lad, sobered by none of the things which had gone to make my life, and
what he took into his head to do he generally did,--or, if balked, flew
into such a rage as to make one believe he could not live. Life was
always war with him, or some semblance of a struggle. Of his many wild
doings I recall well the time when--fired by my tales of hunting--he went
out to attack the young bull in the paddock with a bow and arrow. It
made small difference to the bull that the arrow was too blunt to enter
his hide. With a bellow that frightened the idle negroes at the slave
quarters, he started for Master Nick. I, who had been taught by my
father never to run any unnecessary risk, had taken the precaution to
provide as large a stone as I could comfortably throw, and took station
on the fence. As the furious animal came charging, with his head
lowered, I struck him by a good fortune between the eyes, and Nicholas
got over. We were standing on the far side, watching him pawing the
broken bow, when, in the crowd of frightened negroes, we discovered the
parson beside us.

"David," said he, patting me with a shaking hand, "I perceive that you
have a cool head. Our young friend here has a hot one. Dr. Johnson may
not care for Scotch blood, and yet I think a wee bit of it is not to be
despised."

I wondered whether Dr. Johnson was staying in the house, too.

How many slaves there were at Temple Bow I know not, but we used to see
them coming home at night in droves, the overseers riding beside them
with whips and guns. One day a huge Congo chief, not long from Africa,
nearly killed an overseer, and escaped to the swamp. As the day fell, we
heard the baying of the bloodhounds hot upon his trail. More ominous
still, a sound like a rising wind came from the direction of the