Can they help it?
Think of the centuries of serfdom and superstition through which their blood has crawled.

Come closer,--here." In the corner slept a heap of half-clothed blacks.

Going on the underground railroad to Canada.

Stolid, sensual wretches, with here and there a broad, melancholy brow, and desperate jaws.

One little pickaninny rubbed its sleepy eyes, and laughed at them.
"So much flesh and blood out of the market, unweighed!" Margret took up the child, kissing its brown face.