Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, Fiction, Classics

His conversation was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar and was garnished at convenient intervals with various profane expressions, which not even the desire to be graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe. His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentleman; and the arrangements of the house, and the general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even opulent circumstances. As we before stated, the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation. “That is the way I should arrange the matter,” said Mr. Shelby. “I can’t make trade that way — I positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the other, holding up a glass of wine between his eye and the light. “Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere, — steady, honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock. Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow. He got religion at a camp-meeting, four years ago; and I believe he really did get it. I’ve trusted him, since then, with everything I have, — money, house, horses, — and let him come and go round the country; and I always found him true and square in everything.” “Some folks don’t believe there is pious niggers Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid flourish of his hand, “but I do.”