"In one of my excursions, while I was in the province of New York, I
was walking by myself over a considerable plantation, amused with its
husbandry, and comparing it with that of my own country, till I came
within a little distance of a middle aged negro, who was tilling the
ground. I felt a strong inclination to converse with him. After asking
him some little questions about his work, which he answered very
sensibly, I wished him to tell me, whether his state of slavery was
not disagreeable to him, and whether he would not gladly exchange it
for his liberty?"
"Massah," said he, looking seriously upon me, "I have wife and
children; my massah takes care of them, and I have no care to provide
anything; I have a good massah, who teach me to read; and I read good
book, that makes me happy." "I am glad," replied I, "to hear you say
so; and pray what is the good book you read?" "The Bible, massah,
God's own good book." "Do you understand, friend, as well as read this
book? for many can read the words well, who cannot get hold of the
true and good sense." "O massah," says he, "I read the book much
before I understand; but at last I found things in the book which made
me very uneasy.
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