“You are very impertinent, Miss,” said Mrs. Dormer; “but I wish to have no more words at present.”
The following morning, when Clara attended her usual lesson, she could not help noticing the coldness and indifference with which she was treated by her governess. She felt it keenly; and after endeavouring for some time to conceal her feelings, she burst into tears, and said, “I know I was very wicked yesterday; I told lies, and saw Dinah beat for telling the truth.—Oh, Miss Melville! do forgive! do pardon me!”
“Your pardon does not rest with me,” said Miss Melville; “you may be assured that though Providence has suffered this poor creature to become a slave, you have no right to treat her with cruelty or injustice. A great and benevolent mind would use power only to promote the happiness of those who are under its government. You know not how much you may need the friendship of your slaves; and your conduct should be such as would entitle you to their esteem. I am sorry to see it otherwise. Your cruelty was manifested in the sufferings of Dinah; and the unjust punishment inflicted on her, was not your only fault; that was but secondary to your first; the untruth you told was the primary cause of the poor girl’s sufferings. I have long endeavoured to instil into your mind a high value for truth, and an aversion to falsehood of every kind. I am grieved to see how very lightly you think of my lessons, and how poor a compliment you pay my instructions. Be assured, that lying is a most dangerous and detestable vice; and a liar is more to be dreaded than any other character. Locks, bolts and bars may secure us from the thief; but what can secure us from the tongue of the liar? How many scandals are fabricated—how many families set together by the ears—how many parents have their hearts turned against their children, husbands weaned from their wives, brothers from their sisters, and the most intimate, firm and steady friendships broken, by the tongue of the liar. I beg you, then, my dear Clara, never more to be guilty of a vice which is offensive both to God and man.”
Miss Melville’s lessons, often repeated, made a deep impression on the mind of Clara. To the slaves she became gentle and kind; and during the illness of Dinah, which was the consequence of her undeserved punishment, none attended her with more kindness than Clara, who endeavoured, by every means in her power, to make her amends for her sufferings.
Clara soon gained the esteem of all the slaves, and was so universally beloved, that there was not a person in the house, or on the plantation, but what would almost have sacrificed their lives to serve her. Mrs. Dormer was the only person who disapproved of the happy change in her conduct; natural affection, however, was a sufficient security for her kindness to her only daughter, and therefore Clara lived in friendship with all around her.
About twelve months after the event which has been recounted, Mr. Dormer died, leaving to his widow the plantation, with the reversion to Clara, to whom he also left considerable property in the English funds. Unchecked by the power or influence of a husband, the widow now exercised her authority over the slaves with an iron hand. She not only had them punished unjustly, but frequently ordered the punishments to be inflicted with a severity too horrible to be described.—But
“The worm we tread on, thus it feels,
“Resents the pressure of our heels,
“And turns again.”