being tenaciously kept up among negroes-were, of course, recipients of the choicest delicacies the plantation afforded, not excepting fresh eggs poached, and possum.  Bradshaw is particularly fond of ghost stories; and as old Maum Nancy deals largely in this article, as well as being the best believer in spectres on the plantation, he concludes to sup with her, in her hospitable cabin, when she will relate all that she has seen since she last saw him.  Maum Nancy is as black as a crow, has a rich store of tales on hand; she will please the old man, more particularly when she tells him about the very bad ghost seen about the mansion for more than “three weeks of nights.”  He has got two sarpents’ heads; Maum Nancy declares the statement true, for uncle Enoch “seen him,"-he is a grey ghost-and might a’ knocked him over with his wattle, only he darn’t lest he should reek his vengeance at some unexpected moment.  And then he was the very worst kind of a ghost, for he stole all the chickens, not even leaving the feathers.  They said he had a tail like the thing Mas’r Sluck whipped his “niggers” with.  Bradshaw sups of Maum Nancy’s best, listening to her stories with great concern.  The story of the ghost with two heads startles him; his black picture, frame fills with excitement; he has never before heard that ghosts were guilty of predatory crimes.  So enchained and excited is he with her story, that the party at the house having finished supper, have made preparations to leave for the city.  A finger touches him on the shoulder; he startles, recognises Daddy, who is in search of him, and suddenly becomes conscious that his absence has caused great anxiety.  Daddy has found him quietly eating Maum Nancy’s cakes, while intently listening to the story about the ghost “what” steals all her chickens.  He is quite unconcerned about Mas’r, Missus-anything but the ghost!  He catches his cap, gives Nancy’s hand a warm shake, says God bless ’em, hastens for the mansion, finds the carriage waiting at the door, for Mas’r and Missus, who take their seats as he arrives.  Bradshaw mounts the box again, and away it rolls down the oak avenue.  The happy party leave for home; the plantation people are turned out en masse to say good bye to Missus, and “hope Mas’r get safe home.”  Their greetings sound forth as the carriage disappears in the distance; fainter and fainter the good wish falls upon their ears.  They are well on the road; Mr. Scranton, who sits at the side of the good lady, on the back seat, has not deigned to say a word:  the evening grows dark, and his mind seems correspondingly gloomy.  “I tell you, I feel so pleased, so overjoyed, and so happy when I visit the plantation, to see those poor creatures so happy and so full of fondness!  It’s worth all the riches to know that one is loved by the poor.  Did you ever see such happiness, Mr. Scranton?” Mrs. Rosebrook enquires, coolly.

“It requires a great deal of thinking, a great deal of caution, a great deal of political foresight, before answering such questions.  You’ll pardon me, my dear madam, I know you will; I always speak square on questions, you know.  It’s hard to reconcile oneself to niggers being free.”