THE RURAL NEW-YORKER, 
ANDERSONVILLE VIOLETS. 
Copyrighted by the Rural New-Yorker. 
All rights reserved. 
chapter xxi. ( Continued .) 
“We know how. It is a matter of self-pre. 
servation with us and we cannot afford to let 
the nigger dream of social equality. I might 
as well ask you how you propose to keep down 
the workingmen and foreigners at the North. 
They will multiply so in a few years that you 
will have work to control them. You know 
perhaps how the work will be done, and in the 
same way we know how we are going to keep 
our niggers in shape.” 
“But we have no thought of keeping our 
workingmen “down” as you call it, We aim 
to educate them and bring them up to a high¬ 
er plane of usefulness. ” 
“That is well enough to talk of white men, 
but you can’t tell niggers such stuff. It would 
spoil them in no time.” 
“Did it ever occur to you that the Saxons 
wei e at one time as low down as these negroes 
are now? History shows that the ignorant 
obstinate Saxons held together for centuries, 
kept their language and religion, and in time 
forced the superior Norman to the rear. Whv 
is it not possible for American history to re¬ 
peat, in part at least, this record? The negroes 
are not breaking up politically. They draw 
away fiom the whites and have begun already 
to be an exclusive race. Fifty years from 
now, when every negro can read and write, 
when the race has increased in numbers 
and crowded itself upon a smaller area, when 
• it has a liter ature of its own and can show in 
black and white its own story of its wrongs_ 
what will you do then?” 
“Thats not a fair agument—not a fair way 
of talking. The Saxons were white. The nig¬ 
ger is black and you cannot show in all the his¬ 
tory of the world an instance where a race of 
black men have eyer proved themselves capa¬ 
ble of coping with white men, or of forming a 
literature. 
You speak from a theorist’s point of view 
You don’t understand the nigger, how ignor¬ 
ant he is, and how easy it is for us to manage 
him. Niggers are the cleverest people in the 
world but they are good for nothing but work. 
Understand me, I don’t want the nigger to go 
back to slavery, but I want him to keep in his 
place. What he did in the days of the “Rad¬ 
ical ’ rule shows that he is incapable of govern¬ 
ing.” 
-But how can you tell by the conduct of the 
negro at that time, what he is capable of doing 
You remember perhaps that familiar quota¬ 
tion from Macaulay’s Essay on Milton:—‘Till 
men have been sometime free they know not 
how to use their freedom. The final and per¬ 
manent fruits of liberty are wisdom, modera¬ 
tion, and mercy. Its immediate effects are 
often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, dog¬ 
matism on points the most mysterious. It is 
just at this crisis that its enemies love to ex¬ 
hibit it . . . and ask in scorn where the 
promised splendor and comfort is to be found.> 
Now why is not this true in the case of the ne¬ 
gro government?’ 
And so the two men would discuss, never 
convincing the other and each one proving his 
own idea to his own satisfaction. 
CHAPTER XXII. 
The warm, pleasant weather continued all 
through November and to within two weeks 
of Christmas. It seemed strange enough to 
John and Nellie to think of eating their din¬ 
ner at Thanksgiving with the doors wide open 
and the sun shining hotly on them. At home 
Thanksgiving usually came with a white man¬ 
tle of snow ora rough overcoat of frozen earth 
Thanksgiving is the great day of New England 
country life. City people prefer Christmas, 
but the plain, honest folks who wrest their liv¬ 
ing from the rocky hillside farms, hold to the 
old Puritan holiday. It is the day when great 
families come together, when old scenes are 
pictured, old stories are told, old memories are 
brushed to life, when the golden grains of the 
past are brought from beneath the dust of 
years. The social nature of the Thanksgiving 
celebration somehow appeals to the lonely 
country life as Christmas never can. 
Thanksgiving was a very thoughtful time 
tor John and Nellie. It was the anniver¬ 
sary of their marriage. All the old days were 
brought to their minds. They did their best 
to appear merry and thankful for the sake of 
the little girl, but it was hard work. How 
g adly would they have changed this great 
plantation and the beautiful weather for the 
rocky old farm at home. Go where he will, 
improve his circumstances as he may, the New 
England man can never repress the yearning 
for the rough old hills that seem so dull and 
barren to a stranger. 
A short time before Christmas, a heavy rain 
set in that seemed,in a few hours, to double the 
distance between the plantation and the town. 
The road was changed into a mass of deep mud 
through which an empty wagon could hardly 
be pulled. The little family seemed to be shut 
out from the rest of the world. John was 
obliged to make his trips into town on horse¬ 
back. He would come back completely cov¬ 
ered with mud,longing for the frozen ground 
and packed snow of a New England winter. 
As Christmas drew near, the negroes began 
to show signs of an increased jollity and mer¬ 
riment. Even Sol and his mother joined in 
the fun. 
Aunt Jinny told little Nellie a series of such 
remarkable stories that the child came to have 
an entirely new idea of Christmas and Santa 
Claus. She had lost considerable faith in the 
old story the year before at home, when by an 
accident she discovered that U^cle Nathan 
had endeavored to take the place of old Saint 
Nick. Aunt Jinny’s stories put such anew 
face upon the matter that the little girl resolv- 
edto give Santa Clausanother fair trial. Aunt 
Jinny could not understand much about little 
Nellie’s description of the reindeer and sledge 
that formed so important a part of the Christ- 
mas procession. Snow and ice were unknown 
to her. Santa Claus came through the mud 
on a stout mule or in a hack. The deer and 
the sledge were entirely out of place. 
“I reckondey's a heapob folks, honey, dot 
done know nuffin’ about dese tings. I reckon 
dem raindeer ud git stuck mighty bad in de 
murd. I knows a heap about Santa Claus I 
does bekase I heard all about de man what done 
seen him onct." 
“Tell me all about it Aunt Jinny,” little Nel¬ 
lie would say,bringing her chair up to the side 
of the old sla ve. 
“Well, honey, I reckon it ud take a heap ob 
time ter tell all about it. ’Pears like I’d better 
tell about one pint at a time. Whar you reck, 
on I’d better begin?’. 
The little girl, after much thought would 
at last decide upon some “pint” 
“What do people hang up their stockin’s for 
Aunt Jinny?” Nellie soon came to know that 
this was Aunt Jinny^ favorite story. 
“What make dey hang up dere stockin’s?” 
Aunt Jinny was in her glory surely when 
this point was raised. She claimed to be one 
of the very few people in the world who could 
answer this leading question. She never 
would impart the coveted information except 
to those whom she felt sure would make good 
use of it. 
“What make dey will hang up dere stockin’s? 
Wall chile, dere is a mighty curus story about 
dat. Hit’s de curuses story dey is I reckon. 
I.reckon I's hev ter tell you chile bekase youse 
gonter ’member it an it look like you done git 
yo’ idees sorter shuck up like on dis pint.” 
“Onct dey wuz a man dat lib way backyun- 
der in de country. He wuz a po’ man—a mon’- 
sus po’ man sho’ nuff. An’ de longer he lib, 
de po’er he git tell bime by he didn’t hab nuf¬ 
fin skersely,” 
“Where did he live?” the little girl wouldask 
in breathless interest. She meant to mark 
the fatal spot in her little geography so that 
Papa never would go there. 
“Whar he live at?” Aunt Jinny proposed 
to tell one thing at a time. “I don’t reckon 
you’d know, honey, ef I wuz ter go an tell you. 
You jes wait tell youse go over de groun an, 
den you’ll know sho’ nuff. Dis man wuz po’f uj 
po’; corn an’meat dey wuz way up yunder, 
an’ when Christmas come along he done hab 
nuffin.” 
“But why didn’t he wait for Santa Claus 
Aunt Jinny?” 
“Its a commin’ ter dat pint, honey, right 
away. I reckon ole Santy Claus he jes whip 
his mules when he drive fru dat country. He 
mighty glad ter git away frum it, an’ he make 
mighty few calls I reckon. But the night afo’ 
Crismus, this po’ man he go out ter git him 
sum light wood, an’ while he pickin’ it up, he 
year somebody way off in de swamp holler- 
De man he aint gut nuflln ter do, so he sorter 
walks down ter de swamp fer ter see who dat 
is. Who you tink he fine down dere, honey?” 
“It wasn’t Santa Claus was it?” 
Aunt Jinny felt a little disappointed to have 
the point of surprise thus taken out of her 
story. 
“I reckon it were Santy sho’ nuff.” 
“How did he know who it was Aunt Jinny ?” 
“Why chile, dey is a heap ob tings about 
Santy Claus dat is dif’rent frum odder people. 
I reckon you'd know him de minnit you see 
him, an’ den agin, I reckon he tole dat po> 
man who he wuz. You see honey, Santy were 
stuck in de murd. His hack wuz way up to 
de hubs in de road an one mule wuz kiekim 
while de odder wuz backin’ up agin de hack. 
It were a hard place fer Santy sho’ nuff, fer he 
had a heap ob groun ter cover yit. Dat po’ 
man he stan by wid his han’s in his pockets an’ 
sorter watch de doin’s. Bime by he ask Santy 
Claus have he gut nary piece ob terbarker. 
Dat sorter interjuice em like, an’ Santy he 
up en say dat bis hack wuz full ob tricks an’ 
dat he’d fill up enyting dat po’ man had ef he’d 
help him out. 
Dat po’ man he look in dat hack an’ he see a 
heap ob tings dat he wanted. He sorter made 
up his mind what was what. He talk mighty 
brash at dem mules but de mo’ he talk, de mo’ 
dey pull back. Den he borrv Santy’s knife an 
cut im a big pole in de woods an’ while Santy 
he push agin de back ob de hack, dat po’ man 
he jes tan de hide on dem mules po’ful tell dey 
pull togedder an’ jes yank dat hack outer de 
murd. You jes orter see dem mules pull honey.’ 
“But wasn’t it too bad that they had to whip 
them so«” said the dear little girl. 
*’No, I don’t reckon it wuz. Mules is mighty 
ornery. 1 reckon dey aint nuffin’but lickin’ 
will de em eny good. Dey is a heap ob folks, 
honey, dat is jes like mules about dat. Ole 
Santy Claus he mightily tickled about de way 
he git outer dat murd, an’ when he come to de 
po’ man’s house he say ‘now you jes bring out 
de bigges ting you gut an’ I’ll fill it up.” 
Dat po’ man, he mighty sharp I reckon. 
He done scratch his bead an’ den he bring out 
a big stockin’. Ole Santy Claus he tink he git 
out mighty easy but when he come with his 
truck he fine dere is a mighty big hole in de 
heel ob dat stockin’. All de truck run fru the 
hole an’ take mighty nigh all dey is in de hack 
ter fill it up.” 
“That man didn’t do right, did he Aunt Jin¬ 
ny?” 
Wall chile, dat’sa mighty hard question dat 
is. Dere’s a heap of folks dat ud a done de 
same ting—an’ mighty good folks too. I reckon 
Dat po’ man he uz mighty tickled about de 
way he beat ole Santy Claus an’ he tole all de 
folks dey cud do de same ting. When Santy 
he come aloDg denex’ time, be fine all de holy 
stockin’s hung up fer im ter fill. Hit mighty 
nigh busted ole Santy ter fill em up. Santy 
he sorter figgered on de ting, an’ he see dat dere 
warnt no money in dem holy stockin’s, so he 
say dat he gib a prize to de one dat hung up de 
bes lookin’ stockin’. 
Santy Claus he mighty sharp I reckon. Every 
body goes in fer de prize an’ all de holy stock¬ 
in’s is sorter patched up like. So, honey, done 
yo’ nebber hang up no holy stockin’s, but jes’ 
take de bes one yo’ hab.” 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
Jack Foster had promised to eat his Christ¬ 
mas dinner with John and Nellie. 
The day had always been a melancholy one 
with him, bringing back, as it did, the memo¬ 
ries of happier days. He hoped for a pleasant 
time with his new friends, but he hardly 
dared to hope for the great happiness that the 
beautiful holiday brought him. Jack had 
been a little 11. He caught a severe cold at 
the opening of the lainy season. Three days 
before Christmas he rode back from town 
through a severe rain. He stopped at the 
plantation, and was easily induced to stay 
to supper. His head ached and be grew hot 
and cold by turns. He was surprised to find 
how weak he was when he rose to go home. 
He almost fell as he staggered to the door. Nel¬ 
lie quickly saw that Jack was a sick man. She 
insisted upon his staying all night, and Jack, 
after one bewildered look at the blackness 
and rain, helplessly consented. 
“I shall be all right in the morning I reckon” 
he said as John led him back to a seat by the 
fire. They all thought this, but when the 
morning came, Jack was unable to stand. He 
lay in a daze with his eyes wide open, mutter¬ 
ing and whispering to some imaginary person. 
He roused for a time, and seemed to know John 
but at last the look of intelligence faded out 
of his eyes, and he lay vacantly staring at the 
wall as before. 
John and Nellie grew frightened as the hours 
went by and Jack never ceased staring and 
muttering. They could not understand what 
he said, but Nellie could imagine, for there 
was one name that was always pronounced 
more distinctly than the rest—it was Lucy. 
At last John sent Sol for a horse that he might 
ride to town after a doctor. The rain was 
still pouring down, and the road was a great 
mass of mud, but John did not think of this at 
all. As Sol brought the horse up to the door 
an old negro woman came up from the gate 
She was drenched with the rain and covered 
with mud, but she hobbled bravely up to the 
door. 
“Whar’s Massa Jack, at?” she asked peering 
dimly about her. “I’s his ole Mammy, I is 
done nuss him, an’ ’pears like dey aint nobody 
kin take car ob him like I kin, Whar is he at 
Missy? I reckon I can’t lib no longer if Massa 
Jack die.’ 
Nellie brought the poor old woman in and 
gave her a seat by the fire. Old Mammy dried 
herself as hastily as possible and then asked 
again to see Jack. 
“I knows a heap mo’ about Massa Jack dan 
enyone else do,” she explained, and so it prov_ 
ed for when Nellie led the old woman to Jack’s 
oom she was surprised to see how quickly old 
Mammy understood what to do. 
The old slave watched her master as a dog 
might have done. Jack turned his vacant eyes 
upon her and something like a gleam of intel¬ 
ligence passed over his face. Mammy sat down 
by the bed and placed her hand on Jack’s head. 
“I reckon you’d better send fo’ ole Massa 
Lawrence” she muttered to Nellie. ’Pears like 
he know about Massa Jack like nobody else 
do.” 
John was just mounting his horse as Nellie 
came down and told him of old Mammy and 
her advice. Mr. Lawrence was the old gentle¬ 
man that John had met at the hotel. Jack 
had often spoken of him as an old physician 
and friend of his father’s. John decided to fob 
low old Mammy’s advice. He rode down to 
the gate and turned past Col. Fair’s place. An 
hour later he returned with Mr. Lawrence. 
The old gentleman came at once when John 
told his story. He had known Jack from his 
earliest childhood and had treated him for 
many a serious illness. 
The two men were covered with mud and 
drenched through with the rain. They dried 
themselves before the fire, and then the old¬ 
er man went above into the room where old 
Mammy was watching her “boy.” John and 
Nellie waited anxiously for the report. They 
read it in the grave and sorrowful face that 
Mr. Lawrence brought back from the sick 
room. 
“It is a very serious case. I am afraid he 
will have a hard struggle for life. There has 
been something on his mind for years that has 
tortured him continually. He is thinking of ifc 
now and unless something can be done to drive 
it from his mind, I do not think my medicine 
can ever help him. I speak plainly for I think 
you know, judging from what you said to-day 
—what this matter is. I have known it for a 
long time though I never told John Foster that 
it was so. She told me about it years ago. I 
feel that I am free to speak of it now, for the 
end that I have been fearing, seems to have 
begun.” 
Nellie’s eyes were filled with tears and even 
John’s strong hand shook as he brought a chair 
for the visitor. How well they understood 
what awful thoughts were filling the brain of 
the sick man. John and Nellie had but to place 
themselves in his position. The older man 
found that sweet romance of his youth forcing 
itself into his heart again. 
Nellie quietly stole from the room at last to 
dry her eyes. Something seemed to draw her 
to the chamber where with dazed brain the 
sick man was lying. She entered softly and 
sat in one gray shadowy corner to think. The 
gloom of the dismal day seemed to force itself 
into the silent chamber. Old Mammy sat at 
the head of the bed, rocking herself to and fro 
and muttering some old song that bad hushed 
the sick man years before. Jack lay in the old 
position with his eyes wide open and his chin 
fallen. His hands worked occasionally, and 
once they were raised in a gesture of entreaty, 
but in an instant they fell feebly down Jack’s 
muttering was louder and more distinct than 
before. Nellie could easily understand him 
now. His words seemed to cut her very heart 
and she listened with streaming eyes as she 
thought how this man had suffered for her. 
“He’ll do it I reckon” the sick man muttered. 
“That little one don’t know what he’s saying. 
Suppose Lucy’s brother should ask me to do 
that. I reckon I’d do it—but I must shoot him. ” 
One hand was raised slightly, and the eyes 
opened wider than before. 
* ‘I could n’t do it”—the voice trembled a little. 
“My dear little woman, I know you wouldn’t 
have me' shoot him. I’m glad you looked at 
me as you did.” 
He was silent for a time but at last he reach¬ 
ed out his hand as if in the act of picking some¬ 
thing from the bed. 
“I’ll take this anyhow I reckon. Poor little 
chap. How much he looked like her. I’ll car¬ 
ry this to her I reckon. I’m glad after all I 
didn’t shoot him. ” 
His voice died away to a whisper and he 
went on so low that Nellie could not hear him. 
At last he said in almost a shout: “My dear 
little woman listen to me. I do love you—I’ll 
sell my soul for you. I did it because I loved 
you—because I loved you.” 
Nellie could not listen longer. She hurried 
away with a mighty resolution in her heart. 
Old Mammy followed her out. 
“Yers suffin’ fer youse I reckon, Missey, 
Massa Jack sorter reckoned dat it uz yous. I 
foun it on de flo’ near whar his coat is at.” 
How the old woman had read the sick man’s 
thoughts no one can tell. Nellie opened the 
little package. It was an envelope filled with 
cotton in which was a little bunch of dried 
violets. She placed the package m her pock¬ 
et and then went down to the room w here 
Johnan(i Mr. Lawrence were sitting. The 
men looked at her in surprise for her pumose 
was written on her face. She placed her hand 
on her husband’s shoulder and said simplv 
John, I am going to ride to town at once.” 
(I'o be Continued.) 
