Half hid by a majestic live-oak which shaded the front, and within a few yards of the river, stood a small white house.  It was built of adoles, and contained only three rooms.  Instead of reaching these by a broad flight, one step from the threshold placed you on the ground.  The floor was uncovered, and, as usual, of cement.  In one corner of the front apartment stood a sideboard, covered with glass of various kinds, and a few handsome pieces of plate.  Its vis-a-vis was a range of shelves, filled with books; and on the plain deal mantelpiece stood a pair of neat China vases, decked with brilliant prairie flowers.  Before the open window was placed the table, arranged for the morning meal.  How pure the cloth looked, how clear the glass; and then the bouquet of fragrant roses which adorned the center, how homelike, fresh, and beautiful it seemed!  An air of comfort—­American, southern comfort—­pervaded the whole.  The breakfast was brought in by a middle-aged negress, whose tidy appearance, and honest, happy, smiling face presented the best refutation of the gross slanders of our northern brethren.  I would that her daguerreotype, as she stood arranging the dishes, could be contrasted with those of the miserable, half-starved seamstresses of Boston and New York, who toil from dawn till dark, with aching head and throbbing heart, over some weary article, for which they receive the mighty recompense of a shilling.

When she had arranged every dish with great exactness, a small bell was rung; and, waiter in hand, she stood ready to attend the family.

A bright, young face appeared at the open window.

“I hope, Aunt Fanny, you have a nice breakfast.  You have no idea what an appetite my walk has given me.”

“Now, Miss Mary, ain’t my cooking always nice?”

“Indeed, it is.  Your coffee would not disgrace a pasha’s table; and your rolls are

  ‘The whitest, the lightest, that ever were seen.’”

She disappeared from the window, and entered the room just as Mr. Hamilton came in, followed by Florence.

“My dear uncle, have you forgotten the old adage of ’early to bed, and early to rise?’”

“I am not sure that I ever learned it, Mary;” he dryly replied, seating himself at the table.

“One would suppose you had taken a draught from the ‘Elixir of Life;’” said Florence, glancing affectionately at her beaming face.

“I have discovered the fountain of perpetual youth, so vainly sought in South America!”

“Indeed!  Is it located in this vicinity?”

“Yes; and if you will rise to-morrow with Aurora, when ’she sprinkles with rosy light the dewy lawn,’ I will promise to conduct you to it.”

“Thank you; but, Mary, what induced you to ramble so early?”

“I have been nearly two miles for some roots Mrs. Carlton expressed a wish for.  See, Florry, how I have dyed my hands pulling them up!”