MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“Susan is h strange woman,” said Min¬ 
nie. 
“ And ns Rood and beautiful as she is 
strange. I love her, in spite of myself, slave 
that she is! You, Minnie, must think it a 
horrible institution that places such women 
in such positions.” , , 
“ i never think, Maggie, when it s incon¬ 
venient,” replied Minnie, demurely. 
“ Well, it's mighty inconvenient, some¬ 
times, and I congratulate you on your posi¬ 
tion ” said Gkcihoi:, who had joined Ihe 
croup inst in time to hear the last sentence. 
“(if course, slavery is the thing; I don t 
quest ion that. Men wiser than I ever Bhall 
be have settled the matter, and it nm t for 
me to dig up foundations; hut when I see 
Susan, and remember that she is a slave, as 
Miss Taylor says, 1 find it very Incon¬ 
venient to think.” , , , 
“Well,” said Minnie, “we had better 
finish the decorat ions, and liberate the slaves 
afterwards. I don’t believe thty would ac¬ 
cept th<*ir freedom before the holidays.’ 
“ Always practical. Miss Minnie. It’s an 
excellent idea, that of finishing the decora¬ 
tions. Dinner w ill be ready in half an hour, 
and tills room must bn in order inexactly 
thirty minutes;” ho saying G KO ROE snatched 
up wreaths and festoons, and clusters of 
scarlet berries, and went to work with a 
will, the girts and Harry following Ins ex¬ 
ample. . . . , . , . 
The octoroon had finished her errand, and 
in so straight-forward and decided a man¬ 
ner as to admit of no questioning on the part 
of her young mistress. Margaret h first 
impulse was to follow her and ascertain, if 
possible, what new trouble had come upon 
nor; but it was so painfully e\ blent,that the 
miserable woman doored to avoid all notice, 
that Mahoahkt dismissed the idea of pur¬ 
suit, and determined to seek her in her own 
room after dinner, where she knew she 
would bo, while the rest of the family were 
enjoying their siesfos. The slave walked 
very quietly through the hall, down the 
length of the east verandah, and throwing 
her heavy shawl over her head, started off 
in the direction of Hanmbat.’H cabin. The 
impulse to fly—to put distance between her¬ 
self and the house she bad just left, was 
written all over the graceful, shrinking fig¬ 
ure, gliding ho noiselessly, and yet so deter¬ 
minedly, along the well beaten path. Mr. 
Biiayton followed hastily. Busan never 
looked back. Blie knew who her pursuer 
W'as, and her heart almost stood still as she 
realized that steps were steadily gaining 
upon her. 
“ Oh, if 1 could but die,” moaned the* poor 
woman between her clenched teeth. “ But 
death is ucver near to those who have noth¬ 
ing to live for.” 
Just t hen her name was gently pronounc¬ 
ed, and a st rung hand placed caressingly and 
firmly upon her arm. Kven then the octo¬ 
roon did not turn her head. 
“ Won’t you speak to me, Busan ?” con¬ 
tinued the gentleman, in t ones so low and 
tender that they might have been the ac¬ 
cents of a lover, but for the immense differ¬ 
ence In their social relations. 
‘‘Why do you sock me?" replied Busan. 
without lifting her eyes from the ground. 
“ I have not sought you, child,” he an¬ 
swered. “ It was your own plan to keep 
your residence a secret from me, and 1 sub¬ 
mitted to it as a gentleman should. 1 sup¬ 
posed you wore in Richmond ; but as God 
lives, I ’have been as good as my word—have 
never inquired for you even.” 
“You gave me my liberty, did you not?” 
interrupted the octoroon, her beaut iful eyes 
flashing fire. 
“ 1 did, Busan,” and there was an exult¬ 
ant ring in the speaker’s voice, as he pro¬ 
nounced the simple sentence that caused 
liis companion for the first t ime to turn her 
eyes to (lis face. 
“ And yet your directions to Mr. Hyatt 
were to dispose of mo to t he highest bidder 
as speedily as possible.” 
“ It is a lie, BUSAN!” and the Southerner’s 
nostrils dilated, and his countenance, for a 
moment, was livid with passion. “ Who 
told you this falsehood?” he weuton. “You 
must not walk another step until you have 
given me the full particulars.” 
“ Mr. Hyatt told me so the day before 1 
was sold to Col. Ueatuuiwtone, and 
“What, Busan? Say those words again! 
Sold to Col. Heatherhtonk!” 
“Sold to Col. Hkatueiostone,” slowly 
repeated the wretched woman. 
“ May the our—” 
“No, dear master, not that,” broke in hU 
companion, quickly, her whole manner in¬ 
stantly changing, Fora brief moment the 
sadness tied from her eyes, :md uisr- ad of 
the quiver of grief round t he lovely mouth, 
there appeared an indescribable joyousness 
—au expression of satisfaction—a flash of 
the intense love-nature of this strange wo¬ 
man. 
“ Where were your papers, Busan ? con¬ 
tinued the gentleman, apparently unaware 
of this total change in his companion’s 
manner. 
“My papers were stolen from my trunk — 
also the money you gave me to go North 
with—If T pleased.” 
“And after that diabolical business, you 
could believe that I bad instigated such a 
proceeding? Busan, child, t thought yon 
knew me better!” And now there was no 
more rage in the man’s voice, but only a 
plaintive under-tone, a strange heart-wail 
that seemed to touch the very soul of the 
woman by his side. 
“ What could 1 think?” she replied, while 
all unconsciously her hftml sought Ills arm. 
“List en, please. Mr. Hyatt sent, for mo to 
come to his office, and then placed ill my 
hands a letter which he declared had just 
oom? from you— 
' d the handwriting, SUSAN?” 
^ \ could have sworn to its being yours: 
and-” 
“And Busan, you believe now* that T wrote 
it! In that were orders for your sale. ” 
“ Yes, sir, of the most peremptory de¬ 
scription.” 
“ You will see in the future, child, if my 
life Is spared to arrange matters; but T see 
that with such damning evidence of my 
fiendlshness, it is no use to say more at pres¬ 
ent. Goo bless you, Susan, and give you 
patience to wait a little. I will trouble you 
no longer.” 
“ Dear master,” and again lips and eyes 
were full of joy—and for an instant some¬ 
thing deeper than joy ns she gently detained 
him. “ I believe you —and shall never doubt 
you again. It was only when driven almost, 
to distraction by the horror of my position, 
that I ever harbored a thought of your in¬ 
justice. Forgive me for that, please, and I 
will never do so again.” 
“Oh! you poor, hunted, tortured child! 
Forgive you ? Susan, I should never have 
allowed "yon to leave me. You never could 
be as happy anywhere else as with mo; and, 
truly home has never been home since you 
left It. And then, child, 1 have boon so ill 
ilbce.” 
A little convulsive shiver was all that 
testified to Buban’s having heard the last 
sentence. 
“Twice have I almost crossed the dark 
river—and each time I felt that If I only 
had Busan with me Busan to love me, and 
close my eyes—B ttsan to grieve for me a 
little after 1 was gone—Oh! how 1 suffered 
without you!” 
“No more—for the love of the Saviour— 
no more, dear master! I should have come 
to you, luul I known it. Believe that.” 
“Child, if you would only come back 
to me. Come" back a free woman, as my 
house-keeper and companion—and—” 
“No, master, no! It can never be—but 
listen a moment. If I can ever be of any 
service lo you, should yon lte sick or in 
trouble, should you need anything that Bu¬ 
san can do for you, Susan will ootn<- —and 
may the powers above keep her fully in¬ 
formed of your situation. There comes Col. 
IIeatherstonb, and we must separate.” 
Mr. Buayton hesitated for a parting 
word: but his companion was gone, out of 
sight almost before he realized that he was 
alone. 
“Hallo! Buayton and Busan!” said the 
Colonel, softly, to himself, at the same 
time uttering a low*, prolonged whistle. 
“Astonishing how these pretty niggers do 
take hold of a fellow. It, s a little rough to 
class Susan with t lie blacks, after all, for no 
one In the world would ever take her to be a 
nigger. Fanny, though, that Drayton should 
leave all the pretty girls up to the house to 
run after a slave; but then, there’s no ac¬ 
counting for tastes ” — and the Colonel 
chuckled as if the little scene he had just, 
witnessed was the funniest thing on record, 
and urged his horse forward, thinking it 
beat not to have appeared to notice thorn. 
Mr. Buayton followed slowly and thought¬ 
fully. and ret iring to Ilia room did not again 
mingle with the guests until the boll sum¬ 
moned them to dinner. 
At the table Busan served in her accus¬ 
tomed place, quiet and reserved as over. 
M a no a rut’s eyes followed her anxiously, 
but no recognition was returned; the octo¬ 
roon seemed made of stone, but Late in the 
afternoon when Margaret, having left her 
guests in their own rooms, sought Busan ju 
hers, she found her sitting in a low chair 
before the. fire, her whole body shaken with 
sobs. The mistress threw her arms around 
the slave. 
“Dear Susan, darling Susan, tell your 
little Maggie what t he matter is. Nobody 
loves you so well. Tell me all, BUSAN. I’m 
sure I can help you.” 
“ I’m sure you would help me if you could, 
dear; but there’s nothing to help. We all 
break down sometimes, child; I was feeling 
lonely, that's all. lias Mr. Traverse gone 
away?” 
“ 0 never mind Mr. Traverse. There is 
something the matter, and I Could help you 
if you would let me. You may trust me, 
Susan, indeed you may.” 
Maggie was on her knees now, with her 
arms around Busan’s neck. Her voice and 
manner were inexpressibly sweet and coax¬ 
ing, bnt though evidently touched, there 
was no confidential response. And Maggie, 
a little chilled, a little grieved, and more 
than ever mystified, was forced to stay out¬ 
side t he heart that she so desired to enter 
and brighten. 
The news that the Convention of South 
Carolina had passed a secession ordinance 
was received at the Heatuerktone man¬ 
sion in the very heart of the holiday season, 
and preparations for Christmas festivities 
and the merry Intercourse of congenial 
friends were thereafter of secondary im¬ 
portance. The right of the States to secede, 
the consequences of secession, the effect 
upon the slaves, and a huudred other ques¬ 
tions were discussed, and the first thought 
iu every heart—the first question on every 
lip—was, “What news from the South?” 
The Southern States were one immense vol¬ 
cano, and South Carolina was its fiery heart, 
but such was the agitation iu this boiling 
center that it was felt to the remotest lim¬ 
its of the country, ami in proud old Vir¬ 
ginia, from the haughtiest master to the 
weakest slave, everybody was awed and 
thrilled by the hot-blooded act with which 
rebellion had been inaugurated. F.vent fol¬ 
lowed event iu quick snccession. Before 
tlie public mind had become accustomed to 
the thought that secession had actually 
been declared, the news spread through the 
country that the members of Congress from 
South Carolina had resigned their seats, and 
then that the seceding State had adopted 
resolutions in favor of a Confederate Gov¬ 
ernment. This last decisive act took place 
on Christmas day. and the next afternoon 
Harry Traverse galloped over to Col. 
Heatherstone’b with t he Richmond papers 
that he had just received. The whole family, 
guests and all, were in the cheerful library; 
Mrs, Hkatherstone in her usual place on 
the sofa; Margaret, Minnie, Hope and 
Alfred chatting in a cozy corner; George 
teaching Point a new trick, and Col. Heath- 
erftone fast asleep in the glow of the open 
fire with his newspaper iu his hand. Aunt 
Clara and Mr. Brayton were bolding a 
characteristic discussion on politics, and 
Susan hud just entered in answer to her 
mistress’ summons, to arrange the. pillows 
for “ rny poor head.” 
“ There'# Harry,” cried George, the first 
to hear the beat of the horses hoofs upon 
the gravelled walk. A eui<ei> and the girls 
rushed to the window, and Harry gave his 
horse to a servant and rau up the steps to 
the piazza brandishing a package of newspa¬ 
pers. In a moment he was the center of an 
excited group, reading to hi# eager listeners 
the resolutions adopted by the South Caro¬ 
lina Convention, the details of the fierce ex¬ 
citement all over tile State, and the edi¬ 
torials full of defiance, and certainty of 
success. 
“Now let us hear from the North,” said 
Alfred, after the Southern papers were 
flashed. The Now York journals wore next 
listened to with varying emotions by the 
little oompnuy whose individual interests 
extended so far aud in so many different 
directions. 
“There can be no longer any question as 
to the result," said Col. IIeatherstonb. 
“Most of the extreme Southern State# are 
uii ready to follow the action of South Cwo- 
liua. Before a month has passed there will 
1x3 a strong confederation, desperate in their 
intention to defy the Governmental Wash¬ 
ington.” 
“ And, then,” said Margaret, rising in 
her excitement and walking up and down 
tip* room, “ there will be a long cruel war, 
and f at hers ami husbands, and brothers will 
kill each other like wild beasts. O, was 
I here no way to avoid this ? Is there no way 
to avoid it now? Can there be no com¬ 
promise ?” 
“Do sit down, Maggie, ycok make my 
head ache,” said her mother, wearily. 
“Compromise! There win be compromise 
enough after a battle or two. A long, war, 
indeed! Why, child, are you stupid enough 
to think that there will be much lighting?” 
George sprang tip eagerly, while Mr#. 
Heather-stone was speaking, and crossed 
the room to the window. Be was elate with 
excitement. Margaret saw what was 
working in him with so much power, and 
sighed heavily. “He will go with ihe first 
troop#,” said she to herself. “But will he 
ever come back? This is ludeed the begin¬ 
ning. but what will be the end?” 
“There will undoubtedly be lighting,” 
said Col. llEATHERSONK, ill reply Io Ids WUO, 
“but. let u# hope, not much. The North ha# 
unwarrantably interfered with the South, 
and when she sees that we arc in earnest, 
doubtless we shtill come to an amicable un¬ 
derstanding. In fact, 1 don't hold the North 
responsible at all,” with a glance at his 
guest#; “ it is only the abolitionists who are 
to blame, and they are a very small mi¬ 
nority.” At t he oonclutiou of t his sentence 
IlORE walked out very gently. 
“ I hope 1 have said nothing to hurt Miss 
Arnold,” continued Col. JIeatiiekhtune. 
"O, no,” replied Minnie, “you have said 
nothing; but the truth is I hat, Hope’s fami¬ 
ly are all abolitionists, dyed in the wool.” 
“Poor child. I am sorry for her; she has 
much to bear,” said Alfred. 
“ No more than most of us, T fear. 1 see 
separations aud heart-breakings,” and 
Margaret followed Hope to her room. 
“ Dear Hope, let me in.” 
The door was opened softly. 
“ Excuse me, Hope, darling, but J could 
not bear to leave you up here alone.” 
“ Come in. Maggie. 1 want to talk with 
you. I must go home immediately. Jf there 
is lighting inj brothers will be the first to 
go to the front, and 1 shall be needed. I 
ought not to be absent when my country is 
in trouble.” 
At that moment the t hought came bitterly 
to the two loving friends that their country 
was no longer one. Hope was already a for¬ 
eigner in Maggie’s home. 
“1 suppose you must go, dear; I think I 
should want to if 1 were in your place. It, 
is dreadful, this thought of brother killing 
brother; but we cannot help it, Hope. 
Somebody has a fearful responsibility.” 
“ Your brother think# it is the abolition¬ 
ists.” 
“But 1 don’t, Hope. I believe that .sla¬ 
very is wrong in its foundation, and w hat is 
wrong must, some time fall to t he ground. 
God fs against sla\ cry, aud it may be that 
He used tlie abolitionists to bring about this 
crisis, but tjjst mutters little.” 
" Your negroes seem very happy.” 
“ I think they are, and no doubt the ma¬ 
jority of the slave owner? treat their slaves 
‘well; and very likely if the negroes are 
freed they will be for years worse off in 
many respects than they are now; but I 
think as you do, Hope and as your father 
does about buying and selling human be¬ 
ing!-. I think I was born with the feeling. 
1 don’I know bow else I got it.” 
The girl# sat a long timo, heart pressed to 
heart, talking over the past and exchanging 
sweet promises of remembrance for the fu¬ 
ture, little dreaming, as dark a# the out¬ 
break was to them, amid what scenes of 
blood their next meeting would be. 
“ What am dc meaning of all dis talk 
about seeesh, Mussa ALFRED?" inquired 
Hannibal, a - lie gravely went through ins 
morning task of brushing the clothes of the 
young gentleman. For a moment Alfred’s 
bright face was clouded; but only for a mo¬ 
ment. 
“ You have heard a good deal of this, t hen, 
have von?’ ho replied, scanning the old 
uegro r s face attentively. 
“ Wnl, yes, mussa. a considerable much. 
There’s no way of not hearing it, ’less we 
stops un our ears, and there don’t seem to 
be much time to give to dat performance on 
dis plantation, at any rate. Hannibal only 
aek for information. Do skiu be contageous 
brack, Massa Alfred. Golly! flare's no 
’stake about dat ; but dis lump of ebony jus’ 
about come to de ’elusion dat dare’s jus’ as 
much—wat you call ’em—inquisitum'ness— 
stowed away under a brack hide as a white 
01 ) 0 .” 
“Yes, Hannibal,” laughed Ida compan¬ 
ion, “that has been my experience; but 
what do you want to know?” 
“Wall, massa, dis be ’bout it. Wat am 
old < aroliny ’specting to do wid all dis 
howling bout getting out ? Making out, iu 
de fust place, dat she could get out, where 
de dobbil be she going when she am out? 
’Souse de word, Massa Alfred, but some¬ 
how it do seem to Hannihal, Gif do old 
feller hub jus’ jumped into mofc 1 eberv body.” 
“Sound again, Hannibal!” and the 
young man stopped a moment and reflected 
what he had best say to the intelligent old 
negro. Way down ‘in his heart Alfred 
Hfatherstonk despised the institution of 
his fathers. A Sout herner by birth, an aris¬ 
tocrat by education, he was nevertheless in 
spirit the most democratic of men. To him 
slaves were not only slaves, but brothers. 
Like many another true hearted Virginian, 
lie felt that there was not hing in the system 
to recommend it save the old argument, 
which had then never been successfully 
combated, that the work of the South could 
never be carried on save by negroes and 
bondmen. “Liberate the slaves, and your 
beautiful conntry is but a wretched wilder¬ 
ness,” said Calhoun, hi one of liis loug-to- 
bc-remembered speeches, aud this senti¬ 
ment, was not only indorsed, but firmly and 
honestly believed in by the great mass of 
slave holders. It was freedom and poverty 
—slavery and opulence. What wonder t hat 
they hold on so staunchly and pluckily to 
tho last? 
“ Bress de Lord, mas; a Alfred!” inter¬ 
rupted Hanniual, as he liung up hi broom 
and proceeded to leave the room, “Han¬ 
nibal hab no wish to bo too inquisitutm. 
He only link It would be a good ting to know 
what bo going on, so’s to tell dorn udder nig¬ 
gers de truff. Dey won’t git much oh de 
t i n IT, you can jus’bet high on dat, Mnssa 
Alfred!” 
"I realize that fact, Hannibal,” replied 
Alfred, slowly; “ I suppose they have al¬ 
ready been told the most, ridiculous stories 
about the progress of affairs.” 
“ Dat am de ea-e,” answered IlAN'NTHAL, 
with quite as much deliberation. 
“The Northern States, Hannihal, have 
no right to quarrel with our institutions—no 
right to dicato terms to us. They arc inso¬ 
lent in their demands. The chief officer# of 
these United St ates have been mostly com¬ 
posed of Southern men—who understood 
their business—knew what was for tin? bent, 
good of the whole country. What do you 
t hink George Washington would say if he 
could see the dreadful confusion wo are 
thrown into by a tew hot-headed, ignorant 
radicals.” 
“Mebbe he do see, massa Alfred,” re¬ 
plied the negro, lifting hi# eyes with great 
reverence. “ But. of course it would bo 
berry wicked for dis old colored pusson to 
say wat Mussu Washington say—but praps 
In- take into Viderntion dat de present rime 
am a good bit furder ahead time dun wen lie 
walk on de earth, Saint dat bo w«.>. One 
ting Hannihal hab notice ever since he so 
high, Massa Alfred, dat de ‘pinion# ob men 
no more st all still dan do de men demseves. 
Ebery ting go ahead; some tings seem lo 
jump ahead —and dat do case at dis time. 
Scelns to Hannibal ’-if de berv hebeiis deni- 
selves hab grown big in de las’ few years, 
Dein stars, too, dey wink at Hannihal iu a 
way dey neber winked afore—bres# do Lord. 
De only question did diKCcnnboboratt d dis 
skull was—wat, dat up and a doing old C’aro- 
lluy ’speeted to do wtd #hfl self after .-lie hab 
walk away from de res’ ob dem States. Do 
she 'spec to take a t rip to do udder side of 
do big mill pond—as Massa George cal! it— 
and den mareh back into her place when de 
rowdidow hab all blown ober V" 
“Time will tell, Hannibal,” said Al¬ 
fred, kindly dismissing his servant; “uud 
it is bout to speculate as little as possible 
about it. Growth," he repeated, as tho door 
closed upon the venerable figure, “ Growth! 
This Ln t the first lesson I hove taken from 
you, dear ola IIannibal. Wfiv the t»os?i- 
billlles of that nature are beyond all esti¬ 
mate! A Christian philosopher by birth—a 
slave by education! Great Heavens! Is 
this right ? Oil! that Washington or some 
other noble spirit would speak to this be¬ 
wildered country! It is no use to take 
counsel with eaou other—for even among us 
Southerner# there is very little unanimity of 
opinion. I Bee nothing before us but war- 
war of the bloodiest aud most relentless 
kind.” 
Mr. Bratton appeared singularly dis¬ 
concerted — strangely cast down by tip) 
new# constantly arriving from different 
parts of tlm country. Very much to Mar¬ 
garet'# annoyance, he seemed to avoid tho 
drawing-room whenever t here wa» anything 
purlieularly jolly going on. Sonirt inms, in 
order not to appear eccentric or gloomy, ho 
would join tin - group lor a few moments, 
and steal quietly away at. t ho very first 
opportunity, lie had attempted, on several 
different occasions, to have a private inter¬ 
view with Col. H eatherbtone on the sub¬ 
ject of Busan, but t he house was so full of 
company, and tlie moments so crammed 
with festivities and startling intelligence, 
that the suitable opportunity did not offer. 
Not only did t he innate delicacy of the man 
rebel at the idea of requesting an interview 
with his host; but something deeper than 
that even — Knowledge that his motives 
would be entirely misunderstood. If they 
could meet naturally, drift into conversa¬ 
tion naturally, than the whole trouble 
would be obviated, but, up to this time, no 
such occasion had offered.— tTo be con 
tinned. 
