 
 ater dark, I se seed em come an flat dere noses gainst de 
 winder, lookin in. Dat de reason we allers shet de shetter 
 when come dark. Lor ! I se seed em heap o time ! " 
 
356 IDA MAY. 
 
 " I reckon they won t come to-night, anyway," said Ida. 
 who could not help laughing at the ludicrous idea of a ghost 
 flattening its nose; " and I prefer to have the window left 
 open. The room will be very close with it shut." 
 
 The girl looked round at her master in perplexity, but he 
 broke out with a string of oaths, and bade her shut the 
 shutter and not stand there fooling, but come and get supper. 
 He never commenced a sentence without swearing, but his 
 profanity seemed more than ever horrible in contrast with his 
 craven fear during the hour previous. 
 
 Having closed and barred the window, as she had done the 
 door, the girl brought forth a few broken dishes, from a small 
 closet over the fireplace, and proceeded to get the supper 
 ready. Mr. Potter sat smoking a short pipe in dogged 
 silence, fortunately sitting so near the wide chimney that 
 the draft carried most of the offensive smoke out into the 
 open air. Ida addressed one or two remarks to him, but he 
 would not answer, and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. The 
 girl seemed to take the cue from her master, and her bold, 
 insolent replies were even more offensive than his taciturnity ; 
 so, after a few efforts, they gave up the attempt at conversa 
 tion, and looked on in silence while the girl fried some bacon 
 and made some tea, and placing on the table some black, 
 hard-looking corn cakes, announced that supper was ready. 
 
 The man drew his chair up to the table when he heard 
 this, and turning to Ida said grainy, 
 
 " If you want some supper, you better move up. Now 
 you re here, I spose you may as well eat." 
 
I D A M A Y . 00 I 
 
 Before Ida could reply, Venus, whose wrath had been 
 gathering at the various insults offered her mistress, started 
 to her feet, exclaiming, 
 
 "Dat de way you talk to my miss? You old cantankerous 
 creatur , don t you know she your miss too ? You set down 
 fust thout waiting for her ! You d wait till she got through 
 fore you d eat a mouthful, ef you know d what s jnanners. 
 You spose my miss eat sich trash as dat ! Nuff to make a 
 nigger sick to look at it ! " 
 
 " Hush, Venus ! do," exclaimed Ida, greatly distressed as 
 she saw the effect of these rash words. 
 
 " 0, let her go on ! let her ! she better try it ! She better 
 stick up her nose at me ! I a n t going to play second fiddle 
 to no woman, while niggers is round, and I a n t noways 
 sure neither of yer is what you pretend to be. Yer better 
 not provoke me ; I can manage both of yer." 
 
 Venus was going on with her defiant anger, but the ex 
 pression of fear and trouble on Ida s face restrained her, and 
 she sat down again abruptly, turning her back to him. 
 
 " Don t mind her," said Ida, who. feeling herself wholly 
 in the power of this rude being, was anxious to conciliate 
 him. As she spoke, she drew her chair nearer the table, and 
 endeavored to eat something, that He might not think she 
 disdained his surly hospitality, at the same time forcing her 
 self to talk of events connected with Mr. Wynn and his 
 family, both to divert his attention from Venus and also to 
 impress him, in this indirect manner, with the idea that, in 
 spite of the circumstances that had aroused his suspicion, she 
 
008 IDA MAY. 
 
 was roally the owner of the farm on which he lived, and it 
 would be for his interest to treat her well. But, as he rose 
 from the table after finishing his meal, he reached over 
 towards her to take a piece of bread from a plate beside her, 
 and she discovered that his breath smelled strongly of some 
 intoxicating liquor. Her heart sank within her. This, then, 
 explained the reason why he had grown increasingly rude ; 
 and here she was, far from all help, shut up with a half- 
 tipsy savage, and a girl who seemed capable of being his ac 
 complice in any wickedness, with only Venus to aid her in 
 any scene that might ensue. 
 
 A wild fear thrilled her soul. She rose from her chair, with 
 a sudden determination to go forth into the darkness and the 
 night storm, rather than remain where she was ; but, as she 
 stooped to whisper to Venus, a peal of thunder barst from a 
 cloud so near that the reverberation shook the house as if a 
 heavy ball had been rolled against it, and every one in the 
 room stood breathlessly, half expecting the walls to fall to 
 pieces around them. The tempest had returned upon them 
 in greater fury than ever, and though they were too closely 
 shut in to see the lightning, they could hear the hissing and 
 howling of the storm in momentary pauses when the thunder 
 grew more distant. It would be death to go abroad then, 
 on foot and unprotected as she was : but to remain all night 
 where she was seemed impossible. Compelling herself to 
 assume a calmness of manner she was far from feeling, she 
 approached Potter, who was sitting before the fire with his 
 elbows on his knees, and his face covered with his hands, and 
 
IDA MAY. 859 
 
 said to him, " Is there no other room in this house where 
 your servant or Venus can build a fire, so that I can stay 
 there to-night ? You told me that there was no furniture 
 anywhere but here, but you can spare me a chair and a light, 
 and I do not care for more. I shall not sleep any to-night. " 
 
 * No, I reckon all the sleep you got wouldn t amount to 
 i;_uch, with the creaturs ther is up there mutterin and crawlin 
 round yer, and puttiu their hands on ye, ugh ! cold as 
 ice," he added, with a shudder and a half-terrified look 
 round the room. 
 
 " I m not afraid of that," said Ida, impatiently, though, 
 in spite of herself, a thrill of superstitious fear stole over her 
 at his words. " Let your girl show me where to go, and 
 Venus and I will take care of ourselves." 
 
 " She shan t do no such thing ! " said the man, looking up. 
 ( Nobody don t open them doors this night. If you d thought 
 on t* afore dark, I d a let you gone where you was a mind. 
 If you like the company o them creaturs, you might a had 
 it for all me ; but now you ve got to stay here, an that s 
 the hull on t, and afore mornin I reckon you 11 be glad 
 you re where they can t come in, if they carry on like they 
 gen ly do these times." 
 
 Ida could not help an involuntary shudder at his look and 
 manner, although, of course, she had no faith in the existence 
 of the things he believed in. She was about to urge the 
 point again, but he prevented her by saying, abruptly, 
 
 " T a n t no use to talk. I won t have the door opened, 
 and that is tho up and down of the matter. They re all 
 31 
 
360 I D A MAY. 
 
 round the house by this time, and you 11 hear em muttering 
 and moaning and creaking the -stairs going up and down, fore 
 long. If the doors open they 11 all rush in here to oncet, and 
 maybe I could n t get em out again. They driv me out of 
 all the rest of the house, but I fixed this room so the a n fc 
 even a key-hole for em to get into, and shets all up tight at 
 dark, and keeps a fire all night, and snaps my fingers at em, 
 No, niarm. You may be mistress o this house, but I m 
 master, and I won t have no doors opened out o this room 
 to-night." 
 
 Having thus delivered himself, he resumed his position 
 with an air of surly determination. The girl, after putting 
 away the few dishes unwashed, had sat down in the corner 
 opposite him, and, leaning her head against the bedclothes, 
 shut her eyes as if intending to go to sleep. In the back 
 part of the room, Venus was resting Ker arms on the table, 
 and, with her chin reposing on them, was gazing at the two 
 with mute defiance. 
 
 There was nothing more to be said there could nothing 
 more be done. The iron circle of necessity pressed hard and 
 close upon Ida, and she sank beneath its weight. Her nerves 
 had been too long and too severely tried, and they were 
 yielding to the pressure. The glow, the ecstasy of feeling 
 that .first sustained her, had departed. The eye of Faith 
 grew dim. A sense of her helplessness, of her loneliness, of 
 her powerlessness, in contact with these rude, coarse natures, 
 of the insults she had received, of the unknown wrongs she 
 feared, : a feeling of isolation, as if she were cut off forever 
 
IDA il A Y 3 >] 
 
 from human love or succor, as if she were a worthless thing, 
 flung forth to buffet the cold waves of life, only to be over 
 whelmed and sink at last, all this came over her in the 
 moments that succeeded, and her courage died. 
 
 She looked round on the miserable room, with its bare 
 walls hung with cobwebs, its unpainted and dirty floor, its 
 scanty furniture and its degraded occupants, and she thought, 
 with a strange, dreary pity for herself, that this was the only 
 place she could claim as home. She realized, with a keen 
 pang, how different her situation might have been. She 
 remembered what she had been told of her parents, and the 
 doating love and care that would have surrounded her, had 
 they lived ; and of her kind guardian, whose death had im 
 posed upon her the duties that had exposed her to such 
 changes and such trials. How relentlessly had Death pursued 
 her ! How completely had differing causes stripped her of 
 all her friends ! 0, why must she be thus dealt with ? Why 
 must all the bitterness of life be gathered in the cup held to 
 her lips ? Why must she sit in the cold shadows, and see 
 others beautiful and beloved, and bearing off carelessly all 
 that would, if hers, have been more to her than life ? 
 
 A wild and bitter feeling of rebellion seized her, an awful 
 mistrust of the divine goodness and love. Her soul cried out, 
 with a fierce and piercing cry, for the friends she had lost, for 
 the hope that was fled, for the love that had passed by her 
 to be unworthily bestowed. Alone and helpless, she felt, as 
 she had never felt before, a craving for affection, for support, 
 for protection ; a desire to give up all struggle ; a shrinking 
 
882 IDA MAY. 
 
 from further sacrifice ; a longing for a strong arm on which 
 to lean, for a hand to guide her ; a restless, desperate wish to 
 free herself from the present, which girded her with realities 
 too fearful, and to be released from the future, with whose 
 responsibilities she felt unable to cope. 
 
 Venus, who had been relieving her grief and anger by a 
 long fit of crying, began at length to wonder at the silence of 
 her young mistress, and, on looking up, she was startled at 
 her attitude and expression. There was an ashy whiteness 
 in her face, a ghastly dimness in her eyes, that seemed fixed 
 on vacancy, a weariness and despair in the drooping figure, 
 which was far unlike Ida s usual sprightly independence of 
 mien. She went towards her, and, bending down, said, softly, 
 " "What do matter, honey ? You faint ? " 
 
 " No, 1 m not faint, but I m sick, heart-sick ! " and she 
 rested her head heavily against that faithful bosom which 
 sheltered her infancy. 
 
 " Poor child ! poor honey ! " said Yenus, kneeling beside 
 Ida, so as to put her arms around her. " It do seern hard ; 
 but don t be too much stressed. I make sure de Lord a n t 
 brung you dat far t rough all dese yer markable ways, to 
 leave yer in de lurch jes here, where yer can t help yerself. 
 Trus in Him, honey." 
 
 Ida sighed deeply. She was too utterly weary and dis 
 heartened to feel the consolation these words were intended 
 to convey. Venus drew her still closer towards her, gather 
 ing her in her arms, and smoothing the dark curls that fell 
 
IDA MAY. 8C3 
 
 over her shoulder, while Ida laid her head there, as she used 
 to do when a child. 
 
 " We se been t rough heap o narrer cracks, honey," she 
 continued, " an sometime pears like de Lord did n t mind 
 nothin bout us any more ; but, pend upon it, he allers hear 
 de poor creturs cryin to him, and, fore we know d it, he done 
 help us. Pears like he be bliged help us mighty quick, now, 
 an I thinks he will, fur pears like you would n t get through 
 dis night dis way, an I se allers noticed when de a n t nothin 
 more we can do ourself, den de Lord, he begin doin some- 
 thin . Don t you be scare, honey. Old Venus take care of 
 ye till de Lord send somebody." 
 
 While she had been speaking, the mulatto girl had raised 
 her head, as if listening to her, while her sharp, inquisitive 
 glance rested on Ida. As she uttered the last words, the girl 
 turned a little, to look at the overseer, who still sat before 
 the fire, with his head resting on his hands, and a meaning 
 smile passed between them. In a moment she rose, and, com 
 ing near him, said a few words. He raised himself a little, 
 and looked towards Ida. " By-and-by, may be," he replied, 
 and the girl returned to her seat. 
 
 Ida had not heard her words, but something in her tone, 
 and in the expression of the man s eyes, as he glanced at her, 
 made her blood curdle, and she shivered from head to foot. 
 A dreadful terror took possession of her, a panic that it 
 seemed impossible for her to restrain, and it was only by a 
 violent effort that she refrained from shrieking aloud. Venus 
 had her back towards them, and had noticed nothing ; but 
 31* 
 
d64 IDA MAT. 
 
 Ida, looking over her shoulder, saw that the girl still contin* 
 ued watching them, and that, occasionally, the same expres 
 sive and repulsive glances passed between them that at first 
 had startled her. At length, however, the girl seemed sleepy 
 again, and rested her head against the bed. Then Ida whis 
 pered to Venus, who had, for a long time, been silently sup 
 porting her. 
 
 "Don t answer, don t seem to take notice, Yenus, but 
 I think they are going to sleep, both of them, and when I 
 give you a sign, you spring up and undo the window before 
 they know it. We can get out there the easiest ! " 
 
 " In this storm, honey ! It 11 kill ye ! " whispered she, in 
 reply. 
 
 " I a n t afraid of that. I know that man means to do us 
 harm, and I will get away, if I can. You 11 do it ? " 
 
 Venus bowed assent, and again there was a long silence. 
 The girl was evidently asleep, and the man s head was drooped 
 on his bosom. Ida raised herself gently, and Venus rose to 
 her feet to approach the window ; but, just then, there was a 
 sound, as if something heavy had fallen in the room above, 
 with a jar that shook, the house ; then came a rolling, rattling 
 noise, as if fragments of some hard substance were being 
 thrown about, and a faint sound of voices was heard above 
 all the noise of the storm. Every one in the room started to, 
 their feet in alarm ; but, in a moment or two, all was quiet 
 again. 
 
 " Good Lor ! " said the girl, sitting down again, with a 
 frightened look. "Dey ee at it, now, sure nuff. Dey 
 
IDA MAY. 86D 
 
 a Hers wus stormy nights, like dis, but dat was uncommon 
 powerful ! " 
 
 " Throw on some fat-wood, you fool ! " said Potter, " and 
 make the room lighter. Do you s pose we want to be i i tho 
 dark, with them creturs round ? " 
 
 The girl threw some pieces of pine wood upon the embers 
 and soon a bright flame sprang up the chimney, and threw a 
 glow into even the dingiest nook of the room. 
 
 " There, now, that 11 do bout right ! " continued he, as" he 
 watched the flames ; and then, going to the little closet, he 
 took down a black bottle, which he raised to his lips, and 
 drank heartily of its contents. 
 
 Ida had stood leaning her slender form against Yenus, and 
 looking at their companions in alarm and fear. 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! " she cried, aloud, " how is this to 
 end ? " 
 
 " T won t end fore mornin , I make sure," replied Potter, 
 setting down his bottle ; "but let em kick up their row, if 
 they want to. I a n t scared of em, long as I have a light- 
 room and plenty of the needful." 
 
 " Dere dey is agin, I hears em ! " said the girl. " Did n t 
 I tell yer dey was all round ? " she added, turning to Yenus. 
 " In a minute dey 11 come thumpin on de door ! " 
 
 Hardly had she spoken, when a mingled sound of voices 
 was heard again, and more distinctly than before, raised in a 
 prolonged shriek, or yell, and, soon after, loud and repeated 
 knockings were heard in various directions about the house. 
 Wholly overcome with fear, Yenus, who had hitherto kept up 
 
366 IDA M A Y . 
 
 bravely, sank trembling to the floor, and buried her face in 
 her aprons. She felt equal to protecting her mistress against 
 foes of mortal kind, but this palpable evidence of the super- 
 natu ral, unnerved her. For a few moments these noises con 
 tinued, mingling awfully with the thunder and the rain. Ida, 
 almost paralyzed with horror, stood listening, and watching, 
 with a mute prayer to Heaven for help, the movements of 
 the overseer, who was now walking about the room, with 
 unsteady steps, evidently emboldened by the new stimulus he 
 had taken, and casting upon her glances that grew every 
 moment more insolent, when, suddenly, steps were heard on 
 the piazza by the window, against which she was leaning. A 
 violent blow struck it, shattering the few remaining panes of 
 glass, and a voice a human voice cried, angrily, "Are 
 you all dead, here ? Wake up, and let us in ! " 
 
 Venus sprang to her feet, as she heard it, and, casting one 
 quick, delighted glance at Ida, attempted to undo the fasten 
 ing of the shutter ; but Potter seized her and dragged her 
 away. 
 
 " Let me lone ! " exclaimed she ; " dey a n t ghosts, 
 dey s men dat s knockiu ." 
 
 " No you don t ! " said he ; " they may knock much as 
 they like, they won t get in here this night, nor you don t get 
 out, neither. I m master here ! " 
 
 " We 11 see bout dat ! " cried Venus, releasing herself by 
 a violent effort , and, giving him a blow that sent him reeling 
 half way across the room, she jumped to the window again, 
 and had taken down one of the bars, when the mulatto girl, 
 
IDA MAY. 80 1 
 
 seizing the quilt from the bed, threw it over her head, and, 
 thus blinded and confined, Venus was again pulled away. 
 
 Ida sprang to her aid with a piercing shriek, and, in 
 another moment, the shutters were forced open from without, 
 and a man leaped in through the window. Ida turned to her 
 deliverer. It was Walter Varian, and, with a wild cry of 
 delight, she sprang forward into his outspread arms. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he exclaimed, " I find you safe." 
 
 Three others had followed him through the entrance he 
 had made, and, clasping close to his heart the yielding form he 
 held, he turned his pale, anxious face towards them, bidding 
 them close the shutters immediately, for the rain was driving 
 in sheets in upon them as they stood, and then moving, so as 
 to shield Ida from its eifects, he said to Venus, who had been 
 uttering various ejaculations of thankfulness, 
 
 " What was that noise I heard ? Surely no one could have 
 dared injure Miss Ida! What is the meaning of all this? " 
 he added, with a freezing terror in his heart, glancing at the 
 dismantled bed, the quilt that lay on the floor, the overturned 
 chairs, that had been knocked down in the struggle, and, fix 
 ing his eyes at length with a stern, angry expression, on the 
 man and girl, who were standing together near the fire. It 
 was an infinite relief when Venus hastened to say, 
 
 " 0, dese yer fools thinks dis ar house is haunted, and so 
 dey would have it you was ghosts knocking, and de_y 
 would n t let me open de winder, and when I tried to, de gal 
 put de quilt over my head, and haul me away, and we hab a 
 
3(38 IDA MAY. 
 
 squabble. Dat all. Dey s fools ; but dey a n t done nothia 
 wus." 
 
 " You might have known it was I," said Walter, in an 
 altered tone. " I thought you would be on the lookout for 
 me, and have the house all lighted, to show me the way. I 
 came near not finding it, everything was so dark, and it storms 
 so awfully." 
 
 " I done spected you," said Venus. " I thought you 
 could n t be sich a hyppercritter as not to come, when you se 
 allers pertended to be sich friends wid Miss Ida; but she 
 would n t hear nothin bout it." 
 
 " Surely you did not think I could leave you to bear this 
 dreadful night alone ! " said Walter, with a reproachful ten 
 derness, bowing his face till it touched the head that lay still 
 on his bieast, and speaking in a tone intended for her ear 
 alone. 
 
 She made no reply. Her curls fell over her face, so that 
 it was hidden from his view, but her quietness, her silence, 
 and the utter lifelessness with which she leaned against him, 
 made him start with a sudden fear. Raising his hand, he put 
 back the glossy hair. Her eyes were closed, and her face 
 was whiter than marble. 
 
 " She has fainted," he exclaimed, gathering her light form 
 in his arms, and laying it gently down on the quilt that was 
 spread out on the floor. 
 
 How like a beautiful image of death she looked, as she lay 
 there, so pale and inanimate, in the bright glow of the fire 
 light ! 
 
IDA MAY. 8(59 
 
 Kneeling on one knee, he bent over her, chafing her cold 
 hands, that could jnot feel the palpitating pressure of his own, 
 and bathing her face with the water which had been brought, 
 for the superstitious dread of Potter and his servant could no 
 longer prevent the doors from being opened, and soon she 
 breathed again. When her head was lifted and laid on 
 Venus bosom, she opened her eyes, and a rich color flushed 
 her pale cheek, as she saw who it was that held her hands, 
 and gazed at her with that strange, thrilling expression, as if 
 his whole heart was going forth from his eyes. 
 
 Walter and Mabel had not ridden far that morning, after 
 they had left Ida, before they fell in with a party of their 
 young friends, who were on their way to a romantic spot, some 
 miles distant, where they proposed having a picnic. Mabel, 
 whose jealousy of Ida made her wish as much as possible to 
 keep Walter away from her, yielded to their earnest invitation, 
 and thus compelled the assent of her preux chevalier. The 
 morning was fine, the party was gay, and soon Walter s 
 chagrin, at disappointing Ida, who might ride out, expecting 
 to meet them, was lost in the universal good-nature and 
 hilarity that prevailed. 
 
 Fortunately for the thoughtless party, a negro boy, who 
 accompanied them, climbed a tree to look for squirrels nests, 
 and thus discovered the small cloud, which, at first, rose 
 slowly out of the east, but which his quick eye knew boded a 
 violent thunder-storm. They hurried to their horses, and 
 rode rapidly homeward, and it was not until Walter and 
 
370 IDA MAY. 
 
 Mabel had left the rest of the party, that the storm broke 
 upon them. Mabel was not afraid, for lack of courage was 
 not among her deficiencies; indeed, she rather enjoyed the 
 excitement, and was gratified at Walter s evident admiration 
 of her self-possession and skill in managing her frightened 
 steed; and, though both were thoroughly drenched, they 
 arrived safely at home, full of the high spirits which the 
 young and healthy feel at overcoming difficulty and danger. 
 
 Five minutes before their arrival, Ida s horse, that, impelled 
 by instinct, had fled homeward with frantic haste, dashed up 
 the avenue, and turned into the stable. An old, half-blind 
 servant, who happened to be there alone, removed his wet 
 saddle, and led him to his stall, as one of the other hostlers 
 passed through the door on his way to the yard. This man 
 was standing near the piazza when Walter and his cousin rode 
 up, and ran to take the horses. 
 
 " Did* Miss Ida go to ride ? Is she at home ? he asked 
 hurriedly, as he ran up the steps after Mabel. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; she went, but she come home now, was the 
 reply ; and, satisfied on this point, Walter went directly to 
 his own room, where he changed his wet clothing, and made a 
 new toilet, before he again descended to the parlor. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Wynn was becoming excessively alaimed 
 at Ida s prolonged absence. The sympathy of feeling which 
 had existed between them, of late, had aroused far warmer 
 feelings than she had felt towards the orphan for many years, 
 and after her anxiety for Mabel and Walter was removed by 
 their safe arrival, she had been wandering from room to room, 
 
IDA MAY. 371 
 
 looking out at every door and window which commanded a 
 view of the way she should come, and, almost forgetting her 
 usual fear of these terrific storms in her greater fear lest 
 some accident had happened to Ida. Once or twice, when 
 Mr. Wynn had come out of the library to inquire if Mabel 
 had arrived, and to despatch a servant after her, his wife had 
 ventured to mention Ida s name, although certain that it would 
 offend him ; but he had replied, in a peremptory tone, that 
 Ida was safe, and that she need not expect to see her again 
 that night. Indeed, he was himself annoyed, and a little 
 anxjous at the turn affairs had taken, though he was yet too 
 proud to manifest it. 
 
 When, in his first flush of anger, as he sat brooding over 
 her unforeseen rebellion, it had suddenly occurred to him to 
 send Venus after her, with that message, he did not intend 
 finally to expel her from his house, but only to frighten and 
 humble her. She ha been a member of his family so long, 
 that he felt a perfect right to punish her disobedience ; and, 
 just as he would have imprisoned a child in a dark closet, 
 until it promised to be good, he determined to inflict this 
 chastisement, which, by alarming her, and throwing her fot 
 a while on her own resources, would teach her how much she 
 had overrated her ability to guide herself and manage her 
 own affairs, and thus coerce her into submission to his wishes 
 with regard to her conduct. He knew the house at the Tri 
 angle was lonely and ill-furnished, and that she would be sub 
 jected to much inconvenience and some discomfort ; but he had 
 no idea of the trials to which she was really exposed by hi* 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 rash act, He sent Venus to her, that the proprieties of social 
 life might be preserved, and she might not feel too entirely 
 alone; and he carefully worded his note in such a manner 
 that it would not compromise his dignity to have Mabel 
 or Walter go over to inquire for her, and, at length, when she 
 should have been sufficiently mortified, bring her to him to 
 ask forgiveness for her conduct. 
 
 It is but justice to Mr. Wynn to give this explanation 
 of his motives. As a lady and his guest, it would have 
 been impossible for him to treat her so impolitely, much as 
 her ultra ideas on one subject had displeased him ; but as a 
 perverse child, he claimed the right to inflict a punishment 
 proportioned to her offence. 
 
 It was, therefore, with concealed agitation, that he marked 
 
 the fury of the storm, and it was fortunate for Dick that he 
 
 was a reckless fellow, and had driven home at a perilous rate, 
 
 whipping his horse all the way ; for, had he made the thunder 
 
 or the lightning an excuse for any delay until the lain was 
 
 over, his master s irritation would have vented itself on his 
 
 head. Having seen Dick, who presented himself in the 
 
 library, dripping like a young Triton, and ascertained that he 
 
 had left Ida and Venus together at the Triangle, Mr. Wynn 
 
 felt quite like saying, " Richard s himself again," and, with 
 
 his usual placid sternness, he joined his wife in the parlor 
 
 just as Walter entered by" another door. Mabel was already 
 
 sitting by the fire, a little pale from fatigue, and attired in a 
 
 blue silk neglige, that made her look more beautiful than 
 
 over. She turned to Walter with a smile as he entered. 
 
IDA MAY. 87 O 
 
 She was beginning to watch for his step, and to tremble and 
 blush when she met his gaze. She was beginning to think 
 Jess of absorbing him hi blind devotion to her wishes, less of 
 commanding obedience to the whim of the moment. Involun 
 tarily, now, her feelings took their tone from his, as far as it 
 was possible in natures so different, and the queenly Mabel 
 was bowing her graceful neck to wear the chains of her con 
 queror. 
 
 " I hope you are not chilly after your involuntary shower- 
 bath," she hastened to say, as he came near. 
 
 " 0, no, thank you ! " he replied carelessly, and then added 
 more earnestly, his fine eyes lighting with admiration, 
 " and you, Ma belle ! you were quite a heroine in your battle 
 with the elements ; do you suffer at all from it ? " 
 
 " Not in the least ; but I am rather fatigued," she an 
 swered, with a slight blush, as she met his ardent gaze. It 
 had been and was still a great charm for him, in Mabel s 
 beauty, that her face and her whole figure were so purely 
 statuesque. She was like a living, breathing piece of sculp 
 ture, gratifying his enthusiastic love of the beautiful every 
 time he looked at her. All her movements were graceful ; each 
 new attitude seemed more charming than the last, and either 
 of her varying expressions seemed for the time that which most 
 became her style of features. It was only when she spoke 
 that the spell was broken. 
 
 Walter was about to reply, when, seeing his aunt standing 
 near, as if wanting to speak, he turned to her inquiringly. 
 
 " 0, I am so anxious about Ida ! " she said, as if in reply 
 
374 IDA MAY. 
 
 to his question " She has been gone since twelve o clock, 
 and though. Mr Wynn says she certainly don t intend coining 
 home to-night, 1 know she did." 
 
 " Ida ! " exclaimed Walter ; " is n t she at home ? " 
 
 " No," said Mabel ; " but surely, there is no need to 
 worry. Papa never speaks positively, unless he knows." 
 
 " One of the servants told me she was at home, said 
 Walter. 
 
 " It is a mistake," replied Mrs. Wynn ; " and, what wor 
 ries me more is, that I have just discovered that Venus 
 left here, this afternoon, in the wagon with little Dick." 
 
 " It is certainly very strange ! " said Walter, a good deal 
 startled ; but further conjecture was prevented by; Mr. Wynn, 
 who, standing unnoticed in the door, had heard this brief 
 conversation, and now came forward, saying, 
 
 " I will relieve your perplexity ; Ida is safe, aad Venus is 
 with her, but they will not come back here at present. She 
 left the house this morning in direct defiance of my authority, 
 and I have sent her such a message as will prevent her 
 leturn," 
 
 " Where is she ? " demanded Walter, biting his Irps. 
 
 " She is at the Triangle. She went there on an errand I 
 could not approve, and I felt compelled to treat her in such 
 a manner as should show my displeasure. I am not to be 
 insulted, in my own house, with impunity. She is a mere 
 tiild, and a little discipline will do her good." He said these 
 words in a slow, calm manner, as if determined to say nothing 
 more on the subject, and, sitting down by the table, took a 
 
IDA MAY. 376 
 
 oook. It was now quite dark, and the servants had brought 
 in the lamps. Mabel, whose eyes were fixed on Walter, 
 rather anxiously, saw him turn suddenly, as if to leave the 
 room. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " she asked, divining his inten- * 
 tion. 
 
 " 1 am going to the Triangle," he replied, in the low tono 
 of suppressed passion. " Do you suppose I would leave any 
 lady, in whpm I felt interested, to brave the terrors she must 
 feel to-night in that lonely house ? No ; she shall see that she 
 has one friend left ! " 
 
 "But the storm ! you cannot go out in this storm ! " cried 
 Mabel ; " it is folly to think of it. She is safe, we know, and 
 you risk your life in going." She rose as she spoke, and 
 going to the door where he* stood, with his hand on the lock 
 she laid her hand on his arm, and looked up in his face ten 
 derly and beseechingly. He was touched by this manifesta 
 tion of interest, and, pressing her hand furtively, he said, 
 
 " 0, there is no danger ! I have some water-proof clothing 
 in which I have many-e time defied the elements, and my 
 horse is well trained." 
 
 " But the trees attract the lightning ; and now the clouds 
 must be very near. You know it is unsafe." 
 
 They had withdrawn a little from the door, and were stand 
 
 ing in the hall as she spoke. It was in the height of the 
 
 storm, whose first fury had not been as violent here as at 
 
 the spot where Ida met it ; and just then a blinding shoot of 
 
 32* 
 
370 IDA MAY. 
 
 lightning seemed to glide between them, filling the air with 
 ghastly light, and the house rocked with the pealing thunder. 
 
 "Mercy! how near it is ! " exclaimed Mabel, clinging to 
 his arm. . 
 
 " Still, I must go," he answered, passing his arm around 
 her waist, for she trembled violently. 
 
 " Is Ida, then, so very dear to you that you will endanger 
 your life for her sake ? " she murmured, almost inaudibly. 
 
 Walter looked surprised, and his brow flushed. Never had 
 he seen Mabel in such a mood, so gentle, so affectionate, so 
 humble, and he felt vexed with himself that it moved him 
 to 3b greater emotion. 
 
 " Do you really wish me to remain at home ? " he said, at 
 
 
 length. 
 
 " I do," she replied. " It is unsafe for you to go." 
 
 Never, until the present time, had Mr. Wynn been afraid 
 that Mabel would become too much interested in her cousin : 
 but something in her manner, as she glided from the room, 
 aroused his fears, and at this moment he appeared beside 
 them in the door-way. 
 
 " Are you going, sir, or are you not going ? " he said, 
 sternly. 
 
 " I am going immediately," Walter replied ; and then, 
 turning to Mabel, who, at the sound of her father s voice, had 
 started from him, and now stood, pale but self-collected, look 
 ing earnestly in his face, he added, " Ida has been like a sister 
 to us both, you know, and you cannot doubt but it is my duty 
 to go take care of her. She must be glad of some protection 
 
IDA MAY. 377 
 
 beside what Venus can give, in that strange, lonely place 
 Think, if it were your situation." 
 
 " My daughter can never be placed in such circumstances," 
 said Mr. Wynn, with frigid tones ; " but if you choose to go 
 and assure yourself of Miss May s safety, go. You can take 
 two or three servants to aid you in finding the way, for it is 
 very dark." 
 
 " The lightning will show nie the way," replied Walter ; 
 " and I shall take only my own servant ; any more would 
 be a hindrance instead of a help." 
 
 " Perhaps so," returned Mr. Wynn ; and taking his daugh 
 ter s hand, he led her into the parlor, and closed the door. 
 Mrs. Wynn had glided softly out, as they entered. She was 
 glad Walter was going, in spite of the danger to which he 
 might be exposed, but she shrank from saying so before her 
 husband. Since Alfred s death, her. nerves had been in a 
 painfully shattered state, and she had hardly dared to move 
 or speak in his presence, lest she should betray the thoughts 
 that secretly filled her with sorrow, and meet that cold, stern 
 look of his, which now more than ever threw her into a ner 
 vous tremor. 
 
 Meeting Walter in the hall as he came down, clad in his 
 water-proof clothes, she gave him a long message for Ida, full 
 of love and sympathy, and then adding numerous charges 
 respecting his own precautions for safety, she left him to find 
 his way to the stables, where his servant was already saddling 
 his horse. As he stood waiting, he chanced to see that Ida s 
 horse was standing quietly in his stall. 
 
878 IDA MAY. 
 
 " How came this horse here ? " he exclaimed. " What 
 horse did Miss Ida ride ? " 
 
 " She ride dis yer," said the hostler. " She come in jcs j 
 fore you did, massa." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " he asked, turning deadly pale, as he ran 
 his eye rapidly over the stalls, and saw that none of the ani 
 mals were missing. 
 
 " Yes, massa, I se right sure. I saddle he myself, an I in 
 here when he came gallop in. He know miff, dat ar ! He 
 no stop for nigger take him in out de rain. Come roun from 
 de front door heself." 
 
 " No he did n t," said Walter. " Miss Ida is not in the 
 house. The horse must have thrown her, and galloped home 
 Alone." 
 
 He leaned back helplessly against the wall as he spoke. 
 All the strength seemed to leave his frame, the blood in his 
 veins grew chilled, and he saw, as in a vision, Ida lying alone 
 in the dark, gloomy forest, helpless, wounded and dying. He 
 had cheated himself with a thousand excuses, he had deceived 
 himself with a thousand theories of platonic love and brother 
 ly affection ; but, in that moment of awful fear, the scales fell 
 from his eyes, and he realized, with a keen heart-pang, that 
 he loved her, loved her with a deep and passionate rever 
 ence, that had taken hold of his inmost being. What to him 
 would be all else that earth might offer, if the brightness of 
 that young life were quenched forever ? Nothing. He bowed 
 his head on his hands, that proud head, that had borne 
 
I I) A MAY. 879 
 
 loftily, and a long, bitter groan burst from his tor 
 tured bosom. 
 
 " If she be throwed, it high time somebody done go looked 
 arter her," said the negro^whose slow brain had taken some 
 moments to elaborate the idea conveyed in Walter s rapid 
 words. The sound of his voice recalled the self-possession of 
 the unhappy young man ; and his servant coming at this mo 
 ment, to say that all was ready for their departure, he gave 
 hasty orders that two of the servants from the house should 
 follow, to aid in case aid was required, and, springing upon 
 his horse, he dashed out into the stormy night. 
 
 Sheltered somewhat by the trees that lined the avenue, 
 they did not feel the full force of the tempest until they 
 turned into the open road, and then they found it almost im 
 possible to face it. The lightning was almost incessant, but 
 its blinding glare, alternating with the intense darkness that 
 succeeded its flashes, made it difficult to see the way ; and 
 the wind which had now risen a little, blew the sheets of rain 
 against them so as almost to take away their breath. Nothing 
 but Such an anxious fear as possessed Walter, could have 
 nerved any one to persevere amid such a furious war of the 
 elements ; but, thus excited, he struggled on, encouraging his 
 servant to follow, and shouting now and then to those who 
 might come after them. Proceeding in this way, but very 
 slowly, being compelled, at short intervals, to shelter them 
 selves among the trees to rest, and examining every object 
 by the wayside with a sickening dread of finding what they 
 nought, they were a long time accomplishing that part of the 
 
B80 IDA MAY. 
 
 journey which lay between the hall and the spot where their 
 path led off through the woods towards the Triangle. The 
 thunder and lightning had now grown somewhat less near and 
 frequent, but the wind was increasing, and the rain came 
 down with a copiousness and force that was ominous of a, 
 second deluge. Pausing to rest a few moments, as they 
 turned into this road, Walter thought he heard a voice in the 
 distance, shouting, and said to his servant, 
 
 " Let us wait here a while. I think I hear voices, and 
 it may be the servants from the hall. Shout in reply to them, 
 the wind will carry your voice that way." 
 
 The negro did as he was commanded, but, after listening 
 for reply, he said, 
 
 " No, massa, dem none our folks. I reckon dey s done 
 gone back, ef dey eber started arter us. But dem voices 
 come up t oder way, dey come on de wind. Hole ycr 
 head out, massa, an you see de soun come in dis ear/ he 
 added, slapping the side of his head against which the .rain 
 was beating. 
 
 Walter followed this advice, and found that the voico 
 did, indeed, come from beyond the spot where they were 
 standing. 
 
 " It is somebody calling for help," he said, debating 
 whether he ought to go towards the spot, or continue his 
 search for Ida. At that moment, a horse, with the wreck 
 of a carriage hanging at his heels, came racing by ; and he 
 no longer hesitated, but, bidding his servant follow, again 
 braced himself against the storm. In a little while they saw 
 
IDA MAY. 381 
 
 the remains of a carriage lying in the road ; and the lightning, 
 just then illuminating the landscape, showed, at some distance 
 down the road, a negro waving his arms and shouting. He 
 had seen them before they had perceived him, and, on reach 
 ing the place, they found the body of another man lying life 
 less at Kis feet. Having ascei tained, by a few questions, that 
 these were the travellers whose runaway horse and demolished 
 carriage they had seen, Walter ordered the two negroes to lift 
 the white man from the ground where he lay, and ca^y him 
 within the shelter of the trees ; and here he found, to his 
 great joy, that death had not been the consequence of the 
 accident that had overtaken them. The stranger had been 
 stunned, and bruised a little, but the act of moving him re 
 stored the circulation of the blood, and aroused his senses, so 
 that in a little while he was able to sit up and speak. He 
 told Walter that he had arrived at the tavern, in the little 
 village below, just as the storm commenced, and, at first, had 
 determined to stay there through the night ; but, being very 
 anxious to reach the end of his journey, he had become rest 
 less, and at length hired this negro to take him in a carriage 
 to the plantation where he wished to go. The wind favoring 
 them, they had gone quite rapidly along, until the horse, 
 taking a sudden fright, had upset the carriage and thrown 
 them out. Walter told him he might ride his servant s 
 horse, if he chose to come with him, and he could conduct 
 him to a place of shelter, which, though at some distance, 
 wns noarer than the village behind him. This offer was 
 
382 IDA MAY. 
 
 accepted gratefully, and the two gentlemen had in this way 
 arrived at the Triangle, followed by the negroes on foot. 
 
 While in the shelter of the trees, they had come on with 
 comparative ease ; but when they came out into the wide, open 
 field, they were completely bewildered, and it was their shouts 
 to one another that had been mistaken, by the superstitious 
 Potter, for unearthly voices. At length, just when the dark 
 ness was most intense, the lightning having nearly ceased, 
 thouglfcthe thunder still rolled in the distance, the top of the 
 chimney blew down, and the bright flame, which the fire of 
 light, wood sent out of the orifice, revealed to them the house 
 they were seeking. All else was perfect darkness, and, aston 
 ished to see no symptoms of life within, they had attacked 
 various parts of the house, with little saccess, until the 
 stranger, who accompanied Walter, had found the window 
 against which Ida was leaning. , 
 
 It was, therefore, with no little alarm that Walter became 
 aware that some one from within was preventing the opening 
 of the window, and heard Ida s cry of distress. He had been 
 quite reassured by finding no traces of her along the way ; 
 but now an undefined, horrible dread of the treatment she 
 might have met with in this desolate place almost maddened 
 him, and, exerting a strength of which he had not supposed 
 himself capable, he had burst open the shutters, and no words 
 can tell the revulsion of feeling with which he stretched his 
 hands towards her, and clasped her to his heart. 
 
 There had never been between them those fraternal famjli- 
 irities which their early connection might have warranted, 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 383 
 
 for, even in childhood, Ida had been chary of her caresses, 
 and this act of hers had told him, more than aey words could do, 
 how much she had suffered, and how high-wrought had beer, 
 her excitement of feeling. 
 
 In the first moments of awakening consciousness, Ida was 
 sensible only of a vague and exquisite sensation of relief from 
 -some impending evil, and a certainty of safety and protection ; 
 and she looked dreamingly-upon the face that bent over her, 
 without a wish to move or speak. But Walter aroused her. 
 In a tone the tenderness of which could not be mistaken, he 
 said gently, 
 
 "I have been dreadfully frightened about you, Ida. 
 How oould you think I would not come to you ? " 
 
 Then a quick rush of recollections came over her, and she 
 started from her recumbent position, and withdrew her hands 
 from his grasp. He seemed hurt that she did so, and in 
 sisted that she should remain quiet ; but she had now seen 
 the strangers who were present, and, declaring that she was 
 as strong as ever, she persisted in rising to her feet. 
 
 "Be it so, then," said Walter, half pettishly. "You 
 always were wilful, and I always had to yield to you, Ida." 
 
 The stranger had been standing quietly before the fire 
 during all this time. He was a tall man, with a face that 
 had evidently been bronzed beneath tropical skies, and a keen 
 black eye that had not lost its fire, though his hair was gray 
 and his brow was furrowed. Yet something in his appear 
 ance indicated a degree of strength and vigor inconsistent 
 with these tokens of age ; and, as Walter looked at him 
 33 
 
384 IDA MAY. 
 
 standing in the warm light of the blazing pine knots, he warf 
 struck with a certain agitation in his manner, and the eager 
 ness with which his eyes were fixed on the fair young girl, 
 who, blushing a little to find herself so much the centre of 
 observation, and yet languid with the ordeal she had under 
 gone, had just seated herself in the chair he had placed for 
 her by the chimney-corner. Leaning back against Venus, 
 who stood behind her, with her eyelids drooping a little, 
 showing distinctly their long dark lashes, her dishevelled 
 curls brushed back from her broad low brow, and revealing 
 the outlines of her face clearly in the radiance of the fire 
 light, she looked like a beautiful picture. But it was not 
 admiration that was expressed in the earnest and restless 
 glances that fell upon her, and then wandered to Walter, full 
 of anxious inquiry, as if his lips trembled with a question 
 he dared not ask. 
 
 " You are surprised, sir, no doubt, to find this young lady 
 amid these rude surroundings, and I cannot explain the mys 
 tery at this time," said Walter to him, breaking thus the 
 silence that was becoming awkward, and hoping to divert the 
 regard which he saw embarrassed Ida. " I have sent the 
 
 O 
 
 negroes up stairs." he continued, " to try to kindle a fire in 
 the room above, and then we will retire from this room, Ida, 
 and you must try to get some repose. You will not be 
 afraid if you know I am within call; and you will have 
 Venus and this other woman with you." 
 
 " 0, no, I am not afraid now ! " she said, turning her head a 
 little, and raising her clear dark eyes to his face. 
 
I I) A M A Y . SS5 
 
 It was the first time the stranger had seen her face fully, 
 and the low, musical tones of her voice seemed to strike some 
 chord of memory, for he trembled violently, and passed his 
 hand once or twice across his brow. 
 
 " That name ! always that name ! " he murmured, half 
 audibly, and then added, with a startling abruptness, "Tell 
 me, sir, who is this young lady ? " 
 
 " It is Miss Ida May," replied he, in a reserved manner, 
 hardly knowing what to make of his strange guest. 
 
 A convulsive trembling again seized the questioner; he 
 turned pale, and his features worked spasmodically. 
 
 " Ida May, of Wynn Hall ? " he asked, with an agitated 
 voice. 
 
 " The same," replied Walter, with some amazement. 
 "The same! 0, God, the very same!" repeated the 
 stranger, and he made a quick step towards her, and held out 
 both hands, as if to grasp her. Then, appearing to restrain 
 himself, he turned away, and, placing his arms on the mantel 
 piece, leaned his head on them. They could not see his face, 
 but his frame shook, as if he were weeping violently. 
 
 Walter, who stood near Ida, had stepped before her to 
 shield her, for he began to think the man was insane. Now 
 they looked at each other in great perplexity for a moment, 
 and then laying his hand gently on the shoulder of his guest, 
 he said, " I fear, sir, you were injured by your fall more than 
 you thought at first." 
 
 There was no reply, but, in a ittle while, the excessive 
 emotion* subsided. Unwilling to seem to notice a manifest. 
 
386 1L>A MAY. 
 
 ation for which no explanation was given, and thinking the 
 man might sooner become calm if left to himself, Walter sat 
 down by Ida, and began to tell her why it was that he had so 
 long delayed coming to help her in her dilemma. So many 
 were present, that he could only use the most general terms ; 
 but something in his manner made her cheeks flush and her heart 
 beat quickly. There was more than mere friendly sympathy 
 in that low, deep tone ; there was more than brotherly affec 
 tion in the depths of those brown eyes ; there was a dangerous 
 magnetism in the touch of his hands, as now and then, in the 
 earnestness of his talking, he laid them for an instant lightly 
 on hers. Ida saw it, and she was frightened to feel how rap 
 turous a thrill of pleasure filled her breast. What was to 
 become of all her just pride, of all her self-possession, if this 
 continued long ? She turned half away from him, as this 
 thought crossed her mind, and said, in a low voice, " I am 
 tired, Walter, very tired." 
 
 " You must be, I know," he answered, though a shadow 
 fell over his glowing face. He had not a thought of fatigue. 
 " I was very careless to sit here talking," he added. " 1 
 should have gone to hurry the preparations up stairs. I think 
 the negroes must have gone to sleep over their fire." 
 
 " No, stay a few moments," said the stranger, now coming 
 near and speaking very calmly. " I have something to say, 
 which you must hear. I thought to wait until morning, 
 lest another fainting fit should be the penalty ot my rashness, 
 but I cannot. I cannot wait ! I must speak ! " 
 
 He paused, and looked from one to the other. O, what an 
 
IDA MAY. 887 
 
 unutterable expression was that with which he regarded 
 them ! Then he spoke again, fixing his eyes on Ida s face as 
 she gazed at him wonderingly. 
 
 " There was once a man, who had but one treasure in the 
 world, and he lost it," he said, in a low, solemn tone. " I will 
 not speak of his grief. Friend tells not to friend such 
 thoughts as rent his bosom, and made his life a weariness 
 from that hour. The Eye that searches those depths, is the 
 Eye whose comprehensive gaze takes in the agonies of a world. 
 I will not tell of his endeavors to recover what was gone. 
 He travelled many miles, he sought out many mysteries, he 
 wearied Heaven with prayers, and it was all in vain. Then 
 the Providence that guided him, led him out upon the ocean, 
 and a storm, wilder than this which is now passing away, made 
 a wreck of the ship in which he sailed, and he alone, of all on 
 board, was rescued by a passing vessel from the plunk to 
 which he was lashed, and which, lifeless as he was, had 
 upborne him many hours. He was carried to far-distant 
 lands. He had lost everything, and he was obliged to stay 
 there and work, to get the means of returning home ; but he 
 wrote many letters, until, at length, receiving no answer, hope 
 died within him, and he tried to forget his native land. 
 Years passed before he trod its shores again. Wealth had 
 come to him ; he sought it not, but it came ; and yet how 
 poor, how utterly wretched he was, to stand again in his 
 native town and find himself lonely and unknown ! In the 
 bitterness of his heart, he prayed to die. 0, foolish man ! to 
 have died then would have been, indeed, a curse! The 
 33* 
 
388 IDA MAY. 
 
 recompense for all his woes was near him. The hours of his 
 long desolation were over. His treasure had been found, 
 had been tenderly guarded, was waiting to be restored to 
 his arms. This treasure was found. 0, Ida, Ida May ! " he 
 cried, with a burst of excited and irrepressible emotion, " does 
 not your own heart tell you who I am ? " 
 
 Many varying emotions had swept through Ida s soul, as 
 she listened, until sudden surprise, and hope that seemed a 
 mockery, gave place to the certainty of entire conviction, and 
 with a wild, inarticulate cry, she sprang to her feet. There 
 was a quick movement, a faint exclamation, and she was 
 clasped in his arms. It seemed as if their lips would grow 
 together in that long, long embrace, and then a gush of tears 
 relieved the hearts that would else have burst with excess of 
 gladness. 
 
 " My father my dear, dear father ! " 
 
 " My precious one my child ! " 
 
 They sat down together, Mr. May holding his daughter on 
 his knee, and keeping her still closely pressed to his heart. 
 He kissed her repeatedly, he patted her face and hands and 
 hair, he caressed her as if she had been a child, and his lips, 
 so long denied such words, overflowed with a thousand tender 
 and endearing epithets of his own and of foreign languages 
 And Ida, her arm around his neck, and her head nestling on 
 his breast, thanked Heaven silently for her great bliss. Her 
 heart had so famished for such love, for such protection ! and 
 now, in the moment when her fate lowered most darkly, the 
 boon had been granted as bv a miracle. 
 
IDA MAY. 389 
 
 Bat it was not in her nature to think long of herself alone, 
 oven in the moment of her utmost happiness. Her grateful 
 heart longed to acknowledge its obligations to those who had 
 been kind to her, and, raising herself a little, she held out one 
 hand to Walter. He had been looking on with a sympathy 
 and joy, pure as mortal can feel, and now he pressed her 
 hand to his lips, exclaiming, 
 
 "0, Ida, this is glorious ! " 
 
 She gave him a bright beaming smile, and, drawing him 
 still nearer, placed his hand in her father s, who clasped it 
 cordially. 
 
 " This is Walter Varian," she said, " Walter, who is des 
 tined to be my good genius. He redeemed me from slavery, and 
 now he has redeemed me from orphanhood, by bringing you 
 here. And this," she added, turning to Venus, who, after the 
 first exclamation of joy, had stood modestly aside, with tears 
 of delight running over her face unheeded, " this is Venus, 
 my mauma, who saved my life, when suffering and hardship had 
 nearly killed me, and has watched over me and waited upon 
 me ever since. My two best friends ! 0, father, you must 
 love them both ! " 
 
 Mr. May relinquished his hold on his daughter, that he 
 might take the dark hand of the faithful Venus. He tried to 
 speak, but his feelings overpowered him. The intensity of 
 his emotion could only find utterance in prayer, and, raising 
 the hands he held, and looking upward, with eyes that saw not 
 for the tears that filled them, he exclaimed fervently, 
 
390 IDA MAY. 
 
 " 0, thou wonderful and gracious God, who hast brought 
 us, through manifold danger and trial, to the blessedness of 
 this hour! bless these two, I beseech thee ; bless them with all 
 the unutterable blessings that my grateful soul would 
 crave ! * 
 
 Sobs choked his voice, and his whole frame quivered and 
 shook with agitation. His ecstasy of feeling was almost too 
 much to bear. He had endured sorrow long and patiently, 
 but his soul had been crushed beneath the benumbing pressure 
 until it was like pain for it to expand to the extent of this 
 great joy. It was really a relief when their feelings were 
 brought from this high and solemn intensity down to a more 
 common level, by Venus quaint and simple exclamations of 
 triumph. 
 
 " Did n t I say dat, Miss Ida ? " she cried. Did n t I 
 say de Lord, lie know de best time ? When we done drunk up 
 all de bitter medicine, den he gives us some sugar to take 
 away de taste. Tears like he been keeping dis blessing till 
 de very minute you want it most. Bless de Lord ! " 
 
 Long and absorbing in its interest was the conversation 
 that followed, when they had all grown calmer. The hours 
 of night wore away. Potter was stretched on the floor, under 
 the window, in a drunken sleep, and the mulatto girl sat near 
 him, sleeping also. Even Venus, at length, yielded to the 
 drowsiness that weighed down her eyelids, and leaned her 
 head on the table ; but their presence was unnoticed, and the 
 "flight of time forgotten. There was so much to be told, and 
 so many questions to be asked, there was such a perfect union 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 391 
 
 of feeling and interest, that hours flew by like moments, and, 
 resting in her father s arms, Ida felt her fatigue no longer. 
 
 All were surprised when " the cock s shrill clarion " in 
 formed them of the approach of dawn. Once more Walter 
 threw open the window. The storm had spent itself, and the 
 clouds had rolled away. All was calm and clear as Ida s 
 mental horizon, and the promise for the coming day was fair 
 as that which seemed dawning upon her life. 
 
 Without delay the servants were aroused, the horses were 
 harnessed to a rude vehicle belonging to the farm, and the 
 whole party departed, without any very ceremonious leave- 
 taking, and drove towards the village, where, having seen Ida 
 and her father comfortably established in the hotel, Waltei 
 arid his servant rode homeward. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Mine eyes 
 
 Were not in fault ; for she was beautiful : 
 Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart 
 That thought her like her seemings. It had been vicious 
 To have mistrusted her. Yet, 0, it was 
 
 A folly in me. Heaven mend all ! " 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 A GENTLE and affectionate nature is often roused to pride 
 and reserve by the influence of love ; a proud and cold one is 
 often rendered , more yielding and humble. Thus it had been 
 with Mabel. At first it had been only her vanity, her secret 
 rivalry of Ida, and her love of admiration, that had been 
 gratified by Walter s devotion, and she held the treasure 
 lightly which she had won so easily. But she had not been 
 unobservant of the change that had taken place in herself, as 
 her own interest became aroused and fixed. There had been 
 no unknown, blind enchantment. Knowing no reason why 
 she should not marry Walter if she chose, even in defiance of 
 her father s wish, she had yielded to the power that moved 
 her, with a rare self-possession, and a conscious enjoyment of 
 its novelty and delight, and of the zest it gave to days that 
 had sometimes before been wearisome, which would have been 
 impossible with a more ardent and generous disposition. Even 
 
IDA MAY. 893 
 
 as she Scat silently before the fire that evening, after Walter 
 had left her, amid all the anger and jealous pain that pos 
 sessed her, the thought that recurred oftenest was not that 
 Walter loved another more than her, but it was that now 
 Ida would triumph over her, and who wo uld restore to her 
 the emotion that had caused her such delightsome hours? 
 She felt that she had lost him, that she had condescended 
 to him in vain, and she racked her brain for a plan of 
 revenge worthy of her rage against him. 
 
 She had been sitting some time, apparently absorbed in 
 thought, but manifesting little of the feelings that were whirl 
 ing through her heart, when her father, who, while pretending 
 to read, had watched her narrowly, came suddenly near her, 
 and took her hands in his. She had grasped the arms of her 
 chair, unconsciously, with such force that her fingers were 
 stiff and cold. He laid his hand on lifer brow, which was 
 covered with a clammy moisture, though her features were as 
 haughtily impassive as ever. He looked a moment into her 
 eyes, which shrank from his gaze, and then said, firmly, but 
 kindly, 
 
 " You do not seem well, Mabel. Have you taken cold 
 from your exposure ? " 
 
 " No, papa. I am well ! " 
 
 " Are you afraid of the storm ? It is unusually severe," 
 he asked. 
 
 Again she returned a negative answer, and, having thus 
 assured himself of what he suspected as the real cause of her 
 trouble, he turned quietly away, and resumed his chair and 
 
394 I DA MAY. 
 
 [us booic, apparently taking no further notice of her, until 
 sometime later. Mrs. Wynn had been called from the room, 
 to assist Patra in administering medicine to her sick child, 
 and Mr. Wynn, looking up, said, abruptly, 
 
 " Consider, Mabel, what it is you want in a husband. You 
 are beautiful and accomplished ; will you bury yourself in an 
 obscure station, where, even at best, years must elapse before 
 that can be yours which you may secure now and at once, if 
 you will ? " 
 
 Mabel turned herself half round in her chair, that she 
 might look in her father s face, as she replied ; and there was 
 on her beautiful features a proud, hard expression, that made 
 them strikingly like his. 
 
 " Father," she said, in a bitter tone " I have heard it 
 said that the happiest wives are not those who have married 
 for rank, and wealth, and display ! " 
 
 Mr. Wynn uttered a contemptuous " Pooh ! " and then, 
 fixing his eyes pieicingly upon her, he added, " Is it possible 
 you think you love that young man ? " 
 
 Mabel bore his gaze unshrinkingly, but the color deepened 
 a little in her cheek, as she answered, faintly, " I could have 
 loved him." 
 
 " And now ? " said Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " Now he loves me no longer," she replied. The words 
 dropped from her lips slowly, contemptuously, is if she 
 scorned herself for the pain she felt at this admission. 
 
 " Do you then regret this lost lover ?" asked her father 
 after a moment s pause. 
 
IDA MAY. 395 
 
 " It is the lost love I regret," she answered, " not the lost 
 lover." 
 
 She turned partly away from him again, and covered her 
 face with her hands. She shed no tears, but her heart was 
 almost convulsed with the mingled emotions raging there. 
 
 Mr. Wynn smiled, with a relieved expression, and, after a 
 short silence, he said, " If you can analyze your feelings thus, 
 you have, as yet, escaped harm from this folly ; but I am 
 not sure that I understand you. What is it you regret ? " 
 
 " What is it I regret ? " she answered, looking up with a 
 compressed brow and sparkling eyes. " Papa, I think you 
 understand me better than any one else, cannot you think 
 what it is ? My life is growing to be a weariness. I am 
 losing the high animal spirits that come of mere youth and 
 health, and I tire of the monotony that surrounds me, of the 
 sameness with which the months and the seasons succeed each 
 other. I want something new and exciting, and this what 
 ever may have been the reason, it matters not now Walter s 
 presence, and his devotion to me, supplied. Doubtless I 
 should have .wearied of that, also, before long; but, for a 
 little while, he has had the power to make the days pass 
 swiftly ; and, of all the sighing swains whose hearts I have 
 broken, npne other had that power. Perhaps you can tell 
 me why it has been so. Is this love ? " 
 
 Her lip curled, she spoke rapidly, and her eyes met his 
 
 with a haughty and almost defiant glance. Her father s 
 
 heart thrilled with admiration and fondness for her, and he 
 
 came and stood by her chair, laying his hand on the silken 
 
 34 
 
396 IDA MAT. 
 
 folds of her soft hair, with a caressing movement that she 
 could hardly remember him as bestowing upon her since 
 childhood. 
 
 " My queenly Mabel ! " he said, gently, " I don t wonder 
 that you long for a change. I have been blind, not to have 
 seen, before this, that the quiet which suits my habits so well, 
 would be a dull monotony for you. You shall have change, 
 you shall have excitement. My proudest hopes for your 
 future are about to be fulfilled. You shall marry a man in 
 whose veins runs the best blood of the land, a man whose 
 ancestors were of royal race, and who has none of the low. 
 plebeian ideas that suit so poorly with the position of a south 
 ern gentleman. Mabel, you shall marry Col. Ross ! He 
 has wealth, unlimited wealth, and a position in society, 
 and influence in the state ! He may aspire to its highest 
 office, at any time, if he will ; but, at present, his intentions 
 ire to take you to England, and present you to his relations 
 imong the nobility there ! You will be presented at court, 
 you will take that station in life which you can grace so 
 well ! " 
 
 "Papa, how do you know all this?" asked Mabel, her 
 cheek paling with excitement at this brilliant prospect, which, 
 thus suddenly opened before her, seemed to mock her vision. 
 
 " Col. Ross was here this morning, and proposed the honor 
 of an alliance with my daughter," replied Mr. Wynn. 
 
 " He might have asked me, first," said Mabel, pettishly. 
 
 " Mabel ! Col. Ross is a man of honor ! " returned Mr. 
 Wynn, in a tone of surprise and displeasure. 
 
IDA 11 A Y . 3U" 
 
 " Still, he might have been a little less guarded than he 
 has been ; and now, certainly, he might condescend to consult 
 mo on the subject. How does he know but I shall refuse- 
 aim ? " said the wilful beauty, annoyed at having her fate 
 :hus summarily fixed. 
 
 " You will not refuse him ! " exclaimed her father. 
 
 " Why don t he come and see ? Perhaps I shall," said 
 she. 
 
 " He asked permission to see you alone this evening, and I 
 granted him liberty," Mr. Wynn answered ; " but the storm 
 has prevented him from coming to solicit your consent to his 
 wishes." 
 
 " The storm did not prevent Walter from going to Ida," 
 gaid Mabel, quickly. 
 
 " Pooh ! you are wayward, my child, and sport with your 
 own desires," said Mr. Wynn, resuming his seat with his 
 usual stern manner, 
 
 Mabel did not reply for a long time. Her eyes were fixed 
 on the fire, and she seemed absorbed in thought. When she 
 did speak, her words were abrupt and hurried, as with sup 
 pressed excitement. 
 
 " Papa, suppose accident had connected you with one, 
 between whom and yourself there had ever been a secret 
 antagonism. Suppose that person had always, purposely 
 sometimes, and often unconsciously, thwarted your designs, 
 opposed your influence, drawn to herself the regard and atten 
 tion that would else have been given wholly to you, and 
 established herself as your rival in hearts where you would 
 
398 IDA MAY. 
 
 reign alone ; and, at last," she added, with heightening color 
 and quickening breath, " at last, defeated you wholly in the 
 one object where, most of all, you wished to triumph over 
 her. It this were so, say, papa, what would you do ? " 
 
 Her father s face grew dark, and he said, with some sur 
 prise of manner, " Is this so ? Is it Ida May to whom you 
 refer ? " 
 
 " It is so," she answered. " From the first moment I saw 
 her, a little dirty child. I disliked her. I tried to overcome 
 the feeling, which mamma said was wrong, and to understand 
 why the others were all so interested in her ; but I could never 
 lose that secret repugnance. She lived with us, and so I 
 treated her well ; but I never, never liked her, and now I 
 will no longer conceal it, I will speak out, I hate her 
 hate her, and I will be revenged ! " She clenched her hand, 
 and stamped her little foot on the soft rug as she spoke, and 
 her eyes glowed with the rage she felt. 
 
 Her father was amazed at this excess of feeling, though he 
 had long since divined her secret dislike of Ida ; but he made 
 no effort to check the outburst, and replied, calmly, 
 
 " I understand, then, that you do not wish her to return 
 here." 
 
 " 1 do not. My food would choke me if we ate at the 
 same table ! " she exclaimed, vehemently. 
 
 "Then, rest assured, some other shelter shall be provided 
 for her. I will have no one here whom you dislike, during 
 the short time you will remain at home," said Mr. Wynn. 
 
 He was secretly pleased that, by this arrangement, he 
 
IDA. MAT. 399 
 
 should probably not only remove Ida, of whose influence in his 
 house he felt somewhat afraid, when it should become known 
 among his servants that she was giving liberty to hers, but 
 also separate Mabel from Walter more effectually than he 
 would otherwise be able to do. He feared Walter s power 
 over his daughter. Her anger and excitement made him 
 think her heart had been more deeply moved than she chose 
 to acknowledge. 
 
 " Are you sure you have no foolish entanglement with 
 Walter ? " he asked, as she did not reply. 
 
 " None that I cannot break thus," she answered, tearing 
 in two pieces the delicate handkerchief that lay in her lap, 
 and flinging it away. " Do not fear that, papa. I am no 
 weak, heart-broken miss, to sit and wear the willow. I 
 would not marry Walter now, if he were king of the world 
 and offered me a place on the throne beside him. No, he 
 may have that pale-faced little girl, if he likes, but I will 
 annoy him somewhat before I am done with her ! " she added, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Calm yourself, Mabel," said Mr. Wynn, earnestly. " I 
 do not like this excessive emotion. Be proud, be ambitious, 
 be unforgiving, if you will, all noble souls have felt these 
 passions, but never get thus excited. It is a habit that 
 increases with indulgence, until a person has no longer control 
 of himself at the moment when he most needs it, and so is 
 left in the power of his enemies. And be careful what you 
 do. I do not blame you, with these feelings toward Ida, for 
 wishing her anywhere rather than here ; but an inordinate 
 34* 
 
400 IDA MAT. 
 
 desire for revenge often overreaches itself, and makes its 
 possessor appear mean or ridiculous, especially when the 
 object of dislike is a woman, and an equal in society. Be 
 satisfied to have things as they are. Do nothing dishonor 
 able." 
 
 " Do not fear, papa," said Mabel, haughtily. " I will be 
 as quiet and discreet as possible. Only one thing I ask of 
 you. Do not tell any one of my engagement to Col. Ross 
 until I give you liberty. I prefer to keep it a secret at 
 present." 
 
 " As- you please," replied her father ; " but it cannot DC 
 kept secret a long time, I fancy, for I expect Col. Ross will 
 urge you to name an early day." 
 
 " He will find himself obliged to wait my pleasure. It 
 seems to me, papa, you hardly consult my dignity in being 
 thus anxious to hasten my marriage," said Mabel, proudly. 
 
 " It is your happiness I am consulting, my dear child," 
 replied her father. " I am a quiet man myself, and my feeble 
 health does not accord with show and noisy crowds, but all 
 the pride of my nature is centred in you. I exult in seeing 
 you admired. You are the crown, the glory of my life, 
 Mabel ! " 
 
 It was not possible, even for a nature so self-absorbed as 
 Mabel s, to hear these words, the most enthusiastic and 
 earnest he had ever spoken in his whole life, without a thrill 
 of feeling more generous and grateful than merely the admi 
 ration they expressed would excite, and his daughter was 
 deeply moved. She rose from her chair, and, coming to him, 
 
IDA MAY. 40 J 
 
 stooped down, with tears in her bright eyes, and kissed his 
 dps. 
 
 " Thank you, papa," she said, in a soft and humble tone. 
 I will make it the study of my life to be all you wish to 
 have rne." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Wynn returned to the parlor, and calmly, 
 as if nothing had happened, her husband took up his book, 
 and Mabel returned to her seat. Mrs. Wynn looked a little 
 surprised, but resumed her work without asking any ques 
 tions. Mabel was the first to speak, and there was no trace 
 of her late emotion as she asked carelessly, 
 
 " How is Patra s child ? You look tired, mamma ; why 
 will you persist in fatiguing yourself so with those sick 
 children? Their mothers ought to know enough to take 
 care of them." 
 
 " But they don t know about giving medicine," said Mrs. 
 Wynn, gently; " and with all my care it seems impossible to 
 teach them, and the poor children would die, very often, if I 
 did not attend to it myself. It is often tiresome, but I must 
 not neglect my duties to the servants." ^ 
 
 " Poor mamma, what a martyr you are to your sense of 
 duty ! " said Mabel, smiling. 
 
 " You will have to be a martyr also, one of these days, 
 when you get to be mistress of a household," replied Mrs. 
 Wynn, returning her smile. 
 
 " 0, I shall never make myself so pale and tired as you 
 are now ! " said Mabel, gayly. 
 
 " It is not all my care for the child," her mother answered, 
 
402 IDA MAY. 
 
 " but these thunder-storms always give me the headache, 
 you know. I am glad this one is passing away, for it has 
 been dreadfully violent." 
 
 " Has it ? I did not notice," said Mabel, dreamily, re 
 lapsing into a revery. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn boked up in surprise, and not without a feeling 
 of envy at the strong nerves that could be unmoved through 
 such a tumult and commotion of the elements ; but her 
 daughter seemed absorbed in thought, and she did not care 
 to disturb her by any reply. 
 
 It was Mabel s first impulse to give voice to her indigna 
 tion against Walter, and at once cast him from her as having 
 alienated her love by his direct violation of her wishes in 
 regard to Ida ; but she wished to annoy and perplex him as 
 much as possible, and she conceived that she had a perfect 
 right to do so, since he had first been unfaithful to her. 
 She was sure that while he was bound by his engagement to 
 her, no expression would be made of his evident interest in 
 Ida, however much they might suffer or lose by the restraint. 
 She gave him credit for thus much of honorable feeling, even 
 in her anger ; but for Ida she had no compassion. Scrupulous 
 as had been her conduct, Mabel believed that she had tried 
 and would still try to win Walter from his allegiance, and 
 if these artful designs had succeeded, and her fukle wooer 
 was beginning to fret against the ties that bound him to her, 
 she determined to hold them with no gentle hand, unpitying, 
 even if she saw that they cut him to the quick. Her love 
 for him was gone, swallowed up in the torrent of angry and 
 
IDA MAY. 403 
 
 bitter feeling that one act had aroused. That he should have 
 cared enough for any living being to have disregarded her 
 expressed wishes in order to serve them, would have been 
 cause enough for anger ; but that he had done this for Ida s 
 sake, was too much for her to bear. 
 
 Every one knows how a feeling that has for years been 
 kept in abeyance, making its torpid life known by a continual 
 consciousness, and yet never manifesting itself so fully as to 
 give evidence of its real power, kept down by social courtesy 
 and by the predominance of other passions and interests, will 
 in one moment spring to light, like Minerva from the brain 
 of Jupiter, with a maturity of strength ready for instant 
 action, and armed with all the energies of an unceasing life. 
 Thus it was with Mabel ; and her deep-laid plan of vengeance 
 required that for a time at least Walter should be kept from 
 Ida s society as much as possible, lest he should discover and 
 frustrate it ; and thus another reason was added to all those 
 which led her to dissemble and hide her real purposes and 
 emotions with regard to her cousin. Her own contemplated 
 violation of their secret engagement gave her not a moment s 
 uneasiness. It was her right, she thought, since she had 
 received so much provocation, and she would rejoice in 
 using it. 
 
 Accordingly, the next day, when, after a long sleep, which 
 had restored the strength lost by the exposure and watching 
 of the previous night, he appeared in the parlor just before 
 dinner-time, she received him with playful reproaches, and 
 inquired so kindly after his health and Ida s welfare, and 
 
404 IDA M A Y . 
 
 expressed such sympathy in his joy at Mr. May s return, 
 that Walter, poor fellow, felt a bitter remorse and vexation 
 at having so hastily condemned her as ill-natured and selfish. 
 He was ashamed of himself, and frightened, as he became 
 conscious of a vague disappointment at being received so 
 pleasantly, and of an undefined hope that she might have 
 resented his disobedience to her command. More earnestly 
 than even in the days of his first fascination, did he, during 
 the few moments they were alone together during the after 
 noon, implore her to allow him to ask her father s consent to 
 their union. He longed to be freed, in some way, from his 
 anomalous and embarrassing position ; and, since he could not 
 honorably leave her, he felt a desperate desire to fence him 
 self around with such barriers as would prevent his rebel 
 thoughts from straying away from her. 
 
 Bat Mabel refused his request. Gently, and with 
 tenderness and delicacy, she begged him to wait a while 
 longer, lest her father should utterly forbid their union, and 
 then, with a well-feigned fearfulness of manner, she told him 
 that Col. Ross had asked for the right to address her, and 
 entreated him not to be angry or jealous if he saw them 
 together, for she had promised her father that she would 
 receive his attentions, for a few months at least, and try to 
 love him. But she knew she could not love Col. Ross, and, 
 if she did not, no force on earth could make her marry him. 
 Her cousin Walter need have no fears of such a rival, 
 no ! and, meantime, her complaisance might win her father 
 to consent to her union with the man she did love, if he would 
 
IDA MAY. c 
 
 only be patient, znd for her sake, if not for his own, refraiu 
 from rash measures that would avail nothing. 
 
 She acted well the part she had chosen to play, and Wal 
 ter, completely deceived, left her in no enviable state of 
 mind. For a long time he walkett to and fro across the 
 piazza, in the cold, gray twilight of that winter s day, with 
 his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the floor. The agita 
 tion he had experienced the evening previous had taught 
 him the nature of his feelings for Ida, and how fatal it might 
 be for his happiness if he should see her often, and yet he 
 knew that he could not wholly avoid her society without 
 appearing rude and unkind. Mr. Wynn had already given 
 orders that her clothing should be sent to her, and he had 
 also given her the deeds and papers belonging to her share 
 of Mr. Maynard s estate, with a brief, and coldly courteous 
 message, which was, in fact, but a civil way of saying that 
 he expected to have nothing more to do with her or her 
 affairs. Walter knew that, if Ida s plans were carried out, 
 she, and her father also, would need the help he could render, 
 and feel surprised and offended at what they must deem his 
 unfriendly desertion of them, if that aid was withheld. HB 
 knew that there was little to choose between the dishonor of 
 wilfully breaking his engagement, and the falsehood of utter 
 ing marriage vows to one woman, while his highest esteem 
 and strongest love were given to another ; and his heart re 
 coiled in horror at* the thought of doing either. What then 
 should he do ? Could the will control the affections ? Could 
 the strong currents of the soul, which now swelled high and 
 
406 IDA MAY. 
 
 dashed against the barriers that opposed them, be made to 
 flow in a different channel, curbed and quieted, and serving 
 peacefully the occasions of daily duty ? 
 
 These questions he asked himself, and, in the perplexity 
 and confusion of his mind, he found but an uncertain answer. 
 Other thoughts came also to trouble him ; thoughts con 
 nected with his obligations to his human property, that had 
 been for a few days imperiously urging their claims upon his 
 conscience ; and interests more important than the alternative 
 of his own happiness or misery, that loudly called for his con 
 sideration. 
 
 Wearied, at length, with the ceaseless round of thought, he 
 determined to leave the subject, and, trusting that firm prin 
 ciples and right intentions would in the end extricate him 
 from the dilemma, he resolved to occupy himself with other 
 objects, and to change his present idle life for the business 
 and cares incident to the management of his plantation at 
 Oaklands. 
 
 The next morning he announced to his uncle that he had 
 given up the idea of selling his place, ahd, instead of going to 
 the city to enjoy the busy idleness of a young lawyer, he 
 should establish himself at Oaklands, and stud} agriculture. 
 No objection was offered to this plan, and little surprise ex 
 pressed by any except Mrs. Wynn ; and, thus quietly loosening 
 himself from his old home, Walter found himself the next 
 evening settled at housekeeping in the time-worn family man 
 sion at Oaklands. 
 
 Some weeks elapsed, after this, with little apparent change 
 
IDA MAY. 407 
 
 in the position of affairs. Walter rode over to the hall three 
 or four times a week, and was always kindly received by 
 Mabel. Sometimes he found Col. Ross there, and he often 
 heard reports of his approaching marriage ; but, deceived as 
 he was in regard to his cousin s intentions, he put no faith in 
 these /umors, and assiduously strove to recall the warmth of 
 affection with which he had once regarded her. Ida he saw 
 more seldom. He fancied that she had grown reserved and 
 distant in her manner towards him,. and supposed that she 
 had divined his hidden love for her, and meant thus to dis 
 courage it. He doubted not that she blamed him, as much 
 as he blamed himself, for his change of feeling, and his faith 
 lessness to Mabel s love, of which in his blindness he had 
 full confidence, and, though it gave him a heavy heart-ach 
 ing continually, he accepted this loss of her esteem, as a just 
 punishment for his offences. Poor fellow ! he would have 
 grown nearly desperate, but for the diversion of thought and 
 the constant occupation he found in the care of his plantation, 
 and in improving the condition of his servants, who had been 
 sadly neglected of late years. 
 
 Ida May and her father, one in mind and heart, delayed 
 not a moment the work on which her wishes had been fixed 
 so long. The happiness they enjoyed in being restored to 
 each other, had no effect to centre their thoughts on them 
 selves, and make them forget the welfare of those dependent 
 on them. There were some unavoidable delays in the legal 
 forms necessary for the manumission of Ida s negroes ; but, 
 meantime, she collected them together at the old house in the 
 35 
 
408 IDA MAY. 
 
 Triangle, where she had passed the most miserable and the 
 happiest hours of her life, and tried to teach them the rudi- 
 mente of the free and self-dependent life on which they were 
 to enter. At first, it was a disagreeable and somewhat thank 
 less work. They had been so little used to unselfish kind 
 ness, that they mistrusted her, and quarrelled among them 
 selves over her gifts of clothing and food ; they were all 
 wofully ignorant; most of the good-natured ones were stupid 
 and the bright ones were mostly vicious^ .It .was jao light 
 task, no "rose-water humanity," to teaxjU such beings the 
 decencies and arts of civilized life, and the moral and reli 
 gious ideas, of which they were as destitute as the heathen 
 of foreign lands. But Ida persevered patiently, day after 
 day, with a Christian gentleness and pity for these victims of 
 oppression, that gradually won their confidence and love ; and, 
 as time went on, her work became easier. They began to act 
 less like savage children, helpless and incapable, and to enjoy 
 the glimmering ideas of advancement and education that 
 found way into their minds, so long benumbed and darkened. 
 The most of them were of the class who are called " con 
 tented," because they sing rude songs in the intervals of labor, 
 and are too stupid, too ignorant of a better life, too hopeless 
 of ultimate escape from their present state, and too fearful of 
 punishment if they rebel against it, to do aught but plod on 
 day after day through their allotted round of labor, with the 
 quiet obedience of brutes. These were not prepared for free 
 dom ; and it would have been better if they could have been 
 trained carefully and judiciously for some years, before re- 
 
IDA MAY. 409 
 
 ceiving that boon ; but, under the circumstances in which Ida 
 was placed, she knew this could not be done, and she wisely 
 refrained from attempting more than she would be allowed to 
 perform. Her father assisted her by his experience of the 
 world, and encouraged and sustained her when she was per 
 plexed and weary ; and, thus busily engaged, the time flew by 
 on swift wings. 
 
 They had rooms at the hotel in the village, but every 
 morning they rode out to the Triangle, and spent most of the 
 day. Ida taught the women to sew, and cut and make gar 
 ments of various description, and Mr. May employed the men 
 out of doors, paying them a small sum each week, that they 
 might acquire the habit of receiving remuneration for their 
 labor, and of spending judiciously what they received. An 
 hour or two every afternoon was devoted to oral instruction. 
 More than this, they did not attempt, for they knew that they 
 should soon become objects of suspicion, and they determined 
 to be very careful. 
 
 In the pleasant evenings they had occasionally visited some 
 of Ida s old acquaintances in the neighborhood, but the grow 
 ing coldness with which they were received caused her so 
 much pain that gradually these were discontinued ; and she 
 tried to forget, in the exclusive devotion which her father 
 bestowed upon her, that she was cast out from society which 
 had once welcomed her. After receiving Mr. Wynn s mes 
 sage, through "Walter Yarian, Mr. May, justly offended at 
 the treatment she had met with, would not allow her to make 
 ay conciliatory overtures ; but they both sent many expres- 
 
410 IDA MAY. 
 
 glons of grateful thanks to Mrs. Wynn, who had learned thia 
 winter so much sympathy and love for Ida, that she was 
 almost content, even though she began to suspect that Walter 
 was learning the same lesson. 
 
 For the sake of principle, Ida had lost easte, and she was 
 made to feel this in various ways as the winter wore away. 
 Sometimes she was amused, and sometimes annoyed, by these 
 manifestations ; but she had expected them, and she clung 
 more closely than ever to her father, and thanked Heaven for 
 sending her such a protector at the time when she most 
 needed his aid. She was not surprised to receive no visits 
 and no invitations, to be met with a cold nod of recognition, 
 or a still colder "cut direct," when she saluted her acquaint 
 ances, as she chanced to meet them in the street or in church ; 
 for, before undertaking this enterprise, she had counted the 
 cost. She knew that no person would be received in south 
 ern families, who openly avowed a practical and earnest dis 
 like of slavery, unqualified by any palliating "if," or "but." 
 She was not surprised at the falling off of friends, but she 
 was astonished, and a little alarmed sometimes, when, as 
 spring advanced, she began to see strangers, who passed them 
 in their daily rides to and from the Triangle, turn and look 
 after them with frowning faces ; and when the rude " clay- 
 eaters," whom they sometimes met, stood still and gazed 
 at them, insolently, as if they were objects of curiosity and 
 hatred. 
 
 One day, when she came home, she found Walter waiting 
 for her in their little parlor, with a face in which amusement 
 
IDA MAY. 411 
 
 and vexation were strangely blended. Her father had gone 
 to the village shops to make some necessary purchases, and, 
 for the first time in many weeks, she found herself alone with 
 her old friend. Indeed, she had hardly seen him, except for 
 a few moments together, since he had been established at 
 Oaklands. His visits had been short, and his manner con 
 strained. 
 
 Ida was far from suspecting the true nature of his feelings, 
 but she thought he had begun to discover how little congeni 
 ality there could ever be between himself and Mabel ; and 
 though she shrank from acknowledging, even to herself, that 
 Walter could ever be more to her than the elder brother he 
 had called himself in her childish days, her pride and deli 
 cacy were alarmed lest any one should suppose that she had 
 to do with his change of feeling towards his cousin. There 
 fore she had withdrawn herself from him as much as possible. 
 Her father wondered a little ; but he had full confidence in 
 [da, and, believing she had some good reason for her conduct, 
 had asked no questions ; and Walter, fancying his visits not 
 desired, had made them quite rare. 
 
 " I don t know whether you will laugh or be offended 
 at what I am going to say," he said, abruptly, as he seated 
 himself at the window beside her, on this afternoon. 
 
 " Tell me, and see which it will be," she answered, smil 
 ing. 
 
 " I hope, at any rate, you won t be frightened, for there is 
 no danger, only I thought I might as well caution you," he 
 continued. 
 
 85* 
 
412 IDA MAY. 
 
 " For pity s sake, tell me ! You do frighten me now ! " she 
 said, turning pale, and looking up anxiously. 
 
 " It is nothing ; only I am afraid you have been a little less 
 cautious than is necessary, in this state of society, in express 
 ing your views on the subject of freedom. I had a hint to 
 day, from the bar-keeper below, that something you and your 
 father had said or done had caused considerable talk about 
 town." 
 
 "It must then be because it has become known that I 
 intend to free my servants," said Ida ; " but, surely, I have 
 a right to do so." 
 
 " Nobody will deny that right ; you know it is a funda 
 mental principle, on which our whole social system rests, that 
 a man has a right to do what he will with his servants," said 
 Walter, running his fingers through his hair, and looking up 
 with his old gleeful expression, which Ida had not seen for a 
 long time. 
 
 " Certainly, then, he may make them free men," said she. 
 
 " Certainly," repeated Walter ; " but that which is lawful 
 may riot be always expedient, and I suspect that this is the 
 head and front of your offending. But this is not what is 1 
 alleged. It is said that your father has talked imprudently 
 in the public parlor here." 
 
 " What can he have said ? " exclaimed Ida. "I thought 
 we had both been very careful. " We expected to be watched, 
 as soon as we became known, and, therefore, have been ex 
 tremely guarded in our words and actions." 
 
 " It is said," replied Walter, that Mr. May has used the 
 
I D A M A Y . 41 3 
 
 words master, and slave, in speaking of our domestic insti 
 tution. You see I cannot treat the subject with the gravity 
 it deserves," he added, .unable to refrain from laughing 
 heartily, as he repeated these charges ; " but, I assure you, 
 the bar-keeper added several other expressions, equally sedi 
 tious when used before the servants, and capped the climax 
 by informing me that you dangerous girl ! you have bean 
 seen, by two men, talking to an old woman in the woods ! 
 What do you say to that ? " 
 
 " Is it possible," she exclaimed, " that for such little things 
 we are esteemed dangerous, and meet everywhere such mali 
 cious looks ? I knew people here were sensitive, but I had 
 no idea of this." 
 
 " I should have said so myself, once," replied Walter ; 
 " but I begin to think that no purity of intention, no integrity 
 of action, can shield a person from annoyance, if he is sus 
 pected of being heretical on that one subject, which is the 
 hinge whereon all our social and political interests turn." 
 
 " I remember my conversation with the old woman, that 
 morning I first went to the Triangle ; but it was wholly acci 
 dental, and chiefly upon religious subjects. She was a good 
 old woman. I have met her a few times since, and given her 
 some money, for she is miserably poor ; but I think nobody 
 has seen me since that first morning. There were two men 
 out then, with some fierce-looking dogs, hunting a negro. I 
 saw them look at me closely, but I feared no harm." 
 
 " They don t like to have strangers talk to their negroes, 
 even upon indifferent subjects," said Walter; "they are 
 
414 IDA MAY 
 
 always (suspecting harm, and it is doubly unsafe for you, since 
 your anti-slavery ideas happen to be well known. I would 
 be careful, if I were you, even to a degree that seems needless, 
 and I would caution your father, also. He lets his hatred of 
 oppression be seen in his face, sometimes, when he says noth 
 ing; and even looks are watched, and interpreted as danger 
 ous, in these regions." 
 
 " I will not look at anything black again, except on my 
 own plantation," said Ida, laughing, " be it man or woman, 
 be it brute or human, I will shut my eyes the moment I 
 discover its color, and I will advise father to wear a mask 
 over his too expressive face. But does it not seem ridicu 
 lous ? Think of two such inoffensive beings as we are 
 causing a commotion in town ! It is too absurd." 
 
 " My dear young lady," said Walter, with affected serious 
 ness, " it is time you should learn that nothing is absurd 
 which offends the majesty of the sovereign people ; nothing 
 is inoffensive that, directly or indirectly, threatens harm or 
 reproach to our beloved institution. " 
 
 " Don t say ours, " said Ida, impatiently. " I don t like 
 to think of you as upholding and protecting this system, that 
 hinders all rational liberty, in the white man as well as the 
 
 negro. Don t say ours. You don t belong to this order of 
 
 things." 
 
 " Indeed, I wish I had no need to say ours, " said Walter 
 
 sorrowfully, her careless words plunging him back into t*lie 
 
 depths of perplexity from which his thoughts had for a while 
 
 escaped. 
 
IDA MAY. 415 
 
 " And why need you ? " said Ida, earnestly. " Walter, I 
 must ask you, though, perhaps, I should not, why you thus 
 hesitate, and struggle against your convictions of right ? I 
 know it cannot be from any paltry pecuniary motive. What 
 is it that hinders you from following the more excellent 
 way, which your words so plainly indicate that your heart 
 approves ? " 
 
 Walter Varian rose from his chair, and paced the room 
 hurriedly for some moments, before he could reply. Then, 
 stopping suddenly before her, he fixed his expressive eyes 
 upon her, and spoke one word only : 
 
 " Mabel ! " 
 
 " Even your engagement to her should not interfere with 
 this sacred duty to those helpless beings, who may, with all 
 their posterity, be doomed to unending bondage, unless you 
 set them free now, before other cares and other duties obscure 
 the path which is now so plain, and render that difficult which 
 is now so easy." 
 
 Still standing before her, with his piercing glances, that 
 sought to read her soul, he repeated, impressively, that name : 
 
 " Mabel ! " 
 
 " Why should she hinder this great work ? " persisted Ida, 
 moved by a sudden impulse, that urged her on, in spite of her 
 previous determination. " 0, Walter ! I know it involves a 
 sacrifice ; but should you not place your convictions of duty 
 before your love or your happiness ? And, after all, the self- 
 denial will not be very great. You have youth, and educa 
 tion, and abilities, that will develop themselves more ami 
 
416 IDA MAT. 
 
 more under this new stimulus to exertion. If Mabel loves 
 you, she will be proud of your fame, and rejoice . in your 
 firmness of principle ; and, if you love her, why not have 
 sufficient confidence in her to believe this ? You have never 
 confided to her your trouble." 
 
 " Are you then so deceived ? " exclaimed Walter, vehe 
 mently, seizing both her hands as he spoke, and holding them 
 tightly clasped in his. " Are you so blind as not to see that 
 it is only because I do not love her, that I cannot speak to 
 her upon this subject ? If I loved her, if it were a question 
 between my happiness and my duty, I should not have re 
 frained from all action, in this cowardly, sneaking manner. 
 I could have given up my happiness, and thanked God for 
 strength to do my duty. But it seemed dishonorable to me 
 to mention this subject now, knowing, as I do, that it will 
 surely break the ties that bind us together, now, when those 
 ties have become like iron fetters, that gall and weary. That 
 would, indeed, be stealing the livery of heaven to serve 
 the devil in! 0, Ida! I am sorely perplexed. Pity 
 me !" 
 
 He sank down on a low bench at her feet, and pressed her 
 hands against his burning eyes. It was an infinite relief to 
 her to escape that impassioned gaze, and she no longer sought 
 to withdraw them from his grasp. 
 
 " I do pity you, Walter," she answered, striving to speak 
 calmly. I pity you , and I see that I judged you wrongly. 
 Forgive me, that I blamed you, and do not let us talk of this 
 any more." 
 
IDA M A Y . 41V 
 
 " Forgive you ! " he said, without looking up. " I would 
 forgive you a thousand times more than this ! Only do not 
 despise me for my faithlessness, for my vacillation, and weak 
 ness of purpose." 
 
 " Despise you ! " exclaimed Ida, in amazement. " What 
 could have given you that idea ? No, I think you are in a 
 sad dilemma ; but I can do or say nothing to relieve you. 
 Perhaps you have mistaken Mabel, perhaps you do not do 
 her justice. She loves you, and, therefore, she must seek to 
 please you. Her views and feelings on this subject may 
 change when she knows yours." 
 
 " Have I mistaken her ? Have I been unjust to her ? " he 
 said, suddenly raising his head, and looking anxiously into 
 her face. " I wish you would tell me, Ida, for you have 
 been with her during these five years that have developed her 
 character, and you must know better than I. Tell me, is 
 she selfish and cold-hearted, as she seemed to be when you 
 were at the hall, or is the gentleness she has shown since, the 
 right index to her character ? " 
 
 Ida colored violently at this question, and it was some 
 moments before she answered. Then she said, candidly, " I 
 do not wish to tell you what I think about it, Walter. 1 
 know that she does not like me, and I fear I do not like her 
 well enough to - estimate her character truly. I believe it 
 must be partly my own fault, for she seems to be universally 
 admired ; but, certainly, our spheres do not accord. Lei u 
 talk of something else. Time may bring you safely out froi 
 your perplexity, if you are patient. 
 
418 IDA MAY. 
 
 " Do you think so, do you really think so ? " he cried, 
 joyfully. 0, if I am ever a free man again, then, Ida, 
 then " 
 
 He paused abruptly, and compressed his lips firmly together, 
 as if to keep back words that struggled for utterance. The 
 hope, which he had always rejected so sternly when whispered 
 by his own heart, he accepted from her lips as a certain 
 prophecy. He gazed up into her eyes, eagerly, passionately, 
 as if he would thus telegraph to her mind the thoughts he 
 had forbidden his lips to speak. 
 
 Ida saw that he had understood far more than her words 
 were intended to convey, and she became grea% confused. 
 His glances seemed to penetrate to her very soul, and compel 
 her to acknowledge emotions, of which she had, until now, 
 been unconscious, feelings, whose very existence she had 
 obstinately and perseveringly ignored. He still held her 
 hands so firmly that she could not move, and, even when she 
 turned away her head, she felt the power, the magnetism, of 
 his earnest eyes. Her heart palpitated wildly, her lips 
 trembled, tears filled her eyes, she grew deadly palo, 
 and the room seemed to whirl and darken around 1 er. 
 
 Walter sprang up in alarm. Are you faint ? Have i 
 hurt you ? Have I offended you ? " he exclaimed, 6ending 
 over her with the utmost solicitude. 
 
 " 0, no ! I am nervous and fatigued, that is all," she 
 answered, recovering herself by a violent effort, and smiling 
 through her tears at her own weakness. 
 
 " I have staid too long," said Walter, after a few momenta, 
 
IDA MAY 
 
 419 
 
 during which he had stood silently beside her. " You are 
 sure you are not offended with me ? " he added. 
 
 " I aui not offended now," she replied, hesitatingly, and a 
 little coldly, turning her face from him as she spoke ; " but 
 you must not talk to me again about this. I was very foolish 
 to introduce the subject. I would not, had I known " 
 
 " I am thankful you did," exclaimed he, as she paused in 
 sudden confusion. " I have suffered much because I could 
 not explain to you why it was that I did not act as I felt. 
 Now I shall feel easier, since you understand me." 
 
 " I wonder why father does not come, it is nearly tea 
 time ! " said Ida, abruptly, changing the conversation, anxious 
 to prevent further embarrassment. 
 
 "He is coming now, and I must go. Good-by," said 
 Walter. 
 
 He took her hand, with a lingering pressure, and again his 
 eyes met hers, with that expressive look which made her 
 tremble like a reed ; but she controlled herself bravely, and 
 was giving him a message for Mrs. "Wynn, when the footsteps 
 they had heard on the stairs came nearer, and the door opened. 
 They turned, expecting to see Mr. May ; but, in his place, 
 th^re appeared the pallid face, and tall, emaciated figure of 
 Maura Abby, holding in her arms a little child. 
 
 Maura Abby ! " they both exclaimed, in surprise ; and 
 Ida, thankful for almost any interruption at this moment, 
 pprang to her side, and clasped her hand warmly, as she led 
 aer to a seat. 
 
 A mint smile flitted over her grief-worn face, as she met 
 36 
 
4:20 IDA MAY. 
 
 this cordial greeting, and, seating on her lap the little boy who 
 had been clinging around her neck, she said, 
 
 " You look surprised to see me, Miss Ida, and perhaps you 
 will be still more astonished, when you know the errand that 
 brought me. You were my best friend, my only comforter, 
 in that dark, dark hour when my heart was broken, and I 
 have come to you again for help." 
 
 Her voice was low and calm, and though a shudder ran 
 over her whole frame, as she referred to her son s death, she 
 manifested few other signs of emotion. 
 
 " This little boy is Elsie s child," said Ida, inquiringly, 
 divining at once the wishes of her companion. 
 
 " It is ; and Elsie is dead." 
 
 " I heard of her death," said Ida, " and I was almost 
 thankful ; for the poor little thing was not fitted for the strug 
 gle and toil of life. It is well that her grief killed her so 
 soon." 
 
 " Do you think it was grief that killed her ? 0, no ! 
 grief cannot kill. It blights, it sears, it tortures, but it can 
 not kill ; else why am I here ? " said Maum Abby, pressing 
 one hand over her heart, and looking with a mournful earnest 
 ness, that brought tears to the eyes of her listeners. 
 
 " This little boy looks like her. What is his name ? " said 
 Ida, wishing to divert her attention from such sad memories. 
 
 " He has his father s name," replied Maum Abby ; " but 
 he is not a bold, bright baby, as his father was. 0, how 
 short, how short the time seems, since I held my son in my 
 arms, as his son is sitting now ! O, what a little time ! " she 
 
IDA MAY. 421 
 
 added, sadly caressing the child ; " and now nothing is left 
 me nothing but this ! " 
 
 She bowed her face on the little head that rested against 
 her bosom, and they all wept together. "Walter walked to 
 the window to hide his emotion, and he was the first to recover 
 himself. 
 
 " Don t cry mauma," he said, trying to speak cheerfully, 
 though his voice was somewhat husky. " This baby will grow 
 up to be a brave little fellow, and a great comfort to you." 
 
 She raised herself, and shook her head, as she answered, 
 " God grant that the sorrows of life may have ended for me 
 long before he grows to be a man ! I love him, but I am old 
 and feeble now, and I cannot do for him even so much as I 
 could do for his poor father. No, Master Walter, I look for 
 no more comfort from anything mortal. I have brought him 
 here to give him to Miss Ida. Will you take him, my dear 
 young lady ? Will you take the orphan boy to a land where he 
 can be educated, and made a blessing to himself and others ? 
 O, Ida, will you take my child ? " 
 
 " I will do all I can for him, mauma," said Ida, " and, 
 with Venus aid, I think I can take care of him. He is a 
 dear little fellow ! Will he come to me ? " 
 
 She held out her hands to him, as she spoke, with the 
 tender, winning language a woman involuntarily adopts in 
 speaking to a young child, and he raised himself from the 
 arm on which he had been leaning, in timid quietness ; a 
 half smile broke over his face, which was before too sad for 
 his years ; and after the glances of his large, serious eyes had 
 
422 IDA MAT 
 
 wandered from her to his nurse, and back again to her face 
 he held out his tiny hands to hers, and sprang into her arms, 
 Her heart warmed towards him, as she felt his soft cheek 
 touching hers with a confiding pressure. 
 
 Maum Abby smiled faintly. " He knows that your heart 
 is large enough to give him room," she said. " He is a gentle, 
 quiet child, and I think his mother s anxiety and sorrow have 
 prevented him from learning to laugh and shout as most 
 babies do, and have kept him puny and delicate. I could not 
 bear to have him raised in that miserable, ignorant, degraded 
 condition in which his mother s family are living, and so I 
 took him home ; but I saw that Miss Emma felt anxious, 
 though master said nothing against it, lest something un 
 pleasant might happen, if the child staid there ; and I am 
 old old in years and sorrows and I have no life or energy 
 to raise such a boy as his father s child must be in a few 
 years, even if I live ; and, if I die, there are evils and dangers 
 that I shudder to think of. 0, Miss Ida, if you will take 
 him, my prayers and thanks shall follow you every day 
 of your life, till the Lord pleases to call me to a better 
 world!" 
 
 " I will certainly take him," replied Ida. " I am going 
 away from here soon, but I will always provide for the little 
 one, and see that he is well cared for, and educated as he gets 
 older. Yenus is a mighty good nurse, and she can take 
 care of him now, and will be glad to, I know. She is fond 
 of children." 
 
 " I hear your father has come back," said Maum Abbv 
 
IDA MAY. 423 
 
 after a short pause, during which Ida was caressing and talk 
 ing to the child, " and I bless God, every day, that you are 
 not lonely and unprotected any more. 0, this is a sad, 
 weary world, when we feel as if we had nobody to love 
 best, nobody to cling to with the strongest cord in our 
 hearts ! " 
 
 " God has, indeed, blessed me beyond what I expected or 
 deserved, in sending back my father. It was like receiving 
 him from the grave, for, even in my wildest dreams, I have 
 never dared hope that he was not dead." 
 
 " You have had many sorrows and trials ; I used to see 
 them when you lived at our house sometimes, and there were 
 others greater, that came before and afterwards ; but now, I 
 hope, they are all over, and you have nothing but happiness 
 before you. You have tried to do right, and you have been 
 a blessing to many poor creatures that had nobody else to 
 help them. You have not been selfish or afraid to do your 
 duty, and I know God will bless you," said Maum Abby, 
 warmly. " I know you will have a peaceful, and joyful life 
 after this." 
 
 A beautiful color mantled Ida s cheek, as she heard these 
 praises ; but, as she looked up, she met Walter s gaze, and a 
 pang of hidden sorrow shot through her heart. Alas ! with 
 all the happiness of a father s love, with all the blessings of 
 the grateful hearts around her, was she not conscious, even 
 now, of a heavy weight on her heart ; a trial all the greater 
 *hat it must be borne in secret and alone ? Almost uncon 
 sciously she replied, in the words of the venerable Thomas -a 
 36* 
 
424 IDA MAY. 
 
 Kerapis, and she spoke them rather to her own soul than t 
 those who listened : 
 
 " For this whole mortal life is full of miseries, and signed 
 on every side with crosses. But, if thou trust in the Lord, 
 fortitude shall be given thee from heaven." 
 
 "I remember that," said Maum Abby. "You read it to 
 me once, and I have often said it to myself since. O, Miss 
 Ida, sometimes I have felt as if no one in all the world had 
 so heavy a cross to bear as that which is laid on me. It 
 presses me down it bows me to the earth. When first it 
 came upon me, I thought it would crush me, but, through the 
 mercy of the Lord, it is growing lighter now. In my first 
 mad grief, I thought there was no consolation left for me ; in 
 my blindness, I dared poor, weak worm, that I am ! to 
 call in question the justice and loving-kindness of the Lord. 1 
 said God had forgotten me. So foolish was I, and ignorant, 
 I was a beast before him ! " 
 
 She had risen as she spoke, and now stood with her hands 
 clasped, and her eyes, unnaturally large and bright, in con 
 trast with the ghastly paleness of her emaciated face, glow 
 ing with the fervor of her emotions, as she looked upward with 
 an earnest gaze that seemed to pierce the heavens. Thus she 
 stood some moments, during which not a word was spoken. 
 Absorbed and entranced, she appeared unmindful that she was 
 not alone, and Ida and Walter? knowing her deep sorrows, 
 were silent with sympathy and awe. Then her lips moved, 
 at first inauclibly, and a strange, solemn expression of joy 
 
IDA MAY. 42l 
 
 seemed to steal over her features, brightening and softening 
 their rigid outlines. 
 
 "I will trust in the Lord," she said; "though he slay 
 me, yet will I trust in him ! I will bear his indignation, 
 because I have sinned against him, until he plead my cause, 
 and execute judgment for me. He will bring me forth to the 
 light, and I shall behold his righteousness. He leadeth me 
 by a way that I knew not. Clouds and darkness are round 
 about his throne ; but the Lord is good, and from out the 
 storm and the whirlwind I hear a voice saying, * It is I ; be 
 not afraid ! The waves and the billows have gone over me ; 
 I sink in deep waters, where there is no standing. Bitter, 
 bitter is the cup, but my Father hath given it to me, and shall 
 I not drink it ? Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in 
 thy sight ! * 
 
 She continued for some moments to repeat passage after 
 passage of Scripture, with an earnestness and a readiness that 
 showed how her troubled heart had seized upon the divine 
 -consolations they afforded. For many years she had been an 
 untiring reader of the Bible, and since her mind began to 
 arouse itself from the overwhelming affliction of Alfred s death, 
 those words of healing and comfort had sustained her amid 
 the sad memories that haunted her lonely dwelling ; and often 
 had lifted her above all trial and sorrow by the strong power 
 of submission and faith. Dark and mysterious as the event 
 seemed to be, she had bowed her soul to receive it unmurmur- 
 irigly, as part of the discipline of her life ; and, amid her 
 oereavement and desolation, she now sometimes felt llie 
 
426 IDA MAY. 
 
 heaven-born joy of entire self-abnegation, a joy little 
 known, and,, alas ! seldom desired. 
 
 Taking the child again from Ida s arms, she held him a 
 little while, caressing and pressing him fondly to her bosom, 
 for, at the moment of parting, her heart yearned over this 
 last relic of her idolized son. But at length she put him 
 away from her, and, murmuring an invocation of blessings 
 upon him and Ida, she turned suddenly, and passed out of the 
 room, as if she dared not trust herself to speak words of 
 farewell. 
 
 Walter followed her, and found the wagon, which had 
 brought her from the hall, waiting for her at the door of the 
 hotel. He saw her safely set out upon her return, and then 
 went back to say good-night to Ida ; but when he reached 
 the parlor, he found it vacated. She had not supposed he 
 would return, having been so long detained after his first 
 leave-taking, and she had proceeded directly to her chamber, 
 to show Venus the little boy who had been so unexpectedly 
 committed to her care. 
 
 Venus, who was passionately fond of babies, welcomed this 
 little veteran of two summers with enthusiasm, as a most de 
 lightful addition to the family ; but he could not be induced to 
 allow her to take him. He was tired and hungry, and he 
 began to cry, and clung to Ida, so that she was obliged to feed 
 and undress him, and at length the long lushes shut heavily 
 over his mild black eyes, and he slept upon her bosom. It 
 was quite dark before she was released from this new but 
 pleasing employment ; and then, leaving the child in Venus 
 
IDA MAY 427 
 
 care, she went to the parlor. She found her father sitting 
 there alone. Walter had waited some time, and then, sup 
 posing she wished to avoid him, by her long absence, he had 
 gone away, with feelings strangely divided between pain for 
 nis love and admiration for its object. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " 0, but man, proud man ! 
 Dressed in a little brief authority, 
 Most ignorant of what he s most assured, 
 His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 As make the angels weep." 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 THE next morning, just as Mr. May was about leaving the 
 little parlor, where he and his daughter had been sitting, wait 
 ing for their horses to be saddled for the morning ride, a 
 knock was heard at the door, and, when it was opened, the 
 hotel-keeper bowed himself into the room. The suppressed 
 agitation of his face arrested Ida s attention, as she bade him 
 good-morning, and he had hardly taken the chair she offered 
 him before he made known the object of his visit, by saying, 
 
 "I beg your pardon for intruding, but the importance of 
 what I have to say must be my excuse. I am sorry to have 
 to tell you, sir and madam, that I fear you are in some 
 danger here." 
 
 " From what source are we in danger ? " said Mr. May. 
 "It is a matter of great regret to me, I assure you, sir, 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 and I thought it but friendly to inform you of the charges 
 against you. I hope you will excuse jme ; but it is a grave 
 matter, a very grave matter. It is said that you are 
 abolitionists." 
 
 He pronounced this last word in a low, husky whisper, as 
 if afraid to mention a term so full of infamy and danger ; and 
 when it was spoken, he sat looking from one to the other, with 
 his face flushed, and his hands trembling from excitement. He 
 was a kind-hearted man, and he felt truly sorry for his 
 guests, although he was not entirely without that disgust and 
 dread which every southerner feels, involuntarily, at the men 
 tion of that class of persons to whom he supposed they 
 belonged. 
 
 Mr. May could hardly help smiling at his tone and manner ; 
 but, nevertheless, he knew that all sorts of difficulty and 
 danger were connected with this charge. He glanced at Ida, 
 who had grown very pale and laid hei hand on his arm with 
 a quick, nervous motion, and replied, quietly, 
 
 " Do not alarm my daughter unnecessarily, I beg. I think 
 there will be no trouble. If, by the term abolitionist, 
 you mean a person who considers your system of domestic ser 
 vitude a great wrong, an evil that affects all classes of 
 society, and leads to untold suffering and crime, then I 
 can only say peccavi. But if you mean that, in the slightest 
 possible manner, we have interfered with your servants, or 
 those of any other man, I can affirm boldly that the charge is 
 utterly false." 
 
 u I have no doubt of it," replied Mr. Armitage (for such 
 
430 IDA MAY. 
 
 was his name). " I am sure you have never meddled with my 
 servants, and I hope you will be able to prove that you have 
 had nothing to do with any others. I assure you, sir, I have 
 done the utmost in my power to quiet these reports." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Mr. May; "you may be sure they 
 are without foundation. I have my own ideas respecting 
 my duties to the negroes left my daughter by her guardian, 
 but I seek to control no other man s conscience, and I 
 meddle not with any other man s affairs. Who says 
 I do ? " 
 
 " There are various persons, who have been producing some 
 agitation, by using your name and Miss May s," replied he, 
 evasively ; " and, if you will allow me to say so, I fear you 
 have given some occasion for the rumors, although I am sure 
 it was through inadvertence, and ignorance of our customs. 
 Several times, in general conversation, you have quite warmly 
 upheld the northern side of the argument " 
 
 " Cannot a man express his own opinions here, if they hap 
 pen to be adverse to those of his neighbor ? " interrupted Mr. 
 May, with some warmth. 
 
 " In private, among his friends, certainly," replied Mr. 
 Armitage ; "but in public, it is generally unwise to do so, 
 and when such things are said before the negroes, they are 
 considered seditious. Perhaps you did not know it, but it is 
 so. And, beside this, Miss May has been seen talking with 
 one or two negro women in the woods, and that you know is 
 quite contrary to custom." 
 
 " I did not know it was," replied Ida, " When I lived 
 
IDA MAY. 431 
 
 at Wynn Hall, we used frequently to stop to chat with 
 the women waging in the woods, as we were riding out." 
 
 " Ah, certainly ! " said Mr. Armitagc ; " but that was 
 quite different. Then you were with some members of that 
 family, doubtless, and any one who saw you might, by inquir 
 ing, learn that you were a person from whom nothing could 
 be feared. But now, pardon me, miss, it is well known 
 that there has been a little coolness between yourself and the 
 Wynn family, on account of this very matter of interfering 
 with servants ; and that makes it quite a different matter, you 
 pee." 
 
 " In other words," said Ida, " because I do not live at 
 Wynn Hall since my father came home, I am not to bo 
 allowed to bestow charity on a poor old woman, or to talk 
 with her upon religious matters. Do you not yourself think 
 this is making a fuss about a very little thing ? " 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Armitage, apologetically, " we don t liko 
 to have strangers talk to our negroes. It makes them dis 
 contented. They can detect, in a moment, the difference 
 between one who is used to them, and a person from the 
 north ; and they are so cunning and treacherous, that they 
 avail themselves of it at once, to tell all sorts of stories, and 
 BO give people a very wrong idea of the true state of things 
 here. Half the stories in the northern newspapers are got in 
 this way from the servants, and have no truth in them. The 
 negroes will lie so, that one can t depend a moment on what 
 they say. You get no right ideas respecting our domestic 
 institution bv talking with them. They are an ungratefu 1 
 37 
 
432 IDA MAY. 
 
 yet, and will often complain of the very best of masters. 
 Of course, we don t like to be misrepresented in that way." 
 
 " Some servants seem very much attached to their masters," 
 said Mr. May. 
 
 "Yes, yes ! No doubt the .most of them are. When 
 they have kind masters, they are always very fond of them. 
 In fact, there is no tie so strong as that between an old serv 
 ant and the family he belongs to. Many a one that has 
 been enticed away, has come back after a little while, and 
 begged to be taken home again. They hate the abolitionists 
 as much as their masters do, I assure you." 
 
 " Are not most of the masters, about here, kind to their 
 servants ? " asked Mr. May. 
 
 " yes, yes ! " replied Mr. Armitage. " I know of one or 
 two who are a little hard, but generally it has been the fault 
 of the negroes. There are some negroes so ugly that a man 
 can t get along without severe measures. However, that is 
 rare ; and, as I said, as a general thing, they are very much 
 attached to their masters, and would not be free if they could. 
 Yes, it is so all around here. Most of the masters are kind. 
 In fact, there are very few bad masters. That is quite a 
 mistake to think so." 
 
 " What harm, then, has It done for my daughter to talk to 
 a Few negro women, if they are so generally contented ? " said 
 Mr. May, quietly. 
 
 Mr. Armitage colored, for he saw that he had contradicted 
 himself, and answered, in some excitement, 
 
 " I did not say that all were contented ; and if any of the 
 
IDA MAY. 433 
 
 bad negroes find out that there is any one about who does not 
 exactly understand our institutions, they are apt to create 
 trouble. In fact, sir, the negroes are all so fickle and 
 changeable, that a man can often turn them against their best 
 friends, if he tries ; and thercjs such a systematic effort mak 
 ing now, by bad men at the north, to entice our servants 
 away, and stir them up against their masters, that we are 
 obliged, in self-defence, to be very strict in our precautions 
 against all strangers who are not well known. You know, 
 sir," he added, bending forward and speaking low, " there 
 lias once or twice been an attempt at insurrection, in this 
 State." 
 
 " I know it, and every humane person must turn with 
 horror from the idea of a servile insurrection ; but I don t 
 yet understand why anything we have done can be supposed 
 dangerous. The pillars of state must rest on an insecure 
 foundation, if my daughter s little hand can shake them ; and, 
 as for me, I have attended to my own affairs, and I shall be 
 much obliged to the gentlemen about town if in future they 
 will attend to theirs." 
 
 " They consider it part of their business, just now, to watch 
 you and Miss May," said Mr. Armitage, smiling. " I don t 
 wonder that you are annoyed, sir, for it is a very disagreeable 
 thing, and I regret it exceedingly. Don t you think it might, 
 be well for you both to leave town a little while, until the 
 excitement abates ? " 
 
 " I never ran from a foe yet," said Mr. May, somewhat 
 proudly, " and I should be sorry to begin now. Besides," he 
 
434 IDA MAY. 
 
 added, more calmly, " I do not think it would be right for us 
 to leave our business at the Triangle. The negroes are just 
 getting a little in train for the life we propose they shall lead 
 when we take them away ; and, as our first care was to dis 
 miss the overseer, there is no one there to take care of them, 
 and prevent the disorder that would be likely to follow our 
 departure. In a few weeks more I shall receive their free 
 papers from Charleston, and then we shall all leave, probably 
 never to return." 
 
 " Still," said Mr. Armitage, anxiously, " I advise you to 
 leave immediately. I cannot answer for the consequences, if 
 you remain ; and it was this I came to tell you this morning. 
 It has been a serious matter to some men, I can assure you. 
 I knew one man who came here from the north, and was sus 
 pected in this way, and a mob collected and nearly killed him, 
 riding him out of town on a rail." 
 
 Ida gave a faint cry at these words, and clung to her father 
 in great alarm. 
 
 " Let us go to-day," she said. " 0, father, do not run such 
 a fearful risk ! " 
 
 " You shall go, poor child ! " he answered, caressing her 
 soothingly. I w m send you away with Mr. Varian ; but, 
 for me, I believe it is my duty to stay, and I shall remain. 
 Is there no law in the land to restrain mob violence ? " he 
 added, firmly, turning to Mr. Armitage. 
 
 " If you had powerful friends to answer for you, you might 
 take refuge in the law, in case the worst came; though the 
 alternative the law offers is poor enough, a heavy fine and 
 
IDA MAY. 435 
 
 ,ong imprisonment, for seditious language ; but, unknown 
 and unsupported as you are, I doubt if the mob could be 
 restrained, and made to wait the slow process of the law. 
 Again let me urge you to go immediately. I should be 
 very sorry to have any trouble of this kind nappen in my 
 house." 
 
 " It would be a great disadvantage to your hotel, if it 
 became known abroad," said Mr. May, looking at him 
 impressively, struck by the sudden thought that perhaps 
 his fears on that point induced him to exaggerate the 
 danger. 
 
 " Do you mean to impute my friendly warning to mean 
 motives ? " he exclaimed, angrily. " If you do, you are very 
 unjust to me." 
 
 " I do not ; excuse me that my words implied it," said Mr. 
 May, repenting of his suspicion ; " but it is no less true that 
 it will injure the reputation of your hotel abroad, if it is 
 known that there can be no liberty of discussion, no freedom 
 of action, within its walls." 
 
 At this moment there were voices heard in the hall below, 
 and heavy footsteps upon the stairs, and some one called loud 
 ly for Mr. Armitage. He turned pale, and went out, closing 
 the door carefully behind him. 
 
 Mr. May passed his arm fondly around Ida s waist, and, 
 seeing how much she was distressed and agitated, he said, 
 cheerfully, 
 
 " Don t be frightened. This will probably amount to noth 
 ing more than an order from the vigilance committee, request- 
 37* 
 
430 IDA MAY. 
 
 ing us to leave town ; and though it is certainly annoying to 
 be thus suspected and insulted, it is nothing that perils life or 
 limb. Gro and put your affairs in readiness to leave this 
 afternoon, my child, for I must send you out of the way 
 before they have a chance to inflict even that slight penalty. 
 A very secure state of society it must be that is jeopard 
 ized by anything we have done ! But these people know 
 they walk over a quicksand that may at any moment swallow 
 them up ! Go, my dear, you have no time to lose." 
 
 " I cannot go and leave you, father," said Ida, earnestly. 
 " Do not send me away." 
 
 " But I cannot possibly leave in less than a week, without 
 great harm to our affairs at the Triangle ; and you know Mr. 
 Armitage spoke of danger." 
 
 " Let me remain and share it, then," said Ida. " I should 
 die a thousand deaths in fearing one for you. 0, my father ! 
 I will not leave you to brave alone the trouble you have en 
 countered for my sake. I must remain. We have done 
 nothing wrong, and Glod will protect our innocence. When 
 I felt entirely deserted, he gave you back to me, and I cannot 
 think we shall be given over to the malice of bad men. Let 
 me stay with you; I am not afraid.". 
 
 " But there is really more danger than you think. I could 
 defend myself from harm, but I should be powerless to shield 
 you from seeing and hearing what would insult and alarm 
 you ! " 
 
 " Every word you speak only makes me more urgent to 
 stay," said Ida, growing more self-possessed as she became 
 
IDA MAY. 437 
 
 accustomed to the thought of danger. "If you think it 
 necessary to remain, I should suffer far less to be here with 
 you than to be dreading all sorts of evils, not one of which 
 may really happen. And, in case of the worst, even if a mob 
 should collect, I think the fact of my presence would be a 
 safeguard instead of a hinderance to your safety. I would 
 go with you everywhere, and they surely would not attack a 
 woman." 
 
 Mr. May looked with admiration and love at the slight, 
 girlish figure that was animated by so brave a spirit, and, 
 smiling at the idea of his manly strength being so protected, 
 was about to reply, when suddenly Mr. Armitage returned, 
 and, without waiting for his modest knock to be answered, 
 entered and locked the door behind him. 
 
 He was evidently much alarmed and agitated, and coming 
 close to Mr. May he said, in a low voice, 
 
 " The danger I feared has come sooner than I expected. 
 The sheriff is in the hall with a warrant to arrest you. There 
 will be no time for you to escape, but I can secrete Miss 
 May where she will be safe. There is quite a mob collected 
 about the market. I assure you there is cause for alarm." 
 
 " Go, my child; go immediately," exclaimed Mr. May, 
 kindly, but firmly. 
 
 Ida was very pale, and her lips trembled, but she an 
 swered with quiet determination, 
 
 " I cannot go. I shall not be any embarrassment to you, 
 father. lean control my fears; and I dojDelieve you will 
 be less likely to receive injury if I am with you." 
 
438 IDA MAY. 
 
 - Perhaps it will be so," exclaimed Mr. Armitage, " and, 
 on second thoughts, I think it might be better to take her on 
 that account." 
 
 " I cannot think of incurring any such risk," said Mr. 
 May, hurriedly. " Take her immediately to a place of 
 safety." 
 
 He strove to unclasp her hands from his arm as he spoke ; 
 but further argument was rendered useless by the impatience 
 of the sheriff and his posse, who had been waiting outside 
 the door, and now, growing suspicious that some attempt at 
 escape was being made, struck it with their heavy canes so 
 violently that the slight lock which held it gave way at the 
 first shock, and they entered the room. 
 
 The sheriff was none other than our old acquaintance, 
 Nick Kelly, who, having retired from his former active busi 
 ness, had settled in this neighborhood, and, investing his gains 
 in buying a profitable plantation, had become quite an influ 
 ential member of the community. Little thought he that 
 the young lady who stood so quietly to hear him arrest . her 
 and her father for seditious language and disorderly conduct 
 in relation to the negroes, was the same who, when a child, 
 had barely escaped with life from the effect s of his villany. 
 
 " You see there is no further question about my going 
 with you," Ida said, looking up almost gayly into her father s 
 face, when the warrant had been read. 
 
 " I see," echoed her father, with a sigh of anxiety. 
 " Come on, then," said the sheriff, roughly. " We ve 
 waited long enough now." 
 
IDA MAY. 431* 
 
 " You must have a carriage," said Mr. Armitage, " and I 
 will go with you. If you could send for some other friend 
 it would be well." 
 
 " We have no friend here except Mr. Varian," replied 
 Mr. May. 
 
 " Mr. Wynn is a man of great influence," suggested Mr. 
 Armitage. 
 
 " I will not call upon Mr. Wynn," was the quick reply. 
 
 "Come on here is a carriage you can have," said the 
 sheriff, who had been looking out of the window. 
 
 They descended the stairs. The hall was full of men, who 
 gazed at them so rudely that Ida trembled .and clung to her 
 father s arm, and it was with a heartfelt exclamation of joy 
 that, just as she entered the carriage, she saw Walter Varian 
 riding furiously towards them. 
 
 Reining his horse by the carriage window, he exclaimed, 
 
 " What is all this about ? There is a crowd around the 
 market-house, and I heard your names coupled with every 
 variety of epithets." 
 
 A few words sufficed to tell him all, and, giving his horse 
 into the care of his servant, who followed him, he got into 
 the carriage, and drove with them up to the office where 
 their trial was to be held. It was surrounded with men, 
 many of them armed with clubs, and., some carrying knives 
 and pistols. As they drew near, many of these came around 
 the sides of the carriage, catching hold by the curtains, and 
 trying to get a glimpse of Ida s face, which was closely 
 veiled, and shouting and bandying rude jokes with those who 
 
440 IDA MAY. 
 
 had followed them from the house. When they entered the 
 court-room, they found that also crowded, and it was not 
 without being pressed against and pushed about in the most 
 insulting manner, that they made their way to the place re 
 served for them, as criminals before the bar of justice. 
 
 Some of these men belonged to the middle classes of 
 society, possessing moderate wealth, and calling themselves 
 " respectable ; " but the majority were of that order of the 
 genus homo, found nowhere ,but in the slave States, and im 
 possible under any other combination of society. These are the 
 poor whites, who have received distinctive soubriquets in most 
 of the States, and are called " clay-eaters " in Carolina. Clad 
 in the coarsest and scantiest garments, subsisting principally 
 upon " turpentine whiskey," and appeasing their craving for 
 more substantial food by filling their stomachs with a kind of 
 aluminous earth which abounds everywhere, they are squalid 
 and emaciated to a frightful degree ; with yellowish, drab- 
 colored complexions, eyes that are dull and cold as the eyes 
 of a dead fish, and faces, whose idiotic expression is only 
 varied by a dull despair, or a devilish malignity. Living in 
 rude log houses, and gaining their miserable livelihood one 
 hardly knows how, they are found scattered through the 
 green woods and the pleasant valleys, or clustered in the out 
 skirts of the larger towns. They are as destitute of any idea 
 of religion or morality as the swine that feed around then- 
 doors, and are looked down upon by the negroes with a con 
 tempt which they return by a hearty hatred. 
 
 These wretched beings, crushed and degraded to the last 
 
IDA MAY. 441 
 
 extreme of poverty and ignorance by the operation of slavery, 
 that cuts them off from all the labor to which their capaci 
 ties are suited, are nevertheless among its warmest sup 
 porters. They have not sufficient mental vigor to originate 
 any but the most petty schemes of vice; but, when abler 
 heads require tools to work with, these men are ready to be 
 led to any length of cruelty and wickedness. For two or 
 three weeks there had been persons going round among this 
 class, hinting that on a certain day the town folks were going 
 to have some sport with an abolitionist who had been troub 
 ling them, and they had come from all directions, armed with 
 their rude weapons, and gloating over the prospect of tarring 
 and feathering, and riding on a rail, the stranger who had 
 presumed to meddle witl^the niggers. 
 
 These threats, which met their ears on every side, convinced 
 Walter and Mr. Armitage that the forms of law would proba 
 bly yield to a more swift and deadly danger, and that, if the 
 victims were to be saved, help must come soon. 
 
 An hour afterwards, Mr. Wynn, sitting quietly in his 
 study, received the following note, written hastily in pencil : 
 
 " DEAII SIR, Pray come to Squire Oliver s office the 
 moment you receive this. Mr. May and his daughter have 
 been arrested on the most unfounded and puerile charges, 
 and are now here in the hands of the officers; but there has 
 /i large mob collected, and great excitement prevails, and 1 
 fear we shall not be able to save them from personal violence. 
 Come instantly, I entreat you, for your influence is greater 
 
442 IDA MAT. 
 
 than any other person s in this case, since I believe the fact 
 of Miss May s expulsion from your house was the first thing 
 that cast suspicion upon her, as very exaggerated rumors 
 have been spread concerning the cause of her leaving you. 
 Life or death depends upon your compliance with my request. 
 Do not hesitate, I beg. Your Nephew, 
 
 "WALTER VARIAN." 
 
 Walter had written this note in the greatest anxiety and 
 doubt, but Mr. Wynn did not hesitate a moment. Much as 
 he hated anti-slavery ideas, he had too much sense not to see 
 the danger of countenancing mob violence. He would have 
 left the law to take its course, but his very pride and aris 
 tocracy of feeling revolted from the lawless proceedings of 
 the canaille. Much as he had come to dislike Ida, and her 
 father for her sake, he would not have them treated unfairly 
 by others on account of his quarrel with them ; and, though 
 he would never have forgiven her till the day of his death, 
 he was too honorable not to wish to defend her from any 
 false allegations brought against her in consequence of the 
 withdrawal of his protection. 
 
 Therefore, in an incredibly short time, the anxious party, 
 that scarcely hoped for his aid, saw him coming in at the door 
 with two other gentlemen, whom Mr. Armitage had sent for, 
 and who arrived on the spot at the same time. They were 
 not a moment too early. The room was densely crowded 
 with fierce, angry faces, that glared with wolfish eyes on Mr. 
 May and Ida; missiles had been thrown and weapons bran- 
 
IP A MAY. 443 
 
 dished, a hoarse murmur of insulting epithets filled the aii 
 and coarse, hard hands had been stretched out to clutch the 
 victims. It was only because Walter and Mr. Armitage had 
 used threats in their turn, and finally, throwing themselves 
 before those they protected, had declared they should bo 
 reached only over their dead bodies, that the mob had been 
 so long kept at bay. 
 
 The presence of the new comers, and their stern, angry 
 denunciations of these violent proceedings, changed the aspect 
 of affairs. It was hard to quell the appetite of the rabble, 
 whetted for deeds of cruelty ; but the movers of these fierce 
 elements, awed by this unexpected reinforcement of the oppo 
 site party, began to soothe instead of exciting, and, after 
 some delay and difficulty, the legal process, which had been 
 interrupted by the mob, was again renewed. 
 
 During all this time of peril and alarm, Ida had stood 
 leaning against her father. Her face, her very lips, were* 
 deathly pale, but she controlled with a strong will all other 
 manifestation of fear, and remained calm and quiet amid the 
 tumultuous noises and the brutal, wicked faces that sur 
 rounded her. Walter, who was almost desperate with fear 
 for her safety, and who remembered how often he had seen 
 her tremble and grow faint when there was le^s occasion, 
 beheld her with amazement. He did not know how her soul 
 had grown strong in the discipline of the last few months, 
 and how, amid this turmoil of evil men, her faith stayed 
 itself upon the mighty power of Him who restraineth the 
 wrath of the wicked, when it has accomplished his will. 
 38 
 
444 IDA MAT. 
 
 Mr. May, when he found there was any prospect of 
 obtaining justice, insisted upon a postponement of the trial, 
 until he could prepare for it a little, and obtain counsel and 
 witnesses. 
 
 The justice demurred at this, and the request renewed for 
 a while the rage and clamor of the mob ; but Mr. Wynn and 
 his friends insisted that it should be granted, and, after some 
 hours of contention, the obstinacy of the magistrate gave way. 
 The crowd were appeased by five thousand dollars bonds being 
 given that the prisoners should appear the next morning, and 
 the law should be allowed to take its course, and thus the 
 trial was postponed. 
 
 Still there was great danger that, in leaving the room, a 
 rush of lawless men would seize their prey in spite of all pre 
 caution ; and, after waiting in vain for them to disperse, Mr. 
 Armitage left his friends, by whom he had stood nobly until 
 now, and, mingling with the " clay-eaters," appealed cunningly 
 to a propensity stronger than even their hatred of abolition 
 ists, and succeeded in drawing them across the street to a 
 neighboring whiskey-shop, where he let it be known that he 
 would " stand treat " to an unlimited extent, and soon the 
 offer was accepted by nearly th whole multitude. 
 
 The way was now cleared for an escape, and, quickly as 
 possible, Ida and her father were seated in the carriage, the 
 others surrounding them on horseback. The first intention 
 had been to take them to Oaklands ; but some of the "respec 
 table " heads of the mob had lingered around the door, which 
 was hidden from view of those in and about the whisk cy-^h op 
 
IDA MAT. > 
 
 by the market-house, that stood in the centre of the broad, 
 sandy street, and these men, when they saw the horses heads 
 turned from the hotel, raised such a shout that the project 
 was given up, lest opposition should lead to dangerous results, 
 and they all proceeded quietly and quickly to the hotel from 
 whence they had come. 
 
 Once more safe in their little parlor, Ida and her father 
 could no longer refrain from expressing their warm thanks to 
 Mr. Wynn for the assistance he had rendered. Everything 
 in the past was blotted from their memory, for the time, by 
 this one act ; and, as a man always feels somewhat kindly 
 towards those to whom he has rendered a great benefit, he 
 replied to them more graciously than Ida had dared to hope, 
 and she was even thankful for the trial that had apparently 
 again established friendliness between herself and the family 
 to whom she felt bound by many an early debt of gratitude. 
 
 Mr. Wynn, and the other gentlemen, also, had been im 
 pressed with great admiration for the calmness and courage 
 which Ida, had manifested, and all now felt interested in ex 
 tricating them entirely from the impending danger. 
 
 " You must get far away from here before morning," said 
 Mr. Wynn. " It will be foolhardiness to remain, with this 
 excited state of the community. We could control them to 
 day, but our influence will grow to be an old story by to-mor 
 row, and these brutal creatures may destroy everything by a 
 sudden rush." 
 
 The other gentlemen accorded with this view, and Mr. May 
 saw that it was, indeed, the wisest course. 
 
446 IDA MAT. 
 
 " I must forfeit my bonds, then, and take French leave, " 
 said Mr. May, smiling. " It does not sound very well, truly ; 
 but you will speedily find that my bondsmen will not suffer, 
 or any one else who has befriended me, if money can help it. 
 It is not seemly to make a boast of wealth, but I am a stran 
 ger here, and that must be my apology." 
 
 " Wealth is generally supposed to belts own apology," said 
 one of the gentlemen, in reply. " The only question now is 
 about the means of getting away. You must have a carriage, 
 and there are none in the stable here sufficiently easy for 
 Miss May to ride comfortably all night, and she already looks 
 very much fatigued. If you will send a servant, my place 
 is only four miles from here, and my carriage is at your dis 
 posal." 
 
 .This offer was accepted, with many thanks, and, as it was 
 now nearly sunset, no time was lost in sending a servant. 
 Meantime, Ida withdrew to rest a little, while Venus, who 
 had been waiting at the door, in an agony of impatience to 
 see her, should pack the few articles it was necessary to take 
 with them. 
 
 Elsie s little boy was asleep on the bed, and, as Ida threw 
 herself down beside him, she was thankful that Maum Attby 
 had not delayed bringing him to her until this sudden change 
 ip her fortunes rendered it impossible. She lay quite stii. 
 for some time, thinking how abrupt had been the variations in 
 her course of life, and how deliverance had always come to 
 her in her troubles, from the quarter whence she least ex 
 pected it, and, striving to put away from her the recollections 
 
IDA MAY. 447 
 
 that would persist in intruding themselves, of Walter s looks 
 and words the evening previous, and of the exertions he had 
 made for her safety that day ;. and, especially, of one occa 
 sion, when, believing the mob about to rush upon them, he 
 nad whispered to her, with a thrilling intensity of expression, 
 that even then brought the color to her cheeks, 
 
 " Cling to ine, Ida, cling to me ! They shall kill me before 
 harm comes to you." 
 
 In the mean time, Venus was accompanying her packing 
 with a running commentary of words ; and, rousing herself at 
 length from her dreamy revery to listen to what she was saying, 
 Ida found that she was packing her own clothes, also. 
 
 " Stop Venus," she said, " you needn t pack that." 
 
 " T a n t no count, I know, miss," said she ; " but pears 
 like we d make it do, make somethin fur de little feller. 0, 
 miss, he de mos blessedest chile dat ar ! " 
 
 " But you are not to go now, Venus ! did n t you under 
 stand me ? You are to stay and take care of the child till 
 we make some further arrangement." 
 
 " I a n t gwine stay take care o no child ! " exclaimed 
 Venus. " Pretty well, too, you go off out no Benus take 
 care of ye ! Who say I be gwine stay ? " 
 
 " There is no room in the carriage, mauma," said Ida, " so 
 you see you can t go. I m sorry, but you are safe enough 
 here," 
 
 " I a n t scare ! " exclaimed she, contemptuously ; " But 1 
 3an t persent to your gwine, honey, thout you takes me long. 
 I se allers notice you gets into strouble de minute I a n t by 
 88* 
 
448 
 
 IDA MAY. 
 
 to take care of ye. Dere s room fur four in de carriage, a n t 
 de?" 
 
 " Yes ; but father and I, and Mass Walter and the driver, 
 will occupy it, you see." 
 
 " 0, Mass Walter gwine ! am he ? " she exclaimed, with a 
 sudden exhibition of her universal giggle, winking and blink 
 ing at Ida in a manner that was infinitely amusing. " I 
 wonders what Miss Mabel say when she know dat ? Reckon 
 she lif up de eyelids, so. Mass Walter ! ki ! dat good ! 
 Mass Walter! I se knowed somethin ever sense dat ar 
 night de Lord sent de father back gin. / knows ! " 
 
 " There he is, now ! " exclaimed Ida, springing from the 
 bed, as she heard a quick step on the stairs ; and, in another 
 moment, without waiting even for the ceremony of knocking, 
 Walter threw open the door. 
 
 " Come instantly ! " he cried, seizing her hand. The 
 mob are upon us again, in a drunken fury ! Come, don t 
 wait for anything ! " 
 
 He threw on her shawl and bonnet, and, thoughtful of her 
 comfort even then, flung over his shoulder her cloak, that lay 
 on the chair, lest she might need protection from the cool 
 night air. 
 
 " Is the carriage ready ? " she asked, as they ran down 
 ptair* 
 
 * No, it has not yet arrived, and the minute we caught 
 sight of the mob, Mr. Warner set off on horseback, to inter 
 cept it. They will go to another street, where we will meet 
 them." 
 
IDA MAY. 449 
 
 " And my father, where is he ? " 
 
 " They hurried him off into the woods, and he waits for us 
 there," said Walter, opening a side door in an angle of the 
 house, that sheltered them from view of the street, down which 
 the rabble were now tramping, uniting their voices in shout 
 ing a drunken song, the chorus of which, at that moment, 
 came to them on the wind. 
 
 " Git out o the way you d d old Yankee ! 
 We 11 burn the abolitionists." 
 
 Keeping the house between them and their pursuers, they 
 ran down the hall and gained the shelter of a thick grove, 
 which commenced not many rods from the house, and ex 
 tended back till it was merged in an extensive pine forest. 
 It was now nearly dark, and, once among the trees, they 
 were concealed from view. 
 
 As he hurried her along, Ida stopped suddenly, and, look 
 ing up earnestly in his face, she said, 
 
 " You have not been deceiving me, Walter ? My father 
 tried to send me away from him once. I fear he has done so 
 now. Has he really left the house ? Why did he not wait 
 for me ? " 
 
 " He is really waiting for us somewhere here. I sent my 
 seivant with him, because it would not answer for any of the 
 others to be absent when the mob arrive. They must be 
 there to hold the rascals at bay, while we have a chance to 
 escape." 
 
 " But why did he not wait for me ? " 
 
450 IDA MAY. 
 
 " We would n t let him. He was on the piazza, and we 
 forced him to go, for his danger was more imminent than 
 ycurs, if he were seen, and every instant increased it. I told 
 him I would bring you safely, You are not afraid to trust, 
 me, Ida ? " he added, reproachfully. 
 
 " 0, no ! " she cried, and a strange thrill of mingled pleas 
 ure and pain shot through her heart, as she realized how 
 entirely she trusted him, how fast he was becoming dearer 
 to her than aught beside on earth, and how, through all the 
 peril and terror of that eventful day, there had been inwoven 
 a consciousness of exquisite delight whenever she had felt 
 the pressure of his hand, or met the glance of his eyes. 
 
 They passed swiftly on, too swiftly for further conversa 
 tion, and soon the shouting of the mob became a low murmur, 
 and they reached the distant spot where they found Mr. 
 May and Walter s servant "awaiting them. With inexpress 
 ible thankfulness, Ida was pressed to her father s heart. He 
 had endured an agony of anxiety for her fate, and self-re 
 proach at leaving her, during the short interval that had 
 elapsed since they left the house, and was on the point of 
 turning back to seek her, when he saw her approaching. 
 
 In a short time the carriage drove up, accompanied by 
 Mr. Warner, on horseback ; and, having seen them safely 
 placed in it, the kind gentleman shook hands with Ida and 
 her father. 
 
 " I cannot ask you to visit me," he said, laughing, " for I 
 suppose our rampant democracy would make that hardly a 
 friendly invitation ; but, if ever I go where you are, I shall 
 
IDA MAY. 451 
 
 certainly improve the opportunity to become further ac 
 quainted with this brave young lady." 
 
 Assuring him of the pleasure it would give them to see 
 him, and with many thanks and expressions of mutual regret, 
 ihey parted, and Walter s servant, gathering up the reins, 
 drove them rapidly away from the scene of their danger. 
 
 Few words were spoken during that long-remembered night, 
 for Walter was plunged in a chaos of troubled thought, and 
 Mr. May was busy in arranging his plans for the future. 
 Ida was completely worn out with fatigue and excitement, 
 and, wrapped in her warm coverings, as soon as she knew 
 they were fairly out of danger, sank to sleep with her head 
 resting upon her father s breast. 
 
 Thoroughly weary were they all, when, the next morning, 
 just as day was breaking, the carriage rattled over the bridge 
 that spans the turbid Savannah, and they entered the pretty 
 little city of Augusta. 
 
 The first thing they sought was rest, and it was not until 
 they met at dinner, that Walter saw how pale and worn Ida 
 looked, and how nervously she started at any sudden noise. 
 
 " You bore up bravely while the danger lasted, but, now 
 it is past, I see you are suffering from the shock and the 
 strain upon your nervous system. Your body is not strong 
 enough for your soul, Ida," said Walter to her, as -they sat 
 by the window, after dinner, looking out upon the busy 
 throng that were hurrying along Broad street. 
 
 " True," she answered, smiling. " I feel to-day like saying, 
 my little body is aweary of this great world. It will be a 
 
452 IDA MAY. 
 
 long while, I think, before I shall cease having a palpitation, 
 at any unexpected sound, but I hope to be able to avoid dis 
 turbing others with my panic. It amuses me though, in spite 
 of my annoyance, when I think that poor little insignificant 
 I have been the cause of so much commotion," 
 
 " It was something like taking a club to crush a mosquito. 
 The mosquito has flown away, and may sting again ! Hey, 
 Ida ? " 
 
 "No, no," she replied, laughing; "impute to me no such 
 revengeful design. I shall set down naught in malice, and I 
 am quite satisfied with the mischief I was compelled indirectly 
 to do. I suppose I did give some of those poor creatures an 
 idea of a different order of things from that under which they 
 live, although I tried not to. But they are quick to detect 
 the sympathy of a tone or an expression, and I don t wonder 
 their masters are alarmed at -the presence of a person of 
 different sentiments, if I had treated anybody as most of 
 the negroes are treated, I should be as sensitive to slight dis 
 turbances as the Carolinians are. Really, I don t blame them 
 for not liking to have persons with anti-slavery ideas living 
 among them." 
 
 " I blame them, however, for stirring up a mob to get rid 
 of such obnoxious individuals," said Walter, indignantly; 
 " and I -blush when I think that, in my native Sta*c, all laws 
 of hospitality and of justice as well as decency, must be sacri 
 ficed to this Moltch, who is so devoutly worshipped. I only 
 hope that some day we may serve a less infernal deity. One 
 
IDA 31 A Y 
 
 45o 
 
 would think that an institution which was so easily shakei 
 might at length be overturned." 
 
 " Alas, no ! " said Ida. " I fear it is like those huge stone? 
 found among the mountains, so poised that an infant s hand can 
 rock them, but a giant s force is insufficient to hurl them from 
 their resting-places. Humanly speaking, it seems impossible 
 that slavery should cease, except by a convulsion disastrous 
 and fearful as the earthquake, which alone can overthrow 
 these vast boulders." 
 
 " Do not speak so hopelessly. There is One whose powei 
 controls the earthquake, and the designs of his providence- 
 will be worked out in spite of all human wrong-doing ; yes, 
 perhaps even by means of that which seems most adverse to 
 all good. We see it is so, sometimes, in little things, and our 
 faith in the ultimate triumph of right should not waver, 
 because the weakness of our mortal vision cannot reach 
 through the vast spaces of %ime, which, to the Lord, are but 
 as a day." 
 
 It was Mr. May who said this. They did not notice his 
 
 approach until he spoke, and then the solemnity of his manner 
 
 prevented any reply. He felt deeply, and he spoke earnestly 
 
 for, from the long discipline of his life, he had learned implicit 
 
 trust in God. 
 
 He seated himself beside them, and, after a few moments 
 
 of thoughtful silence, the conversation turned upon their 
 
 future proceedings. 
 
 "We must go north as soon as possible, now," said Mr 
 
 May. " I was anxious to go on with our primary school a< 
 
454 IDA 31 A Y . 
 
 the Triangle, until my agent had selected and purchased a 
 location for our little colony, and I could arrange our affairs 
 here without being obliged to trouble you. But, as this has 
 not been permitted, we must leave things on the plantation to 
 take care of themselves, until an opportunity for sale offers ; 
 and you can send all the negroes over in the cars to Hamburg. 
 You see, I take it for granted, you will still be our good 
 genius, as you have been so long." 
 
 " Certainly," said Walter. <l 1 am only too happy to serve 
 you and Ida in any way. I will send them over to-morrow. 
 
 " And Venus and her little charge, you will not forget 
 them," said Ida with a smile, and a slight blush, as she met 
 the earnest expression of his brown eyes. 
 
 " I will see that they are made comfortable," he answered. 
 " You will have quite a retinue to take with you to Savan 
 nah." 
 
 " Maum Yenus will feel so mighty grand about it," said 
 Ida, laughing. " It is a curious inconsistency in her nature 
 that, notwithstanding all she has suffered from it, she yet 
 looks upon the system of domestic servitude with a certain 
 pride and respect. I could see that she was even a little un 
 willing to have me carry out my plans for the negroes at the 
 Triangle. I s pose it right, honey, said she, * but it do seem 
 mighty like comin down to be one de poor trash t a n t got no 
 niggers, an here you se got miff to keep you comforble all 
 de whole your life, efyou dies in any kind tf decent season: " 
 
 " It is hard for any of us to free ourselves from the ideas 
 in which we were educated," said Walter. " It is said to 
 
IF A MAY. 45 D 
 
 4 take nine tailors to make a man, and Maum Venus evidently 
 thinks it takes twice that number of negroes to make a gentle 
 man. But I must not linger here," he added, " for I see 
 Tom is waiting at the door with the carriage, and I wish to 
 get home before midnight." 
 
 " Do you go so soon ? " exclaimed Ida, with a sudden heart 
 pang. 
 
 " I must. It will not answer for me to remain longer," he 
 replied, with an emphasis and an intonation that expressed 
 more than his words. 
 
 Ida cast down her eyes, and was silent. She could not 
 urge him to remain, but her very soul Deemed to grow faint 
 as she thought of the long time that might elapse before they 
 should meet again. 
 
 " When shall we see you again ? " said Mr. May. 
 
 "I don t know, perhaps never," he replied, gloomily. 
 His eyes were fixed on Ida s face, with that intensely earnest 
 and sorrowful expression, wherewith a man looks on that 
 which he most loves and longs for, at the moment when he is 
 bidding it farewell forever. He had taken her hand to bid 
 her adieu, but the word lingered on his lips, and the little 
 hand, cold and tremulous, lay passively in his. Never had 
 
 she seemed so dear, so infinitely precious to him as now, 
 
 never had he so longed to pour out his heart to her. The 
 events of the last two days had bound him to her with strono-, 
 entangling cords, and to leave her thus, knowing that he 
 should not, that he must not see her again, seemed like tear- 
 ing asunder the springs of life. 
 
456 IDA MAY. 
 
 " Good-by ! ; he said, at length, dropping her hand with a 
 stifled sigh. 
 
 " Good-by I " she answered, raising her sad eyes one instant 
 
 to his. 
 
 This was all. He left the room, and Mr. May went out 
 with him. It was no time for the manifestation of sentiment. 
 They were in the parlor of a crowded hotel, and the groups 
 who were passing around them must know nothing of this 
 bitter struggle, must not hear the groan of mute despair with 
 which these two souls were sundered must not read on the 
 face of the pale girl, who sat in the shadow of the window- 
 curtain, the keen SOT-TOW, the unhappy love, she was hiding 
 beneath that quiet exterior. One lady noticed her, and said 
 to a companion, 
 
 "How very pretty she would be, if she had only a little 
 color, and had not that expression of ennui." 
 
 " Yes," said the other. " I wonder who she is. That 
 was her brother who just went out, I reckon." 
 
 " Her lover, perhaps," said the first speaker. 
 
 " No ; her brother. Lovers do not part so calmly." 
 
 It is ever thus. There would be little need to write 
 romances or tragedies, if every man carried a " window in hi? 
 bosom." 
 
 "All the world Va stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players ;" 
 
 but fortunately it is seldom the audience has a programme of 
 the play. 
 
IDA M A Y . 457 
 
 When Walter Varian -arrived at the hotel, from which he 
 had taken such sudden flight the preceding evening, it was 
 past midnight, but he found Mr. Armitagg waiting to receive 
 him, and it was with no little pleasure that he heard of the 
 safety of the guests, whom he had defended so bravely. 
 Walter was almost equally interested in hearing how adroitly 
 Mr. Armitage had succeeded in deceiving the leaders of the 
 mob, making them believe their victims were secreted in his 
 house, and appealing to them for mercy, ind restraining them 
 from violence by threats of summary justice, if any harm waa 
 done (in which he was supported by Mr. Wynn and the other 
 two gentlemen), until, at length, believing Mr. May must 
 be at a safe distance, they had given way, and permitted the 
 house to be searched. 
 
 Of course, the offensive persons were not found, and the 
 wrath of the mob was loudly expressed at their disappoint 
 ment, and might have led to some injury being inflicted upon 
 the opposing party, only that those who had excited them 
 against Mr. May, knew enough to be sure that they could not, 
 with equal safety, proceed to violent measures against one of 
 their fellow-citizens ; and, after some trouble and ineffectual 
 threats of vengeance, the rabble was dispersed, and the gentle 
 men, who had, until now, remained with Mr. Armitage, 
 thought it safe to return to their own homes. 
 
 The next morning, Walter s first care was to go to the Tri 
 angle, where he found the negroes wondering at their mistress 
 absence, and at the strange rumors that had begun to reach 
 them concerning its cause. Without much delay or 
 
458 * I)A 31 AY. 
 
 for they bad little to carry, they were put in marching 
 order, and, having hired a responsible white person to go 
 with them to the station, four miles distant, where they were 
 to take the afternoon train of cars, Walter saw them start on 
 their journey. He had previously made arrangements at the 
 hotel to have Venus and the child, with the luggage, sent on 
 in the same conveyance, so that he was now at liberty to 
 attend to his own affairs. 
 
 The negroes marched silently away, with many a lingering 
 look backward through the trees at the place they were leav 
 ing deserted. Wretched as had been their situation there, it 
 was yet their home, and, notwithstanding the kindness they had 
 of late experienced, many of them had a secret suspicion that 
 they were to be sold, and that even a worse fate than they 
 had known was in reserve for them. They were timid and 
 easily depressed, and they had been the victims of so much 
 deceit and injustice that they dreaded any change. 
 
 From the Triangle, Walter went directly to Wynn Hall, 
 and to the library, where he knew he should find his uncle at 
 that hour. Having recounted his adventures, and talked over 
 the matter of the riot, and again thanked Mr. Wynn for the 
 very efficient aid he had rendered, he inquired for Mabel and 
 his aunt. 
 
 " Mrs. Wynn has gone out this morning to see an old friend 
 who is visiting in the neighborhood," was the reply, and 
 Mabel, I think, you will find in the parlor. She was there 
 when I looked in an hour ago. She seems dull to-day, and I 
 
IDA MAY. 459 
 
 think it may be because Col. Ross name has been mixed up 
 with this affair." 
 
 " Col. Ross what had he to do with it ? " said Walter, 
 go intent upon whatever concerned Ida in the most remote 
 degree, that he did not notice the inference his uncle intended 
 him to make from this conjunction of names. 
 
 Mr. Wynn saw this, and though he thought it high time 
 this game of cross-purposes should cease, he condescended 
 to no further effort at enlightening him, but replied, care 
 lessly, 
 
 " I don t know that he had anything to do with it. I 
 have wondered a little who it was that put the ball in 
 motion." 
 
 " I have thought of that myself," said Walter. " It does 
 seem as if there must have been some private malice at the 
 beginning, for the sensitiveness of the vigilance committee is 
 usually satisfied with ordering all suspected persons out of 
 town, unless they have done something worse than Mr. May 
 or Ida were accused of doing. They do not generally go to 
 the length of exciting a mob for the purpose." 
 
 " You should not speak sneeringly of the vigilance coiiimit- 
 tee," said Mr. Wynn, somewhat sternly. " It is a very usefu) 
 and proper institution, and the gentlemen who compose it 
 should be supported in their measures. But this rising of the 
 rabble is another matter. It is easily enough effected, but 
 there must be an exciting cause." 
 
 " I hardly know what the cause could have been," said 
 Walter, thoughtfully. " Ida had the misfortune to offend 
 89* 
 
460 IDA MAY. 
 
 1 
 
 you, arid it became public ; but you, of course, Luid no hand 
 in it." 
 
 Mr. Wynn replied coldly, for he was irritated by the liberty 
 Walter had taken in this reference, " Thank you, sir ; you 
 do me the honor, then, to believe that 1 am not mean and 
 revengeful." 
 
 Walter smiled, and bit his lip, in a little confusion. 
 " Excuse me," he said ; " the words escaped me uncon 
 sciously " 
 
 "No apology is needed. You will find Mabel in the 
 parlor," interrupted Mr. Wynn, turning back to his books. 
 Walter saw that he was to " consider himself dismissed," and 
 he proceeded at once to the parlor. 
 
 Mabel stood with her face half turned towards the door. 
 She was dressed in a robe of dark silk, with wide open sleeves, 
 that showed her exquisitely moulded arms, white as suow> 
 Her soft, shining hair was braided with classic simplicity 
 round her queenly head, and some sprays of the yellow jas 
 mine were arranged with careless gracefulness among its folds, 
 A bouquet of these flowers stood on the mantel-piece, against 
 which she was leaning ; arid, as one of her delicate little hands 
 toyed with their petals, the fragrance shaken from the honeyed 
 cups filled the room. To the end of his life, Walter never 
 inhaled that delicious perfume without having recalled to him 
 this memorable interview. 
 
 She had heard him go into the library, and had been await 
 ing him with restless impatience. When he entered the parlor 
 she turned quickly, and, without waiting for any of the com- 
 
IDA MAY. 461 
 
 mon salutations, she said, in a sharp, mocking tone, while her 
 blue eyes darkened with wrath, 
 
 " Well, sir, so you have carried your ladie love to a place 
 of safety, at last. I congratulate you." 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. He thought she was jeal 
 ous of Ida, and replied, 
 
 " Surely, you are not angry, because I have been saving 
 Ida from insult and danger, perhaps from death. 0, 
 Mabel ! " 
 
 " And given her your heart as a recompense for all she has 
 sacrificed to the cause of freedom ! " she added, mockingly. 
 
 A sudden change passed over Walter s face, as he heard 
 this unexpected charge, and, retreating a few steps, he leaned 
 against the corner of the mantel-piece opposite her, and shaded 
 his eyes with his hand. 
 
 " Speak ! " she exclaimed, impatiently, as he made no 
 reply; "speak, deny it all, natter me with smooth words, 
 which you long to contradict as you utter them ; go 011 
 with your hypocrisy and your deceit, as you have been going 
 on so long ; play one more scene of falsehood, and make your 
 self believe you are an honorable man ! It must be easy for 
 you now, after so much practice ! " 
 
 Mabel, cease ! " said Walter, suddenly, in a low tone, 
 so firm and authoritative, that for a moment it stilled the 
 tempest of her anger. He was very pale, even to his lips, 
 which trembled a little, though all the lines of his face were 
 hushed and calm; and his eyes, which no longer avoided hers, 
 had an expression of patience and gentleness. 
 
462 IDA MAY. 
 
 " I have wronged you," he said, " and it has cost me many 
 bitter hours ; but there should be a limit to your crimina 
 tions. I was dazzled, fascinated by your wonderful beauty 
 and grace. I thought I loved, I did love you, truly, fer 
 vently, with all the romance which has not yet died out of my 
 nature, with the unquestioning faith of a worshipper at the 
 shrine of his idol. When I told you of my hopes and you 
 did not check them, I was in a bewilderment of enthusiastic 
 delight, I was in a dream. Do you know what awakened 
 me ? " 
 
 " Ida s perfections, I suppose," replied she, sarcastically. 
 
 " You mistake, then. It was yourself, your own words 
 and actions. Pardon me, Mabel, but the shock was too rude 
 and sudden ever to be forgotten, and my blind eyes were too 
 surely enlightened ever to be wilfully deceived. I saw that 
 we were wholly unsuited to each other, that I should make 
 you miserable, and you could not make me happy. Since 
 then" 
 
 " Do you suppose I did not know all this ? " she said, inter 
 rupting himj " do you suppose I was deceived by your empty 
 professions, by your hypocrisies " 
 
 " Hold, Mabel ! I have been no hypocrite ! When I 
 adored you, I told you so in language enthusiastic as my 
 love ; but when my heart found no home in yours, the demon 
 strations of such love ceased. I loved you with the old 
 brotherly affection I had felt for you from infancy, and 1 telt 
 grateful to you that you had responded to a warmer feeling , 
 but I often wondered you did not notice my change of man- 
 
IDA MAY. 463 
 
 ner. I have been no hypocrite ! I earnestly strove to love 
 you. I was pledged to you, and that pledge I would, I will 
 redeem." 
 
 " I scorn you, and your pledges ! " said she, passionately 
 " Do you suppose I would share a divided heart ? Do you 
 think your love so necessary to mo, that I would humble my 
 self so meanly ? No ! I would have spurned you from me 
 long ago, only that I had a purpose to serve, a revenge to 
 secure ! " 
 
 " You have secured it ! " said Walter, gloomily. " Be 
 lieve me, there is no sorrow keener than that a man feels ; 
 when he begins to doubt the worthiness of the one he has 
 loved best." 
 
 The color deepened in Mabel s cheek as she heard this, and 
 she exclaimed, with exasperated tones, 
 
 " I had a revenge more sure and more lasting than that ! 
 My ultimate purpose has, indeed, been defeated, but, never 
 theless, the blow struck hard ; and you felt it, and she felt 
 it, though you knew not the source from whence it came." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed Walter, in amazement. 
 
 Mabel did not reply for a moment ; and the expression 
 of her face changed from triumph to doubt, as if she was 
 uncertain what to say, and again he repeated his question. 
 
 " Can you not think what ? " she said, averting her eyes 
 from his face. " Has nothing happened, of late, that you 
 could not wholly account for, nothing that surprised and 
 alarmed you ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered he, " except that riot in town ; and 
 
4(54 IDA MAY. . 
 
 you, 0, Mabel ! surely, you could have had nothing to do 
 with that ! " 
 
 " Could n t I ! " she exclaimed, defiantly, her momentary 
 hesitation vanishing. " I tell you, it was easy to do. There 
 is a lever here, which the weakest hand can seize, to move the 
 deadliest forces. It needed but a few words dropped here 
 and there, in seeming carelessness ; an insinuation, now and 
 then, that the plantations around the Triangle were hardly 
 safe with their new neighbors ; an apparently reluctant admis 
 sion, of what was really the fact, that our family discipline 
 had been meddled with, and obnoxious sentiments and sedi 
 tious words uttered. 0, it was easy to make the girl you 
 loved an outcast from society ! . I gloried in it ! ! laughed 
 slyly to see how the whole neighborhood were unconsciously 
 working out my designs ! " 
 
 She laughed as she spoke. Her beautiful lips were wreathed 
 over her peurly teeth with a cold malignity, and her head was 
 thrown back proudly, 
 
 " Mabel, you are crazy ! You cannot mean what you 
 say " exclaimed Walter, his horror overcoming even his 
 astonishment and his anger. 
 
 " I do mean it ! " she cried. " I hate her ! I hate you 
 both ! I am only sorry that iny father s foolish ideas of 
 honor led him to interfere and prevent ail that might have 
 happened." 
 
 Walter made a quick step forward, and seized both her 
 hands with a grasp that almost crushed the delicate and 
 dwelled fingers. She struggled to free herself, but in vain. 
 
IDA MAY. 46G 
 
 He was unconscious of the force he exerted, and, holding her 
 firmly, he looked straight into her eyes, exelaiming, in great 
 excitement, 
 
 " Tell me, did you incite the movers of that mob ? did 
 you mean to devote to insult, and pain, and death, that pure 
 and gentle girl, who was like an angel of mercy in this house? 
 Tell me ! " 
 
 " I did ! " she replied, defiantly. " I tell you I hated her ! 
 Why should I care what became of her ? " 
 
 " Then may God forgive you, for in your heart you have 
 been a murderess ! " 
 
 He dropped her hands as he said this, and, turning away 
 front her, began walking across the room. He was inexpres 
 sibly shocked and surprised. Like the man in the old stories 
 of enchantment, who beheld his peerless bride transformed 
 into a hideous and disgusting reptile, he shrank in dismay 
 from this blighting revelation of the worst passions of human 
 nature in a breast which he had been striving to believe the 
 home of its best virtues. 
 
 Mabel made no reply. The burst of passion had spent 
 itself, and the solemnity of his look and manner, as he uttered 
 those last words, the sudden invocation which arraigned her 
 before that awful tribunal, where the purest must stand 
 abashed, penetrated the whirl and the cloud of evil feelings 
 which surroun " ed her soul, and, like a ray of divine light, 
 showed her its blackness. She leaned her face upon her 
 arm, as it rested on the mantel-piece, and stood silent and 
 trembling. 
 
466 IDA MAY. 
 
 Thus some moments passed. Then the sound of carriage 
 wheels was heard, and Mrs. Wynn, arriving at home, sprang 
 lightly up the piazza steps, as through the window she caught 
 sight of Walter and entered the parlor. 
 
 She looked pale and harassed, but her face lighted with joy 
 as she clasped her nephew s hand, who hastily strove to hide 
 his agitation, as he met her. 
 
 " 0, I am so glad to see you ! " she said. " Did you leave 
 Ida well?" 
 
 " Very well ; only somewhat shaken by what she had 
 undergone." 
 
 " You look worn out yourself," replied Mrs. Wynn, anx 
 iously. " Are you ill ? " 
 
 " Not ill in body," said Walter, trying to smile, as he saw 
 her fears. 
 
 " But annoyed and distressed, as we all have been ! Poor 
 little Ida ! what a trying life she has had ! I never loved her 
 so well as since she came back this time ; and sometimes I fear 
 that, in former years, I made more difference than I should 
 between her and Mabel. But where is Mabel ? I thought 
 she was here when I came in." 
 
 They looked around, but Mabel had vanished. 
 " Do not trouble yourself about that, my dear aunt," naid 
 Walter, more cheerfully. "Ida has a grateful heart, and 
 she loves you. She often spoke of you to me with the 
 strongest expressions of interest and thanks." 
 
 " I am glad of it," replied Mrs. Wynn, and then, casting a 
 quick glance around, and drawing nearer to Walter, she said, 
 
IDA MAY. 
 
 467 
 
 Sometimes, of late, I have thought that, through you, she 
 might be more nearly connected with me." 
 
 " Don t speak of that, pray don t," said he, starting as if 
 from a sword-thrust, and averting his face. 
 
 "I will not speak of it, dear," she said, in a low voice; 
 but I have wished to tell you something about Mabel. I 
 should have spoken about it weeks ago, but I was forbidden 
 to do so by Mr. Wynn. What his reasons were I know not, 
 but, at any rate, I shall disregard them now, for it is not right 
 to keep you longer in ignorance." 
 
 " What can you mean to say ? " exclaimed Walter, looking 
 at her anxiously. 
 
 " Mabel is to be married in about a month to Col. 
 "Ross." 
 
 " And she dared accuse me of unfaithfulness ! " he cried. 
 
 Mrs. Wynn looked sad, and her voice faltered. " It has 
 been a great pain to me," she said, " that things have come 
 to be as they are. You have always been dear to me as a 
 son, and I hoped once that you might be really such. Now I 
 see that perhaps you could not have been happy with Mabel. 
 It is humiliating to a mother to speak of the faults of her 
 own child, but I must say I have been grieved that she ha& 
 been willing to deceive you, and keep you in ignorance of her 
 change of feeling towards you. Perhaps you will forgive her 
 for my sake." 
 
 "My dear aunt," said Walter, taking her hand kindly, 
 " Mabel has not been wholly to blame in that regard ; and, 
 though I would never have acknowledged it to any human 
 40 
 
468 
 
 IDA MAY. 
 
 being but for what I have heard this morning, it is but right 
 that I should tell you that I also have changed." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. Now we shall all be 
 happy and at peace again, as we used to be, and Ida shall be 
 to me as a daughter. The hope that it might end thus, has 
 been my only comfort through these stormy times we have 
 had of late," said the gentle little lady, with a smile and a 
 sigh. 
 
 " Did Mabel tell you of her engagement this morning ? " sh 
 added, after a short pause. 
 
 " No," replied he, with a sudden change of countenance , 
 " but she told me something else, which equally abrogated 
 my obligations to her." 
 
 Mrs. Wynn looked up inquiringly, but just then they saw 
 Col. Ross coming up the avenue. 
 
 " I do not wish to meet him this morning," he said, hur 
 riedly ; and, as I wih to return to Oaklands to-day " 
 
 " So soon ! " exclaimed his aunt. 
 
 " I must go. Do not urge me to remain. I may not see 
 you again for some weeks, but Mabel must tell you why." 
 
 He shook hands with her cordially, his handsome face 
 lighting again with the affection and respect he felt for one 
 who had been to him almost like a mother. 
 
 " My dear, dear boy," she said, " may you be happy ! " 
 
 "We will try to think < all s well, that ends well, " he said, 
 with forced gayety, kissing her hand, but when he turned 
 away, his eyes were dim with not unmanly tears. Her tender 
 and unselfish love had touched his heart. 
 
CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 " Hark, the loud-voiced bells, 
 
 Stream on the world around, 
 With the full wind, as it swells 
 
 Seas of sound. 
 It is a voice that calls to onward years 
 
 * Turn back, and when delight has fled away, 
 Look thr&ugh the evening mists of mortal tears 
 
 On this immortal day. " FREDERIC TENNYSON 
 
 IT was one of the most balmy and delicious days of early 
 summer, when Walter Varian found himself opening the iron 
 gate, and ascending the stone steps of MrT Morton s house in 
 Harrisburg. 
 
 He had followed the Mays to Augusta, but they had 
 already left that place for Savannah, and, knowing there was 
 little probability of overtaking them before they sailed for 
 New York, he had preferred returning home, and taking one 
 of the Charleston boats for Baltimore. Thus, the very day 
 after Ida s arrival at the house of her friend Bessie, one from 
 whom she imagined herself severed for years, stood waiting to 
 be received there. 
 
 The servant who answered his ring at the door-bell, 
 
470 IDA MAY. 
 
 ushered him into a tastefully-furnished parlor, at the further 
 end of which a lady sat sewing by a bay window that opened 
 into a large garden. The moment Walter saw her, he had no 
 difficulty in recognizing her, from Ida s oft-repeated descrip 
 tion ; and as she rose, in some embarrassment, to greet one 
 whom she thought an entire stranger, he offered his hand, and 
 said pleasantly, 
 
 " This is Mrs. Morton, I am sur.e ; but I presume I shall 
 have to introduce Walter Varian." 
 
 At this name, Mrs. Morton s confusion vanished, and was 
 replaced by a cordial greeting and a smile of hearty welcome, 
 that made them friends at once. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you," she said. " I feel as if I 
 had known you for years. Allow me to introduce to you my 
 only son. He has the honor to bear your name," she added, 
 smiling, and pointed witlj a mother s pride to an infant a few 
 months old, who lay in state on the sofa beside her, supported 
 by cushions. With the puzzled and undecided expression young 
 gentlemen usually assume in such trying circumstances, Wal 
 ter looked down, on the small specimen of humanity, who, 
 with his eyes opened to their widest, and his mouth puck 
 ered to its smallest capacity, was, at that moment, appar 
 ently deeply absorbed in a philosophical examination of the 
 mystery of his own little chubby hands. 
 
 "He is a very wise-looking little fellow just now, cer 
 tainly," said he, uncertain exactly in what terms he was 
 expected to express his admiration. I was not aware that 
 T had the honor of possessing a namesake here." 
 
IDA MAY. 471 
 
 " Ida named him," said Mrs. Morton ; and smiling, as she 
 6aw Walter s face flush and his eyes sparkle at this informa 
 tion, she added, " Ida has gone into the garden with the chil 
 dren. Will you stay here while I go to find her, or will you 
 seek her there yourself? " 
 
 " I will look for her, if you please," replied he, eagerly. 
 
 " You will probably find her in the summer-house at the 
 foot of the garden," she said, as she opened the window to 
 give him egress. " You can follow this broad path till you 
 come to the pond,, and then, at your right hand, you will see 
 them if they are there." 
 
 Thanking her, he hastened down the path, which was 
 shaded by fruit-trees, and trimly bordered by a low hedge of 
 box-wood, until he came to a high open fence of woven wire, 
 that surrounded a circular artificial pond, in the centre of 
 which a small fountain was playing, and around the borders 
 of which grew different species of aquatic plants, some of 
 which were now in blossom. He took little heed of these 
 things, however, at this moment, for, as his eyes turned in the 
 direction Mrs. Morton had indicated, his hurried steps 
 were arrested by his admiration of the scene that met his 
 view. 
 
 The summer-house, which was simply a circular lattice 
 work, covered with running roses, now in the full glory of 
 their season, stood on a grass plat at one side of the pond. 
 Three openings had been left for doors, and near one of these 
 a beautiful little girl was playing with the mulatto boy, 
 Elsie s child, whose black, wavy hair and clear dark skin, cori- 
 40* 
 
472 IDA MAY. 
 
 trasted finely with the golden curls and delicate ct/mplexion 
 of his playmate. 
 
 Within the soft green shadow of the arbor, Ida sat on a 
 rustic bench, and a girl, of some five years old, stood behind 
 her, busily employed in ornamenting her hair with the half- 
 open buds which she pulled from the rose-vines beside her. 
 The child had removed Ida s comb, and the silken tresses, 
 crowned with flowers, fell waving and rippling around her 
 slight form, and, mingling with the ringlets which always 
 shaded her fair brow, half hid her face, as she sat leaning it 
 upon her hand, w/th her eyes resting on the floor, and a sad, 
 weary expression upon her features, that was poorly in keep 
 ing with the quiet beauty and cheerfulness of her surround 
 ings. A sudden exclamation from the little hair-dresser 
 caused her to look up, and she sprang to her feet, trembling 
 all over, as she saw who it was that n.w stood in the door 
 way, and held out his hands towards her. 
 
 " Walter here ! " she cried, in amazement. 
 
 "Yes, Walter here," he answered, taking both her 
 hands, and gazing into her eyes, with a glad eagerness 
 that brought a bright color to the cheek that was before 
 BO pale. "Walter here, to tell you that he is free 
 honorably free from all that could ever keep him from 
 your side." 
 
 Then followed a few rapid words. Walter never knew 
 exactly what he said, or how he said it, but he always 
 retained a delightful consciousness of the moment when Ida s 
 head sank on his shoulder, and from beneath that veil of hair 
 
IDA MAT x . 473 
 
 some faintly-breathed syllables assured him of all he wished 
 to know. 
 
 Meantime the children had fled coyly from the unknown 
 intruder, and now stood at the angle of the path, peeping 
 slyly from behind the box-wood to catch a glimpse of what 
 was going on in the arbor. Their mother s voice soon called 
 them away. 
 
 " 0, mother ! he kissed her, he did ! That great big man, 
 with hair all over his mouth, kissed Aunt Ida ! " shouted the 
 youngest, as she came near. 
 
 " Yes, and she let him ! " chimed in the elder girl. 
 
 Mrs. Morton laughed heartily at the virtuous indignation 
 expressed on the two young faces, and said, gayly, 
 
 " Why should n t he kiss her, if he wanted to ? He is 
 the best friend she has in the world." 
 
 " Is he ? " said the eldest, thoughtfully, in a mollified tone ; 
 but the youngest exclaimed, 
 
 " 0, ma ! how can he be the best ? He is n t her/<ztoe/ . " 
 
 " You will know some time, little one," replied Mrs. Mor 
 ton, laughing again ; and, taking little Alfred in her arms, 
 she went with them into the house. 
 
 Unconscious of this juvenile criticism upon their conduct, 
 forgetting even to notice that the children were gone, the 
 lovers, sitting close together in the green, rose-scented arbor, 
 breaking the charmed silence only by those low tones that 
 are eloquent of the heart s purest happiness, were enjoying 
 such moments as come but once to any mortal. Golden 
 momenta ! which in fleeting leave a memory lingering and 
 
474 IDA MAY. 
 
 precious, like those rare perfumes contained in crystal tubes, 
 that must be shattered past remedy before the hidden essence 
 can be exhaled. 
 
 " I cannot ask you to unite your fate with mine, now, at 
 once," said Walter, at length ; " for when I have done that 
 which we both think I ought to do for my people at Oak- 
 lands, I sha 1 ! be nearly penniless, and I cannot ask your 
 father for his child, when I have no home to offer her. By 
 the way," he added, suddenly, " where is your father ? " 
 
 " He went directly on from New York to Ohio, where his 
 agent has been buying some land on which our colony are to 
 be located. Fortunately he had just concluded the purchase 
 when father telegraphed to him ; so we were driven away 
 from the Triangle just in the right moment, you see." 
 
 " No thanks to that hateful mob, though ! " said Walter, 
 looking grave for a moment. " But I hope the purchase is 
 sufficiently extensive to admit some of my negroes, for I 
 shall want to dispose of a few in that way. The majority 
 can take care of themselves, in various ways, and may as well 
 begin at once to do so. They are bright enough, and will 
 soon learn how to adapt themselves to new situations. There 
 is nothing like the idea and the hope of freedom to awaken 
 and expand a man s intellect. I shall furnish each with a 
 little capital, and aid them in finding employment, and then 
 I shall settle myself in some city in the free States. I can 
 no longer live where a man is mobbed for expressing hie 
 honest opinions." 
 
 " You have not yet forgiven that tumultuous rallying of 
 
IDA MAT. 476 
 
 the people to protect the beloved institution from the 
 touch of our rash hands," said Ida, looking up gayly. 
 
 " And never shall forgive it ! " he replied ; and she silently 
 wondered at the gloomy and thoughtful expression that 
 gathered over his face as he spoke. She did not yet know 
 what it was that made that recollection so peculiarly excitino- 
 and unpleasant. But he shook off his sad thoughts in a 
 moment, and, responding to her happy mood, said cheerfully, 
 " Where should you like best to live ? I will take an 
 office anywhere you bid me. The world is all before us, 
 where to choose, and I will compel dame Fortune to favor me 
 with smiles." 
 
 " Presumptuous youth ! do not be too sanguine," said Ida, 
 for that lady s smiles are proverbially hard to be won." 
 
 " After the winning of to-day," replied he, I may be 
 pardoned for any amount of self-confidence ; and, beside, I 
 have the secret that unlocks her treasures. She is not repre 
 sented as a very industrious lady herself, but she likes to see 
 folks work, and I will work, 0, Ida ! how I will work, 
 to win a home for you, and honor and fame for your husband ! 
 You shall be proud of me yet, dearest." 
 
 " I am proud of you now," said she with charming naivete, 
 as she looked up into his face, glowing with happiness and 
 hope. " You seem," she added a moment after, " to have 
 full faith in that maxim which used to seem so mighty long 
 to me, -when our governess at Wynn Hall made me write in 
 my copy-book, do you remember ? Nothing is denied 
 to patient and well-directed effort. " 
 
476 IDA MAY 
 
 " I remember," said Walter ; " and I remember also how 
 she scolded you one day because you upset the ink over that 
 same copy-book." 
 
 " And how you took my part, and insisted it was not care 
 lessness," added Ida, laughing. "Ah, Walter, you havo 
 been my champion many times in the battle of life ! " 
 
 The arm taat was around her waist clasped her with a 
 yet closer pressure, and Walter replied, 
 
 " You needed a champion badly enough when I first knew 
 you. What a little creature you were then, Ida ! Do you 
 know, when you were sitting here this afternoon, the moment 
 before you saw me, with your hair falling around your shoul 
 ders, and crowned with rose-buds, you reminded me, more 
 than ever, of the little girl I saw hiding among the kalmias 
 on that mountain side ? " 
 
 " I should think so ! " said Ida. " Little Bessie is never so 
 happy as when she can disorder my hair as much as possible. 
 You should have announced your coming, so that I might 
 have arranged my dishevelled locks in more becoming array." 
 
 " There could be nothing more becoming, don t touch 
 them," he added, arresting her hand as she was gathering 
 her hair into a knot. " You have such soft, beautiful hair, 
 that it is a pleasure to see it ; and. even if it were not, I 
 should like anything that brought back so vividly those 
 first moments I spent with you. How often, since then, have 
 I wished I had preserved those flowers you gave me, that I 
 might have a tangible memorial of little Lizzy, and that 
 hour I spent beside the mountain stream ! " 
 
IDA MAY. 477 
 
 " I ain more fortunate than you I have such a memento," 
 :->aid Ida ; and, unclasping a small locket which she always 
 wore attached to her watch-chain, she showed him, carefully 
 set within it, a small gold coin, pierced with a hole in the 
 centre. " D you remember it ? " she asked. 
 
 Years had passed since he thought of it, but he recognized 
 it instantly. 
 
 " Ha-ve you kept it so long? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Do you suppose I would ever have parted with it ? " 
 cried Ida, earnestly. "The hour when you gave me this 
 marked an era in my changeful life. You came to me, that 
 bright afternoon, like some puissant prince of fairy legends, 
 breaking the spell that bound me, and giving me a revelation 
 of the happy life which I had lost and forgotten.- I could 
 not tell you all the springs of thought that began to move 
 confusedly through the darkness of my brain, as I watched 
 you ride away so free and bold, so full of youth and energy. 
 I was never afterwards* the same quiet, dreamy child I was 
 before." 
 
 " How little either of us imaghied, then, of all that was 
 to follow from that meeting ! " said Walter, thoughtfully. 
 " What a difference between then and now ! " 
 
 " Yes," answered Ida, " when I look back over the past, 
 F can almost feel the clasping of the Divine hand that has 
 been leading me through paths which I knew not, and has at 
 last brought me to a place of rest, so blessed that I hardly 
 know how to believe my own happiness. My life has been 
 etrangely eventful, but now " 
 
478 IDA MAT. 
 
 " Now," interrupted Walter, pressing his lips on the eye 
 lids that drooped over her tearful eyes, " Now your trials 
 are all over ; for, if there is power in human will and human 
 love, your whole future life shall be free from care or 
 sorrow." 
 
 FINIS. 
 
FOURTEEN DAY USE 
 
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THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY