She stayed with me a few weeks, and my husband would not allow me to have her about the house any longer.
I took her child and put it in the Orphan Asylum, and got her a good situation in a family where she would be well taken care of; but her language and conversation were such they would not have her about the house. It was now easy to be seen why her former owners wished to get rid of her—she was so white they could not sell her, and her language was so bad they could not keep her; so they determined to impose her on our so-called picayune State.
These are the kind usually emancipated, either those who are too bad to keep, or too old to be made any longer useful.
Now while-running around, it was my privilege to comb a young creole lady, who was married to a French gentleman, raised in Paris, but who owned several slaves in New Orleans. After she was married she went up on her mother's plantation with several of his servants; after being there a little while, they sent for me to come up and make them a visit; not having much to do at that time, I went for a few days.
On my going there, I was very well treated by every one, and they showed me everything to be seen, but tried to confine my attention to the cottages and scenes just around the house, and did not seem to wish me to go out to see into the quarters. But as the family rose very late, I went out every morning to see the slaves at breakfast in the quarters, and to my astonishment, I did not see any of them have anything for the whole week but a pint cup of buttermilk and a slice of bread,
