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had been literally “carved in ebony,” as old Fuller says, she could scarcely have been of less service to her protectress. Her notion of Free Labor seemed to translate it into laziness, and taking liberties; and, as she seriously added to the work of her fellow-servants, without at all contributing to their comfort, they soon looked upon her as a ople nuisance. The house-maid dubbed her “a Divil,”—the cook roundly compared her to “a mischivus beast, as runs out on a herd o’ black cattle ;"—and both concurred in the policy of laying all household sins upon the sooty shoulders-just as slatterns select a color that hides the dirt. It is certain that shortly after the instalment of the negress in the family, a moral disease broke out with considerable violence, and justly or not, the odium was attributed to the

Its name was theft. First, there was a shilling short in some loose change next, a missing half-crown from the mantel-piece-then there was a stir with a tea-spoon-anon, a piece of work about a thimble. Things went, nobody knew how -the “ Divil ” of course excepted. The Cook could, the Housemaid would, and Diana should, and ought to take an oath, declaratory of innocence, before the mayor; but as Diana did not volunteer an affidavit, like the others, there was no doubt of her guilt, in the kitchen.

Miss Morbid, however, came to a very different conclusion. She thought that whites who could eat sugar, were capable of any atrocity, and had not forgotten the stand which had been made by the “pale faces,” in favor of the obnoxious article. The cook especially incurred suspicion ; for she had been notorious aforetime for a lavish hand in sweetening, and was accordingly quite equal to the double turpitude of stealing and bearing false witness. In fact, the mistress had arrived at the determi. nation of giving both her white hussies their month's warning, when unexpectedly the thief was taken, as the lawyers say, the manner,” and with the goods upon the person. In a word, the ungrateful black was detected in the very act of levying what might be called her “Black Mail.”

The horror of Emilia, on discovering that the Moor had murdered her mistress, was scarcely greater than that of Miss Morbid! She hardly, she said, believed her own senses.

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might have knocked her down with a feather! She did not know whether she stood on her head or her heels. She was rooted to the spot ! and her hair, if it had been her own, would have stood upright upon her head! There was no doubt in the case. She saw the transfer of a portion of her own bank-stock, from her escritoire into the right-hand pocket of her protégée-she heard it chink as it dropped downwards,-she was petrified ! dumb-founded !-thunder-bolted "annilliated !” She was as white as a sheet, but she felt as if all the blacks in the world had just blown in her face.

Her first impulse was to rush upon the robber, and insist on restitution-her second was to sit down and weep,—and her third was to talk. The opening, as usual, was a mere torrent of ejaculations intermixed with vituperation-but she gradually fell into a lecture with many heads. First, she described all she had done for the Blacks, and then, alas ! all that the Blacks had done for her. Next she insisted on the enormity of the crime, and, anon, she enlarged on the nature of its punishment. It was here that she was most eloquent. She traced the course of human justice, from detection to conviction, and thence to execution, liberally throwing dissection into the bargain : and then descending with Dante into the unmentionable regions, she painted its terrors and tortures with all the circumstantial fidelity that certain very Old Masters have displayed on the same subject.

“And now, you black wretch," she concluded, having just given a finishing touch to a portrait of Satan himself; “and now, you black wretch, I insist on knowing what I was robbed for. Come, tell me what tempted you! I'm determined to hear it! I insist, 1 say, on knowing what was to be done with the wages of iniquity!"

She insisted, however, in vain. The black wretch had seri. ously inclined her ear to the whole lecture, grinning and blub. bering by turns. The Judge with his black cap, the Counsel and their wigs, the twelve men in a box, and Jack Ketch himselt —whom she associated with that pleasant West Indian personage, John Canoe--had amused, nay, tickled her fancy ; the pressroom, the irons, the rope, and the Ordinary, whom she mistook

for an overseer, had raised her curiosity, and excited her fears; but the spiritualities, without any reference to Obeah, had simply mystified and disgusted her, and she was now in a fit of the sulks. Her mistress, however, persisted in her question ; and not the less pertinaciously, perhaps, from expecting a new peg whereon to hang a fresh lecture. She was determined to learn the destination of the stolen money ; and by dint of insisting, cajoling, and, above all, threatening—for instance, with the whole Posse Comitatus-she finally carried her point.

“Cuss him money! Here's a fuss !” exclaimed the culprit, quite worn out at last by the persecution. “Cuss him money! here's a fuss! What me 'teal him for? What me do wid him ? What anybody 'teal him for? Why, for sure, to buy sugar!

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn:
He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember,

The roses—red and white;
The violets and the lily.cups,

Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,-

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing;
And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing:
My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,

The fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

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