"My name is John," he replied, "and I belonged to your husband's uncle. He died a long time ago. Before he died he set me free and gave me a good piece of land near Petersburg, and some money and stock. But all--my money and land--all gone, and I was starving. So I come one hundred miles to beg you and master please let me live and die on your plantation. I don't want to be free no longer. Please don't let me be free." I wondered what was meant by being "free," and supposed from his appearance it must be some very dreadful and unfortunate condition of humanity. My mother heard him very kindly, and directed him to the kitchen where "Aunt Christian" would give him a plenty to eat. Although there were already a number of old negroes to be supported, who no longer considered themselves young enough to work, this old man was added to the number, and a cabin built for him. To the day of his death he expressed gratitude to my mother for taking care of him, and often entertained us with accounts of _his_ "old master's times," which he said were the "grandest of all." By way of apology for certain knotty excrescences on his feet, he used to say: "You see these here knots. Well, they come from my being a monstrous proud young nigger, and squeezin' my feet in de tightest boots to drive my master's carriage 'bout Petersburg. I nuver was so happy as when I was drivin' my coach-an'-four, and crackin' de postillion over de head wid my whip." These pleasant reminiscences were generally concluded with: "Ah! young Misses, _you'll_ nuver see sich times. No more postillions! No more coach-an'-four! And niggers drives _now_ widout they white gloves. Ah! no, young Misses, _you'll_ nuver see nothin'! _Nuver_, in _your_ time." With these melancholy predictions would he shake his head, and sigh that the days of glory had departed. Each generation of blacks vied with the other in extolling the virtues of their particular mistress and master and "_their times_;" but notwithstanding this mournful contrast between the past and present, their reminiscences had a certain charm. Often by their cabin firesides would we listen to the tales of the olden days about our forefathers, of whom they could tell much, having belonged to our family since the landing of the African fathers on the English slave ships, from which their ancestors had been bought by ours. Among these traditions none pleased us so much as that an unkind mistress or master had never been known among our ancestors, which we have always considered a cause for greater pride than the armorial bearings left on their tombstones. We often listened with pleasure to the recollections of an old blind man--the former faithful attendant of our grand-father--whose mind was filled with vivid pictures of the past. He repeated verbatim conversations and speeches heard sixty years before--from Mr. Madison, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Clay, and other statesmen, his master's special friends.