That elegant drawing-room which you may recollect communicated with Miss Sutherland’s beautiful boudoir—how changed since he saw it last! Desolation was creeping even into the sanctuary of the house. He had scarcely time to note this by the sickly light of the moon through the open shutters, when a loud, familiar voice in the hall arrested his attention— “Where is he? In the drawing-room? And no light there? Get a candle, directly, you scoundrel! and light me in there! I shall break my shins over these empty baskets and upset stools—do you hear?” And soon after entered a slovenly man-servant bringing a guttering tallow candle, stuck in a mildewed silver candlestick, which he sat upon a dusty and spotted marble pier-table. He was followed closely by Mr. Billy Bolling, who, with outstretched arms, and almost shouting his welcome, ran to Mark, and clasped him around the body, exclaiming, sobbingly— “My dear—dear—bo-oy! I’m so glad to see you! And how are you? And how did you leave little Rose? And when did you get here? And nobody to welcome you, but that brandy-swilling beast in there!——Begone, you black villain, you! Who gave _you_ leave to stand there eavesdropping, eh?——That’s a field nigger, Mark! Every decent house servant, man and maid, that we had in the world, has fallen under the hammer long ago—all, except Oriole, whom that fellow yonder bought in for his own purposes. Ah! Mark, times are changed, my boy, since you were here! Heigh-ho! ‘_Sic transit gloria mundi_,’” said Mr. Bolling, sinking into a threadbare velvet chair, and wiping his rosy face—as fat, fair, and rosy as ever. “_You_ are not changed, uncle, except that you appear to be in even finer health than ever.” “_Me!_ Why, I’m dying of mortification and grief! _I am._ I have got an organic disease of the heart. _Yes, of the heart._ The string the most strained the soonest snaps! Heigh-ho!” “Why, I declare, Uncle Billy, I never in all my life saw a man in such perfect health. You are fatter and rosier than ever!” “Fatter and rosier! Lord help your perspicasity! It’s—it’s _dropsy_, and—and—_fever!_ That’s what it is—this fat and rosy.” “Reassure yourself, Uncle Billy, and tell me how it fares with all our friends.” “All going to the dogs—all going to the dogs—except them that are going to the demon!” “Nay, Uncle Billy, I hope not—any more than you are going into a consumption. How are they all at Silentshades? How is my dear mother?” “Silentshades! Mother! Heigh! didn’t you know they had sold Silentshades long ago, and moved to Texas?” exclaimed Uncle Billy, with a look of unbounded astonishment. “I knew nothing about it. This is the first word I have heard of it! What on earth could have tempted my mother to sell her home and move away from all her friends?”