lity of soil unplanted and
unattended, there was the heliotrope, sweet-pea, and cup-rose,
transplanted from the island of Cuba. In her new home Clotelle found
herself saluted on all sides by the fragrance of the magnolia. When she
went with her young mistress to the Poplar Farm, as she sometimes did,
nature's wild luxuriance greeted her, wherever she cast her eyes.

The rustling citron, lime, and orange, shady mango with its fruits of
gold, and the palmetto's umbrageous beauty, all welcomed the child
of sorrow. When at the farm, Huckelby, the overseer, kept his eye on
Clotelle if within sight of her, for he knew she was a slave, and no
doubt hoped that she might some day fall into his hands. But she shrank
from his looks as she would have done from the charm of the rattlesnake.
The negro-driver always tried to insinuate himself into the good opinion
of Georgiana and the company that she brought. Knowing that Miss Wilson
at heart hated slavery, he was ever trying to show that the slaves under
his charge were happy and contented. One day, when Georgiana and some of
her Connecticut friends were there, the overseer called all the slaves
up to the "great house," and set some of the young ones to dancing.
After awhile whiskey was brought in and a dram given to each slave, in
return for which they were expected to give a toast, or sing a short
piece of his own composition; when it came to Jack's turn he said,--

"The big bee flies high, the little bee makes the honey: the black folks
make the cotton, and the white folks gets the money."

Of course, the overseer was not at all elated with the sentiment
contained in Jack's toast. Mr. Wilson had lately purchased a young man
to assist about the house and to act as coachman. This slave, whose
name was Jerome, was of pure African origin, was perfectly black, very
fine-looking, tall, slim, and erect as any one could possibly be. His
features were not bad, lips thin, nose prominent, hands and feet small.
His brilliant black eyes lighted up his whole countenance. His hair,
which was nearly straight, hung in curls upon his lofty brow. George
Combe or Fowler would have selected his head for a model. He was brave
and daring, strong in person, fiery in spirit, yet kind and true in his
affections, earnest in his doctrines. Clotelle had been at the parson's
but a few weeks when it was observed that a mutual feeling had grown
up between her and Jerome. As time rolled on, they became more and