e of future felicity, either to
herself or her widowed parent. Sympathizing truly with her feelings, and
aware of the extreme delicacy of the subject, especially to one of whose
peculiar feelings she knew so little, Mrs. Harewood left it to time to
show the change in Matilda.

Mrs. Hanson was recalled from the fond reverie the sight of her daughter
had involved her in, by the voice of Zebby, who had only just learned the
arrival of that dear mistress she had ever so justly estimated. The two
ladies descended, and found the happy negro weeping for joy, and running
about the breakfast-parlour and dining-room, seeking for her lady, whom,
when she beheld, she danced about like a wild woman; one moment being
ready to cast herself at her feet, and the next longing to embrace her.

"I am very glad to see you, Zebby," said Mrs. Hanson, "and very happy to
find you still my daughter's servant, as I know you will suit her much
better in many respects than any Englishwoman possibly could."

"Me love Missy ver much, madam, but me no Missy maid now; me housemaid for
madam Harewood now; me makee de bed, sweepy de stair, do all sort ting; me
never wait on Missy, no, never."

Mrs. Hanson gave a deep sigh, and said to Mrs. Harewood--"I fear you have
had some trouble in procuring a maid for my daughter, ma'am?"

"When your daughter came to us, you may remember, my good madam, that we
undertook to treat her in every respect as if she were our own; we _have_
done it, and you will be able to judge to-morrow how far your dear girl
is benefited or injured by sharing the attentions of Ellen's nursemaid,
Ellen's governess, and Ellen's mother."

Mrs. Hanson felt that she was much indebted to the kindness evidently
intended by this arrangement, especially as it was a plain case, that
Zebby had been retained in the family for her accommodation; yet she could
not help thinking that the contrast between Matilda's past and present
situation was too great: although she had a thousand times desired that
some great change might be adopted in her education, yet her heart shrunk
at the idea of the discipline which she had so long felt to be necessary.
She was afraid that the terrible passions her child had manifested, had
rendered terrible changes necessary, and a train of inflictions and
privations arose to her view, which maternal tenderness was unequal to
contemplate unmoved; she therefore apologized to her friends, and retired
to her room, but her