The Wife of his Youth and Other Stories of the Color Line, and Selected Essays

eting of the Union League, that he let his pipe go out, a fact of which he remained oblivious until he ha

g whiteness,-in short, a gentleman of such distinguished appearance that the doors and windows of the offices and stores on Front Street were filled with curious observers as he passed through that thoroughfare in the early part of

eful one. The Federal Government retained some vestige of authority in the South, and the newly emancipated race cherished the delusion that under the Constitution, that enduring rock on which our liberties are founded, and under the equal laws it purported to guarantee, they would enter upon the era of freedom and opportunity which their Northern friends had inaugurated with such solemn sanctions. The speaker pictured in eloquent language the state of ideal equality and happiness e

e than uncle Wellington had ever conceived as actually existing anywhere in the world. At first he felt inclined to doubt the truth of the speaker's statements; but the cut of his clothes, the eloquence of his language, and the flowing length of his whiskers, were so far superior to anything uncle Wellington had ever met among the colored people of his native State, that he felt irresistibly impelled to th

died forth. Giving full rein to his fancy, he saw in the North a land flowing with milk and honey,-a land peopled by noble men and beautiful women, among whom colored men and women moved with the ease and grace of acknowledged right. Then he placed himself in the foreground of the picture. What a fine figure he would have made in the world if he had been born at the free North! He imagined himself dressed like the professor, and passing the contribution-box in a white church; and most pleasant of his dreams, and the hardest to realize as possible, was that of the gracious white lady he might have called wife. Uncle Wellington was a mulatto, and his features were th

open window of the bedroom, when his dreams were interrupted by the voice of his wife, in tones m

wnin'? I 's ti'ed er dis yer runnin' 'roun' all night an' den sleepin' all day. You w

ed protest got out of bed and put on his clothes. Aunt Milly had prepared a smoking br

red, tentatively, as he came into t

dat wood an' water in," replied aunt Milly severely, as she poured

hich he brought in some oak logs for the fire place and some lightwood fo

devilment las' night, fer yo' recommemb'ance is so po' dat you fus' fergit ter git up, an' den fergit ter

's jes' pilin' up wuk what don' fetch in nuffin'. De dirt don' show nohow, 'n' I don' see no advantage in bein' black, ef you got to keep on washin'

of his appetite had been taken off, "h

aunt Milly. "It 's hard 'nuff ter git e

ed de meetin' las' nigh

et ez big ez

es heah ef you 'd 'ten' ter yo'

ges er de w'ite folks,-dat dey chillen goes ter school tergedder, dat dey sets on same seats in chu'ch,

stay dere fer de secon' table, too. How dis man know '

d uncle Wellington, "an' h

'lieve it," she rejoined,

'joy all dese privileges?" asked uncle W

r sides shook. "Who gwine ter

de money

replied shortly, becoming serious at on

o the potato patch. He did not feel like working, but aunt Milly was the undis

time as a disagreeable necessity

So far from being indolent, or even deliberate in her movements, she was the most active and energetic woman in the town. She went through the physical exercises of a prayer-meeting with astonishing vigor. It was exhilarating to see her wash a shirt, and a s

most detestable thrift. She absolutely refused to pay for Wellington's clothes, and required him to furnish a certain proportion of the family supplies. Her savings were carefully put by, and with them she had bought and paid for the modest cottage which she and her husband occupied. Under her careful hand it was always neat and clean; in summer the little yard was gay with bright-colored flowers, and woe to the heedless pickaninny who should stray into her yard and pluck a rose or a ve

tion above recorded, and as soon as he saw aunt Milly go away with a basket o

he bottom of the steep bank of the creek, while the front was level with the street. This was the office of Mr. Matthew Wright, the sole representative of the colored race at the bar of Chinquapin County. Mr. Wright came of an "old issue" free colored family, in which, though the negro blood was present in an attenuated strain, a line of free ancestry could be traced beyond the Revolutionary War. He

ed after the health of the lawyer's family and all his relatio

e got money, whose money is da

his professional a

gislative enactment is the law of North Carolina, the

ch de p'int, suh. I w

ty' or 'estate' embraces, according to Blackstone, all property other than land, and therefore includes money. Any money a

tion don' quite 'low me ter un

e law will help you get it; but on the other hand, when you once lay you

expressed some disappointment. The law seemed to wobble. Instead of enabling him to stand up fearlessly and demand his own, it threw h

wished to speak about. Finally, after some discursive remarks about the crops and politics, he

talkin' 'bout law matters, wh

n't altogether a matter of expense. Have

I was jes'

easy thing to get in this State under any circumstances. It used to be the law that divorce could be granted only by spe

of this, but the answer had not bee

e an' my ole 'oman sh'd fall out en wan

wished to separate, it would n't be necessary to get a divorce; but if you should want to marry again, you would have to be divorced,

wah, when I was livin'

were in

s,

arriage registered a

r knowed nuffi

law to register their consent to continue in the marriage relation. By this simple expedient their former marriages of convenience received the sanction of law, and their childre

should disagree, it would n't be necessary for you to get a divorce, e

n't my lawfu

r you liable to punishment for bigamy if you should marry another woman. But I hope

ree since the memorable day when he had first heard of the Emancipation Proclamation. On leaving the lawyer's office, h

ington inquired, after the conversation h

r f'm 'im las' week; he

land

he git

e 'low ez how he make five dollars a da

ery thoughtful mood, revolving in his mind a plan of future action. This plan had been vaguely assuming form

a shrewd son of Israel, who had penetrated to this locality with a stock of notions and cheap clothing. Uncle Wellington had his purchase done up in brown paper, and took the parcel under his arm. Arrived at home he unwrapped the valise, and thrust into its capacious jaws his

ondage, but he had never wanted his freedom badly enough to walk a thousand miles for it; if he could have gone to Canada by stage-coach, or by rail, or on horseback, with stops for regular meals, he would probably have undertaken the trip. The funds he now needed for his journey were in aunt Milly's chest. He had thought a great deal about his right to this money. It was his wife's savings, and he had never dared to dispute, openly, her right to exercise exclusive control over what she earned; but the lawyer had assure

issed a single one of the meetings. She returned at nightfall from her visit to the country and prepared a frugal supper. Uncle Wellington did n

chu'ch ter-night?"

eplied. "I ain't be'n feelin' well dis evenin',

you ain't gwine, don' fergit ter tote in some wood an' lighterd 'fo' you go ter bed.

face had worn up to that time. He had argued himself into the belief that his present action was lawful and justifiable. Though this conviction had not prevented him from trembling in every limb, as though he were committing a mere vulgar theft, it had still nerved him to the deed. Now even his moral courage began to weaken. The lawyer had told him that his wife's property was his own; in taking it he was therefore only exercising his lawful right. But at the point of b

goes ter de Norf an' marry a w'ite 'oman, I ain't commit no brigamy, 'caze in dat sense er de word she ain't my wife; but

absolute rectitude of his conduct; and after a moment's hesitation he hurriedly counted the money-it was in bills of small denominations-and found it to be about two hundred and fifty dollars. He then divided it into two piles of one hundred and twenty-five dollars each. He put one pile into his pocket, returned the remainder to the stocking, and replaced it where he had found it. He then closed the chest

tote in dat lighterd; I reckon de ole 'oma

t around to the dark side of the train, and climbed into a second-class car, where he shrank into the darkest corner and turned his face away from the dim light of the single dirty lamp. Ther

he new barrel factory, the brickyard where he had once worked for some time; and as the train rattled through the outskirts of the town,

e conductor collected a cash fare. He was not acquainted with uncle Wellington, but h

ing, uncle?" he i

hen the conductor pocketed the fare, picked up his lantern, and moved away. It was very unphilosophical and very absurd that a man who was only doing right should feel like a thief, shrink from the sight of other people, and lie instinctively. Fine distinctions were not in uncle Wellington's line, but he was stru