When they came in the house, the Colonel was come, and in a gale of good humor. He had, however, great fault to find with Pembroke’s course. He was too conciliatory--too willing to forget the blood shed upon the battlefields of Virginia--and then and there they entered upon a political discussion which made the old-fashioned mirrors on the drawing-room wall ring again. The Colonel brought down his fist and raved. “By Jove, sir, this is intolerable. My black boy, Petrarch (Petrarch continued to be the Colonel’s boy), knows more about the subject than you do; and he’s the biggest fool I ever saw. I’ll be hanged, sir, if your statements are worth refuting.” Pembroke withstood the sortie gallantly, and at intervals charged the enemy in splendid style, reducing the Colonel to oaths and splutterings and despair. Olivia sat in a low chair by the round mahogany table, on which the old-fashioned lamp burned softly, casting mellow lights and shades upon her graceful figure. Occasionally a faint smile played about her eyes--whereat Pembroke seemed to gain inspiration, and attacked the Colonel’s theories with renewed vigor. Upon the Colonel’s invitation he remained all night--the common mode of social intercourse in Virginia. Next morning, the Colonel was ripe for argument. Pembroke, however, to his immense disgust, refused to enter the lists and spent the morning dawdling with Olivia in the garden. About noon, the Colonel, in a rage sent Petrarch after the renegades. Three times did he return without them. The fourth time Petrarch’s patience was exhausted. “Marse French, fur de Lord’s sake come ter ole marse. He done got de sugar in de glasses, an’ de ice cracked up, an’ he fyarly stan’nin’ on he hade. He got out all dem ole yaller _Richmun Exameters_, printed fo’ de wah, an’ he say he gwi’ bust yo’ argifyins’ all ter pieces. He mighty obstroporous, an’ you better come along.” To this pathetic appeal Pembroke at last responded. Olivia, with downcast face, walked by his side. The Colonel was very much worked up and “mighty discontemptuous,” as Petrarch expressed it. “This is the third time, sir--” he began to roar. “Never mind, Colonel,” replied Pembroke, laughing. “We will have a plenty of time to quarrel. Olivia has promised to marry me in the summer.” “By Gad, sir--” “Have a cigar. Now, where did we leave off last night? Oh, the Virginia Resolutions of 1798.” D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. _ON THE PLANTATION._ By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, author of “Uncle Remus.” With 23 Illustrations by E. W. KEMBLE, and Portrait of the Author. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.