her age, and evidently bad never been overworked; she was tidily dressed, and her gray hair was nearly concealed under a turban, tastefully arranged. Her voice was low and soft, and her language such as you would hear in good families in the slave States, including their peculiar phrases and provincialisms, such as “a heap,” “a right smart chance,” etc., etc. Holmes was a large man. His hair was almost white; his features had none of the peculiarities of the negro, and the complexion of both of them was so nearly white that but for the kink of their hair, few people would suppose they could have been slaves. Margaret was smart and lively as a girl, but William was nearly crippled by rheumatism. Margaret was anxious to assist about ironing, and remarked that she “did not know who would take care of her mistress’ nice things now; she had always done it, and she had dressed her ever since she was a child,” A sadness came like a cloud on her pleasant face when she spoke of it, but when reminded that in one more day she would be where there was no more slavery, the expression of her countenance was like the sun shining on a beautiful landscape after a summer shower.
Her mistress had been kind to her, punishing her gently for any mistakes or neglect of duty by slapping her faee with the sole of her shoe, and sending her to bed without her supper if she cried about it. She knew that Margaret had the blood of her own family in her veins, and that she had been promised her freedom long ago, which promise had been often renewed; that her children had been torn from her and sold, an excuse for so doing being ever at hand, in their temper and complexion, for which reasons, no doubt, she had been lenient in her treatment of her faithful slaves.
William Holmes claimed to be a near relative to his master, whose name he bore, and who was a Senator in
