consciousness, broadening the scope and deepening the strength of his
affections. He did not love Olivia the less, for maternity had crowned
her wifehood with an added glory; but side by side with this old and
tried attachment was a new passion, stirring up dormant hopes and
kindling new desires. His regret had been more than personal at the
thought that with himself an old name should be lost to the State; and
now all the old pride of race, class, and family welled up anew, and
swelled and quickened the current of his life.

Upon the major's first appearance at the office, which took place the
second day after the child's birth, he opened a box of cigars in honor
of the event. The word had been passed around by Ellis, and the whole
office force, including reporters, compositors, and pressmen, came in to
congratulate the major and smoke at his expense. Even Jerry, the colored
porter,--Mammy Jane's grandson and therefore a protégé of the
family,--presented himself among the rest, or rather, after the rest.
The major shook hands with them all except Jerry, though he acknowledged
the porter's congratulations with a kind nod and put a good cigar into
his outstretched palm, for which Jerry thanked him without manifesting
any consciousness of the omission. He was quite aware that under
ordinary circumstances the major would not have shaken hands with white
workingmen, to say nothing of negroes; and he had merely hoped that in
the pleasurable distraction of the moment the major might also overlook
the distinction of color. Jerry's hope had been shattered, though not
rudely; for the major had spoken pleasantly and the cigar was a good
one. Mr. Ellis had once shaken hands with Jerry,--but Mr. Ellis was a
young man, whose Quaker father had never owned any slaves, and he could
not be expected to have as much pride as one of the best "quality,"
whose families had possessed land and negroes for time out of mind. On
the whole, Jerry preferred the careless nod of the editor-in-chief to