of frettin'. Course, I don' want to go back
into slavery, but I's paid for my freedom.

"I's never been sick abed, but I's had mo' misery dis las' year dan all
my life. It's my heart. If I live till December, I'll be 102 years old,
and dis ole heart have been pumpin' and pumpin' all dem years and have
missed nary a beat till dis las' year. I knows 'twon't be long till de
good Lawd calls dis ole nigger to cross de Ribber Jordan and I's ready
for de Lawd when he calls.

420082

[Illustration: Felix Haywood (A)]

[Illustration: Felix Haywood (B)]

FELIX HAYWOOD is a temperamental and whimsical old Negro of San
Antonio, Texas, who still sees the sunny side of his 92 years, in
spite of his total blindness. He was born and bred a slave in St.
Hedwig, Bexar Co., Texas, the son of slave parents bought in
Mississippi by his master, William Gudlow. Before and during the
Civil War he was a sheep herder and cowpuncher. His autobiography is
a colorful contribution, showing the philosophical attitude of the
slaves, as well as shedding some light upon the lives of slave
owners whose support of the Confederacy was not accompanied by
violent hatred of the Union.

"Yes, sir, I'm Felix Haywood, and I can answer all those things that you
want to know. But, first, let me ask you this: Is you all a white man,
or is you a black man?"

"I'm black, blacker than you are," said the caller.

The eyes of the old blind Negro,--eyes like two murkey brown
marbles--actually twinkled. Then he laughed:

"No, you ain't. I knowed you was white man when you comes up the path
and speaks. I jus' always asks that question for fun. It makes white men
a little insulted when you dont know they is white, and it makes niggers
all conceited up when you think maybe they is white."

And there was the key note to the old Negro's character and temperament.
He was making a sort of privileged game with a sportive twist out of his
handicap of blindness.

As the interviewer scribbled down a note, the door to the little shanty
on Arabella Alley opened and a backless chair was carried out on the
porch by a vigorous old colored woman. She was Mrs. Ella Thompson,
Felix' youngest sister, who had known only seven years of slavery. After
a timid "How-do-you-do," and a comment on the great heat of the June
day, she went back in the house. Then the old Negro began searching his
92 years of reminiscences, int