es somebody say, 'I could sooner show twenty what were good to be
done, than be one of the twenty to follow my own showing.'* Nothing like
division of labor. My forte lies in talking, and yours, cousin, lies in
doing."

* _The Merchant of Venice_, Act 1, scene 2, lines 17-18.

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, according to her
account, 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 a