AUNT KATE, THE NEGRO GRANDMOTHER.

"SEND her up, Minnie," was my answer when told that a coloured woman wished to see me. I threw down my pen almost impatiently, for I did not care to be interrupted just then; but the appearance of the new comer interested me. She was a tall woman, her complexion a tawny yellow, her features good, and an indescribable air of sweetness in her face and manner. Her dress was a neat blue check, quite scant, and swelled out by no hoops. It was short, also, scarcely reaching to the tops of her heavy shoes. She had on a white apron, and folded about her neck a coarse white handkerchief. Her bonnet was an ordinary one of straw, and her white hair, bleached by time, stood out on either side of her temples. She made me a low courtesy, and

seemed for a moment keenly reading my face.

My name is Katy Morrison, ma'm," she said, as I beckoned her to be seated. They call me Aunty Kate at my old home." And where was your old home, aunty?"

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"Up in Virginia, dear child; long ways up, I tell ye."

"And you were a slave, I suppose.'

“'Deed, I was so, miss; but now I'se out o' bondage-Hallelujah! Praise be to God!" And she held up her withered hands, while the large tears gathered in her eyes.

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Did you run away?"

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Ah, sweet child, you better bleeve I did, honey. Me and my old man, (he's 'most seventy-four,) we totted it all de way, 'cep now an' den we get a lift in some baggage wagon. "Twas putty hard 'deed, it were.'

I have heard it said, Aunt Katy, that most of the slaves love their homes and their masters too well to run away. How is that?"

"Don' you bleeve the half, honey," said the old negress, with an emphatic wave of the hand. "We's bad enuff, but not so bad as to hate liberty. People what tells you dat, dunno child, dey dunno know," she added, with strong emphasis. "Pears to me if dey was slaves for a while, dey'ed change der tune mighty quick, 'deed would dey."

"Did you have a kind master, aunty?"

"Why, as dey goes, yes." She sat looking down and crimpling up her apron at one corner. "But as for missus, dear! her

AUNT KATE, THE NEGRO GRANDMOTHER.

temper were tarrible. She'd hit right an' lef' when she were out o' sorts; and she were dat often. She had a kind heart, too, if we were sick, but she upset de kittle of milk too often; 'deed she did. Massa he never looked much after his niggers-he had a hard overseer he had-mighty cruel to de field hands, mighty cruel; but I'se a house sarvant, and he never notice me-no 'twasn't me he noticed; I's too old an' ugly.”

The strange look she put on, the sigh and sudden inclination of the head, led me to suspect there was more meant in what she had said than appeared on the surface.

"Didn't he raise you aunty ?" I asked.

"Laws! no chile. I was sold to him, me an' my old man, and Tilly. Poor Tilly."

"Who is Tilly?"

"She's my grand-darter, ma'm; an' would God I had died for her; 'deed, ma'm, I could say so with old king David."

'Why have you left her behind?"

"O, sweet miss, that's what troubles me," she said, beginning to rock her body back and forth.

"I has no sorrow now, 'pears to me, but dat. But Tilly, miss, were the blessing of my old heart. Missus, it's hard to tell, but sure we poor black folks can't help ourselves. We feels it as bad as any body, though folks laughs and thinks we don't. But, miss, Tilly was my darter's child, and my old massa is her father. Dat's Gospel truth, miss; and why should I deny it? I never could get over it, some way, 'specially as Susan, dat' my child, kind o' pined away; for you see she liked one of the house servants, an' he liked her, but massa wouldn't hab it no how. So pore Susan, she died soon after Tilly was born; and I's slow to tell ye dat I blessed de Lord for it; 'deed I did. But O, miss, Tilly she grow'd up ever so beautiful, much more beautifuller dan my Susan, who was right peart dat way; an' it made my heart tremble, sure. She was so sweet a little creeter, too, dat every body took to her; an' the young missusses dey teached her a heap o'tings; an' she's almost a lady; true is she. O, miss, when I tinks of her my heart aches; 'deed it does."

"But why didn't she come with you?"

Aunt Katy heaved a long deep sigh as she said, "O, if de blessed Lord had 'llowed it, I'd be willing to part in peace; but I has a sad story to tell you, miss, and maybe ye won't bleeve old aunty."

AUNT KATE, THE NEGRO GRANDMOTHER.

"I should be very unwilling to believe that at your age you would tell an untruth," I said.

"No, miss, as Jesus died to save me I wouldn't," she said solemnly. "I's very perticular 'bout my word, for God's eye is upon me. Well, miss, I telled ye Tilly was beautiful. She's as white as you are, sweet miss, every wit; an' her hair curls, an' her eyes are blue. O, 'deed she's too pretty, God help her! You see Tilly's fifteen now, an' very tall of her age. She knows, poor chile, who her father is, for I told her myself; an' it almost took the life out of her. But, O dear, miss, you wouldn't bleeve it, perhaps, but it is de truf, I've hid her many a time when dat man's come to my cabin drunk. O, miss, we pore slaves, nobody don't know but de Almighty Heavenly Fader what we has to suffer." "But what did you hide her for ?"

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Dese

O, dear, miss, don't ax me. What does ever the pore, persecuted slave hide for, but to get shut of flogging, or worse. massas, miss, has no mercy on der own flesh and blood. Dey doesn't know what natral feelins is, when poor slaves is in de 'count. It didn't make no difference to him dat she was his own chile. Wasn't she a nigger? an' didn't she b'long to him? Miss, dat pore chile has taken ten whippings on her pore back 'cause she resisted evil, 'cordin' to the way I brought her up. An' at last, ole massa swore with mos' tarrible oaths, dat she should do as he said, or he would sell her. Well, anything was better dan dat disgrace, so after he'd give her a big beating, he sold her to a wicked man, who boasted dat he could git his thousands for her. Just den dis war broke out, an' though he took her away, I has hopes dat she is still de same good girl she was. O, dear, miss,

if I only knowed! I's prayed to God for her on my knees all night-yes, till de morning broke. An' 'pears 's if God would hear my pore prayers-'pears 'sif He did answer em to my pore ole heart. We reads in his blessed Gospel dat he does. An' dar was two, my old man an' me-though sure sometimes pore Abram he'd go to sleep right in de middle of de prayer. An' de good good God, He knew how hard pore old man use to work; an' He knowed dat de sperit willin', but de ole body mighty weak; for Abram he had de rheumatis bad; 'deed he had."

This blending of the pathetic, the reverential, and the ludicrous, was almost too much for me; but I conquered my inclination to smile, for the sake of her hearty earnestness, and out of sympathy, too, for her story impressed me most painfully.

AUNT KATE, THE NEGRO GRANDMOTHER.

Perhaps she has escaped," I said.

"I dunno, missus; 'pears if dars danger for her every side, poor chile. She wouldn't have nobody to pertect her; and how'd she find de way? 'Sides, I kinder 'fraid some ob de soldiers might be rude to her; dey is, sometimes, to pore slave girls. I's seen it myself, 'specially if deys good looking."

'How many children have you had, aunty?"

"I's had seventeen, miss."

"And are most of them living?"

"I thanks God, no, miss," she said, in the most solemn accents. "Dars only three as may be; de rest de good Lord took to Hisself. Nine of dem died when dey was babies. You see

miss, I had a hard missus at fust. It always seemed my luck to have hard missuses, and she kept me for hire, an' I had to tote out every day to do hard washings; den almost every night I had to wash and clean for missus, an' dat done, took all my strength you sees, and killed de poor chillen. Dey allers come into de world weak an' sickly; an' den you see, I has to leave 'em, an' can't tend to 'em, possibly, as babies has t' be that is deliket; an' so I's lost 'em. But, O, I's mighty glad, miss, for I tinks de good Lord don't make no diff'rence in de odder world, an' my poor little picninnies wasn't none of 'em black, miss. Dey's happy, if der poor old modder is miserable."

The utter mournfulness with which she ended this sentence drew the tears to my eyes.

"Five of dem, miss, lived to be growed up gals, den somehow dey sunk down one after de odder-some of dem after dey was married, and died. You see dey hadn't no constitutions, no way poor things. Dars three may be living-I don't know—deys sold away down in Georgia, for house servants."

I had a little further conversation with the old negress, and then, after receiving the help she had come for, she took her leave. Just one week ago, some one told me that Aunt Kate wanted to see me again. I was rather anxious for another interview. She entered the room as tall, as clean, as respectful as ever, but her intelligent face was beaming with happiness. It was so bright that I exclaimed, "Why, Aunt Kate, what good thing has happened?"

"O, sweet miss," cried she, lifting her hands, "jest 'joice with I's found my Tilly."

me.

"Why, aunty, I'm very glad, How did it happen?"

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AUNT KATE, THE NEGRO GRANDMOTHER.

Why, it just happen dis yer way," said the old woman, laughing till ever wrinkle shone. "I's in de market buying some tomats for my ole man, when a yeller boy, right smart an' handsome, comes up and kep' peering inter my face. Well, I thinks, what does he mean? He's right sausy anyhow. But, by-me by, he comes up an' lafs right in my face. I reckon your name's Morrison, ain't it?' says he "

"Says I, 'An' what then my boy?"

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'Nothin', says he, 'on'y how d' ye ole mother?' an' he got hole of my hand, an' went to shaking it right smart."

"Who are you, boy?' says I, for I didn't know him."

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Why, I's Tilly's Husband,' says he."

With that I jest could a nocked him down. I didn't know what to do. I was wild, thinkin this an' thinkin that-an' all 'mounting to nothin."

"Says I, 'Boy, is you foolin' me?"

Says he, 'No; I tells ye I'm Tilly's husband. I know'd you in a minnit by what she said-'cause, laws, she's all de time a talkin' 'bout you-an' she 'scribed you. Tilly run away, she did, an' fus thing she knows she's into camp, an' fus' thing I knows, I's married to her. It's all right an' no mistake, mother, an' I'm your lovin' son, cause Tilly she's a fine gal, Tilly is."

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Now, miss, only think of it, I's got my prayer. Know'd de Lord would hear old Aunt Kate. An' Tilly's all right, too. She's my good little grand-darter; and I'm so happy-Lor' bless you miss, I'se de 'appiest ole critter in Washington, bress an' praise de good Lord."

I had no doubt of it. And when I saw Tilly and her husband —a handsome couple, I blessed God with all my heart that He had delivered them from bondage.-Boston Watchman.

Tales like this may sound oddly in English ears, but many such tales of iniquity on the one hand and suffering on the other, some far worse than this, might be told with truth of the slave system in the southern states of America, now doomed, we hope, to entire and everlasting extinction. Indeed, the iniquity of slave-breeding is so foul and filthy, so utterly beastly, that it cannot be talked about, and never can be written or printed. The holy judgments of God must sweep it from the face of the earth, let man do what he may!