“I confess I’ve my prejudices against it,” replied Clara. “But these charges of woman-whipping, you know, are Abolition lies.” “Yes, so Northern conservatives say; but we of the plantations know that nearly one half the whippings are of women.”[29] “Come! Sink the shop!” cried Laura. “Are we so dull we can’t find anything but our horrible _bête noir_ for our amusement? Let us have scandal, rather; nonsense, rather! Tell us a story, Mr. Kenrick.” “Well; once on a time—how would you like a ghost-story?” “Above all things. Charming! Only ghosts have grown so common, they no longer thrill us.” “Yes,” said Kenrick,—whose trivial thoughts ever seemed to call up his serious,—“yes; materialism has done a good work in its day and generation. It has taught us that the business of this world must go on just as if there were no ghosts. The supernatural is no longer an incubus and an oppression. Its phenomena no longer frighten and paralyze. Let us, then, since we are now freed from their terrors, welcome the great facts themselves as illumining and confirming all that there is in the past to comfort us with the assurance of continuous life issuing from seeming death.” “Dear Mr. Kenrick, is this a time for a lecture?” expostulated Laura. “Aren’t you bored, Perdita?” “On the contrary, I’m interested.” “What do you think of spiritualism, Miss Brown?” “I’ve witnessed none of the phenomena, but I don’t see why the testimony of these times, in regard to them, shouldn’t be taken as readily as that of centuries back.” “My father is a believer,” said Onslow; “and I have certainly seen some unaccountable things,—tables lifted into the air,—instruments of music floated about, and played on without visible touch,—human hands, palpable and warm, coming out from impalpable air:—all very queer and very inexplicable! But what do they prove? _Cui bono?_ What of it all?” “‘Nothing in it!’ as Sir Charles Coldstream says of the Vatican,” interposed Laura. “You demand the use of it all,—the _cui bono_,—do you?” retorted Kenrick. “Did it ever occur to you to make your own existence the subject of that terrible inquiry, _cui bono_?” “Certainly,” replied Onslow, laughing; “my _cui bono_ is to fight for the independence of the new Confederacy.” “And for the propagation of slavery, eh?” returned Kenrick. “I don’t see the _cui bono_. On the contrary, to my fallible vision, the world would be better off without than with you. But let us take a more extreme case. These youths—Tom, Dick, and Harry—who give their days and nights, not to the works of Addison, but to gambling, julep-drinking, and cigar-smoking,—who hate and shun all useful work,—and are no comfort to anybody,—only a shame and affliction to somebody,—can you explain to me the _cui bono_ of their corrupt and unprofitable lives?” “But how undignified in a spirit to push tables about and play on accordions!”