how much others think of them, for the--" Maria blushes, checks
herself, and watches the changes playing over Tom's countenance. She was
about to say the tongue of love was too often silent.

It must be acknowledged that Maria had, for years, cherished a passion
for Tom. He, however, like many others of his class, was too stupid to
discover it. The girl, too, had been overawed by the dignity of his
mother. Thus, with feelings of pain did she watch the downward course of
one in whose welfare she took a deep interest.

"Very often those for whom we cherish the fondest affections, are
coldest in their demeanor towards us," pursues Maria.

"Can she have thought of me so much as to love me?" Tom questions within
himself; and Maria put an end to the conversation by ringing the bell,
commanding the old servant to hasten dinner. A plate must be placed at
the table for Tom.

The antiquarian, having, as he says, left the young people to
themselves, stands at his counter furbishing up sundry old engravings,
horse-pistols, pieces of coat-of-mail, and two large scimitars, all of
which he has piled together in a heap, and beside which lay several
chapeaus said to have belonged to distinguished Britishers. Mr. Soloman
suddenly makes his appearance in the little shop, much to Mr. McArthur's
surprise. "Say--old man! centurion!" he exclaims, in a maudlin laugh,
"Keepum's in the straps--is, I do declare; Gadsden and he bought a lot
of niggers--a monster drove of 'em, on shares. He wants that trifle of
borrowed money--must have it. Can have it back in a few days."

"Bless me," interrupts the old man, confusedly, "but off my little
things it will be hard to raise it. Times is hard, our people go, like
geese, to the North. They get rid of all their money there, and their
fancy--you know that, Mr. Snivel--is abroad, while they have, for home,
only a love to keep up slavery."

"I thought it would come to that," says Mr. Snivel, facetiously. The
antiquarian seems bewildered, commences offering excuses that rather
involve himself deeper, and finally concludes by pleading for a delay.
Scarce any one would have thought a person of Mr. McArthur's position,
indebted to Mr. Keepum; but so it was. It is very difficult to tell
whose negroes are not mortgaged to Mr. Keepum, how many mortgages of
plantation he has foreclosed, how many high old families he has reduced
to abject poverty, or how many poor but respectable families he has
disgraced. He