not done sufficient work to develop physical womanhood, were not able
to nurse their own infants and gave them to the care of vigorous,
healthy colored mothers, who took them to their bosoms and nursed them
into strength. But for that supplemental supply of vigor, but for that
sympathetic partnership in motherhood, much of the most potent manhood
of the South would never have been known.

You who lived in the North before the war, and you who are younger and
have read about the auction block, the slave driver and the
cottonfield cannot understand the attachment between one of these
colored mothers and the white boy or girl she nursed. I know whereof I
speak, for I revere the memory of my old black mammy.

There are verses, written by whom I do not know, the words of which I
cannot recall except a line here and there, hence I take the liberty
to supply the missing lines and revise the verses to express my
feelings for the slave mammy of my childhood.


"She was only a dear old darkey,
In a cabin far away,
Down in the sunny Southland,
Where sunbeams dance and play.
Yet oft in dreams I hear her crooning,
Crooning soft and low:
'Sleep on, baby boy,
The sleep will make you grow.'

"Oft when tired of fighting
In a world so full of wrong;