This was true, but that it was known in the outside world we thought impossible, when all the newspaper and book accounts represented us as miserable sinners for whom there was no hope here or hereafter, and called upon all nations, Christian and civilized, to revile, persecute, and exterminate us. Such representations, however, differed so widely from the facts around us that when we heard them they failed to produce a very serious impression, occasioning often only a smile, with the exclamation: "How little those people know about us!"
We had not the vanity to think that the European nations cared or thought about us, and if the Americans believed these accounts, they defamed the memory of one held up by them as a model of Christian virtue—George Washington, a Virginia slave-owner, whose kindness to his "people," as he called his slaves, entitled him to as much honor as did his deeds of prowess.
But to return to the two last lines of the stanza:
"Was it not often that he who possessed them
Rather was owned by his servants himself?"
I am reminded of some who were actually held in such bondage; especially an old gentleman who, together with his whole plantation, was literally possessed by his slaves.
This gentleman[10] was a widower, and no lady presided over his house.
His figure was of medium height and very corpulent. His features were regular and handsome, his eyes were soft brown, almost black, and his hair was slightly gray. The expression of his countenance was so full of goodness and sympathy that a stranger meeting him in the road might have been convinced at a glance of his kindness and generosity.
He was never very particular about his dress, yet never appeared shabby.
Although a graduate in law at the university, an ample fortune made it unnecessary for him to practice his profession. Still his taste for literature made him a constant reader, and his conversation was instructive and agreeable.