THE Rev. James Wilson was a native of the State of Connecticut, where
he was educated for the ministry in the Methodist persuasion. His father
was a strict follower of John Wesley, and spared no pains in his son's
education, with the hope that he would one day be as renowned as the
leader of his sect. James had scarcely finished his education at New
Haven, when he was invited by an uncle, then on a visit to his father,
to spend a few months at Natchez in Mississippi. Young Wilson accepted
his uncle's invitation, and accompanied him to the South. Few young men,
and especially clergymen, going fresh from college to the South, but are
looked upon as geniuses in a small way, and who are not invited to all
the parties in the neighborhood. Mr. Wilson was not an exception to this
rule. The society into which he was thrown, on his arrival at Natchez,
was too brilliant for him not to be captivated by it, and, as might have
been expected, he succeeded in captivating a plantation with seventy
slaves if not the heart of the lady to whom it belonged.
Added to this, he became a popular preacher, and had a large
congregation with a snug salary. Like other planters, Mr. Wilson
confided the care of his farm to Ned Huckelby, an overseer of high
reputation in his way.
The Poplar Farm, as it was called, was situated in a beautiful valley,
nine miles from Natchez, and near the Mississippi River. The once
unshorn face of nature had given way, and the farm now blossomed with
a splendid harvest. The neat cottage stood in a grove, where Lombardy
poplars lift their tops almost to prop the skies, where the willow,
locust, and horse-chestnut trees spread forth their branches, and
flowers never ceased to blossom.
This was the parson's country residence, where the family spent only two
months during the year. His town residence was a fine villa, seated on
the brow of a hill, at the edge of the city.
It was in the kitchen of this house that Agnes found her new home. Mr.
Wilson was every inch a democrat, and early resolved that “his people,”
as he called his slaves, should be well-fed and not over-worked, and
therefore laid down the law and gospel to the overseer as well as to the
slaves. “It is my wish,” said he to Mr. Carlingham, an old school-fellow
who was spending a few days with him,--“It is my wish that a new system
be adopted on the plantations in this State. I believe that the sons of
Ham should have the gospel, and I intend that mine shall have it. The
gospel is calculated to make mankind better and none should be without
it.”
“What say you,” said Carlingham, “about the right of man to his
liberty?”
“Now, Carlingham, you have begun to harp again about men's rights. I
really wish that you could see this matter as I do.”
“I regret that I cannot see eye to eye with you,” said Carlingham. “I
am a disciple of Rousseau, and have for years made the rights of man my
study, and I must confess to you that I see no difference between white
and black, as it regards liberty.”
“Now, my dear Carlingham, would you really have the negroes enjoy the
same rights as ourselves?”
“I would most certainly. Look at our great Declaration of Independence!
look even at the Constitution of our own Connecticut, and see what is
said in these about liberty.” “I regard all this talk about rights as
mere humbug. The Bible is older than the Declaration of Independence,
and there I take my stand.”
A long discussion followed, in which both gentlemen put forth their
peculiar ideas with much warmth of feeling.
During this conversation, there was another person in the room, seated
by the window, who, although at work, embroidering a fine collar, paid
minute attention to what was said. This was Georgiana, the only daughter
of the parson, who had but just returned from Connecticut, where she had
finished her education. She had had the opportunity of contrasting the
spirit of Christianity and liberty in New England with that of slavery
in her native State, and had learned to feel deeply for the injured
negro.
Georgiana was in her nineteenth year, and had been much benefited by her
residence of five years at the North. Her form was tall and graceful,
her features regular and well-defined, and her complexion was
illuminated by the freshness of youth, beauty, and health.
The daughter differed from both the father and visitor upon the subject
which they had been discussing; and as soon as an opportunity offered,
she gave it as her opinion that the Bible was both the bulwark of
Christianity and of liberty. With a smile she said,--
“Of course, papa will overlook my difference with him, for although I am
a native of the South, I am by education and sympathy a Northerner.”
Mr. Wilson laughed, appearing rather pleased than otherwise at the
manner in which his daughter had expressed herself. From this Georgiana
took courage and continued,--
“'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' This single passage of
Scripture should cause us to have respect for the rights of the slave.
True Christian love is of an enlarged and disinterested nature. It loves
all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, without regard to color
or condition.”
“Georgiana, my dear, you are an abolitionist,--your talk is fanaticism!”
said Mr. Wilson, in rather a sharp tone; but the subdued look of the
girl and the presence of Carlingham caused him to soften his language.
Mr. Wilson having lost his wife by consumption, and Georgiana being
his only child, he loved her too dearly to say more, even if he felt
disposed. A silence followed this exhortation from the young Christian,
but her remarks had done a noble work. The father's heart was touched,
and the sceptic, for the first time, was viewing Christianity in its
true light.