in not getting my mother’s society at Clifton, by marrying a fourth wife.” “I am impressed with the idea that your mother is a very proud woman, Clifton!” said Frank, taking advantage of Captain Clifton’s first thoughtful pause. “No, no,” he answered, slowly, as in half reverie, “no—she is not what the world calls proud—she is no conservator of rank, as I am. She is the only _true_ republican I know in this whole Republic. Sprung, herself, from an ancient, noble, and haughty race, she yet honors talent and virtue, when met with in the lowest ranks, as much—nay, I verily believe, _more_, than when found in the highest circles, where it is natural they should be more frequently seen. ——“But here we are, and you shall judge for yourself,” concluded Captain Clifton, as he opened a gate admitting them into a shady yard, in the midst of which stood the house. They alighted at the gate and gave their horses into the charge of a negro boy, and walked on to the house. It was a plain oblong stone building, of two stories, with a deep, shady piazza, running the whole length of the front. It was divided through the centre by a wide passage way, the front and back doors of which were both open and drawing a fine draft of air, and from which opened four large airy rooms, two on a side. They stepped up on the piazza, and were met at the front door by a neatly clothed negro girl, who admitted them into the passage, and opening a door on the right hand next the front, showed them into a cool, breezy, but plainly furnished parlor; the walls and ceiling being simply white-washed, and the floor bare but highly polished with wax, as was the summer custom of the country at that day. The fire-place was open and filled with green bushes. The window-curtains, and the lounge, and easy-chair covers, were all of chintz. There was a reality of substantial and permanent comfort about the place, that Frank thought he had never seen elsewhere. And when Clifton invited him to be seated, and he rested himself in one of those cool arm-chairs in that shaded room, he declared that a feeling of at-home-ativeness came over him, such as he had never experienced since he left his own mother’s house, and never hoped to feel again until he should have a house of his own. The negro girl whom Clifton addressed as Hennie, then left the room to summon her mistress, and shortly after the lady of the house entered.