"Comin' here wid yo' half-white talk an' half-nigger!"
"But who'll git up de fus' larf?" inquired the metropolitan, suavely waiving personal discussion.
"Yo' git de 'millions, an' de laf's boun' ter foller. Don't be skeered 'bout de laf."
And his veracity proved unimpeachable, for as the melons were distributed the air became vocal with rude wit and noisy laughter, and the deep ravine gave back loud "yah-yahs" which sounded truly demoniac in the darkness, and were no doubt the reproachful, sneering laughter of the late lamented, whose obsequies were for the second time abbreviated—the resentful, mocking laughter of him who was "dead and gone."
But the negro, as said before, has one advantage over his impecunious white brother—a genius for theft. The white man may not have, as a general thing, sterner principle or a softer conscience, but it cannot be said, except in isolated cases, that he has a passion for stealing. The Chinaman is regarded by severe moralists as somewhat lax in the matter of honesty, and indeed, to be candid, he has been accused of cultivating theft as one of the fine arts; but even he has the grace to be, or to affect to be, ashamed of it, and indignantly resentful at being suspected of the immorality. The negro, on the other hand, is only terribly afraid of being punished, and on being forgiven feels immediately purified and free from sin. He has, in fact, no moral principle, and his code of honesty is comprised in a conversation I overheard this winter. Our youngest child seemed to have a vague, indefinite fear of rogues, and a very imperfect idea of what a rogue might be, and was always asking questions on the subject. One morning, while his nurse was dressing him, I heard him inquire, "How big is a rogue, Betty? Can he hear a mile?"
Before she could reply, his brother, very little older, rose to explain: "Why, Bob, you've seen a many a rogue. A rogue is thes' a man. Papa an' Uncle Bob looks ezactly like other rogues."
"Is papa an' Unker Bob rogues?" asked the youngest with innocent wonder.
"No, chile—dat dey ain't!" said Betty as she filled his eyes with soap. "Yo' papa an' yo' uncle Borb is jes' as ornes' as anybody, 'cos rogues is folks what steals an' gits cotch!"
Jennie Woodville.