“Confound the cold!” said my grandfather, thrusting his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, “how it makes one’s eyes run! William, my boy,” turning to me, “fetch that pocket handkerchief off the sofa.” I immediately obeyed, and felt as if the cold had affected me too; for I employed my grandfather’s handkerchief two or three times to wipe the trickling drops from my face, before I delivered it into his hands. At this moment the footman opened the door to say that the broth was ready, but stood transfixed with amazement at seeing the half-naked black at his master’s feet. “Go, Davy,” said my grandfather, “go, and get some food; and Robert, tell the cook to have a warm bath ready, and the housemaid must run a pan of coals over the little bed in the blue room, and put some extra blankets on. You can sleep without a night-cap, I dare say, Davy; and, Robert, tell the butler to give you a bottle of Madeira; simmer half of it over the fire, and when heated beat up an egg in it,--it will be better than cold sangaree, Davy; and d’ye hear, Robert, grate a little nutmeg on the top, and carry it to the pale face as soon as he gets into bed. There, go along, Davy, go along!” and the gratified negro left the room with unfeigned ejaculations of “Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!” As soon as the door was closed, and I was once more seated on my grandfather’s knee, he commenced his usual practice of holding converse with himself. “What can have brought him here?” said he; “I gave him his freedom and a piece of land to cultivate. There was a pretty hut upon it, too, with a double row of cocoa-nut trees in front, and a garden of plantains behind, and a nice plot of guinea grass for a cow, and another of buckwheat:--what has become of it all, I wonder? Bless me, how time flies! It seems but the other day that I saved the fellow from a couple of bullets, and he repaid the debt by rescuing my Betsy--ah, poor dear! She was your mother, William, and he snatched her from a dreadful and terrific fate. How these things crowd upon my mind! The earthquake shook every building to its foundation, the ground yawned in horrible deformity, and your poor mother--we can see her grave-stone from the drawing-room window, you know, for she died since we have been here, and left her old father’s heart a dreary blank. Yet not so, either, my child,” pressing me to his breast and laying his hoary head on mine, “not so, either; for she bequeathed you to my guardian care, and you are now the solace of my gray hairs.” “But the earthquake, grandpapa,” said I, “the earthquake.”