pected an undeveloped, awkward, homely girl. Lo a beautiful young woman whose perfect composure and grace were such as few queens of society could exhibit! And all that youth and loveliness were his !

He looked at his watch. Not another moment could he remain. He drew near to Clara and took her hand, which she quickly withdrew. "Only maiden coyness," thought he, and said: "We must be better acquainted. But I must now hasten from your dangerous society, or I shall miss the steamer. Good by, my dear. Good by, Mrs. Gentry. You shall hear from me very soon."

And Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and black Tarquin opened the door for Ratcliff. As it closed upon him, "Who is that old man?" asked Clara.

"Old? Why, he does n't look a year over forty," replied Mrs. Gentry. "That's the rich Mr. Ratcliff."

"Well, I detest him," said Clara, emphatically.

"Detest!" exclaimed Mrs. Gentry, horror-stricken; for it was not often that Clara condescended to speak her mind so freely to that lady. "Detest? Is this the end of all my moral and religious teachings? O, but you'll be come up with, if you go on in this way. Retire to your room, Miss."

Swiftly and gladly Clara obeyed.

Apropos of the aforesaid teachings, Ratcliff was very willing that his predestined victim should be piously inclined. It would rather add to the piquancy of her degradation. He wavered somewhat as to whether she should be a Protestant or a Catholic, but finally left the whole matter to Mrs. Gentry. That profound theologian had done her best to lead Clara into her own select fold, and, as she thought, had succeeded; but Clara was pretty sure to take up opinions the reverse of those held by her teacher. So, after sitting in weariness of spirit under the ministry of the Rev. Dr. Palmer in the morning, the perverse young lady would ventilate her religious conceptions by reading Fenelon, Madame Guyon, or Zschokke in the evening.

Mrs. Gentry believed in secession, and raved like a Pythoness against the cowardly Yankees. Clara, seeing a United States flag trampled on and torn in the street, secured a rag

of it, secretly washed it, and placed it as a holy symbol on her bosom. Mrs. Gentry expatiated to her pupils on the righteousness and venerableness of slavery. Clara cut out from a pictorial paper a poor little dingy picture of Fremont, and concealed it between two leaves of her Bible, underlining on one of them these words: "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof."

Esha, the colored cook, a slave, was Clara's fast friend in all her youthful troubles. Esha had passed through all degrees of slavery,—from toiling in a cotton-field to serving as a lady's maid. Having had a child, a little girl, taken from her and sold, she ever afterwards refused to be again a mother. The straight hair, coppery hue, and somewhat Caucasian cast of features of this slave showed that she belonged to a race different from that of the ordinary negro. She had been named Ayesha, after one of Mahomet's wives. She generally wore a Madras handkerchief about her head, and showed a partiality for brilliant colors. Many were the stealthy interviews that she and Clara enjoyed together.

Said Esha, on one of these occasions: "Don't b'leeb 'em, darlin', whan dey say de slabe am berry happy, an' all dat. No slabe dat hab any sense am happy. He know, he do, dat suffn's tuk away from him dat God gabe him, and meant he sh'd hole on ter; and so he feel ollerz kind o' mean afore God an' man too; an' I 'fy anybody, white or black, to be happy who feel dat ar way."

"But it is n't the slave's fault, Esha, that he's a slave."

"It's de slabe's fault dat he stay a slabe, darlin',” said the old woman, with a strange kindling of the eyes. "But den de massa hab de raisin' ob him, an' so take good car' ter break down all dar am of de man in de poor slabe; an' de poor slabe hab no larnin', and dunno whar' to git a libbin' or how to sabe hisself from starvin'. An' if he run away, de people Norf send him back."

On studying Esha further, Clara discovered that she was half Mahometan, and could speak Arabic. Her mixed notions she had got partly from her father, Amri, who belonged to one of those African tribes who cultivate a pure deism, tempered only by faith in the mission of Mahomet as an inspired

pected an undeveloped, awkward, homely girl. Lo a beautiful young woman whose perfect composure and grace were such as few queens of society could exhibit! And all that youth and loveliness were his !

He looked at his watch. Not another moment could he remain. He drew near to Clara and took her hand, which she quickly withdrew. "Only maiden coyness," thought he, and said: "We must be better acquainted. But I must now hasten from your dangerous society, or I shall miss the steamer. Good by, my dear. Good by, Mrs. Gentry. You shall hear from me very soon."

And Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and black Tarquin opened the door for Ratcliff. As it closed upon him, "Who is that old man?" asked Clara.

"Old? Why, he does n't look a year over forty," replied Mrs. Gentry. "That's the rich Mr. Ratcliff."

"Well, I detest him," said Clara, emphatically.

"Detest!" exclaimed Mrs. Gentry, horror-stricken; for it was not often that Clara condescended to speak her mind so freely to that lady. "Detest? Is this the end of all my moral and religious teachings? O, but you'll be come up with, if you go on in this way. Retire to your room, Miss."

Swiftly and gladly Clara obeyed.

Apropos of the aforesaid teachings, Ratcliff was very willing that his predestined victim should be piously inclined. It would rather add to the piquancy of her degradation. He wavered somewhat as to whether she should be a Protestant or a Catholic, but finally left the whole matter to Mrs. Gentry. That profound theologian had done her best to lead Clara into her own select fold, and, as she thought, had succeeded; but Clara was pretty sure to take up opinions the reverse of those held by her teacher. So, after sitting in weariness of spirit under the ministry of the Rev. Dr. Palmer in the morning, the perverse young lady would ventilate her religious conceptions by reading Fenelon, Madame Guyon, or Zschokke in the evening.

Mrs. Gentry believed in secession, and raved like a Pythoness against the cowardly Yankees. Clara, seeing a United States flag trampled on and torn in the street, secured a rag

of it, secretly washed it, and placed it as a holy symbol on her bosom. Mrs. Gentry expatiated to her pupils on the righteousness and venerableness of slavery. Clara cut out from a pictorial paper a poor little dingy picture of Fremont, and concealed it between two leaves of her Bible, underlining on one of them these words: "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof."

Esha, the colored cook, a slave, was Clara's fast friend in all her youthful troubles. Esha had passed through all degrees of slavery,—from toiling in a cotton-field to serving as a lady's maid. Having had a child, a little girl, taken from her and sold, she ever afterwards refused to be again a mother. The straight hair, coppery hue, and somewhat Caucasian cast of features of this slave showed that she belonged to a race different from that of the ordinary negro. Ayesha, after one of Mahomet's wives. Madras handkerchief about her head, and showed a partiality for brilliant colors. Many were the stealthy interviews that she and Clara enjoyed together.

She had been named
She generally wore a

Said Esha, on one of these occasions: "Don't b'leeb 'em, darlin', whan dey say de slabe am berry happy, an' all dat. No slabe dat hab any sense am happy. He know, he do, dat suffn's tuk away from him dat God gabe him, and meant he sh'd hole on ter; and so he feel ollerz kind o' mean afore God an' man too; an' I 'fy anybody, white or black, to be happy who feel dat ar way."

"But it is n't the slave's fault, Esha, that he's a slave."

"It's de slabe's fault dat he stay a slabe, darlin',” said the old woman, with a strange kindling of the eyes. "But den de massa hab de raisin' ob him, an' so take good car' ter break down all dar am of de man in de poor slabe; an' de poor slabe hab no larnin', and dunno whar' to git a libbin' or how to sabe hisself from starvin'. An' if he run away, de people Norf send him back."

On studying Esha further, Clara discovered that she was half Mahometan, and could speak Arabic. Her mixed notions she had got partly from her father, Amri, who belonged to one of those African tribes who cultivate a pure deism, tempered only by faith in the mission of Mahomet as an inspired

pected an undeveloped, awkward, homely girl. Lo a beautiful young woman whose perfect composure and grace were such as few queens of society could exhibit! And all that youth and loveliness were his !

He looked at his watch. Not another moment could he remain. He drew near to Clara and took her hand, which she quickly withdrew. "Only maiden coyness," thought he, and said: "We must be better acquainted. But I must now hasten from your dangerous society, or I shall miss the steamer. Good by, my dear. Good by, Mrs. Gentry. You shall hear from me very soon."

And Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and black Tarquin opened the door for Ratcliff. As it closed upon him, "Who is that old man?" asked Clara.

"Old? Why, he does n't look a year over forty,” replied Mrs. Gentry. "That's the rich Mr. Ratcliff."

"Well, I detest him," said Clara, emphatically.

"Detest!" exclaimed Mrs. Gentry, horror-stricken; for it was not often that Clara condescended to speak her mind so freely to that lady. "Detest? Is this the end of all my moral and religious teachings? O, but you 'll be come up with, if you go on in this way. Retire to your room, Miss."

Swiftly and gladly Clara obeyed.

Apropos of the aforesaid teachings, Ratcliff was very willing that his predestined victim should be piously inclined. It would rather add to the piquancy of her degradation. He wavered somewhat as to whether she should be a Protestant or a Catholic, but finally left the whole matter to Mrs. Gentry. That profound theologian had done her best to lead Clara into her own select fold, and, as she thought, had succeeded; but Clara was pretty sure to take up opinions the reverse of those held by her teacher. So, after sitting in weariness of spirit under the ministry of the Rev. Dr. Palmer in the morning, the perverse young lady would ventilate her religious conceptions by reading Fenelon, Madame Guyon, or Zschokke in the evening.

Mrs. Gentry believed in secession, and raved like a Pythoness against the cowardly Yankees. Clara, seeing a United States flag trampled on and torn in the street, secured a rag