guished between the infirmities of the man and the inspirations of the saint. The hostler, Cato, was of sterner school, and not at all addicted to mysticism, or any kind of faith or devotion. He was the skeptic of the plantation, and might have astonished the author of the "Vestiges of Creation" by his constant reference of remarkable phenomena to natural causes. When Morocco, the coachman, would discourse of the falling stars as sure signs that the world was coming to an end, Cato would contemptuously shrug his shoulders, and say that it was "nothing but the brimstone in the air." The mystic seemed to have more followers than the skeptic, and when the Judge tried to entertain his guests by excavating an Indian mound upon his plantation, and evening shut in before the close of the labor, the sable excavators evidently inclined to Morocco's opinion that the wizard-hour had come, when the spirits of the dead Indians haunted their graves, and it was time to stop working there.
Many scenes stand associated with that kindly home. One fairy little form that graced the house and garden walks I can never forget; the bright child who cheered us by her naïve prattle and her sylph like dance. Her form lingered like a benediction upon the memory; and when word of her death came to me, years afterward, it was as if one of the lights of our own household had been quenched. When, in the March of 1837, I left Kentucky, and parted with so many cherished friends, of the whole circle none gave more brightness to the hope of a return, ere long, than the kindly group who dwelt under the tall trees of that plantation, and day by day received the good judge's blessing. My course was homeward to New-England by the circuitous Southern route; and in the five days after the departure, every variety of climate between winter and summer presented itself, until in New-Orleans I found fruits and flowers in abundance, under a sky as sultry as when our dog-star rages. In due season I returned to New-England to find its forests leafless, its gardens still waiting the footsteps of the golden summer that I had left at the South. Years passed, and with them passed many schemes for visiting old friends at the West and South. Only after seventeen years' absence the opportunity came, and I have just returned from Kentucky and the kindly city of L———, which I saw for the first time eighteen years ago.
