Aunt Phillis's Cabin; Or, Southern Life As It Is. Mary H. Eastman
black one,' said Harriet, 'why did you not get a dark green or a brown one?'
"'Why, you see,' said Mrs. White, 'the deacon's health is a failin'; he's dreadful low in the top knots lately, and I thought as his time might come very soon, I might as well get a black one while I was a getting. We're all born to die, Miss Harriet; and the deacon is dwindlin' away.'"
The young men laughed, and Arthur said "What will he do with his money? Mrs. White will not wear the black bonnet long if she have twenty thousand dollars; she can buy a new bonnet and a new husband with that."
"No danger," said Abel, "Deacon White has made his will, and has left his wife the interest of five thousand dollars; at her death the principal goes, as all the rest, to aid some benevolent purpose.
"But there are the letters; what a bundle for you, Arthur! That is the penalty of being engaged. Well I must wait for the widow White, I guess she'll let me have the use of the horse and chaise, at any rate."
Mr. Hubbard arose to go, and Arthur handed him his newspaper. "That is a valuable document, sir, but there is one still more so in your library here; it is a paper published the same month and year of the Declaration of Independence, in which are advertised in the New England States negroes for sale! Your fathers did not think we were all born free and equal it appears."
"We have better views now-a-days, said Mr. Hubbard; the Rev. Mr. H. has just returned from a tour in the Southern States, and he is to lecture to-night, won't you go and hear him?"
"Thank you, no," said Arthur. "I have seen some of this reverend gentleman's statements, and his friends ought to advise him to drop the reverend for life. He is a fit subject for an asylum, for I can't think a man in his senses would lie so."
"He is considered a man of veracity," said Mr. Hubbard, "by those who have an opportunity of knowing his character."
"Well, I differ from them," said Arthur, "and shall deprive myself of the pleasure of hearing him. Good evening, sir."
"Wouldn't he be a good subject for tar and feathers, Arthur? They'd stick, like grim death to a dead nigger," said Abel.
"He is really such a fool," said Arthur, "that I have no patience with him; but you take your usual nap, and I will read my letters."
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