"Any thing the matter, Bacchus?" said Mr. Weston.
"Well," said Bacchus, "nothin more I 'spose than what I had a right to expect of 'em. Simon's got to go. I done all I could for him, but it aint nothin, after all."
"What could you do?" said Mr. Weston.
"Well, master, I was nigh asleep last night, when all at once I thought 'bout dis here Abolition gentleman, Mr. Baker, that boards long wid us. Now, thinks I, he is a mighty nice kind of man, talks a heap 'bout God and the Gospel, and 'bout our duty to our fellow-creaturs. I know'd he had a sight of money, for his white servant told me he was a great man in Boston, had a grand house thar, his wife rode in elegant carriages, and his children has the best of every thing. So, I says to myself, he aint like the rest of 'em, he don't approve of stealing, and lying, and the like o' that; if he thinks the Southern gentlemen oughter set all their niggers free, why he oughter be willin to lose just a little for one man; so I went straight to his room to ask him to buy Simon."
"That was very wrong, Bacchus," said Mr. Weston, sternly. "Don't you know your duty better than to be interfering in the concerns of these people? I am excessively mortified. What will this gentleman think of me?"
"Nothin', master," said Bacchus. "Don't be oneasy. I told him I come to ax him a favor on my own 'sponsibility, and that you didn't know nothin' about it. Well, he axed me if I wanted a chaw of tobacco. 'No sir,' says I, 'but I wants to ax a little advice.' 'I will give you that with pleasure,' says he.
"'Mr. Baker,' says I, 'I understands you think God made us all, white and colored, free and equal; and I knows you feels great pity for de poor slaves that toils and frets in de sun, all their lives like beasts, and lays down and dies like beasts, clean forgot like 'em too. I heard you say so to a gentleman at de door; I thought it was mighty kind of you to consider so much 'bout them of a different color from your own. I heard you say it was de duty of de gentlemen of de South to set their slaves free, if it did make 'em poor, kase Jesus Christ, he made hisself poor to set us all free. Warn't dat what you said, sir?'
"'Exactly,' says he. 'I didn't know you had such a good memory.'
"'Now, Mr. Baker,' says I, 'you're a Christian yourself, or you couldn't talk dat way. I know Christians must like to make other people happy; they're bound to, for their Master, Christ, did. Well, sir, all de poor creturs dat de Abolitionists got off is cotched—they're gwine to be sold, and thar's one young man thar, that had a good home and a good mistis, and him they 'suaded off, and now he's gwine to be sold South, whar he'll toil and sweat in de hot sun. Now, Mr. Baker, if de Southern gentlemen's duty's so plain to you, that they oughter make themselves poor, to make their slaves free and happy, surely you'll buy this one poor man who is frettin' hisself to death. It won't make you poor to buy jist this one; his master says he'll sell him to any Abolitioner who'll take him to the great Norrurd, and have him teached. Buy him, sir, for de Lord's sake—de poor fellow will be so happy; jist spend a little of your money to make dat one poor cretur happy. God gave it all to you, sir, and he aint gave none to de poor slaves, not even gave him his freedom. You set dis one poor feller free, and when you come to die, it will make you feel so good to think about it; when you come to judgment, maybe Christ may say, "You made dis poor man free, and now you may come into de kingdom and set down wid me forever." Oh! sir,' says I, 'buy him, de Lord will pay you back, you won't lose a copper by him.'"