great deal of trouble."

"Oh, no, none to speak of--and had it been ever so much, I should have been
just as pleased to have done it; I was so glad you were coming. What did
put it in your heads to come here to live?" continued Mrs. Ellis.

"Oh, cousin George Winston praised the place so highly, and you know how
disagreeable Georgia is to live in. My mind was never at rest there
respecting these," said she, pointing to the children; "so that I fairly
teased Garie into it. Did you recognize George?"

"No, I didn't remember much about him. I should never have taken him for a
coloured man; had I met him in the street, I should have supposed him to be
a wealthy white Southerner. What a gentleman he is in his appearance and
manners," said Mrs. Ellis.

"Yes, he is all that--my husband thinks there is no one like him. But we
won't talk about him now; I want you to tell me all about yourself and
family, and then I'll tell you everything respecting my own fortunes."
Hereupon ensued long narratives from both parties, which occupied the
greater part of the morning.

Mr. Garie, on leaving the house, slowly wended his way to the residence of
Mr. Walters. As he passed into the lower part of the city, his attention
was arrested by the number of coloured children he saw skipping merrily
along with their bags of books on their arms.

"This," said he to himself, "don't much resemble Georgia."[*]

[Footnote *: It is a penal offence in Georgia to teach coloured children to
read.]

After walking some distance he took out a card, and read, 257,
Easton-street; and on inquiry found himself in the very street. He
proceeded to inspect the numbers, and was quite perplexed by their
confusion and irregularity.

A coloured boy happening to pass at the time, he asked him: "Which way do
the numbers run, my little man?"

The boy looked up waggishly, and replied: "They don't run at all; they are
permanently affixed to each door."

"But," said Mr. Garie, half-provoked, yet compelled to smile at the boy's
pompous wit, "you know what I mean; I cannot find the number I wish; the
street is not correctly numbered."

"The street is not numbered at all," rejoined the boy, "but the houses
are," and he skipped lightly away.

Mr. Garie was finally set right about the numbers, and found himself at
length before the door of Mr. Walters's house. "Quite a handsome
residence," said he, as he surveyed the stately house, with its spotless
marble steps an