and, I must add, that my inclination runs in the same
direction."

"Look here, Clarence, my boy," here interrupted uncle John; "you can't
expect to live there as you do here; the prejudice against persons of
colour is much stronger in some of the Northern cities than it is amongst
us Southerners. You can't live with Emily there as you do here; you will be
in everybody's mouth. You won't be able to sustain your old connections
with your Northern friends--you'll find that they will cut you dead."

"I've looked at it well, uncle John. I've counted the cost, and have made
up my mind to meet with many disagreeable things. If my old friends choose
to turn their backs on me because my wife happens to belong to an oppressed
race, that is not my fault. I don't feel that I have committed any sin by
making the choice I have; and so their conduct or opinions won't influence
my happiness much."

"Listen to me, Clary, for a moment," rejoined the old gentleman. "As long
as you live here in Georgia you can sustain your present connection with
impunity, and if you should ever want to break it off, you could do so by
sending her and the children away; it would be no more than other men have
done, and are doing every day. But go to the North, and it becomes a
different thing. Your connection with Emily will inevitably become a matter
of notoriety, and then you would find it difficult to shake her off there,
as you could here, in case you wanted to marry another woman."

"Oh, uncle, uncle, how can you speak so indifferently about my doing such
an ungenerous act; to characterize it in the very mildest terms. I feel
that Emily is as much my wife in the eyes of God, as if a thousand
clergymen had united us. It is not my fault that we are not legally
married; it is the fault of the laws. My father did not feel that my mother
was any more his wife, than I do that Emily is mine."

"Hush, hush; that is all nonsense, boy; and, besides, it is paying a very
poor compliment to your mother to rank her with your mulatto mistress. I
like Emily very much; she has been kind, affectionate, and faithful to you.
Yet I really can't see the propriety of your making a shipwreck of your
whole life on her account. Now," continued uncle John, with great
earnestness, "I hoped for better things from you. You have talents and
wealth; you belong to one of the oldest and best families in the State.
When I am gone, you will be the last of our name; I had hoped that y