courtesy to enter, smiling and pointing forward silently as she did so,
and then, like Major Favraud, she turned and abandoned us at the
door-sill, on which we stood riveted for a moment by the sound of a
vibrant and eager voice speaking some never-to-be-forgotten words.

"For the slave is the coral-insect of the South," said the voice within;
"insignificant in himself, he rears a giant structure--which will yet
cause the wreck of the ship of state, should its keel grate too closely
on that adamantine wall. '_L'état c'est moi_,' said Louis XIV., and that
'slavery is the South' is as true an utterance. Our staple--our
patriarchal institution--our prosperity--are one and indissoluble, and
the sooner the issue comes the better for the nation!"

Standing with his hand on the back of a chair near the casement-window
of the large, low apartment, in close conversation with two other
gentlemen, was the speaker of these remarkable words, which embraced the
whole genius and policy of the South as it then existed, and which were
delivered in those clear and perfectly modulated tones that bespeak the
practised orator and the man of dominant energies.

I felt instinctively that I stood in the presence of one of the anointed
princes of the earth--felt it, and was thrilled.

"Do you know that gentleman, Marion?" I whispered, as we seated
ourselves on the old-fashioned settle, or rather sofa, in one corner of
the room, gazing admiringly, as I spoke, on the tall, slight figure,
with its air of power and poise, that stood at some distance, with
averted face.

"No, I have no idea who it is, or who are his companions either," she