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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 187 [11-02-1853]

              coat from him, � ordering always to obey when a White Man bade him,
whatever might be his opinion of the justice of it.        /          �Is not that
anecdote a terrible protest against Slavery? said I, �here�s a good, brave
honest, human creature really believes that God wills he shall be flogged
justly or unjustly, as another human creature in a white-skin wills?�  �It
is so, � but It has to be, � we can�t get on without it!�         So it is,
The World Can�t get on without it.   Much Individual Wrong and Ill
doing does the Sun shine upon every day � Patience, and let each one do his
best.    Calling names won�t help the matter.        /                  The house servants
are mostly yellow folk, mulattos.    There was a pretty girl of a warm yel-
low tint with large lustrous eyes, waited at table; she had been purchased
by Mr Richards grandfather, having complained of ill usage by former owners.
All her relatives were away.      Also there was a young fellow, also a mu-
lotto about the house.      He�d been presented his freedom once, in his master�s
will, but it had been retracted.       Richards said he was a much better ser-
vant since he knew of the change.    /                  One evening I was present
while Keene Richards gave out the clothes to �the hands.�   It was on Sun-
day night.    Large cases of clothes and shoes had arrived, the former from
Kentucky, the latter made to order in the Eastern states.     All the niggers,
a dusky crowd they were too, assembled outside, and as the name on each
garment was discovered, (a work of some difficulty,) it was passed out to them.
Maurice Keene wrote a record of it.   Yusef was rather authoritative, shouting
out the names.    There were plenty of �Big Jims, little Jims, long Pete�s�
and nomenclature from physical peculiarities.    Some had fine names, as
�Beauharnais.�   /                          It was lovely weather, these days,
sunny but temperate, and the rich soft summer foliage belied the notion
of November.        I rode out, rambled, reading meanwhile.    Curtis�s �How
adji� books and Lotus Eating, and Washington Irvings, �Tales of the
Alhambra.   Time passed pleasantly, albeit I didn�t feel well.               
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