'Wal, gentlemen,' resumed Andy, 'all on you know whar I was raised--over thar in South-Car'lina. I'm sorry to say it, but it's true. And you all know my father was a pore man, who couldn't give his boys no chance--and ef he could, thar warn't no schules in the district--so we couldn't hev got no book-larning ef we'd been a minded to. Wal, the next plantation to whar we lived was old Cunnel J----'s, the father of this Cunnel. He was a d--d old nullifier, jest like his son--but not half so decent a man. Wal, on his plantation was an old nigger called Uncle Pomp, who'd sumhow larned to read. He was a mighty good nigger, and he'd hev been in heaven long afore now ef the Lord hadn't a had sum good use for him down har--but he'll be thar yet a d--d sight sooner than sum on us white folks--that's sartin. Wal, as I was saying, Pomp could read, and when I was 'bout sixteen, and had never seed the inside of a book, the old darkey said to me one day--he was old then, and thet was thirty years ago--wal, he said to me: 'Andy, chile, ye orter larn to read--'twould be ob use to ye when you're grow'd up, and it moight make you a good and 'spected man. Now, come to ole Pomp's cabin, and he'll larn you, Andy, chile.' I reckon I went. He hadn't nothin' but a Bible and Watts' Hymns; yet we used to stay thar all the long winter evenings, and by the light of the fire--we war both so durned pore we couldn't raise a candle atween us--wal, by the light of the fire he larned me, and 'fore long I could spell right smart. 'Now, jest think on thet, gentlemen! I, a white boy, and, 'cordin' to the Declaration of Independence, jest as good blood as the old Cunnel, bein' larned to read by an old slave, and that old slave a'most worked to death, and takin' his nights, when he orter hev been a restin' his old bones, to larn me! I'm d--d if he don't get to heaven for that one thing, if for nothin' else.