he winds!
Flag of my country! let thy stars give light
To nations of the earth! proclaim afar
The end of tyrant rule that madly binds
Our millions down beneath a fearful blight!
Float--_every star_!
We have not one to spare!

A MERCHANT'S STORY.

'ALL of which I saw, and part of which I was.'

CHAPTER IX.

After dinner, we rode over my friend's plantation. It contained about
twelve hundred acres, mainly covered with forest trees, but with here
and there an isolated patch of cleared land devoted to corn and cotton.
A small tributary of the Trent formed its northern boundary, and
bordering the little stream was a tract of three hundred acres of low,
swampy ground, heavily timbered with cypress and juniper. Tall old
pines, denuded of bark for one third of their height, and their white
faces bearded with long, shining flakes of 'scrape turpentine,' crowned
the uplands; and scattered among them, about a hundred well-clad,
'well-kept' negro men and women were shouting pleasantly to one another,
or singing merrily some simple song of 'Ole Car'lina,' as with the long
scrapers they peeled the glistening scales from the scarified trees, or,
gathering them in their aprons, 'dumped' them into the rude barrels
prepared for their reception. Preston had a kind word for each one that
we passed--a pleasant inquiry about an infirm mother or a sick child, or
some encouraging comment on their cheerful work; and many were the
hearty blessings they showered upon 'good massa,' and many their
good-natured exclamations over 'de strange gemman dat sells massa's
truck.'

'He'm de kine, 'ou gals,' shouted an old darky, bent nearly double with
age, who, leaning against one of the barrels, was 'packing down' the
flakes as they were emptied from the aprons of the women: 'He'm de kine,
I tell by him eye; de rocks doan't grow fass ter dat gemman's pocket!'

'Well, they don't, uncle,' I replied, tossing him a half-dollar piece,
and throwing a handful of smaller coin among the women. A general
scramble followed, in which the old fellow nimbly joined, shouting out
between his boisterous explosions of merriment:

'Dis am de sort, massa; dis am manna rainin' in de wilderness--de Lord's
chil'ren lub dis kine--it'm good ter take, massa, good ter take.'

'Good as black jack, eh, uncle?' I inquired, laughing, for I saw certain
lines about his shrunken mouth, and underneath his sunken eyes, wh