which, like its antagonist, water, makes the most splendid of vassals, but the most awful of masters. "I will never smoke another pipe while I live," exclaimed Mr. Bellamy, with remorseful energy—and he never did; but after a while the blue smoke of his fragrant Havanas curled gracefully round his head. A spark from a cigar might kindle a conflagration, too; but it was not a pipe, and he had not violated his oath. It may be said by some, that Hannibal's selection of the place where he bore his rescued mistress, was the last the proverbially superstitious negro would have chosen. But though Hannibal had all the superstitions of his race, in this instance it was unaccompanied by fear. Had she been buried in some lone field, where the wild-brier was suffered to trail, and the reptile to crawl, he might have shunned it as haunted ground. But she slept so near his own cabin, where he could see her quiet bed, whenever he went out into the field in the morning, or returned to his evening rest. The hand of affection had made it so beautiful, and his mistress had talked to him so sweetly of Cora in heaven, Cora happy in her Saviour's pardoning love, and of the holy angels that guarded the place of her repose, that Hannibal grew to love it, above every spot of earth, and to believe he beheld with his actual glance those heavenly beings, keeping their nightly guard, whom his mistress only saw with the inward eye of faith. When he had recovered the use of his arm, and commenced his labours, with even more than his accustomed zeal, Mr. Bellamy renewed the offer which had been rejected on the night of the fire. "Your mistress gave you your freedom, Hannibal," said his master, "and I too repeated the gift with all my heart and soul. You refused to accept it then; but you were excited, and nad not had time to reflect on the value of what you rejected. Once more I make you the same offer. I break your bonds. Hannibal, you are henceforth and forever free." "And I must leave you, master?" "To remain among those who have been your fellow-slaves, would create discontent, perhaps, and ill-will. Yes; but you could go back to your native country-that is, the country of your fathers. I can send you to Liberia, where a colony of your own colour is established, and where you may, perchance, be happier than you have ever been with me." Hannibal spread both hands on the top of the shovel he was holding, and leaned his chin over on the firm platform, with his large, thoughtful eyes fixed steadily on the ground. He seemed to be revolving deeply the momentous question, so calmly and deliberately presented to him. At length, raising his head and drawing a deep inspiration, he said: "I been argufying the subject with myself, master, and I comes to this conclusion-I rather stay with you and mistress, jist as I be, and jist as you be, than go way off 'mong strange people, who know nothing and care nothing 'bout me, no more than the Iman in the moon. I've sometimes thought, when I been working and thinking, 'twould be mighty fine thing to be free, work jist when I pleased, and long as I pleased, and make a heap of money all for my own self; and if I'd had a hard master, as some niggers has, I'd a run off, and gone where the free folks live. But you allos been kind, and mistress too. When I sick you nuss me and pray for me. Doctor come and make me well. When I die, you bury me long side of Cora, and mistress and miss Katy come and cry over poor Hannibal, and say, 'Poor fellow-so sorry he done dead.' Way off yonder, they no care whether he live or die. No, master, I stay and work with you, Lord willing, long as I live." Hannibal held out his Herculean hand, and Mr. Bellamy grasped it warmly, cordially, gratefully. He felt that he had a friend, a sincere, honest, true-hearted friend, in the devoted African. "God bless you, Hannibal." "God bless you too, master." The general felt bound to his master ever after by a bond, stronger than that of slavery-a bond that never could be Loosened. CHAPTER X. "Come, share my all, my own true friend, I'll love and trust thee to the end, Whatever may betide."-BALLAD. BELLAMY Place rose from its ashes adorned with new beauty. It had lost, however, some of its depth of shade, for several of its noble hickories had bowed beneath the axe, after being scathed and blasted by the breath of the flame. The mansion was not completed internally, but a sufficient number of rooms was finished to furnish a pleasant and comfortable home for the lately exiled family. Man loves to build, and to enter in; he loves to plan, and to execute; to improve on the labours of the past, to see in the forms of beauty and fitness growing out under his directing hand, the refinement of his taste, and the progression of his understanding. While the old mansion remained strong, comfortable, and handsome, Mr. Bellamy had no plea for erecting a new one. But since necessity gave the command, he had found excitement and delight in superintending a work in which the classic taste of his friend Warland greatly assisted him. Another reflection added to the satisfaction of Mr. Bellamy. He had experienced a domestic misfortune; the hand of chastisement had been laid upon him, gently, it is true, but he was no longer that strange anomaly-a man all sunshine. The cloud had come, had passed; he felt as if he had a better right to the returning sunbeams. Ah, what right has man to any earthly possessions? By what tenure does he retain the gifts of God? "The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable to man's slender hold" on human joy or wealth. There is an old adage, (and there is truth in these timehonoured sayings,) that "misfortunes never come singly." And a great poet has said, that "woes tread on the heels of each other." There does seem to be a gregarious principle in THE LONG MOSS SPRING. 167 the whole family of misfortune, and where one sad member has found admission, one by one the pale sisterhood come gliding in. When Mr. Bellamy was in College, there was another young man, a southerner, and a Georgian, too, who entered at the same time; and during the four years of his college life, he was his classmate and friend. His name was Arnold. When the graduated students separated on the threshold of manhood, they pledged mutual faith and confidence, however widely their paths might be divided. Years passed, and Mr. Bellamy knew not the fortune of his friend, till he suddenly came in his neighbourhood,—that is, within twenty miles,-having purchased a plantation about that distance from Hickory Hill. Mr. Bellamy rejoiced in having an opportunity of renewing his youthful friendship, though he regretted to find that the world seemed to have had a hardening influence on his former frank and convivial companion. After a while, Arnold requested his friend to become his security for a debt of some magnitude. Unhesitatingly was the signature given. When again a similar request was made, he did not shrink from this act of confidence. Arnold was considered a wealthy man, and an honourable man, and Mr. Bellamy was the most generous and confiding of human beings. About a year before the burning of Bellamy Place, Arnold once more called. "This is the last time, Bellamy," said he, "that I am going to tax your friendship. I have an opportunity of making a splendid speculation, and it would be madness to slight it. In a few years I shall double all my property. The plantation and negroes I am now going to purchase belong to an estate contiguous to my own. If I do not buy immediately I shall be forestalled. I would not ask any one else to be my security; I know you consider it a compliment. I wish you would return it, Bellamy." Mr. Bellamy had thus gradually become security for debts amounting to, at least, a hundred thousand dollars. Still he had no misgivings. He could not distrust, the world smiled on Arnold, and his splendid speculations all seemed to prosper. Indeed, he had not the smallest doubt but that the first debts had been paid. The manner in which he had solicited the favour the last time, convinced him that his own mind was free from all pecuniary anxiety, and that his asking him at all was a mere matter of form. He had seen him once since the burning of his dwelling, and Arnold had expressed the most unbounded sympathy and regret, and urged him to come and remain with them till their house was completed. Mrs. Bellamy declined the invitation. She had never liked Arnold. She seemed to have an intuitive perception of his character, but as he was her husband's friend, his early college friend, she did not like to express her want of confidence in his moral worth. She could give no reasons for the conclusions to which she had arrived, but she felt it to be just. One morning, while King was brushing his master's coat, with his light and practised hand, he entertained him, as he often did, with the news of the day. "Master, you 'member Mr. Arnold, that used to come here and laugh so much? They say he gone off, and all his niggers. Nobody knows where." Mr. Bellamy started. "Ah! who told you so?" "One of Doctor Manning's coloured folks, here, last night, and told me all about it. He says he owed his master, and he no quality folks, to run off without paying." "Pshaw, King; don't repeat such nonsense. He may have gone a journey, but as for running away, it is out of the question. Mr. Arnold-impossible; I never heard of such a thing; impossible !" "It's sure enough true, master. Doctor Manning knows. He heard of it, and went there to see. The house all shut up, and not a nigger to be seen, black or white, about the lot. I thought you'd like to hear it, master," continued King, flourishEng his brush with fresh vigour. He felt the consequence of having communicated intelligence, that certainly agitated his master. |