“Be seated, Mr. Scranton,” she says, with a voice so full of gentleness,—­“be seated.”  Her form is well-rounded, her features exquisite.  Mr. Scranton views her seriously, as if he found something of great interest in that marble forehead, those fine features moulding a countenance full of soul, love, and sweetness.  Her dress is of plain black brocade, made high at the neck, where it is secured with a small diamond pin, the front opening and disclosing a lace stomacher set with undressed pearls.  Rufflets and diamond bracelets, of chaste workmanship, clasp her wrists; while her light auburn hair, neatly laid in plain folds, and gathered into a plait on the back of her head, where it is delicately secured with gold and silver cord, forms a soft contrast.  There is chasteness and simplicity combined to represent character, sense, and refinement.  She is the mother of the plantation:  old negroes call her mother, young ones clamour with joy when she visits their abodes:  her very soul is in their wants; they look to her for guidance.  Their happiness is her pleasure, and by sharing the good fortune that has followed them she has fostered the energy of their negroes, formed them into families, encouraged their morality, impressed them with the necessity of preserving family relations.  Against the stern mandates of the law, she has taught them to read the Bible, reading and explaining it to them herself.  Indeed, she has risen above the law:  she has taught the more tractable ones to write; she has supplied the younger with little story-books, attractive and containing good moral lessons.  She rejoices over her system:  it is honest, kind, generous,—­it will serve the future, and is not unprofitable at present.  It is different from that pursued by those who would, through the instrumentality of bad laws, enforce ignorance.  Nay, to her there is something abhorrent in using the Word of God as an excuse for the existence of slavery.  Her system is practicable, enlightening first, and then enforcing that which gives encouragement to the inert faculties of our nature.  Punishments were scarcely known upon her plantation; the lash never used.  Old and young were made to feel themselves part and parcel of a family compact, to know they had an interest in the crop, to gather hopes for the future, to make home on the old plantation pleasant.  There was something refreshing in the pride and protection evinced in the solicitation of this gentle creature for her negroes.  In early life she had listened to their fables, had mixed with them as children, had enjoyed their hours of play, had studied their sympathies, and entered with delight into the very soul of their jargon merriment.  She felt their wants, and knew their grievances; she had come forward to be their protector, their mother!  “Why, Mr. Scranton,” she exclaims, laughingly, in reply to that gentleman’s remarks, as she interrupted the conversation between him and the deacon, “we would sooner suffer than sell one of our boys or girls-even if the worst came to the worst.  I know the value of family ties; I know how to manage negroes.  I would just as soon think of selling our Matilda, I would!  If some of you good northern folks could only see how comfortable my negroes are!-”