“Well, Antony, so it appears that I have a learned nigger on my plantation. Cousin to the learned pig, I suppose. Did you ever hear of the learned pig, Antony?” “Never did, Marster.” “Indeed. Then you never heard what happened to him?” “Never did hear, Marster.” “Ah! Indeed! Well, he ran away, and was caught, and flogged, and bucked, to begin with. Just like you, Antony. After which he was treated so that he wished he was dead, Antony. Just as you are going to be, my learned nigger. Do you understand?” “Yes, Marster.” In this colloquy, Mr. Lafitte’s voice was as smooth and tranquil as though he were promising his servant pleasures instead of pains. Antony had answered mechanically, in a voice as quiet and subdued as his tyrant’s, with the slightest possible quaver in his husky tones. “So you can read and write, Antony,” said the planter, after a pause. “A little bit, Marster.” “A little bit, eh? Yes. Come, now, let’s have a specimen. Here’s the ‘Picayune,’ with something that suits your case.” Mr. Lafitte took the paper from the table as he spoke. “A little bit of abolition pleasantry that your British friends fling at the South, and this booby editor circulates. Here, read it out.” Antony saw his master’s hand extending the paper to him, with the thumb indicating a paragraph. Moving nearer, he mechanically took the paper. The print swam dizzily before his eyes, as, with a halting voice, he slowly read aloud what was, in fact, one of the most pungent anti-slavery sarcasms of the day: “‘From the—London—Morning Advertiser. One million dollars—reward. Ran away—from—the—subscriber—on the 18th August—a likely—Magyar fellow (Antony boggled terribly over ‘Magyar’ which he thought must mean mulatto), named—Louis—Kossuth. He is—about—45—years old—5 feet—6 inches—high. Dark—complexion, marked—eyebrows, and—grey eyes.’” “Not a bad description of you, Antony,” interpolated Mr. Lafitte. “Quite like you, in fact. Go ahead.” Antony stammered on, losing the place, and beginning lower down. “‘Captains and—masters—of vessels—are—particularly—cautioned—against—harboring—or—concealing—the said—fugitive—on board—their ships—as the—full—penalty—of the law—will—be—rigorously—enforced.’” “You see, Antony,” again interrupted the planter. “You reckoned, I suppose, on getting off in a ship, when your nice scheme got you to New Orleans. Didn’t you, my nigger Kossuth? You’d be advertised though, and caught, just like him. Go on.” Unheeding this sally of Mr. Lafitte’s cheerful fancy, Antony went on, losing the place again, and getting to the bottom of the paragraph. “‘N.B.—If the—fellow—cannot—be taken—alive—I will pay—a—reward—of (Antony boggled again over the ‘250,000 ducats’ named, and called it twenty-five dollars), for his—scalp. Terms as—above. Francis—Joseph—Emperor—of—Austria.’”