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402 mine, life without it would have been a chaos, or blank; yet the idea of roast-beef and mutton, soft tack and fresh butter, cold lamb and salad, and such like material substances, would, spite of the spiritual essence which seemed to have entered into my organisation since the angelic vision tirst presented itself to me — would, I say, obtrude itself into my mind. And to make a dean breast of it, I must confess that the idea of living on love appeared to me to be the most contemptible one that ever issued from the brain of a human creature; and such was my craving for food, that I would have given every mortal thing I possessed — angelic vision and all — for a cut off a roast leg of mutton.

At last the little Scotch doctor from Plymouth entered the room, and the angelic vision took him on one side, and they whispered together. I knew that the fellow was married, and I thought it was very bad taste of him to be whispering to a young and innocent girl in that fashion, when he had got a wife and three children at home. Just at this moment a very handsome woman, about forty, entered the room; she was rather tall and finely formed, and from the striking likeness between them was evidently the mother of the angelic vision.

The little doctor came to the bed-side, and felt my pulse.

“Pray, doctor,” I began —

“All in good time, my dear sir. No questions now; you shall know all about it when your head is better.”

“My head! Zounds, what’s the matter with my head?“ I said, as I raised my hand to it, and found it tied up like a Christmas pudding. I was about to utter an exclamation, when the angel, with a roguish smile on her countenance, placed over my mouth, the smallest, softest, whitest hand that I ever saw, or wish to see.

“Not another word, my dear sir. Give him his medicine, Nancy,” the doctor said, turning to a mulatto woman who was busying herself in the back ground, “and call me if he appears worse.”

“But, doctor I I’m hungry!“ I cried. “I want something to eat!“

“A capital sign, my dear sir, but you must not excite yourself:” then turning to Nancy, he said, “you can give him some strong gruel, with a little sherry, and keep him as quiet as you can.”

“All right, massa; me quite mum, no answer question and the old wretch grinned hugely.

And now they all left the room, except Nancy, and I was alone, — yes, alone, for in my eyes Nancy Potts stood for nobody. Nancy Potts! Fancy Nancy Potts, with a face as sallow as a guinea, instead of the angelic vision! What a revulsion of feeling I experienced, as that beautiful girl, with a sunny smile and a parting glance, which to my mind seemed to say, “I’ll come again soon,” vanished from my view. But after all, I began to feel a sort of veneration for Nancy Potts, for she brought me some excellent gruel; and so, having swallowed that .and my medicine, I fell into a balmy sleep.

I dreamt that I was descending into cool caverns, and underground vaidts; and had a variety of delicious sensations: and, finally, I dreamt that I was on the top of a high mountain, with the angelic vision by my side, and a refreshing breeze blowing in my face, and that I was in the greatest distress because we had nothing to eat. In the midst of my distress I was awoke by Nancy Potts pushing her black eyes, yellow face, and white teeth through the curtains, with —

“How you do dis maa-n-ing, massa? O, my la-ad, how pale you look! Gee! gee! gee! What a white little buckra it is! But I brought you some brokefast, massa; leetle coffee, and bread and butter, and toast — you like it, massa?”

“O! ha! yes!“ I exclaimed, opening my eyes and attempting to rise, “that’s your sort, Nancy;” but I had rather miscalculated my strength, and I found that the shortest way was to take the longest time, and not be in a hurry. However, I soon got myself in trim, and fell-to cheerily. The breakfast was ample, and I soon consumed the whole lot; and what was more, could have managed the allowance, had it been doubled.

“Massa much better dis moaning, I tink?” said Nancy, as I finished my breakfast.

“Yes,” I replied, pushing away the tray, “I think after that there cannot be much the matter I with me but nevertheless I was as weak as an infant, for the exertion of eating threw me into so violent a perspiration, that I nearly fainted. , However, I did not care much for that, for, although weak, I had no feverish symptoms.

Of course I was anxious to know where I was, and how I got there; and above all, if the truth must be told, I wanted to know something about the beautiful girl who had been so kind to me on the previous day.

“Nancy,” said I, in a persuasive tone, “would you kindly tell me how I came here?“

“Massa musn’t bodder hisself with talking. Massa Wilson presently tell all about it.”

“But, Nancy!“ I said, finding I must come to the point at once, “who was the young lady who was here yesterday?“

“Dat’s my young missee.”

Now I coiild have guessed as much, and I therefore tried again, but it was no use; everything I asked her was answered by her singing a nigger song, and talking to some inanimate object, thus — “What’s the young lady’s name, Nancy?” asked I.

No answer, but a sort of trumpet solo from Nancy, thus —

“Toot- tee — toot -tee — toot-tee — ta-a dee. — Drat de needle! What for you go and broke yourself for? Oh me, boog-ee — laa-lee!“ takes a fresh needle, and begins to thread it.

“What’s your young mistress’s name?” I asked again, but the only reply I got was —

“What shall I do wid me good old da-a-dy?

Oh me, boog-ee — laa-lee. Chee-chee. What for you tumble you self down for, you massa collar?

Sit in de corner, yam potatee. Oh me, boog-ee — laa-lee. Boog-ee, boog-ee, boog-ee — laa-lee.”

“Confound your boog-ee — laa-lee,” said I;

“can’t you answer my question?“

“If massa no like de song, I no sing him.”

Finding I could do nothing with her, I turned round and fell asleep; but it was a sort of cat’s sleep—one eye open— for a light footstep aroused me, and I listened.