CHAPTER XIV. "O could I worship aught beneath the skies, With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair, COWPER. ON reaching Boston, Mr. Merton sought the captain mentioned by his aunt, and to his charge consigned the young traveller. We pass over Eleanor's voyage, the storms and sea-sickness of which she bore with her usual heroism, and meet her, as, after her ocean and river experience, she was walking with the old sea-captain amid the magnificent scenery leading to her aunt's villa. It was not far from the Mississippi; and as the towering trees, luxuriant foliage, and rank, brilliant flowers met her vision, and were contrasted in her mind with the comparatively dwarfish vegetation of New England, she almost wondered whether she were actually in the same country. Slaves were lolling in the fields, fishing in the streams, or pretending to engage in some manual occupation. The captain nodded familiarly as he encountered the poor creatures, who grinned, bowed low, and "hoped massa was well." Eleanor scarcely spoke to her companion, or listened to his running comments upon her aunt's extensive establishment. "Don't be afraid of them," he said, as Eleanor gazed at the negroes. She smiled, and replied, "If they were mine, I should indeed be afraid of them." "Why?" "Because if I had deprived people of freedom I should expect them to seek revenge. I should think that my life were in constant peril." 66 Why, miss, the poor creatures never had what you call freedom; they don't know what it is. All the freedom that they care for is lounging, and eating and drinking. What do you suppose those poor fellows would do if they were emancipated? They could not maintain themselves." "That only proves the evil of slavery, for they are thus deprived of their own powers and energies. Poor degraded creatures! If they are reduced to the level of children, who must be provided for by their superiors, have we not a conclusive argument against slavery?" "Well, miss, here we are; we shall soon see your aunt. Now, I advise you to be careful and avoid saying anything about slavery while you are in this part of the country. Of course you have northern feelings and principles, but it will not be worth while to lose your life for their sake." Eleanor thanked the blunt but kind-hearted captain, while she smiled at the idea of falling a victim to her anti-slavery principles. She was soon ushered into Miss Merton's presence. The old lady was very tall and strong in appearance, although now wasted by disease. The expression of despotism upon her countenance was in admirable harmony with her lofty brow, flashing eyes and aquiline nose. She was sitting in a large easy chair; her favorite slave, Barbara, was by her side, wielding a huge fan, with which she protected her mistress from the heat and the mosquitoes. She addressed the captain familiarly, as if he were an old and valued friend, received Eleanor with a scrutinizing look, but was apparently well satisfied with the result of her investigations. She graciously bade her welcome, and calling Jane and Clara, two handsome young negro girls, told them to regard Eleanor as their especial charge, and implicitly to obey all her commands. She concluded the delivery of her mandates, which were pronounced with a most Zenobian air, by saying— "Now conduct her to the terrace-chamber, and give her what aid she may require.” Eleanor with difficulty restrained the risibility of her muscles, as she withdrew with her sable attendants, and wondered how two girls could find employment in fulfilling her behests. She found them lively and communicative, eager to gratify her curiosity, and to give a deal of information without being questioned. Finding Eleanor quite affable, they began, cautiously at first, to propose sundry queries concerning the far North, such as, "How do girls earn money in New England?" "Is the winter there very cold?" The next day Eleanor was again admitted to her aunt's presence. The lady was evidently quite feeble; her countenance was sallow and ghastly. "Do you remember my visit, Eleanor, when you were a little child?" "Indeed I do, dear aunt, for the book which you gave me at parting was almost the only present which I ever received." Miss Merton smiled. "Do you know, Eleanor, that I have gained a knowledge of your whole history?" "How could you, aunt? You have never corresponded with our family." "Not I; the head of it never ranked very high in my favor. Your father, my nephew and sole relative, was left an orphan at an early age; he was a spoiled, headstrong boy of twelve when I persuaded my father to send for him. Although a northern child, he was more imperious and tyrannical than many a southern lad who has had dominion over a dozen little slaves. Our negroes had never caused us any trouble; in mercy to them we again sent him to the North, and defrayed the expense of his education. He became a merchant, and married an heiress; communication between us gradually ceased. About eighteen years since, feeling inclined to travel, I resolved to go to the North, and visit my nephew; I felt desirous of seeing whether the man fulfilled the promise of the child. I need not describe the impression which I received. I had some idea of bringing you home." Eleanor looked up with a grateful smile. "But I had so long lived in solitary state, that I could not bear the incumbrance of a child. I was deeply interested in your case; I saw that you resembled myself in the days of my childhood; you were a little visionary." "I a visionary, aunt?" "Yes, and you retain the same character; are you not always scheming, and revolving in your mind projects for the future?" 66 "I am a dreamer, aunt." "Such was I in youth; such are all the imag |