wers to the sun; while the gay humming-bird,
with her pretty dress of green and gold, sucked their honey with her
long bill, and fluttered her little wings in the mild air so swiftly
that you could scarcely see them. Then there was that rude but
comfortable old porch, destined to as many uses as the chest of drawers
in the tavern of the Deserted Village. Protected by its sheltering roof
alike from rain and sunshine, it was often used, in the mild summer
weather, as a favorite sitting-room, and sometimes, too, converted into
a dining-room. There, too, might be seen, suspended from the nails and
wooden pegs driven into the locust pillars, long specimen ears of corn,
samples of grain, and different garden seeds tied up in little linen
bags; and in the strange medley, Mrs. Temple had hung some long strings
of red pepper-pods, sovereign specifics in cases of sore throat, but
which seemed, among so many objects of greater interest, to blush with
shame at their own inferiority. It was not yet the season when the broad
tobacco leaf, brown with the fire of curing, was exhibited, and formed
the chief staple of conversation, as well as of trade, with the old
crony planters. The wonderful plant was just beginning to suffer from
the encroaches of the worm, the only animal, save man, which is
life-proof against the deadly nicotine of this cultivated poison.

In this old porch the little family was gathered on a beautiful evening
towards the close of June, in the year 1676. The sun, not yet set, was
just sinking below the tall forest, and was dancing and flickering
gleefully among the trees, as if rejoicing that he had nearly finished
his long day's journey. Colonel Temple had just returned from his
evening survey of his broad fields of tobacco, and was quietly smoking
his pipe, for, like most of his fellow colonists, he was an inveterate
consumer of this home production. His good wife was engaged in knitting,
an occupation now almost fallen into disuse among ladies, but then a
very essential part of the duties of a large plantation. Virginia, with
her tambour frame before her, but which she had neglected in the reverie
of her own thoughts, was caressing the noble St. Bernard dog which lay
at her feet, who returned her caresses by a grateful whine, as he licked
the small white hand of his mistress. This dog, a fine specimen of that
noble breed, was a present from Hansford, and for that reason, as well
as for his intrinsic merits, was h