Aunt Philliss Cabin | Page 8

refinement,
and her fine sense and education made her society always desirable.
Cousin Janet, as she was called by them all, was a dependant and
distant relation; a friend faithful and unfailing; a bright example of all
that is holy and good in the Christian character. She assisted Mrs.
Weston greatly in the many cares that devolved on the mistress of a
plantation, especially in instructing the young female servants in
knitting and sewing, and in such household duties as would make them
useful in that state of life in which it had pleased God to place them.
Her heart was full of love to all God's creatures; the servants came to
her with their little ailings and grievances, and she had always a
soothing remedy--some little specific for a bodily sickness, with a word
of advice and kindness, and, if the case required it, of gentle reproof for
complaints of another nature. Cousin Janet was an old maid, yet many
an orphan and friendless child had shed tears upon her bosom; some,
whose hands she had folded together in prayer as they knelt beside her,
learning from her lips a child's simple petition, had long ago laid down
to sleep for ever; some are living still, surrounded by the halo of their
good influence. There was one, of whom we shall speak by-and-by,
who was to her a source of great anxiety, and the constant subject of
her thoughts and fervent prayers.
Many years had gone by since she had accepted Mr. Weston's earnest
entreaty to make Exeter her home; and although the bread she eat was
that of charity, yet she brought a blessing upon the house that sheltered
her, by her presence: she was one of the chosen ones of the Lord. Even
in this day, it is possible to entertain an angel unawares. She is before
you, reader, in all the dignity of old age, of a long life drawing to a
close; still to the last, she works while it is yet day!

With her dove-colored dress, and her muslin three-cornered
handkerchief, pinned precisely at the waist and over her bosom, with
her eyes sunken and dim, but expressive, with the wrinkles so many
and so deep, and the thin, white folds of her satin-looking hair parted
under her cap; with her silver knitting-sheath attached to her side, and
her needles in ever busy hands, Cousin Janet would perhaps first arrest
the attention of a stranger, in spite of the glowing cheek and golden
curls that were contrasting with her. It was the beauty of old age and
youth, side by side. Alice's face in its full perfection did not mar the
loveliness of hers; the violet eyes of the one, with their long sweep of
eyelash, could not eclipse the mild but deep expression of the other.
The rich burden of glossy hair was lovely, but so were the white locks;
and the slight but rounded form was only compared in its youthful
grace to the almost shadowy dignity of old age.
It was just sundown, but the servants were all at home after their day's
work, and they too were enjoying the pleasant evening time. Some
were seated at the door of their cabins, others lounging on the grass, all
at ease, and without care. Many of their comfortable cabins had been
recently whitewashed, and were adorned with little gardens in front;
over the one nearest the house a multiflora rose was creeping in full
bloom. Singularly musical voices were heard at intervals, singing
snatches of songs, of a style in which the servants of the South
especially delight; and not unfrequently, as the full chorus was shouted
by a number, their still more peculiar laugh was heard above it all. Mr.
Barbour had recently returned from a pleasure tour in our Northern
States, had been absent for two months, and felt that he had not in as
long a time witnessed such a scene of real enjoyment. He thought it
would have softened the heart of the sternest hater of Southern
institutions to have been a spectator here; it might possibly have
inclined him to think the sun of his Creator's beneficence shines over
every part of our favored land.
"Take a seat, my dear sir," Mr. Weston said, "in our sweetbrier house,
as Alice calls it; the evening would lose half its beauty to us, if we were
within."

"Alice is always right," said Mr. Barbour, "in every thing she says and
does, and so I will occupy this arm-chair that I know she placed here
for me. Dear me! what a glorious evening! Those distant peaks of the
Blue Ridge look bluer than I ever saw them before."
"Ah! you are glad to tread Virginia soil once more, that is evident
enough,"