"AND now, Marie," said St. Clare, "your golden days are dawning. Here is our practical, business-like New England cousin, who will take the whole budget of cares off your shoulders, and give you time to refresh yourself, and grow young and handsome. The ceremony of delivering the keys had better come off forthwith."

  This remark was made at the breakfast table, a few mornings after Miss Ophelia had arrived.

  "I'm sure she's welcome," said Marie, leaning her head languidly on her hand. "I think she'll find one thing, if she does, and that is, that it's we mistresses that are the slaves, down here."

  Evangeline fixed her large, serious eyes on her mother's face, and said, simply, "What do you keep them for, mamma ?"

  "I don't know, I'm sure, except for a plague; they are the plague of my life. I believe that more of my ill-health is caused by them than by any one thing; and ours, I know, are the very worst that ever anybody was plagued with."

  "O, come, Marie, you've got the blues, this morning,".said St. Clare. "You know 't is n't so. There's Mammy,

  "Now, Mammy has a sort of goodness," said Marie; "she's smooth and respectful, but she's selfish at heart. Now, she never will be done fidgeting and worrying about that husband of hers. You see, when I was married and came to live here, of course, I had to bring her with me, and her husband my father could n't spare. He was a blacksmith, and, of course, very necessary; and I thought and said, at the time, that Mammy and he had better give each other up, as it was n't likely to be convenient for them ever to live together again. I wish now I'd insisted on it, and married Marnmy to somebody else; but I was foolish and indulgent, and did n't want to insist. I told Mammy, at the time, that she must n't ever expect to see him more than once or twice in her life again, for the air of father's place does n't agree with my health, and I can't go there; and I advised her to take up with somebody else; but no—she would n't. Mammy has a kind of obstinacy about her, in spots, that everybody don't see as I do."

  "Has she children?" said Miss Ophelia.

  "Yes; she has two."

  "I suppose she feels the separation from them?"

  "Well, of course, I could n't bring them. They were little dirty things—I could n't have them about; and besides, they took up too much of her time; but I believe that Mammy has always kept up a sort of sulkiness about

  Miss Ophelia's eyes expressed such undisguised amazement at this speech that St. Clare burst into a loud laugh.

  "St. Clare always laughs when I make the least allusion to my ill-health," said Marie, with the voice of a suffering martyr. "I only hope the day won't come when he'll remember it!" and Marie put her handkerchief to her eyes.

  Finally, St. Clare got up, looked at his watch, and said he had an engagement down street. Eva tripped away after him, and Miss Ophelia and Marie began a housewifely chat concerning cupboards, linen presses, store rooms, and other matters.

  One day a gay laugh from the court rang through the verandah. St. Clare stepped out, and laughed too.

  "What is it?" said Miss Ophelia, coming to the railing. There sat Tom, on a little mossy seat in the court, every one of his buttonholes stuck full of cape jessamines, and Eva, laughing gayly, was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck; and then she sat down on his knee still laughing.

  "O, Tom, you look so funny!"

  Tom had a sober, benevolent smile, and seemed to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress. He lifted his eyes, when he saw his master, with a half-deprecating air.

  "How can you let her?" said Miss Ophelia.

  "Why not?" said St. Clare.

  "Why, I don't know, it seems so dreadful!"

  "You would think no harm in a child's caressing a large dog, even if he was black; but a creature that can think, and reason, and feel, and is immortal, you shudder at; confess it, cousin. I know the feeling among some of you Northerners well enough. Not that there is a particle of virtue in our not having it; but custom with us does what Christianity ought to do,—obliterates the feeling of personal prejudice. I have often noticed, in my travels North, how much stronger this was with you than with us. You loathe them as you would a snake or a toad, yet you are indignant at their wrongs. You would not have them abused; but you don't want to have anything to do with them yourselves. You would send them to Africa, out of your sight and smell, and then send a missionary or two to do up all the self-denial of elevating them compendiously. Is n't that it?"

  "Well, cousin," said Miss Ophelia, thoughtfully, "there may be some truth in this."

  "What would the poor and lowly do, without children?" said St. Clare, leaning on the railing and watching Eva, as she tripped off, leading Tom with her. "Your little child is your only true democrat. Tom, now, is a hero to Eva; his stories are wonders in her eyes, his songs and hymns are better than an opera, and the traps and little bits of trash in his pocket a mine of jewels, and he the most wonderful Tom that ever wore a black skin. This is one of the roses of Eden that the Lord has dropped down. expressly for the poor and lowly, who get few enough of any other kind."

  Marie always made a point to be very pious on Sundays. There she stood, so slender, so elegant, so airy, and undulating in all her motions, her lace scarf enveloping her like a mist. She looked a graceful creature, and she felt very good and very elegant indeed. Miss Ophelia stood at her side, a perfect contrast. It was not that she had not as handsome a silk dress and shawl, and as fine a pocket handkerchief; but stiffness and squareness, and bolt-uprightness, enveloped her with as indefinite yet appreciable a presence as did grace her elegant neighbor; not the grace of God, however, that is quite another thing! "Where's Eva?" said she.

  The child had stopped on the stairs to say to Mammy: "Dear Mammy, I know your head is aching dreadfully."

  "Lord bless you, Miss Eva! my head allers aches lately. You don't need to worry."

  "Well, I'm glad you 're going out; and here,"—and the little girl threw her arms around her—"Mammy, you shall take my vinaigrette.''

  "What! your beautiful gold thing, thar, with them diamonds! Lor. Miss, 't would n't be proper, no ways."

  "Why not? You need it, and I don't. Mamma always uses it for headache, and it'll make you, feel better. No, you shall take it, to please me, now."

  "Do hear the darlin' talk!" said Mammy, as Eva thrust it into her hand, and, kissing her, ran downstairs to her mother.

  "What were you stopping for?"

  "I was just stopping to give Mammy my vinaigrette, to take to church with her."

  "Eva!" said Marie, stamping impatiently,—"your gold vinaigrette to Mammy! When will yon learn what's proper? Go right and take it back, this moment!"

  Eva looked downcast and aggrieved, and turned slowly.

  "I say, Marie, let the child alone; she shall do as she wishes," said St. Clare.

  "St. Clare, how will she ever get along in the world?" said Marie.

  "The Lord knows," said St. Clare; "but she'll get along in heaven better than you or I."

  "O, papa, don't," said Eva, softly touching his elbow; "It troubles mother."

  "Well, cousin, are you ready to go to meeting?" said Miss Ophelia, turning square about on St. Clare.

  "I 'm not going, thank you."

  "I do wish St. Clare ever would go to church," said Marie; "but he has n't a particle of religion about him. It really is n't respectable."

  "I know it," said St. Clare. "Positively, it 's too much to ask of a man. Eva, do you like to go? Come, stay at home and play with me."

  "Thank you, papa; but I 'd rather go to church."

  "Is n't it dreadful tiresome"" said St. Clare.

  "I think it is tiresome, some," said Eva, "and I am sleepy, too, but I try to keep awake."

  "What do you go for, then?"

  "Why, you know, papa," she said, in a whisper, "cousin told me that God wants to have us, and He gives us everything, you know; and it is n't much to do it, if He wants us to. It is n't so very tiresome, after all."

  "Yon sweet, little obliging soul!" said St. Clare, kissing her, "go along, that's a good girl, and pray for me."

  "Well, ladies," said St. Clare, as they were comfortably

  "O, Dr. G—— preached a splendid sermon," said Marie. "It was just such a sermon as you ought to hear; it expressed all my views exactly."

  "It must have been very improving," said St. Clare. "The subject must have been an extensive one."

  "Well, I mean all my views about society, and such things," said Marie. "The text was, 'He hath made everything beautiful in its season;' and he showed how all the orders and distinctions in society came from God; and that it was so appropriate, you know, and beautiful, that some should be high and some low, and that some were born to rule and some to serve, and all that, you know; and be applied it so well to all this ridiculous fuss that is made about slavery, and he proved distinctly that the Bible was on our side, and supported all our institutions so convincingly. I only wish you'd heard him."

  "I say, what do you think, Pussy?" said her father to Eva, who came in at this moment.

  "What about, Papa?"

  "Why, which do you like the best, to live as they do at your uncle's, up in Vermont, or to have a house full of servants, as we do?"

  "O, of course, our way is the pleasantest," said Eva.

  "Why so?" said St. Clare, stroking her head.

  "Why, it makes so many more round you to love, you know," said Eva, looking up earnestly.

  "Now, that's just like Eva," said Marie; "just one of her odd speeches."

  "Is it an odd speech, papa?" said Eva, whisperingly, as she got upon his knee.

  "Rather, as this world goes, Pussy," said St. Clare. "But where has my little Eva been, all dinner-time?"

  "O, I've been up in Tom's room, hearing him sing, and Aunt Dinah gave me my dinner."

  "Hearing Tom sing, hey?"

  "O, yes! he sings such beautiful things about the New Jerusalem, and bright angels, and the land of Canaan."

  "I dare say; it's better than the opera, is n't it?"

  "Yes, and he's going to teach them to me."

  "Singing lessons, hey?—you are coming on."

  "Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible; and he explains what it means, you know."

  "On my word," said Marie, laughing, "that is the latest joke of the season."