And here he gives us the sort of picture to which we have become accustomed in reading about the good old times of slavery. “Whether the pleasure of the negroes was sincere may be doubted”--a wise man and a human was Matthew Lewis. He really does not see any reason why the slaves should be fond of him or make a fuss over him, “but certainly it”--the welcome--“was the loudest that ever I witnessed; they all talked together, sang, danced, shouted, and in the violence of their gesticulations tumbled over each other and rolled on the ground. Twenty voices at once enquired after uncles and aunts and grandfathers and great-grandmothers of mine who had been buried long before I was in existence, and whom I verily believe most of them only knew by tradition. One woman held up her little black child to me, grinning from ear to ear. “Look, massa, look here! Him nice lilly neger for massa.” Another complained-- “So long since none come see we, massa. Good massa, come at last.” He rather liked it though. “All this may be palaver, but certainly they at least play their parts with such an air of truth and warmth and enthusiasm, that after the cold-hearted and repulsive manners of England this contrast is infinitely agreeable.” He went to a lodging-house first, and there he was met by a remarkably clean-looking negro lad with water and a towel. Lewis took it for granted that he belonged to the house. The lad waited some time and at last he said: “Massa not know me; me your slave.” And here for the first time we find someone who feels uncomfortable at holding another in bondage. “The sound made me feel a pang at the heart,” he writes. And not because the boy was sad. Stirring within the poet was some feeling concerning the rights of man. “The lad appeared all gaiety and good humour, and his whole countenance expressed anxiety to recommend himself to my notice; but the word 'slave' seemed to imply that although he did feel pleasure then in serving me, if he had detested me he must have served me still. I really felt quite humiliated at the moment, and was tempted to tell him. “Do not say that again; say that you are my negro, but do not call yourself my slave.” And then again, when he was established in the house, which he has left it on record was frightful to look at but very clean and comfortable inside, he remarks: “This morning a little brown girl made her appearance with an orange bough to flap away the flies.”