s face in its
full perfection did not mar the loveliness of hers; the violet eyes of the
one, with their long sweep of eyelash, could not eclipse the mild but deep
expression of the other. The rich burden of glossy hair was lovely, but so
were the white locks; and the slight but rounded form was only compared in
its youthful grace to the almost shadowy dignity of old age.

It was just sundown, but the servants were all at home after their day's
work, and they too were enjoying the pleasant evening time. Some were
seated at the door of their cabins, others lounging on the grass, all at
ease, and without care. Many of their comfortable cabins had been recently
whitewashed, and were adorned with little gardens in front; over the one
nearest the house a multiflora rose was creeping in full bloom. Singularly
musical voices were heard at intervals, singing snatches of songs, of a
style in which the servants of the South especially delight; and not
unfrequently, as the full chorus was shouted by a number, their still more
peculiar laugh was heard above it all. Mr. Barbour had recently returned
from a pleasure tour in our Northern States, had been absent for two
months, and felt that he had not in as long a time witnessed such a scene
of real enjoyment. He thought it would have softened the heart of the
sternest hater of Southern institutions to have been a spectator here; it
might possibly have inclined him to think the sun of his Creator's
beneficence shines over every part of our favored land.

"Take a seat, my dear sir," Mr. Weston said, "in our sweetbrier house, as
Alice calls it; the evening would lose half its beauty to us, if we were
within."

"Alice is always right," said Mr. Barbour, "in every thing she says and
does, and so I will occupy this arm-chair that I know she placed here for
me. Dear me! what a glorious evening! Those distant peaks of the Blue Ridge
look bluer than I ever saw them before."

"Ah! you are glad to tread Virginia soil once more, that is evident
enough," said Mr. Weston. "There is no danger of your getting tired of your
native state again."

"Who says I was ever tired of her? I challenge you to prove your
insinuation. I wanted to see this great New England, the 'great Norrurd,'
as Bacchus calls it, and I have seen it; I have enjoyed seeing it, too; and
now I am glad to be at home again."

"Here comes Uncle Bacchus now, Mr. Barbour," said Alice; "do look at him
walk. Is he not a curiosity? H