“O it’s some of father’s people from the wharf,” said Horatio. “Better show him up into the library, and not have him sitting there like a scare-crow.” “Yes, Michael, show him up into the library,” said Mrs. Atkins, “and tell him Mr. Atkins will be in soon. If it’s business, your father will want to see him, for he always sees people that come on business,” she added, in a lower tone, as Michael slid out of the room. They were quiet again for a minute, while the heavy boots of the visitor were heard thumping up over the carpeted stairs into distance. “Be Jove!” said Thomas, with a fierce air, “that chap goes up like one of Dan Rice’s elephants, be Jove! Now then, where’s our Southern friend? That’s the next question.” “Mamma,” said Miss Atkins, in a soft, debilitated voice, with a slight lisp, “do you know if he’s married?” “No, Caroline, I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Atkins, languidly. “But I think he’s not, or he would have brought his wife with him. These Southern gentlemen are so gallant, you know, and they always bring their wives with them.” “Ecod, Carry,” blurted Thomas, while Caroline was taking the flattering unction of her mother’s astonishing answer to her soul—“if he’s got a wife already, it’s all up with your chance, me girl. Our Southern friends are the deuce and all among the women, but Louisiana ain’t Turkey, you know.” “Now, Tom, I should be ashamed,” exclaimed Julia, bridling. “One would think you were never brought up in good society, and I should be ashamed, I should.” “Oh, you cork up, Jule,” was the fine youth’s exquisite reply. “You girls allow yourselves too much tongue, be Jove!” “Hush, Julia,” interposed Mrs. Atkins, with soft authority, stopping the young lady’s angry retort. “Silence, this instant. You musn’t speak to your brother that way. It’s low, my child—very low, and you must show your breeding.” Julia was silent, but glared spitefully at Thomas. It is noticeable that Mrs. Atkins never reproved her boys. Her girls she kept a check-rein upon constantly. “Mamma,” continued Caroline, perfectly unmoved by her brother’s late remarks, “does he own a very large plantation, and how many negroes has he, mamma?” “Indeed, I can’t tell you, Caroline,” replied Mrs. Atkins, blandly. “I think he must have a great many of the horrid creatures, for those Southern gentlemen all have a great many, and numbers of the ungrateful things run away, which was the reason why the Fugitive Slave Bill was passed, you know.” “Yes, and I wish the South would just march up back here on Nigger Hill, and lug off the whole pack of them, men, women, and children, for they’re a disgrace to the neighborhood, and it’s a burning shame to have them staying away from their masters,” growled Horatio, looking up from the gentle and human pages of Charles Lamb.