In 1960 Kennedy was elected. He is a very good president. One day as he was going home from some place with the governor and his wife and the driver, Kennedy was told someone would do something now or later if we went in a[n] open car. But Kennedy wanted to be with his people. Someone shot [from] the top of a house. He shot at the governor and Kennedy. He left the gun and ran down the stairs as quick as a mouse. A policeman tried to catch him but the man shot him dead.

Now everyone new. They rushed to get him to the hospital but it was to late. He was dead. Mrs. Kennedy flew back to Washington D.C. By then the man got into the movies. But the policemen got him because he was standing up

Chapter 2:

The man’s name was Oswald. They took him to a place to ask him questions. On their way back a man named Ruby shot Oswald dead. They got hold of the man and took him to prison.

A few days later was Kennedy’s funeral and Kennedy was buried.

The End.

Laura Jernegan: Girl on a Whale Ship brings to life pages of a young girl's journal kept during her three-year journey aboard her father's whaling ship, the Roman. The 42 pages of Laura Jernegan's journal include a catalogue of items, pets, and people aboard the ship as well as reports on everything from Laura's schoolwork to the crew's processing of a whale. Details about family life, work, and play in the largely adult and masculine world of whaling offer glimpses into the complexities of life aboard the ship–the simultaneous sense of adventure and monotony, community and isolation, and certainty and uncertainty that she felt during her journey.

Martha Vineyard's Museum, the site's host, masterfully combines Laura's journal with memoirs of Laura and her mother Helen, boating logs, portraits, and other relevant items to recreate this rich and compelling story. Artifacts and pictures from the Library of Congress, the Nantucket Historical Association, the New Bedford Whaling Museum, and others linked throughout the site contextualize and enrich not only Laura Jernegan's story, but the histories of whaling and childhood.

A nautically-themed homepage directs visitors the site's 14 primary links Large images of a whale with a harpoon and lance, a young girl, and an open diary link visitors to The Story of Whaling, Laura's Story, and Explore Laura's Journal, respectively.

Of these, Laura's Story will be the most compelling for scholars of childhood and youth. This section invites visitors aboard the Roman as the Jernegans pursued whales from Edgartown, Massachusetts, to the whaling grounds of the Pacific Ocean. Or follow Mrs. Jernegan and her children on their journey home aboard the steamer Ajax and the newly completed transcontinental railroad.

A particularly interesting section features a letter written by Laura to her grandmother highlighting the Jernegan's first five months at sea. In it, Laura shared details of her eight-day visit to Ohitahoo (an island in Polynesia) during which the queen invited the Jernegans to the royal palace for a feast including ten fruits—all of which Laura named.

Peppered throughout Laura's Story are delightful diary excerpts that will entice viewers to Explore Laura's Journal. There visitors can flip the journal's pages, zoom, use a "Magic Lens" to generate typed transcriptions of selected paragraphs, listen as the journal is read aloud, or link to a transcription of the full text. Laura's journal allows viewers to see growth in Laura's penmanship, writing style, and vocabulary. These sections are primarily narrative — neither Laura's Story nor Explore Laura's Journal offer much historical analysis of Laura's life, her journal, or childhood in general, and information found in The Story of Whaling is exclusively about whales and the people who pursued them.

Other icons link to "Interactivities" (interactive learning activities) to more fully understand Laura's story and whaling as a profession. Visitors may explore the pages of Laura's Journal, learn more About Whales, view a Map of Whaling areas, contextualize Laura's life with a Timeline, and Explore the Ship. This section relates primarily to whaling; only Laura's Journal includes information specifically related to children and youth.

Find limited content relating to childhood and youth by clicking on People and tracing the lives of Laura and her brother Prescott from birth to death. Scroll through the Everyday Life subsection under Artifacts to find a school slate with slate pencil, a geography book, and four children's literature books.

More About leads visitors to ten brief essays with bibliographies about the age of whaling, two of which, 19th Century Children's Literature and Schooling in the 19th Century, includes information relevant study of childhood and youth.

Hidden beneath the bottom tier are barely visible links that provide useful information for instructors and researchers. For Teachers links to three unit plans written by experienced educators with lessons that incorporate whaling into classrooms from first grade to high school. Of these, only "Whaling in Four Lessons," which suggests students compare and contrast their lives with Laura's, deals directly with childhood.

Unfortunately, there is no option to search directly for key terms like "children," "boy," or "girl." This significant oversight makes it difficult to find specific words or subjects. Despite this, Laura Jernegan: Girl on a Whale Ship is useful for those seeking primary source material on the myriad of subjects with which Laura Jernegan's young life intersected and to students wishing to learn more about the whaling industry and the adventures of a young girl and her family aboard a whaling ship.

"Sure I like Little Caesar and Jim Cagney but dat's de boloney dey give you in de pitchers. Dey always die or get canned. Dat ain't true. Looka Joe Citro, Pedro Salami, and Tony Vendatta. Look at de ol' man."

His father was in the recent Department of Street Cleaning scandal. . . At one time he owned a cafe and ran a string of brothels. Now he has interests in an undertaking establishment, a job with the city, a political boss, and runs a joint. . . . "Dose guys in de pitchers oughta be able to get away. If my ol' man had de dough he'd run de city."

He prefers pictures "dat show lotta action wid gangsters, bootleggers, and high-jackers. I ain't going get in Dutch wid de law 'cause I'm gonna get protection before I do anything. An' I ain't havin' no broads aroun' while dere's work to do. You can’t trust em' and dey get you in trouble. If it wasn’t for a broad dey never would get Little Caesar."

He dresses Cagney style. Soft green hat, tight fitting suit, puff shoulder coat, leather heeled shoes.

I was now in a way to be provided for; for though I was not a parish charge upon this or that part of the town by law, yet as my case came to be known, and that I was too young to do any work, being not above three years old, compassion moved the magistrates of the town to order some care to be taken of me, and I became one of their own as much as if I had been born in the place.

In the provision they made for me, it was my good hap to be put to nurse, as they call it, to a woman who was indeed poor but had been in better circumstances, and who got a little livelihood by taking such as I was supposed to be, and keeping them with all necessaries, till they were at a certain age, in which it might be supposed they might go to service or get their own bread.

This woman had also had a little school, which she kept to teach children to read and to work; and having, as I have said, lived before that in good fashion, she bred up the children she took with a great deal of art, as well as with a great deal of care.

But that which was worth all the rest, she bred them up very religiously, being herself a very sober, pious woman, very house-wifely and clean, and very mannerly, and with good behaviour. So that in a word, expecting a plain diet, coarse lodging, and mean clothes, we were brought up as mannerly and as genteelly as if we had been at the dancing-school.

I was continued here till I was eight years old, when I was terrified with news that the magistrates (as I think they called them) had ordered that I should go to service. I was able to do but very little service wherever I was to go, except it was to run of errands and be a drudge to some cookmaid, and this they told me of often, which put me into a great fright; for I had a thorough aversion to going to service, as they called it (that is, to be a servant), though I was so young; and I told my nurse, as we called her, that I believed I could get my living without going to service, if she pleased to let me; for she had taught me to work with my needle, and spin worsted, which is the chief trade of that city, and I told her that if she would keep me, I would work for her, and I would work very hard.

I talked to her almost every day of working hard; and, in short, I did nothing but work and cry all day, which grieved the good, kind woman so much, that at last she began to be concerned for me, for she loved me very well.

One day after this, as she came into the room where all we poor children were at work, she sat down just over against me, not in her usual place as mistress, but as if she set herself on purpose to observe me and see me work. I was doing something she had set me to; as I remember, it was marking some shirts which she had taken to make, and after a while she began to talk to me. 'Thou foolish child,' says she, 'thou art always crying (for I was crying then); 'prithee, what dost cry for?' 'Because they will take me away,' says I, 'and put me to service, and I can't work housework.' 'Well, child,' says she, 'but though you can't work housework, as you call it, you will learn it in time, and they won't put you to hard things at first.' 'Yes, they will,' says I, 'and if I can't do it they will beat me, and the maids will beat me to make me do great work, and I am but a little girl and I can't do it'; and then I cried again, till I could not speak any more to her.

This moved my good motherly nurse, so that she from that time resolved I should not go to service yet; so she bid me not cry, and she would speak to Mr. Mayor, and I should not go to service till I was bigger.

Well, this did not satisfy me, for to think of going to service was such a frightful thing to me, that if she had assured me I should not have gone till I was twenty years old, it would have been the same to me; I should have cried, I believe, all the time, with the very apprehension of its being to be so at last.

When she saw that I was not pacified yet, she began to be angry with me. 'And what would you have?' says she; 'don't I tell you that you shall not go to service till your are bigger?' 'Ay,' said I, 'but then I must go at last.' 'Why, what?' said she; 'is the girl mad? What would you be--a gentlewoman?' 'Yes,' says I, and cried heartily till I roared out again.

This set the old gentlewoman a-laughing at me, as you may be sure it would. 'Well, madam, forsooth,' says she, gibing at me, 'you would be a gentlewoman; and pray how will you come to be a gentlewoman? What! will you do it by your fingers' end?'

'Yes,' says I again, very innocently.

'Why, what can you earn?' says she; 'what can you get at your work?'

'Threepence,' said I, 'when I spin, and fourpence when I work plain work.'

'Alas! poor gentlewoman,' said she again, laughing, 'what will that do for thee?'

'It will keep me,' says I, 'if you will let me live with you.' And this I said in such a poor petitioning tone, that it made the poor woman's heart yearn to me, as she told me afterwards.

'But,' says she, 'that will not keep you and buy you clothes too; and who must buy the little gentlewoman clothes?' says she, and smiled all the while at me.

'I will work harder, then,' says I, 'and you shall have it all.'

'Poor child! it won't keep you,' says she; 'it will hardly keep you in victuals.'

'Then I will have no victuals,' says I, again very innocently; 'let me but live with you.'

'Why, can you live without victuals?' says she.

'Yes,' again says I, very much like a child, you may be sure, and still I cried heartily.

I had no policy in all this; you may easily see it was all nature; but it was joined with so much innocence and so much passion that, in short, it set the good motherly creature a-weeping too, and she cried at last as fast as I did, and then took me and led me out of the teaching-room. 'Come,' says she, 'you shan't go to service; you shall live with me'; and this pacified me for the present.

A young, tousled-haired boy about the age of seven is slumbering away in his bed, ensconced in a non-descript, middle class bedroom (fig. 1). He is jarred awake by the revelation that his bed is levitating, and slowly floating out his window and into space. So begins an episode of Winsor McCay's epic comic strip adventure, Little Nemo in Slumberland, which appeared in newspapers across the country between 1905 and 1914. Featured on the cover of the New York Herald's Sunday comic supplement (and syndicated nationwide), the comic presented the bedtime adventures of a small boy called Nemo. In the serial's debut, and in the weeks to follow, Nemo repeatedly attempted to reach the enchanted kingdom of Slumberland, only to have the journey preempted when he awakened and found himself safely at home in his bed. It was an ideal subject for a weekly comic in that the curtailed narrative induced readers to purchase the next installment. Such literature also taught its young readers an appreciation for the pleasures of both fantasy and delayed gratification.

A visit to an exotic world followed by a return to reality was a common trope in children's magazines and books, as evidenced by the widespread popularity of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, L. Frank Baum's Wizard of Oz, and J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. The cultural preoccupation with fantastic subjects did not go unnoticed. The writer Brian Hooker wrote in the October 1908 edition of Forum, "The present day is exhibiting a curiously vivid interest in fairy tales," and later pondered, "perhaps our very materialism is responsible for this new hunger after fancy." By the first decade of the 20th century images celebrating wonder and fantasy appeared in everything from picture books and comic strips, to department stores and amusement parks.

Little Nemo's bold visual style and epic story arc distinguished the comic from its competitors. Its ambitions included broadening the audience for comic strips by self-consciously referencing pictorial forms from an expansive range of high and low cultural sources. McCay's comic strips redefined the nascent medium and made an important contribution to the proliferation of fantastic imagery at the dawn of the 20th century. To best understand his cultural contributions it is useful to examine his aesthetic innovations, as well as the social and historical context in which his work found its audience.

Visual Analysis

McCay's work was characterized by its vivid use of color, skillful draftsmanship, intricate detail, and imaginative architectural forms. In this episode dated December 3, 1905, we can see how McCay expanded the narrative possibilities of the comic strip through his embrace of full-page design. Here he creates visual interest and momentum by varying the size and shape of the panels, culminating in the central circular panel, while unifying the entire page through symmetry and repetition. His graceful line work and use of flat areas of color are reminiscent of art nouveau poster art. It is also important to recognize that his fantastic imagery is rooted in the spectacular world of commerce and popular entertainment that ushered in the 20th century. For example, the emphasis on primary colors and the typographical flourishes found in the title panel are reminiscent of circus poster art. The comic's narrative, an imagined trip to the moon, was also the subject of an amusement park ride at Coney Island, a serialized novel published in St. Nicholas, and a 1902 film by Georges Méliès. McCay's comic strips produced a dream world shaped by the visual language of modern urban experience.

As the students read the comic strip, ask them to think about how words and images are combined to create the narrative. Talk about the essential components of a comic strip: the header/title, the panels, the gutters (the space between the panels), and the captions and/or speech balloons. How do these components divide time and space? How do the elements combine to advance plotlines? What is more instrumental to the flow of this narrative, the words or the pictures? Do either contradict or work against one another? How do text and image compliment, or complicate, the story? How are the different visual elements combined to create a unified, full-page design? Why does McCay vary the size and shape of the panels? How does this affect the flow of time within the comic strip? Emphasize scale, which will not be apparent from viewing the image online. Bring in a copy of the New York Times as a visual aid and explain that one Little Nemo comic strip took up the full page of a broadsheet newspaper (about 16 x 22 inches), as compared to newspaper comic strips today, which are compressed in size so as to fit as much content onto the page as possible. How does the size of the image affect the reading experience? The large scale of McCay's fantastical designs contributed to their transportive quality, as children could immerse themselves in scenes of faraway lands and magic kingdoms.

Historical Context

Weekly funny pages, directed at both children and adults, first appeared in newspapers in the 1890s, when the publishing barons Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst vigorously competed with each other for readers. They soon discovered that the colorful comic supplements boosted circulation. The initial audiences for comics were urban, working class immigrants and the content of the newspapers reflected their readership. R. F. Outcault's The Yellow Kid and Rudolph Dirks' The Katzenjammer Kids drew inspiration from the various ethnic communities who populated the tenements of the lower east side. Common elements of such comics include urban settings, crowded frames, and the use of anti-authoritarian, anarchic humor similar to that found in the slapstick comedy of vaudeville routines, with an emphasis on the child as a trickster figure.

As newspapers became nationally syndicated the content of the comics became less urban and culturally specific so as to appeal to a wider audience. By 1903 comics transitioned from being an urban phenomenon to a national craze. Little Nemo attempted to bridge the gap between the serialized adventure stories found in high-brow illustrated magazines like St. Nicholas, and the low brow humor of the Sunday supplements. This was undoubtedly a strategic move on the part of McCay's employer, James Gordon Bennett Jr., who wished to distinguish the New York Herald as a middle-class alternative to its more sensational counterparts like Pulitzer's New York World and Hearst's New York Journal.

Images glorifying childhood as period of unfettered creativity dominated the visual landscape of early 20th-century American fiction, magazines, and comics. Concurrent with the rapid expansion of mass culture, these dreamscapes directed viewers to revel in fantasy and delight in ungratified longing, thereby inciting the pleasures of consumer desire in its audience of young dreamers. This contributed to a shared visual culture that celebrated fantasy and the imagination. For McCay, Slumberland was a retreat from modernity; yet his spectacular landscapes were peppered with allusions to popular culture. References to circus posters, Coney Island thrill rides, and show window displays abound in his designs. McCay's use of the medium was highly self-reflexive and ambivalent: his work articulated the complex ways in which fantasy and mass culture were entangled at the turn-of-the-century.

Teaching the Source

This striking image is a potential jumping off point for further discussion of the rapid rise of a mass popular culture in American cities in the early 20th century. In my art history course, after dividing into groups to talk about how the visual design and narrative work together, I will ask students to research and write a short report on another example of 20th century visual culture that explores some of the same themes. Examples can take the form of children's literature, early film, amusement parks, poster art, advertising, or illustration. Students present short papers on any number of topics, including L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Georges Méliès' film A Trip to the Moon, the architecture of Coney Island's Luna Park and Dreamland, Barnum & Bailey circus posters, and the commercial illustrations of Maxfield Parrish. Students found commonalities in themes, visual motifs, and subject matter, pointing to the many ways that popular art forms intersected and influenced one another at the dawn of mass culture.

The Picture Archive of The Illustrated London News (ILN) is most readily accessed through the website of the Mary Evans Picture Library. In principle, the Archive still has its own website, but in practice it is likely to prove inaccessible. Since 2007, following a change of ownership of the ILN Publishing Group, the archive has been housed at Mary Evans. This transfer is unfortunate in some respects, since Mary Evans is a commercial rather than an educational organization and it charges fees to download images. The original site also had extensive background material on the history and printing processes of the ILN that does not appear in the new setting. Nonetheless, one can browse the watermarked images of the Mary Evans Picture Library for research purposes – and its ILN section now has more material than the original site, as new pictures are scanned into it. And of course one can always move from the ILN to scan the whole Mary Evans collection.

The story goes that Herbert Ingram, who founded the ILN in 1842, noticed as a newsagent in Nottingham that when newspapers included pictures, their sales increased. Most journals at this point were still grudging in their resort to illustrations, so when Ingram moved to London and founded a paper committed to lavish use of images, he was immediately successful.

Pictures of dramatic events such as the 1848 Revolution in France and the Crimean War (1853-6) helped its reputation for exciting journalism. By the 1860s, the ILN was selling 300,000 copies per week, far outstripping the circulation of conventional newspapers. To begin with Ingram printed only black-and-white wood engravings, but the ILN later made use of color, and, especially from the 1920s, photographs. Ingram also started a policy of hiring famous illustrators and top writers, including Robert Louis Stevenson, Wilkie Collins, and Arthur Conan Doyle. The archive has pictures from issues running from 1842 to 1971, including those from other journals in the "Great Eight" that came together in the 1920s, the best known apart from the ILN being The Tatler.

The search facility allows users to opt for ILN images only. Each of the 10,000 or so in the archive is well referenced with a number, date, description and further details. Searching under children brings up an eclectic collection of 282 images. Some only incidentally concern this heading, for example when King George V appears because there is a mention in the text to his six children.

Others are on the whimsical side: "Caught!" (ref. 10216446) shows children discovered by their parents in the larder scoffing jam from a huge jar. The text informs us that "sentimental or humorous scenes such as these were a popular addition to the ILN, especially over the Christmas period."

The royal families of Europe feature prominently as well as novelties, such as "Children being treated with ultra-violet light" (ref . 10216701). However Ingram, a Liberal MP, had some sympathy with the poor. Hence there are little clusters of pictures depicting children during such events as the Irish potato famine of the 1840s, the United States Civil War, and Jewish migration to London during the 1900s. "Children searching for potatoes" during the Irish famine (ref. 10220183), for example, conveys the desperation of their situation effectively.

More cheerful images from everyday life include "Audience of Children at a London Music Hall, 1882" (ref. 102216500) and "Children at the Circus, 1948," (ref. 10219941). There are also pictures of school strikes, somehow always with a portly-looking policeman in attendance (e.g. from 1889, demanding "shorter hours" and "no cane," (ref. 10219381), a Montessori school (ref. 10215457) and London youth clubs during the 1880s (e.g. 10220713).

In sum, the archive has a variety of delights for the historian of childhood, and a well-organized website, though no great depth of coverage or supporting material.

Morning Sun is a companion website for a documentary film of the same name about the "Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution" in China (1964-1976). The film is only available through the Center for Asian American Media, either to rent or for purchase (it is cost prohibitive for individuals). The documentary film was created by the Long Bow Group, who also created "The Gate of Heavenly Peace," a film and website about the 1989 events in Tiananmen Square.

Unlike the companion site for "The Gate of Heavenly Peace," Morning Sun does not contain any segments from the film, which is a major drawback of this site. If the documentary film is unavailable (as it is to this reviewer), then the site should be able to stand alone, however this is not entirely the case. The site has a wealth of primary and secondary sources, as well as video and audio clips created by the Communist Party during the Cultural Revolution. The site does not express a narrative of the Cultural Revolution; rather it presents the resources created, and leaves analysis and interpretation up to the viewer.

The site, which relies heavily on the use of Java, Shockwave Flash, and Quicktime, is divided into five major sections, each with its own topic. Living Revolution includes very brief clips from radio and television shows, readings, and even lessons taught to school children. The English Lesson is particularly interesting, giving the students an opportunity to study English and learn about racial inequality in the United States at the same time. Direct translations of what is said in the clips is available, but there is no context to help viewers understand the placement of the scene within the larger film, or its overall plot or purpose.

Smash the Old World contains writings about the Red Guard and the destruction of the "Four Olds" ("Old ideas, old culture, old customs, old habits"), including "reviews" of older revolutionary films written by Jiang Qing (Mao's wife). These reviews condemn the revolutionary attitudes and attempt to steer the reader toward a more acceptable form of behavior and attitude.

Reddest Red Sun and Stages of History are dedicated to the architects of the Cultural Revolution: Mao Zedong, Liu Shaoqi, Jiang Qing, and Lin Biao. Reddest Red Sun tackles the cult of Mao, although again, with little in the way of explanation or analysis. There is a video showing how Mao was able to "cure" deaf-mute children (those who had been abandoned by the Nationalist Party as incurable), using ordinary People's Liberation Army soldiers, Chairman Mao's words, and acupuncture. A note at the bottom of the page of this section indicates that the section is incomplete (there are no discernable dates on the site; however the documentary itself was made in 2003).

Stages of History shows how the Communist Party used place, drama and other media to create official histories of the new, revolutionary China. There is a virtual tour of Tiananmen Square as well as photographic essays on Liu Shaoqi, Jiang Qing, and Lin Biao. Of great interest is the section on Mao's Little Red Book. This includes a pamphlet published by the Communist Party with questions such as "What to do when you hear reactionary statements" and "What to do when you encounter arduous and hard work," all of which can be answered by quotations from Chairman Mao.

The site would be of greatest use to teachers as a supplement to a unit on the Cultural Revolution. The site gives the teacher access to amazing video, audio, and readings showing the lengths to which the Communist Party went in order to keep up revolutionary fervor during this time period. However, students will find the content of the site bewildering if they are not given either a narrative or an analytical guide.

The Trials Of Girlhood (ch 5)

During the first years of my service in Dr. Flint's family, I was accustomed to share some indulgences with the children of my mistress. Though this seemed to me no more than right, I was grateful for it, and tried to merit the kindness by the faithful discharge of my duties. But I now entered on my fifteenth year--a sad epoch in the life of a slave girl. My master began to whisper foul words in my ear. Young as I was, I could not remain ignorant of their import. I tried to treat them with indifference or contempt. The master's age, my extreme youth, and the fear that his conduct would be reported to my grandmother, made him bear this treatment for many months. He was a crafty man, and resorted to many means to accomplish his purposes. Sometimes he had stormy, terrific ways, that made his victims tremble; sometimes he assumed a gentleness that he thought must surely subdue. Of the two, I preferred his stormy moods, although they left me trembling. He tried his utmost to corrupt the pure principles my grandmother had instilled. He peopled my young mind with unclean images, such as only a vile monster could think of. I turned from him with disgust and hatred. But he was my master. I was compelled to live under the same roof with him--where I saw a man forty years my senior daily violating the most sacred commandments of nature. He told me I was his property; that I must be subject to his will in all things. My soul revolted against the mean tyranny. But where could I turn for protection? No matter whether the slave girl be as black as ebony or as fair as her mistress. In either case, there is no shadow of law to protect her from insult, from violence, or even from death; all these are inflicted by fiends who bear the shape of men. The mistress, who ought to protect the helpless victim, has no other feelings towards her but those of jealousy and rage. The degradation, the wrongs, the vices, that grow out of slavery, are more than I can describe. They are greater than you would willingly believe. Surely, if you credited one half the truths that are told you concerning the helpless millions suffering in this cruel bondage, you at the north would not help to tighten the yoke. You surely would refuse to do for the master, on your own soil, the mean and cruel work which trained bloodhounds and the lowest class of whites do for him at the south.

Every where the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by these shadows. Even the little child, who is accustomed to wait on her mistress and her children, will learn, before she is twelve years old, why it is that her mistress hates such and such a one among the slaves. Perhaps the child's own mother is among those hated ones. She listens to violent outbreaks of jealous passion, and cannot help understanding what is the cause. She will become prematurely knowing in evil things. Soon she will learn to tremble when she hears her master's footfall. She will be compelled to realize that she is no longer a child. If God has bestowed beauty upon her, it will prove her greatest curse. That which commands admiration in the white woman only hastens the degradation of the female slave. I know that some are too much brutalized by slavery to feel the humiliation of their position; but many slaves feel it most acutely, and shrink from the memory of it. I cannot tell how much I suffered in the presence of these wrongs, nor how I am still pained by the retrospect. My master met me at every turn, reminding me that I belonged to him, and swearing by heaven and earth that he would compel me to submit to him. If I went out for a breath of fresh air, after a day of unwearied toil, his footsteps dogged me. If I knelt by my mother's grave, his dark shadow fell on me even there. The light heart which nature had given me became heavy with sad forebodings. The other slaves in my master's house noticed the change. Many of them pitied me; but none dared to ask the cause. They had no need to inquire. They knew too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they were aware that to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished.

I longed for some one to confide in. I would have given the world to have laid my head on my grandmother's faithful bosom, and told her all my troubles. But Dr. Flint swore he would kill me, if I was not as silent as the grave. Then, although my grandmother was all in all to me, I feared her as well as loved her. I had been accustomed to look up to her with a respect bordering upon awe. I was very young, and felt shamefaced about telling her such impure things, especially as I knew her to be very strict on such subjects. Moreover, she was a woman of a high spirit. She was usually very quiet in her demeanor; but if her indignation was once roused, it was not very easily quelled. I had been told that she once chased a white gentleman with a loaded pistol, because he insulted one of her daughters. I dreaded the consequences of a violent outbreak; and both pride and fear kept me silent. But though I did not confide in my grandmother, and even evaded her vigilant watchfulness and inquiry, her presence in the neighborhood was some protection to me. Though she had been a slave, Dr. Flint was afraid of her. He dreaded her scorching rebukes. Moreover, she was known and patronized by many people; and he did not wish to have his villany made public. It was lucky for me that I did not live on a distant plantation, but in a town not so large that the inhabitants were ignorant of each other's affairs. Bad as are the laws and customs in a slaveholding community, the doctor, as a professional man, deemed it prudent to keep up some outward show of decency.

O, what days and nights of fear and sorrow that man caused me! Reader, it is not to awaken sympathy for myself that I am telling you truthfully what I suffered in slavery. I do it to kindle a flame of compassion in your hearts for my sisters who are still in bondage, suffering as I once suffered.

I once saw two beautiful children playing together. One was a fair white child; the other was her slave, and also her sister. When I saw them embracing each other, and heard their joyous laughter, I turned sadly away from the lovely sight. I foresaw the inevitable blight that would fall on the little slave's heart. I knew how soon her laughter would be changed to sighs. The fair child grew up to be a still fairer woman. From childhood to womanhood her pathway was blooming with flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky. Scarcely one day of her life had been clouded when the sun rose on her happy bridal morning.

How had those years dealt with her slave sister, the little playmate of her childhood? She, also, was very beautiful; but the flowers and sunshine of love were not for her. She drank the cup of sin, and shame, and misery, whereof her persecuted race are compelled to drink.

In view of these things, why are ye silent, ye free men and women of the north? Why do your tongues falter in maintenance of the right? Would that I had more ability! But my heart is so full, and my pen is so weak! There are noble men and women who plead for us, striving to help those who cannot help themselves. God bless them! God give them strength and courage to go on! God bless those, every where, who are laboring to advance the cause of humanity!

The Jealous Mistress (ch 6)

I would ten thousand times rather that my children should be the half-starved paupers of Ireland than to be the most pampered among the slaves of America. I would rather drudge out my life on a cotton plantation, till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live with an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress. The felon's home in a penitentiary is preferable. He may repent, and turn from the error of his ways, and so find peace; but it is not so with a favorite slave. She is not allowed to have any pride of character. It is deemed a crime in her to wish to be virtuous.

Mrs. Flint possessed the key to her husband's character before I was born. She might have used this knowledge to counsel and to screen the young and the innocent among her slaves; but for them she had no sympathy. They were the objects of her constant suspicion and malevolence. She watched her husband with unceasing vigilance; but he was well practised in means to evade it. What he could not find opportunity to say in words he manifested in signs. He invented more than were ever thought of in a deaf and dumb asylum. I let them pass, as if I did not understand what he meant; and many were the curses and threats bestowed on me for my stupidity. One day he caught me teaching myself to write. He frowned, as if he was not well pleased; but I suppose he came to the conclusion that such an accomplishment might help to advance his favorite scheme. Before long, notes were often slipped into my hand. I would return them, saying, "I can't read them, sir." "Can't you?" he replied; "then I must read them to you." He always finished the reading by asking, "Do you understand?" Sometimes he would complain of the heat of the tea room, and order his supper to be placed on a small table in the piazza. He would seat himself there with a well-satisfied smile, and tell me to stand by and brush away the flies. He would eat very slowly, pausing between the mouthfuls. These intervals were employed in describing the happiness I was so foolishly throwing away, and in threatening me with the penalty that finally awaited my stubborn disobedience. He boasted much of the forbearance he had exercised towards me, and reminded me that there was a limit to his patience. When I succeeded in avoiding opportunities for him to talk to me at home, I was ordered to come to his office, to do some errand. When there, I was obliged to stand and listen to such language as he saw fit to address to me. Sometimes I so openly expressed my contempt for him that he would become violently enraged, and I wondered why he did not strike me.

Circumstanced as he was, he probably thought it was better policy to be forebearing. But the state of things grew worse and worse daily. In desperation I told him that I must and would apply to my grandmother for protection. He threatened me with death, and worse than death, if I made any complaint to her. Strange to say, I did not despair. I was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and always I had a hope of somehow getting out of his clutches. Like many a poor, simple slave before me, I trusted that some threads of joy would yet be woven into my dark destiny.

I had entered my sixteenth year, and every day it became more apparent that my presence was intolerable to Mrs. Flint. Angry words frequently passed between her and her husband. He had never punished me himself, and he would not allow any body else to punish me. In that respect, she was never satisfied; but, in her angry moods, no terms were too vile for her to bestow upon me. Yet I, whom she detested so bitterly, had far more pity for her than he had, whose duty it was to make her life happy. I never wronged her, or wished to wrong her, and one word of kindness from her would have brought me to her feet.

After repeated quarrels between the doctor and his wife, he announced his intention to take his youngest daughter, then four years old, to sleep in his apartment. It was necessary that a servant should sleep in the same room, to be on hand if the child stirred. I was selected for that office, and informed for what purpose that arrangement had been made. By managing to keep within sight of people, as much as possible, during the day time, I had hitherto succeeded in eluding my master, though a razor was often held to my throat to force me to change this line of policy. At night I slept by the side of my great aunt, where I felt safe. He was too prudent to come into her room. She was an old woman, and had been in the family many years. Moreover, as a married man, and a professional man, he deemed it necessary to save appearances in some degree. But he resolved to remove the obstacle in the way of his scheme; and he thought he had planned it so that he should evade suspicion. He was well aware how much I prized my refuge by the side of my old aunt, and he determined to dispossess me of it. The first night the doctor had the little child in his room alone. The next morning, I was ordered to take my station as nurse the following night. A kind Providence interposed in my favor. During the day Mrs. Flint heard of this new arrangement, and a storm followed. I rejoiced to hear it rage.

After a while my mistress sent for me to come to her room. Her first question was, "Did you know you were to sleep in the doctor's room?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Who told you?"
"My master."
"Will you answer truly all the questions I ask?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell me, then, as you hope to be forgiven, are you innocent of what I have accused you?"
"I am."
She handed me a Bible, and said, "Lay your hand on your heart, kiss this holy book, and swear before God that you tell me the truth."

I took the oath she required, and I did it with a clear conscience.

"You have taken God's holy word to testify your innocence," said she. "If you have deceived me, beware! Now take this stool, sit down, look me directly in the face, and tell me all that has passed between your master and you."

I did as she ordered. As I went on with my account her color changed frequently, she wept, and sometimes groaned. She spoke in tones so sad, that I was touched by her grief. The tears came to my eyes; but I was soon convinced that her emotions arose from anger and wounded pride. She felt that her marriage vows were desecrated, her dignity insulted; but she had no compassion for the poor victim of her husband's perfidy. She pitied herself as a martyr; but she was incapable of feeling for the condition of shame and misery in which her unfortunate, helpless slave was placed. Yet perhaps she had some touch of feeling for me; for when the conference was ended, she spoke kindly, and promised to protect me. I should have been much comforted by this assurance if I could have had confidence in it; but my experiences in slavery had filled me with distrust. She was not a very refined woman, and had not much control over her passions. I was an object of her jealousy, and, consequently, of her hatred; and I knew I could not expect kindness or confidence from her under the circumstances in which I was placed. I could not blame her. Slaveholders' wives feel as other women would under similar circumstances. The fire of her temper kindled from small-sparks, and now the flame became so intense that the doctor was obliged to give up his intended arrangement.

I knew I had ignited the torch, and I expected to suffer for it afterwards; but I felt too thankful to my mistress for the timely aid she rendered me to care much about that. She now took me to sleep in a room adjoining her own. There I was an object of her especial care, though not to her especial comfort, for she spent many a sleepless night to watch over me. Sometimes I woke up, and found her bending over me. At other times she whispered in my ear, as though it was her husband who was speaking to me, and listened to hear what I would answer. If she startled me, on such occasions, she would glide stealthily away; and the next morning she would tell me I had been talking in my sleep, and ask who I was talking to. At last, I began to be fearful for my life. It had been often threatened; and you can imagine, better than I can describe, what an unpleasant sensation it must produce to wake up in the dead of night and find a jealous woman bending over you. Terrible as this experience was, I had fears that it would give place to one more terrible.

My mistress grew weary of her vigils; they did not prove satisfactory. She changed her tactics. She now tried the trick of accusing my master of crime, in my presence, and gave my name as the author of the accusation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, "I don't believe it; but if she did acknowledge it, you tortured her into exposing me." Tortured into exposing him! Truly, Satan had no difficulty in distinguishing the color of his soul! I understood his object in making this false representation. It was to show me that I gained nothing by seeking the protection of my mistress; that the power was still all in his own hands. I pitied Mrs. Flint. She was a second wife, many years the junior of her husband; and the hoary-headed miscreant was enough to try the patience of a wiser and better woman. She was completely foiled, and knew not how to proceed. She would gladly have had me flogged for my supposed false oath; but, as I have already stated, the doctor never allowed any one to whip me. The old sinner was politic. The application of the lash might have led to remarks that would have exposed him in the eyes of his children and grandchildren. How often did I rejoice that I lived in a town where all the inhabitants knew each other! If I had been on a remote plantation, or lost among the multitude of a crowded city, I should not be a living woman at this day.

The secrets of slavery are concealed like those of the Inquisition. My master was, to my knowledge, the father of eleven slaves. But did the mothers dare to tell who was the father of their children? Did the other slaves dare to allude to it, except in whispers among themselves? No, indeed! They knew too well the terrible consequences.

My grandmother could not avoid seeing things which excited her suspicions. She was uneasy about me, and tried various ways to buy me; but the never-changing answer was always repeated: "Linda does not belong to _me_. She is my daughter's property, and I have no legal right to sell her." The conscientious man! He was too scrupulous to _sell_ me; but he had no scruples whatever about committing a much greater wrong against the helpless young girl placed under his guardianship, as his daughter's property. Sometimes my persecutor would ask me whether I would like to be sold. I told him I would rather be sold to any body than to lead such a life as I did. On such occasions he would assume the air of a very injured individual, and reproach me for my ingratitude. "Did I not take you into the house, and make you the companion of my own children?" he would say. "Have _I_ ever treated you like a negro? I have never allowed you to be punished, not even to please your mistress. And this is the recompense I get, you ungrateful girl!" I answered that he had reasons of his own for screening me from punishment, and that the course he pursued made my mistress hate me and persecute me. If I wept, he would say, "Poor child! Don't cry! don't cry! I will make peace for you with your mistress. Only let me arrange matters in my own way. Poor, foolish girl! you don't know what is for your own good. I would cherish you. I would make a lady of you. Now go, and think of all I have promised you."

I did think of it.

Reader, I draw no imaginary pictures of southern homes. I am telling you the plain truth. Yet when victims make their escape from the wild beast of Slavery, northerners consent to act the part of bloodhounds, and hunt the poor fugitive back into his den, "full of dead men's bones, and all uncleanness." Nay, more, they are not only willing, but proud, to give their daughters in marriage to slaveholders. The poor girls have romantic notions of a sunny clime, and of the flowering vines that all the year round shade a happy home. To what disappointments are they destined! The young wife soon learns that the husband in whose hands she has placed her happiness pays no regard to his marriage vows. Children of every shade of complexion play with her own fair babies, and too well she knows that they are born unto him of his own household. Jealousy and hatred enter the flowery home, and it is ravaged of its loveliness.

Southern women often marry a man knowing that he is the father of many little slaves. They do not trouble themselves about it. They regard such children as property, as marketable as the pigs on the plantation; and it is seldom that they do not make them aware of this by passing them into the slave-trader's hands as soon as possible, and thus getting them out of their sight. I am glad to say there are some honorable exceptions.

I have myself known two southern wives who exhorted their husbands to free those slaves towards whom they stood in a "parental relation;" and their request was granted. These husbands blushed before the superior nobleness of their wives' natures. Though they had only counselled them to do that which it was their duty to do, it commanded their respect, and rendered their conduct more exemplary. Concealment was at an end, and confidence took the place of distrust.

Though this bad institution deadens the moral sense, even in white women, to a fearful extent, it is not altogether extinct. I have heard southern ladies say of Mr. Such a one, "He not only thinks it no disgrace to be the father of those little niggers, but he is not ashamed to call himself their master. I declare, such things ought not to be tolerated in any decent society!"