The Driver’s Whip is an evil thing, an expression of ill feeling worse than any between Master and Slave,— the contempt of the monger of perishable goods for his Merchandise,— in its tatter’d braiding, darken’d to its Lash-Tips with the sweat and blood of Drove after Drove of human targets, the metal Wires work’d in to each Lash, its purpose purely to express hate with, and Hate’s Corollary,— to beg for the same denial of Mercy, should, one day, the rôles be revers’d. Gambling that they may not be. Or, that they may.
