“The tulip or poplar-tree and the red-oak in the rich loam of these hills live long and attain to giant proportions.  The vines which cling in such profusion to many of these are commensurate with them in time.  They spring up at their bases and grow with them:  the tree performing the kindly office of nurse, lifting them in her arms and carrying them until their summits, with united leaves, seem to kiss the clouds.  They live and cling together through tempests and time until worn out with length of days, when they tumble and fall to the earth together, and together die.  We all, Flora and Fauna, go down to the bosom of our common mother to rest in death.  I love the companionship of the forest.  There is an elevation of soul in this communion with incorruptible nature:  there is sincerity and truth in the hills and valleys—­in the trees and vines, and music—­grand orchestral music—­in the moaning of the limbs and leaves, played upon by the hurrying winds.  I have prayed to be a savage, and to live in the woods.”

“You are as usual, sister, very romantic to-night.”

“By and by, brother, I shall forget it I presume.  I am human, and shall soon die, or live on till time hardens my nature, or sordid pursuits plough from my heart all its sympathies, and old age finds me gloating over the gains of laborious care and penurious meanness.

  “‘To such vile uses we must come at last.’”

“You draw a sad picture, miss, for old age.  Do not the gentler virtues of our nature ever ripen with time?  Is it the alchemist who always turns the sweets of youth to the sours of age?  There are many examples in every community to refute your position.  I would instance the venerable negro we visited to-day.  He wept as he placed his trembling hand upon your head.  There was surely nothing ascetic or sordid in his feelings.”

“Uncle Toney is an exception, sir.  The affectionate memories he has of our family, and especially of my mother and father, redeems him from the obloquy of his race.  His heart is as tender as his conduct is void of offense.  He was a slave.  God had ordained him for his situation.  He had not the capacity to aspire beyond his lot, or to contrast it with his master’s.  Contented to render his service, and satisfied with the supply of his wants from the hands of him he served—­he had a home, and all the comforts his nature required.  He has it still; but I know he is not as contented as when he was my father’s slave.  God bless the old man!  He shall never want while I have anything, and should I see him die, he shall sleep where he wished to-day.”

“By our grandfather, I suppose, Alice?”