The children are improving.

Three years have rolled round, and wrought great changes in the aspect of affairs.  M’Fadden was buried on his plantation, Romescos was bailed by Graspum, and took his trial at the sessions for manslaughter.  It was scarcely worth while to trouble a respectable jury with the paltry case-and then, they were so frequent!  We need scarcely tell the reader that he was honourably acquitted, and borne from the court amid great rejoicing.  His crime was only that of murder in self-defence; and, as two tyrants had met, the successful had the advantage of public opinion, which in the slave world soars high above law.  Romescos being again on the world, making his cleverness known, we must beg the reader’s indulgence, and request him to accompany us while we return to the children.

Annette and Nicholas are, and have been since the sale, the property of Graspum.  They develope in size and beauty-two qualities very essential in the man-market of our democratic world, the South.  Those beautiful features, intelligence, and reserve, are much admired as merchandise; for southern souls are not lifted above this grade of estimating coloured worth.  Annette’s cherub face, soft blue eyes, clear complexion, and light auburn hair, add to the sweetness of a countenance that education and care might make brilliant; and yet, though reared on Marston’s plantation, with unrestricted indulgence, her childish heart seems an outpouring of native goodness.  She speaks of her mother with the affection of one of maturer years; she grieves for her return, wonders why she is left alone, remembers how kind that mother spoke to her when she said good by, at the cell door.  How sweet is the remembrance of a mother! how it lingers, sparkling as a dewdrop, in a child’s memory.  Annette feels the affliction, but is too young to divine the cause thereof.  She recalls the many happy plantation scenes; they are bright to her yet!  She prattles about Daddy Bob, Harry, Aunt Rachel, and old Sue, now and then adding a solicitous question about Marston.  But she does not realise that he is her father; no, it was not her lot to bestow a daughter’s affection upon him, and she is yet too young to comprehend the poison of slave power.  Her childlike simplicity affords a touching contrast to that melancholy injustice by which a fair creature with hopes and virtues after God’s moulding, pure and holy, is made mere merchandise for the slave-market.

Annette has learned to look upon Nicholas as a brother; but, like herself, he is kept from those of his own colour by some, to him, unintelligible agency.  Strange reflections flit through her youthful imagination, as she embraces him with a sister’s fondness.  How oft she lays her little head upon his shoulder, encircles his neck with her fair arm, and braids his raven hair with her tiny fingers!  She little thinks how fatal are those charms she bears bloomingly into womanhood.