From
the low doorway the mother silently watched her boy at play,
and at nightfall sought him eagerly lest the shadows bear him
away to the land of slaves.
So his young mind worked and winced and shaped curi-
ously a vision of Life; and in the midst of that vision ever
stood one dark figure alone,--ever with the hard, thick coun-
tenance of that bitter father, and a form that fell in vast and
shapeless folds. Thus the temptation of Hate grew and shad-
owed the growing child,--gliding stealthily into his laughter,
fading into his play, and seizing his dreams by day and night
with rough, rude turbulence. So the black boy asked of sky
and sun and flower the never-answered Why? and loved, as
he grew, neither the world nor the world's rough ways.
Strange temptation for a child, you may think; and yet in
this wide land to-day a thousand thousand dark children
brood before this same temptation, and feel its cold and
shuddering arms. For them, perhaps, some one will some day
lift the Veil,--will come tenderly and cheerily into those sad
little lives and brush the brooding hate away, just as Beriah
Green strode in upon the life of Alexander Crummell.
Pages:
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287