ne was more welcome at the
houses of the good people of Warmouth than Aunt Comfort.

But whilst rendering her all due praise for her domestic acquirements,
justice compels us to remark that Aunt Comfort was not a literary
character. She could get up a shirt to perfection, and made irreproachable
chowder, but she was not a woman of letters. In fact, she had arrived at
maturity at a time when negroes and books seldom came in familiar contact;
and if the truth must be told, she cared very little about the latter. "But
jist to 'blege Miss Cass," she consented to attend her class, averring as
she did so, "that she didn't 'spect she was gwine to larn nothin' when she
got thar."

Miss Cass, however, was of the contrary opinion, and anticipated that after
a few Sabbaths, Aunt Comfort would prove to be quite a literary phenomenon.
The first time their class assembled the white children well-nigh
dislocated their necks, in their endeavours to catch glimpses of the
coloured scholars, who were seated on a backless bench, in an obscure
corner of the room.

Prominent amongst them shone Aunt Comfort, who in honour of this
extraordinary occasion, had retrimmed her cap, which was resplendent with
bows of red ribbon as large as peonies. She had a Sunday-school primer in
her hand, and was repeating the letters with the utmost regularity, as
Miss Cass pronounced them. They got on charmingly until after crossing over
the letter O, as a matter of course they came to P and Q.

"Look here," said Aunt Comfort, with a look of profound erudition, "here's
anoder O. What's de use of having two of 'em?"

"No, no, Aunt Comfort--that's Q--the letter Q."

"Umph," grunted the old woman, incredulously, "what's de use of saying
dat's a Q, when you jest said not a minute ago 'twas O?"

"This is not the same," rejoined the teacher, "don't you see the little
tail at the bottom of it?"

Aunt Comfort took off her silver spectacles, and gave the glasses of them a
furious rub, then after essaying another look, exclaimed, "What, you don't
mean dat 'ere little speck down at the bottom of it, does yer?"

"Yes, Aunt Comfort, that little speck, as you call it, makes all the
difference--it makes O into Q."

"Oh, go 'way, child," said she, indignantly, "you isn't gwine to fool me
dat ar way. I knows you of old, honey--you's up to dese 'ere things--you
know you allus was mighty 'chevious, and I isn't gwine to b'lieve dat dat
ar little speck makes all the diff