pectful word from a child to his parent, or to any grown
person. They have really what the New-Englanders call "beautiful
manners."

We made daily visits to the "quarters," which were a few rods from the
house. The negro-houses, on this as on most of the other plantations,
were miserable little huts, with nothing comfortable or home-like about
them, consisting generally of but two very small rooms,--the only way of
lighting them, no matter what the state of the weather, being to leave
the doors and windows open. The windows, of course, have no glass in
them. In such a place, a father and mother with a large family of
children are often obliged to live. It is almost impossible to teach
them habits of neatness and order, when they are so crowded. We look
forward anxiously to the day when better houses shall increase their
comfort and pride of appearance.

Oaklands is a very small plantation. There were not more than eight or
nine families living on it. Some of the people interested us much.
Celia, one of the best, is a cripple. Her master, she told us, was too
mean to give his slaves clothes enough to protect them, and her feet and
legs were so badly frozen that they required amputation. She has a
lovely face,--well-featured and singularly gentle. In every household
where there was illness or trouble, Celia's kind, sympathizing face was
the first to be seen, and her services were always the most acceptable.

Harry, the foreman on the plantation, a man of a good deal of natural
intelligence, was most desirous of learning to read. He came in at night
to be taught, and learned very rapidly. I never saw any one more
determined to learn. "We enjoyed hearing him talk about the
"gun-shoot,"--so the people call the capture of Bay Point and Hilton
Head. They never weary of telling you "how Massa run when he hear de
fust gun."

"Why didn't you go with him, Harry?" I asked.

"Oh, Miss, 't wasn't 'cause Massa didn't try to 'suade me. He tell we
dat de Yankees would shoot we, or would sell we to Cuba, an' do all de
wust tings to we, when dey come. 'Bery well, Sar,' says I. 'If I go wid
you, I be good as dead. If I stay here, I can't be no wust; so if I got
to dead, I might's well dead here as anywhere. So I'll stay here an'
wait for de "dam Yankees."' Lor', Miss, I knowed he wasn't tellin' de
truth all de time."

"But why didn't you believe him, Harry?"

"Dunno, Miss; somehow we hear de Yankees was our friends, an' dat we'd
b