How miserable is the man without a spark of generosity in his soul;
and how much more miserable the man who will not return good for
good's worth! To the negro, kindness is a mite inspiring the
impulses of a simple heart, and bringing forth great good.

Let us again beg the reader to return with us to those conspicuous
cottages near the court-yard, and in which we will find several of
our characters.

We cross the threshold of one, and are accosted by a female who,
speaking in musical accents, invites us to sit down. She has none of
Afric's blood in her veins;-no! her features are beautifully olive,
and the intonation of her voice discovers a different origin. Her
figure is tall and well-formed; she has delicately-formed hands and
feet, long, tapering fingers, well-rounded limbs, and an oval face,
shaded with melancholy. How reserved she seems, and yet how quickly
she moves her graceful figure! Now she places her right hand upon
her finely-arched forehead, parts the heavy folds of glossy hair
that hang carelessly over her brown shoulders, and with a
half-suppressed smile answers our salutation. We are welcome in her
humble cabin; but her dark, languishing eyes, so full of intensity,
watch us with irresistible suspicion. They are the symbols of her
inward soul; they speak through that melancholy pervading her
countenance! The deep purple of her cheek is softened by it, while
it adds to her face that calm beauty which moves the gentle of our
nature. How like a woman born to fill a loftier sphere than that to
which a cruel law subjects her, she seems!

Neither a field nor a house servant, the uninitiated may be at a
loss to know what sphere on the plantation is her's? She is the