time, made governmental
cooperation impracticable if not impossible.

In 1815 he carried out the ideas long in his mind. In this year he
sailed from Boston for Sierra Leone with thirty-eight free Negroes as
settlers on the Black Continent. Only eight of these could pay their own
expenses, but Cuffe, nevertheless, took out the entire party, landed
them safe on the soil of their forefathers after a journey of fifty-five
days and paid the expense for the outfit, transportation and maintenance
of the remaining thirty, amounting to no less than twenty-five thousand
dollars ($25,000), out of his own pocket. The colonists were cordially
welcomed by the people of Sierra Leone, and each family received from
thirty to forty acres from the Crown Government. He remained with the
settlers two months and then returned home with the purpose of taking
out another colony. Before, however, he could do so, and while
preparations were being made for the second colony, he was taken ill.
After a protracted illness he died September 7, 1817, in the fifty-ninth
year of his age. At the time of his death he had no less than two
thousand names of intending emigrants on his list awaiting
transportation to Africa.

As to his personal characteristics: Paul Cuffe was "tall, well-formed
and athletic, his deportment conciliating yet dignified and
prepossessing. He was a member of the Society of Friends (Quakers) and
became a minister among them.... He believed it to be his duty to
sacrifice private interest, rather than engage in any enterprise,
however lawful ... or however profitable, that had the slightest
tendency to injure his fellow man. He would not deal in intoxicating
liquors or in slaves."

THE BLACK FAIRY

FENTON JOHNSON

Little Annabelle was lying on the lawn, a volume of Grimm before her.
Annabelle was nine years of age, the daughter of a colored lawyer, and
the prettiest dark child in the village. She had long played in the
fairyland of knowledge, and was far advanced for one of her years. A
vivid imagination was her chief endowment, and her story creatures often
became real flesh-and-blood creatures.

"I wonder," she said to herself that afternoon, "if there is any such
thing as a colored fairy? Surely there must be, but in this book they're
all white."

Closing the book, her eyes rested upon the landscape that rolled itself
out lazily before her. The stalks in the cornfield bent and swayed,
their tassels bowing to the