“Is it possible,” said Kenrick, who was irrepressible on the one theme nearest his heart, “is it possible Miss Brown can’t see it,—can’t see the loveliness of that divine cosmos which we call slavery? Poor deluded Miss Brown! I know not what other men may think, but as for me, give me slavery or give me death! Do you object to woman-whipping, Miss Brown?”
“I confess I’ve my prejudices against it,” replied Clara. “But these charges of woman-whipping, you know, are Abolition lies.”
“Yes, so Northern conservatives say; but we of the plantations know that nearly one half the whippings are of women.”[[29]]
“Come! Sink the shop!” cried Laura. “Are we so dull we can’t find anything but our horrible bête noir for our amusement? Let us have scandal, rather; nonsense, rather! Tell us a story, Mr. Kenrick.”
“Well; once on a time—how would you like a ghost-story?”
“Above all things. Charming! Only ghosts have grown so common, they no longer thrill us.”
“Yes,” said Kenrick,—whose trivial thoughts ever seemed to call up his serious,—“yes; materialism has done a good work in its day and generation. It has taught us that the business of this world must go on just as if there were no ghosts. The supernatural is no longer an incubus and an oppression. Its phenomena no longer frighten and paralyze. Let us, then, since we are now freed from their terrors, welcome the great facts themselves as illumining and confirming all that there is in the past to comfort us with the assurance of continuous life issuing from seeming death.”
“Dear Mr. Kenrick, is this a time for a lecture?” expostulated Laura. “Aren’t you bored, Perdita?”
“On the contrary, I’m interested.”
“What do you think of spiritualism, Miss Brown?”