Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Columbia, South Carolina, May 25
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much less beautiful than those of the primeval
forest—nor would even these be good to live in.
The spirit of a superior nature must lay his hand
upon the young heathen before he can become full
of human dignity and beauty. . . .
The slave villages in Georgia have the same
exterior as those in Carolina, and the condition
of the slaves on the plantations seem to me similar
also. The good and the bad masters make the
only difference; but then, in such circumstances,
this is immeasurable.
“Here lives the owner of a plantation who is
universally known as cruel to his people,” was once
said to me as I went past a beautiful country
house almost concealed by thick trees and shrubs.
People know this, and they do not willingly hold
intercourse with such a man, that is all. Neither
the angel of justice nor of love ventures into these
mystical groves, where human beings are sacrificed.
What paganism amid Christianity! But
this avenges itself, nevertheless, on the white
races, as is evident in many things.
When recently at home with a Mr. Bones, I
heard the negroes singing. I wished rather to
have heard their own naïve songs, but was told
that they “dwelt with the Lord,” and sang only
hymns. I am sorry for this exclusiveness;
nevertheless, their hymns sung in quartette were
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