Here, then, we find Harry-we must pass over the incidents of his return back in the old district-about to administer the Gospel to the negroes on the Rosebrook estates.  He is the same good, generous-hearted black man he was years ago.  But he has worked hard, paid his master a deal of money for his time, and laid up but little for himself.  His clothes, too, are somewhat shabby, which, in the estimation of the Rosebrook negroes-who are notoriously aristocratic in their notions-is some detriment to his ministerial character.  At the same time, they are not quite sure that Harry Marston, as he must now be called, will preach to please their peculiar mode of thinking.  Master and missus have given them an interest in their labour; and, having laid by a little money in missus’s savings bank, they are all looking forward to the time when they will have gained their freedom, according to the promises held out.  With these incitements of renewed energy they work cheerfully, take a deep interest in the amount of crop produced, and have a worthy regard for their own moral condition.  And as they will now pay tribute for the support of a minister of the Gospel, his respectability is a particular object of their watchfulness.  Thus, Harry’s first appearance on the plantation, shabbily dressed, is viewed with distrust.  Uncle Bradshaw, and old Bill, the coachman, and Aunt Sophy, and Sophy’s two gals, and their husbands, are heard in serious conclave to say that “It won’t do!” A clergy gentleman, with no better clothes than that newcomer wears, can’t preach good and strong, nohow!  Dad Daniel is heard to say.  Bradshaw shakes his white head, and says he’s goin’ to have a short talk with master about it.  Something must be done to reconcile the matter.

Franconia and good Mrs. Rosebrook are not so exacting:  the latter has received him with a warm welcome, while the former, her heart bounding with joy on hearing of his return, hastened into his presence, and with the affection of a child shook, and shook, and shook his hand, as he fell on his knees and kissed hers.  “Poor Harry!” she says, “how I have longed to see you, and your poor wife and children!”

“Ah, Franconia, my young missus, it is for them my soul fears.”

“But we have found out where they are,” she interrupts.

“Where they are!” he reiterates.

“Indeed we have!” Franconia makes a significant motion with her head.

“It’s true, Harry; and we’ll see what can be done to get them back, one of these days,” adds Mrs. Rosebrook, her soul-glowing eyes affirming the truth of her assertion.  They have come out to spend the day at the plantation, and a happy day it is for those whose hearts they gladden with their kind words.  How happy would be our south-how desolate the mania for abolition—­if such a comity of good feeling between master and slaves existed on every plantation!  And there is nothing to hinder such happy results of kindness.