Fifteen Days: An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal

by Mary Lowell Putnam

"He has changed, if he ever admitted anything against slavery. When you see him, you can serve up to him some of his own stories."

"I would not do that; but, if he introduces the subject, I shall say what I think of slavery as plainly as ever I did."

"He certainly will introduce it. And he would not be at all embarrassed, if you were to cast up his old self to him. He would admit freely that in his green age he entertained crude opinions which time and experience have modified. You must be prepared to be overwhelmed with his learning, though. He is a great political economist,—as they all are, for that matter, down here. He almost stifled me with his citations, the last time I was in his company. When he was in Boston, about eight months ago, I asked him to dine. He exerted himself so powerfully to prove to me that slavery is the most satisfactory condition for ordinary human nature, and to persuade me in general of the wisdom, humanity, and Christian tendencies of 'Southern institutions,' that I determined not to invite him too often, for fear he should make an abolitionist of me.

"However, I gave half the blame to Shaler. His conduct was really a reflection upon his cousin Harvey, who had been something of a celebrity. The Harvey plantation was one of the sights of the State. Fred knew that his father's humanity made a part of his own prestige in Northern society. His filial piety took alarm. If Shaler's style of benevolence became the fashion, Harvey's would be obsolete. He must either follow the lead of another, and so take a secondary place, or count as one behind the times. Fred appreciated the position: it was a question of condemning or being condemned; of course there was no question. But all has gone to heart's wish. Shaler has passed out of mind, and Harvey's is still the model plantation."

"I should be glad to have nothing to find fault with in Fred but his dogmatism and his pedantry," the Doctor began again, lowering his voice. "After you left Paris, Harry, he fell in with intimates not so safe. He gives his father anxiety,—has, I very much fear, even embarrassed him by his extravagance."

Harry looked pained, but made no reply. The Doctor expected one, but having waited for it a moment in vain, went back to the dinner which had left so unfavorable an impression. He gave some examples of Frederic's strain of argument, rather shallow, certainly, and, for so young a man, rather cold-blooded.

"I thought," Harry exclaimed at last, with emotion, "that I had always hated slavery as much as I could hate it; but, when I see what it has done to men whom I like,—whom I want to like,—when I see what it has done"——

"When you see what it has done to women?" asked the Doctor, as Harry hesitated to finish his sentence. "Ah, I understand. You are thinking of that garden scene."

The Doctor turned from Harry and addressed himself to me, taking up his narrative tone.

"You know we ought to have been here three days earlier. The delay was owing to that Orpheus escapade I told you of. It took us back to Omocqua, and, once there, we determined to give a day or two to Egerton, which we had missed before. The cave was no great affair, after those we had seen; and the wonderful flowers that grow there turned out a humbug, as I knew they would. However, Egerton proved to be something of a place, and who should be there but my friend Harvey himself, to whose plantation we were bound. He had his carriage, and proposed to take us down there with him. We accepted, excusing to ourselves the breach of our rule, in consideration of the gratuitous tramp we had taken between Omocqua and Tenpinville. We didn't start until afternoon, so it was rather late when we arrived. However, Madame received us charmingly, and we had a pleasant hour or two talking over the old times at Paris and Dieppe. Nobody else appeared that evening, and I didn't inquire after anybody: I knew Fred was away, and the other children were children when I last heard of them.