With his usual generosity, my husband made all of the negroes presents in honor of his marriage; offering for Bill’s acceptance a silver watch, which he had purchased for him in Charleston. Taking the timepiece in his hand, Bill examined it attentively, held it to his ear, put it in his pocket, looked at the key, and then handing it back to his master, said, “no ‘fence, mars’r, but if you please thar’s somethin’ I’d like better.” “Very well, what is it?” asked Richard; and Bill answered, “Why, you see, Mars’r, how dem hosses, Fred and Ferd, has never had proper ’spect showed to thar memory. To be sure, I wars a weed on my hat and I ’fused to gine in de dance t’odder night, but that’s nothin’. Ferd had too high blood in him to keer for an ole nigger’s mournin’, and what I wants is for you _to paint de stable black_, and that I reckons will show ’em proper ’tention. What do you say, Miss Rose?” As the horses had fallen in my cause, I readily espoused Bill’s project for the novelty of the thing, if nothing else; and should any one of my readers visit Sunny Bank, which I wish they may, they will see the stables wearing a hue as dark as Bill himself, who has now a pair of iron-greys, which he calls “Richard” and “Rose,” notwithstanding that both are of the masculine gender. These, particularly the latter, are the pride of Bill’s heart, and when the year of mourning has expired, he intends, he says, to have the stable painted “yaller,” that being the color of a young girl who has lately made sad havoc with his affections! Here I may as well say that Mrs. Lansing managed until she procured the desired piano, which came in company with another, a much nicer one, on the front of which was inscribed “Rose, from her husband.” In return for her brother’s gift, Mrs. Lansing made a large party, where I had an opportunity of wearing my bridal dress, together with a costly set of diamonds, which I found upon my table, when I went up to make my toilet. It did not need the simple word “Richard” on a bit of paper to tell me whence they came, and the tears started to my eyes when I thought how kind he was, while I was conscious of a glow of pride, when I saw _little Rosa Lee_ flashing with diamonds, which encircled her arms and neck, and shone among the curls of her hair. Bertha, my tasteful waiting maid—for I am getting quite southernized—pronounced me beautiful, as she gave the finishing stroke to my toilet, while one, for whose judgment I cared still more, and who all the time had been conning his evening paper, apparently oblivious to the presence of white satin, point lace, orange flowers and diamonds, responded, “Yes, Bertha, your young mistress _is_ beautiful.”