bein' in dis brack, greasy place-'sides, I needs all de room I kin git fo' myse'f, don' yo' see? Now, I'se brack ez de pots an' kittles dersel's; an' I 'spec' de Lord had an eye to dis hyar suitability ob t'ings when he made me."

Thus would she stand, wasting many a half-hour, arguing with the good-humored obstinacy and assurance of an indulged and trusted servant. That she was somewhat opinionated when her methods were questioned need not be wondered at, so entirely had she been left, hitherto, to follow her own ways in her faithfully performed duties. If said ways had not always been the best, they had at least proved efficient, and thereby fully satisfied her as to her own wisdom.

I remember that the first meal she prepared for us without assistance consisted, in part, of a pair of roasted fowls, done, as she proudly remarked, "to a mos' lubly brown."

As mine host proceeded to carve and dissect them, suddenly out flew a volley of corn, peppering him well. Our sable cuisiniere had actually cooked and served the fowls without removing their crops; thus proving to us in the outstart that, however au fait Mauma Phillis might have been in her former sphere of dressing babies, as a dresser of fowls she was equally au pis aller.

One day, not long after the above little episode, we received a present of some very fine fish, an article of diet sufficiently scarce in that inland region, remote from large or clear water-courses, to make it esteemed a rare luxury. Buffalo and cat-fish, of a coarse quality and decidedly muddy flavor, were sometimes attainable, but very seldom, and their unpalatableness made them little sought for. But here was a feast fit for the gods.

"Let us have a chowder," said the head of the house. "Here comes Brother Rose, on his way to Bethel; I will ask him to stop and dine with us."

"Tut, tut! You don't mean to say, Miss Kate, that a chowder is not one of your accomplishments-not embraced in your knowledge of kitchen chemistry?" called out the retreating parson, looking back from the doorway.

For answer I shook my head, feeling quite crest-fallen, while his wife folded her hands, the picture of dismay. I knew that she was secretly sighing after the old-time tyranny of Venus, feeling that one of her tantrums would be less formidable to encounter than this same chowder, off which her reverend husband was evidently determined to dine, in company with his fellow-parson.

"Send for Phillis," he continued, "and I'll wager you'll find that, after all, she knows one thing you two can't improve on, and that is, how to make a chowder. Don't let the dinner be late, for Brother Rose must reach Bethel in time for an evening service, and I think I will ride over with him; but I don't want to be hurried, and thus miss a full enjoyment of my dinner"-with which parting remarks off walked the dominie to chat with his Christian brother on affairs of church and state, while his wife and I took our way to the kitchen.

"Phillis, can you make a chowder? Your master wants the fish served in that way." "O, Lor'! yes, Mis' Lucy."

"Are you quite sure, Phillis? If not, pray don't undertake it, for there will be company to dinner-perhaps you would better send for Lamb, anyway, and have him prepare the fish for you."

"O, dey is dun repaired a'ready, Mis' Lucy, afore dey come. I 'lows marse won't fin' no crops in dem hyar. Lamb sez dis kin' ob fish hain't to be skinned like Venus usen to do de cat-fish, so I spec' I jus' cook 'em 'dout ondressin' 'em, mus'n' I? Save lots ob trouble dat ar way."

"I do hope you are not overestimating your skill, Mauma, for your master has his heart set on this dish, and a mistake would

"Now don' yo' fret, Mis' Lucy, honey! 'Pears like yo' don' membrance de heaps ob times I'se helped Venus in dis hyar kitchen,

gittin' up big dinners ob all sorts in Marse Jesse's time. Lor! but dem was de gay times, Miss Kate! Company comin' an' goin' de year roun'; an' Mis' Lucy, hyar, full ob larfan' sing; dancin' an' musickin' an' lookin' ebery bit ez purty an lubsome ez Miss Nell an' May, her chil'en! Pore lambs! de Lord tuk' em' bofe, an' good Marse Jesse, too; an' 'pears like our hearts mus' hab went long wif 'em clean to de bressed kingdom, times am so changed on dis hyar place eber sence. An' now comes 'long dis mis'ble wah fo' de cap-sheaf, 'ticin my young Marse Dick off sojerin'. Sakes alive! Miss Kate, ef yo' hadn't been hyar wif yo' chipperin' ways, 'spec' Mis' Lucy's heart clean bruk dat day, shore. An' dat ar onrageous Venus fo' to go cuttin' up so, an' kitin' off when she knowed Mis' Lucy was full ob trouble an' couldn't noways spar' her! My ole man sez he 'spec's mo' times 'n one Venus hab wished she 'haved herse'f mo' 'spectful afore de new marse. She might 'a' knowed dey warn't all like our bressed Marse Jesse, wif he humorin' ways."

This rambling talk of the garrulous old darkey reached tender chords in her mistress's heart, and quickened memories too deeply fraught with sorrow and regret to bear as yet the gentlest touch without a sensitive quiver of pain. To this dusky guardian of her children's childhood as well as of own, all the joys and sorrows of my friend's life had been ever known; but just how deep the wounds left by the latter on the tender heart, and how slow their healing, the old favorite had evidently not divined.

With a face of yearning and anguish, the mistress turned quickly towards the beautiful garden spot, where, beneath a luxuriance of bloom and softly drooping trees, slept the household dead-two lovely girls and the husband of her youth-and reaching forth her arms with the passionate cry: "Oh! my lost darlings!" clasped to her longing heart -what, alas! save phantom memories? Then covering her face with her hands, as if to repress the thoughts swelling from heart to lip, she sank down on a rude bench beside the kitchen door, where Venus had

been wont to sit beneath the vines of Lamb's planting, and wept unrestrainedly.

Old Phillis, dismayed at the effect of her words, soothingly approached, and sitting down beside her said:

"Dar now, honey! I didn't mean fo' to hurt yo', but 'pears like I'se dun trod on yo' heart-strings somehow. Neber min'; jus' lay yo' head hyar on ole mammy's shoulder an' cry away all de mis'ry an' trouble. Dreffle times kin't las' allus, honey! Don' yo' know dat? Marse Dick 'll come home 'gin all safe, neber yo' fear; den how peart yo'll be !-not cryin' in ole mammy's arms; ki! I reckon not, but walking 'bout de place on fine mornin's an' eben's wif yo' arm locked in his'n, jus' like yo' usen to do afore he went to de wah. Dar, honey! Sho, honey! don' yo' cry so hard. O, Lor'! don' yo min' how many times when yo' was a peart little young one yo' cried yo'se'f to sleep 'gin dis hyar ole heart ob mine, in dese hyar ole brack arms? I'clare ef it don' seem like you's mammy's baby 'gin fo' to see yo' dis way. Now don' yo' never fear but what mammy 'll stay by yo' allus-no whippin', no nuffin' 'll eber make me leab yo'. I dun promise ole missy when she sent me to yo', jus' afore Marse Dick was bo'n, neber, neber to leave yo' till de bref ob life leab me. Now don' fret no mo', honey, 'bout de way t'ings am gwine; an' ez fo' Venus, she'll get 'long, I knows, kase she am dat spunky an' onrageous dey'll all be feared on her; an'den she am dat unhandsome nobody would look twice at her ez could help hese'f; an' ez fo' odder troublements, dey'll w'ar deir rough edges off atter a while. Now, honey, don' yo' t'ink you's dun cried 'nuff? for I 'clare mammy kin't stan' dis no longer-it jus' breaks her ole heart, it do."

Under old mauma's crooning and soothing, the sobs grew less violent, and gradually ceased, to the great relief of the faithful comforter, who, stroking back the tumbled hair from the tear-stained face, continued:

"Lor', child! how 'stressful yo' do look. But now, bein' ez yo's better, ole Phillis mus' start de dinner gwine, an' yo' mus' go an' make dese hyar purty braids all

smoove and shiny afore marse sees yo'; an' don' yo' go fo' to show no red eyes to nobody, no time, but ole mammy-an' p'rhaps Miss Kate dar-now min' what I tells yo'!" My hostess rose, murmuring an apology for her display of weakness, and returned to the house; but I tarried to ask a few more questions of Phillis about dinner, for I had serious doubts as to her ability to concoct that chowder.

"Why, it am jus' de easiest t'ing in de worl' to do!" said she. "I'se dun helped Venus make 'em mo' times 'n one. Yo'll see how appertizing I'll have it!"

And great was her glorification when she found out how ignorant I was of its makeup.

"Now, dese hyar am de ingrudgents," she soliloquized, counting them off on her fingers. "All dem t'ings goes inter de pot, fo' sartin, I knows-wonder ef Miss Kate dar'll len' a han' to de makin' ob de puddin' an' sarce? I neber was no han' at 'fectionry and flummediddles-but biled vittles! Good Lor'! it comes jus' ez natʼral, it do, fo' me to cook ez ole missty usen to say it' peared to fo' me to nuss her chil'en when I was nuffin' mo'n a young wench up dar in Virginny-an' a heap sight less wexatious it am, I kin tell yo'! Miss Kate, hyar's a nice clean apron fo' yo'. I knows you'll help ole aunty, honey. Now, ef you'll on'y make one ob dem b'u'ful Charlotty Rooshers ez yo' made las' week, I'll sen' Ca'line fo' to pick a basketful ob nice strawberries, an' dat'll do fo' de cap-sheaf, eben ef it was de king hese'f was coming to dine hyar."

Yielding to the old darkey's solicitation, I donned the proffered apron, and together we worked for an hour or more with all the hum and earnestness of two busy bees in clover-time, and that dinner, at least, promised to be a success. As soon as it was under way, and my share in its preparation completed, glad to escape from the heat and odors, I wandered off to my favorite lounging place in the orchard, where, lazily swinging in a hammock there suspended, I whiled away the time with the help of a book until the dinner hour arrived.

Being somewhat tardy in taking my place at the table, the family were all served before I sat down, save the dominie.

"Ah, Miss Kate! just in time," he exclaimed, "for a share of the tid-bit. I was about to appropriate the last morsel, myself, as a punishment for your seeming indifference."

Meanwhile, glancing about, I observed that every knife and fork was suspended, while a peculiar expression of distaste rested on each face. Things did not seem to be so "appertizing" as Phillis had prophesied. But this state of affairs was apparently unnoticed by mine host; for, having served me, he helped himself plentifully from the coveted dish, took one hasty mouthful, and had another half-way to his lips, when, suddenly springing up like a rocket, and sputtering prodigiously, he cried out, in an angry, disgusted tone:

"That abominable, black humbug didn't scale these fish! Ugh! my mouth is full of the diabolical things! Call her here!"

To the scene that followed I cannot do justice: I leave you to imagine. My friend at the head of the table, flushing crimson with mortification; her husband at the foot, in a very unclerical state of mind, giving utterance to language certainly not found in the "Church Discipline"; at his side his guest, his reverend brother, gravely trying to suppress the mirth which, in spite of himself, twinkled in his eyes as they met mine, and by some magnetic influence drew forth from me the peal of laughter his sides ached in repressing. The waitress giggled behind her master's chair, and rolled up her eyes until the whites alone were visible; alternating the performance with grimaces at Phillis, who now stood in the doorway with uplifted hands and a face actually gray with terror.

"Scales!" she gasped forth. "Neber heerd o' sech a t'ing ez b'longin' to fishes in all my bo'n days afore! Scales! Why, fishes hain't no kin' o' use fo' 'em no mo'n I hab fo' wings an' fedders; an' I kin't fo' de life. ob me see de reasonableness ob de Lawd's gibin' 'em any!"

"Take that dish away, you prating fool!"

"O Lawd, Marse George! What use dat ar be to yo' nor me? Heap sight better forgib ole Phillis dis time, an' afore night see ef she don' fin' out de heft ob dis hyar disagreeability ob t'ings; an' ef she fin's any sech ez yo' speaks on, yo' kin jus' trust her atter dis to cut 'em smack, smoodge, clean off ebery time!"

With furtive glances at her master she approached the table, and with trembling hands removed the obnoxious dish, which she replaced with a nice roast of lamb and asparagus; these latter being the first of the season and really well prepared, the unlucky chowder was not so much regretted, and before the meal was done was fully discussed and laughed over. The hostess explained to her guest that Phillis was unaccustomed to cooking, having been all her life employed about the house, either as nurse or seamstress. And in the days of which I write, a southern servant's duties were not so multifarious as is the case now in northern homes. The labor which in the latter often devolves on one or two, making necessary a diversity of attainments, was in the South distributed among a great number. Hence, beyond the occasional help she had given Venus at odd times in the kitchen, Phillis had never even prepared a meal for herself until called upon to serve in her present capacity of cook; and fish, for reasons already given, were a scarce article of diet in her home. When her master spoke of scales, incredible though it may seem, she had no idea beyond Venus's huge steelyards for measuring proportions.

As soon as I could slip away from the house unobserved, I flew to the kitchen to give a comforting and encouraging word to the kind old soul, who, I felt sure, was utterly overcome with shame at her failure, and fear for its possible consequences. Judge of my surprise, when, peeping in at the door, I saw her sitting on a low stool by the window, smoking a cob pipe, which every now and then she removed from her mouth to indulge in a low, chuckling laugh,

"What a 'goramus dey mus' t'ink I ar! Well it all cums 'long o' bein' kep' doin' jus' one t'ing all yo' bo'n days. Now, I'se jus' bin kep' nussin' babies all my life, fus' fo' ole missty, an' den fo' Mis' Lucy, till 'pears like I neber had no chance fo' to fin' out how anyt'ing else in God's worl' do grow! But O Lor', Lamb! ef yo' could on'y hab seen de marse's face! I jus' tells yo' now it was skeerful. Got dese hyar t'ings in he mouf, did he?" she said, rubbing one between her thumb and finger; "got he t'roat full ob 'em, hey? Dey mus' be tough an' hard to swallow, dat am a fac'; but I 'lows dar am suffin' harder in he inside dan dat ar mou'ful ob my chowder!"

Then catching sight of me:

"Spec', Miss Kate, I'se made de awful mess dis time. I wor dat feared de marse'd make me eat de hull ob it right dar on de spot, dat I couldn't git out hyar quick 'nuff, so I t'row'd it to de dogs ez I cum 'long. I'se seen dem as wor made to eat deir own cookin' afore now, when it wor s'pic'us lookin to deir marse. But I'se bound dat ar shouldn't go down my t'roat when I seed how jus' one mou'ful on't made marse look. 'Spec' I'se dun cooked my las' dinner-start me off to de corn field an' cotton rows tomorrer-'spec' he t'inks 'tis all I'se good fo'. But I'se getting ole fo' dat ar work, an' I knows 'twould mighty nigh break Mis' Lucy's heart to hev me hoein' in de sun all de day long; but she don' hab her will on dis hyar place no mo'-times am changed hyar, Miss Kate, fo' fac'."

"Not so bad as that, though, Aunty. To be sure, the chowder was a dreadful mistake, but as the rest of the dinner was splendid,

and your blunder was the result of ignorance, I am sure you will be forgiven. And this is not the first time I have had that same dish set before me, let me tell you for your comfort. When I was a little girl, living with my mother in our northern home, we had a colored woman for cook, who did just what you have done to-day; not through ignorance, either. She disliked to handle fish, and was always ill tempered when they were ordered, and so made up the dish in a fit of ugliness."

ob mine?' Else it am: 'Dat ar am my man Bob.' Bob.' But a darkey ez hain't got no price on him-don't b'long to nobody but hese'f, nor wouldn't fotch nuffin' ef he did-who cares wha' 'cums ob him? Why, honey, de Debbil hese'f am on'y an' or'nary nigger! An' I'se hearn, too, Miss Kate, dat up Norf de white folks, atter all, do jus' 'spise a nigger-dat's wha' dey mos'ly call us all-wuss nor pisen.

Dey fight fo' de brack man an'

spen' a heap ob money fo' him, an' quarrel ober him jus' like dem two dogs yender ober

"Quite a number, Mauma, but a larger number of blacks who were born there, free men and women. The woman Sarah, of whom I just now told you, was born free. On the outskirts of the large seaport town where we lived there was a settlement composed entirely of colored people. They had a church and school-house all to themselves, and seemed to be very contented. Their preacher, who was also a colored man, taught the school. The village was called Snooksville, and fairly swarmed with little Snooksvillians, who used to scour about the neighboring woods and fields, picking all the blackberries, huckleberries, and wintergreen berries; scarcely leaving a solitary dozen for the white children's pails and baskets, when on a Saturday's holiday they went in search of them. The fathers and sons were mostly sailors or fishermen; for this was in the days when the town fitted out large ships for long whaling voyages, of which I will tell you some other day."

"But I'se allus heerd, Miss Kate, free niggers warn't no 'count; dat dey am lazy an' shif'less and dre'ful pore-'dat dey goes off an' lives by dersel's dat ar way 'kase nobody wants to see 'em roun'-nobody makes any 'count ob 'em atter dey gits up Norf. Now down hyar a cullud pussun ez am worf, say, a t'ousan' dollars to he marse-ki! he kin hol' up he head mos' anywhars. Nobody in deir eberyday senses won't trample on him no mo'n on so many gold dollars. Dey don' call him nigger, nudder. Hump! I reckon not. Dey p'ints him out, an say: 'Yo' see dat ar boy

it.

Dey kin't 'bide a brack skin nigh 'em, nohow, an' hain't no use fo' we uns, 'pears like, 'slong ez dar am low-down white trash 'nuff fo' to do deir dirty work. Derfore, chile, I'se allers been contented right hyar, an' neber had no hankerin' atter freedom. I 'spec' it cums long ob bein' allus tuk good care on. Mabby ef I had been fotched up way down in Alabam' or Mississip', whar, dey say, mos' dre'ful t'ings-sech ez would make yo' ha'r stan' up-am done, in dat case I might feel oneasy in my mind; but bein' ez 'tis, I hain't no hankerin' atter Snooksville, nor any sech low 'sociates.

"Now, dar am Lamb, Miss Kate, wha' yo' t'ink Mis' Lucy take fo' him? Don't b'leeve all de gold in de kentry could buy him; an' he knows it too, honey, and all de folks roun' hyar knows it. Why, he am worf a t'ousan' dollars a year to he marse, wheneber he sen' him to Memphis to work at he trade, which am a mason; but he am worf mo'n dat now to Mis' Lucy on dis bery place. An' dar am Hope de blacksmif', an' Bob de carpenter, each one of 'em worf a t'ousan' mo' apiece; leastways, dey usen to be befo' de wah. Yo' see, honey, Marse Jesse usen to hire out all he smart uns to larn trades; an' I'se hearn dat when he died he lef' deir freedom-papers wif Mis' Lucy, makin' 'em free atter she dies.”

"But, Aunty, such workmen as Lamb and Hope would make a great deal of money North as well as here-with this difference, however: they would there be worth that much in their own interest, and not solely in