"'But, Simon,' said young Mr. Seymour, 'you stole a suit of my new clothes when you went off; and you got money, too, from Mrs. Barrett, saying I had sent you for it. How came you to do that?'
"'I will 'fess it all, sir,' said Simon, 'and God knows I'm speakin truth. I took de suit of clothes. The Abolitioner, he said I'd be a gentleman when I got North, and I must have somethin ready to put on, to look like one. So he said you'd always had the use of me, and twasn't no harm for me to take de suit, for I was 'titled to it for my sarvices. He axed me if any body owed my mistis money, as I know'd of. I told him, yes, Mrs. Barrett did, and mistis often sent me after it without any order, for she know'd I'd bring it straight to her. Now, my boy, said the Abolitioner, dis money is yourn—its your wages. You've got a better right to it than ever your mistis had. You can't start on a journey without money; so you go to dis lady and tell her you was sent for money by your mistis, and you keep de money for your own use. Here's de money,' said he, 'Master George, take it to mistis, and tell her de truth.'
"'Damn the rascals,' says young Mr. Seymour, 'they're not content with man-stealing, but they're stealing money and clothes, and every thing they can lay their hands upon. So much for your Abolition friends, Simon,' says he. 'I wish you joy of them. They've brought you to a pretty pass, and lost you as good a home as ever a servant had.'
"'Oh, master,' said Simon, 'won't you take me back? Indeed I will be faithful.'
"'Can't trust you, Simon,' said Mr. Seymour; 'besides, none of your fellow-servants want you back. You have no relations. My mother bought you, when you was a little boy, because she knew your mother; and after she died you were knocked about by the other servants. My sister taught you how to read the Bible, and you have been a member of the Methodist church. If you was a poor ignorant fellow, that didn't know what was right, I would take you back; but you've done this wid your eyes open. Our servants say they wants no runaways to live 'long o' them. Now, if you can get any of your Abolition friends to buy you, and take you North, and make a gentleman of you, I'll sell you to them; but they wouldn't give a fip to keep you from starving. I am sorry its so, but I can't take you back.' He said these very words, sir. He felt mighty bad, sir; he talked husky, but he went out. Simon called after him, but he didn't even look back; so I know Simon's goin for true."
"I am really sorry for the servants, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "but they won't take warning. I'm told that since Abolitionists have come to live in Washington, and have been going among the colored people, that it is almost impossible to employ an honest servant; it is on this account that the Irish are so much employed. Some years ago the families had no trouble with their domestics, but Abolition has ruined them. What a wretched looking class they are, too! lazy and dirty; these are the consequences of taking bad advice."
"Well, master," said Bacchus, "I wish to de Lord we could take 'em all to Virginny, and give 'em a good coat of tar and feathers; thar's all them feathers poor Aunt Peggy had in them barrels. We aint got no call for 'em at home. I wish we could put 'em to some use. I wouldn't like no better fun than to spread de tar on neat, and den stick de feathers on close and thick."
"Well, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, "its near bedtime, and I am not well; so I will retire."
"Certainly, master; you must 'scuse me, I'm afeard I've kep you up; I felt mightily for them poor creaturs, thar. Lor', master, I aint nigh so weakly as you, and think I nussed you, and used to toat you on my back when you was a little boy. You was mighty fat, I tell you—I used to think my back would bust, sometimes, but I'm pretty strong yet. 'Pears like I could toat you now, if I was to try."