he country, it could not have
been chosen on account of any fitness in the term.

In territorial extent, in the number of slaves employed, and in the
quantity of sugar annually produced, the plantation of Colonel Dumont
was one of the most important on the river. This fact, added to the
possession of immense estates in the city, rendered its owner a man of
no small consequence in the vicinity. But, more than this, Colonel
Dumont was beloved and respected for his many good qualities of mind and
heart. In the late war with England he had served in the army, and as an
officer had won an enviable distinction by his courage and his talents.
Coming unexpectedly into the possession of this estate by the death of
an uncle, he retired, at the close of the war, from a profession to
which a genuine patriotism alone had invited him, and devoted himself
entirely to the improvement of his lands.

Colonel Dumont had been married; but, after a single year of happiness
in the conjugal state, his wife died, leaving him an only daughter in
remembrance of her. This child, at the opening of the tale, was within
a few years of maturity,--the image of her father's only love,--not less
fair, not less pure and good.

Emily Dumont was a beautiful girl, fair as the lily, gentle as the dove.
She was of a medium height, and of slender and graceful form. Her step
was light and elastic, and, if there was any poetry in her light,
elegant form, there was more in her easy, fairy-like motion. Her
features were as daintily moulded as her form. Her eye was light blue,
soft, and beautifully expressive of a pure heart. She was a little paler
than the connoisseur in female loveliness would demand in his ideal, and
her expression was a little inclined to sadness; but it was a
sadness--or rather a sweet dignity--more winning than repulsive to the
gazer.

Emily Dumont, highly as fortune had favored her in the bestowal of
worldly goods and personal beauty, was still more blessed in the gifts
of an expansive mind and a gentle heart; and mind and heart had both
been faithfully cultivated by the assiduous care of her devoted father.
She was a true woman,--not a mere plaything to while away a dandy's idle
hours, not a piece of tinsel to adorn the parlor of a nabob, but a true
woman,--one fitted by nature and education to adorn all the varied
scenes of life. Although brought up in unclouded prosperity, amid luxury
and affluence, she was still prepared for the day