fess 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。 Isn’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 Methodist 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。”
“It’s strange； cousin；” said Miss Ophelia； “one might almost think you were a professor； to hear you talk。”
“A professor？” said St。 Clare。
“Yes； a professor of religion。”
“Not at all； not a professor； as your town…folks have it； and； what is worse； I’m afraid； not a practiser； either。”
“What makes you talk so； then？”
“Nothing is easier than talking；” said St。 Clare。 “I believe Shakespeare makes somebody say； ‘I could sooner show twenty what were good to be done； than be one of the twenty to follow my own showing。’1 Nothing like division of labor。 My forte lies in talking； and yours； cousin； lies in doing。”
In Tom’s external situation； at this time； there was； as the world says； nothing to complain of Little Eva’s fancy for him—the instinctive gratitude and loveliness of a noble nature—had led her to petition her father that he might be her especial attendant； whenever she needed the escort of a servant； in her walks or rides； and Tom had general orders to let everything else go； and attend to Miss Eva whenever she wanted him；—orders which our readers may fancy were far from disagreeable to him。 He was kept well dressed； for St。 Clare was fastidiously particular on this point。 His stable services were merely a sinecure； and consisted simply in a daily care and inspection； and directing an under…servant in his duties； for Marie St。 Clare declared that she could not have any smell of the horses about him when he came near her； and that he must positively not be put to any service that would make him unpleasant to her； as her nervous system was entirely inadequate to any trial of that nature； one snuff of anything disagreeable being； acomording to her acomount； quite sufficient to close the scene； and put an end to all her earthly trials at once。 Tom； therefore； in his well…brushed broadcloth suit； smooth beaver； glossy boots； faultless wristbands and collar； with his grave； good…natured black face； looked respectable enough to be a Bishop of Carthage； as men of his color were； in other ages。
Then； too； he was in a beautiful place； a consideration to which his sensitive race was never indifferent； and he did enjoy with a quiet joy the birds； the flowers； the fountains； the perfume； and light and beauty of the court； the silken hangings； and pictures； and lustres； and statuettes； and gilding； that made the parlors within a kind of Aladdin’s palace to him。
If ever Africa shall show an elevated and cultivated race；—and come it must； some time； her turn to figure in the great drama of human improvement。—life will awake there with a gorgeousness and splendor of which our cold western tribes faintly have conceived。 In that far…off mystic land of gold； and gems； and spices； and waving palms； and wondrous flowers； and miraculous fertility； will awake new forms of art； new styles of splendor； and the negro race； no longer despised and trodden down； will； perhaps； show forth some of the latest and most magnificent revelations of human life。 Certainly they will； in their gentleness； their lowly docility of heart； their aptitude to repose on a superior mind and rest on a higher power； their childlike simplicity of affection； and facility of forgiveness。 In all these they will exhibit the highest form of the peculiarly Christian life； and； perhaps； as God chasteneth whom he loveth； he hath chosen poor Africa in the furnace of affliction； to make her the highest and noblest in that kingdom which he will set up； when every other kingdom has been tried； and failed； for the first shall be last； and the last first。
Was this what Marie St。 Clare was thinking of； as she stood； gorgeously dressed； on the verandah； on Sunday morning； clasping a diamond bracelet on her slender wrist？ Most likely it was。 Or； if it wasn’t that； it was something else； for Marie patronized good things； and she was going now； in full force；—diamonds； silk； and lace； and jewels； and all；—to a fashionable church； to be very religious。 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 Marie。
“The child stopped on the stairs； to say something to Mammy。”
And what was Eva saying to Mammy on the stairs？ Listen； reader； and you will hear； though Marie does not。
“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 wouldn’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 bosom； and kissing her； ran down stairs 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 you 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 pleases；” 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 hasn’t a particle of religion about him。 It really isn’t respectable。”
“I know it；” said St。 Clare。 “You ladies go to church to learn how to get along in the world； I suppose； and your piety sheds respectability on us。 If I did go at all； I would go where Mammy goes； there’s something to keep a fellow awake there； at least。”
“What！ those shouting Methodists？ Horrible！” said Marie。
“Anything but the dead sea of your respectable churches； Marie。 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。”
“Isn’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 isn’t much to do it； if he wants us to。 It isn’t so very tiresome after all。”
“You sweet； little obliging soul！” said St。 Clare； kissing her； “go along； that’s a good girl； and pray for me。”
“Certainly； I always do；” said the child； as she sprang after her mother into the carriage。
St。 Clare stood on the steps and kissed his hand to her； as the carriage drove away； large tears were in his eyes。
“O； Evangeline！ rightly named；” he said； “hath not God made thee an evangel to me？”
So he felt a moment； and then he smoked a cigar； and read the Picayune； and forgot his little gospel。 Was he much unlike other folks？
“You see； Evangeline；” said her mother； “it’s always right and proper to be kind to servants； but it isn’t proper to treat them just as we would our relations； or people in our own class of life。 Now； if Mammy was sick； you wouldn’t want to put her in your own bed。”
“I should feel just like it； mamma；” said Eva； “because then it would be handier to take care of her； and because； you know； my bed is better than hers。”
Marie was in utter despair at the entire want of moral perception evinced in this reply。
“What can I do to make this child understand me？” she said。
“Nothing；” said Miss Ophelia； significantly。
Eva looked sorry and disconcerted for a moment； but children； luckily； do not keep to one impression long； and in a few moments she was merrily laughing at various things which she saw from the coach…windows； as it rattled along。
* * * * * *
“Well； ladies；” said St。 Clare； as they were comfortably seated at the dinner…table； “and what was the bill of fare at church today？”
“O； Dr。 G——pre