"How is yer, honey?" said the old nurse.

"Pears to

me yer gets more beautiful ebbery day, 'deed yer does." Kate blushed, as she answered

'Ah, aunty, you know how to flatter. But you've heard, I suppose, that Cousin Charles has returned. And here he comes."

"Glad to see yer, Marse Charles," was the old creature's greeting. "It does yer old mammy's eyes good, 'deed it does. I heerd yesterday dat yer was come; but dis ole rheumatiz kept me at home. Dey do say dat dar is sometin' dey sell at de Forks dat'll cure it, sartin sure. Yer hasn't got a dollar, Marse Charles, or haf a crown, has yer, for poor ole aunty?"

Aylesford laughingly handed her the gratuity. After a few kind words from Kate, Aunt Chloe kept on to the kitchen, where, seated in the high-backed settle, within the ample fire-place, and with her short clay-pipe in her mouth, she prepared to have a gossip with the magnates of that apartment, about the fire in the woods, the new preacher, the return of Aylesford, and other current topics of interest.

THE indigenous negro, as he used to exist in New Jersey, has long since disappeared before the inundation of new comers of the same race. Aunt Chloe, and her kitchen friends, belonged to the good old stock, however, such as our elder readers may remember to have met with in their youth. They had all, at one time, been slaves in the family, and, though now free, still regarded the Aylesfords as belonging to them, in a sense at least. Hence they freely canvassed the conduct of all, from Mrs. Warren down; and on this occasion, we may be sure, their criticisms were not withheld.

In this conversation Aunt Chloe maintained the principal part. Her auditors were the cook, a good-looking mulatto about forty years old, whose stout and comely person bespoke the excellent living at Sweetwater. A Madras handkerchief, tastefully wrapped about her head, and a new dress, gave Dinah quite an imposing air this evening. Her husband, who was at once overseer, gardener, and head ostler, a Guinea coast African, as black as midnight, sat in front of the fire; while her son, Pomp, a lad of eighteen, who officiated as stable boy, squatted on the floor in the back

ground. Two other servants hovered in the distance, eager listeners, but not daring to join in the conversation with their superiors, especially with Aunt Chloe.

After the fire had been discussed, the return of Aylesford was brought up, and its effect on Major Gordon duly can vassed. Servants are more observant than is always thought, and the kitchen at Sweetwater had discovered the condition of our hero's affections long before the parlor, or even himself, had suspected it. Aunt Chloe, in spite of having known Aylesford when an infant, leaned to the side of the Major, chiefly, it must be confessed, in consequence of the douceur the latter had bestowed upon her. For a similar reason, Pomp, who as stable-boy, had often received small gratuities, secretly favored the same cause. But, on the other hand, Dinah, as well as her husband, neither of whom had been in the way to be favored by our hero, were warm advocates of Aylesford.

For a time the discussion waxed quite animated, but finally it died away, and the new minister came up for scrutiny in turn. On this subject Aunt Chloe spoke authoritatively, laying down the law to her gaping listeners. It is. well known that illiterate negroes are somewhat peculiar in their religious notions. The imagination has a powerful influence over them, and they are exceedingly susceptible to nervous excitements, as any one, who has ever been at a camp-meeting, must have observed. Frequently, indeed, they seem to actually realize mere dreams. Hence it is a common thing to hear them tell, with the greatest gravity, stories of personal interviews with the Arch Enemy. Sometimes, however, these are not delusions, but deliberate romances, invented to increase the importance of the

narrator.

"It did dis chile good," said Aunt Chloe, "to hear dat preacher dis morning. I bless my hebbenly master dat dar are left some who speak de plain trufe. It 'most made me

feel as I did when I fust got religion. Ah! dat was a happy time. It was long ago, Pomp, before you was born, at a woods meeting over by Waldo. 'Peared as if I was light as a bird, and could fly right up to hebben. I nebber saw de stars shine as dey did dat night, when I walked home; and nebber 'spect to till I get over Jordan, and into de New Jerusalem-dat is if de ole debbil, dat roarin' lion, who goes about seekin' whom he may devour, don't git dis chile yet."

Pomp, at this mention of the ubiquitous character of the enemy, mindful, perhaps, of some late improper acts, looked fearfully over his shoulder, as if expecting to see him lurking in the dark shadows at the further end of the kitchen; for it was now after sunset, and the only light in the room was that of the smouldering fire.

"Ah! dat debbil," groaned Pomp's sire, rolling up the whites of his eyes. "We must watch and pray, Aunt Chloe, or he'll git de best of us in spite of all. He 'most had dis chile once. He was near to me, 'deed he was, as Pomp dis

minnit."

Pomp started as if he had been shot, and began to edge away from his parent, at this renewed assault upon his

nerves.

"You don't say dat ?" cried Aunt Chloe, lifting up both hands. "You're makin' fun."

"Deed I isn't, aunty. I seed de debbil, dat ole dragon, only dis last spring, sure sartin."

"How?" and Aunt Chloe, stuffiing more tobacco into her pipe, began to smoke anew, looking the speaker eagerly in the face.

"I was out in de cornfield, one day, hoein'," said he, "when, stoppin' to rest a minnit, and looking up, I saw dat of a sudden de woods at de odder end had clean gone away, and de field had stretched hisself away out," and he extended his arm as he spoke, with the palm of the hand inclined

downwards, "just so, slopin' like, as de roof of a barn does, yer know, only it went slopin' down, down, till it cum to de end of de world. But it didn't 'pear to be de end of de world eider. For over again de field dar was a hill, which sloped up 'most as high on de odder side," all this time going through an active pantomine, "and between de two, and kind o' under de one I was on, was de bottomless pit, 'deed dere was, wid de brimstone flames and smoke a-shootin' up, ebbery now and den, like fire out of de stack of Waldo furnace. And standin' dar between de two hills," continued the narrator, leaning forward, "and right ober dis pit, I saw de debbil hisself, 'deed I did, aunty. He had great horns on his head, and eyes like red-hot iron, and held a big pitchfork in his hand, and 'peared to be a watchin' me, as near as I could tell, for you see de smoke kept rollin' up and hidin' him 'bout half de time. 'Oh! Lor' Amighty!' I said, 'dis chile done for now; de debbil will hab him, and no mistake.' Wid dat, of a sudden, my knees guv way, I fell, and as I fell I begun a slidin' down de hill. De debbil he saw me a-comin', and made a grab at me wid his pitchfork; but he couldn't reach me yet. I tried to cotch hold of somethin' to stop me, but de field 'peared to be nuffin but loose sand, widout a cornstalk left, or a blackberry bush, or even a root. De debbil he now made anoder grab at me, but he wasn't near enough yet. By dis time de sand of de field began to slide, like shelled corn pourin' out of a half-bushel, slippin', slippin', and de debbil reachin', reachin', to get my poor ole soul. By'm bye, I saw dat de next time he would fotch me sure. I was away down, yer see, just at de bottom of de hill, and could hear de roarin' of de flames, and Dives a lookin' up and cryin' for a drop of water. De debbil he kind of braced hisself, seein' me so close, and lifted his pitchfork to hab it ready; and I went slidin', slidin', and de hill wid me, faster dan a streak of lightnin', right down-"