The man-servant placed an arm chair for Mr. Sutherland. And when the latter was fairly seated, the old gentleman resumed his own seat, and inquired whether his guest had supped. Being answered in the affirmative, he nevertheless ordered refreshments to be served there. A stand, with wine, sandwiches, cake, and fruit was placed between them; and while they discussed these, the old gentleman, in an indifferent sort of manner, said— “By the way, Mr. Sutherland, have you seen Monday’s paper, with the debate on the tariff? Here it is; take it—look over it. Never mind me, I would prefer that you should see it now. If any thing _strikes_ you, just read it aloud, will you?” Mark took the paper, but found the “debate” to be all on one side, and in the mouth of one individual, to wit—the Hon. St. Gerald Ashley, of Virginia. He ran his eye over it—the old man fingering cheese and crackers, and pretending to eat, not to interrupt him. “Do you wish me to read this _debate_ aloud, sir?” asked Mark, benevolently inclined to indulge the aged father’s pride. “Yes, yes,” said the old man, smiling, nodding, and crumbling soda crackers; “yes, if it will not tire you.” “Oh, by no means,” answered Mark; and forthwith began. The celebrated speech was, indeed, a master-piece of legislative oratory; and Mark Sutherland was an admirable elocutionist. He read, became deeply interested and absorbed, and before long was betrayed, by the old man’s enthusiasm and his sympathy, into declamation, interrupted now and then by Colonel Ashley’s exclaiming, “_That’s_ it! hear, hear. _That must_ have brought down the House! I wonder what the Democrats will find to say to _that_!” Finally, laughing at the fever into which he had worked himself and his hearer, Mark finished the speech, and laid down the paper. It was time—it was past eleven o’clock—late hours for country people, and far too late for the aged and infirm. “Thank you, sir. Thank you. You have given me a treat. It was as good as if I had heard it spoken,” said the old man, flushing with pride and pleasure. Soon after, he rang for night lamps, and a servant to show Mr. Sutherland to his room. Early next morning, Mark Sutherland arose and left his bed-room. The family were not yet stirring; none but the house servants were about. And with the restlessness of a heart ill at ease, he walked out upon the piazza, to find diversion from the bitter retrospections of the past, and gloomy forebodings of the future, in the novel aspect of the country around him. To one used to the undulating, luxurious beauty of southern scenery, there was something startling and inspiring in the abrupt, stern, rugged, yet vigorous and productive aspect of this mountainous region.