But, on the other hand, there were some masters who were conspicuous for their kindness to their slaves. One of the deacons of my church was a slaveholder. He was a Virginian by birth. His slaves came to him by inheritance. He was a tall man with sandy hair and a mild blue eye. In him, linked with sterling ability, were rare modesty and unusual benevolence. Giving seemed to be a luxury to him. He contributed to every good cause to the extent of his ability and often beyond what could have been reasonably required of him. The suggestion of a smile was always upon his lips. No one that observed it could ever forget it. It was a part of the man; the outward expression of the sunshine of his soul. And yet this noble, tender-hearted man held his fellow men in bondage. About two months after I became his pastor, in response to his cordial invitation, one evening I dined with him. After the cheerful meal was over, he took me aside into a private room, and to my astonishment and delight said: “If you ever wish to say anything in the pulpit against slavery you need not hesitate on my account; there are two things that I abominate: one is selling liquor, and the other is selling niggers.” Yes, he said “niggers;” they all did. He then told me that he had inherited his slaves, and felt under solemn obligation to care for them. He also declared that they were all manumitted, and that their manumission papers were in a certain drawer in a bureau, which he pointed out to me; so, if he should die, they would all be free. But he said, “I do not wish them to know this. They are all young and I am trying to train them, so that when they know that they are free and must shift for themselves, they will be able to earn their own living. They are well cared for; for the present I am the nigger of this household.” So he was. Marshal Brotherton served everybody, even his own slaves.