JUSTICE IN THE BY-WAYS. A TALE OF LIFE. 

BY F. COLBURN ADAMS, AUTHOROF "OUR WORLD, " ETC. , ETC. , ETC. 

"A rebellion or an invasion alarms, And puts the people upon its defence;But a corruption of principlesWorks its ruin more slowly perhaps, But more surely. "

NEW YORK:LONDON:

1856. 

PREFACE. 

PREFACES, like long sermons to fashionable congregations, aredistasteful to most readers, and in no very high favor with us. Adeep interest in the welfare of South Carolina, and the high esteemin which we held the better, and more sensible class of hercitizens, prompted us to sit down in Charleston, some four years ago(as a few of our friends are aware), and write this history. Themalady of her chivalry had then broken out, and such was itsvirulence that very serious consequences were apprehended. We haddone something, and were unwise enough to think we could do more, tostay its spread. We say unwise, inasmuch as we see, and regret thatwe do see, the malady breaking out anew, in a more virulent type-onewhich threatens dire consequences to this glorious Union, and bidsfair soon to see the Insane Hospital of South Carolina crammed withher mad-politicians. 

Our purpose, the reader will not fail to discover, was a high moralone. He must overlook the means we have called to our aid in someinstances, remember that the spirit of the work is in harmony with ajust sense of duty to a people among whom we have long resided, andwhose follies deserve our pity, perhaps, rather than ourcondemnation. To remain blind to their own follies, is the sin ofweak States; and we venture nothing when we say that it would bedifficult to find a people more dragged down by their own ignorancethan are the South Carolinians. And yet, strange as it may seem, nopeople are more energetic in laying claim to a high intellectualstandard. For a stranger to level his shafts against the very evilsthey themselves most deprecate, is to consign himself an exileworthy only of that domestic garment

Tar and feathers. In which all who think and write too freely, areclothed and sent away. 

And though the sentiments we have put forth in this work may not bein fashion with our Southern friends, they will give us credit forat least one thing-picturing in truthful colors the errors that, bytheir own confessions, are sapping the very foundations of theirsociety. Our aim is to suggest reforms, and in carrying it out wehave consulted no popular prejudice, enlarged upon no enormities toplease the lover of tragedy, regarded neither beauty nor the art ofnovel making, nor created suffering heroines to excite an outpouringof sorrow and tears. The incidents of our story, which at best isbut a mere thread, are founded in facts; and these facts we have somodified as to make them acceptable to the reader, while shieldingourself from the charge of exaggeration. And, too, we are consciousthat our humble influence, heretofore exerted, has contributed tothe benefit of a certain class in Charleston, and trust that in thisinstance it may have a wider field. 

Three years and upwards, then, has the MS. Of this work laid in thehands of a Philadelphia publisher, who was kind enough to say moregood things of it than it deserved, and only (as he said, and whatpublishers say no one ever thinks of doubting) regretted that fearof offending his Southern customers, who were exceedingly stiff insome places, and tender in others, prevented him publishing it. Thankful for the very flattering but undeserved reception two worksfrom our pen (both written at a subsequent period) met, in Englandas well as this country, we resolved a few weeks ago to drag the MS. From the obscurity in which it had so long remained, and havingresigned it to the rude hands of our printer, let it pass to thepublic. But there seemed another difficulty in the way: the time, every one said, and every one ought to know, was a hazardous one forworks of a light character. Splash & Dash, my old publishers, (noblefellows), had no less than three Presidents on their shoulders, andcould not be expected to take up anything "light" for severalmonths. Brick, of the very respectable but somewhat slow firm ofBrick & Brother, a firm that had singular scruples about publishinga work not thickly sprinkled with the author's knowledge of French, had one candidate by the neck, and had made a large bet that hecould carry him into the "White House" with a rush, while the juniorpartner was deeply immersed in the study of Greek. Puff, of the firmof Puff & Bluff, a house that had recently moved into the city toteach the art of blowing books into the market, was foaming overwith his two Presidential candidates, and thought the public couldnot be got to read a book without at least one candidate in it. Itwas not prudent to give the reading world more than a book oftravels or so, said Munch, of the house of Munch & Muddle, until thecandidates for the White House were got nicely out of the way. Indeed, there were good reasons for being alarmed, seeing that thepublishing world had given up literature, and, following the exampleset by the New York Corporation, taken itself very generally to thetrade of President-making. Wilkins, whose publications were sohighly respectable that they invariably remained on his shelves, andhad in more than one instance become so weighty that they haddragged the house down, thought the pretty feet of some few of thefemale characters in this volume a little too much exposed to suitthe delicate sensibilities of his fair readers. Applejack, thanwhose taste none could be more exquisite, and who only wanted tofeel a manuscript to tell whether it would do to publish it, made ita point, he said, not to publish novels with characters in them thatwould drink to excess. As for the very fast firm of Blowers &Windspin, celebrated for flooding the country with cheap books of avery tragic character, why, it had work enough on hand for thepresent. Blowers was blessed with a wife of a literary turn of mind, which was very convenient, inasmuch as all the novels with which thehouse astonished the world were submitted to her, and what she couldnot read she was sure to pass a favorable judgment upon. The househad in press four highly worked up novels of Mrs. Blowers' own, Mr. Blowers said, --all written in the very short space of six weeks. Shewas a remarkable woman, and extraordinary clever at novels, Blowersconcluded with an air of magnificent self-satisfaction. These works, having been written by steam, Mr. Windspin, the unior partner, wasexpected to put into the market with a very large amount of highpressure. 

Our friends in South Carolina, we knew, would be anxious to see whatwe had written of them in this volume, and we have made and shallcontinue to make it a point to gratify them: hence our haste in thisinstance. Conscious, too, that life is the great schoolmaster, andthat public taste is neither to be regulated by a few, nor kept atany one point, we caught up a publisher with only one candidate forthe "White House" on his shoulders, and with his assistance, nowrespectfully submit this our humble effort. 

NEW YORK, Sept. , 1856. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. --Tom Swiggs' Seventh Introduction on board of the BrigStandfast, CHAPTER II. --Madame Flamingo-Her Distinguished Patrons, and her veryrespectable House, CHAPTER III. --In which the Reader is presented with a Varied Picture, CHAPTER IV. --A few Reflections on the Cure of Vice, CHAPTER V. --In which Mr. Snivel, commonly called the AccommodationMan, is introduced, and what takes place between him and Mrs. Swiggs. 

CHAPTER VI. --Containing Sundry Matters appertaining to this History, CHAPTER VII. --In which is seen a Commingling of Citizens, CHAPTER VIII. --What takes place between George Mullholland and Mr. Snivel, CHAPTER IX. --In which a Gleam of Light is shed on the History of AnnaBonard, CHAPTER X. --A Continuation of George Mullholland's History, CHAPTER XI. --In which the Reader is introduced to Mr. AbsalomMcArthur, CHAPTER XII. --In which are Matters the Reader may have anticipated, CHAPTER XIII. --Mrs. Swiggs comes to the Rescue of the House of theForeign Missions, CHAPTER XIV. --Mr. McArthur makes a Discovery, CHAPTER XV. --What Madame Flamingo wants to be, CHAPTER XVI. --In which Tom Swiggs gains his Liberty, and what befallshim, CHAPTER XVII. --In which there is an Interesting Meeting, CHAPTER XVIII. --Anna Bonard seeks an Interview with the Antiquary, CHAPTER XIX. --A Secret Interview, CHAPTER XX. --Lady Swiggs encounters Difficulties on her Arrival inNew York, CHAPTER XXI. --Mr. Snivel pursues his Search for the Vote-Cribber, CHAPTER XXII. --Mrs. Swiggs falls upon a Modern Heathen World, CHAPTER XXIII. --In which the very best Intentions are seen to fail, CHAPTER XXIV. --Mr. Snivel advises George Mullholland how to makeStrong Love, CHAPTER XXV. --A Slight Change in the Picture, CHAPTER XXVI. --In which a High Functionary is made to play a SingularPart, CHAPTER XXVII. --The House of the Nine Nations, and what may be seenin it, CHAPTER XXVIII. --In which is presented Another Picture of the Houseof the Nine Nations, CHAPTER XXIX. --In which may be seen a few of our Common Evils, CHAPTER XXX. --Containing Various Things appertaining to this History, CHAPTER XXXI. --The Keno Den, and what may be seen in it, CHAPTER XXXII. --In which a State of Society is slighty Revealed, CHAPTER XXXIII. --In which there is a Singular Revelation, CHAPTER XXXIV. --The Two Pictures, CHAPTER XXXV. --In which a Little Light is shed upon the Character ofour Chivalry, CHAPTER XXXVI. --In which a Law is seen to serve Base Purposes, CHAPTER XXXVII. --A Short Chapter of Ordinary Events, CHAPTER XXXVIII. --A Story without which this History would be foundwanting, CHAPTER XXXIX. --A Story with many Counterparts, CHAPTER XL. --In which the Law is seen to Conflict with our CherishedChivalry, CHAPTER XLI. --In which Justice is seen to be very accommodating, CHAPTER XLII. --In which Some Light is thrown on the Plot of thisHistory, CHAPTER XLIII. --In which is revealed the One Error that brought somuch Suffering upon many, CHAPTER XLIV. --In which is recorded Events the Reader may not haveExpected, CHAPTER XLV. --Another Shade of the Picture, CHAPTER XLVI. --The Soul may gain Strength in a dreary Cell, CHAPTER XLVII. --In which is a Happy Meeting, and something Pleasing, CHAPTER XLVIII. --A Few Words With the Reader, JUSTICE IN THE BY-WAYS. 

CHAPTER I. 

TOM SWIGGS' SEVENTH INTRODUCTION ON BOARD OF THE BRIG STANDFAST. 

IT is in the spring of 1847 this history commences. 

"Steady a bit! Here I am, boys, turned up again-a subject of thismoral reform school, of moral old Charleston. If my good old motherthinks it'll reform a cast-off remnant of human patchwork like me, I've nothing to say in protest. Yes, here I am, comrades (poor TomSwiggs, as you used to call me), with rum my victor, and modernvengeance hastening my destruction. " This is the exclamation of poorTom Swiggs (as his jail companions are pleased to call him), who, incharge of two officers of the law, neither of whom are inclined toregard him with sympathy, is being dragged back again to theCharleston jail. The loathsome wreck of a once respectable man, hestaggers into the corridor, utters a wild shriek as the iron gatecloses upon him, and falls headlong upon the floor of the vestibule, muttering, incoherently, "there is no hope for one like me. " And theold walls re-echo his lamentation. 

"His mother, otherwise a kind sort of woman, sends him here. Shebelieves it will work his reform. I pity her error-for it is anerror to believe reform can come of punishment, or that virtue maybe nurtured among vice. " Thus responds the brusque but kind-heartedold jailer, who view swith an air of compassion his new comer, as helays, a forlorn mass, exposed to the gaze of the prisoners gatheringeagerly about him. 

The dejected man gives a struggle, raises himself to his haunches, and with his coarse, begrimed hands resting on his knees, returnsthe salutation of several of his old friends. "This, boys, is theseventh time, " he pursues, as if his scorched brain were tossed on asea of fire, "and yet I'm my mother's friend. I love her still-yes, I love her still!" and he shakes his head, as his bleared eyes fillwith tears. "She is my mother, " he interpolates, and again givesvent to his frenzy: "fellows! bring me brandy-whiskey-rum-anythingto quench this flame that burns me up. Bring it, and when I'm freeof this place of torment, I will stand enough for you all to swimin. "

"Shut your whiskey-pipe. You don't appreciate the respectability ofthe company you've got among. I've heard of you, " ejaculates a voicein the crowd of lookers-on. 

"What of a citizen are you?" inquires Tom, his head droppingsleepily. 

"A vote-cribber-Milman Mingle by name; and, like yourself, in forformal reform, " retorts the voice. And the burly figure of a red, sullen-faced man, comes forward, folds his arms, and looks for someminutes with an air of contempt upon the poor inebriate. 

"You're no better than you ought to be, " incoherently continues Tom, raising his glassy eyes as if to sight his seemingly querulouscompanion. 

"Better, at all events, than you, " emphatically replies the man. "I'm only in for cribbing voters; which, be it known, is commonlycalled a laudable enterprise just before our elections come off, anda henious offence when office-seekers have gained their ends. Butwhat use is it discussing the affairs of State with a thing likeyou?" The vote-cribber, inclined to regard the new-comer as aninferior mortal, shrugs his shoulders, and walks away, contemplatively humming an air. 

"If here ain't Tom Swiggs again!" exclaims a lean, parchment-facedprisoner, pressing eagerly his way through the circle of bystanders, and raising his hands as he beholds the wreck upon the floor. 

"Fate, and my mother, have ordered it so, " replies Tom, recognizingthe voice, and again imploring the jailer to bring him some brandyto quench the fires of his brain. The thought of his mother floateduppermost, and recurred brightest to the wandering imagination ofthis poor outcast. 

"There's no rum here, old bloat. The mother having you for a son isto be pitied-you are to be pitied, too; but the jail is bankrupt, without a shilling to relieve you in the liquor line, " interposesanother, as one by one the prisoners begin to leave and seek theirseveral retreats. 

"That breath of yours, " interrupts the vote-cribber, who, havingreturned, stands regarding the outcast man with singular interest, "would make drunk the whole jail. A week in 'Mount Rascal'The upper story used for the confinement of felons. Will benecessary to transmute you, as they call it, into somethingChristian. On 'the Mount' you will have a chance tophilosophize-mollify the temperature of your nervous system-which isout of fix just now. "

There is an inert aristocracy, a love of distinction, among thelowest dregs of society, as there is also a love of plush and otherinsignificant tawdry among our more wealthy republicans. Few wouldhave thought of one inebriate affecting superiority over another, (the vote-cribber was an inebriate, as we shall show, ) but so itwas, nevertheless. 

"I own up, " rejoins Tom, "I own up; I love my mother, and am out ofsorts. You may call me a mass of filth-what you please!"

"Never mind; I am your friend, Tom, " interrupts the brusque oldjailer, stooping down and taking him gently by the arm. "Good maycome of the worst filth of nature-evil may come of what seemeth thebest; and trees bearing sound pippins may have come of rotten cores. Cheer up!"

The cool and unexpected admonition of the "vote-cribber" leaves adeep impression in Tom's feelings. He attempts, heaving a sigh, torise, but has not strength, and falls languidly back upon the floor. His countenance, for a few moments, becomes dark and desponding; butthe kind words that fall from the jailer's lips inspire him withconfidence; and, turning partly on his side, he thrusts his begrimedhands into a pair of greasy pockets, whistling "Yankee Doodle, " withgreat composure. 

The jailer glances about him for assistance, saying it will benecessary to get him up and carry him to his cell. 

"To a cell-a cell-a cell!" reiterates the inebriate. "Well, as thelegal gentry say, " he continues, "I'll enter a 'non-contender. ' Ionly say this by way of implication, to show my love for the fellowwho gathers fees by making out writs on my account. "

In reply to a question from the jailer, he says they mistake TomSwiggs, if they think he has no pride left. 

"After all, there's something more in you than I thought, Tom. Giveus your hand, " says the vote-cribber, extending cordially his hand, as if a change for the better had come over him, and grasping firmlythat of the inebriate. Raising his besotted head, Tom gazesdistrustfully at the cribber, as if questioning his sincerity. "I amnot dead to shame, " he mutters, struggling at the same time tosuppress his emotions. 

"There are, Tom, " continues the cribber, playfully, "two claims onyou-two patent claims! (He lets go the inebriate's hand, and beginsteasing his long, red beard. ) And, are you disposed to come out onthe square, in the liquor line, you may redeem yourself--"

"Name 'em!" interposed Tom, stopping short in his tune. 

"The gentleman commonly called Mister Jones, and a soap-chandler, are contesting a claim upon you. The one wants your body, the otheryour clothes. Now, as I am something of a lawyer, having had largedealings in elections, I may say, as a friend, that it is only aquestion of time, so far as you are concerned. Take my advice, then, and cheat both, by selling out, in advance. The student and thejanitor pay good prices for such things as you. Give the last-namedworthy a respondentia bond on yourself, redeemable before death, orresign the body after, (any lawyer will make the lien valid, ) andthe advance will produce floods of whiskey. Come out, Tom, like ahero, on the square. "

An outcast, hurled deep into the gulf of despair, and surrounded byvictims of poverty and votaries of crime, the poor inebriate has yetleft him one lingering spark of pride. As if somewhat revived, hescrambles to his feet, staggers into the room of a poor debtor, onthe left of the long, sombre aisle, and drawing from his pocket aten-cent piece, throws it upon the table, with an air of greatimportance. 

"I am not moneyless, " he exclaims--"not I!" and he staggers to thegreat chimney-place, rebounding to the floor, saying, "Takethat-bring her in-quench my burning thirst!"

Tom is the only surviving, and now the outcast, member of a somewhatrespectable family, that has moved in the better walks of society. His mother, being scrupulous of her position in society, andsingularly proud withal, has reared and educated her son inidleness, and ultimately slights and discards him, because he, asshe alleges, sought society inferior to his position and herdignity. In his better days he had been erect of person, and evenhandsome; but the thraldom of the destroyer has brought him to thedust, a pitiable wreck. 

Tom has seen thirty summers, presents a full, rounded figure, andstands some five feet ten. He wears an old brown coat, cut after thefashion of a surtout, that might have fitted him, he says, when hewas a man. But it has lost the right cuff, the left flap, and a partof the collar; the nefarious moths, too, have made a sieve of itsback. His trowsers are of various colors, greasy down the sides, ragged at the bottoms, and revealing two encrusted ancles, with feetstuck into old shoes, turned under at the heels for conveniencesake. A remark from the cribber touches his pride, and borrowing afew pins he commences pinning together the shattered threads of hisnether garment. A rope-yarn secured about his waist gives asailor-like air to his outfit. But, notwithstanding Tom affects thetrim of the craft, the skilled eye can easily detect the deception;for the craftsman, even under a press of head sail, preserves abecoming rig. 

Indeed, Tom might have attempted without effect, during his naturallife, to transform himself into a sailor. The destroyer was hisvictor; the inner man was but a reflex of the outer. He pulled anold cloth cap over his face, which was immersed in a massive blackbeard, bordering two red, swollen cheeks; and with his begrimedhands he rubbed lustily his inflamed eyes--once brown, large, andearnest--now glassy and sunken. 

"I'm all square, ain't I?" he inquires, looking with vacant stareinto the faces of those who tease him with facetious remarks, thenscans his haberdashery. There yet remains something displeasing tohim. His sense of taste is at stake. This something proves to be asooty striped shirt, open in front, and disclosing the remains of ared flannel under-garment. Every few minutes will he, as if touchedwith a sense of shame, wriggle his shoulders, and pull forward thewreck of his collarless coat, apparently much annoyed that it failsto cover the breastwork of his distress. 

Again he thrusts his hands into his pockets, and with an air ofapparent satisfaction, struts twice or thrice across the dingy room, as if he would show how far he has gained his equilibrium. "I shallgo straight mad; yes, mad, if the whiskey be not brought in, " hepursues, stopping short in one of his sallies, and with a rhetoricalflourish, pointing at the piece of silver he so exultingly tossedupon the table. As if his brain were again seized by the destroyer'sflame, his countenance becomes livid, his eyes glare wildly uponeach object near him; then he draws himself into a tragic attitude, contorts hideously his more hideous face, throws his cap scornfullyto the ground, and commences tearing from his head the matted blackhair that confusedly covers it. "If my mother thinks this a fitplace for me--" He pauses in the middle of his sentence, gives animploring stare at his companions, shakes and hangs down his head;then his brain reels, and his frame trembles, and like a lifelessmass he falls to the floor. 

"I'm gone now--gone--gone--gone!" he mutters, with a spasmodic effort, covering his face with his hands. 

"He'll go mad; you can only save him with a hair of the same dog, "one of the prisoner's measuredly suggests, folding his arms, andlooking mechanically upon the wretched man. 

A second agrees with the first; a third says he is past cure, thougha gallon of whiskey were wasted upon him. 

Mr. Mingle, the vote-cribber--regarded good authority in suchmatters--interposes. He has not the shadow of a doubt but that aspeedy cure can be effected, by his friends drinking the whiskey, (he will join them, without an objection, ) and just letting Tomsmell the glass. 

A fifth says, without prejudice to the State of South Carolina, ifhe knew Tom's mother, he would honestly recommend her to send himspecial minister to Maine. There, drinking is rather an aristocraticindulgence, enjoyed only on the sly. 

Suddenly the poor inebriate gives vent to his frenzy. The color ofhis face changes from pale livid to sickly blue; his hands seem moreshrunken and wiry; his body convulses and writhes upon the floor; heis become more the picture of a wild beast, goaded and aggravated inhis confinement. A narcotic, administered by the hand of the jailer, produces quiet, and with the assistance of two prisoners is heraised to his feet, and supported into the corridor, to receive thebenefit of fresh air. Here he remains some twenty minutes, stretchedupon two benches, and eyed sharply by the vote-cribber, who paces ina circle round him, regarding him with a half suspicious leer, andtwice or thrice pausing to fan his face with the drab felt hat hecarries under his arm. 

"A curious mother that sends you here for reform, " muses thevote-cribber; "but he must be a perfect fleshhook on the feelings ofthe family. "

Send him up into Rogue's Hall, " exclaims a deep, sonorous voice, that echoes along the aisle. The vote-cribber, having paused overTom, as if to contemplate his degradation, turns inquiringly, to seefrom whence comes the voice. "It is me!" again the voice resounds. Two glaring eyes, staring anxiously through the small iron gratingof a door leading to a close cell on the left of the corridor, betrays the speaker. "It's Tom Swiggs. I know him--he's got thehydrophobia; its common with him! Take him in tow, old Spunyarn, give him a good berth, and let him mellow at thirty cents a day, "continues the voice. 

The last sentence the speaker addressed to a man of comely figureand frank countenance, who has just made his appearance, dressed inthe garb of a sailor. This man stoops over Tom, seems to recognizein him an old acquaintance, for his face warms with kindliness, andhe straightway commences wiping the sun-scorched face of theinebriate with his handkerchief, and with his hand smooths andparts, with an air of tenderness, his hair; and when he has donethis, he spreads the handkerchief over the wretched man's face, touches the querulous vote-cribber on the arm, and with asignificant wink beckons him away, saying, "Come away, now, he hasluffed into the wind. A sleep will do him good. "

CHAPTER II. 

MADAME FLAMINGO-HER DISTINGUISHED PATRONS, AND HER VERY RESPECTABLEHOUSE. 

REGARD us forbearingly, generous and urbane reader; follow usundaunted whither we go, nor charge us with tracing crime in a badcause. We will leave the old prison, the dejected inebriate, themore curious group that surround him, and the tale of the destroyerit develops, and escort you in our walk to the mansion of MadameFlamingo, who is well known in Charleston, and commonly called theMother of Sin. It is a massive brick pile, situate in one of thepublic thoroughfares, four stories high, with bold Doric windows, set off with brown fluted freestone, and revealing faded redcurtains, overlain with mysterious lace, and from between the foldsof which, at certain hours of the day, languid and more mysteriouseyes may be seen peering cautiously. Madame Flamingo says (the cityfathers all know it) she has a scrupulous regard to taste, anddevelops it in the construction of her front door, which is of blackwalnut, fluted and carved in curious designs. In style it resemblessomewhat the doors of those fashionable churches that imitate soclosely the Italian, make good, paying property of fascinating pews, and adopt the more luxurious way of getting to heaven (prayer-bookof gold in hand) reclining on velvet and satin damask. 

The mansion of Madame Flamingo differs only in sumptuousness offurniture from twenty others of similar character, dotted here andthere about the little city. Add to these the innumerable smallerhaunts of vice that line the more obscure streets-that, rampart-like, file along the hundred and one "back lanes" thatsurround the scattered town, and, reader, you may form someestimation of the ratio of vice and wretchedness in this populationof thirty thousand, of which the enslaved form one-third. 

Having escorted you to the door, generous reader, we will forget thecommon-place jargon of the world, and affect a little ceremony, forMadame Flamingo is delicately exact in matters of etiquette. Touchgently the bell; you will find it there, a small bronze knob, in thefluting of the frame, and scarce perceptible to the uninitiated eye. If rudely you touch it, no notice will be taken; the broad, highfront of her house will remain, like an ill-natured panorama ofbrick and freestone, closed till daylight. She admits nothing butgentlemen; and gentlemen know how to ring a bell. Well, you havetouched it like one of delicate nerves, and like a bell with mannerspolished by Madame Flamingo herself, it answers as faintly as doesthe distant tinkle of an Arab's bell in the desert. 

There! It was recognized as the ring of a genteel gentleman, andMadame Flamingo's heavy foot is heard advancing up the hall. Be adiplomatist now. Show a white glove, and a delicate hand, and awinning smile, and you have secured your passport to the satin andbrocade of her mansion. A spring is heard to tick, a whisper ofcaution to some one within follows, and a block broad enough toadmit your hat swings open, disclosing the voluptuous splendor of agreat hall, the blaze of which flashes upon your senses, and fillsyou instinctively with curious emotions. Simultaneously a broad, cheerful face, somewhat matronly in its aspect, and enlivened withan urbane smile, darkens the space. After a few moments' pause wesee two sharp gray eyes peering curiously at us, and a soft butquick accenting voice inquires who we are. Ah! yes, the white glovehas told who we are, for the massive doors swing open, and we findourselves in a long, stately hall, resplendent of Persian carpets, lounges in tapestry, walls and ceiling frescoed in uncouth andbright-colored designs, and curiously wrought chandeliers, sheddingover all a bewitching light. The splendor is more gaudy than regal;it strikes our fancy, but leaves our admiration unmoved. The door issuddenly closed, and the short, portly figure of Madame (she bows, saying her house is most select) stands before us, somewhat nervous, as if she were yet undecided about our position in society. She hasseen some sixty summers, made her nefarious reputation in New York;there she keeps a joint establishment, which, she adds, has beenkindly patronized by the members of several pumpkin-headedcorporations. Indeed, her princely tabernacle there was owned by oneof these individuals, but in deference to his reputation she had thelease of a third party. Of corporations in general has she the veryhighest opinion. 

Madame Flamingo's round, dapper figure, is set off with a glossy, black satin, made high at the neck, about which a plain white collaris arranged, corresponding nicely with the dash of snowy lace downthe stomacher, and an embroidered buff apron, under which she everyfew minutes thrusts her fat, jewelled fingers. Her face is pallid, her chin fat and dimpled, her artificial hair light brown, and lainsmoothly over a low forehead, which is curiously contrasted with ajauntily-setting cap, the long strings of which flutter down hershoulders. 

"If you please, gentlemen, " she says, "my house is highlyrespectable-highly respectable (don't make strange of me tending myown door!) I assure you gentlemen. " And Madame Flamingo's eyesquicken, and she steps round us, now contemplating us suspiciously, then frisking her hands beneath her embroidered apron, which shesuccessively flaunts. 

We have assured her of our standing in society. To which, with anair of resumed confidence, and a quickened step, she says she has(that is, she thinks she has) seen us before, and is glad to see usagain. She is getting well down in the role of years, has atreacherous memory-the result of arduous business, and a life oftrouble-the poison of a war upon society-the excitement of seekingrevenge of the world. She cannot at all times trust her memory, forit has given out in the watchfulness necessary to the respectabilityof her house, which she regards as the Gibraltar from which sheturns upon society her unerring guns. "Lord, gentlemen, " she says inquick accents, "the reputation of this house-I watch it as oursenator to Congress does his-is my bank stock; and on therespectability and behavior of my customers, who are of the firstfamilies, depends my dividends. Madame Flamingo wouldn't-gentlemen, I am no doubt known to you by reputation?-soil the reputation of herhouse for uncounted gold. " This she whispers, tripping nervouslyover the soft carpet up the hall, until she reaches mid-way, whereon the right and left are two massive arched doors of black walnut, with stained glass for fan-lights. Our guardian (she has assumed theoffice) makes a significant motion with her left hand, which shemoves backward, places her right upon the porcelain knob, turns tothe right, and puts her ear inquiringly to the door. "It's a sort ofcommonwealth; yes, sir, a commonwealth-but then they are allgentlemen-some very distinguished, " she continues, shaking her headas if to caution us. Voices in loud conversation are heard in theroom to the right, while from out the left float the mellow notes ofa waltz, accompanied by the light tripping of feet. 

With an urbane bow, and a familiar smile, Madame opens the door, watches with an air of exultation the effect hersumptuously-furnished parlors, and her more sumptuously-dressedworshippers, have on our feelings. The great glare of Gothicwindows; the massive curtains of orange-colored satin that, veiledwith lace, pend in undulating folds over them; the cloudlike canopythat overhangs a dias at the further end of the parlor; thegorgeously-carved piano, with keys of pearl, that stands in dumbshow beneath the drapery; the curiously-carved eagles, in gilt, thatperch over each window, and hold daintily in their beaks theamber-colored drapery; the chastely-designed tapestry ofsumptuously-carved lounges, and reclines, and ottomans, andpatrician chairs, and lute tabs, arranged with exact taste here andthere about the great parlor; the massive centre and side-tables, richly inlaid with pearl and Mosaic; the antique vases interspersedalong the sides, between the windows, and contrasting curiously withthe undulating curtains, looped alternately with goddesses ofliberty, in gilt; the jetting lights from a great chandelier, blending with prismatic reflections; and the gaudy gossamers inwhich weary and blanched-faced females flaunt, more undressed thandressed-all mingle in one blaze of barbaric splendor. 

It is here your child of ignorance and neglect is fascinated andmade to drink the first cup of death; it is here your falteringsister falls; it is here your betrayed daughter seeks revenge; it ishere your forlorn, outcast sufferer first feels the world her enemy, has no sympathizing sister to stretch out the hand of encouragement, and sinks hopeless in the agony of her meditations. It is here, alas! too often necessity forces its hapless victims, and fromwhence a relentless world--without hope of regaining the lostjewel-hurls them down a short life, into a premature grave. Yourchurch is near by, but it never steps in here to make an inquiry;and if it chance to cast a suspicious look in now and then, it isonly as it passes along to inquire the state of the slave market, ofso much more importance is the price of men. Your common school (athing unknown, and held extremely dangerous in Carolina!) may beyour much talked of guiding star to virtue; your early education isyour bulwark against which the wave of vice is powerless; but unlessyou make it something more than a magnificent theory-unless you seekpractical means, and go down into the haunts of vice, there to dragup the neglected child, to whom the word early education is amystery, you leave untouched the festering volcano that vomits itsdeadly embers upon the community. 

Your homilies preached to pew-holders of fashion, who livesumptuously, ride sumptuously to church of a Sunday, and meeklyenjoy a sumptuous sermon for appearance sake, will, so long as youpass unheeded the haunts of vice, fall as chaff before the wind. Youmust make "early education" more than the mere motto of futurehappiness; you must go undaunted into the avenues of want andmisery, seek out the fallen child, forbear with her, and kindlyteach her how much good there is in its principles, its truths. 

Pardon, generous reader, this digression, and keep our arm while wesee of what metal are the votaries at the shrine of Madame Flamingo. "I am-that is, they say I am-something of an aristocrat, you see, gentlemen, " says the old woman, flaunting her embroidered apron, andfussily doddling round the great centre-table, every few minuteschanging backward and forward two massive decanters and fourcut-glass goblets. We bow approvingly. Then with an air ofexultation she turns on her centre, giving a scrutinizing look atthe rich decorations of her palace, and again at us, as if anxiousto draw from us one word of approval. "Gentlemen are no waysensitive here, " pursues Madame Flamingo, moving again the greatdecanters, "it's a commonwealth of gentlemen, you see. In New York-Idash out there, you know-my house is a perfect palace. I keep afootman and coachman there, have the most exact liveries, and keepup an establishment equal to my Fifth Avenue neighbors, whose tradeof rope and fish is now lost in their terrible love of plush. I am awoman of taste, you see; but, my honor for it, gentlemen, I know ofno people so given to plush and great buttons as our Fifth Avenueparvenues. "

It is a high old house this of Madame Flamingo. We speak approvinglyof all we see, her pride is stimulated, she quickens herconversation. "I think you said two bottles, gentlemen? Oursparkling Moselle is pronounced a gem by connoisseurs. " And againflaunting her embroidered apron, she trips hurriedly out of theroom. While she is gone we turn to view its human furniture. Yonder, in a cozy alcove, stands a marble-topped pier-table, at which areseated two gentlemen of great respectability in the community, playing whist with fair but frail partners. Near them, on a softlounge, is seated a man of portly person and venerable appearance(his hair is snowy white, and he has a frank, open countenance), holding converse with, and evidently enamoured of a modest andbeautiful girl, of some sixteen summers, who has just taken her seatat the opposite end. Madame Flamingo addresses this man as "Judge. "His daylight duty is known to be that of presiding over a criminalcourt. The girl with whom he nervously holds conversation, and whosebright, Italian eyes, undulating black hair, Grecian face and fairfeatures, swelling bust and beautifully-chiseled shoulders, roundpolished arms and tapering hands, erect figure, so exactly dressedin black brocade, and so reserve in her demeanor, is the Anna Bonardof this history. "Judge!" she says in reply to a question he hasadvanced, and turning disdainfully upon him her great black eyes, walks gracefully out of the room. 

Sitting on a sofa opposite is a slender youth, somewhat flashilydressed. His complexion is sandy, there is something restless in hismanner; and in his features, which are sharp and watchful, is thatwhich indicates a mind weak and vacillating. He sits alone, seemingly thoughtful, and regarding with a jealous eye the insidiousmanner in which the venerable judge addresses the beautiful Anna, inwhom you must know, reader, he has a deep and passionate interest. As Anna passes out of the room he, like one in despair, rests hishead in his pale, bony, and freckled hand, and mutters to himself:"I will have revenge. His gray hairs shall not save him--my name isGeorge Mullholland!"

Here and there, on sofas arranged between the great windows, sitfaded denizens, reclining languidly in dresses of various brightcolors, set off with gaudy trinkets, and exhibiting that passion forcheap jewelry so much in vogue with the vulgar of our self-plumedaristocracy--such as live at fashionable hotels, and, like Mrs. Snivel, who has a palace on the Fifth Avenue, make a show-case forcheap diamonds of themselves at breakfast table. Beside thesedenizens are men of every shade and grade of society. With one sitsthe distinguished lawyer; with a second converses thegrave-demeanored merchant, who seeks, away from the cares of hisdomestic hearth, to satisfy his curiosity here; with a third, thecelebrated physician sips his wine; with a fourth, the fatherlyplanter exchanges his saliant jokes; with a fifth, Doctor Handy thepolitician-who, to please his fashionable wife, a northern lady ofgreat beauty, has just moved from the country into the city, keepsup an unmeaning conversation. In the lefthand corner, seated on anottoman, and regarding the others as if a barrier were placedbetween them, are two men designated gamblers. Your Southerngentleman is, with few exceptions, a votary of the exciting vice;but he who makes it his profession severs the thread that bound himto society. And there sits not far from these members of thesporting fraternity, the tall, slender figure of a man, habited inthe garb of a quaker. He regards everything about him with the eyeof a philosopher, has a flowing white beard, a mild, playful blueeye, a short but well-lined nose, a pale oval face, an evenly-cutmouth, and an amiable expression of countenance. He intentlywatches every movement of the denizens, and should one accost him, he will answer in soft, friendly accents. He seems known to MadameFlamingo, whom he regards with a mysterious demeanor, and addressesas does a father his child. The old hostess gets no profit of hisvisits, for "he is only a moralist, " she says, and his name is Solon--; and better people love him more as more they know him. 

Madame Flamingo has returned, followed by a colored gentleman inbright livery, bearing on a silver tray two seductive bottles of thesparkling nectar, and sundry rich-cut goblets. "There! there!" saysthe old hostess, pointing to the centre-table, upon which thecolored man deposits them, and commences arranging some dozenglasses, as she prepares to extract the corks. Now she fills theglasses with the effervescing beverage, which the waiter againplaces on the tray, and politely serves to the denizens, in whoseglassy eyes, sallow faces, coarse, unbared arms and shoulders, iswritten the tale of their misery. The judge drinks with thecourtesan, touches glasses with the gambler, bows in compliment tothe landlady, who reiterates that she keeps the most respectablehouse and the choicest wine. The moralist shakes his head, anddeclines. 

And while a dozen voices are pronouncing her beverage excellent, sheturns suddenly and nervously to her massive, old-fashionedside-board, of carved walnut, and from the numerous cut glass thatrange grotesquely along its top, draws forth an aldermanic decanter, much broken. Holding it up to the view of her votaries, and lookingupon it with feelings of regret, "that, " she says, "is what I got, not many nights since, for kindly admitting one-I don't know when Idid such a thing before, mind ye!--of the common sort of people. Inever have any other luck when I take pity on one who has got downhill. I have often thought that the more kind I am the moreungrateful they upon whom I lavish my favors get. You must treat theworld just as it treats you-you must. "

To your simple question, reader, more simply advanced, she repliescoquettishly: "Now, on my word of honor, Tom Swiggs did that. Andthe poor fellow-I call him poor fellow, because, thinking of what heused to be, I can't help it-has not a cent to pay for his prankswith. Bless you, (here Madame Flamingo waxes warm, ) why I knew TomSwiggs years ago, when he wasn't what he is now! He was as dashing ayoung buck then as you'd meet in the city; used to come here aperfect gentleman; and I liked him, and he liked me, and he got toliking the house, so you couldn't, if you had wanted to, have kepthim away. And he always had no end of money, which he used to spendso freely. Poor fellow! (she sighs and shakes her head, ) I confess Iused to almost love Tom then. Then he got to courting a lady-she(Madame corrects herself) wasn't a lady though, she was only thedaughter of a mechanic of small means--mechanic families have nostanding in society, you see-and this cut deep into his mother'spride. And she, you see, was not quite sure where she stood insociety, you see, and wouldn't for the world have her pridelessened; so she discarded poor Tom. And the girl has been got outof the way, and Tom has become penniless, and such a wreck ofdissipation that no respectable house will admit him. It's a stiffold family, that Swiggs family! His mother keeps him threading inand out of jail, just to be rid of him. She is a curious mother; butwhen I think how he looks and acts, how can I wonder she keeps himin jail? I had to put him there twice--I had! (Madame Flamingobecomes emphatic. ) But remembering what a friend of the house heused to be, I took pity on him, let him out, and lent him twodollars. And there's honor--I've great faith in honor-in Tom, who, Ihonestly believe, providing the devil do not get him in one of hisfits, will pay all damages, notwithstanding I placed the reputationof my house in jeopardy with him a few nights since, was forced tocall three policemen to eject him, and resolved that he should notagain darken my door. "

CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH THE READER IS PRESENTED WITH A VARIED PICTURE. 

TOM has passed a restless night in jail. He has dreamed of bottledsnakes, with eyes wickedly glaring at him; of fiery-tailed serpentscoiling all over him; of devils in shapes he has no language todescribe; of the waltz of death, in which he danced at the mansionof Madame Flamingo; and of his mother, (a name ever dear in histhoughts, ) who banished him to this region of vice, for what sheesteemed a moral infirmity. Further on in his dream he saw a vision, a horrible vision, which was no less than a dispute for his personbetween Madame Flamingo, a bishop, and the devil. But MadameFlamingo and the devil, who seemed to enjoy each other's companyexceedingly, got the better of the bishop, who was scrupulous of hisdignity, and not a little anxious about being seen in such society. And from the horrors of this dream he wakes, surprised to findhimself watched over by a kind friend-a young, comely-featured man, in whom he recognizes the earnest theologian, as he is plumed by theprisoners, whom he daily visits in his mission of good. There wassomething so frank and gentle in this young man's demeanor-somethingso manly and radiant in his countenance-something so disinterestedand holy in his mission of love--something so opposite to thecoldness of the great world without--something so serene and elevatedin his youth, that even the most inveterate criminal awaited hiscoming with emotions of joy, and gave a ready ear to his kindlyadvice. Indeed, the prisoners called him their child; and he seemednot dainty of their approach, but took them each by the hand, sat attheir side, addressed them as should one brother addressanother;--yea, he made them to feel that what was their interest itwas his joy to promote. 

The young theologian took him a seat close by the side of thedreaming inebriate; and as he woke convulsively, and turned towardshim his distorted face, viewing with wild stare each object that methis sight, the young man met his recognition with a smile and a warmgrasp of the hand. "I am sorry you find me here again-yes, I am. "

"Better men, perhaps, have been here--"

"I am ashamed of it, though; it isn't as it should be, you see, "interrupts Tom. 

"Never mind-(the young man checks himself)-I was going to say thereis a chance for you yet; and there is a chance; and you muststruggle; and I will help you to struggle; and your friends--"

Tom interrupts by saying, "I've no friends. "

"I will help you to struggle, and to overcome the destroyer. Neverthink you are friendless, for then you are a certain victim in thehands of the ruthless enemy--"

"Well, well, " pauses Tom, casting a half-suspicious look at theyoung man, "I forgot. There's you, and him they call old Spunyarn, are friends, after all. You'll excuse me, but I didn't think ofthat;" and a feeling of satisfaction seemed to have come over him. "How grateful to have friends when a body's in a place of thiskind, " he mutters incoherently, as the tears gush from his distendedeyes, and child-like he grasps the hand of the young man. 

"Be comforted with the knowledge that you have friends, Tom. Oneall-important thing is wanted, and you are a man again. "

"As to that!" interrupts Tom, doubtingly, and laying his begrimedhand on his burning forehead, while he alternately frets and friskshis fingers through his matted hair. 

"Have no doubts, Tom-doubts are dangerous. "

"Well, say what it is, and I'll try what I can do. But you won'tthink I'm so bad as I seem, and 'll forgive me? I know what youthink of me, and that's what mortifies me; you think I'm an overdonespecimen of our chivalry-you do!"

"You must banish from your mind these despairing thoughts, " repliesthe young man, laying his right hand approvingly on Tom's head. "First, Tom, " he pursues, "be to yourself a friend; second, forgetthe error of your mother, and forgive her sending you here; andthird, cut the house of Madame Flamingo, in which our chivalry aresure to get a shattering. To be honest in temptation, Tom, is one ofthe noblest attributes of our nature; and to be capable of formingand maintaining a resolution to shake off the thraldom of vice, andto place oneself in the serener atmosphere of good society, isequally worthy of the highest commendation. "

Tom received this in silence, and seemed hesitating between what heconceived an imperative demand and the natural inclination of hispassions. 

"Give me your hand, and with it your honor-I know you yet retain thelatent spark-and promise me you will lock up the cup--"

"You'll give a body a furlough, by the way of blowing off the fuddlehe has on hand?"

"I do not withhold from you any discretionary indulgence that maybring relief--"

Tom interrupts by saying, "My mother, you know!"

"I will see her, and plead with her on your behalf; and if she havea mother's feelings I can overcome her prejudice. "

Tom says, despondingly, he has no home to go to. It's no use seeinghis mother; she's all dignity, and won't let it up an inch. "If Icould only persuade her--" Tom pauses here and shakes his head. 

"Pledge me your honor you'll from this day form a resolution toreform, Tom; and if I do not draw from your mother a reconciliation, I will seek a home for you elsewhere. "

"Well, there can't be much harm in an effort, at all events; andhere's my hand, in sincerity. But it won't do to shut down until Iget over this bit of a fog I'm now in. " With child-like simplicity, Tom gives his hand to the young man, who, as old Spunyarn enters thecell to, as he says, get the latitude of his friend's nerves, departs in search of Mrs. Swiggs. 

Mrs. Swiggs is the stately old member of a crispy old family, that, like numerous other families in the State, seem to have outlived twochivalrous generations, fed upon aristocracy, and are dying outcontemplating their own greatness. Indeed, the Swiggs family, whileit lived and enjoyed the glory of its name, was very like theBarnwell family of this day, who, one by one, die off with the verypardonable and very harmless belief that the world never can getalong without the aid of South Carolina, it being the parthenon fromwhich the outside world gets all its greatness. Her leading and verywarlike newspapers, (the people of these United States ought toknow, if they do not already, ) it was true, were editorialized, asit was politely called in the little State-militant, by a species ofunreputationized Jew and Yankee; but this you should know-if you donot already, gentle reader-that it is only because such employmentsare regarded by the lofty-minded chivalry as of too vulgar a natureto claim a place in their attention. 

The clock of old Saint Michels, a clock so tenacious of its dignityas to go only when it pleases, and so aristocratic in its habits asnot to go at all in rainy weather;--a clock held in great esteem bythe "very first families, " has just struck eleven. The young, pale-faced missionary inquiringly hesitates before a small, two-story building of wood, located on the upper side of Churchstreet, and so crabbed in appearance that you might, withoutendangering your reputation, have sworn it had incorporated in itsframework a portion of that chronic disease for which the State hasgained for itself an unenviable reputation. Jutting out of theblack, moss-vegetating roof, is an old-maidish looking window, witha dowdy white curtain spitefully tucked up at the side. Themischievous young negroes have pecked half the bricks out of thefoundation, and with them made curious grottoes on the pavement. Disordered and unpainted clapboards spread over the dingy front, which is set off with two upper and two lower windows, all blockadedwith infirm, green shutters. Then there is a snuffy door, high andnarrow (like the State's notions), and reached by six venerablesteps and a stoop, carefully guarded with a pine hand-rail, fashionably painted in blue, and looking as dainty as the State'swhite glove. This, reader, is the abode of the testy but extremelydignified Mrs. Swiggs. If you would know how much dignity can becrowded into the smallest space, you have only to look in here andbe told (she closely patterns after the State in all things!) thatfifty-five summers of her crispy life have been spent here, readingMilton's Paradise Lost and contemplating the greatness of herdeparted family. 

The old steps creak and complain as the young man ascends them, holding nervously on at the blue hand-rail, and reaching in due timethe stoop, the strength of which he successively tests with hisright foot, and stands contemplating the snuffy door. A knockerpainted in villanous green-a lion-headed knocker, of gravedeportment, looking as savage as lion can well do in this chivalrousatmosphere, looks admonitiously at him. "Well!" he sighs as heraises it, "there's no knowing what sort of a reception I may get. "He has raised the monster's head and given three gentle taps. Suddenly a frisking and whispering, shutting of doors and trippingof feet, is heard within; and after a lapse of several minutes thedoor swings carefully open, and the dilapidated figure of an oldnegro woman, lean, shrunken, and black as Egyptian darkness--withserious face and hanging lip, the picture of piety and starvation, gruffly asks who he is and what he wants?

Having requested an interview with her mistress, this decrepitspecimen of human infirmity half closes the door against him anddoddles back. A slight whispering, and Mrs. Swiggs is heard tosay--"show him into the best parlor. " And into the best parlor, andinto the august presence of Mrs. Swiggs is he ushered. The bestparlor is a little, dingy room, low of ceiling, and skirted with asombre-colored surbase, above which is papering, the original colorof which it would be difficult to discover. A listen carpet, muchfaded and patched, spreads over the floor, the walls are hung withseveral small engravings, much valued for their age andassociations, but so crooked as to give one the idea of the househaving withstood a storm at sea; and the furniture is made up of afew venerable mahogany chairs, a small side-table, on which stands, much disordered, several well-worn books and papers, twopatch-covered foot-stools, a straightbacked rocking-chair, in whichthe august woman rocks her straighter self, and a great tin cage, from between the bars of which an intelligent parrot chatters--"mylady, my lady, my lady!" There is a cavernous air about the place, which gives out a sickly odor, exciting the suggestion that it mightat some time have served as a receptacle for those second-handcoffins the State buries its poor in. 

"Well! who are you? And what do you want? You have brought letters, I s'pose?" a sharp, squeaking voice, speaks rapidly. 

The young man, without waiting for an invitation to sit down, takesnervously a seat at the side-table, saying he has come on a missionof love. 

"Love! love! eh? Young man-know that you have got into the wronghouse!" Mrs. Swiggs shakes her head, squeaking out with greatanimation. 

There she sits, Milton's "Paradise Lost" in her witch-like fingers, herself lean enough for the leanest of witches, and seeming to haveeither shrunk away from the faded black silk dress in which she isclad, or passed through half a century of starvation merely tobolster up her dignity. A sharp, hatchet-face, sallow andcorrugated; two wicked gray eyes, set deep in bony sockets; a long, irregular nose, midway of which is adjusted a pair of broad, brass-framed spectacles; a sunken, purse--drawn mouth, with twodiscolored teeth protruding from her upper lip; a high, narrowforehead, resembling somewhat crumpled parchment; a dash of dry, brown hair relieving the ponderous border of her steeple-crownedcap, which she seems to have thrown on her head in a hurry; amoth-eaten, red shawl thrown spitefully over her shoulders, disclosing a sinewy and sassafras-colored neck above, and the smallend of a gold chain in front, and, reader, you have the august Mrs. Swiggs, looking as if she diets on chivalry and sour krout. She isindeed a nice embodiment of several of those qualities which theState clings tenaciously to, and calls its own, for she lives on thelabor of eleven aged negroes, five of whom are cripples. 

The young man smiles, as Mrs. Swiggs increases the velocity of herrocking, lays her right hand on the table, rests her left on herMilton, and continues to reiterate that he has got into the wronghouse. 

"I have no letter, Madam--"

"I never receive people without letters-never!" she interrupts, testily. 

"But you see, Madam--"

"No I don't. I don't see anything about it!" again she interposes, adjusting her spectacles, and scanning him anxiously from head tofoot. "Ah, yes (she twitches her head), I see what you are--"

"I was going to say, if you please, Madam, that my mission may serveas a passport--"

"I'm of a good family, you must know, young man. You could havelearned that of anybody before seeking this sort of an introduction. Any of our first families could have told you about me. You must goyour way, young man!" And she twitches her head, and pulls closerabout her lean shoulders the old red shawl. 

"I (if you will permit me, Madam) am not ignorant of the very highstanding of your famous family--" Madam interposes by saying, everymuscle of her frigid face unmoved the while, she is glad he knowssomething, "having read of them in a celebrated work by one of ourmore celebrated genealogists--"

"But you should have brought a letter from the Bishop! and upon thatbased your claims to a favorable reception. Then you have read ofSir Sunderland Swiggs, my ancestor? Ah! he was such a Baron, andowned such estates in the days of Elizabeth. But you should havebrought a letter, young man. " Mrs. Swiggs replies rapidly, alternately raising and lowering her squeaking voice, twitching herhead, and grasping tighter her Milton. 

"Those are his arms and crest. " She points with her Milton to asingular hieroglyphic, in a wiry black frame, resting on themarble-painted mantelpiece. "He was very distinguished in his time;and such an excellent Christian. " She shakes her head and wipes thetears from her spectacles, as her face, which had before seemedcarved in wormwood, slightly relaxes the hardness of its muscles. 

"I remember having seen favorable mention of Sir Sunderland's namein the book I refer to--"

She again interposes. The young man watches her emotions with apenetrating eye, conscious that he has touched a chord in which allthe milk of kindness is not dried up. 

"It's a true copy of the family arms. Everybody has got to havingarms now-a-days. (She points to the indescribable scrawl over themantelpiece. ) It was got through Herald King, of London, who theysay keeps her Majesty's slippers and the great seal of State. Wewere very exact, you see. Yes, sir-we were very exact. Our vulgarpeople, you see-I mean such as have got up by trade, and that sortof thing-went to a vast expense in sending to England a man of greatlearning and much aforethought, to ransack heraldry court and traceout their families. Well, he went, lived very expensively, spentseveral years abroad, and being very clever in his way, returned, bringing them all pedigrees of the very best kind. With only twoexceptions, he traced them all down into noble blood. These two, thecunning fellow had it, came of martyrs. And to have come of theblood of martyrs, when all the others, as was shown, came of nobleblood, so displeased-the most ingenious (the old lady shakes herhead regrettingly) can't please everybody-the living members ofthese families, that they refused to pay the poor man for hisresearches, so he was forced to resort to a suit at law. And to thisday (I don't say it disparagingly of them!) both families stubbornlyrefuse to accept the pedigree. They are both rich grocers, you see!and on this account we were very particular about ours. "

The young man thought it well not to interrupt the old woman'sdisplay of weakness, inasmuch as it might produce a favorable changein her feelings. 

"And now, young man, what mission have you besides love?" sheinquires, adding an encouraging look through her spectacles. 

"I am come to intercede--"

"You needn't talk of interceding with me; no you needn't! I'venothing to intercede about"--she twitches her head spitefully. 

"In behalf of your son. "

"There-there! I knew there was some mischief. You're a Catholic! Iknew it. Never saw one of your black-coated flock about that therewasn't mischief brewing-never! I can't read my Milton in peace foryou--"

"But your son is in prison, Madam, among criminals, and subject tothe influence of their habits--"

"Precisely where I put him-where he won't disgrace the family; yes, where he ought to be, and where he shall rot, for all me. Now, goyour way, young man; and read your Bible at home, and keep out ofprisons; and don't be trying to make Jesuits of hardened scamps likethat Tom of mine. "

"I am a Christian: I would like to extend a Christian's hand to yourson. I may replace him on the holy pedestal he has fallen from--"

"You are very aggravating, young man. Do you live in SouthCarolina?"

The young man says he does. He is proud of the State that can boastso many excellent families. 

"I am glad of that, " she says, looking querulously over herspectacles, as she twitches her chin, and increases the velocity ofher rocking. "I wonder how folks can live out of it. "

"As to that, Madam, permit me to say, I am happy to see andappreciate your patriotism; but if you will grant me an order ofrelease--"

"I won't hear a word now! You're very aggravating, young man-very!He has disgraced the family; I have put him where he is seven times;he shall rot were he is! He never shall disgrace the family again. Think of Sir Sunderland Swiggs, and then think of him, and see whata pretty level the family has come to! That's the place for him. Ihave told him a dozen times how I wished him gone. The quicker he isout of the way, the better for the name of the family. "

The young man waits the end of this colloquy with a smile on hiscountenance. "I have no doubt I can work your son's reform-perhapsmake him an honor to the family--"

"He honor the family!" she interrupts, twitches the shawl about hershoulders, and permits herself to get into a state of generalexcitement. "I should like to see one who has disgraced the familyas much as he has think of honoring it--"

"Through kindness and forbearance, Madam, a great deal may be done, "the young man replies. 

Now, you are very provoking, young man-very. Let other people alone;go your way home, and study your Bible. " And with this the old ladycalls Rebecca, the decrepit slave who opened the door, and directsher to show the young man out. "There now!" she says testily, turning to the marked page of her Milton. 

The young man contemplates her for a few moments, but, having noalternative, leaves reluctantly. 

On reaching the stoop he encounters the tall, handsome figure of aman, whose face is radiant with smiles, and his features ornamentedwith neatly-combed Saxon hair and beard, and who taps the oldnegress under the chin playfully, as she says, "Missus will be rightglad to see you, Mr. Snivel-that she will. " And he bustles his waylaughing into the presence of the old lady, as if he had news ofgreat importance for her. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A FEW REFLECTIONS ON THE CURE OF VICE. 

DISAPPOINTED, and not a little chagrined, at the failure of hismission, the young man muses over the next best course to pursue. Hehas the inebriate's welfare at heart; he knows there is no state ofdegradation so low that the victim cannot, under proper care, bereclaimed from it; and he feels duty calling loudly to him not tostand trembling on the brink, but to enter the abode of the victim, and struggle to make clean the polluted. Vice, he says to himself, is not entailed in the heart; and if you would modify and correctthe feelings inclined to evil, you must first feed the body, thenstimulate the ambition; and when you have got the ambition right, seek a knowledge of the heart, and apply to it those mild andjudicious remedies which soften its action, and give life to newthoughts and a higher state of existence. Once create the vine ofmoral rectitude, and its branches will soon get where they can takecare of themselves. But to give the vine creation in poor soil, yourwatching must exhibit forbearance, and your care a delicate hand. The stubbornly-inclined nature, when coupled with ignorance, is thatin which vice takes deepest root, as it is, when educated, thatagainst which vice is least effectual. To think of changing thenatural inclination of such natures with punishment, or harshcorrectives, is as useless as would be an attempt to stop the ebbingand flowing of the tide. You must nurture the feelings, he thought, create a susceptibility, get the heart right, by holding out thevalue of a better state of things, and make the head to feel thatyou are sincere in your work of love; and, above all, you must notforget the stomach, for if that go empty crime will surely creepinto the head. You cannot correct moral infirmity by confining thevictim of it among criminals, for no greater punishment can beinflicted on the feelings of man; and punishment destroys ratherthan encourages the latent susceptibility of our better nature. Innine cases out of ten, improper punishment makes the hardenedcriminals with which your prisons are filled, destroying foreverthat spark of ambition which might have been fostered into a meansto higher ends. 

And as the young man thus muses, there recurs to his mind thepicture of old Absalom McArthur, a curious old man, but excessivelykind, and always ready to do "a bit of a good turn for one in need, "as he would say when a needy friend sought his assistance. McArthuris a dealer in curiosities, is a venerable curiosity himself, andhas always something on hand to meet the wants of a community muchgiven to antiquity and broken reputations. 

The young theologian will seek this good old man. He feels that timewill work a favorable revolution in the feelings of Tom's mother;and to be prepared for that happy event he will plead a shelter forhim under McArthur's roof. 

And now, generous reader, we will, with your permission, permit himto go on his errand of mercy, while we go back and see how Tomprospers at the old prison. You, we well know, have not much love ofprisons. But unless we do now and then enter them, our conceptionsof how much misery man can inflict upon man will be small indeed. 

The man of sailor-like deportment, and whom the prisoners salutewith the sobriquet of "Old Spunyarn, " entered, you will pleaseremember, the cell, as the young theologian left in search of Mrs. Swiggs. "I thought I'd just haul my tacks aboard, run up a bit, andsee what sort of weather you were making, Tom, " says he, touchingclumsily his small-brimmed, plait hat, as he recognizes the youngman, whom he salutes in that style so frank and characteristic ofthe craft. "He's a bit better, sir-isn't he?" inquires Spunyarn, hisbroad, honest face, well browned and whiskered, warming with a glowof satisfaction. 

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he replies he is right gladof it, not liking to see a shipmate in a drift. And he gives hisquid a lurch aside, throws his hat carelessly upon the floor, shrugshis shoulders, and as he styles it, nimbly brings himself to amooring, at Tom's side. "It's a hard comforter, this state. I don'tbegrudge your mother the satisfaction she gets of sending you here. In her eyes, ye see, yeer fit only to make fees out on, for them arlawyer chaps. They'd keep puttin' a body in an' out here during hisnatural life, just for the sake of gettin' the fees. They don't carefor such things as you and I. We hain't no rights; and if we had, why we hain't no power. This carryin' too much head sail, Tom, won'tdo-'twon't!" Spunyarn shakes his head reprovingly, fusses over Tom, turns him over on his wales, as he has it, and finally gets him onhis beam's ends, a besotted wreck unable to carry his canvas. "Lostyeer reckonin', eh, Tom?" he continues as that bewildered individualstares vacantly at him. The inebriate contorts painfully his face, presses and presses his hands to his burning forehead, and says theyare firing a salute in his head, using his brains for ammunition. 

"Well, now Tom, seein' as how I'm a friend of yourn--"

"Friend of mine?" interrupts Tom, shaking his head, and peeringthrough his fingers mistrustfully. 

"And this is a hard lee shore you've beached upon; I'll lend ye ahand to get in the head sail, and get the craft trimmed up a little. A dash of the same brine will help keep the ballast right, then askysail-yard breakfast must be carefully stowed away, in order togive a firmness to the timbers, and on the strength of these twoblocks for shoring up the hull, you must begin little by little, andkeep on brightening up until you have got the craft all right again. And when you have got her right you must keep her right. I say, Tom!--it won't do. You must reef down, or the devil 'll seize thehelm in one of these blows, and run you into a port too warm forpea-jackets. " For a moment, Spunyarn seems half inclined to graspTom by his collarless coat and shake the hydrophobia, as he callsit, out of him; then, as if incited by a second thought, he drawsfrom his shirt-bosom a large, wooden comb, and humming a tunecommences combing and fussing over Tom's hair, which stands erectover his head like marline-spikes. At length he gets a craft-likeset upon his foretop, and turning his head first to the right, thento the left, as a child does a doll, he views him with an air ofexultation. "I tell you what it is, Tom, " he continues, relievinghim of the old coat, "the bright begins to come! There's threepoints of weather made already. "

"God bless you, Spunyarn, " replies Tom, evidently touched by thefrankness and generosity of the old sailor. Indeed there wassomething so whole-hearted about old Spunyarn, that he was held inuniversal esteem by every one in jail, with the single exception ofMilman Mingle, the vote-cribber. 

"Just think of yourself, Tom-don't mind me, " pursues the sailor asTom squeezes firmly his hand. "You've had a hard enough time of it--"Tom interrupts by saying, as he lays his hands upon his sides, he issore from head to foot. 

"Don't wonder, " returns the sailor. "It's a great State, this SouthCarolina. It seems swarming with poor and powerless folks. Everybodyhas power to put everybody in jail, where the State gives a body twodog's-hair and rope-yarn blankets to lay upon, and grants thesheriff, Mr. Hardscrable, full license to starve us, and put thethirty cents a day it provides for our living into his breechespockets. Say what you will about it, old fellow, it's a brief way ofdoing a little profit in the business of starvation. I don't saythis with any ill-will to the State that regards its powerless anddestitute with such criminal contempt-I don't. " And he brings water, gets Tom upon his feet, forces him into a clean shirt, and regardshim in the light of a child whose reformation he is determined onperfecting. He sees that in the fallen man which implies a hope ofultimate usefulness, notwithstanding the sullen silence, the gloomyfrown on his knitted brow, and the general air of despair thatpervades the external man. 

"There!" he exclaims, having improved the personal of the inebriate, and folding his arms as he steps back apace to have a better view ofhis pupil--"now, don't think of being triced up in this dreary vault. Be cheerful, brace up your resolution-never let the devil think youknow he is trying to put the last seal on your fate-never!" Havingslipped the black kerchief from his own neck, he secures it aboutTom's, adjusts the shark's bone at the throat, and mounts the braidhat upon his head with a hearty blow on the crown. "Look atyourself! They'd mistake you for a captain of the foretop, " hepursues, and good-naturedly he lays his broad, browned hands uponTom's shoulders, and forces him up to a triangular bit of glasssecured with three tacks to the wall. 

Tom's hands wander down his sides as he contemplates himself in theglass, saying: "I look a shade up, I reckon! And I feel-I have tothank you for it, Spunyarn-something different all over me. Godbless you! I won't forget you. But I'm hungry; that's all that ailsme now. 

"I may thank my mother--"

"Thank yourself, Tom, " interposes the sailor. 

"For all this. She has driven me to this; yes, she has made my souldead with despair!" And he bursts into a wild, fierce laugh. Amoment's pause, and he says, in a subdued voice, "I'm a slave, afool, a wanderer in search of his own distress. "

The kind-hearted sailor seats his pupil upon a board bench, andproceeds down stairs, where, with the bribe of a glass of whiskey, he induces the negro cook to prepare for Tom a bowl of coffee and abiscuit. In truth, we must confess, that Spunyarn was so exceedinglyliberal of his friendship that he would at times appropriate tohimself the personal effects of his neighbors. But we must do himjustice by saying that this was only when a friend in need claimedhis attention. And this generous propensity he the more frequentlyexercised upon the effects-whiskey, cold ham, crackers and cheese-of the vote-cribber, whom he regards as a sort of cold-heartedland-lubber, whose political friends outside were not what theyshould be. If the vote-cribber's aristocratic friends (and SouthCarolina politicians were much given to dignity and bad whiskey)sent him luxuries that tantalized the appetites of poverty-oppresseddebtors, and poor prisoners starving on a pound of bread a-day, Spunyarn held this a legitimate plea for holding in utter contemptthe right to such gifts. And what was more singular of this man was, that he always knew the latitude and longitude of the vote-cribber'sbottle, and what amount of water was necessary to keep up the gaugehe had reduced in supplying his flask. 

And now that Tom's almost hopeless condition presents a warrantableexcuse, (the vote-cribber has this moment passed into the cell totake a cursory glance at Tom, ) Spunyarn slips nimbly into thevote-cribber's cell, withdraws a brick from the old chimney, andseizing the black neck of a blacker bottle, drags it forth, holds itin the shadow of the doorway, squints exultingly at the contents, shrugs his stalwart shoulders, and empties a third of the liquid, which he replaces with water from a bucket near by, into histin-topped flask. This done, he ingeniously replaces the bottle, slides the flask suspiciously into his bosom, saying, "It'll tastejust as strong to a vote-cribber, " and seeks that greasy potentate, the prison cook. This dignitary has always laid something aside forSpunyarn; he knows Spunyarn has something laid aside for him, whichmakes the condition mutual. 

"A new loafer let loose on the world!" says the vote-cribber, entering the domain of the inebriate with a look of fierce scorn. "The State is pestered to death with such things as you. What dothey send you here for?-disturbing the quiet and respectability ofthe prison! You're only fit to enrich the bone-yard-hardly that;perhaps only for lawyers to get fees of. The State 'll starve you, old Hardscrabble 'll make a few dollars out of your feed-but what ofthat? We don't want you here. " There was something so sullen andmysterious in the coarse features of this stalwart man-something sorevolting in his profession, though it was esteemed necessary to theelevation of men seeking political popularity-something so atvariance with common sense in the punishment meted out to him whofollowed it, as to create a deep interest in his history, notwithstanding his coldness towards the inebriate. And yet yousought in vain for one congenial or redeeming trait in the characterof this man. 

"I always find you here; you're a fixture, I take it--"

The vote-cribber interrupts the inebriate--"Better have said apatriot!"

"Well, " returns the inebriate, "a patriot then; have it as you likeit. I'm not over-sensitive of the distinction. " The fallen man dropshis head into his hands, stabbed with remorse, while thevote-cribber folds his brawny arms leisurely, paces to and frobefore him, and scans him with his keen, gray eyes, after the mannerof one mutely contemplating an imprisoned animal. 

"You need not give yourself so much concern about me--"

"I was only thinking over in my head what a good subject to crib, aweek or two before fall election, you'd be. You've a vote?"

Tom good-naturedly says he has. He always throws it for the "oldCharleston" party, being sure of a release, as are some dozen cagedbirds, just before election. 

"I have declared eternal hatred against that party; never pays itscribbers!" Mingle scornfully retorts; and having lighted his pipe, continues his pacing. "As for this jail, " he mutters to himself, "I've no great respect for it; but there is a wide differencebetween a man who they put in here for sinning against himself, andone who only violates a law of the State, passed in opposition topopular opinion. However, you seem brightened up a few pegs, and, only let whiskey alone, you may be something yet. Keep up anacquaintance with the pump, and be civil to respectable prisoners, that's all. "

This admonition of the vote-cribber had a deeper effect on thefeelings of the inebriate than was indicated by his outward manner. He had committed no crime, and yet he found himself among criminalsof every kind; and what was worse, they affected to look down uponhim. Had he reached a stage of degradation so low that even thefelon loathed his presence? Was he an outcast, stripped of everymeans of reform-of making himself a man? Oh no! The knife of thedestroyer had plunged deep-disappointment had tortured his brain-hewas drawn deeper into the pool of misery by the fatal fascinationsof the house of Madame Flamingo, where, shunned by society, he hadsought relief-but there was yet one spark of pride lingering in hisheart. That spark the vote-cribber had touched; and with that sparkTom resolved to kindle for himself a new existence. He had pledgedhis honor to the young theologian; he would not violate it. 

The old sailor, with elated feelings, and bearing in his hands abowl of coffee and two slices of toasted bread, is accosted byseveral suspicious-looking prisoners, who have assembled in thecorridor for the purpose of scenting fresh air, with sundryquestions concerning the state of his pupil's health. 

"He has had a rough night, " the sailor answers, "but is now a bitcalm. In truth, he only wants a bit of good steering to get him intosmooth weather again. " Thus satisfying the inquirers, he hurries upstairs as the vote-cribber hurries down, and setting his offering onthe window-sill, draws from his bosom the concealed flask. "There, Tom!" he says, with childlike satisfaction, holding the flask beforehim--"only two pulls. To-morrow reef down to one; and the day afterswear a dissolution of copartnership, for this chap (he points tothe whiskey) is too mighty for you. "

Tom hesitates, as if questioning the quality of the drug he is aboutto administer. 

"Only two!" interrupts the sailor. "It will reduce the ground-swella bit. " The outcast places the flask to his lips, and having drankwith contorted face passes it back with a sigh, and extends hisright hand. "My honor is nothing to the world, Spunyarn, but it isyet something to me; and by it I swear (here he grasps tighter thehand of the old sailor, as a tear moistens his suffused cheeks)never to touch the poison again. It has grappled me like a fierceanimal I could not shake off; it has made me the scoffed of felons-Iwill cease to be its victim; and having gained the victory, behereafter a friend to myself. "

"God bless you-may you never want a friend, Tom-and may He give youstrength to keep the resolution. That's my wish. " And the old sailorshook Tom's hand fervently, in pledge of his sincerity. 

CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH MR. SNIVEL, COMMONLY CALLED THE ACCOMMODATION MAN, ISINTRODUCED, AND WHAT TAKES PLACE BETWEEN HIM AND MRS. SWIGGS. 

READER! have you ever witnessed how cleverly one of ourmob-politicians can, through the all-soothing medium of amint-julep, transpose himself from a mass of passion and bad Englishinto a child of perfect equanimity? If not, perhaps you havewitnessed in our halls of Congress the sudden transition throughwhich some of our Carolina members pass from a state of stupidity toa state of pugnacity? (We refer only to those members who do theirown "stumping, " and as a natural consequence, get into Congressthrough abuse of the North, bad whiskey, and a profusion of promisesto dissolve the Union. ) And if you have, you may form some idea ofthe suddenness with which Lady Swiggs, as she delights in having herfriends call her, transposes herself from the incarnation of a viperinto a creature of gentleness, on hearing announced the name of Mr. Soloman Snivel. 

What!--my old friend! I wish I had words to say how glad I am to seeyou, Lady Swiggs!" exclaims a tall, well-proportioned andhandsome-limbed man, to whose figure a fashionable claret-coloredfrock coat, white vest, neatly-fitting dark-brown trowsers, highly-polished boots, a cluster of diamonds set in an avalanche ofcorded shirt-bosom, and carelessly-tied green cravat, lend arespectability better imagined than described. A certain recklessdash about him, not common to a refined gentleman, forces us to sethim down as one of those individuals who hold an uncertain positionin society; and though they may now and then mingle with men ofrefinement, have their more legitimate sphere in a fashionable worldof doubtful character. 

"Why!--Mr. Snivel. Is it you?" responds the old woman, reciprocatinghis warm shake of the hand, and getting her hard face into a smile. 

"I am so glad-But (Mr. Snivel interrupts himself) never mind that!"

"You have some important news?" hastily inquires Mrs. Swiggs, layinga bit of muslin carefully between the pages of her Milton, andreturning it to the table, saying she has just been grievouslyprovoked by one of that black-coated flock who go about the city insearch of lambs. They always remind her of light-houses pointing theroad to the dominions of the gentleman in black. 

"Something very important!" parenthesises Soloman--"very. " And heshakes his head, touches her significantly on the arm with hisorange-colored glove, --he smiles insidiously. 

"Pray be seated, Mr. Snivel. Rebecca!--bring Mr. Snivel therocking-chair. "

"You see, my good Madam, there's such a rumor about town thismorning! (Soloman again taps her on the arm with his glove. ) The cathas got out of the bag-it's all up with the St. Cecilia!--"

"Do, Rebecca, make haste with the rocking-chair!" eagerly interruptsthe old woman, addressing herself to the negress, who fusses her wayinto the room with a great old-fashioned rocking-chair. "I am sosensitive of the character of that society, " she continues with asigh, and wipes and rubs her spectacles, gets up and views herselfin the glass, frills over her cap border, and becomes very generallyanxious. Mrs. Swiggs is herself again. She nervously adjusts thevenerable red shawl about her shoulders, draws the newly-introducedarm-chair near her own, ("I'm not so old, but am getting a littledeaf, " she says), and begs her visitor will be seated. 

Mr. Soloman, having paced twice or thrice up and down the littleroom, contemplating himself in the glass at each turn, now touchinghis neatly-trimmed Saxon mustache and whiskers, then frisking hisfingers through his candy-colored hair, brings his dignity into thechair. 

"I said it was all up with the St. Cecilia--"

"Yes!" interrupts Mrs. Swiggs, her eyes glistening like balls offire, her lower jaw falling with the weight of anxiety, and frettingrapidly her bony hands. 

Soloman suddenly pauses, says that was a glorious bottle of oldMadeira with which he enjoyed her hospitality on his last visit. Theflavor of it is yet fresh in his mouth. 

"Thank you-thank you! Mr. Soloman. I've a few more left. But praylose no time in disclosing to me what hath befallen the St. Cecilia. "

"Well then-but what I say must be in confidence. (The old woman saysit never shall get beyond her lips-never!) An Englishman of goodlylooks, fashion, and money-and, what is more in favor with our firstfamilies, a Sir attached to his name, being of handsome person andaccomplished manners, and travelling and living after the manner ofa nobleman, (some of our first families are simple enough toidentify a Baronet with nobility!) was foully set upon by thefairest and most marriageable belles of the St. Cecilia. If he hadpossessed a dozen hearts, he could have had good markets for themall. There was such a getting up of attentions! Our fashionablemothers did their very best in arraying the many accomplishments oftheir consignable daughters, setting forth in the most foreign butnot over-refined phraseology, their extensive travels abroad--"

"Yes!" interrupts Mrs. Swiggs, nervously--"I know how they do it. It's a pardonable weakness. " And she reaches out her hand and takesto her lap her inseparable Milton. 

"And the many marked attentions-offers, in fact-they have receivedat the hands of Counts and Earls, with names so unpronounceable thatthey have outlived memory--"

"Perhaps I have them in my book of autographs!" interrupts thecredulous old woman, making an effort to rise and proceed to anantique sideboard covered with grotesque-looking papers. 

Mr. Soloman urbanely touches her on the arm-begs she will keep herseat. The names only apply to things of the past. He proceeds, "Well-being a dashing fellow, as I have said-he played his gamecharmingly. Now he flirted with this one, and then with that one, and finally with the whole society, not excepting the very flirtablemarried ladies;--that is, I mean those whose husbands were simpleenough to let him. Mothers were in a great flutter generally, andnot a day passed but there was a dispute as to which of theirdaughters he would link his fortunes with and raise to that state sodesirable in the eyes of our very republican first families-theState-Militant of nobility--"

"I think none the worse of 'em for that, " says the old woman, twitching her wizard-like head in confirmation of her assertion. "Myword for it, Mr. Soloman, to get up in the world, and to be abovethe common herd, is the grand ambition of our people; and our Statehas got the grand position it now holds before the world through theinfluence of this ambition. "

"True!--you are right there, my dear friend. You may remember, I havealways said you had the penetration of a statesman, (Mrs. Swiggsmakes a curt bow, as a great gray cat springs into her lap and curlshimself down on her Milton;) and, as I was going on to say of thisdashing Baronet, he played our damsels about in agony, as an oldsportsman does a covey of ducks, wounding more in the head than inthe heart, and finally creating no end of a demand for matrimony. To-day, all the town was positive, he would marry the beautiful MissBoggs; to-morrow it was not so certain that he would not marry thebrilliant and all-accomplished Miss Noggs; and the next day he wascertain of marrying the talented and very wealthy heiress, MissRobbs. Mrs. Stepfast, highly esteemed in fashionable society, andthe very best gossipmonger in the city, had confidentially spread itall over the neighborhood that Mr. Stepfast told her the youngBaronet told him (and he verily believed he was head and ears inlove with her!) Miss Robbs was the most lovely creature he had seensince he left Belgravia. And then he went into a perfect rhapsody ofexcitement while praising the poetry of her motion, the grace withwhich she performed the smallest offices of the drawing-room, herqueenly figure, her round, alabaster arms, her smooth, taperinghands, (so chastely set off with two small diamonds, and so unlikethe butchers' wives of this day, who bedazzle themselves all the daylong with cheap jewelry, )--the beautiful swell of her marble bust, the sweet smile ever playing over her thoughtful face, theregularity of her Grecian features, and those great, languishingeyes, constantly flashing with the light of irresistible love. Quothye! according to what Mr. Stepfast told Mrs. Stepfast, the youngBaronet would, with the ideal of a real poet, as was he, have goneon recounting her charms until sundown, had not Mr. Stepfast invitedhim to a quiet family dinner. And to confirm what Mr. Stepfast said, Miss Robbs had been seen by Mrs. Windspin looking in at Mrs. Stebbins', the fashionable dress-maker, while the young Baronet hadtwice been at Spears', in King Street, to select a diamond necklaceof great value, which he left subject to the taste of Miss Robbs. And putting them two and them two together there was something init!"

"I am truly glad it's nothing worse. There has been so much scandalgot up by vulgar people against our St. Cecilia. "

"Worse, Madam?" interpolates our hero, ere she has time to concludeher sentence, "the worst is to come yet. "

"And I'm a member of the society!" Mrs. Swiggs replies with alanguishing sigh, mistaking the head of the cat for her Milton, andapologizing for her error as that venerable animal, having got wellsqueezed, sputters and springs from her grasp, shaking his head, "elected solely on the respectability of my family. "

Rather a collapsed member, by the way, Mr. Soloman thinks, contemplating her facetiously. 

"Kindly proceed-proceed, " she says, twitching at her cap strings, asif impatient to get the sequel. 

"Well, as to that, being a member of the St. Cecilia myself, yousee, and always-(I go in for a man keeping up in theworld)-maintaining a high position among its most distinguishedmembers, who, I assure you, respect me far above my real merits, (Mrs. Swiggs says we won't say anything about that now!) and honorme with all its secrets, I may, even in your presence, be permittedto say, that I never heard a member who didn't speak in high praiseof you and the family of which you are so excellent arepresentative. "

"Thank you-thank you. O thank you, Mr. Soloman!" she rejoins. 

"Why, Madam, I feel all my veneration getting into my head at oncewhen I refer to the name of Sir Sunderland Swiggs. "

"But pray what came of the young Baronet?"

"Oh!--as to him, why, you see, he was what we call-it isn't a politeword, I confess-a humbug. "

"A Baronet a humbug!" she exclaims, fretting her hands andcommencing to rock herself in the chair. 

"Well, as to that, as I was going on to say, after he had beat thebush all around among the young birds, leaving several of themwounded on the ground-you understand this sort of thing-he took tothe older ones, and set them polishing up their feathers. And havingset several very respectable families by the ears, and created aterrible flutter among a number of married dames-he was an adept inthis sort of diplomacy, you see-it was discovered that one verydistinguished Mrs. Constance, leader of fashion to the St. Cecilia, (and on that account on no very good terms with the vulgar world, that was forever getting up scandal to hurl at the society thatwould not permit it to soil, with its common muslin, the fragrantatmosphere of its satin and tulle), had been carrying on a villanousintrigue-yes, Madam! villanous intrigue! I said discovered: the factwas, this gallant Baronet, with one servant and no establishment, was fˆted and fooled for a month, until he came to the very naturaland sensible conclusion, that we were all snobbs-yes, snobbs of thevery worst kind. But there was no one who fawned over and flatteredthe vanity of this vain man more than the husband of Mrs. Constance. This poor man idolized his wife, whom he regarded as the verydiamond light of purity, nor ever mistrusted that the Baronet'sattentions were bestowed with any other than the best of motives. Indeed, he held it extremely condescending on the part of theBaronet to thus honor the family with his presence. 

"And the Baronet, you see, with that folly so characteristic ofBaronets, was so flushed with his success in this little intriguewith Madame Constance-the affair was too good for him to keep!--thathe went all over town showing her letters. Such nice letters as theywere-brim full of repentance, love, and appointments. The Baronetread them to Mr. Barrows, laughing mischievously, and saying what afool the woman must be. Mr. Barrows couldn't keep it from Mrs. Barrows, Mrs. Barrows let the cat out of the bag to Mrs. Simpson, and Mrs. Simpson would let Mr. Simpson have no peace till he got onthe soft side of the Baronet, and, what was not a difficult matter, got two of the letters for her to have a peep into. Mrs. Simpsonhaving feasted her eyes on the two Mr. Simpson got of the Baronet, and being exceedingly fond of such wares as they contained, mustneeds-albeit, in strict confidence-whisper it to Mrs. Fountain, whowas a very fashionable lady, but unfortunately had a head very likea fountain, with the exception that it ejected out double the amountit took in. Mrs. Fountain-as anybody might have known-let it get allover town. And then the vulgar herd took it up, as if it wereassafotida, only needing a little stirring up, and hurled it back atthe St. Cecilia, the character of which it would damage without apang of remorse. 

"Then the thing got to Constance's ears; and getting into a terriblepassion, poor Constance swore nothing would satisfy him but theBaronet's life. But the Baronet--"

"A sorry Baronet was he-not a bit like my dear ancestor, SirSunderland, " Mrs. Swiggs interposes. 

"Not a bit, Madam, " bows our hero. "Like a sensible gentleman, as Iwas about to say, finding it getting too hot for him, packed up hisalls, and in the company of his unpaid servant, left for partswestward of this. I had a suspicion the fellow was not what heshould be; and I made it known to my select friends of the St. Cecilia, who generally pooh-poohed me. A nobleman, they said, shouldreceive every attention. And to show that he wasn't what he shouldbe, when he got to Augusta his servant sued him for his wages; andhaving nothing but his chivalry, which the servant very sensiblydeclined to accept for payment, he came out like a man, and declaredhimself nothing but a poor player. 

"But this neither satisfied Constance nor stayed the driftingcurrent of slander--"

"Oh! I am so glad it was no worse, " Mrs. Swiggs interrupts again. 

"True!" Mr. Soloman responds, laughing heartily, as he taps her onthe arm. "It might have been worse, though. Well, I am, as you know, always ready to do a bit of a good turn for a friend in need, andpitying poor Constance as I did, I suggested a committee of fourmost respectable gentlemen, and myself, to investigate the matter. The thing struck Constance favorably, you see. So we got ourselvestogether, agreed to consider ourselves a Congress, talked over theaffairs of the nation, carried a vote to dissolve the Union, dranksundry bottles of Champagne, (I longed for a taste of your oldMadeira, Mrs. Swiggs, ) and brought in a verdict that pleased Mrs. Constance wonderfully-and so it ought. We were, after the mostcareful examination, satisfied that the reports prejudicial to thecharacter and standing of Mrs. Constance had no foundation in truth, being the base fabrications of evil-minded persons, who sought, while injuring an innocent lady, to damage the reputation of the St. Cecilia Society. Mr. Constance was highly pleased with the finding;and finally it proved the sovereign balm that healed all theirwounds. Of course, the Knight, having departed, was spared hisblood. "

Here Mr. Soloman makes a pause. Mrs. Swiggs, with a sigh, says, "Isthat all?"

"Quite enough for once, my good Madam, " Mr. Soloman bows in return. 

"Oh! I am so glad the St. Cecilia is yet spared to us. You said, youknow, it was all up with it--"

"Up? up?-so it is! That is, it won't break it up, you know. Why-oh, I see where the mistake is-it isn't all over, you know, seeing howthe society can live through a score of nine-months scandals. Butthe thing's in every vulgar fellow's lips-that is the worst of it. "

Mrs. Swiggs relishes this bit of gossip as if it were a daintymorsel; and calling Rebecca, she commands her to forthwith proceedinto the cellar and bring a bottle of the old Madeira-she has onlyfive left-for Mr. Soloman. And to Mr. Soloman's great delight, theold negress hastily obeys the summons; brings forth a mass of cobweband dust, from which a venerable black bottle is disinterred, uncorked, and presented to the guest, who drinks the health of Mrs. Swiggs in sundry well-filled glasses, which he declares choice, adding, that it always reminds him of the age and dignity of thefamily. Like the State, dignity is Mrs. Swiggs' weakness-herbesetting sin. Mr. Soloman, having found the key to this vainwoman's generosity, turns it when it suits his own convenience. 

"By-the-bye, " he suddenly exclaims, "you've got Tom locked upagain. "

"As safe as he ever was, I warrant ye!" Mrs. Swiggs replies, resuming her Milton and rocking-chair. 

"Upon my faith I agree with you. Never let him get out, for he issure to disgrace the family when he does--"

"I've said he shall rot there, and he shall rot! He never shall getout to disgrace the family--no, not if I live to be as gray asMethuselah, I warrant you!" And Mr. Soloman, having made hiscompliments to the sixth glass, draws from his breast pocket alegal-looking paper, which he passes to Mrs. Swiggs, as sheejaculates, "Oh! I am glad you thought of that. "

Mr. Soloman, watching intently the changes of her face, says, "Youwill observe, Madam, I have mentioned the cripples. There are fiveof them. We are good friends, you see; and it is always better to beprecise in those things. It preserves friendship. This is merely abit of a good turn I do for you. " Mr. Soloman bows, makes anapproving motion with his hands, and lays at her disposal on thetable, a small roll of bills. "You will find two hundred dollarsthere, " he adds, modulating his voice. You will find it all right; Igot it for you of Keepum. We do a little in that way; he is veryexact, you see--"

"Honor is the best security between people of our standing, " sherejoins, taking up a pen and signing the instrument, which her guestdeposits snugly in his pocket, and takes his departure for the houseof Madame Flamingo. 

CHAPTER VI. 

CONTAINING SUNDRY MATTERS APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY. 

IF, generous reader, you had lived in Charleston, we would take itfor granted that you need no further enlightening on any of our veryselect societies, especially the St. Cecilia; but you may not haveenjoyed a residence so distinguished, rendering unnecessary a fewexplanatory remarks. You must know that we not only esteem ourselvesthe quintessence of refinement, as we have an undisputed right todo, but regard the world outside as exceedingly stupid in notknowing as much of us as we profess to know of ourselves. Abroad, wewonder we are not at once recognized as Carolinians; at home, we letthe vulgar world know who we are. Indeed, we regard the outsideworld-of these States we mean-very much in that light which theGreeks of old were wont to view the Romans in. Did we but stop here, the weakness might be pardonable. But we lay claim to Grecianrefinement of manners, while pluming all our mob-politicians Romanorators. There is a profanity about this we confess not to like; notthat danger can befall it, but because it hath about it that whichreminds us of the oyster found in the shell of gold. Condescending, then, to believe there exists outside of our State a few personssilly enough to read books, we will take it for granted, reader, that you are one of them, straightway proceeding with you to the St. Cecilia. 

You have been a fashionable traveller in Europe? You say-yes!rummaged all the feudal castles of England, sought out the restingplaces of her kings, heard some one say "that is poet's corner, " aswe passed into Westminster Abbey, thought they couldn't be much tohave such a corner, --"went to look" where Byron was buried, moistenedthe marble with a tear ere we were conscious of it, and saw open tous the gulf of death as we contemplated how greedy graveyard wormswere banqueting on his greatness. A world of strange fancies cameover us as we mused on England's poets. And we dined with severalDukes and a great many more Earls, declining no end of invitationsof commoners. Very well! we reply, adding a sigh. And on your returnto your home, that you may not be behind the fashion, you comparedisparagingly everything that meets your eye. Nothing comes up towhat you saw in Europe. A servant doesn't know how to be a servanthere; and were we to see the opera at Covent Garden, we would besure to stare our eyes out. It is become habitual to introduce yourconversation with, "when I was in Europe. " And you know you neverwrite a letter that you don't in some way bring in the distinguishedpersons you met abroad. There is something (no matter what it is)that forcibly reminds you of what occurred at the table of my LadyClarendon, with whom you twice had the pleasure and rare honor ofdining. And by implication, you always give us a sort oflavender-water description of the very excellent persons you metthere, and what they were kind enough to say of America, and howthey complimented you, and made you the centre and all-absorbingobject of attraction-in a word, a truly wonderful person. And youwill not fail, now that it is become fashionable, to extol withfulsome breath the greatness of every European despot it hath beenyour good fortune to get a bow from. And you are just vain enough toforever keep this before your up-country cousins. You say, too, thatyou have looked in at Almacks. Almacks! alas! departed greatness. With the rise of the Casino hath it lain its aristocratic head inthe dust. 

Well!--the St. Cecilia you must know (its counterparts are to befound in all our great cities) is a miniature Almacks-a sort ofleach-cloth, through which certain very respectable individuals mustpass ere they can become the elite of our fashionable world. Tobecome a member of the St. Cecilia-to enjoy its recherchassemblies-to luxuriate in the delicate perfumes of its votaries, isthe besetting sin of a great many otherwise very sensible people. And to avenge their disappointment at not being admitted to itsprecious precincts, they are sure to be found in the front rank ofscandal-mongers when anything in their line is up with a member. Andit is seldom something is not up, for the society would seem to liveand get lusty in an atmosphere of perpetual scandal. Any amount ofduels have come of it; it hath made rich no end of milliners; ithath made bankrupt husbands by the dozen; it hath been the theatreof several distinguished romances; it hath witnessed the firstthrobbings of sundry hearts, since made happy in wedlock; it hathbeen the shibolath of sins that shall be nameless here. The reigningbelles are all members (provided they belong to our first families)of the St. Cecilia, as is also the prettiest and most popularunmarried parson. And the parson being excellent material forscandal, Mother Rumor is sure to have a dash at him. Nor does thisvery busy old lady seem over-delicate about which of the belles sheassociates with the parson, so long as the scandal be fashionableenough to afford her a good traffic. 

There is continually coming along some unknown but verydistinguished foreigner, whom the society adopts as its own, flutters over, and smothers with attentions, and drops only when itis discovered he is an escaped convict. This, in deference to thereputation of the St. Cecilia, we acknowledge has only happenedtwice. It has been said with much truth that the St. Cecilia's worstsin, like the sins of its sister societies of New York, is a passionfor smothering with the satin and Honiton of its assemblies acertain supercilious species of snobby Englishmen, who come overhere, as they have it (gun and fishing-rod in hand), merely to getright into the woods where they can have plenty of bear-hunting, confidently believing New York a forest inhabited by such animals. As for our squaws, as Mr. Tom Toddleworth would say, (we shall speakmore at length of Tom!) why! they have no very bad opinion of them, seeing that they belong to a race of semi-barbarians, whose sayingsthey delight to note down. Having no society at home, this speciesof gentry the more readily find themselves in high favor with ours. They are always Oxonians, as the sons of green grocers andfishmongers are sure to be when they come over here (so Mr. Toddleworth has it, and he is good authority), and we being anexceedingly impressible people, they kindly condescend to instructus in all the high arts, now and then correcting our very badEnglish. They are clever fellows generally, being sure to get on thekind side of credulous mothers with very impressible-headeddaughters. 

There was, however, always a distinguished member of the St. Ceciliasociety who let out all that took place at its assemblies. Thevulgar always knew what General danced with the lovely Miss A. , andhow they looked, and what they said to each other; how many jewelsMiss A. Wore, and the material her dress was made of; they knew whopolked with the accomplished Miss B. , and how like a duchess shebore herself; they had the exact name of the colonel who dashedalong so like a knight with the graceful and much-admired Mrs. D. , whose husband was abroad serving his country; what gallant captainof dragoons (captains of infantry were looked upon as not what theymight be) promenaded so imperiously with the vivacious Miss E. ; andwhat distinguished foreigner sat all night in the corner holding asuspicious and very improper conversation with Miss F. , whose skirtsnever were free of scandal, and who had twice got the pretty parsoninto difficulty with his church. Hence there was a perpetualoutgoing of scandal on the one side, and pelting of dirt on theother. 

When Mr. Soloman sought the presence of Mrs. Swiggs and told her itwas all up with the St. Cecilia, and when that august member of thesociety was so happily disappointed by his concluding with leavingit an undamaged reputation, the whole story was not let out. Intruth the society was at that moment in a state of indignation, andits reputation as well-nigh the last stage of disgrace as it werepossible to bring it without being entirely absorbed. The Baronet, who enjoyed a good joke, and was not over-scrupulous in measuringthe latitude of our credulity, had, it seems, in addition to thelittle affair with Mrs. Constance, been imprudent enough tointroduce at one of the assemblies of the St. Cecilia, a lady ofexceedingly fair but frail import: this loveliest of creatures-thisangel of fallen fame--this jewel, so much sought after in her owncasket-this child of gentleness and beauty, before whom a dozengallant knights were paying homage, and claiming her hand for thenext waltz, turned out to be none other than the Anna Bonard we havedescribed at the house of Madame Flamingo. The discovery sent thewhole assembly into a fainting fit, and caused such a fluttering inthe camp of fashion. Reader! you may rest assured back-doors andsmelling-bottles were in great demand. 

The Baronet had introduced her as his cousin; just arrived, he said, in the care of her father-the cousin whose beauty he had so oftenreferred to. So complete was her toilet and disguise, that none butthe most intimate associate could have detected the fraud. Do youask us who was the betrayer, reader? We answer, --

One whose highest ambition did seem that of getting her from herparamour, George Mullholland. It was Judge Sleepyhorn. Reader! youwill remember him-the venerable, snowy-haired man, sitting on thelounge at the house of Madame Flamingo, and on whom GeorgeMullholland swore to have revenge. The judge of a criminal court, the admonisher of the erring, the sentencer of felons, the habitueof the house of Madame Flamingo-no libertine in disguise could bemore scrupulous of his standing in society, or so sensitive of theopinion held of him by the virtuous fair, than was this daylightguardian of public morals. 

The Baronet got himself nicely out of the affair, and Mr. SolomanSnivel, commonly called Mr. Soloman, the accommodation man, is atthe house of Madame Flamingo, endeavoring to effect a reconciliationbetween the Judge and George Mullholland. 

CHAPTER VII. 

IN WHICH IS SEEN A COMMINGLING OF CITIZENS. 

NIGHT has thrown her mantle over the city. There is a greatgathering of denizens at the house of Madame Flamingo. She has abal-masque to-night. Her door is beset with richly-caparisonedequipages. The town is on tip-toe to be there; we reluctantly followit. An hundred gaudily-decorated drinking saloon are filled withgaudier-dressed men. In loudest accent rings the question--"Do you goto Madame Flamingo's to-night?" Gentlemen of the genteel world, inshining broadcloth, touch glasses and answer--"yes!" It is awonderful city-this of ours. Vice knows no restraint, poverty hathno friends here. We bow before the shrine of midnight revelry; webring licentiousness to our homes, but we turn a deaf ear to thecries of poverty, and we gloat over the sale of men. 

The sickly gaslight throws a sicklier glare over the narrow, unpavedstreets. The city is on a frolic, a thing not uncommon with it. Lithe and portly-figured men, bearing dominos in their hands, saunter along the sidewalk, now dangling ponderous watch-chains, then flaunting highly-perfumed cambrics--all puffing the fumes ofchoice cigars. If accosted by a grave wayfarer--they are going tothe opera! They are dressed in the style of opera-goers. And theroad to the opera seems the same as that leading to the house of theold hostess. A gaily-equipped carriage approaches. We hear the loud, coarse laughing of those it so buoyantly bears, then there comesfull to view the glare of yellow silks and red satins, and doubtfuljewels-worn by denizens from whose faded brows the laurel wreathhath fallen. How shrunken with the sorrow of their wretched lives, and yet how sportive they seem! The pale gaslight throws aspectre-like hue over their paler features; the artificial crimsonwith which they would adorn the withered cheek refuses to lend acharm to features wan and ghastly. The very air is sickly with theodor of their cosmetics. And with flaunting cambrics they bend overcarriage sides, salute each and every pedestrian, and receive inreturn answers unsuited to refined ears. They pass into the dimvista, but we see with the aid of that flickering gas, the shadow ofthat polluting hand which hastens life into death. 

Old Mr. McArthur, who sits smoking his long pipe in the door of hiscrazy-looking curiosity shop, (he has just parted company with theyoung theologian, having assured him he would find a place to stowTom Swiggs in, ) wonders where the fashionable world of Charlestoncan be going? It is going to the house of the Flamingo. The St. Cecilia were to have had a ball to-night; scandal and the greaterattractions here have closed its doors. 

A long line of carriages files past the door of the old hostess. Anincessant tripping of feet, delicately encased in bright-coloredslippers; an ominous fluttering of gaudy silks and satins; aninciting glare of borrowed jewelry, mingling with second-hand lace;an heterogeneous gleaming of bare, brawny arms, and distended busts, all lend a sort of barbaric splendor to that mysterious groupfloating, as it were, into a hall in one blaze of light. A softcarpet, over-lain with brown linen, is spread from the curbstoneinto the hall. Two well-developed policemen guard the entrance, taketickets of those who pass in, and then exchange smiles ofrecognition with venerable looking gentlemen in masks. The hostess, a clever "business man" in her way, has made the admission fee onedollar. Having paid the authorities ten dollars, and honored everyAlderman with a complimentary ticket, who has a better right? No onehas a nicer regard for the Board of Aldermen than Madame Flamingo;no one can reciprocate this regard more condescendingly than thehonorable Board of Aldermen do. Having got herself arrayed in adress of sky-blue satin, that ever and anon streams, cloudlike, behind her, and a lace cap of approved fashion, with pink stringsnicely bordered in gimp, and a rich Honiton cape, jauntily thrownover her shoulders, and secured under the chin with a great clusterof blazing diamonds, and rows of unpolished pearls at her wrists, which are immersed in crimped ruffles, she doddles up and down thehall in a state of general excitement. A corpulent colored man, dressed in the garb of a beadle, --a large staff in his right hand, acocked hat on his head, and broad white stripes down his flowingcoat, stands midway between the parlor doors. He is fussy enough, and stupid enough, for a Paddington beadle. Now Madame Flamingolooks scornfully at him, scolds him, pushes him aside; he is only aslave she purchased for the purpose; she commands that he gracefullytouch his hat (she snatches it from his head, and having elevated itover her own, performs the delicate motion she would have himimitate) to every visitor. The least neglect of duty will incur (shetells him in language he cannot mistake) the penalty of thirty-ninewell laid on in the morning. In another minute her fat, chubby faceglows with smiles, her whole soul seems lighted up with childlikeenthusiasm; she has a warm welcome for each new comer, retortssaliently upon her old friends, and says--"you know how welcome youall are!" Then she curtsies with such becoming grace. "The house, you know, gentlemen, is a commonwealth to-night. " Ah! sherecognizes the tall, comely figure of Mr. Soloman, the accommodationman. He did not spring from among the bevy of coat-takers, andhood-retainers, at the extreme end of the great hall, nor from amongthe heap of promiscuous garments piled in one corner; and yet he ishere, looking as if some magic process had brought him from amysterious labyrinth. "Couldn't get along without me, you see. It'san ambition with me to befriend everybody. If I can do a bit of agood turn for a friend, so much the better!" And he grasps the oldhostess by the hand with a self-satisfaction he rather improves bytapping her encouragingly on the shoulder. "You'll make a right goodthing of this!--a clear thousand, eh?"

"The fates have so ordained it, " smiles naively the old woman. 

"Of course the fates could not ordain otherwise--"

"As to that, Mr. Soloman, I sometimes think the gods are with me, and then again I think they are against me. The witches-they havedone my fortune a dozen times or more-always predict evil (I consultthem whenever a sad fit comes over me), but witches are not to bedepended upon! I am sure I think what a fool I am for consultingthem at all. " She espies, for her trade of sin hath made keen hereye, the venerable figure of Judge Sleepyhorn advancing up the hall, masked. "Couldn't get along without you, " she lisps, trippingtowards him, and greeting him with the familiarity of an intimatefriend. "I'm rather aristocratic, you'll say!--and I confess I am, though a democrat in principle!" And Madame Flamingo confirms whatshe says with two very dignified nods. As the Judge passes silentlyin she pats him encouragingly on the back, saying, --"There ain't noone in this house what'll hurt a hair on your head. " The Judge heedsnot what she says. 

"My honor for it, Madame, but I think your guests highly favored, altogether! Fine weather, and the prospect of a bal-masque ofPompeian splendor. The old Judge, eh?"

"The gods smile-the gods smile, Mr. Soloman!" interrupts thehostess, bowing and swaying her head in rapid succession. 

"The gods have their eye on him to-night-he's a marked man! A jollyold cove of a Judge, he is! Cares no more about rules andprecedents, on the bench, than he does for the rights and precedentssome persons profess to have in this house. A high old blade toadminister justice, eh?"

"But, you see, Mr. Soloman, " the hostess interrupts, a gracious bowkeeping time with the motion of her hand, "he is such anaristocratic prop in the character of my house. "

"I rather like that, I confess, Madame. You have grown rich off thearistocracy. Now, don't get into a state of excitement!" says Mr. Soloman, fingering his long Saxon beard, and eyeing hermischievously. She sees a bevy of richly-dressed persons advancingup the hall in high glee. Indeed her house is rapidly filling to thefourth story. And yet they come! she says. "The gods are in for atime. I love to make the gods happy. "

Mr. Soloman has lain his hand upon her arm retentively. 

"It is not that the aristocracy and such good persons as the Judgespend so much here. But they give eclat to the house, and eclat ismoney. That's it, sir! Gold is the deity of our pantheon! Bless you(the hostess evinces the enthusiasm of a politician), what betterevidence of the reputation of my house than is before you, do youwant? I've shut up the great Italian opera, with its three squallingprima donnas, which in turn has shut up the poor, silly Empresario, as they call him; and the St. Cecilia I have just used up. I'm ateam in my way, you see;--run all these fashionable oppositions rightinto bankruptcy. " Never were words spoken with more truth. Want ofpatronage found all places of rational amusement closed. Societiesfor intellectual improvement, one after another, died of poverty. Fashionable lectures had attendance only when fashionable lecturerscame from the North; and the Northman was sure to regard our tastethrough the standard of what he saw before him. 

The house of the hostess triumphs, and is corpulent of wealth andsplendor. To-morrow she will feed with the rich crumbs that fallfrom her table the starving poor. And although she holds poor virtuein utter contempt, feeding the poor she regards a large score on thepassport to a better world. A great marble stairway winds its wayupward at the further end of the hall and near it are two smallbalconies, one on each side, presenting barricades of millinerysurmounted with the picturesque faces of some two dozen denizens, who keep up an incessant gabbling, interspersed here and there withjeers directed at Mr. Soloman. "Who is he seeking to accommodateto-night?" they inquire, laughing merrily. 

The house is full, the hostess has not space for one friend more;she commands the policemen to close doors. An Alderman is the onlyexception to her fiat. "You see, " she says, addressing herself to acourtly individual who has just saluted her with urbane deportment, "I must preserve the otium cum dignitate of my (did I get it right?)standing in society. I don't always get these Latin sayings right. Our Congressmen don't. And, you see, like them, I ain't a Latinscholar, and may be excused for any little slips. Politics andlarnin' don't get along well together. Speaking of politics, Iconfess I rather belong to the Commander and Quabblebum school-Ido!"

At this moment (a tuning of instruments is heard in thedancing-hall) the tall figure of the accommodation man is seen, incompany of the venerable Judge, passing hurriedly into a room on theright of the winding stairs before described. "Judge!" he exclaims, closing the door quickly after him, "you will be discovered andexposed. I am not surprised at your passion for her, nor the meansby which you seek to destroy the relations existing between her andGeorge Mullholland. It is an evidence of taste in you. But she isproud to a fault, and, this I say in friendship, you so wounded herfeelings, when you betrayed her to the St. Cecilia, that she hassworn to have revenge on you. George Mullholland, too, has sworn tohave your life. 

"I tell you what it is, Judge, (the accommodation man assumes theair of a bank director, ) I have just conceived-you will admit I havean inventive mind!--a plot that will carry you clean through thewhole affair. Your ambition is divided between a passion for thischarming creature and the good opinion of better society. Theresolution to retain the good opinion of society is doing noblebattle in your heart; but it is the weaker vessel, and it alwayswill be so with a man of your mould, inasmuch as such resolutionsare backed up by the less fierce elements of our nature. Put thisdown as an established principle. Well, then, I will take uponmyself the betrayal. I will plead you ignorant of the charge, procure her forgiveness, and reconcile the matter with thisMullholland. It's worth an hundred or more, eh?"

The venerable man smiles, shakes his head as if heedless of theadmonition, and again covers his face with his domino. 

The accommodation man, calling him by his judicial title, says hewill yet repent the refusal!

It is ten o'clock. The gentleman slightly colored, who represents afussy beadle, makes a flourish with his great staff. The doors ofthe dancing hall are thrown open. Like the rushing of the gulfstream there floods in a motley procession of painted females andmasked men-the former in dresses as varied in hue as the fires ofremorse burning out their unuttered thoughts. Two and two they jeerand crowd their way along into the spacious hall, the walls of whichare frescoed in extravagant mythological designs, the roof paintedin fret work, and the cornices interspersed with seraphs in stuccoand gilt. The lights of two massive chandeliers throw a bewitchingrefulgence over a scene at once picturesque and mysterious; and fromfour tall mirrors secured between the windows, is reflected theforms and movements of the masquers. 

Reader! you have nothing in this democratic country with which tosuccessfully compare it. And to seek a comparison in the old world, where vice, as in this city of chivalry, hath a license, serves notour office. 

Madame Flamingo, flanked right and left by twelve colored gentlemen, who, their collars decorated with white and pink rosettes, officiateas masters of ceremony, and form a crescent in front of thethronging procession, steps gradually backward, curtsying andbowing, and spreading her hands to her guests, after the manner ofmy Lord Chamberlain. 

Eight colored musicians, (everything is colored here, ) perched on araised platform covered with maroon-colored plush; at the signal ofa lusty-tongued call-master, strike up a march, to which the motleythrong attempt to keep time. It is martial enough, and discordantenough for anything but keeping time to. 

The plush-covered benches filing along the sides and ends of thehall are eagerly sought after and occupied by a strange mixture oflookers on in Vienna. Here the hoary-headed father sits beside anewly-initiated youth, who is receiving his first lesson ofdissipation. There the grave and chivalric planter sports with thenice young man, who is cultivating a beard and his way into theby-ways. A little further on the suspicious looking gambler sitsfreely conversing with the man whom a degrading public opinion hasraised to the dignity of the judicial bench. Yonder is seen the manwho has eaten his way into fashionable society, (and by fashionablesociety very much caressed in return, ) the bosom companion of theman whose crimes have made him an outcast. 

Generous reader! contemplate this grotesque assembly; study theobject Madame Flamingo has in gathering it to her fold. Does it notpresent the accessories to wrong doing? Does it not show that thewrong-doer and the criminally inclined, too often receiveencouragement by the example of those whose duty it is to protectsociety? The spread of crime, alas! for the profession, is too oftenregarded by the lawyer as rather a desirable means of increasing histrade. 

Quadrille follows quadrille, the waltz succeeds the schottish, thescene presents one bewildering maze of flaunting gossamers andgirating bodies, now floating sylph-like into the foreground, thenwhirling seductively into the shadowy vista, where the joyous laughdies out in the din of voices. The excitement has seized upon thehead and heart of the young, --the child who stood trembling betweenthe first and second downward step finds her reeling brain a captivein this snare set to seal her ruin. 

Now the music ceases, the lusty-tongued call-master stands surveyingwhat he is pleased to call the oriental splendor of this grotesqueassembly. He doesn't know who wouldn't patronize such a house! Itsuddenly forms in platoon, and marshalled by slightly-coloredmasters of ceremony, promenades in an oblong figure. 

Here, leaning modestly on the arm of a tall figure in militaryuniform, and advancing slowly up the hall, is a girl of some sixteensummers. Her finely-rounded form is in harmony with the ravishingvivacity of her face, which is beautifully oval. Seen by the glaringgaslight her complexion is singularly clear and pale. But thatfreshness which had gained her many an admirer, and which gave sucha charm to the roundness of early youth, we look for in vain. Andyet there is a softness and delicacy about her well-cut andwomanly features-a child-like sweetness in her smile-a glow ofthoughtfulness in those great, flashing black eyes-an expression ofmelancholy in which at short intervals we read her thoughts-anincessant playing of those long dark eyelashes, that clothes hercharms with an irresistible, a soul-inspiring seductiveness. Herdress, of moire antique, is chasteness itself; her bust exquisitesymmetry; it heaves as softly as if touched by some gentle zephyr. From an Haidean brow falls and floats undulating over hermarble-like shoulders, the massive folds of her glossy black hair. Nature had indeed been lavish of her gifts on this fair creature, towhose charms no painter could give a touch more fascinating. Thisgirl, whose elastic step and erect carriage contrasts strangely withthe languid forms about her, is Anna Bonard, the neglected, thebetrayed. There passes and repasses her, now contemplating her witha curious stare, then muttering inaudibly, a man of portly figure, in mask and cowl. He touches with a delicate hand his watch-guard, we see two sharp, lecherous eyes peering through the domino; hefolds his arms and pauses a few seconds, as if to survey the metalof her companion, then crosses and recrosses her path. Presently hissingular demeanor attracts her attention, a curl of sarcasm is seenon her lip, her brow darkens, her dark orbs flash as of fire, --allthe heart-burnings of a soul stung with shame are seen to quickenand make ghastly those features that but a moment before shonelambent as summer lightning. He pauses as with a look of witheringscorn she scans him from head to foot, raises covertly her lefthand, tossing carelessly her glossy hair on her shoulder, and withlightning quickness snatches with her right the domino from hisface. "Hypocrite!" she exclaims, dashing it to the ground, and withher foot placed defiantly upon the domino, assumes a tragicattitude, her right arm extended, and the forefinger of her handpointing in his face. "Ah!" she continues, in biting accents, "it isagainst the perfidy of such as you I have struggled. Your falseface, like your heart, needed a disguise. But I have dragged itaway, that you may be judged as you are. This is my satisfaction foryour betrayal. Oh that I could have deeper revenge!" She hasunmasked Judge Sleepyhorn, who stands before the anxious gaze of anhundred night revellers, pressing eagerly to the scene of confusion. Madame Flamingo's house, as you may judge, is much out in itsdignity, and in a general uproar. There was somethingtouching-something that the graver head might ponder over, in thewords of this unfortunate girl--"I have struggled!" A heedless andgold-getting world seldom enters upon the mystery of its meaning. But it hath a meaning deep and powerful in its appeal to society-one that might serve the good of a commonwealth did society stoopand take it by the hand. 

So sudden was the motion with which this girl snatched the mask fromthe face of the Judge, (he stood as if appalled, ) that, ere he hadgained his self-possession, she drew from her girdle a pearl-hiltedstiletto, and in attempting to ward off the dreadful lunge, hestruck it from her hand, and into her own bosom. The weapon fellgory to the floor-the blood trickled down her bodice-a cry of"murder" resounded through the hall! The administrator of justicerushed out of the door as the unhappy girl swooned in the arms ofher partner. A scene so confused and wild that it bewilders thebrain, now ensued. Madame Flamingo calls loudly for Mr. Soloman; andas the reputation of her house is uppermost in her thoughts, sheatones for its imperiled condition by fainting in the arms of agrave old gentleman, who was beating a hasty retreat, and whoserespectability she may compromise through this uncalled-for act. 

A young man of slender form, and pale, sandy features, makes his waythrough the crowd, clasps Anna affectionately in his arms, imprintsa kiss on her pallid brow, and bears her out of the hall. 

By the aid of hartshorn and a few dashes of cold water, the oldhostess is pleased to come to, as we say, and set about putting herhouse in order. Mr. Soloman, to the great joy of those who did notdeem it prudent to make their escape, steps in to negotiate for thepeace of the house and the restoration of order. "It is all theresult of a mistake, " he says laughingly, and good-naturedly, patting every one he meets on the shoulder. "A little bit ofjealousy on the part of the girl. It all had its origin in an errorthat can be easily rectified. In a word, there's much ado aboutnothing in the whole of it. Little affairs of this kind are incidentto fashionable society all over the world! The lady being onlyscratched, is more frightened than hurt. Nobody is killed; and ifthere were, why killings are become so fashionable, that if thekilled be not a gentleman, nobody thinks anything of it, " hecontinues. And Mr. Soloman being an excellent diplomatist, does, with the aid of the hostess, her twelve masters of ceremony, herbeadle, and two policemen, forthwith bring the house to a moreorderly condition. But night has rolled into the page of the past, the gray dawn of morning is peeping in at the half-closed windows, the lights burning in the chandeliers shed a pale glow over thewearied features of those who drag, as it were, their languid bodiesto the stifled music of unwilling slaves. And while daylight seemsmodestly contending with the vulgar glare within, there appearsamong the pale revellers a paler ghost, who, having stalked thriceup and down the hall, preserving the frigidity and ghostliness ofthe tomb, answering not the questions that are put to him, andotherwise deporting himself as becometh a ghost of good metal, isbeing taken for a demon of wicked import. Now he pauses at the endof the hall, faces with spectre-like stare the alarmed group at theopposite end, rests his left elbow on his scythe-staff, and havingset his glass on the floor, points to its running sands warninglywith his right forefinger. Not a muscle does he move. "Truly aghost!" exclaims one. "A ghost would have vanished before this, "whispers another. "Speak to him, " a third responds, as the musiciansare seen to pale and leave their benches. Madame Flamingo, pale andweary, is first to rush for the door, shrieking as his ghostshipturns his grim face upon her. Shriek follows shriek, the lights areput out, the gray dawn plays upon and makes doubly frightful thespectre. A Pandemonium of shriekings and beseechings is succeeded bya stillness as of the tomb. Our ghost is victor. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

WHAT TAKES PLACE BETWEEN GEORGE MULLHOLLAND AND MR. SNIVEL. 

THE man who kissed and bore away the prostrate girl was GeorgeMullholland. 

"Oh! George-George!" she whispers imploringly, as her eyes meet his;and turning upon the couch of her chamber, where he hath lain her, awakes to consciousness, and finds him watching over her with alover's solicitude. "I was not cold because I loved you less-oh no!It was to propitiate my ambition-to be free of the bondage of thishouse-to purge myself of the past-to better my future!" And she laysher pale, nervous hand gently on his arm-then grasps his hand andpresses it fervently to her lips. 

Though placed beyond the pale of society-though envied by oneextreme and shunned by the other-she finds George her only truefriend. He parts and smooths gently over her polished shoulders herdishevelled hair; he watches over her with the tenderness of abrother; he quenches and wipes away the blood oozing from herwounded breast; he kisses and kisses her flushed cheek, and bathesher Ion-like brow. He forgives all. His heart would speak if histongue had words to represent it. He would the past were buried-thethought of having wronged him forgotten. She recognizes in hissolicitude for her the sincerity of his heart. It touches like sweetmusic the tenderest chords of her own; and like gushing fountainsher great black eyes fill with tears. She buries her face in herhands, crying, "Never, never, George, (I swear it before the God Ihave wronged, but whose forgiveness I still pray, ) will I againforget my obligation to you! I care not how high in station he whoseeks me may be. Ambitious!--I was misled. His money lured me away, but he betrayed me in the face of his promises. Henceforth I havenothing for this deceptive world; I receive of it nothing butbetrayal--"

"The world wants nothing more of either of us, " interrupts George. 

More wounded in her feelings than in her flesh, she sobs and wringsher hands like one in despair. 

"You have ambition. I am too poor to serve your ambition!"

That word, too "poor, " is more than her already distracted brain canbear up under. It brings back the terrible picture of their pasthistory; it goads and agonizes her very soul. She throws her armsfrantically about his neck; presses him to her bosom; kisses himwith the fervor of a child. Having pledged his forgiveness with akiss, and sealed it by calling in a witness too often profaned onsuch occasions, George calms her feelings as best he can; then hesmooths with a gentle hand the folds of her uplifted dress, and withthem curtains the satin slippers that so delicately encase her smallfeet. This done, he spreads over her the richly-lined India morning-gown presented to her a few days ago by the Judge, who, as she says, so wantonly betrayed her, and on whom she sought revenge. Like aDelian maid, surrounded with Oriental luxury, and reclining on satinand velvet, she flings her flowing hair over her shoulders, nestlesher weary head in the embroidered cushion, and with the hand of heronly true friend firmly grasped in her own, soothes away into a calmsleep-that sovereign but too transient balm for sorrowing hearts. 

Our scene changes. The ghost hath taken himself to the grave-yard;the morning dawns soft and sunny on what we harmlessly style thesunny city of the sunny South. Madame Flamingo hath resolved to nailanother horse-shoe over her door. She will propitiate (so she hathit) the god of ghosts. 

George Mullholland, having neither visible means of gaining alivelihood nor a settled home, may be seen in a solitary box atBaker's, (a coffee-house at the corner of Meeting and Marketstreets, ) eating an humble breakfast. About him there is aforlornness that the quick eye never fails to discover in themanners of the homeless man. "Cleverly done, " he says, laying downthe Mercury newspaper, in which it is set forth that "the St. Cecilia, in consequence of an affliction in the family of one of itsprincipal members, postponed its assembly last night. The theatre, in consequence of a misunderstanding between the manager and hispeople, was also closed. The lecture on comparative anatomy, byProfessor Bones, which was to have been delivered at Hibernian Hall, is, in consequence of the indisposition of the learned Professor, put off to Tuesday evening next, when he will have, as he deserves, an overflowing house. Tickets, as before, may be had at all themusic and bookstores. " The said facetious journal was silent on thesuperior attractions at the house of the old hostess; nor did itdeem it prudent to let drop a word on the misunderstanding betweenthe patrons of the drama and the said theatrical manager, inasmuchas it was one of those that are sure to give rise to a very seriousmisunderstanding between that functionary and his poor people. 

In another column the short but potent line met his eye: "Anoverflowing and exceedingly fashionable house greeted the NegroMinstrels last night. First-rate talent never goes begging in ourcity. " George sips his coffee and smiles. Wonderfully clever theseeditors are, he thinks. They have nice apologies for public tastealways on hand; set the country by the ears now and then; and amusethemselves with carrying on the most prudent description of wars. 

His own isolated condition, however, is uppermost in his mind. Poverty and wretchedness stare him in the face on one side;chivalry, on the other, has no bows for him while daylight lasts. Instinct whispers in his ear-where one exists the other is sure tobe. 

To the end that this young man will perform a somewhat importantpart in the by-ways of this history, some further description of himmay be necessary. George Mullholland stands some five feet nine, iswiry-limbed, and slender and erect of person. Of light complexion, his features are sharp and irregular, his face narrow and freckled, his forehead small and retreating, his hair sandy and short-cropped. Add to these two small, dull, gray eyes, and you have features noteasily described. Nevertheless, there are moments when hiscountenance wears an expression of mildness-one in which the quickeye may read a character more inoffensive than intrusive. Aswallow-tail blue coat, of ample skirts, and brass buttons; abright-colored waistcoat, opening an avalanche of shirt-bosom, blossoming with cheap jewelry; a broad, rolling shirt-collar, tiedcarelessly with a blue ribbon; a steeple-crowned hat, set on theside of his head with a challenging air; and a pair ofbroadly-striped and puckered trowsers, reaching well over asmall-toed and highly-glazed boot, constitutes his dress. For theexact set of those two last-named articles of his wardrobe hemaintains a scrupulous regard. We are compelled to acknowledgeGeorge an importation from New York, where he would be the morereadily recognized by that vulgar epithet, too frequently used bythe self-styled refined--"a swell. "

Life with George is a mere drift of uncertainty. As for aims andends, why he sees the safer thing in having nothing to do with them. Mr. Tom Toddleworth once advised this course, and Tom was esteemedgood authority in such matters. Like many others, his character ismade up of those yielding qualities which the teachings of good menmay elevate to usefulness, or bad men corrupt by their examples. There is a stage in the early youth of such persons when we findtheir minds singularly susceptible, and ready to give rapid growthto all the vices of depraved men; while they are equally apt inreceiving good, if good men but take the trouble to care for them, and inculcate lessons of morality. 

Not having a recognized home, we may add, in resuming our story, that George makes Baker's his accustomed haunt during the day, as doalso numerous others of his class-a class recognized and made use ofby men in the higher walks of life only at night. 

"Ah! ha, ha! into a tight place this time, George, " laughs out Mr. Soloman, the accommodation man, as he hastens into the room, seatshimself in the box with George, and seizes his hand with theearnestness of a true friend. Mr. Soloman can deport himself on alloccasions with becoming good nature. "It's got out, you see. "

"What has got out?" interrupts George, maintaining a carelessindifference. 

"Come now! none of that, old fellow. "

"If I understood you--"

"That affair last night, " pursues Mr. Soloman, his delicate fingerswandering into his more delicately-combed beard. "It'll go hard withyou. He's a stubborn old cove, that Sleepyhorn; administers the lawas C‘sar was wont to. Yesterday he sent seven to the whipping-post;to-day he hangs two 'niggers' and a white man. There is aconsolation in getting rid of the white. I say this because no oneloses a dollar by it. "

George, continuing to masticate his bread, says it has nothing to dowith him. He may hang the town. 

"If I can do you a bit of a good turn, why here's your man. But youmust not talk that way--you must not, George, I assure you!" Mr. Soloman assumes great seriousness of countenance, and again, in afriendly way, takes George by the hand. "That poignard, George, wasyours. It was picked up by myself when it fell from your hand--"

"My hand! my hand!" George quickly interposes, his countenancepaling, and his eyes wandering in excitement. 

"Now don't attempt to disguise the matter, you know! Come out on thesquare-own up! Jealousy plays the devil with one now and then. Iknow-I have had a touch of it; had many a little love affair in mytime--"

George again interrupts by inquiring to what he is coming. 

"To the attempt (the accommodation man assumes an air of sternness)you made last night on the life of that unhappy girl. It isneedless, " he adds, "to plead ignorance. The Judge has the poignard;and what's more, there are four witnesses ready to testify. It'll gohard with you, my boy. " He shakes his head warningly. 

"I swear before God and man I am as innocent as ignorant of thecharge. The poignard I confess is mine; but I had no part in the actof last night, save to carry the prostrate girl-the girl I dearlylove-away. This I can prove by her own lips. "

Mr. Soloman, with an air of legal profundity, says: "This is allvery well in its way, George, but it won't stand in law. The law iswhat you have got to get at. And when you have got at it, you mustget round it; and then you must twist it and work it every whichway-only be careful not to turn its points against yourself; that, you know, is the way we lawyers do the thing. You'll think we're asharp lot; and we have to be sharp, as times are. "

"It is not surprising, " replies George, as if waking from a fit ofabstraction, "that she should have sought revenge of one who sobasely betrayed her at the St. Cecilia--"

"There, there!" Mr. Soloman interrupts, changing entirely theexpression of his countenance, "the whole thing is out! I said therewas an unexplained mystery somewhere. It was not the Judge, but mewho betrayed her to the assembly. Bless you, (he smiles, andcrooking his finger, beckons a servant, whom he orders to bring ajulep, ) I was bound to do it, being the guardian of the Society'sdignity, which office I have held for years. But you don't mean tohave it that the girl attempted--(he suddenly corrects himself)--Ah, that won't do, George. Present my compliments to Anna--I wouldn't forthe world do aught to hurt her feelings, you know that--and say I amready to get on my knees to her to confess myself a penitent forhaving injured her feelings. Yes, I am ready to do anything thatwill procure her forgiveness. I plead guilty. But she must in returnforgive the Judge. He is hard in law matters--that is, we of the lawconsider him so--now and then; but laying that aside, he is one ofthe best old fellows in the world, loves Anna to distraction; norhas he the worst opinion in the world of you, George. Fact is, Ihave several times heard him refer to you in terms of praise. As Isaid before, being the man to do you a bit of a good turn, take myadvice as a friend. The Judge has got you in his grasp, according toevery established principle of law; and having four good andcompetent witnesses, (you have no voice in law, and Anna's won'tstand before a jury, ) will send you up for a twelve-months'residence in Mount Rascal. "

It will be almost needless here to add, that Mr. Soloman had, in aninterview with the Judge, arranged, in consideration of a goodlyfee, to assume the responsibility of the betrayal at the St. Cecilia; and also to bring about a reconciliation between him andthe girl he so passionately sought. 

"Keep out of the way a few days, and everything will blow over andcome right. I will procure you the Judge's friendship--yes, hismoney, if you want. More than that, I will acknowledge my guilt toAnna; and being as generous of heart as she is beautiful, she will, having discovered the mistake, forgive me and make amends to theJudge for her foolish act. 

It is almost superfluous to add, that the apparent sincerity withwhich the accommodation man pleaded, had its effect on theweak-minded man. He loved dearly the girl, but poverty hung like aleaden cloud over him. Poverty stripped him of the means ofgratifying her ambition; poverty held him fast locked in itsblighting chains; poverty forbid his rescuing her from the conditionnecessity had imposed upon her; poverty was goading him into crime;and through crime only did he see the means of securing to himselfthe cherished object of his love. 

"I am not dead to your friendship, but I am too sad at heart to makeany pledge that involves Anna, at this moment. We met inwretchedness, came up in neglect and crime, sealed our love with thehard seal of suffering. Oh! what a history of misery my heart couldunfold, if it had but a tongue!" George replies, in subdued accents, as a tear courses down his cheek. 

Extending his hand, with an air of encouragement, Mr. Soloman saysnothing in the world would so much interest him as a history of therelations existing between George and Anna. Their tastes, aims, andvery natures, are different. To him their connection is clothed inmystery. 

CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH A GLEAM OF LIGHT IS SHED ON THE HISTORY OF ANNA BONARD. 

A BOTTLE of wine, and the mild, persuasive manner of Mr. Snivel, socompletely won over George's confidence, that, like one of thatclass always too ready to give out their heart-achings at the touchof sympathy, and too easily betrayed through misplaced confidence, he commences relating his history. That of Anna is identified withit. "We will together proceed to New York, for it is there, amonghaunts of vice and depravity--"

"In depth of degradation they have no counterpart on our globe, " Mr. Soloman interrupts, filling his glass. 

"We came up together-knew each other, but not ourselves. That wasour dark age. " George pauses for a moment. 

"Bless you, " again interrupts Mr. Soloman, tipping his glass verypolitely, "I never-that is, when I hear our people who getthemselves laced into narrow-stringed Calvinism, and long-foundedforeign missions, talk-think much could have come of the dark ages. I speak after the manner of an attorney, when I say this. We hear adeal of the dark ages, the crimes of the dark ages, the darkidolatry of darker Africa. My word for it, and it's something, ifthey had anything darker in Sodom; if they had in Babylon a state ofdegradation more hardened of crime; if in Egypt there existed abenightedness more stubbornly opposed to the laws of God-than is tobe found in that New York; that city of merchant princes withprincely palaces; that modern Pompeii into which a mighty commerceteems its mightier gold, where a coarse throng revel in coarserluxury, where a thousand gaudy churches rear heavenward theirgaudier steeples, then I have no pity for Sodom, not a tear to shedover fallen Babylon, and very little love for Egypt. " Mr. Snivelconcludes, saying--"proceed, young man. "

"Of my mother I know nothing. My father (I mean the man I calledfather, but who they said was not my father, though he was the onlyone that cared anything for me) was Tom English, who used to livehere and there with me about the Points. He was always looking in atPaddy Pie's, in Orange street, and Paddy Pie got all his money, andthen Paddy Pie and him quarrelled, and we were turned out of PaddyPie's house. So we used to lodge here and there, in the cellarsabout the Points, in 'Cut Throat Alley, ' or 'Cow Bay, ' or'Murderer's Alley, ' or in 'The House of the Nine Nations, ' orwherever we could get a sixpenny rag to lay down upon. Nobody butEnglish seemed to care for me, and English cared for nobody but me. And English got thick with Mrs. McCarty and her three daughters--theykept the Rookery in 'Cow Bay, ' which we used to get to up a longpair of stairs outside, and which God knows I never want to think ofagain, --where sometimes fourteen or fifteen of us, men and women, used to sleep in a little room Mrs. McCarty paid eight dollars amonth for. And Mr. Crown, who always seemed a cross sort of man, andwas agent for all the houses on the Points I thought, used to sayshe had it too cheap. And English got to thinking a good deal ofMrs. McCarty, and Mrs. McCarty's daughters got to thinking a gooddeal of him. And Boatswain Bill, who lived at the house of the 'NineNations'-the house they said had a bottomless pit-and English usedto fight a deal about the Miss McCartys, and Bill one night threwEnglish over the high stoop, down upon the pavement, and broke hisarms. They said it was a wonder it hadn't a broken his neck. Fighting Mary (Mary didn't go by that name then) came up and tookEnglish's part, and whipped Boatswain Bill, and said she'd whip thewhole house of the 'Nine Nations' if it had spunk enough in it tocome on. But no one dare have a set-to with Mary. Mary used to drinka deal of gin, and say-'this gin and the devil 'll get us all one ofthese days. I wonder if Mr. Crown 'll sell bad gin to his highnesswhen he gets him?" Well, Bill was sent up for six months, so theMcCartys had peace in the house, and Mrs. McCarty got him littlethings, and did for English until his arms got well. Then he got alittle money, (I don't know how he got it, ) and Paddy Pie made goodfriends with him, and got him from the Rookery, and then all hismoney. I used to think all the money in the Points found its wayeither to the house of Paddy Pie, or the Bottomless Pit at the houseof the 'Nine Nations, ' and all the clothes to the sign of the 'ThreeMartyrs, ' which the man with the eagle face kept round the corner. 

"English used to say in one of his troubled fits, 'I'd like to be arespectable man, and get out of this, if there was a chance, and dosomething for you, George. There's no chance, you see. ' And when wewent into Broadway, which we did now and then, and saw what anotherworld it was, and how rich everything looked, English used to shakehis head and say, 'they don't know how we live, George. '

"Paddy Pie soon quarrelled with English, and being penniless againwe had to shift for ourselves. English didn't like to go back toMrs. McCarty, so we used to sleep at Mrs. Sullivan's cellar in 'CutThroat Alley. ' And Mrs. Sullivan's cellar was only about twelve feetby twenty, and high enough to stand up in, and wet enough foranything, and so overrun with rats and vermin that we couldn'tsleep. There were nine rag-beds in the cellar, which as many astwenty-three would sometimes sleep on, or, if they were not tootipsy, try to sleep on. And folks used to come into the cellar atnight, and be found dead in the morning. This made such a fuss inthe neighborhood (there was always a fuss when Old Bones, thecoroner, was about), and frightened so many, that Mrs. Sullivancouldn't get lodgers for weeks. She used to nail no end ofhorse-shoes over the door to keep out the ghosts of them that diedlast. But it was a long while before her lodgers got courage enoughto come back. Then we went to the house of the Blazers, in 'CowBay, ' and used to lodge there with Yellow Bill. They said Bill was athief by profession; but I wasn't old enough to be a judge. LittleLizza Rock, the nondescript, as people called her, used to live atthe Blazers. Poor Lizza had a hard time of it, and used to sigh andsay she wished she was dead. Nobody thought of her, she said, andshe was nothing because she was deformed, and a cripple. She wasabout four feet high, had a face like a bull-dog, and a swollenchest, and a hunchback, a deformed leg, and went with a crutch. Shenever combed her hair, and what few rags she had on her back hung infilth. What few shillings she got were sure to find their way eitherinto Bill's pocket, or send her tipsy into the 'Bottomless Pit' ofthe house of the 'Nine Nations. ' There was in the Bottomless Pit anever-ending stream of gin that sent everybody to the Tombs, andfrom the Tombs to the grave. But Lizza was good to me, and used totake care of me, and steal little things for me from old DanSullivan, who begged in Broadway, and let Yellow Bill get his money, by getting him tipsy. And I got to liking Lizza, for we both seemedto have no one in the world who cared for us but English. And therewas always some trouble between the Blazers and the people at thehouse of the 'Nine Nations. '

"Well, English was hard to do for some time, and through necessity, which he said a deal about, we were driven out of every place we hadsought shelter in. And English did something they sent him up for atwelve-month for, and I was left to get on as I could. I was took inby 'Hard-Fisted Sall, ' who always wore a knuckle-duster, and used toknock everybody down she met, and threatened a dozen times to whipMr. Fitzgerald, the detective, and used to rob every one she took intow, and said if she could only knock down and rob the wholepumpkin-headed corporation she should die easy, for then she wouldknow she had done a good thing for the public, whose money they weresquandering without once thinking how the condition of such wretchesas herself could be bettered. 

"English died before he had been up two months. And death reconciledthe little difficulty between him and the McCartys; and old Mrs. McCarty's liking for him came back, and she went crying to theBellevue and begged them, saying she was his mother, to let her takehis body away and bury it. They let her have it, and she brought itaway to the rookery, in a red coffin, and got a clean sheet of theBlazers, and hung it up beside the coffin, and set four candles on atable, and a little cross between them, and then borrowed a Biblewith a cross on it, and laid it upon the coffin. Then they sent forme. I cried and kissed poor English, for poor English was the onlyfather I knew, and he was good to me. I never shall forget what Isaw in that little room that night. I found a dozen friends and theMcCartys there, forming a half-circle of curious and demoniacalfaces, peering over the body of English, whose face, I thought, formed the only repose in the picture. There were two smallpictures-one of the Saviour, and the other of Kossuth-hung at thehead and feet of the corpse; and the light shed a lurid palenessover the living and the dead. And detective Fitzgerald and anothergentleman looked in. 

"'Who's here to-night?' says Fitzgerald, in a friendly sort of way. 

"'God love ye, Mr. Fitzgerald, poor English is gone! Indeed, then, it was the will of the Lord, and He's taken him from us-poorEnglish!' says Mrs. McCarty. And Fitzgerald, and the gentleman withhim, entered the den, and they shuddered and sat down at the sightof the face in the coffin. 'Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald, do!--and maythe Lord love ye! There was a deal of good in poor English. He'sgone-so he is!' said Mrs. McCarty, begging them to sit down, andexcuse the disordered state of her few rags. She had a hard struggleto live, God knows. They took off their hats, and sat a few minutesin solemn silence. The rags moved at the gentleman's side, whichmade him move towards the door. 'What is there, my good woman?' heinquired. 'She's a blessed child, Mr. Fitzgerald knows that same:'says Mrs. McCarty, turning down the rags and revealing the wastedfeatures of her youngest girl, a child eleven years old, sinking indeath. 'God knows she'll be better in heaven, and herself won't belong out of it, ' Mrs. McCarty twice repeated, maintaining a singularindifference to the hand of death, already upon the child. Thegentleman left some money to buy candles for poor English, and withMr. Fitzgerald took himself away. 

"Near midnight, the tall black figure of solemn-faced FatherFlaherty stalked in. He was not pleased with the McCartys, but wentto the side of the dying child, fondled her little wasted hand inhis own, and whispered a prayer for her soul. Never shall I forgethow innocently she looked in his face while he parted the littleringlets that curled over her brow, and told her she would soon havea better home in a better world. Then he turned to poor English, andthe cross, and the candles, and the pictures, and the living facesthat gave such a ghastliness to the picture. Mrs. McCarty broughthim a basin of water, over which he muttered, and made it holy. Thenhe again muttered some unintelligible sentences, and sprinkled thewater over the dying child, over the body of poor English, and overthe living-warning Mrs. McCarty and her daughters, as he pointed tothe coffin. Then he knelt down, and they all knelt down, and heprayed for the soul of poor English, and left. What holy water thenwas left, Mrs. McCarty placed near the door, to keep the ghosts out. 

"The neighbors at the Blazers took a look in, and a few friends atthe house of the 'Nine Nations' took a look in, and 'Fighting Mary, 'of Murderer's Alley, took a look in, and before Father Flaherty hadgot well out of 'Cow Bay, ' it got to be thought a trifle of a wakewould console Mrs. McCarty's distracted feelings. 'Hard-fisted Sall'came to take a last look at poor English; and she said she wouldspend her last shilling over poor English, and having one, it wouldget a drop, and a drop dropped into the right place would do Mrs. McCarty a deal of good. 

"And Mrs. McCarty agreed that it wouldn't be amiss, and putting withSall's shilling the money that was to get the candles, I was sent tothe 'Bottomless Pit' at the house of the 'Nine Nations, ' where Mr. Crown had a score with the old woman, and fetched away a quart ofhis gin, which they said was getting the whole of them. The McCartystook a drop, and the girls took a drop, and the neighbors took adrop, and they all kept taking drops, and the drops got the betterof them all. One of the Miss McCartys got to having words with'Fighting Mary, ' about an old affair in which poor English wasconcerned, and the words got to blows, when Mr. Flanegan at theBlazers stepped in to make peace. But the whole house got into afight, and the lights were put out, the corpse knocked over, and thechild (it was found dead in the morning) suffocated with the weightof bodies felled in the melee. The noise and cries of murder broughtthe police rushing in, and most of them were dragged off to theStation; and the next day being Sunday, I wandered homeless andfriendless into Sheriff street. Poor English was taken in charge bythe officers. They kept him over Monday to see if any one would comeup and claim him. No one came for him; no one knew more of him thanthat he went by the name of English; no one ever heard him say wherehe came from-he never said a word about my mother, or whether he hada relation in the world. He was carted off to Potter's Field andburied. That was the last of poor English. 

"We seldom got much to eat in the Points, and I had not tasted foodfor twenty-four hours. I sat down on the steps of a German grocery, and was soon ordered away by the keeper. Then I wandered into aplace they called Nightmare's Alley, where three old woodenbuildings with broken-down verandas stood, and were inhabitedprincipally by butchers. I sat down on the steps of one, and thoughtif I only had a mother, or some one to care for me, and give mesomething to eat, how happy I should be. And I cried. And a greatred-faced man came out of the house, and took me in, and gave mesomething to eat. His name was Mike Mullholland, and he was good tome, and I liked him, and took his name. And he lived with arepulsive looking woman, in a little room he paid ten dollars amonth for. He had two big dogs, and worked at day work, in aslaughter-house in Staunton street. The dogs were known in theneighborhood as Mullholland's dogs, and with them I used to sleep onthe rags of carpet spread for us in the room with Mullholland andhis wife, who I got to calling mother. This is how I took the nameof Mullholland. I was glad to leave the Points, and felt as if I hada home. But there was a 'Bottomless Pit' in Sheriff street, andthough not so bad as the one at the house of the "Nine Nations, " itgave out a deal of gin that the Mullhollands had a liking for. I wascontinually going for it, and the Mullhollands were continuallydrinking it; and the whole neighborhood liked it, and in'Nightmare's Alley' the undertaker found a profitable business. 

"In the morning I went with the dogs to the slaughter-house, andthere fed them, and took care of the fighting cocks, and brought ginfor the men who worked there. In the afternoon I joined thenewsboys, as ragged and neglected as myself, gambled for cents, andwatched the policemen, whom we called the Charleys. I lived withMullholland two years, and saw and felt enough to make hardened anyone of my age. One morning there came a loud knocking at the door, which was followed by the entrance of two officers. The dogs had gotout and bitten a child, and the officers, knowing who owned them, had come to arrest Mullholland. We were all surprised, for theofficers recognized in Mullholland and the woman two old offenders. And while they were dragged off to the Tombs, I was left to preyupon the world as best I could. Again homeless, I wandered aboutwith urchins as ragged and destitute as myself. It seemed to me thateverybody viewed me as an object of suspicion, for I sought in vainfor employment that would give me bread and clothing. I wanted to behonest, and would have lived honest; but I could not make peoplebelieve me honest. And when I told who I was, and where I shelteredmyself, I was ordered away. Everybody judged me by the filthy shredson my back; nobody had anything for me to do. 

"I applied at a grocer's, to sweep his store and go errands. When Itold him where I had lived, he shook his head and ordered me away. Knowing I could fill a place not unknown to me, I applied at abutcher's in Mott street; but he pointed his knife-which left awound in my feelings-and ordered me away. And I was ordered awaywherever I went. The doors of the Chatham theatre looked too finefor me. My ragged condition rebuked me wherever I went, and for morethan a week I slept under a cart that stood in Mott street. Then TomFarley found me, and took me with him to his cellar, in Elizabethstreet, where we had what I thought a good bed of shavings. Tom soldHeralds, gambled for cents, and shared with me, and we got along. Then Tom stole a dog, and the dog got us into a deal of trouble, which ended with getting us both into the Tombs, where Tom waslocked up. I was again adrift, as we used to call it, and thought ofpoor Tom a deal. Every one I met seemed higher up in the world thanI was. But I got into Centre Market, carried baskets, and did what Icould to earn a shilling, and slept in Tom's bed, where there wassome nights fifteen and twenty like myself. 

"One morning, while waiting a job, my feet and hands benumbed withthe cold, a beautiful lady slipped a shilling into my hand andpassed on. To one penniless and hungry, it seemed a deal of money. Necessity had almost driven me to the sign of the 'Three Martyrs, 'to see what the man of the eagle face would give me on my cap, forthey said the man at the 'Three Martyrs' lent money on rags such asI had. I followed the woman, for there was something so good in theact that I could not resist it. She entered a fine house in Leonardstreet. 

"You must now go with me into the den of Hag Zogbaum, in 'ScorpionCove;' and 'Scorpion Cove' is in Pell street. Necessity next droveme there. It is early spring, we will suppose; and being in theBowery, we find the streets in its vicinity reeking with putridmatter, hurling pestilence into the dark dwellings of the unknownpoor, and making thankful the coffin-maker, who in turn thanks anonundertaking corporation for the rich harvest. The muck iseverywhere deep enough for hogs and fat aldermen to wallow in, andwould serve well the purposes of a supper-eating corporation, whosechief business it was to fatten turtles and make Presidents. 

"We have got through the muck of the mucky Bowery. Let us turn tothe left as we ascend the hill from Chatham street, and into anarrow, winding way, called Doyer's street. Dutch Sophy, then, asnow, sits in all the good nature of her short, fat figure, servingher customers with ices, at three cents. Her cunning black eyes andcheerful, ruddy face, enhance the air of pertness that has made hera favorite with her customers. We will pass the little wooden shop, where Mr. Saunders makes boots of the latest style, and where oldlapstone, with curious framed spectacles tied over his bleared eyes, has for the last forty years been seen at the window trimming welts, and mending every one's sole but his own; we will pass the fourstory wooden house that the landlord never paints-that has thelittle square windows, and the little square door, and the twolittle iron hand rails that curl so crabbedly at the ends, and guardfour crabbeder steps that give ingress and egress to its swarm ofpoor but honest tenants; we will pass the shop where a short, stylish sign tells us Mr. Robertson makes bedsteads; and the little, slanting house a line of yellow letters on a square of black tintells us is a select school for young ladies, and the bright, daintylooking house with the green shutters, where lives Mr. Vredenburgthe carpenter, who, the neighbors say, has got up in the world, andpaints his house to show that he feels above poor folks-and find wehave reached the sooty and gin-reeking grocery of Mr. Korner, whosells the devil's elixir to the sootier devils that swarm thecellars of his neighbors. The faded blue letters, on a strip of woodnailed to the bricks over his door, tell us he is a dealer in"Imported and other liquors. " Next door to Mr. Korner's tipsylooking grocery lives Mr. Muffin, the coffin-maker, who has a largebusiness with the disciples who look in at Korner's. Mrs. Downey, adecent sort of body, who lives up the alley, and takes sixpennylodgers by the dozen, may be seen in great tribulation with her petpig, who, every day, much to the annoyance of Mr. Korner, manages toget out, and into the pool of decaying matter opposite his door, where he is sure to get stuck, and with his natural propensity, squeals lustily for assistance. Mrs. Downey, as is her habit, getsdistracted; and having well abused Mr. Korner for his interferencein a matter that can only concern herself and the animal, venturesto her knees in the mire, and having seized her darling pig by thetwo ears, does, with the assistance of a policeman, who kindly takeshim by the tail, extricate his porkship, to the great joy ofherself. The animal scampers, grunting, up the alley, as Mr. Korner, in his shirt sleeves, throws his broom after him, and the policemansurlily says he wishes it was the street commissioner. 

"We have made the circle of Doyer's street, and find it fortified onPell street, with two decrepit wooden buildings, that the demand forthe 'devil's elixir, ' has converted into Dutch groceries, theirexteriors presenting the appearance of having withstood a storm ofdilapidated clapboards, broken shutters, red herrings, and onions. Mr. Voss looks suspiciously through the broken shutters of hisGibraltar, at his neighbor of the opposite Gibraltar, and is heardto say of his wares that they are none of the best, and that whilehe sells sixpence a pint less, the article is a shilling a pintbetter. And there the two Gibraltars stand, apparently infirm, hurling their unerring missiles, and making wreck of everything inthe neighborhood. 

"We have turned down Pell street toward Mott, and on the north sidea light-colored sign, representing a smith in the act of shoeing ahorse, attracts the eye, and tells us the old cavern-like buildingover which it swings, is where Mr. Mooney does smithwork andshoeing. And a little further on, a dash of yellow and white painton a little sign-board at the entrance of an alley, guarded on oneside by a broken-down shed, and on the other, by a three-story, narrow, brick building (from the windows of which trail longwater-stains, and from the broken panes a dozen curious black heads, of as many curious eyed negroes protrude), tells us somewhatindefinitely, that Mister Mills, white-washer and wall-colorer, maybe found in the neighborhood, which, judging from outwardappearances, stands much in need of this good man's services. Justkeep your eye on the sign of the white-washer and wall-colorer, andpassing up the sickly alley it tells you Mister Mills may be foundin, you will find yourself (having picked your way over putridmatter, and placed your perfumed cambric where it will protect yourlungs from the inhalation of pestilential air, ) in the cozy area of'Scorpion Cove. ' Scorpion Cove is bounded at one end by a two-storywooden house, with two decayed and broken verandas in front, andrickety steps leading here and there to suspicious looking passages, into which, and out of which a never-ending platoon of the risinggeneration crawl and toddle, keep up a cheap serenade, and likerats, scamper away at the sight of a stranger; and on the other, bythe back of the brick house with the negro-headed front. At thesides are two broken-down board fences, and forming a sort ofnet-work across the cove, are an innumerable quantity of unoccupiedclothes-lines, which would seem only to serve the mischievouspropensities of young negroes and the rats. There is any quantity ofrubbish in 'Scorpion Cove, ' and any amount of disease-breedingcesspools; but the corporation never heard of 'Scorpion Cove, ' andwouldn't look into it if it had. If you ask me how it came to becalled 'Scorpion Cove, ' I will tell you. The brick house at one endwas occupied by negroes; and the progeny of these negroes swarmedover the cove, and were called scorpions. The old house of theverandas at the other end, and which had an air of being propped upafter a shock of paralysis, was inhabited by twenty or morefamilies, of the Teutonic race, whose numerous progeny, called thehedge-hogs, were more than a match for the scorpions, and with thatjealousy of each other which animates these races did the scorpionsand hedge-hogs get at war. In the morning the scorpions would crawlup through holes in the cellar, through broken windows, through thetrap-doors, down the long stairway that wound from the second andthird stories over the broken pavilion, and from nobody could tellwhere-for they came, it seems, from every rat-hole, and with rollingwhite eyes, marshalled themselves for battle. The hedgehogsmustering in similar strength, and springing up from no one couldtell where, would set upon the scorpions, and after a goodly amountof wallowing in the mire, pulling hair and wool, scratching facesand pommeling noses, the scorpions being alternately the victors andvanquished, the war would end at the appearance of Hag Zogbaum, who, with her broom, would cause the scorpions to beat a hasty retreat. The hedge-hogs generally came off victorious, for they were thestronger race. But the old hedge-hogs got much shattered in time bythe broadsides of the two Gibraltars, which sent them broadside oninto the Tombs. And this passion of the elder hedge-hogs for gettinginto the Tombs, caused by degrees a curtailing of the youngerhedge-hogs. And this falling off in the forces of the foe, singularly inspirited the scorpions, who mustered courage, and aftera series of savage battles, in which there was a notorious amount ofwool-pulling gained the day. And this is how 'Scorpion Cove' got itsname. 

"Hag Zogbaum lived in the cellar of the house with the verandas; andold Dan Sullivan and the rats had possession of the garret. In thecellar of this woman, whose trade was the fostering of crime inchildren as destitute as myself, there was a bar and a back cellar, where as many as twenty boys and girls slept on straw and wereeducated in vice. She took me into her nursery, and I was glad toget there, for I had no other place to go. 

"In the morning we were sent out to pilfer, to deceive thecredulous, and to decoy others to the den. Some were instructed byHag Zogbaum to affect deaf and dumb, to plead the starving conditionof our parents, to, in a word, enlist the sympathies of thecredulous with an hundred different stories. We were all stimulatedby a premium being held out to the most successful. Some were sentout to steal pieces of iron, brass, copper, and old junk; and theseHag Zogbaum would sell or give to the man who kept the junk-shop inStanton street, known as the rookery at the corner. (This man livedwith Hag Zogbaum. ) We returned at night with our booty, and re-ceived our wages in gin or beer. The unsuccessful were set down asvictims of bad luck. Now and then the old woman would call us amiserable lot of wretches she was pestered to take care of. At onetime there were in this den of wretchedness fifteen girls from sevento eleven years old, and seven boys under eleven-all being initiatedinto the by-ways of vice and crime. Among the girls were Italians, Germans, Irish, and-shall I say it?-Americans! It was curious to seewhat means the old hag would resort to for the purpose of improvingtheir features after they had arrived at a certain age. She had apurpose in this; and that purpose sprang from that traffic indepravity caused by the demands of a depraved society, a theme onher lips continually. "

CHAPTER X. 

A CONTINUATION OF GEORGE MULLHOLLAND'S HISTORY. 

"HAVING served well the offices of felons and impostors, Hag Zogbaumwould instruct her girls in the mysteries of licentiousness. Whenthey reached a certain age, their personal appearance was improved, and one by one they were passed into the hands of splendidly-dressed ladies, as we then took them to be, who paid a sum for themto Hag Zogbaum, and took them away; and that was the last we saw ofthem. They had no desire to remain in their miserable abode, andwere only too glad to get away from it. In most cases they werehomeless and neglected orphans; and knowing no better condition, fell easy victims to the snares set for them. 

"It was in this dark, cavern-like den--in this mysterious caldron ofprecocious depravity, rioting unheeded in the very centre of a greatcity, whose boasted wealth and civilization it might put to shame, if indeed it were capable of shame, I first met the child of beauty, Anna Bonard. Yes!--the Anna Bonard you now see at the house of MadameFlamingo. At that time she was but seven years old--a child ofuncommon beauty and aptness, of delicate but well-proportionedfeatures, of middle stature, and a face that care might have madecharming beyond comparison. But vice hardens, corrodes, and gives afalse hue to the features. Anna said she was an orphan. How farthis was true I know not. A mystery shrouded the way in which shefell into the hands of Hag Zogbaum. Hag Zogbaum said she got her ofan apple-woman; and the apple-woman kept a stand in West street, butnever would disclose how she came by Anna. And Mr. Tom Toddleworth, who was the chronicle of the Points, and used to look into 'ScorpionCove' now and then, and inquire about Anna, as if he had a sort ofinterest in her, they said knew all about her. But if he did, healways kept it a secret between himself and Hag Zogbaum. 

"She was always of a melancholy turn, used to say life was but aburden to her-that she could see nothing in the future that did notseem dark and tortuous. The lot into which she was cast of necessityothers might have mistaken for that which she had chosen. It wasnot. The hard hand of necessity had forced her into this quicksandof death; the indifference of a naturally generous community, robbedher of the light of intelligence, and left her a helpless victim inthe hands of this cultivator of vice. How could she, orphan as shewas called, and unencouraged, come to be a noble andgenerous-hearted woman? No one offered her the means to come up andornament her sex; but tyrannical society neither forgets hermisfortunes nor forgives her errors. Once seal the death-warrant ofa woman's errors, and you have none to come forward and cancel it;the tomb only removes the seal. Anna took a liking to me, and waskind to me, and looked to me to protect her. And I loved her, andour love grew up, and strengthened; and being alike neglected in theworld, our condition served as the strongest means of cementing ourattachment. 

"Hag Zogbaum then sent Anna away to the house up the alley, inElizabeth street, where she sent most of her girls when they hadreached the age of eleven and twelve. Hag Zogbaum had many placesfor her female pupils. The very best looking always went a while tothe house in the alley; the next best looking were sure to findtheir way into the hands of Miss Brown, in Little Water street, andMiss Brown, they said, sold them to the fairies of the South, whodressed them in velvet and gold; and the 'scrubs, ' as the old womanused to call the rest, got, by some mysterious process, into thehands of Paddy Pie and Tim Branahan, who kept shantees in Orangestreet. 

"Anna had been away some time, and Mr. Tom Toddleworth had severaltimes been seen to look in and inquire for her. Mr. Toddleworth saidhe had a ripping bid for her. At that time I was ignorant of itsmeaning. Harry Rooney and me were sent to the house in Elizabethstreet, one morning, to bring Anna and another girl home. The housewas large, and had an air of neatness about it that contrastedstrangely with the den in 'Scorpion Cove. ' We rang the bell andinquired for the girls, who, after waiting nearly an hour, were sentdown to us, clean and neatly dressed. In Anna the change was sogreat, that though I had loved her, and thought of her day and nightduring her absence, I scarce recognized her. So glad did she seem tosee me that she burst into tears, flung her arms about my neck, andkissed me with the fondness of a sister. Then she recounted withchildlike enthusiasm the kind treatment she had received at thehouse of Madame Harding (for such it was called), between whom andHag Zogbaum there was carried on a species of business I am notinclined to designate here. Two kind and splendidly-dressed ladies, Anna said, called to see them nearly every day, and were going totake them away, that they might live like fairies all the rest oftheir lives. 

"When we got home, two ladies were waiting at the den. It was notthe first time we had seen them at the den. Anna recognized them asthe ladies she had seen at Madame Harding's. One was the woman whoso kindly gave me the shilling in the market, when I was cold andhungry. A lengthy whispering took place between Hag Zogbaum and theladies, and we were ordered into the back cellar. I knew thewhispering was about Anna; and watching through the boards I heardthe Hag say Anna was fourteen and nothing less, and saw one of theladies draw from her purse numerous pieces of gold, which wereslipped into her hand. In a few minutes more I saw poor little Annafollow her up the steps that led into 'Scorpion Cove. ' When we werereleased Hag was serving ragged and dejected-looking men with ginand beer. Anna, she said when I inquired, had gone to a good home inthe country. I loved her ardently, and being lonesome was notcontent with the statement of the old woman. I could not read, buthad begun to think for myself, and something told me all was notright. For weeks and months I watched at the house in Leonardstreet, into which I had followed the woman who gave me theshilling. But I neither saw her nor the woman. Elegant carriages, and elegantly-dressed men drove to and from the door, and passed inand out of the house, and the house seemed to have a deal offashionable customers, and that was all I knew of it then. 

"As I watched one night, a gentleman came out of the house, took meby the arm and shook me, said I was a loitering vagrant, that he hadseen me before, and having a suspicious look he would order thewatch to lock me up. He inquired where my home was; and when I toldhim it was in 'Scorpion Cove, ' he replied he didn't know where thatwas. I told him it wasn't much of a home, and he said I ought tohave a better one. It was all very well to say so; but with me thecase was different. That night I met Tom Farley, who was glad to seeme, and told how he got out of the lock-up, and what he thought ofthe lock-up, and the jolly old Judge who sent him to the lock-up, and who he saw in the lock-up, and what mischief was concocted inthe lock-up, and what he got to eat in the lock-up, and how thelock-up wasn't so bad a place after all. 

"The fact was I was inclined to think the lock-up not so bad a placeto get into, seeing how they gave people something good to eat, andclothes to wear. Tom and me went into business together. We soldHeralds and Sunday papers, and made a good thing of it, and sharedour earnings, and got enough to eat and some clothes. I took up mystand in Centre Market, and Tom took up his at Peck Slip. At nightwe would meet, count our earnings, and give them to Mr. Crogan, whokept the cellar in Water street, where we slept. I left Hag Zogbaum, who we got to calling the wizard. She got all we could earn orpilfer, and we got nothing for our backs but a few rags, andunwholesome fish and beer for our bellies. I thought of Anna day andnight; I hoped to meet in Centre Market the woman who took her away. 

"I said no one ever looked in at the den in 'Scorpion Cove, ' butthere was a kind little man, with sharp black eyes, and black hair, and an earnest olive-colored face, and an earnester manner abouthim, who used to look in now and then, talk kindly to us, and tellus he wished he had a home for us all, and was rich enough to giveus all enough to eat. He hated Hag Zogbaum, and Hag Zogbaum hatedhim; but we all liked him because he was kind to us, and used toshake his head, and say he would do something for us yet. HagZogbaum said he was always meddling with other people's business. Atother times a man would come along and throw tracts in at the gateof the alley. We were ignorant of what they were intended for, andused to try to sell them at the Gibraltars. Nobody wanted them, andnobody could read at the den, so Hag Zogbaum lighted the fire withthem, and that was the end of them. 

"Well, I sold papers for nearly two years, and learned to read alittle by so doing, and got up in the world a little; and being whatwas called smart, attracted the attention of a printer in Nassaustreet, who took me into his office, and did well by me. My mind wasbent on getting a trade. I knew I could do well for myself with atrade to lean upon. Two years I worked faithfully at the printer's, was approaching manhood, and with the facilities it afforded me hadnot failed to improve my mind and get a tolerable good knowledge ofthe trade. But the image of Anna, and the singular manner in whichshe disappeared, made me unhappy. 

"On my return from dinner one day I met in Broadway the lady whotook Anna away. The past and its trials flashed across my brain, andI turned and followed her-found that her home was changed to Mercerstreet, and this accounted for my fruitless watching in Leonardstreet. 

"The love of Anna, that had left its embers smouldering in my bosom, quickened, and seemed to burn with redoubled ardor. It was my firstand only love; the sufferings of our childhood had made it lasting. My very emotion rose to action as I saw the woman I knew took heraway. My anxiety to know her fate had no bounds. Dressing myself upas respectably as it was possible with my means, I took advantage ofa dark and stormy night in the month of November to call at thehouse in Mercer street, into which I had traced the lady. I rung thebell; a sumptuously-dressed woman came to the door, which openedinto a gorgeously-decorated hall. She looked at me with an inquiringeye and disdainful frown, inquired who I was and what I wanted. Iconfess I was nervous, for the dazzling splendor of the mansionproduced in me a feeling of awe rather than admiration. I made knownmy mission as best I could; the woman said no such person had everresided there. In that moment of disappointment I felt like castingmyself away in despair. The associations of Scorpion Cove, of thehouse of the Nine Nations, of the Rookery, of Paddy Pie's-or anyother den in that desert of death that engulphs the Points, seemedholding out a solace for the melancholy that weighed me down. Butwhen I got back into Broadway my resolution gained strength, andwith it I wept over the folly of my thoughts. 

"Led by curiosity, and the air of comfort pervading thewell-furnished room, and the piously-disposed appearance of thepersons who passed in and out, I had several times looked in at thehouse of the 'Foreign Missions, ' as we used to call it. A man with agood-natured face used to sit in the chair, and a wise-lookinglittle man in spectacles (the Secretary) used to sit a bit belowhim, and a dozen or two well-disposed persons of both sexes, withsharp and anxious countenances, used to sit round in a half circle, listening. The wise-looking man in the spectacles would, on motionof some one present, read a long report, which was generally made upof a list of donations and expenditures for getting up a scheme toevangelize the world, and get Mr. Singleton Spyke off to Antioch. Itseemed to me as if a deal of time and money was expended on Mr. Singleton Spyke, and yet Mr. Spyke never got off to Antioch. Whenthe man of the spectacles got through reading the long paper, andthe good-natured man in the chair got through explaining that theheavy amount of twenty-odd thousand dollars had been judiciouslyexpended for the salary of officers of the society, and the gettingBrothers Spurn and Witherspoon off to enlighten the heathen, BrotherSingleton Spyke's mission would come up. Every one agreed that thereought to be no delay in getting Brother Spyke off to Antioch; but asmall deficiency always stood in the way. And Brother Spyke seemedspiked to this deficiency; for notwithstanding Mrs. Slocum, who wasreckoned the strongest-minded woman, and best business-man of thesociety, always made speeches in favor of Brother Spyke and hismission (a special one), he never got off to Antioch. 

"Feeling forlorn, smarting under disappointment, and undecided whereto go after I left the house in Mercer street, I looked in at thehouse of the 'Foreign Missions. ' Mrs. Slocum, as I had many timesbefore seen her, was warmly contesting a question concerning BrotherSpyke, with the good-natured man in the chair. It was wrong, shesaid, so much money should be expended, and Brother Spyke not gotoff to Antioch. So leaving them debating Mr. Spyke's mission toAntioch, I proceeded back to the house in Mercer street, andinquired for the landlady of the house. The landlady, the woman thatopened the door said, was engaged. The door was shut in my face, andI turned away more wounded in my feelings than before. Day and nightI contemplated some plan by which to ascertain Anna's place ofabode, her pursuit in life, her wants. When we parted she couldneither write nor read: I had taken writing lessons, by which Icould communicate tolerably well, while my occupation afforded methe means of improvement. A few weeks passed (I continued to watchthe house), and I recognized her one afternoon, by her black, floating hair, sitting at a second-story window of the house inMercer street, her back toward me. The sight was like electricity onmy feelings; a transport of joy bore away my thoughts. I gazed, andcontinued to gaze upon the object, throwing, as it were, new passioninto my soul. But it turned, and there was a changed face, a facemore lovely, looking eagerly into a book. Looking eagerly into abook did not betray one who could not read. But there was that in myheart that prompted me to look on the favorable side of the doubt-totry a different expedient in gaining admittance to the house. Whennight came, I assumed a dress those who look on mechanics as vulgarpeople, would have said became a gentleman; and approaching thehouse, gained easy admittance. As I was about entering the greatparlors, a familiar but somewhat changed voice at the top of thecircling stairs that led from the hall caught my ear. I paused, listened, became entranced with suspense. Again it resounded-againmy heart throbbed with joy. It was Anna's voice, so soft andmusical. The woman who opened the door turned from me, and attemptedto hush it. But Anna seemed indifferent to the admonition, for shetripped buoyantly down stairs, accompanying a gentleman to the door. I stood before her, a changed person. Her recognition of me wasinstantaneous. Her color changed, her lips quivered, her eyes filledwith tears, her very soul seemed fired with emotions she had nopower to resist. 'George Mullholland!' she exclaimed, throwing herarms about my neck, kissing me, and burying her head in my bosom, and giving vent to her feelings in tears and quickened sobs-'how Ihave thought of you, watched for you, and hoped for the day when wewould meet again and be happy. Oh, George! George! how changedeverything seems since we parted! It seems a long age, and yet oursufferings, and the fondness for each other that was created in thatsuffering, freshens in the mind. Dear, good George-my protector!'she continued, clinging to me convulsively. I took her in my arms(the scene created no little excitement in the house) and bore heraway to her chamber, which was chastely furnished, displaying acorrect taste, and otherwise suited to a princess. Having gained herpresence of mind, and become calm, she commenced relating what hadoccurred since we parted at Scorpion Cove. I need not relate it atlength here, for it was similar in character to what might be toldby a thousand others if they were not powerless. For months she hadbeen confined to the house, her love of dress indulged to thefurthest extent, her mind polluted and initiated into the mysteriesof refined licentiousness, her personal appearance scrupulouslyregarded, and made to serve the object of which she was a victim inthe hands of the hostess, who made her the worse than slave to abanker of great respectability in Wall street. This good man andfather was well down in the vale of years, had a mansion on FifthAvenue, and an interesting and much-beloved family. He was, inaddition, a prominent member of the commercial community; but hisexample to those more ready to imitate the errors of men in highpositions, than to improve by the examples of the virtuous poor, wasnot what it should be. Though a child of neglect, and schooled tolicentiousness under the very eye of a generous community, hernatural sensibility recoiled at the thought that she was a mereobject of prey to the passions of one she could not love. 

"She resolved to remain in this condition no longer, and escaped toSavannah with a young man whose acquaintance she had made at thehouse in Mercer street. For a time they lived at a respectablehotel, as husband and wife. But her antecedents got out, and theygot notice to leave. The same fate met them in Charleston, to whichcity they removed. Her antecedents seemed to follow her wherever shewent, like haunting spirits seeking her betrayal. She was homeless;and without a home there was nothing open to her but that vortex oflicentiousness the world seemed pointing her to. Back she went tothe house in Mercer street-was glad to get back; was at least freefrom the finger of scorn. Henceforward she associated with variousfriends, who sought her because of her transcendent charms. She hadcultivated a natural intelligence, and her manners were such asmight have become one in better society. But her heart's desire wasto leave the house. I took her from it; and for a time I was happyto find that the contaminating weeds of vice had not overgrown themore sensitive buds of virtue. 

"I provided a small tenement in Centre street, such as my meanswould afford, and we started in the world, resolved to liverespectably. But what had maintained me respectably was now foundinadequate to the support of us both. Life in a house of sumptuousvice had rendered Anna incapable of adapting herself to the extremeof economy now forced upon us. Anna was taken sick; I was compelledto neglect my work, and was discharged. Discontent, embarrassment, and poverty resulted. I struggled to live for six months; but myprospects, my hopes of gaining an honest living, were gone. I had nomoney to join the society, and the trade being dull, could getnothing to do. Fate seemed driving us to the last stage of distress. One by one our few pieces of furniture, our clothing, and the fewbits of jewelry Anna had presented her at the house in Mercerstreet, found their way to the sign of the Three Martyrs. The man ofthe eagle face would always lend something on them, and thatsomething relieved us for the time. I many times thought, as Ipassed the house of the Foreign Missions in Centre street, wherethere was such an air of comfort, that if Mrs. Abijah Slocum, andthe good-natured man who sat in the chair, and the wise little manin the spectacles, would condescend to look in at our little place, and instead of always talking about getting Mr. Singleton Spyke offto Antioch, take pity on our destitution, what a relief it would be. It would have made more hearts happy than Mr. Spyke, notwithstandingthe high end of his mission, could have softened in ten years atAntioch. 

"Necessity, not inclination, forced Anna back into the house inMercer street, when I became her friend, her transient protector. Her hand was as ready to bestow as her heart was warm and generous. She gave me money, and was kind to me; but the degraded character ofmy position caused me to despond, to yield myself a victim toinsidious vice, to become the associate of men whose only occupationwas that of gambling and 'roping-in' unsuspecting persons. I was notlong in becoming an efficient in the arts these men practiced on theunwary. We used to meet at the 'Subterranean, ' in Church street, andthere concoct our mode of operations. And from this centre wentforth, daily, men who lived by gambling, larceny, picking pockets, counterfeiting, and passing counterfeit money. I kept Anna ignorantof my associations. Nevertheless I was forced to get money, for Ifound her affections becoming perverted. At times her manner towardsme was cold, and I sought to change it with money. 

"While thus pursuing a life so precarious and exciting, I used tolook in at the 'Empire, ' in Broadway, to see whom I could 'spot, ' aswe called it at the 'Subterranean. ' And it was here I met poor TomSwiggs, distracted and giving himself up to drink, in the fruitlesssearch after the girl of his love, from whom he had been separated, as he said, by his mother. He had loved the girl, and the girlreturned his love with all the sincerity and ardor of her soul. Butshe was poor, and of poor parents. And as such people were reckonednothing in Charleston, his mother locked him up in jail, and she wasgot out of the way. Tom opened his heart to me, said foul means hadbeen resorted to, and the girl had thrown herself away, because, while he was held in close confinement, falsehoods had been used tomake her believe he had abandoned her. To have her an outcast on hisaccount, to have her leading the life of an abandoned woman, andthat with the more galling belief that he had forsaken her, was morethan he could bear, and he was sinking under the burden. Instead ofmaking him an object of my criminal profession, his story so touchedmy feelings that I became his protector, saw him to his lodgings inGreen street, and ultimately got him on board a vessel bound toCharleston. 

"Not many weeks after this, I, being moneyless, was the principal ofa plot by which nearly a thousand dollars was got of the old man inWall street, who had been Anna's friend; and fearing it might getout, I induced her to accompany me to Charleston, where she believedI had a prospect of bettering my condition, quitting my uncertainmode of living, and becoming a respectable man. Together we put upat the Charleston Hotel. But necessity again forced me to reveal toher my circumstances, and the real cause of my leaving New York. Herhopes of shaking off the taint of her former life seemed blasted;but she bore the shock with resignation, and removed with me to thehouse of Madame Flamingo, where we for a time lived privately. Butthe Judge sought her out, followed her with the zeal of a knight, and promised, if she would forsake me, to be her protector; toprovide for her and maintain her like a lady during her life. Whatprogress he has made in carrying out his promise you have seen. TheEnglish baronet imposed her upon the St. Cecilia, and the Judge wasthe first to betray her. "

CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO MR. ABSALOM M'ARTHUR. 

You must know, reader, that King street is our Boulevard of fashion;and though not the handsomest street in the world, nor the widest, nor the best paved, nor the most celebrated for fine edifices, we socherish its age and dignity that we would not for the world changeits provincial name, or molest one of the hundred old totteringbuildings that daily threaten a dissolution upon its pavement, orpermit a wench of doubtful blood to show her head on the "northsidewalk" during promenade hours. We are, you see, curiously nice inmatters of color, and we should be. You may not comprehend thenecessity for this scrupulous regard to caste; others do not, so youare not to blame for your ignorance of the customs of an atmosphereyou have only breathed through novels written by steam. We don't(and you wouldn't) like to have our wives meet our slightly-coloredmistresses. And we are sure you would not like to have yourhighly-educated and much-admired daughters meet those cream-coloredmaterial evidences of your folly-called by Northern "fanatics" theirhalf-sisters! You would not! And your wives, like sensible women, asour wives and daughters are, would, if by accident they did meetthem, never let you have a bit of sleep until you sent them to oldGraspum's flesh-market, had them sold, and the money put safelyinto their hands. We do these things just as you would; and ourwives being philosophers, and very fashionable withal, put the moneyso got into fine dresses, and a few weeks' stay at some very selectwatering-place in the North. If your wife be very accomplished, (likeours, ) and your daughters much admired for their beauty, (likeours, ) they will do as ours did-put wisely the cash got for theirdetestable relatives into a journey of inspection over Europe. So, you see, we keep our fashionable side of King street; and woe be tothe shady mortal that pollutes its bricks!

Mr. Absalom McArthur lives on the unfashionable side of this street, in a one-story wooden building, with a cottage roof, covered withthick, black moss, and having two great bow windows, and a very leandoor, painted black, in front. It is a rummy old house to look at, for the great bow windows are always ornamented with old hats, whichMr. McArthur makes supply the place of glass; and the house itself, notwithstanding it keeps up the dignity of a circular window overthe door, reminds one of that valiant and very notoriouscharacteristic of the State, for it has, during the last twenty ormore years, threatened (but never done it) to tumble upon theunfashionable pavement, just in like manner as the State hasthreatened (but never done it!) to tumble itself out of ourunfashionable Union. We are a great people, you see; but having theimpediment of the Union in the way of displaying our might, alwaysstand ready to do what we never intended to do. We speak in thatsame good-natured sense and metaphor used by our politicians, (whoare become very distinguished in the refined arts of fighting andwhiskey-drinking, ) when they call for a rope to put about the neckof every man not sufficiently stupid to acknowledge himself asecessionist. We imagine ourselves the gigantic and sublime theatreof chivalry, as we have a right to do; we raise up heroes of war andstatesmanship, compared with whom your Napoleons, Mirabeaus, andMarats-yes, even your much-abused Roman orators and Athenianphilosophers, sink into mere insignificance. Nor are we badimitators of that art displayed by the Roman soldiers, when theyentered the Forum and drenched it with Senatorial blood! Pardon thisdigression, reader. 

Of a summer morning you will see McArthur, the old Provincialist, ashe is called, arranging in his great bow windows an innumerablevariety of antique relics, none but a Mrs. Toodles could conceive awant for--such as broken pots, dog-irons, fenders, saws, toasters, stew-pans, old muskets, boxing-gloves and foils, and sundry otherodds and ends too numerous to mention. At evening he sits in hisdoor, a clever picture of a by-gone age, on a venerable old sofa, supported on legs tapering into feet of lion's paws, and carved inmahogany, all tacked over with brass-headed nails. Here the old mansits, and sits, and sits, reading the "Heroes of the Revolution, "(the only book he ever reads, ) and seemingly ready at all times toserve the "good wishes" of his customers, who he will tell you areof the very first families, and very distinguished! He holdsdistinguished people in high esteem; and several distinguishedpersons have no very bad opinion of him, but a much better one ofhis very interesting daughter, whose acquaintance (though not alady, in the Southern acceptation of the term) they would not objectto making-provided!

His little shop is lumbered with boxes and barrels, all containingrelics of a by-gone age--such as broken swords, pistols of curiousmake, Revolutionary hand-saws, planes, cuirasses, broken spurs, blunderbusses, bowie, scalping, and hunting-knives; all of which hedeclares our great men have a use for. Hung on a little post, andover a pair of rather suspicious-looking buckskin breeches, is arusty helmet, which he sincerely believes was worn by a knight ofthe days of William the Conqueror. A little counter to the leftstaggers under a pile of musty old books and mustier papers, allcontaining valuable matter relating to the old Continentals, who, ashe has it, were all Carolinians. (Dispute this, and he will go rightinto a passion. ) Resting like good-natured policemen against thisweary old counter are two sympathetic old coffins, severalsecond-hand crutches, and a quantity of much-neglected wooden legs. These Mr. McArthur says are in great demand with our first families. No one, except Mr. Soloman Snivel, knows better what the chivalrystand in need of to prop up its declining dignity. His dirty littleshelves, too, are stuffed with those cheap uniforms the State sogrudgingly voted its unwilling volunteers during the Revolution. 

See Senator Sumner's speech in Congress on Plantation manners. Tucked in here and there, at sixes and sevens, are the scarlet andblue of several suits of cast-off theatrical wardrobe he got ofAbbott, and now loans for a small trifle to Madame Flamingo and theSt. Cecilia Society-the first, when she gives her very seductivebal-masques; the second, when distinguished foreigners with titleshonor its costume balls. As for Revolutionary cocked hats, epaulettes, plumes, and holsters, he has enough to supply and sendoff, feeling as proud as peacocks, every General and Colonel inthe State-and their name, as you ought to know, reader, is legion. 

The stranger might, indeed, be deceived into the belief that AbsalomMcArthur's curiosity shop was capable of furnishing accoutrementsfor that noble little army, (standing army we call it!) on which theState prides itself not a little, and spends no end of money. Forourselves, (if the reader but permit us, ) we have long admired thislittle Spartan force, saying all the good things of it our prosybrain could invent, and in the kindest manner recommending itsuniform good character as a model for our very respectable societyto fashion after. Indeed, we have, in the very best nature of amodern historian, endeavored to enlighten the barbarian worldoutside of South Carolina as to the terrible consequences whichmight accrue to the Union did this noble little army assume anyother than a standing character. Now that General Jackson is out ofthe way, and our plebeian friends over the Savannah, whom we hold inhigh esteem, (the Georgians, ) kindly consent to let us go our ownroad out of the Union, nothing can be more grateful than to find ourwise politicians sincerely believing that when this standing army, of which other States know so little, shall have become allied withthose mighty men of Beaufort, dire consequences to this young butvery respectable Federal compact will be the result. Havingdischarged the duties of a historian, for the benefit of thosebenighted beings unfortunate enough to live out of our small buthighly-civilized State, we must return to McArthur. 

He is a little old-maidish about his age, which for the last twentyyears has not got a day more than fifty-four. Being as sensitive ofhis veracity as the State is of its dignity, we would not, eitherby implication or otherwise, lay an impeachment at his door, butrather charge the discrepancy to that sin (a treacherous memory) thelegal gentry find so convenient for their purposes when they knockdown their own positions. McArthur stood five feet eight exactly, when young, but age has made him lean of person, and somewhat bent. His face is long and corrugated; his expression of countenancesingularly serious. A nose, neither aquiline nor Grecian, but largeenough, and long enough, and red enough at the end, to make both; asharp and curiously-projecting chin, that threatens a meeting, at novery distant day, with his nasal organ; two small, watchful blueeyes deep-set under narrow arches, fringed with long gray lashes; adeeply-furrowed, but straight and contracted forehead, and a shaggyred wig, poised upon the crown of his head, and, reader, if youexcept the constant working of a heavy, drooping lower lip, and thediagonal sight with which his eyes are favored, you have his mostprominent features. Fashion he holds in utter contempt, nor has hethe very best opinion in the world of our fashionable tailors, whoare grown so rich that they hold mortgages on the very bestplantations in the State, and offer themselves candidates for theGovernorship. Indeed, Mr. McArthur says, one of these knights of thegoose, not long since, had the pertinacity to imagine himself agreat General. And to show his tenacious adherence to the examplesset by the State, he dresses exactly as his grandfather'sgreat-grandfather used to, in a blue coat, with small brass buttons, a narrow crimpy collar, and tails long enough and sharp enough for aclipper-ship's run. The periods when he provided himself with newsuits are so far apart that they formed special episodes in hishistory; nevertheless there is always an air of neatness about him, and he will spend much time arranging a dingy ruffled shirt, a pairof gray trowsers, a black velvet waistcoat, cut in the Elizabethanstyle, and a high, square shirt collar, into which his head has theappearance of being jammed. This collar he ties with a much-valuedred and yellow Spittlefields, the ends of which flow over hisruffle. Although the old man would not bring much at theman-shambles, we set a great deal of store by him, and would notexchange him for anything in the world but a regiment or two ofheroic secessionists. Indeed we are fully aware that nothing likehim exists beyond the highly perfumed atmosphere of our State. Andto many other curious accomplishments the old man adds that oftelling fortunes. The negroes seriously believe he has a privatearrangement with the devil, of whom he gets his wisdom, and thesecret of propitiating the gods. 

Two days have passed since the emeute at the house of the oldhostess. McArthur has promised the young missionary a place for TomSwiggs, when he gets out of prison (but no one but his mother seemsto have a right to let him out), and the tall figure of MisterSnivel is seen entering the little curiosity shop. "I say!--my oldhero, has she been here yet?" inquires Mr. Snivel, the accommodationman. "Nay, good friend, " returns the old man, rising from his sofa, and returning the salutation, "she has not yet darkened the door. "The old man draws the steel-bowed spectacles from his face, andwatches with a patriarchal air any change that comes over theaccommodation man's countenance. "Now, good friend, if I did butknow the plot, " pursues the old man. 

"The plot you are not to know! I gave you her history yesterday--that is, as far as I know it. You must make up the rest. You knowhow to tell fortunes, old boy. I need not instruct you. Mind youflatter her beauty, though-extend on the kindness of the Judge, andbe sure you get it in that it was me who betrayed her at the St. Cecelia. All right old boy, eh?" and shaking McArthur by the handwarmly, he takes his departure, bowing himself into the street. Theold man says he will be all ready when she comes. 

Scarcely has the accommodation man passed out of sight when asallow-faced stripling makes his appearance, and with thatcharacteristic effrontery for borrowing and never returning, of theproperty-man of a country theatre, "desires" to know if Mr. McArthurwill lend him a skull. 

"A skull!" ejaculates the old man, his bony fingers wandering to hismelancholy lip--"a skull!" and he fusses studiously round the littlecell-like place, looking distrustfully at the property-man, and thenturning an anxious eye towards his piles of rubbish, as if fearingsome plot is on foot to remove them to the infernal regions. 

"You see, " interrupts Mr. Property, "we play Hamlet to-night--expecta crammed house--and our star, being scrupulous of his reputation, as all small stars are, won't go on for the scene of thegrave-digger, without two skulls-he swears he won't! He raised thevery roof of the theatre this morning, because his name wasn't inbigger type on the bill. And if we don't give him two skulls andplenty of bones to-night, he swears-and such swearing as itis!--he'll forfeit the manager, have the house closed, and come outwith a card to the public in the morning. We are in a fix, you see!The janitor only has one, and he lent us that as if he didn't wantto. "

Mr. McArthur says he sees, and with an air of regained wisdom stopssuddenly, and takes from a shelf a dingy old board, on which is adingier paper, bearing curious inscriptions, no one but the old manhimself would have supposed to be a schedule of stock in trade. Suchit is, nevertheless. He rubs his spectacles, places themmethodically upon his face, wipes and wipes the old board with hiselbow. "It's here if it's anywhere!" says the old man, with a sigh. "It comes into my head that among the rest of my valuables I'veYorick's skull. "

"The very skull we want!" interrupts Property. And the old manquickens the working of his lower jaw, and continues to rub at theboard until he has brought out the written mystery. "My ancestorswere great people, " he mumbles to himself, "great people!" He runsthe crusty forefinger of his right hand up and down the board, adding, "and any customers are all of the first families, which issome consolation in one's poverty. Ah! I have it here!" he exclaims, with childlike exultation, frisking his fingers over the board. "OneYorick's skull-a time-worn, tenantless, and valuable relic, in whichgraveyard worms have banqueted more than once. Yes, young man, presented to my ancestors by the elder Stuarts, and on that accountworth seven skulls, or more. " "One Yorick's skull, " is written onthe paper, upon which the old man presses firmly his finger. Thenturning to an old box standing in the little fire-place behind thecounter, saying, "it's in here-as my name's Absalom McArthur, itis, " he opens the lid, and draws forth several old military coats(they have seen revolutionary days! he says, exultingly), numerousscales of brass, such as are worn on British soldiers' hats, aponderous chapeau and epaulets, worn, he insists, by Lord Nelson atthe renowned battle of Trafalgar. He has not opened, he adds, thisbox for more than twelve long years. Next he drags forth a militarycloak of great weight and dimensions. "Ah!" he exclaims, withnervous joy, "here's the identical cloak worn by Lord Cornwallis-howmy ancestors used to prize it. " And as he unrolls its great foldsthere falls upon the floor, to his great surprise, an oldbuff-colored silk dress, tied firmly with a narrow, green ribbon. "Maria! Maria! Maria!" shouts the old man, as if suddenly seizedwith a spasm. And his little gray eyes flash with excitement, as hesays--"if here hasn't come to light at last, poor Mag Munday's dress. God forgive the poor wretch, she's dead and gone, no doubt. " Inresponse to the name of "Maria" there protrudes from a little doorthat opens into a passage leading to a back-room, the delicatefigure of a female, with a face of great paleness, overcast by athoughtful expression. She has a finely-developed head, intelligentblue eyes, light auburn hair, and features more interesting thanregular. Indeed, there is more to admire in the peculiar modesty ofher demeanor than in the regularity of her features, as we shallshow. "My daughter!" says the old man, as she nervously advances, her pale hand extended. "Poor woman! how she would mourn about thisold dress; and say it contained something that might give her achance in the world, " she rather whispers than speaks, disclosingtwo rows of small white teeth. She takes from the old man's hand thepackage, and disappears. The anxiety she evinces over the chargediscloses the fact that there is something of deep interestconnected with it. 

Mr. McArthur was about to relate how he came by this seeminglyworthless old package, when the property-man, becoming somewhatrestless, and not holding in over high respect the old man'srubbish, as he called it in his thoughts, commences drawing forth, piece after piece of the old relics. The old man will not allowthis. "There, young man!" he says, touching him on the elbow, andresuming his labor. At length he draws forth the dust-tenantedskull, coated on the outer surface with greasy mould. "There!" hesays, with an unrestrained exclamation of joy, holding up thewasting bone, "this was in its time poor Yorick's skull. It was sucha skull, when Yorick lived! Beneath this filthy remnant of pastgreatness (I always think of greatness when I turn to the past), this empty tenement, once the domain of wisdom, this poor bone, whatthoughts did not come out?" And the old man shakes his head, muttersinarticulately, and weeps with the simplicity of a child. 

"The Star'll have skulls and bones enough to make up for his want oftalent now-I reckon, " interposes the property-man. "But!--I say, mister, this skull couldn't a bin old Yorick's, you know--"

"Yorick's!--why not?" interrupts the old man. 

"Because Yorick-Yorick was the King's jester, you see-no nigger; andno one would think of importing anything but a nigger's skull intoCharleston--"

"Young man!--if this skull had consciousness; if this had a tongue itwould rebuke thee;" the old man retorts hastily, "for my ancestorsknew Yorick, and Yorick kept up an intimate acquaintance with theancestors of the very first families in this State, who were notshoemakers and milliners, as hath been maliciously charged, but goodand pious Huguenots. " To the end that he may convince theunbelieving Thespian of the truth of his assertion, he commences torub away the black coating with the sleeve of his coat, and there, to his infinite delight, is written, across the crown, in letters ofred that stand out as bold as the State's chivalry--"Alas! poorYorick. " Tears of sympathy trickle down the old man's cheeks, hiseyes sparkle with excitement, and with womanly accents he mutters:"the days of poetry and chivalry are gone. It is but a space of timesince this good man's wit made Kings and Princes laugh with joy. "

This skull, and a coral pin, which he said was presented to hisancestors by Lord Cornwallis, who they captured, now became hishobby; and he referred to it in all his conversation, and made themas much his idol as our politicians do secession. In this instance, he dare not entrust his newly-discovered jewel to the vulgar handsof Mr. Property, but pledged his honor-a ware the State dealslargely in notwithstanding it has become exceedingly cheap-it wouldbe forthcoming at the requisite time. 

CHAPTER XII. 

IN WHICH ARE MATTERS THE READER MAY HAVE ANTICIPATED. 

MR. SOLOMAN SNIVEL has effected a reconciliation between old JudgeSleepyhorn and the beautiful Anna Bonard, and he has flattered theweak-minded George Mullholland into a belief that the old Judge, ashe styles him, is his very best friend. So matters go on swimminglyat the house of Madame Flamingo. Indeed Mr. Soloman can make himselfextremely useful in any affair requiring the exercise of nicediplomatic skill-no matter whether it be of love or law. He getspeople into debt, and out of debt; into bankruptcy and out ofbankruptcy; into jail and out of jail; into society and out ofsociety. He has officiated in almost every capacity but that of asexton. If you want money, Mr. Soloman can always arrange the littlematter for you. If you have old negroes you want to get off yourhands at a low figure, he has a customer. If you want to mortgageyour negro property, a thing not uncommon with our very firstfamilies, Mr. Soloman is your man. Are you worth a fee, and wantlegal advice, he will give it exactly to your liking. Indeed, hewill lie you into the most hopeless suit, and with equal pertinacitylie you out of the very best. Every judge is his friend and mostintimate acquaintance. He is always rollicking, frisking, andinsinuating himself into something, affects to be the most liberalsort of a companion, never refuses to drink when invited, but neverinvites any one unless he has a motive beyond friendship. Mr. Keepum, the wealthy lottery broker, who lives over the way, in Broadstreet, in the house with the mysterious signs, is his money-man. This Keepum, the man with the sharp visage and guilty countenance, has an excellent standing in society, having got it as the reward ofkilling two men. Neither of these deeds of heroism, however, werethe result of a duel. Between these worthies there exists relationsmutually profitable, if not the most honorable. And notwithstandingMr. Soloman is forever sounding Mr. Keepum's generosity, the saidKeepum has a singular faculty for holding with a firm grasp all hegets, the extent of his charities being a small mite now and then toMr. Hadger, the very pious agent for the New York Presbyterian TractSociety. Mr. Hadger, who by trading in things called negroes, andsuch like wares, has become a man of great means, twice every yearbadgers the community in behalf of this society, and chuckles overwhat he gets of Keepum, as if a knave's money was a sure panacea forthe cure of souls saved through the medium of those highlyrespectable tracts the society publishes to suit the tastes of thegod slavery. Mr. Keepum, too, has a very high opinion of thisexcellent society, as he calls it, and never fails to boast of hiscontributions. 

It is night. The serene and bright sky is hung with brighter stars. Our little fashionable world has got itself arrayed in its bestsatin-and is in a flutter. Carriages, with servants in snobby coats, beset the doors of the theatre. A flashing of silks, satins, brocades, tulle and jewelry, distinguished the throng pressingeagerly into the lobbies, and seeking with more confusion than graceseats in the dress circle. The orchestra has played an overture, andthe house presents a lively picture of bright-colored robes. Mr. Snivel's handsome figure is seen looming out of a private box in theleft-hand procenium, behind the curtain of which, and on theopposite side, a mysterious hand every now and then frisks, makes asmall but prudent opening, and disappears. Again it appears, withdelicate and chastely-jeweled fingers. Cautiously the red curtainmoves aside apace, and the dark languishing eyes of a female, scanning over the dress-circle, are revealed. She recognizes thevenerable figure of Judge Sleepyhorn, who has made a companion ofGeorge Mullholland, and sits at his side in the parquette. Timidlyshe closes the curtain. 

In the right-hand procenium box sits, resplendent of jewels andlaces, and surrounded by her many admirers, the beautiful and veryfashionable Madame Montford, a woman of singularly regular features, and more than ordinary charms. Opinion is somewhat divided on theearly history of Madame Montford. Some have it one thing, someanother. Society is sure to slander a woman of transcendent beautyand intellect. There is nothing in the world more natural, especially when those charms attract fashionable admirers. It isequally true, too, that if you would wipe out any little taint thatmay hang about the skirts of your character you must seek thepanacea in a distant State, where, with the application of a littlediplomacy you may become the much sought for wonder of a newatmosphere and new friends, as is the case with Madame Montford, whorebukes her New York neighbors of the Fifth Avenue (she has aprincely mansion there), with the fact that in Charleston she is, whenever she visits it, the all-absorbing topic with fashionablesociety. For four successive winters Madame Montford has honored theelite of Charleston with her presence. The advent of her coming, too, has been duly heralded in the morning papers-to the infinitedelight of the St. Cecilia Society, which never fails to distinguishher arrival with a ball. And this ball is sure to be preceded withno end of delicately-perfumed cards, and other missives, as full ofcompliments as it is capable of cramming them. There is, notwithstanding all these ovations in honor of her coming, a mysteryhanging over her periodical visits, for the sharp-eyed persist thatthey have seen her disguised, and in suspicious places; makingsingular inquiries about a woman of the name of Mag Munday. Andthese suspicions have given rise to whisperings, and thesewhisperings have crept into the ears of several very old andhighly-respectable "first families, " which said families havesuddenly dropped her acquaintance. But what is more noticeable inthe features of Madame Montford, is the striking similarity betweenthem and Anna Bonard's. Her most fervent admirers have noticed it;while strangers have not failed to discover it, and to comment uponit. And the girl who sits in the box with Mr. Snivel, so cautiouslyfortifying herself with the curtain, is none other than Anna. Mr. Snivel has brought her here as an atonement for past injuries. 

Just as the curtain is about to rise, Mr. McArthur, true to hisword, may be seen toddling to the stage door, his treasure carefullytied up in a handkerchief. He will deliver it to no one but themanager, and in spite of his other duties that functionary iscompelled to receive it in person. This done, the old man, to themerriment of certain wags who delight to speculate on his childlikecredulity, takes a seat in the parquette, wipes clean his venerablespectacles, and placing them methodically over his eyes, forms aunique picture in the foreground of the audience. McArthur, with theaid of his glasses, can recognize objects at a distance; and as theHamlet of the night is decidedly Teutonic in his appearance andpronunciation, he has no great relish for the Star, nor a hand ofapplause to bestow on his genius. Hamlet, he is sure, neverarticulated with a coarse brogue. So turning from the stage, heamuses himself with minutely scanning the faces of the audience, andresolving in his mind that something will turn up in thegrave-digger's scene, of which he is an enthusiastic admirer. It is, indeed, he thinks to himself, very doubtful, whether in this wideworld the much-abused William Shakspeare hath a more ardent admirerof this curious but faithful illustration of his genius. Suddenlyhis attention seems riveted on the private box, in which sits thestately figure of Madame Montford, flanked in a half-circle by herperfumed and white-gloved admirers. "What!" exclaims the old man, insurprise, rubbing and replacing his glasses, "if I'm not deceived!Well-I can't be. If there isn't the very woman, a little altered, who has several times looked into my little place of an evening. Herquestions were so curious that I couldn't make out what she reallywanted (she never bought anything); but she always ended withinquiring about poor Mag Munday. People think because I have allsorts of things, that I must know about all sorts of things. I nevercould tell her much that satisfied her, for Mag, report had it, wascarried off by the yellow fever, and nobody ever thought of herafterwards. And because I couldn't tell this woman any more, shewould go away with tears in her eyes. " Mr. McArthur whispers to afriend on his right, and touches him on the arm, "Pooh! pooh!"returns the man, with measured indifference, "that's the reigningbelle of the season-Madame Montford, the buxom widow, who has beenjust turned forty for some years. "

The play proceeds, and soon the old man's attention is drawn fromthe Widow Montford by the near approach to the scene of thegrave-digger. And as that delineator enters the grave, and commenceshis tune, the old man's anxiety increases. 

A twitching and shrugging of the shoulders, discovers Mr. McArthur'sfeelings. The grave-digger, to the great delight of the Star, bespreads the stage with a multiplicity of bones. Then he followsthem with a skull, the appearance of which causes Mr. McArthur toexclaim, "Ah! that's my poor Yorick. " He rises from his seat, andabstractedly stares at the Star, then at the audience. The audiencegives out a spontaneous burst of applause, which the Teutonic Hamletis inclined to regard as an indignity offered to superior talent. Ashort pause and his face brightens with a smile, the grave-diggershoulders his pick, and with the thumb of his right hand to hisnasal organ, throws himself into a comical attitude. The audienceroar with delight; the Star, ignorant of the cause of what heesteems a continued insult, waves his plumes to the audience, andwith an air of contempt walks off the stage. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

MRS. SWIGGS COMES TO THE RESCUE OF THE HOUSE OF THE FOREIGNMISSIONS. 

"AN excellent society-excellent, I assure you, Madame--"

"Truly, Mr. Hadger, " interrupted Mrs. Swiggs, "your labors on behalfof this Tract Society will be rewarded in heaven--"

"Dear--a--me, " Mr. Hadger returns, ere Mrs. Swiggs can finish hersentence, "don't mention such a thing. I assure you it is a labor oflove. "

"Their tracts are so carefully got up. If my poor old negro propertycould only read--(Mrs. Swiggs pauses. ) I was going to say-if itwasn't for the law (again she pauses), we couldn't prejudice ourcause by letting our negroes read them--"

"Excuse the interruption, " Mr. Hadger says, "but it wouldn't do, notwithstanding (no one can be more liberal than myself on thesubject of enlightening our negro property!) the Tract Societyexhibits such an unexceptionable regard to the requirements of ourcherished institution. "

This conversation passes between Mrs. Swiggs and Mr. Hadger, who, ashe says with great urbanity of manner, just dropped in to announcejoyous tidings. He has a letter from Sister Abijah Slocum, whichcame to hand this morning, enclosing one delicately enveloped forSister Swiggs. "The Lord is our guide, " says Mrs. Swiggs, hastilyreaching out her hand and receiving the letter. "Heaven will rewardher for the interest she takes in the heathen world. "

"Truly, if she hath not now, she will have there a monument ofgold, " Mr. Hadger piously pursues, adding a sigh. 

"There! there!--my neuralgy; it's all down my left side. I'm not longfor this world, you see!" Mrs. Swiggs breaks out suddenly, thentwitches her head and oscillates her chin. And as if some electriccurrent had changed the train of her thoughts, she testily seizeshold of her Milton, and says: "I have got my Tom up again-yes Ihave, Mr. Hadger. "

Mr. Hadger discovers the sudden flight her thoughts have taken: "Iam sure, " he interposes, "that so long as Sister Slocum remains amember of the Tract Society we may continue our patronage. "

Mrs. Swiggs is pleased to remind Mr. Hadger, that although her meanshave been exceedingly narrowed down, she has not, for the last tenyears, failed to give her mite, which she divides between the houseof the "Foreign Missions, " and the "Tract Society. "

A nice, smooth-faced man, somewhat clerically dressed, straight andportly of person, and most unexceptionable in his morals, is Mr. Hadger. A smile of Christian resignation and brotherly love happilyornaments his countenance; and then, there is something venerableabout his nicely-combed gray whiskers, his white cravat, his snowyhair, his mild brown eyes, and his pleasing voice. One is almostconstrained to receive him as the ideal of virtue absolved insackcloth and ashes. As an evidence of our generosity, we regard himan excellent Christian, whose life hath been purified with animmense traffic in human--(perhaps some good friend will crack ourskull for saying it). 

In truth (though we never could find a solution in the Bible forit), as the traffic in human property increased Mr. Hadger's riches, so also did it in a corresponding ratio increase his piety. Thereis, indeed, a singular connection existing between piety andslavery; but to analyze it properly requires the mind of aphilosopher, so strange is the blending. 

Brother Hadger takes a sup of ice-water, and commences readingSister Slocum's letter, which runs thus: "NEW YORK, May -, 1850. "DEAR BROTHER HADGER:

"Justice and Mercy is the motto of the cause we have lent our handsand hearts to promote. Only yesterday we had a gathering of kindspirits at the Mission House in Centre street, where, thank God, allwas peace and love. We had, too, an anxious gathering at the 'TractSociety's rooms. ' There it was not so much peace and love as couldhave been desired. Brother Bight seemed earnest, but said manyunwise things; and Brother Scratch let out some very unwiseindiscretions which you will find in the reports I send. There wassome excitement, and something said about what we got from the Southnot being of God's chosen earnings. And there was something more letoff by our indiscreet Brothers against the getting up of the tracts. But we had a majority, and voted down our indiscreet Brothers, inasmuch as it was shown to be necessary not to offend our goodfriends in the South. Not to give offence to a Brother is good inthe sight of the Lord, and this Brother Primrose argued in a mostChristian speech of four long hours or more, and which had theeffect of convincing every one how necessary it was to free thetracts of everything offensive to your cherished institution. Andthough we did not, Brother Hadger, break up in the continuance ofthat love we were wont to when you were among us, we sustained theprinciple that seemeth most acceptable to you-we gained the victoryover our disaffected Brothers. And I am desired on behalf of theSociety, to thank you for the handsome remittance, hoping you willmake it known, through peace and love, to those who kindlycontributed toward it. The Board of 'Foreign Missions, ' as you willsee by the report, also passed a vote of thanks for your favor. Howgrateful to think what one will do to enlighten the heathen world, and how many will receive a tract through the medium of the other. 

"We are now in want of a few thousand dollars, to get the Rev. Singleton Spyke, a most excellent person, off to Antioch. Aid uswith a mite, Brother Hadger, for his mission is one of God's own. The enclosed letter is an appeal to Sister Swiggs, whose yearlymites have gone far, very far, to aid us in the good but mighty worknow to be done. Sister Swiggs will have her reward in heaven forthese her good gifts. How thankful should she be to Him who providesall things, and thus enableth her to bestow liberally. 

"And now, Brother, I must say adieu! May you continue to live in thespirit of Christian love. And may you never feel the want of thesemites bestowed in the cause of the poor heathen. "SISTER ABIJAHSLOCUM. "

"May the good be comforted!" ejaculates Mrs. Swiggs, as Mr. Hadgerconcludes. She has listened with absorbed attention to every word, at times bowing, and adding a word of approval. Mr. Hadger hopessomething may be done in this good cause, and having interchangedsundry compliments, takes his departure, old Rebecca opening thedoor. 

"Glad he's gone!" the old lady says to herself. "I am so anxious tohear the good tidings Sister Slocum's letter conveys. " She wipes andwipes her venerable spectacles, adjusts them piquantly over hersmall, wicked eyes, gives her elaborate cap-border a twitch forward, frets her finger nervously over the letter, and gets herself into ageneral state of confritteration. "There!" she says, entirelyforgetting her Milton, which has fallen on the floor, to the greatsatisfaction of the worthy old cat, who makes manifest his regardfor it by coiling himself down beside it, "God bless her. It makesmy heart leap with joy when I see her writing, " she pursues, as oldRebecca stands contemplating her, with serious and sullencountenance. Having prilled and fussed over the letter, shecommences reading in a half whisper: "NO. -, 4TH AVENUE, NEW YORK, May -, 1850. "MUCH BELOVED SISTER:

"I am, as you know, always overwhelmed with business; and havinghoped the Lord in his goodness yet spares you to us, and gives youhealth and bounty wherewith to do good, must be pardoned for mybrevity. The Lord prospers our missions among the heathen, and theTract Society continues to make its labors known throughout thecountry. It, as you will see by the tracts I send here--with, stillcontinues that scrupulous regard to the character of your domesticinstitution which has hitherto characterized it. Nothing ispermitted to creep into them that in any way relates to yourdomestics, or that can give pain to the delicate sensibilities ofyour very excellent and generous people. We would do good to allwithout giving pain to any one. Oh! Sister, you know what a wickedworld this is, and how it becomes us to labor for the good ofothers. But what is this world compared with the darkness of theheathen world, and those poor wretches ('Sure enough!' says Mrs. Swiggs) who eat one another, never have heard of a God, and preferrather to worship idols of wood and stone. When I contemplate thisdreadful darkness, which I do night and day, day and night, I invokethe Spirit to give me renewed strength to go forward in the goodwork of bringing from darkness ('Just as I feel, ' thinks Mrs. Swiggs) unto light those poor benighted wretches of the heathenworld. How often I have wished you could be here with us, to addlife and spirit to our cause-to aid us in beating down Satan, andwhen we have got him down not to let him up. The heathen world neverwill be what it should be until Satan is bankrupt, deprived of hisarts, and chained to the post of humiliation-never! ('I wish I hadhim where my Tom is!' Mrs. Swiggs mutters to herself. ) Do come onhere, Sister. We will give you an excellent reception, and make youso happy while you sojourn among us. And now, Sister, having neverappealed to you in vain, we again extend our hand, hoping you willfavor the several very excellent projects we now have on hand. First, we have a project-a very excellent one, on hand, forevangelizing the world; second, in consideration of what has beendone in the reign of the Seven Churches-Pergamos Thyatira, Magnesia, Cassaba, Demish, and Baindir, where all is darkness, we haveconceived a mission to Antioch; and third, we have been earnestlyengaged in, and have spent a few thousand dollars over a project ofthe 'Tract Society, ' which is the getting up of no less than one ortwo million of their excellent tracts, for the Dahomy field ofmissionary labor-such as the Egba mission, the Yoruba mission, andthe Ijebu missions. Oh! Sister, what a field of labor is here opento us. And what a source of joy and thankfulness it should be to usthat we have the means to labor in those fields of darkness. We haveselected brother Singleton Spyke, a young man of great promise, forthis all-important mission to Antioch. He has been for the last fouryears growing in grace and wisdom. No expense has been spared ineverything necessary to his perfection, not even in the selection ofa partner suited to his prospects and future happiness. We now wanta few thousand dollars to make up the sum requisite to his mission, and pay the expenses of getting him off. Come to our assistance, dear Sister-do come! Share with us your mite in this great work ofenlightening the heathen, and know that your deeds are recorded inheaven. ('Verily!' says the old lady. ) And now, hoping the Giver ofall good will continue to favor you with His blessing, and preserveyou in that strength of intellect with which you have so oftenassisted us in beating down Satan, and hoping either to have thepleasure of seeing you, or hearing from you soon, I will say adieu!subscribing myself a servant in the cause of the heathen, and yoursincere Sister, "MRS. ABIJAH SLOCUM. 

"P. S. --Remember, dear Sister, that the amount of money expended inidol-worship--in erecting monster temples and keeping them inrepair, would provide comfortable homes and missions for hundreds ofour very excellent young men and women, who are now ready to buckleon the armor and enter the fight against Satan. "A. S. "

"Dear-a-me, " she sighs, laying the letter upon the table, kickingthe cat as she resumes her rocking, and with her right handrestoring her Milton to its accustomed place on the table. "Rebecca, " she says, "will get a pillow and place it nicely at myback. " Rebecca, the old slave, brings the pillow. "There, there!now, not too high, nor too low, Rebecca!" her thin, sharp voiceechoes, as she works her shoulders, and permits her long fingers towander over her cap-border. "When 'um got just so missus like, say-da he is!" mumbles the old negress in reply. "Well, well-alittle that side, now--" The negress moves the pillow a little to theleft. "That's too much, Rebecca-a slight touch the other way. Youare so stupid, I will have to sell you, and get Jewel to take careof me. I would have done it before but for the noise of her crutch-Iwould, Rebecca! You never think of me-you only think of how muchhominy you can eat. " The old negress makes a motion to move thepillow a little to the right, when Mrs. Swiggs settles her head andshoulders into it, saying, "there!"

"Glad 'um suit-fo'h true!" retorts the negress, her heavy lips andsullen face giving out the very incarnation of hatred. 

"Now don't make a noise when you go out. " Rebecca in reply says sheis "gwine down to da kitchen to see Isaac, " and toddles out of theroom, gently closing the door after her. 

Resignedly Mrs. Swiggs closes her eyes, moderates her rocking, andcommences evolving and revolving the subject over in her mind. "Ihaven't much of this world's goods-no, I haven't; but I'm of a goodfamily, and its name for hospitality must be kept up. Don't see thatI can keep it up better than by helping Sister Slocum and the TractSociety out, " she muses. But the exact way to effect this has notyet come clear to her mind. Times are rather hard, and, as we havesaid before, she is in straightened circumstances, having, forsomething more than ten years, had nothing but the earnings ofeleven old negroes, five of whom are cripples, to keep up thedignity of the house of the Swiggs. "There's old Zeff, " she says, "has took to drinking, and Flame, his wife, ain't a bit better; andneither one of them have been worth anything since I sold their twochildren-which I had to do, or let the dignity of the family suffer. I don't like to do it, but I must. I must send Zeff to theworkhouse-have him nicely whipped, I only charge him eighteendollars a month for himself, and yet he will drink, and won't payover his wages. Yes!--he shall have it. The extent of the law, welllaid on, will learn him a lesson. There's old Cato pays me twentydollars a month, and Cato's seventy-four-four years older than Zeff. In truth, my negro property is all getting careless about payingwages. Old Trot runs away whenever he can get a chance; Brutus hasforever got something the matter with him; and Cicero has come to bea real skulk. He don't care for the cowhide; the more I get himflogged the worse he gets. Curious creature! And his old woman, since she broke her leg, and goes with a crutch, thinks she can dojust as she pleases. There is plenty of work in her-plenty; she hasno disposition to let it come out, though! And she has kept up agrumbling ever since I sold her girls. Well, I didn't want to keepthem all the time at the whipping-post; so I sold them to save theircharacters. " Thus Mrs. Swiggs muses until she drops into a profoundsleep, in which she remains, dreaming that she has sold old MummaMolly, Cicero's wife, and with the proceeds finds herself in NewYork, hob-nobbing it with Sister Slocum, and making one extensivedonation to the Tract Society, and another to the fund for gettingBrother Singleton Spyke off to Antioch. Her arrival in Gotham, shedreams, is a great event. The Tract Society (she is its guest) issmothering her with its attentions. Indeed, a whole column and ahalf of the very conservative and highly respectable old Observer istaken up with an elaborate and well-written history of her manyvirtues. 

The venerable old lady dreams herself into dusky evening, and wakesto find old Rebecca summoning her to tea. She is exceedingly sorrythe old slave disturbed her. However, having great faith in dreams, and the one she has just enjoyed bringing the way to aid SisterSlocum in carrying out her projects of love so clear to her mind, she is resolved to lose no time in carrying out its principles. Selling old Molly won't be much; old Molly is not worth much to her;and the price of old Molly (she'll bring something!) will do so muchto enlighten the heathen, and aid the Tract Society in giving outits excellent works. "And I have for years longed to see SisterSlocum, face to face, before I die, " she says. And with an affixeddetermination to carry out this pious resolve, Mrs. Swiggs sipsher tea, and retires to her dingy little chamber for the night. 

A bright and cheerful sun ushers in the following morning. The softrays steal in at the snuffy door, at the dilapidated windows, through the faded curtains, and into the "best parlor, " where, at anearly hour, sits the antique old lady, rummaging over some musty oldpapers piled on the centre-table. The pale light plays over andgives to her features a spectre-like hue; while the grotesque piecesof furniture by which she is surrounded lend their aid in makingcomplete the picture of a wizard's abode. The paper she wants isnowhere to be found. "I must exercise a little judgment in thisaffair, " she mutters, folding a bit of paper, and seizing her pen. Having written--"TO THE MASTER OF THE WORKHOUSE:

"I am sorry I have to trouble you so often with old Cicero. He willnot pay wages all I can do. Give him at least thirty-well laid on. Igo to New York in a few days, and what is due you from me forpunishments will be paid any time you send your bill. "SARAH PRINGLEHUGHES SWIGGS. "

"Well! he deserves what he gets, " she shakes her head andejaculates. Having summoned Rebecca, Master Cicero, a hard-featuredold negro, is ordered up, and comes tottering into the room, half-bent with age, his hair silvered, and his face covered with amossy-white beard-the picture of a patriarch carved in ebony. "Goodmornin', Missus, " he speaks in a feeble and husky voice, standinghesitatingly before his august owner. "You are--well, I might aswell say it--you're a miserable old wretch!" Cicero makes a nervousmotion with his left hand, as the fingers of his right wander overthe bald crown of his head, and his eyes give out a forlorn look. She has no pity for the poor old man-none. "You are, Cicero-youneedn't pretend you ain't, " she pursues; and springing to her feetwith an incredible nimbleness, she advances to the window, tucks upthe old curtain, and says, "There; let the light reflect on yourface. Badness looks out of it. Cicero! you never was a good nigger--"

"Per'aps not, Missus; but den I'se old. 

"Old! you ain't so old but you can pay wages, " the testy old womaninterrupts, tossing her head. "You're a capital hand at cunningexcuses. This will get you done for, at the workhouse. " She handshim a delicately enveloped and carefully superscribed billet, andcommands him to proceed forthwith to the workhouse. A tear coursesslowly down his time-wrinkled face, he hesitates, would speak oneword in his own defence. But the word of his owner is absolute, andin obedience to the wave of her hand he totters to the door, anddisappears. His tears are only those of a slave. How useless fallthe tears of him who has no voice, no power to assert his manhood!And yet, in that shrunken bosom-in that figure, bent and shatteredof age, there burns a passion for liberty and hatred of theoppressor more terrible than the hand that has made him the wretchhe is. That tear! how forcibly it tells the tale of his sorrowingsoul; how eloquently it foretells the downfall of that injusticeholding him in its fierce chains!

Cicero has been nicely got out of the way. Molly, his wife, issummoned into the presence of her mistress, to receive her awfuldoom. "To be frank with you, Molly, and I am always outspoken, youknow, I am going to sell you. We have been long enough together, andnecessity at this moment forces me to this conclusion, " says ourvenerable lady, addressing herself to the old slave, who standsbefore her, leaning on her crutch, for she is one of the cripples. "You will get a pious owner, I trust; and God will be merciful toyou. "

The old slave of seventy years replies only with an expression ofhate in her countenance, and a drooping of her heavy lip. "Now, "Mrs. Swiggs pursues, "take this letter, go straight to Mr. Forcheuwith it, and he will sell you. He is very kind in selling oldpeople-very!" Molly inquires if Cicero may go. Mrs. Swiggs repliesthat nobody will buy two old people together. 

The slave of seventy years, knowing her entreaties will be in vain, approaches her mistress with the fervency of a child, and graspingwarmly her hand, stammers out: "Da-da-dah Lord bless um, Missus. Tan't many days fo'h we meet in t'oder world-good-bye. "

"God bless you-good-bye, Molly. Remember what I have told you somany times-long suffering and forbearance make the true Christian. Be a Christian-seek to serve your Master faithfully; such theScripture teacheth. Now tie your handkerchief nicely on your head, and get your clean apron on, and mind to look good-natured when Mr. Forcheu sells you. " This admonition, methodically addressed to theold slave, and Mrs. Swiggs waves her hand, resumes her Milton, andsettles herself back into her chair. Reader! if you have a heart inthe right place it will be needless for us to dwell upon thefeelings of that old slave, as she drags her infirm body to theshambles of the extremely kind vender of people. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. M'ARTHUR MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

ON his return from the theatre, Mr. McArthur finds his daughter, Maria, waiting him in great anxiety. "Father, father!" she says, ashe enters his little back parlor, "this is what that poor woman, MagMunday, used to take on so about; here it is. " She advances, hercountenance wearing an air of great solicitude, holds the old dressin her left hand, and a stained letter in her right. "It fell from apocket in the bosom, " she pursues. The old man, with an expressionof surprise, takes the letter and prepares to read it. He pauses. "Did it come from the dress I discovered in the old chest?" heinquires, adjusting his spectacles. Maria says it did. She has nodoubt it might have relieved her suffering, if it had been foundbefore she died. "But, father, was there not to you somethingstrange, something mysterious about the manner she pursued hersearch for this old dress? You remember how she used to insist thatit contained something that might be a fortune to her in herdistress, and how there was a history connected with it that wouldnot reflect much credit on a lady in high life!"

The old man interrupts by saying he well remembers it; remembers howhe thought she was a maniac to set so much value on the old dress, and make so many sighs when it could not be found. "It alwaysoccurred to me there was something more than the dress that made hertake on so, " the old man concludes, returning the letter to Maria, with a request that she will read it. Maria resumes her seat, theold man draws a chair to the table, and with his face supported inhis left hand listens attentively as she reads: "WASHINGTON SQUARE, NEW YORK, May 14, 18--

"I am glad to hear from Mr. Sildon that the child does well. Poorlittle thing, it gives me so many unhappy thoughts when I think ofit; but I know you are a good woman, Mrs. Munday, and will watch herwith the care of a mother. She was left at our door one night, andas people are always too ready to give currency to scandal, mybrother and I thought that it would not be prudent to adopt it atonce, more especially as I have been ill for the last few months, and have any quantity of enemies. I am going to close my house, nowthat my deceased husband's estate is settled, and spend a few yearsin Europe. Mr. Thomas Sildon is well provided with funds for thecare of the child during my absence, and will pay you a hundreddollars every quarter. Let no one see this letter, not even yourhusband. And when I return I will give you an extra remuneration, and adopt the child as my own. Mr. Sildon will tell you where tofind me when I return. Your friend, "C. A. M. "

"There, father, " says Maria, "there is something more than we knowabout, connected with this letter. One thing always discoversanother-don't you think it may have something to do with that ladywho has two or three times come in here, and always appeared sonervous when she inquired about Mag Munday? and you recollect howshe would not be content until we had told her a thousand differentthings concerning her. She wanted, she said, a clue to her; but shenever could get a clue to her. There is something more than we knowof connected with this letter, " and she lays the old damp stainedand crumpled letter on the table, as the old servant enters bearingon a small tray their humble supper. 

"Now, sit up, my daughter, " says the old man, helping her to asandwich while she pours out his dish of tea, "our enjoyment need benone the less because our fare is humble. As for satisfying thislady about Mag Munday, why, I have given that up. I told her all Iknew, and that is, that when she first came to Charleston-one neverknows what these New Yorkers are--she was a dashing sort of woman, had no end of admirers, and lived in fine style. Then it got outthat she wasn't the wife of the man who came with her, but that shewas the wife of a poor man of the name of Munday, and had quit herhusband; as wives will when they take a notion in their heads. Andas is always the way with these sort of people, she kept graduallygetting down in the world, and as she kept getting more and moredown so she took more and more to drink, and drink brought on grief, and grief soon wasted her into the grave. I took pity on her, forshe seemed not a bad woman at heart, and always said she was forcedby necessity into the house of Madame Flamingo-a house that hurriesmany a poor creature to her ruin. And she seemed possessed of asense of honor not common to these people; and when Madame Flamingoturned her into the street, --as she does every one she has succeededin making a wretch of, --and she could find no one to take her in, andhad nowhere to lay her poor head, as she used to say, I used to lendher little amounts, which she always managed somehow to repay. As tothere being anything valuable in the dress, I never gave it athought; and when she would say if she could have restored to herthe dress, and manage to get money enough to get to New York, Ithought it was only the result of her sadness. "

"You may remember, father, " interrupts Maria, "she twice spoke of achild left in her charge; and that the child was got away from her. If she could only trace that poor child, she would say, or find outwhat had become of it, she could forget her own sufferings and dieeasy. But the thought of what had become of that child foreverhaunted her; she knew that unless she atoned in some way the devilwould surely get her. " The old man says, setting down his cup, itall comes fresh to his mind. Mr. Soloman (he has not a doubt) couldlet some light upon the subject; and, as he seems acquainted withthe lady that takes so much interest in what became of the womanMunday, he may relieve her search. "I am sure she is dead, nevertheless; I say this, knowing that having no home she got uponthe Neck, and then associated with the negroes; and the last I heardof her was that the fever carried her off. This must have been true, or else she had been back here pleading for the bundles we could notfind. " Thus saying, Mr. McArthur finishes his humble supper, kissesand fondles his daughter, whom he dotingly loves, and retires forthe night. 

CHAPTER XV. 

WHAT MADAME FLAMINGO WANTS TO BE. 

TOM SWIGGS has enjoyed, to the evident satisfaction of his mother, aseven months' residence in the old prison. The very first familiescontinue to pay their respects to the good old lady, and she inreturn daily honors them with mementoes of her remembrance. Theselittle civilities, exchanging between the stately old lady and ourfirst families, indicate the approach of the fashionable season. Indeed, we may as well tell you the fashionable season is commencingin right good earnest. Our elite are at home, speculations are rifeas to what the "Jockey Club" will do, we are recounting ouradventures at northern watering-places, chuckling over our heroismin putting down those who were unwise enough to speak disrespectfulof our cherished institutions, and making very light of what wewould do to the whole north. You may know, too, that our fashionableseason is commenced by what is taking place at the house of MadameFlamingo on the one side, and the St. Cecilia on the other. Werecognize these establishments as institutions. That they form thegreat fortifications of fashionable society, flanking it at eitherextreme, no one here doubts. 

We are extremely sensitive of two things-fashion, and our right tosell negroes. Without the former we should be at sea; without thelatter, our existence would indeed be humble. The St. CeciliaSociety inaugurates the fashionable season, the erudite Editor ofthe Courier will tell you, with an entertainment given to the eliteof its members and a few very distinguished foreigners. MadameFlamingo opens her forts, at the same time, with a grand supper, which she styles a very select entertainment, and to which sheinvites none but "those of the highest standing in society. " If youwould like to see what sort of a supper she sets to inaugurate thefashionable season, take our arm for a few minutes. 

Having just arrived from New York, where she has been luxuriatingand selecting her wares for the coming season, (New York is thefountain ejecting its vice over this Union, ) Madame looks hale, hearty, and exceedingly cheerful. Nor has she spared any expense tomake herself up with becoming youthfulness-as the common people haveit. She has got her a lace cap of the latest fashion, with greatbroad striped blue and red strings; and her dress is of orange-colored brocade, trimmed with tulle, and looped with white blossoms. Down the stomacher it is set with jewels. Her figure seems moreembonpoint than when we last saw her; and as she leans on the arm ofold Judge Sleepyhorn, forms a striking contrast to the slenderfigure of that singular specimen of judicial infirmity. Two greatdoors are opened, and Madame leads the way into what she calls herupper and private parlor, a hall of some fifty feet by thirty, inthe centre of which a sumptuously-decorated table is set out. Indeedthere is a chasteness and richness about the furniture and works ofart that decorate this apartment, singularly at variance with thebright-colored furniture of the room we have described in a formerchapter. "Ladies and gentlemen!" ejaculates the old hostess, "imagine this a palace, in which you are all welcome. As the legalgentry say (she casts a glance at the old Judge), when you havesatisfactorily imagined that, imagine me a princess, and addressme--"

"High ho!" interrupts Mr. Soloman. 

"I confess, " continues the old woman, her little, light-brown curlsdangling across her brow, and her face crimsoning, "I would like tobe a princess. "

"You can, " rejoins the former speaker, his fingers wandering to hischin. 

"Well! I have my beadle-beadles, I take, are inseparable from royalblood-and my servants in liveries. After all (she tosses her head)what can there be in beadles and liveries? Why! the commonest andvulgarest people of New York have taken to liveries. If you chanceto take an elegant drive up the 'Fifth Avenue, ' and meet a dashingequipage-say with horses terribly caparisoned, a purloined crest onthe carriage-door, a sallow-faced footman covered up in a greencoat, all over big brass buttons, stuck up behind, and awhiskey-faced coachman half-asleep in a great hammercloth, be sureit belongs to some snob who has not a sentence of good English inhis head. Yes! perhaps a soap-chandler, an oil-dealer, or acandy-maker. Brainless people always creep into plush-always! Peopleof taste and learning, like me, only are entitled to liveries andcrests. " This Madame says, inviting her guests to take seats at herbanquet-table, at the head of which she stands, the Judge on herright, Mr. Soloman on her left. Her china is of the most elaboratedescription, embossed and gilt; her plate is of pure silver, andmassive; she has vases and candelabras of the same metal; and hercutlery is of the most costly description. No house in the countrycan boast a more exact taste in their selection. At each plate asilver holder stands, bearing a bouquet of delicately-arrangedflowers. A trellise of choice flowers, interspersed here and therewith gorgeous bouquets in porcelain vases, range along the centre ofthe table; which presents the appearance of a bed of fresh flowersvariegated with delicious fruits. Her guests are to her choicer thanher fruits; her fruits are choicer than her female wares. Noentertainment of this kind would be complete without JudgeSleepyhorn and Mr. Soloman. They countenance vice in its mostinsidious form-they foster crime; without crime their trade would bedamaged. The one cultivates, that the other may reap the harvest andmaintain his office. 

"I see, " says Mr. Soloman, in reply to the old hostess, "not theslightest objection to your being a princess-not the slightest! And, to be frank about the matter, I know of no one who would betterornament the position. "

"Your compliments are too liberally bestowed, Mr. Soloman. "

"Not at all! 'Pon my honor, now, there is a chance for you to bringthat thing about in a very short time. There is Grouski, the Polishexile, a prince of pure blood. Grouski is poor, wants to get back toEurope. He wants a wife, too. Grouski is a high old fellow-a mostcelebrated man, fought like a hero for the freedom of his country;and though an exile here, would be received with all the honors dueto a prince in either Italy, France or England. 

"A very respectable gentleman, no doubt; but a prince of pure blood, Mr. Soloman, is rather a scarce article these days. "

"Not a bit of it-why there is lots of exiled Princes all over thiscountry. They are modest men, you know, like me; and having got itinto their heads that we don't like royal blood, rather keep thefact of their birth to themselves. As for Grouski! why his historyis as familiar to every American who takes any interest in thesethings, as is the history of poor Kossuth. I only say this, MadameFlamingo, to prove to you that Grouski is none of your mockarticles. And what is more, I have several times heard him speakmost enthusiastically of you. "

"Of me!" interrupts the old hostess, blushing. "I respect Grouski, and the more so for his being a poor prince in exile. " Madame ordersher servants, who are screwed into bright liveries, to bring on somesparkling Moselle. This done, and the glasses filled with thesparkling beverage, Mr. Soloman rises to propose a toast; although, as he says, it is somewhat out of place, two rounds having onlysucceeded the soup: "I propose the health of our generous host, towhom we owe so much for the superb manner in which she has cateredfor our amusement. Here's that we may speedily have the pleasure ofpaying our respects to her as the Princess Grouski. " Madame Flamingobows, the toast is drunk with cheers, and she begins to think thereis something in it after all. 

"Make as light of it as you please, ladies and gentlemen-manystranger things have come to pass. As for the exile, Grouski, Ialways esteemed him a very excellent gentleman. "

"Exactly!" interposes the Judge, tipping his glass, and preparinghis appetite for the course of game-broiled partridges, rice-birds, and grouse-which is being served by the waiters. "No one moreworthy, " he pursues, wiping his sleepy face with his napkin, "ofbeing a princess. Education, wealth, and taste, you have; and withGrouski, there is nothing to prevent the happy consummation-nothing!I beg to assure you. " Madame Flamingo makes a most courteous bow, and with an air of great dignity condescends to say she hopesgentlemen of the highest standing in Charleston have for ten yearsor more had the strongest proofs of her ability to administer theoffices of a lady of station. "But you know, " she pursues, hopingladies and gentlemen will be kind enough to keep their glasses full, "people are become so pious now-a-days that they are foolish enoughto attach a stigma to our business. "

"Pooh, pooh!" interrupts the accommodation man, having raised hisglass in compliment to a painted harlot. "Once in Europe, and underthe shadow of the wife of Prince Grouski, the past would be wipedout; your money would win admirers, while your being a princesswould make fashionable society your tool. The very atmosphere ofprincesses is full of taint; but it is sunk in the rank, and ratherincreases courtiers. In France your untainted princess wouldprognosticate the second coming of--, well, I will not profane. "

"Do not, I beg of you, " says Madame, blushing. "I am scrupulouslyopposed to profanity. " And then there breaks upon the ear music thatseems floating from an enchanted chamber, so soft and dulcet does itmingle with the coarse laughing and coarser wit of the banqueters. At this feast of flowers may be seen the man high in office, thegrave merchant, the man entrusted with the most important affairs ofthe commonwealth-the sage and the charlatan. Sallow-faced andpainted women, more undressed than dressed, sit beside them, halecompanions. Respectable society regards the Judge a fine oldgentleman; respectable society embraces Mr. Soloman, notwithstandinghe carries on a business, as we shall show, that brings misery uponhundreds. Twice has he received a large vote as candidate for theGeneral Assembly. 

A little removed from the old Judge (excellent man) sits AnnaBonard, like a jewel among stones less brilliant, George Mullhollandon her left. Her countenance wears an expression of gentleness, sweet and touching. Her silky black hair rolls in wavy folds downher voluptuous shoulders, a fresh carnatic flush suffuses hercheeks, her great black eyes, so beautifully arched with heavylashes, flash incessantly, and to her bewitching charms is added apensive smile that now lights up her features, then subsides intomelancholy. 

"What think you of my statuary?" inquired the old hostess, "and myantiques? Have I not taste enough for a princess?" How soft thecarpet, how rich its colors! Those marble mantel-pieces, sculpturedin female figures, how massive! How elegantly they set off each endof the hall, as we shall call this room; and how sturdily they bearup statuettes, delicately executed in alabaster and Parian, ofByron, Goethe, Napoleon, and Charlemagne-two on each. And there, standing between two Gothic windows on the front of the hall, is anantique side-table, of curious design. The windows are draped withcurtains of rich purple satin, with embroidered cornice skirts andheavy tassels. On this antique table, and between the undulatingcurtains, is a marble statue of a female in a reclining posture, herright hand supporting her head, her dishevelled hair flowing downher shoulder. The features are soft, calm, and almost grand. It issimplicity sleeping, Madame Flamingo says. On the opposite side ofthe hall are pedestals of black walnut, with mouldings in gilt, onwhich stand busts of Washington and Lafayette, as if they wereunwilling spectators of the revelry. A venerable recline, that mayhave had a place in the propyl‘a, or served to decorate the halls ofVersailles in the days of Napoleon, has here a place beneath theportrait of Jefferson. This humble tribute the old hostess says shepays to democracy. And at each end of the hall are double alcoves, over the arches of which are great spread eagles, holding in theirbeaks the points of massive maroon-colored drapery that falls overthe sides, forming brilliant depressions. In these alcoves aregroups of figures and statuettes, and parts of statuettes, leglessand armless, and all presenting a rude and mutilated condition. Whatsome of them represented it would have puzzled the ancient Greeks todecypher. Madame, nevertheless, assures her guests she got them fromamong the relics of Italian and Grecian antiquity. You may dojustice to her taste on living statuary; but her rude and decrepitwares, like those owned and so much valued by our New York patronsof the arts, you may set down as belonging to a less antique age ofart. And there are chairs inlaid with mosaic and pearl, andupholstered with the richest and brightest satin damask, --revealing, however, that uncouthness of taste so characteristic of your FifthAvenue aristocrat. 

Now cast your eye upward to the ceiling. It is frescoed with themesof a barbaric age. The finely-outlined figure of a female adorns thecentre. Her loins are enveloped in what seems a mist; and in herright hand, looking as if it were raised from the groundwork, sheholds gracefully the bulb of a massive chandelier, from the jets ofwhich a refulgent light is reflected upon the flowery banquet table. Madame smilingly says it is the Goddess of Love, an exact copy ofthe one in the temple of Jupiter Olympus. Another just opposite, less voluptuous in its outlines, she adds, is intended for a copy ofthe fabled goddess, supposed by the ancients to have thrown off herwings to illustrate the uncertainty of fortune. 

Course follows course, of viands the most delicious, and sumptuouslyserved. The wine cup now flows freely, the walls reecho the coarsejokes and coarser laughs of the banqueters, and leaden eyelids, languid faces, and reeling brains, mark the closing scene. Such isthe gorgeous vice we worship, such the revelries we sanction, suchthe insidious debaucheries we shield with the mantle of ourlaws-laws made for the accommodation of the rich, for the punishmentonly of the poor. And a thousand poor in our midst suffer for breadwhile justice sleeps. 

Midnight is upon the banqueters, the music strikes up a last march, the staggering company retire to the stifled air of resplendentchambers. The old hostess contemplates herself as a princess, andseriously believes an alliance with Grouski would not be thestrangest thing in the world. There is, however, one among thebanqueters who seems to have something deeper at heart than thetransitory offerings on the table-one whose countenance at timesassumes a thoughtfulness singularly at variance with those aroundher. It is Anna Bonard. 

Only to-day did George Mullholland reveal to her the almost hopelesscondition of poor Tom Swiggs, still confined in the prison, withcriminals for associates, and starving. She had met Tom when fortunewas less ruthless; he had twice befriended her while in New York. Moved by that sympathy for the suffering which is ever the purestoffspring of woman's heart, no matter how low her condition, sheresolved not to rest until she had devised the means of his release. Her influence over the subtle-minded old Judge she well knew, norwas she ignorant of the relations existing between him and theaccommodation man. 

On the conclusion of the feast she invites them to her chamber. Theyare not slow to accept the invitation. "Be seated, gentlemen, beseated, " she says, preserving a calmness of manner not congenial tothe feelings of either of her guests. She places chairs for them atthe round table, upon the marble top of which an inlaid portfoliolies open. 

"Rather conventional, " stammers Mr. Snivel, touching the Judgesignificantly on the arm, as they take seats. Mr. Snivel is fond ofgood wine, and good wine has so mellowed his constitution that he isobliged to seek support for his head in his hands. 

"I'd like a little light on this 'ere plot. Peers thar's somethin' afoot, " responds the Judge. 

Anna interposes by saying they shall know quick enough. Placing apen and inkstand on the table, she takes her seat opposite them, andcommences watching their declining consciousness. "Thar, " ejaculatesthe old Judge, his moody face becoming dark and sullen, "let us havethe wish. "

"You owe me an atonement, and you can discharge it by gratifying mydesire. "

"Women, " interposes the old Judge, dreamily, "always have wishes togratify. W-o-l, if its teu sign a warrant, hang a nigger, tar andfeather an abolitionist, ride the British Consul out a town, or senda dozen vagrants to the whipping-post-I'm thar. Anything my hand'sin at!" incoherently mumbles this judicial dignitary. 

Mr. Snivel having reminded the Judge that ten o'clock to-morrowmorning is the time appointed for meeting Splitwood, the "niggerbroker, " who furnishes capital with which they start a new paper forthe new party, drops away into a refreshing sleep, his head on themarble. 

"Grant me, as a favor, an order for the release of poor Tom Swiggs. You cannot deny me this, Judge, " says Anna, with an arch smile, andpausing for a reply. 

"Wol, as to that, " responds this high functionary, "if I'd power, 'twouldn't be long afore I'd dew it, though his mother'd turn thetown upside down; but I hain't no power in the premises. I make it arule, on and off the bench, never to refuse the request of a prettywoman. Chivalry, you know. "

"For your compliment, Judge, I thank you. The granting my request, however, would be more grateful to my feelings. "

"It speaks well of your heart, my dear girl; but, you see, I'm onlya Judge. Mr. Snivel, here, probably committed him ('Snivel! here, wake up!' he says, shaking him violently), he commits everybody. Being a Justice of the Peace, you see, and justices of the peacebeing everything here, I may prevail on him to grant your request!"pursues the Judge, brightening up at the earnest manner in whichAnna makes her appeal. "Snivel! Snivel!--Justice Snivel, come, wakeup. Thar is a call for your sarvices. " The Judge continues to shakethe higher functionary violently. Mr. Snivel with a modest snorerouses from his nap, says he is always ready to do a bit of a goodturn. "If you are, then, " interposes the fair girl, "let it be madeknown now. Grant me an order of release for Tom Swiggs. Rememberwhat will be the consequence of a refusal!"

"Tom Swiggs! Tom Swiggs!--why I've made a deal of fees of thatfellow. But, viewing it in either a judicial or philosophical light, he's quite as well where he is. They don't give them much to eat injail I admit, but it is a great place for straightening the moralsof a rum-head like Tom. And he has got down so low that all thejustices in the city couldn't make him fit for respectable society. "Mr. Snivel yawns and stretches his arms athwart. 

"But you can grant me the order independent of what respectablesociety will do. "

Mr. Snivel replies, bowing, a pretty woman is more than a match forthe whole judiciary. He will make a good amount of fees out of Tomyet; and what his testy old mother declines to pay, he will chargeto the State, as the law gives him a right to do. 

"Then I am to understand!" quickly retorts Anna, rising from herchair, with an expression of contempt on her countenance, and asatirical curl on her lip, "you have no true regard for me then;your friendship is that of the knave, who has nothing to give afterhis ends are served. I will leave you!" The Judge takes her gentlyby the arm; indignantly she pushes him from her, as her great blackeyes flash with passion, and she seeks for the door. Mr. Snivel hasplaced himself against it, begs she will be calm. "Why, " he says, "get into a passion at that which was but a joke. " The Judge toucheshim on the arm significantly, and whispers in his ear, "grant herthe order-grant it, for peace sake, Justice Snivel. "

"Now, if you will tell me why you take so deep an interest ingetting them fellows out of prison, I will grant the order ofrelease, " Mr. Snivel says, and with an air of great gallantry leadsher back to her chair. 

"None but friendship for one who served me when he had it in hispower. "

"I see! I see!" interrupts our gallant justice; "the renewal of anold acquaintance; you are to play the part of Don Quixote, --he, themistress. It's well enough there should be a change in the knights, and that the stripling who goes about in the garb of the clergy, andhas been puzzling his wits how to get Tom out of prison for the lastsix months--"

"Your trades never agree;" parenthesises Anna. 

"Should yield the lance to you. "

"Who better able to wield it in this chivalrous atmosphere? It onlypains my own feelings to confess myself an abandoned woman; but Ihave a consolation in knowing how powerful an abandoned woman may bein Charleston. "

An admonition from the old Judge, and Mr. Snivel draws his chair tothe table, upon which he places his left elbow, rests his head onhis hand. "This fellow will get out; his mother-I have pledged myhonor to keep him fast locked up-will find it out, and there'll be afuss among our first families, " he whispers. Anna pledges him herhonor, a thing she never betrays, that the secret of Tom's releaseshall be a matter of strict confidence. And having shook hands overit, Mr. Snivel seizes the pen and writes an order of release, commanding the jailer to set at liberty one Tom Swiggs, committed asa vagrant upon a justice's warrant, &c. , &c. , &c. "There, " saysJustice Snivel, "the thing is done-now for a kiss;" and the fairgirl permits him to kiss her brow. "Me too; the bench and the bar!"rejoins the Judge, following the example of his junior. And with anair of triumph the victorious girl bears away what at this momentshe values a prize. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

IN WHICH TOM SWIGGS GAINS HIS LIBERTY, AND WHAT BEFALLS HIM. 

ANNA gives George Mullholland the letter of release, and on thesucceeding morning he is seen entering at the iron gate of the wallthat encloses the old prison. "Bread! give me bread, " greets his earas soon as he enters the sombre old pile. He walks through thedebtors' floor, startles as he hears the stifled cry for bread, andcontemplates with pained feelings the wasting forms and sickly facesthat everywhere meet his eye. The same piercing cry grates upon hissenses as he sallies along the damp, narrow aisle of the secondfloor, lined on both sides with small, filthy cells, in which areincarcerated men whose crime is that of having committed "assaultand battery, " and British seamen innocent of all crime except thatof having a colored skin. If anything less than a gentleman commitassault and battery, we punish him with imprisonment; we have no lawto punish gentlemen who commit such offences. 

Along the felon's aisle-in the malarious cells where "poor"murderers and burglars are chained to die of the poisonousatmosphere, the same cry tells its mournful tale. Look into the darkvista of this little passage, and you will see the gleaming offlabby arms and shrunken hands. Glance into the apertures out ofwhich they protrude so appealingly, you will hear the dull clankof chains, see the glare of vacant eyes, and shudder at the pale, cadaverous faces of beings tortured with starvation. A low, hoarsewhisper, asks you for bread; a listless countenance quickens at yourfootfall. Oh! could you but feel the emotion that has touched thatshrunken form which so despondingly waits the coming of a messengerof mercy. That system of cruelty to prisoners which so disgracedEngland during the last century, and which for her name she wouldwere erased from her history, we preserve here in all itshideousness. The Governor knows nothing, and cares nothing about theprison; the Attorney-General never darkens its doors; the publicscarce give a thought for those within its walls-and to one man, Mr. Hardscrabble, is the fate of these wretched beings entrusted. And soprone has become the appetite of man to speculate on the misfortunesof his fellow-man, that this good man, as we shall call him, tortures thus the miserable beings entrusted to his keeping, andmakes it a means of getting rich. Pardon, reader, this digression. 

George, elated with the idea of setting Tom at liberty, found theyoung theologian at the prison, and revealed to him the fact that hehad got the much-desired order. To the latter this seemedstrange-not that such a person as George could have succeeded inwhat he had tried in vain to effect, but that there was a mysteryabout it. It is but justice to say that the young theologian had forsix months used every exertion in his power, without avail, toprocure an order of release. He had appealed to theAttorney-General, who declared himself powerless, but referred himto the Governor. The Governor could take no action in the premises, and referred him to the Judge of the Sessions. The Judge of theSessions doubted his capacity to interfere, and advised a petitionto the Clerk of the Court. The Clerk of the Court, who invariablytook it upon himself to correct the judge's dictum, decided that thejudge could not interfere, the case being a committal by a Justiceof the Peace, and not having been before the sessions. And againstthese high functionaries-the Governor, Attorney-General, Judge ofthe Sessions, and Clerk of the Court, was Mr. Soloman and Mrs. Swiggs all-powerful. There was, however, another power superior toall, and that we have described in the previous chapter. 

Accompanied by the brusque old jailer, George and the youngtheologian make their way to the cell in which Tom is confined. 

"Hallo! Tom, " exclaims George, as he enters the cell, "boarding atthe expense of the State yet, eh?" Tom lay stretched on a blanket inone corner of the cell, his faithful old friend, the sailor, watching over him with the solicitude of a brother. "I don't knowhow he'd got on if it hadn't bin for the old sailor, yonder, " saysthe jailer, pointing to Spunyarn, who is crouched down at the greatblack fire-place, blowing the coals under a small pan. "He took toTom when he first came in, and hasn't left him for a day. He'llsteal to supply Tom's hunger, and fight if a prisoner attempts toimpose upon his charge. He has rigged him out, you see, with hispea-coat and overalls, " continues the man, folding his arms. 

"I am sorry, Tom--"

"Yes, " says Tom, interrupting the young theologian, "I know you are. You don't find me to have kept my word; and because I haven't youdon't find me improved much. I can't get out; and if I can't getout, what's the use of my trying to improve? I don't say thisbecause I don't want to improve. I have no one living who ought tocare for me, but my mother. And she has shown what she cares forme. "

"Everything is well. (The young theologian takes Tom by the hand. )We have got your release. You are a free man, now. "

"My release!" exclaims the poor outcast, starting to his feet, "myrelease?"

"Yes, " kindly interposes the jailer, "you may go, Tom. Stone walls, bolts and chains have no further use for you. " The announcementbrings tears to his eyes; he cannot find words to give utterance tohis emotions. He drops the young theologian's hand, grasps warmlythat of George Mullholland, and says, the tears falling fast downhis cheeks, "now I will be a new man. "

"God bless Tom, " rejoins the old sailor, who has left the fire-placeand joined in the excitement of the moment. "I alwas sed there warbetter weather ahead, Tom. " He pats him encouragingly on theshoulder, and turns to the bystanders, continuing with a childlikefrankness: "he's alwas complained with himself about breaking hisword and honor with you, sir--"

The young theologian says the temptation was more than he couldwithstand. 

"Yes sir!--that was it. He, poor fellow, wasn't to blame. One broughthim in a drop, and challenged him; then another brought him in adrop, and challenged him; and the vote-cribber would get generousnow and then, and bring him a drop, saying how he would like to cribhim if he was only out, on the general election coming on, and makehim take a drop of what he called election whiskey. And you know, sir, it's hard for a body to stand up against all these things, specially when a body's bin disappointed in love. It's bin a hard upand down with him. To-day he would make a bit of good weather, andto-morrow he'd be all up in a hurricane. " And the old sailor takes afresh quid of tobacco, wipes Tom's face, gets the brush and fussesover him, and tells him to cheer up, now that he has got hisclearance. 

"Tom would know if his mother ordered it. "

"No! she must not know that you are at large, " rejoins George. 

"Not that I am at large?"

"I have, " interposes the young theologian, "provided a place foryou. We have a home for you, a snug little place at the house of oldMcArthur--"

"Old McArthur, " interpolates Tom, smiling, "I'm not a curiosity. "

George Mullholland says he may make love to Maria, that she willonce more be a sister. Touched by the kindly act on his behalf, Tomreplies saying she was always kind to him, watched over him when noone else would, and sought with tender counsels to effect hisreform, to make him forget his troubles. 

"Thank you!--my heart thanks you more forcibly than my tongue can. Ifeel a man. I won't touch drink again: no I won't. You won't find mebreaking my honor this time. A sick at heart man, like me, has nopower to buffet disappointment. I was a wretch, and like a wretchwithout a mother's sympathy, found relief only in drinks--"

"And such drinks!" interposes the old sailor, shrugging hisshoulders. "Good weather, and a cheer up, now and then, from afriend, would have saved him. "

Now there appears in the doorway, the stalwarth figure of thevote-cribber, who, with sullen face, advances mechanically towardTom, pauses and regards him with an air of suspicion. "You are notwhat you ought to be, Tom, " he says, doggedly, and turns to theyoung Missionary. "Parson, " he continues, "this 'ere pupil ofyourn's a hard un. He isn't fit for respectable society. Like asponge, he soaks up all the whiskey in jail. " The young man turnsupon him a look more of pity than scorn, while the jailer shakes hishead admonishingly. The vote-cribber continues insensible to theadmonition. He, be it known, is a character of no small importancein the political world. Having a sort of sympathy for the old jailhe views his transient residences therein rather necessary thanotherwise. As a leading character is necessary to every grade ofsociety, so also does he plume himself the aristocrat of the prison. Persons committed for any other than offences against the electionlaws, he holds in utter contempt. Indeed, he says with a good dealof truth, that as fighting is become the all necessary qualificationof our Senators and Representatives to Congress, he thinks ofoffering himself for the next vacancy. The only rival he fears is"handsome Charley. "

An election bully, the ugliest man in Charleston, and the deadly foeof Mingle. The accommodations are not what they might be, but, beingexempt from rent and other items necessary to a prominentpolitician, he accepts them as a matter of economy. 

The vote-cribber is sure of being set free on the approach of anelection. We may as well confess it before the world-he is anindispensable adjunct to the creating of Legislators, Mayors, Congressmen, and Governors. Whiskey is not more necessary to thereputation of our mob-politicians than are the physical powers ofMilman Mingle to the success of the party he honors with hisservices. Nor do his friends scruple at consulting him on matters ofgreat importance to the State while in his prison sanctuary. 

"I'm out to-morrow, parson, " he resumes; the massive fingers of hisright hand wandering into his crispy, red beard, and again over hisscarred face. "Mayor's election comes off two weeks fromFriday-couldn't do without me-can knock down any quantity of men-youthrow a plumper, I take it?" The young Missionary answers in thenegative by shaking his head, while the kind old sailor continues tofuss over and prepare Tom for his departure. "Tom is about to leaveus, " says the old sailor, by way of diverting the vote-cribber'sattention. That dignitary, so much esteemed by our fine oldstatesmen, turns to Tom, and inquires if he has a vote. 

Tom has a vote, but declares he will not give it to thevote-cribber's party. The politician says "p'raps, " and draws fromhis bosom a small flask. "Whiskey, Tom, " he says, --"no use offeringit to parsons, eh? (he casts an insinuating look at the parson. )First-chop election whiskey-a sup and we're friends until I get yousafe under the lock of my crib. Our Senators to Congress patronizethis largely. " The forlorn freeman, with a look of contempt for theman who thus upbraids him, dashes the drug upon the floor, to theevident chagrin of the politician, who, to conceal his feelings, turns to George Mulholland, and mechanically inquires if he has avote. Being answered in the negative, he picks up his flask andwalks away, saying: "what rubbish!"

Accompanied by his friends and the old sailor, Tom sallies forthinto the atmosphere of sweet freedom. As the old jailer swings backthe outer gate, Spunyarn grasps his friend and companion in sorrowwarmly by the hand, his bronzed face brightens with an air ofsatisfaction, and like pure water gushing from the rude rock hiseyes fill with tears. How honest, how touching, how pure thefriendly lisp-good bye! "Keep up a strong heart, Tom, --never mind me. I don't know by what right I'm kept here, and starved; but I expectto get out one of these days; and when I do you may reckon on me asyour friend. Keep the craft in good trim till then; don't let thedevil get master. Come and see us now and then, and above all, nevergive up the ship during a storm. " Tom's emotions are too deeplytouched. He has no reply to make, but presses in silence the hand ofthe old sailor, takes his departure, and turns to wave him an adieu. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

IN WHICH THERE IS AN INTERESTING MEETING. 

OUR very chivalric dealers in human merchandise, like philosophersand philanthropists, are composed merely of flesh and blood, whiletheir theories are alike influenced by circumstances. Those of thefirst, we (the South) are, at times, too apt to regard as sublimatedand refined, while we hold the practices of the latter such asdivest human nature of everything congenial. Nevertheless we canassure our readers that there does not exist a class of men who somuch pride themselves on their chivalry as some of our opulentslave-dealers. Did we want proof to sustain what we have said wecould not do better than refer to Mr. Forsheu, that very excellentgentleman. Mrs. Swiggs held him in high esteem, and so far regardedhis character for piety and chivalry unblemished, that she consignedto him her old slave of seventy years-old Molly. Molly must be sold, the New York Tract Society must have a mite, and Sister AbijahSlocum's very laudable enterprise of getting Brother Singleton Spykeoff to Antioch must be encouraged. And Mr. Forsheu is very kind tothe old people he sells. It would, indeed, be difficult for thedistant reader to conceive a more striking instance of a man, grownrich in a commerce that blunts all the finer qualities of ournature, preserving a gentleness, excelled only by his real goodnessof heart. 

When the old slave, leaning on her crutch, stood before Mr. Forsheu, her face the very picture of age and starvation, his heart recoiledat the thought of selling her in her present condition. He read theletter she bore, contemplated her with an air of pity, and turningto Mr. Benbow, his methodical book-keeper of twenty years, who hadadded and subtracted through a wilderness of bodies and souls, ordered him to send the shrunken old woman into the pen, on feed. Mr. Forsheu prided himself on the quality of people sold at hisshambles, and would not for the world hazard his reputation on oldMolly, till she was got in better condition. Molly rather likedthis, inasmuch as she had been fed on corn and prayers exclusively, and more prayers than corn, which is become the fashion with ourmuch-reduced first families. For nearly four months she enjoyed, much to the discomfiture of her august owner, the comforts of Mr. Forsheu's pen. Daily did the anxious old lady study her Milton, anddispatch a slave to inquire if her piece of aged property had founda purchaser. The polite vender preserved, with uncommon philosophy, his temper. He enjoined patience. The condition and age of theproperty were, he said, much in the way of sale. Then Mrs. Swiggsbegan questioning his ability as a merchant. Aspersions of thiskind, the polite vender of people could not bear with. He was a manof enormous wealth, the result of his skill in the sale of people. He was the president of an insurance company, a bank director, acommissioner of the orphan asylum, and a steward of the jockey club. To his great relief, for he began to have serious misgivings abouthis outlay on old Molly, there came along one day an excellentcustomer. This was no less a person than Madame Flamingo. What wassingular of this very distinguished lady was, that she always had ause for old slaves no one else ever thought of. Her yard was full ofaged and tottering humanity. One cleaned knives, another fetched icefrom the ice-house, a third blacked boots, a fourth split wood, afifth carried groceries, and a sixth did the marketing. She had adecayed negro for the smallest service; and, to her credit be itsaid, they were as contented and well fed a body of tottering age ascould be found in old Carolina. 

Her knife-cleaning machine having taken it into his head to die oneday, she would purchase another. Mr. Forsheu, with that urbanity weso well understand how to appreciate, informed the distinguishedlady that he had an article exactly suited to her wants. Forthwith, Molly was summoned into her presence. Madame Flamingo, moved almostto tears at the old slave's appearance, purchased her out of puresympathy, as we call it, and to the great relief of Mr. Forsheu, lost no time in paying one hundred and forty dollars down in goldfor her. In deference to Mr. Hadger, the House of The ForeignMissions, and the very excellent Tract Society, of New York, we willnot here extend on how the money was got. The transaction was purelycommercial: why should humanity interpose? We hold it strictly legalthat institutions created for the purpose of enlightening theheathen have no right to ask by what means the money constitutingtheir donations is got. 

The comforts of Mr. Forsheu's pen, --the hominy, grits, and rest, madethe old slave quite as reluctant about leaving him as she had beforebeen in parting with Lady Swiggs. Albeit, she shook his hand withequal earnestness, and lisped "God bless Massa, " with a tendernessand simplicity so touching, that had not Madame Flamingo been anexcellent diplomat, reconciling the matter by assuring her that shewould get enough to eat, and clothes to wear, no few tears wouldhave been shed. Madame, in addition to this incentive, intimatedthat she might attend a prayer meeting now and then-perhaps seeCicero. However, Molly could easily have forgotten Cicero, inasmuchas she had enjoyed the rare felicity of thirteen husbands, all ofwhom Lady Swiggs had sold when it suited her own convenience. 

Having made her purchase, Madame very elegantly bid the gallantmerchant good morning, hoping he would not forget her address, andcall round when it suited his convenience. Mr. Forsheu, his hatdoffed, escorted her to her carriage, into the amber-colored liningof which she gracefully settled her majestic self, as aslightly-browned gentleman in livery closed the bright door, tookher order with servile bows, and having motioned to the coachman, the carriage rolled away, and was soon out of sight. MonsieurGrouski, it may be well to add here, was discovered curled up in onecorner; he smiled, and extended his hand very graciously to Madameas she entered the carriage. 

Like a pilgrim in search of some promised land, Molly adjusted hercrutch, and over the sandy road trudged, with truculent face, to hernew home, humming to herself "dah-is-a-time-a-comin, den da Lor' hebe good!!"

On the following morning, Lady Swiggs received her account current, Mr. Forsheu being exceedingly prompt in business. There was onehundred and twenty-nine days' feed, commissions, advertising, andsundry smaller charges, which reduced the net balance to one hundredand three dollars. Mrs. Swiggs, with an infatuation kindred to thatwhich finds the State blind to its own poverty, stubbornly refusedto believe her slaves had declined in value. Hence she received thevender's account with surprise and dissatisfaction. However, thesale being binding, she gradually accommodated her mind to theresult, and began evolving the question of how to make the amountmeet the emergency. She must visit the great city of New York; shemust see Sister Slocum face to face; Brother Spyke's mission musthave fifty dollars; how much could she give the Tract Society? Herewas a dilemma-one which might have excited the sympathy of the Houseof the "Foreign Missions. " The dignity of the family, too, was atstake. Many sleepless nights did this difficult matter cause theaugust old lady. She thought of selling another cripple! Oh! thatwould not do. Mr. Keepum had a lien on them; Mr. Keepum was a man ofiron-heart. Suddenly it flashed upon her mind that she had alreadybeen guilty of a legal wrong in selling old Molly. Mr. Soloman haddoubtless described her with legal minuteness in the bond ofsecurity for the two hundred dollars. Her decrepid form; hercorrugated face; her heavy lip; her crutch, and herpiety-everything, in a word, but her starvation, had been set down. Well! Mr. Soloman might, she thought, overlook in the multiplicityof business so small a discrepancy. She, too, had a large circle ofdistinguished friends. If the worst came to the worst she wouldappeal to them. There, too, was Sir Sunderland Swiggs' portrait, very valuable for its age; she might sell the family arms, suchthings being in great demand with the chivalry; her antiquefurniture, too, was highly prized by our first families. Thus LadySwiggs contemplated these mighty relics of past greatness. Ourceltic Butlers and Brookses never recurred to the blood of theirquerulous ancestors with more awe than did this memorable lady toher decayed relics. Mr. Israel Moses, she cherished a hope, wouldgive a large sum for the portrait; the family arms he would value ata high figure; the old furniture he would esteem a prize. But to Mr. Moses and common sense, neither the blood of the Butlers, nor LadySwiggs' rubbish, were safe to loan money upon. The Hebrew gentlemanwas not so easily beguiled. 

The time came when it was necessary to appeal to Mr. Hadger. Thatgentleman held the dignity of the Swiggs family in high esteem, butshook his head when he found the respectability of the house theonly security offered in exchange for a loan. Ah! a thought flashedto her relief, the family watch and chain would beguile the Hebrewgentleman. With these cherished mementoes of the high old family, (she would under no other circumstance have parted with foruncounted gold, ) she in time seduced Mr. Israel Moses to make asmall advance. Duty, stern and demanding, called her to New York. Forced to reduce her generosity, she, not without a sigh, made upher mind to give only thirty dollars to each of the institutions shehad made so many sacrifices to serve. And thus, with a reducedplatform, as our politicians have it, she set about preparing forthe grand journey. Regards the most distinguished were sent to allthe first families; the St. Cecilia had notice of her intendedabsence; no end of tea parties were given in honor of the event. Apparently happy with herself, with every one but poor Tom, ouraugust lady left in the Steamer one day. With a little of thatvanity the State deals so largely in, Mrs. Swiggs thought everypassenger on board wondering and staring at her. 

While then she voyages and dreams of the grand reception waiting herin New York, --of Sister Slocum's smiles, of the good of the heathenworld, and of those nice evening gatherings she will enjoy with thepious, let us, gentle reader, look in at the house of AbsalomMcArthur. 

To-day Tom Swiggs feels himself free, and it is high noon. Downcastof countenance he wends his way along the fashionable side ofKing-street. The young theologian is at his side. George Mullhollandhas gone to the house of Madame Flamingo. He will announce the gladnews to Anna. The old antiquarian dusts his little counter with astubby broom, places various curiosities in the windows, and aboutthe doors, stands contemplating them with an air of satisfaction, then proceeds to drive a swarm of flies that hover upon the ceiling, into a curiously-arranged trap that he has set. 

"What!--my young friend, Tom Swiggs!" exclaims the old man, toddlingtoward Tom, and grasping firmly his hand, as he enters the door. "You are welcome to my little place, which shall be a home. " Tomhangs down his head, receives the old man's greeting with shyness. "Your poor father and me, Tom, used to sit here many a time. (Theold man points to an old sofa. ) We were friends. He thought much ofme, and I had a high opinion of him; and so we used to sit forhours, and talk over the deeds of the old continentals. Your motherand him didn't get along over-well together; she had more dignitythan he could well digest: but that is neither here nor there. "

"I hope, in time, " interrupts Tom, "to repay your kindness. I amwilling to ply myself to work, though it degrades one in the eyes ofour society. "

"As to that, " returns the old man, "why, don't mention it. Maria, you know, will be a friend to you. Come away now and see her. " Andtaking Tom by the hand, (the theologian has withdrawn, ) he becomesenthusiastic, leads him through the dark, narrow passage into theback parlor, where he is met by Maria, and cordially welcomed. "Why, Tom, what a change has come over you, " she ejaculates, holding hishand, and viewing him with the solicitude of a sister, who hastensto embrace a brother returned after a long absence. Letting fall hisbegrimed hand, she draws up the old-fashioned rocking chair, andbids him be seated. He shakes his head moodily, says he is not sobad as he seems, and hopes yet to make himself worthy of herkindness. He has been the associate of criminals; he has sufferedpunishment; he feels himself loathed by society; he cannot divesthimself of the odium clinging to his garments. Fain would he go tosome distant clime, and there seek a refuge from the odium offelons. 

"Let no such thoughts enter your mind, Tom, " says the affectionategirl; "divest yourself at once of feelings that can only do youinjury. You have engaged my thoughts during your troubles. Twice Ibegged your mother to honor me with an interview. We were humblepeople; she condescended at last. But she turned a deaf ear to mewhen I appealed to her for your release, merely inquiring if-likethat other jade-I had become enamored of--" Maria pauses, blushing. 

"I would like to see my mother, " interposes Tom. 

"Had I belonged to our grand society, the case had been different, "resumes Maria. 

"Truly, Maria, " stammers Tom, "had I supposed there was one in theworld who cared for me, I had been a better man. "

"As to that, why we were brought up together, Tom. We knew eachother as children, and what else but respect could I have for you?One never knows how much others think of them, for the--" Mariablushes, checks herself, and watches the changes playing over Tom'scountenance. She was about to say the tongue of love was too oftensilent. 

It must be acknowledged that Maria had, for years, cherished apassion for Tom. He, however, like many others of his class, was toostupid to discover it. The girl, too, had been overawed by thedignity of his mother. Thus, with feelings of pain did she watch thedownward course of one in whose welfare she took a deep interest. 

"Very often those for whom we cherish the fondest affections, arecoldest in their demeanor towards us, " pursues Maria. 

"Can she have thought of me so much as to love me?" Tom questionswithin himself; and Maria put an end to the conversation by ringingthe bell, commanding the old servant to hasten dinner. A plate mustbe placed at the table for Tom. 

The antiquarian, having, as he says, left the young people tothemselves, stands at his counter furbishing up sundry oldengravings, horse-pistols, pieces of coat-of-mail, and two largescimitars, all of which he has piled together in a heap, and besidewhich lay several chapeaus said to have belonged to distinguishedBritishers. Mr. Soloman suddenly makes his appearance in the littleshop, much to Mr. McArthur's surprise. "Say-old man! centurion!" heexclaims, in a maudlin laugh, "Keepum's in the straps-is, I dodeclare; Gadsden and he bought a lot of niggers-a monster drove of'em, on shares. He wants that trifle of borrowed money-must have it. Can have it back in a few days. "

"Bless me, " interrupts the old man, confusedly, "but off my littlethings it will be hard to raise it. Times is hard, our people go, like geese, to the North. They get rid of all their money there, andtheir fancy-you know that, Mr. Snivel-is abroad, while they have, for home, only a love to keep up slavery. "

"I thought it would come to that, " says Mr. Snivel, facetiously. Theantiquarian seems bewildered, commences offering excuses that ratherinvolve himself deeper, and finally concludes by pleading for adelay. Scarce any one would have thought a person of Mr. McArthur'sposition, indebted to Mr. Keepum; but so it was. It is verydifficult to tell whose negroes are not mortgaged to Mr. Keepum, howmany mortgages of plantation he has foreclosed, how many high oldfamilies he has reduced to abject poverty, or how many poor butrespectable families he has disgraced. He has a reputation forloaning money to parents, that he may rob their daughters of thatjewel the world refuses to give them back. And yet our best societyhonor him, fawn over him, and bow to him. We so worship the god ofslavery, that our minds are become debased, and yet we seemunconscious of it. Mr. Keepum did not lend money to the oldantiquarian without a purpose. That purpose, that justice whichaccommodates itself to the popular voice, will aid him in gaining. 

Mr. Snivel affects a tone of moderation, whispers in the old man'sear, and says: "Mind you tell the fortune of this girl, Bonard, as Ihave directed. Study what I have told you. If she be not the childof Madame Montford, then no faith can be put in likenesses. I havegot in my possession what goes far to strengthen the suspicions nowrife concerning the fashionable New Yorker. "

"There surely is a mystery about this woman, Mr. Snivel, as you say. She has so many times looked in here to inquire about Mag Munday, awoman in a curious line of life who came here, got down in theworld, as they all do, and used now and then to get the loan of atrifle from me to keep her from starvation. " (Mr. Snivel says, inparentheses, he knows all about her. )

"Ha! ha! my old boy, " says Mr. Snivel, frisking his fingers throughhis light Saxon beard, "I have had this case in hand for some time. It is strictly a private matter, nevertheless. They are a badlot-them New Yorkers, who come here to avoid their little delicateaffairs. I may yet make a good thing out of this, though. As forthat fellow, Mullholland, I intend getting him the whipping post. Heis come to be the associate of gentlemen; men high in office showerupon him their favors. It is all to propitiate the friendship ofBonard-I know it. " Mr. Snivel concludes hurriedly, and departs intothe street, as our scene changes. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

ANNA BONARD SEEKS AN INTERVIEW WITH THE ANTIQUARY. 

IT is night. King street seems in a melancholy mood, the blue archof heaven is bespangled with twinkling stars, the moon has mountedher high throne, and her beams, like messengers of love, dancejoyously over the calm waters of the bay, so serenely skirted withdark woodland. The dull tramp of the guardman's horse now breaks thestillness; then the measured tread of the heavily-armed patrol, withwhich the city swarms at night, echoes and reoches along the narrowstreets. A theatre reeking with the fumes of whiskey and tobacco; asombre-looking guard-house, bristling with armed men, who usherforth to guard the fears of tyranny, or drag in some wretched slave;a dilapidated "Court House, " at the corner, at which lazy-lookingmen lounge; a castellated "Work House, " so grand without, and sofull of bleeding hearts within; a "Poor House" on crutches, and inwhich infirm age and poverty die of treatment that makes the heartsicken-these are all the public buildings we can boast. Like ominousmounds, they seem sleeping in the calm and serene night. Ah! we hadalmost forgotten the sympathetic old hospital, with its verandas;the crabbed looking "City Hall, " with its port holes; and the"Citadel, " in which, when our youths have learned to fight duels, welearn them how to fight their way out of the Union. Duelling is ourhigh art; getting out of the Union is our low. And, too, we have, and make no small boast that we have, two or three buildings called"Halls. " In these our own supper-eating men riot, our soldiers drill(soldiering is our presiding genius), and our mob-politicians wastetheir spleen against the North. Unlike Boston, towering all brightand vigorous in the atmosphere of freedom, we have no galleries ofstatuary; no conservatories of paintings; no massive edifices ofmarble, dedicated to art and science; no princely school-houses, radiating their light of learning over a peace and justice-lovingcommunity; no majestic exchange, of granite and polished marble, soemblematic of a thrifty commerce;--we have no regal "State House" onthe lofty hill, no glittering colleges everywhere striking the eye. The god of slavery-the god we worship, has no use for such temples;public libraries are his prison; his civilization is like a dulldead march; he is the enemy of his own heart, vitiating and makingdrear whatever he touches. He wages war on art, science, civilization! he trembles at the sight of temples reared for theenlightening of the masses. Tyranny is his law, a cotton-bag hisjudgment-seat. But we pride ourselves that we are a respectablepeople-what more would you have us?

The night is chilly without, in the fire-place of the antiquary'sback parlor there burns a scanty wood fire. Tor has eaten his supperand retired to a little closet-like room overhead, where, in bed, hemuses over what fell from Maria's lips, in their interview. Did shereally cherish a passion for him? had her solicitude in years pastsomething more than friendship in it? what did she mean? He was notone of those whose place in a woman's heart could never be supplied. How would an alliance with Maria affect his mother's dignity? Allthese things Tom evolves over and over in his mind. In point ofposition, a mechanic's daughter was not far removed from the slave;a mechanic's daughter was viewed only as a good object of seductionfor some nice young gentleman. Antiquarians might get a few bows ofplanter's sons, the legal gentry, and cotton brokers (these make upour aristocracy), but practically no one would think of admittingthem into decent society. They, of right, belong to that vulgar herdthat live by labor at which the slave can be employed. To beanything in the eyes of good society, you must only live upon theearnings of slaves. 

"Why, " says Tom, "should I consult the dignity of a mother whodiscards me? The love of this lone daughter of the antiquary, thisgirl who strives to know my wants, and to promote my welfare, risessuperior to all. I will away with such thoughts! I will be a man!Maria, with eager eye and thoughtful countenance, sits at the littleantique centre-table, reading Longfellow's Evangeline, by the palelight of a candle. A lurid glare is shed over the cavern-like place. The reflection plays curiously upon the corrugated features of theold man, who, his favorite cat at his side, reclines on a stubbylittle sofa, drawn well up to the fire. The poet would not selectMaria as his ideal of female loveliness; and yet there is a touchingmodesty in her demeanor, a sweet smile ever playing over hercountenance, an artlessness in her conversation that more than makesup for the want of those charms novel writers are pleased to calltranscendent. "Father!" she says, pausing, "some one knocks at theouter door. " The old man starts and listens, then hastens to openit. There stands before him the figure of a strange female, veiled. "I am glad to find you, old man. Be not suspicious of my coming atthis hour, for my mission is a strange one. " The old man's crookedeyes flash, his deep curling lip quivers, his hand vibrates thecandle he holds before him. "If on a mission to do nobody harm, " heresponds, "then you are welcome. " "You will pardon me; I have seenyou before. You have wished me well, " she whispers in a musicalvoice. Gracefully she raises her veil over her Spanish hood, andadvances cautiously, as the old man closes the door behind her. Thenshe uncovers her head, nervously. The white, jewelled fingers of herright hand, so delicate and tapering, wander over and smooth hersilky black hair, that falls in waves over her Ion-like brow. Howexquisite those features just revealed; how full of soul thoseflashing black eyes; her dress, how chaste! "They call me AnnaBonard, " she speaks, timorously, "you may know me?--"

"Oh, I know you well, " interrupts the old man, "your beauty has madeyou known. What more would you have?"

"Something that will make me happy. Old man, I am unhappy. Tell me, if you have the power, who I am. Am I an orphan, as has been toldme; or have I parents yet living, affluent, and high in society? Dothey seek me and cannot find me? Oh! let the fates speak, old man, for this world has given me nothing but pain and shame. Am I--" shepauses, her eyes wander to the floor, her cheeks crimson, she seizesthe old man by the hand, and her bosom heaves as if a fierce passionhad just been kindled within it. 

The old man preserves his equanimity, says he has a fortune to tellher. Fortunes are best told at midnight. The stars, too, let outtheir secrets more willingly when the night-king rules. He bids herfollow him, and totters back to the little parlor. With a wise air, he bids her be seated on the sofa, saying he never mistakes maidenswhen they call at this hour. 

Maria, who rose from the table at the entrance of the stranger, bows, shuts her book mechanically, and retires. Can there be anotherface so lovely? she questions within herself, as she pauses tocontemplate the stranger ere she disappears. The antiquary draws achair and seats himself beside Anna. "Thy life and destiny, " hesays, fretting his bony fingers over the crown of his wig. "Blessedis the will of providence that permits us to know the secrets ofdestiny. Give me your hand, fair lady. " Like a philosopher in deepstudy, he wipes and adjusts his spectacles, then takes her righthand and commences reading its lines. "Your history is an uncommonone--"

"Yes, " interrupts the girl, "mine has been a chequered life. "

"You have seen sorrow enough, but will see more. You come of goodparents; but, ah!--there is a mystery shrouding your birth. " ("Andthat mystery, " interposes the girl, "I want to have explained. ")"There will come a woman to reclaim you-a woman in high life; butshe will come too late--" (The girl pales and trembles. ) "Yes, "pursues the old man, looking more studiously at her hand, "she willcome too late. " You will have admirers, and even suitors; but theywill only betray you, and in the end you will die of trouble. Ah!there is a line that had escaped me. You may avert this darkdestiny-yes, you may escape the end that fate has ordained for you. In neglect you came up, the companion of a man you think true toyou. But he is not true to you. Watch him, follow him-you will yetfind him out. Ha! ha! ha! these men are not to be trusted, my dear. There is but one man who really loves you. He is an old man, a manof station. He is your only true friend. I here see it marked. " Hecrosses her hand, and says there can be no mistaking it. "With thatman, fair girl, you may escape the dark destiny. But, above allthings, do not treat him coldly. And here I see by the sign thatAnna Bonard is not your name. The name was given you by a wizard. "

"You are right, old man, " speaks Anna, raising thoughtfully hergreat black eyes, as the antiquary pauses and watches each change ofher countenance; "that name was given me by Hag Zogbaum, when I wasa child in her den, in New York, and when no one cared for me. Whatmy right name was has now slipped my memory. I was indeed a wretchedchild, and know little of myself. "

"Was it Munday?" inquires the old man. Scarce has he lisped the namebefore she catches it up and repeats it, incoherently, "Munday!Monday! Munday!" her eyes flash with anxiety. "Ah, I remember now. Iwas called Anna Munday by Mother Bridges. I lived with her before Igot to the den of Hag Zogbaum. And Mother Bridges sold apples at astand at the corner of a street, on West street. It seems like adream to me now. I do not want to recall those dark days of mychildhood. Have you not some revelation to make respecting myparents?" The old man says the signs will not aid him further. "Onmy arm, " she pursues, baring her white, polished arm, "there is amark. I know not who imprinted it there. See, old man. " The old mansees high up on her right arm two hearts and a broken anchor, impressed with India ink blue and red. "Yes, " repeats the antiquary, viewing it studiously, "but it gives out no history. If you couldremember who put it there. " Of that she has no recollection. The oldman cannot relieve her anxiety, and arranging her hood she bids himgood night, forces a piece of gold into his hand, and seeks herhome, disappointed. 

The antiquary's predictions were founded on what Mr. Soloman Snivelhad told him, and that gentleman got what he knew of Anna's historyfrom George Mullholland. To this, however, he added what suggestionshis suspicions gave rise to. The similarity of likeness between Annaand Madame Montford was striking; Madame Montford's mysterioussearches and inquiries for the woman Monday had something of deepimport in them. Mag Munday's strange disappearance from Charleston, and her previous importuning for the old dress left in pawn withMcArthur, were not to be overlooked. These things taken together, and Mr. Snivel saw a case there could be no mistaking. That casebecame stronger when his fashionable friend engaged his services totrace out what had become of the woman Mag Munday, and to furtherascertain what the girl Anna Bonard knew of her own history. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A SECRET INTERVIEW. 

WHILE the scene we have related in the foregoing chapter was beingenacted, there might be seen pacing the great colonnade of theCharleston hotel, the tall figure of a man wrapped in a massivetalma. Heedless of the throng of drinkers gathered in the spaciousbar-room, making the very air echo with their revelry, he pausesevery few moments, watches intently up and then down Meeting street, now apparently contemplating the twinkling stars, then turning as ifdisappointed, and resuming his sallies. "He will not come to night, "he mutters, as he pauses at the "Ladies' door, " then turns and ringsthe bell. The well dressed and highly-perfumed servant who guardsthe door, admits him with a scrutinizing eye. "Beg pardon, " he says, with a mechanical bow. He recognizes the stranger, bows, and motionshis hands. "Twice, " continues the servant, "she has sent a messengerto inquire of your coming. " The figure in the talma answers with abow, slips something into the hand of the servant, passes softly upthe great stairs, and is soon lost to sight. In another minute heenters, without knocking, a spacious parlor, decorated and furnishedmost sumptuously. "How impatiently I have waited your coming, "whispers, cautiously, a richly-dressed lady, as she rises from avelvet covered lounge, on which she had reclined, and extends herhand to welcome him. "Madame, your most obedient, " returns the man, bowing and holding her delicate hand in his. "You have something ofimportance, --something to relieve my mind?" she inquires, watchinghis lips, trembling, and in anxiety. "Nothing definite, " he replies, touching her gently on the arm, as she begs him to be seated in thegreat arm-chair. He lays aside his talma, places his gloves on thecentre-table, which is heaped with an infinite variety ofdelicately-enveloped missives and cards, all indicative of herposition in fashionable society. "I may say, Madame, that Isympathize with you in your anxiety; but as yet I have discoverednothing to relieve it. " Madame sighs, and draws her chair near him, in silence. "That she is the woman you seek I cannot doubt. While onthe Neck, I penetrated the shanty of one Thompson, a poormechanic-our white mechanics, you see, are very poor, and not muchthought of-who had known her, given her a shelter, and several timessaved her from starvation. Then she left the neighborhood and tookto living with a poor wretch of a shoemaker. "

"Poor creature, " interrupts Madame Montford, for it is she whom Mr. Snivel addresses. "If she be dead-oh, dear! That will be the end. Inever shall know what became of that child. And to die ignorant ofits fate will--" Madame pauses, her color changes, she seems seizedwith some violent emotion. Mr. Snivel perceives her agitation, andbegs she will remain calm. "If that child had been my own, " sheresumes, "the responsibility had not weighed heavier on myconscience. Wealth, position, the pleasures of society-all sink intoinsignificance when compared with my anxiety for the fate of thatchild. It is like an arrow piercing my heart, like a phantomhaunting me in my dreams, like an evil spirit waking me at night totell me I shall die an unhappy woman for having neglected one I wasbound by the commands of God to protect-to save, perhaps, from alife of shame. " She lets fall the satin folds of her dress, buriesher face in her hands, and gives vent to her tears in loud sobs. Mr. Snivel contemplates her agitation with unmoved muscle. To him it isa true index to the sequel. "If you will pardon me, Madame, " hecontinues, "as I was about to say of this miserable shoemaker, hetook to drink, as all our white mechanics do, and then used to abuseher. We don't think anything of these people, you see, who aftergiving themselves up to whiskey, die in the poor house, a terribledeath. This shoemaker, of whom I speak, died, and she was turnedinto the streets by her landlord, and that sent her to living with a'yellow fellow, ' as we call them. Soon after this she died-so reporthas it. We never know much, you see, about these common people. Theyare a sort of trash we can make nothing of, and they get terriblylow now and then. " Madame Montford's swelling breast heaves, hercountenance wears an air of melancholy; again she nervously laysaside the cloud-like skirts of her brocade dress. "Have you not, "she inquires, fretting her jewelled fingers and displaying themassive gold bracelets that clasp her wrists, "some strongerevidence of her death?" Mr. Snivel says he has none but what hegathered from the negroes and poor mechanics, who live in theby-lanes of the city. There is little dependence, however, to beplaced in such reports. Madame, with an air of composure, rises fromher chair, and paces twice or thrice across the room, seemingly indeep study. "Something, " she speaks, stopping suddenly in one ofher sallies--"something (I do not know what it is) tells me she yetlives: that this is the child we see, living an abandoned life. "

"As I was going on to say, Madame, " pursues Mr. Snivel, with greatblandness of manner, "when our white trash get to living with ournegroes they are as well as dead. One never knows what comes of themafter that. Being always ready to do a bit of a good turn, as youknow, I looked in at Sam Wiley's cabin. Sam Wiley is a negro of somerespectability, and generally has an eye to what becomes of thesewhite wretches. I don't-I assure you I don't, Madame-look into theseplaces except on professional business. Sam, after making inquiryamong his neighbors-our colored population view these people with novery good opinion, when they get down in the world-said he thoughtshe had found her way through the gates of the poor man'sgraveyard. "

"Poor man's graveyard!" repeats Madame Montford, again resuming herchair. 

"Exactly! We have to distinguish between people of position andthose white mechanics who come here from the North, get down in theworld, and then die. We can't sell this sort of people, you see. Nokeeping their morals straight without you can. However, this is notto the point. (Mr. Solomon Snivel keeps his eyes intently fixed uponthe lady. )

"I sought out the old Sexton, a stupid old cove enough. He hadneither names on his record nor graves that answered the purpose. Ina legal sense, Madame, this would not be valid testimony, for thisold cove being only too glad to get rid of our poor, and the feesinto his pocket, is not very particular about names. If it were oneof our 'first families, ' the old fellow would be so obsequious abouthaving the name down square--"

Mr. Snivel frets his fingers through his beard, and bows with aneasy grace. 

"Our first families!" repeats Madame Montford. 

"Yes, indeed! He is extremely correct over their funerals. They areof a fashionable sort, you see. Well, while I was musing over thedecaying dead, and the distinction between poor dead and rich dead, there came along one Graves, a sort of wayward, half simpleton, whogoes about among churchyards, makes graves a study, knows whereevery one who has died for the last century is tucked away, and isworth six sextons at pointing out graves. He never knows anythingabout the living, for the living, he says, won't let him live; andthat being the case, he only wants to keep up his acquaintance withthe dead. He never has a hat to his head, nor a shoe to his foot;and where, and how he lives, no one can tell. He has been at thewhipping-post a dozen times or more, but I'm not so sure that thepoor wretch ever did anything to merit such punishment. Just as thecrabbed old sexton was going to drive him out of the gate with a bigstick, I says, more in the way of a joke than anything else:'Graves, come here!--I want a word or two with you. ' He came up, looking shy and suspicious, and saying he wasn't going to harmanybody, but there was some fresh graves he was thinking over. "

"Some fresh graves!" repeats Madame Montford, nervously. 

"Bless you!--a very common thing, " rejoins Mr. Snivel, with a bow. "Well, this lean simpleton said they (the graves) were made while hewas sick. That being the case, he was deprived-and he lamented itbitterly-of being present at the funerals, and getting the names ofthe deceased. He is a great favorite with the grave-digger, lendshim a willing hand on all occasions, and is extremely useful whenthe yellow fever rages. But to the sexton he is a perfect pest, forif a grave be made during his absence he will importune until he getthe name of the departed. 'Graves, ' says I, 'where do they burythese unfortunate women who die off so, here in Charleston?' 'Blessyou, my friend, ' says Graves, accompanying his words with an idioticlaugh, 'why, there's three stacks of them, yonder. They ship themfrom New York in lots, poor things; they dies here in droves, poorthings; and we buries them yonder in piles, poor things. Theygo-yes, sir, I have thought a deal of this thing-fast through life;but they dies, and nobody cares for them-you see how they areburied. ' I inquired if he knew all their names. He said of course hedid. If he didn't, nobody else would. In order to try him, I desiredhe would show me the grave of Mag Munday. He shook his head, smiled, muttered the name incoherently, and said he thought it sounded likea dead name. 'I'll get my thinking right, ' he pursued, andbrightening up all at once, his vacant eyes flashed, then he touchedme cunningly on the arm, and with a wink and nod of the head therewas no mistaking, led the way to a great mound located in an obscurepart of the graveyard--"

"A great mound! I thought it would come to that, " sighs MadameMontford, impatiently. 

"We bury these wretched creatures in an obscure place. Indeed, Madame, I hold it unnecessary to have anything to distinguish themwhen once they are dead. Well, this poor forlorn simpleton then satdown on a grave, and bid me sit beside him. I did as he bid me, andsoon he went into a deep study, muttering the name of Mag Munday thewhile, until I thought he never would stop. So wild and wanderingdid the poor fellow seem, that I began to think it a pity we had nota place, an insane hospital, or some sort of benevolent institution, where such poor creatures could be placed and cared for. It would bemuch better than sending them to the whipping-post--"

"I am indeed of your opinion-of your way of thinking, mostcertainly, " interpolates Madame Montford, a shadow of melancholydarkening her countenance. 

"At length, he went at it, and repeated over an infinite quantity ofnames. It was wonderful to see how he could keep them all in hishead. 'Well, now, ' says he, turning to me with an inoffensive laugh, 'she ben't dead. You may bet on that. There now!' he spoke, as ifsuddenly becoming conscious of a recently-made discovery. 'Why, sherunned wild about here, as I does, for a time; was abused andknocked about by everybody. Oh, she had a hard time enough, Godknows that. ' 'But that is not disclosing to me what became of her, 'says I; 'come, be serious, Graves. ' (We call him this, you see, Madame, for the reason that he is always among graveyards. ) Then hewent into a singing mood, sang two plaintive songs, and had sung athird and fourth, if I had not stopped him. 'Well, ' he says, 'thatwoman ain't dead, for I've called up in my mind the whole graveyardof names, and her's is not among them. Why not, good gentleman, (heseized me by the arm as he said this, ) inquire of Milman Mingle, thevote-cribber? He is a great politician, never thinks of poorGraves, and wouldn't look into a graveyard for the world. Thevote-cribber used to live with her, and several times he threatenedto hang her, and would a hanged her-yes, he would, sir-if it hadn'ta been for the neighbors. I don't take much interest in the living, you know. But I pitied her, poor thing, for she was to be pitied, and there was nobody but me to do it. Just inquire of thevote-cribber. ' I knew the simpleton never told an untruth, being inno way connected with our political parties. "

"Never told an untruth, being in no way connected with our politicalparties!" repeats Madame Montford, who has become more calm. 

"I gave him a few shillings, he followed me to the gate, and left memuttering, 'Go, inquire of the vote-cribber. '"

"And have you found this man?" inquires the anxious lady. 

"I forthwith set about it, " replies Mr. Snivel, "but as yet, amunsuccessful. Nine months during the year his residence is thejail--"

"The jail!"

"Yes, Madame, the jail. His profession, although essential to theelevation of our politicians and statesmen, is neverthelessunlawful. And he being obliged to practice it in opposition to thelaw, quietly submits to the penalty, which is a residence in the oldprison for a short time. It's a nominal thing, you see, and he hasbecome so habituated to it that I am inclined to the belief that heprefers it. I proceeded to the prison and found he had beenreleased. One of our elections comes off in a few days. The approachof such an event is sure to find him at large. I sought him in allthe drinking saloons, in the gambling dens, in the haunts ofprostitution-in all the low places where our great politicians mostdo assemble and debauch themselves. He was not to be found. Being ofthe opposite party, I despatched a spy to the haunt of the committeeof the party to which he belongs, and for which he cribs. I havepaced the colonnade for more than an hour, waiting the coming ofthis spy. He did not return, and knowing your anxiety in the matterI returned to you. To-morrow I will seek him out; to-morrow I willget from him what he knows of this woman you seek. 

"And now, Madame, here is something I would have you examine. " (Mr. Snivel methodically says he got it of McArthur, the antiquary. ) "Shemade a great ado about a dress that contained this letter. I have nodoubt it will tell a tale. " Mr. Snivel draws from his breast-pocketthe letter found concealed in the old dress, and passes it to MadameMontford, who receives it with a nervous hand. Her eyes become fixedupon it, she glances over its defaced page with an air ofbewilderment, her face crimsons, then suddenly pales, her lipsquiver-her every nerve seems unbending to the shock. "Heavens! hasit come to this?" she mutters, confusedly. Her strength fails her;the familiar letter falls from her fingers. For a few moments sheseems struggling to suppress her emotions, but her reeling brainyields, her features become like marble, she shrieks and swoons ereMr. Snivel has time to clasp her in his arms. 

CHAPTER XX. 

LADY SWIGGS ENCOUNTERS DIFFICULTIES ON HER ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 

A PLEASANT passage of sixty hours, a good shaking up at the hands ofthat old tyrant, sea-sickness, and Lady Swiggs finds the steamer onwhich she took passage gliding majestically up New York Bay. Thereshe sits, in all her dignity, an embodiment of our decayed chivalry, a fair representative of our first families. She has taken up herposition on the upper deck, in front of the wheel house. As oneafter another the objects of beauty that make grand the environs ofthat noble Bay, open to her astonished eyes, she contrasts themfavorably or unfavorably with some familiar object in Charlestonharbor. There is indeed a similarity in the conformation. And thoughours, she says, may not be so extensive, nor so grand in itsoutlines, nor so calm and soft in its perspective, there is a morearistocratic air about it. Smaller bodies are always more select andrespectable. The captain, to whom she has put an hundred and onequestions which he answers in monosyllables, is not, she thinks, somuch of a gentleman as he might have been had he been educated inCharleston. He makes no distinction in favor of people of rank. 

Lady Swiggs wears that same faded silk dress; her black crapebonnet, with two saucy red artificial flowers tucked in at the side, sits so jauntily; that dash of brown hair is smoothed so exactlyover her yellow, shrivelled forehead; her lower jaw oscillates withincreased motion; and her sharp, gray eyes, as before, peeranxiously through her great-eyed spectacles. And, generous reader, that you may not mistake her, she has brought her inseparableMilton, which she holds firmly grasped in her right hand. "You havehad a tedious time of it, Madam, " says a corpulent lady, who isextensively dressed and jewelled, and accosts her with a familiarair. Lady Swiggs says not so tedious as it might have been, andgives her head two or three very fashionable twitches. 

"Your name, if you please?"

"The Princess Grouski. My husband, the Prince Grouski, " replies thecorpulent lady, turning and introducing a fair-haired gentleman, tall and straight of person, somewhat military in his movements, andextremely fond of fingering his long, Saxon moustache. Lady Swiggs, on the announcement of a princess, rises suddenly to her feet, andcommences an unlimited number of courtesies. She is, indeed, mosthappy to meet, and have the honor of being fellow-voyager with theirRoyal Highnesses-will remember it as being one of the happiestevents of her life, --and begs to assure them of her high esteem. Thecorpulent lady gives her a delicate card, on which is described thecrown of Poland, and beneath, in exact letters, "The Prince andPrincess Grouski. " The Prince affects not to understand English, which Lady Swiggs regrets exceedingly, inasmuch as it deprives herof an interesting conversation with a person of royal blood. Thecard she places carefully between the leaves of her Milton, havingfirst contemplated it with an air of exultation. Again begging tothank the Prince and Princess for this mark of their distinguishedconsideration, Lady Swiggs inquires if they ever met or heard of SirSunderland Swiggs. The rotund lady, for herself and the prince, replies in the negative. "He was, " she pursues, with a sigh ofdisappointment, "he was very distinguished, in his day. Yes, and Iam his lineal descendant. Your highnesses visited Charleston, ofcourse?"

"O dear, " replies the rotund lady, somewhat laconically, "thehappiest days of my life were spent among the chivalry of SouthCarolina. Indeed, Madam, I have received the attention and honors ofthe very first families in that State. "

This exclamation sets the venerable lady to thinking how it could bepossible that their highnesses received the attentions of the firstfamilies and she not know it. No great persons ever visited theUnited States without honoring Charleston with their presence, itwas true; but how in the world did it happen that she was kept inignorance of such an event as that of the Prince and Princess payingit a visit. She began to doubt the friendship of her distinguishedacquaintances, and the St. Cecilia Society. She hopes that shouldthey condescend to pay the United States a second visit, they willremember her address. This the rotund lady, who is no less a personthan the distinguished Madame Flamingo, begs to assure her she will. 

Let not this happy union between Grouski and the old hostess, surprise you, gentle reader. It was brought about by Mr. Snivel, theaccommodation man, who, as you have before seen, is always ready todo a bit of a good turn. Being a skilful diplomatist in suchmatters, he organized the convention, superintended the wooing, andfor a lusty share of the spoils, secured to him by Grouski, broughtmatters to an issue "highly acceptable" to all parties. A sale ofher palace of licentiousness, works of art, costly furniture, andfemale wares, together with the good will of all concerned, (herfriends of the "bench and bar" not excepted, ) was made for the nicelittle sum of sixty-seven thousand dollars, to Madame Grace Ashley, whose inauguration was one of the most gorgeous fˆtes the history ofCharleston can boast. The new occupant was a novice. She had notsufficient funds to pay ready money for the purchase, hence Mr. Doorwood, a chivalric and very excellent gentleman, according toreport, supplies the necessary, taking a mortgage on theinstitution, which proves to be quite as good property as the Bank, of which he is president. It is not, however, just that sort ofbusiness upon which an already seared conscience can repose inquiet, hence he applies that antidote too frequently used byknaves-he never lets a Sunday pass without piously attending church. 

The money thus got, through this long life of iniquity, was byMadame Flamingo handed over to the Prince, in exchange for his heartand the title she had been deluded to believe him capable ofconferring. Her reverence for Princes and exiled heroes, (who aregenerally exiled humbugs, ) was not one jot less than that sopitiably exhibited by our self-dubbed fashionable society all overthis Union. It may be well to add, that this distinguished couple, all smiling and loving, are on their way to Europe, where they aresure of receiving the attentions of any quantity of "crowned heads. "Mr. Snivel, in order not to let the affair lack that eclat which isthe crowning point in matters of high life, got smuggled into thecolumns of the highly respectable and very authentic old "Courier, "a line or two, in which the fashionable world was thrown into aflutter by the announcement that Prince Grouski and his wealthybride left yesterday, en route for Europe. This bit of gossip the"New York Herald" caught up and duly itemised, for the benefit ofits upper-ten readers, who, as may be easily imagined, were all ontip-toe to know the address of visitors so distinguished, and leavecards. 

Mrs. Swiggs has (we must return to her mission) scarcely set foot onshore, when, thanks to a little-headed corporation, she is fairlyset upon by a dozen or more villanous hack-drivers, each danglinghis whip in her face, to the no small danger of her bonnet andspectacles. They jostle her, utter vile imprecations, dispute forthe right of carrying her, each in his turn offering to do it ashilling less. Lady Swiggs is indeed an important individual in thehands of the hack-drivers, and by them, in a fair way of being tornto pieces. She wonders they do not recognize her as a distinguishedperson, from the chivalric State of South Carolina. The captain isengaged with his ship, passengers are hurrying ashore, too anxiousto escape the confinement of the cabin; every one seems in haste toleave her, no one offers to protect her from the clutches of thosewho threaten to tear her into precious pieces. She sighs for SisterSlocum, for Mr. Hadger, for any one kind enough to raise a friendlyvoice in her behalf. Now one has got her black box, another hercorpulent carpet-bag-a third exults in a victory over her band-box. Fain would she give up her mission in disgust, return to the morearistocratic atmosphere of Charleston, and leave the heathen to hisfate. All this might have been avoided had Sister Slocum sent hercarriage. She will stick by her black box, nevertheless. So into thecarriage with it she gets, much discomfited. The driver says hewould drive to the Mayor's office "and 'ave them ar two coves what'sgot the corpulent carpet-bag and the band-box, seed after, if itwern't that His Honor never knows anything he ought to know, and issure to do nothing. They'll turn up, Mam, I don't doubt, " says theman, "but it's next to los'in' on 'em, to go to the Mayor's office. Our whole corporation, Mam, don't do nothin' but eats oysters, drinks whiskey, and makes presidents;--them's what they do, Marm. "Lady Swiggs says what a pity so great a city was not blessed with abigger-headed corporation. 

"That it is, Marm, " returns the methodical hack-driver, "he an't gota very big head, our corporation. " And Lady Swiggs, deprived of hercarpet-bag and band-box, and considerably out of patience, is rolledaway to the mansion of Sister Slocum, on Fourth Avenue. Instead offalling immediately into the arms and affections of that worthy andvery enterprising lady, the door is opened by a slatternly maid ofall work-her greasy dress, and hard, ruddy face and hands-her short, flabby figure, and her coarse, uncombed hair, giving out strongevidence of being overtaxed with labor. "Is it Mrs. Slocum hersel'ye'd be seein'?" inquires the maid, wiping her soapy hands with herapron, and looking querulously in the face of the old lady, who, with the air of a Scotch metaphysician, says she is come to spend aweek in friendly communion with her, to talk over the cause of thepoor, benighted heathen. "Troth an' I'm not as sure ye'll do thatsame, onyhow; sure she'd not spend a week at home in the blessedyear; and the divil another help in the house but mysel' andhimsel', Mr. Slocum. A decent man is that same Slocum, too, " pursuesthe maid, with a laconic indifference to the wants of the guest. Adusty hat-stand ornaments one side of the hall, a patched andsomewhat deformed sofa the other. The walls wear a dingy air; thefumes of soapsuds and stewed onions offend the senses. Mrs. Swiggshesitates in the doorway. Shall I advance, or retreat to morecongenial quarters? she asks herself. The wily hack-driver (heagreed for four and charged her twelve shillings) leaves her blackbox on the step and drives away. She may be thankful he did notcharge her twenty. They make no allowance for distinguished people;Lady Swiggs learns this fact, to her great annoyance. To the much-confused maid of all work she commences relating the loss of herluggage. With one hand swinging the door and the other tucked underher dowdy apron, she says, "Troth, Mam, and ye ought to be thankful, for the like of that's done every day. "

Mrs. Swiggs would like a room for the night at least, but is told, in a somewhat confused style, that not a room in the house is inorder. That a person having the whole heathen world on her shouldersshould not have her house in order somewhat surprises theindomitable lady. In answer to a question as to what time Mr. Slocumwill be home, the maid of all work says: "Och! God love the poorman, there's no tellin'. Sure there's not much left of the poor man. An' the divil a one more inoffensive than poor Slocum. It's himsel'works all day in the Shurance office beyant. He comes home draggedout, does a dale of writing for Mrs. Slocum hersel', and goes to bedsayin' nothin' to nobody. " Lady Swiggs says: "God bless me. He nodoubt labors in a good cause-an excellent cause-he will have hisreward hereafter. "

It must here be confessed that Sister Slocum, having on hand anewly-married couple, nicely suited to the duties of a mission tosome foreign land, has conceived the very laudable project ofsending them to Aleppo, and is now spending a few weeks among theDutch of Albany, who are expected to contribute the necessary funds. A few thousand dollars expended, a few years' residence in the East, a few reports as to what might have been done if something had notinterposed to prevent it, and there is not a doubt that this happycouple will return home crowned with the laurels of having verynearly Christianized one Turk and two Tartars. 

The maid of all work suddenly remembers that Mrs. Slocum left wordthat if a distinguished lady arrived from South Carolina she couldbe comfortably accommodated at Sister Scudder's, on Fourth Street. Not a little disappointed, the venerable old lady calls a passingcarriage, gets herself and black box into it, and orders the driverto forthwith proceed to the house of Sister Scudder. Here she is-andshe sheds tears that she is-cooped up in a cold, closet-like room, on the third story, where, with the ends of her red shawl, she mayblow and warm her fingers. Sister Scudder is a crispy little body, in spectacles. Her features are extremely sharp, and her countenancecontinually wears a wise expression. As for her knowledge ofscripture, it is truly wonderful, and a decided improvement whencontrasted with the meagre set-out of her table. Tea time havingarrived, Lady Swiggs is invited down to a cup by a pert Irishservant, who accosts her with an independence she by no meansapproves. Entering the room with an air of stateliness she deemsnecessary to the position she desires to maintain, Sister Scuddertakes her by the hand and introduces her to a bevy of nicely-conditioned, and sleek-looking gentlemen, whose exactly-combedmutton chop whiskers, smoothly-oiled hair, perfectly-tied whitecravats, cloth so modest and fashionable, and mild, studiouscountenances, discover their profession. Sister Scudder, motioningLady Swiggs aside, whispers in her ear: "They are all very excellentyoung men. They will improve on acquaintance. They are come up forthe clergy. " They, in turn, receive the distinguished stranger in amanner that is rather abrupt than cold, and ere she has dispensedher stately courtesy, say: "how do you do marm, " and turn to resumewith one another their conversation on the wicked world. It issomewhat curious to see how much more interested these gentry becomein the wicked world when it is afar off. 

Tea very weak, butter very strong, toast very thin, and religiousconversation extremely thick, make up the repast. There is no wantof appetite. Indeed one might, under different circumstances, haveimagined Sister Scudder's clerical boarders contesting a race for anextra slice of her very thin toast. Not the least prominent amongSister Scudder's boarders is Brother Singleton Spyke, whom Mrs. Swiggs recognizes by the many compliments he lavishes upon SisterSlocum, whose absence is a source of great regret with him. She isalways elbow deep in some laudable pursuit. Her presence sheds aradiant light over everything around; everybody mourns her whenabsent. Nevertheless, there is some satisfaction in knowing that herabsence is caused by her anxiety to promote some mission of good:Brother Spyke thus muses. Seeing that there is come among them adistinguished stranger, he gives out that to-morrow evening therewill be a gathering of the brethren at the "House of the ForeignMissions, " when the very important subject of funds necessary to hismission to Antioch, will be discussed. Brother Spyke, having levelledthis battery at the susceptibility of Mrs. Swiggs, is delighted tofind some fourteen voices chiming in-all complimenting his peculiarfitness for, and the worthy object of the mission. Mrs. Swiggs setsher cup in her saucer, and in a becoming manner, to the great joy ofall present, commences an eulogium on Mr. Spyke. Sister Slocum, inher letters, held him before her in strong colors; spoke in suchhigh praise of his talent, and gave so many guarantees as to what hewould do if he only got among the heathen, that her sympathies wereenlisted-she resolved to lose no time in getting to New York, and, when there, put her shoulder right manfully to the wheel. Thisdeclaration finds her, as if by some mysterious transport, an objectof no end of praise. Sister Scudder adjusts her spectacles, and, inmildest accents, says, "The Lord will indeed reward suchdisinterestedness. " Brother Mansfield says motives so pure willensure a passport to heaven, he is sure. Brother Sharp, anexceedingly lean and tall youth, with a narrow head and sharp nose(Mr. Sharp's father declared he made him a preacher because he couldmake him nothing else), pronounces, with great emphasis, that suchself-sacrifice should be written in letters of gold. A unanimoussounding of her praises convinces Mrs. Swiggs that she is indeed aperson of great importance. There is, however, a certain roughnessof manner about her new friends, which does not harmonize with hernotions of aristocracy. She questions within herself whether theyrepresent the "first families" of New York. If the "first families"could only get their heads together, the heathen world would be sureto knock under. No doubt, it can be effected in time by commonpeople. If Sister Slocum, too, would evangelize the world-if shewould give the light of heaven to the benighted, she must employwilling hearts and strong hands. Satan, she says, may be chained, subdued, and made to abjure his wickedness. These cheeringcontemplations more than atone for the cold reception she met at thehouse of Sister Slocum. Her only regret now is that she did not sellold Cicero. The money so got would have enabled her to bestow a moresubstantial token of her soul's sincerity. 

Tea over, thanks returned, a prayer offered up, and Brother Spyke, having taken a seat on the sofa beside Mrs. Swiggs, opens hisbatteries in a spiritual conversation, which he now and then spiceswith a few items of his own history. At the age of fifteen he foundhimself in love with a beautiful young lady, who, unfortunately, hadmade up her mind to accept only the hand of a clergyman: hence, sherejected his. This so disturbed his thoughts, that he resolved onstudying theology. In this he was aided by the singular discovery, that he had a talent, and a "call to preach. " He would forget hisamour, he thought, become a member of the clergy, and go preach tothe heathen. He spent his days in reading, his nights in the studyof divine truths. Then he got on the kind side of a committee ofvery excellent ladies, who, having duly considered his qualities, pronounced him exactly suited to the study of theology. Ladies weregenerally good judges of such matters, and Brother Spyke felt hecould not do better than act up to their opinions. To all thesethings Mrs. Swiggs listens with delight. 

Spyke, too, is in every way a well made-up man, being extremely talland lean of figure, with nice Saxon hair and whiskers, mild butthoughtful blue eyes, an anxious expression of countenance, a thin, squeaking voice, and features sufficiently delicate and regular forhis calling. His dress, too, is always exactly clerical. If he becold and pedantic in his manner, the fault must be set down to theerrors of the profession, rather than to any natural inclination ofhis own. But what is singular of Brother Spyke is, that, notwithstanding his passion for delving the heathen world, anddragging into Christian light and love the benighted wretches therefound, he has never in his life given a thought for that heathenworld at his own door-a heathen world sinking in the blackest poolof misery and death, in the very heart of an opulent city, overwhich it hurls its seething pestilence, and scoffs at the commandsof high heaven. No, he never thought of that Babylon of vice andcrime-that heathen world pleading with open jaws at his own door. Hehad no thought for how much money might be saved, and how much moregood done, did he but turn his eyes, go into this dark world (thePoints) pleading at his feet, nerve himself to action, and lend astrong hand to help drag off the film of its degradation. Inaddition to this, Brother Spyke was sharp enough to discover thefact that a country parson does not enjoy the most enviablesituation. A country parson must put up with the smallest salary; hemust preach the very best of sermons; he must flatter and flirt withall the marriageable ladies of his church; he must consult thetastes, but offend none of the old ladies; he must submit to havethe sermon he strained his brain to make perfect, torn to pieces bya dozen wise old women, who claim the right of carrying the churchon their shoulders; he must have dictated to him what sort of damehe may take for wife;--in a word, he must bear meekly a deal ofpestering and starvation, or be in bad odor with the senior membersof the sewing circle. Duly appreciating all these difficulties, Brother Spyke chose a mission to Antioch, where the field of hislabors would be wide, and the gates not open to restraints. Andthough he could not define the exact character of his mission toAntioch, he so worked upon the sympathies of the credulous old lady, as to well-nigh create in her mind a resolve to give the amount shehad struggled to get and set apart for the benefit of those twoinstitutions ("the Tract Society, " and "The Home of the ForeignMissions"), all to the getting himself off to Antioch. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. SNIVEL PURSUES HIS SEARCH FOR THE VOTE-CRIBBER. 

WHILE Mrs. Swiggs is being entertained by Sister Scudder and herclerical friends in New York, Mr. Snivel is making good his demandon her property in Charleston. As the agent of Keepum, he hasattached her old slaves, and what few pieces of furniture he couldfind; they will in a few days be sold for the satisfaction of herdebts. Mrs. Swiggs, it must be said, never had any very niceappreciation of debt-paying, holding it much more legitimate thather creditors accept her dignity in satisfaction of any demand theychanced to have against her. As for her little old house, the lastabode of the last of the great Swiggs family, --that, like numerousother houses of our "very first families, " is mortgaged for morethan it is worth, to Mr. Staple the grocer. We must, however, turnto Mr. Snivel. 

Mr. Snivel is seen, on the night after the secret interview at theCharleston Hotel, in a happy mood, passing down King street. Alittle, ill-featured man, with a small, but florid face, a keen, lecherous eye, leans on his arm. They are in earnest conversation. 

"I think the mystery is nearly cleared up, Keepum" says Snivel. 

"There seems no getting a clue to the early history of this MadameMontford, 'tis true. Even those who introduced her to Charlestonsociety know nothing of her beyond a certain period. All anterior tothat is wrapped in suspicion, " returns Keepum, fingering his massivegold chain and seals, that pend from his vest, then releasing hishold of Mr. Snivel's arm, and commencing to button closely his bluedress coat, which is profusely decorated with large gilt buttons. "She's the mother of the dashing harlot, or I'm no prophet, nevertheless, " he concludes, shaking his head significantly. 

"You may almost swear it-a bad conscience is a horrid bore; d-n me, if I can't see through the thing. (Mr. Snivel laughs. ) Better putour female friends on their guard, eh?"

"They had better drop her as quietly as possible, " rejoins Mr. Keepum, drawing his white glove from off his right hand, andextending his cigar case. 

Mr. Snivel having helped himself to a cigar, says: "D-n me, if shedidn't faint in my arms last night. I made a discovery that broughtsomething of deep interest back to her mind, and gave her timberssuch a shock! I watched, and read the whole story in her emotions. One accustomed to the sharps of the legal profession can do thissort of thing. She is afraid of approaching this beautiful creature, Anna Bonard, seeing the life she lives, and the suspicions it mightcreate in fashionable society, did she pursue such a course to theend of finding out whether she be really the lost child of therelative she refers to so often. Her object is to find one MagMunday, who used to knock about here, and with whom the child wasleft. But enough of this for the present. " Thus saying, they enterthe house of the old antiquary, and finding no one but Maria athome, Mr. Snivel takes the liberty of throwing his arms about herwaist. This done, he attempts to drag her across the room and uponthe sofa. "Neither your father nor you ever had a better friend, " hesays, as the girl struggles from his grasp, shrinks at his feet, and, with a look of disdain, upbraids him for his attempt to takeadvantage of a lone female. 

"High, ho!" interposes Keepum, "what airs these sort of people puton, eh? Don't amount to much, no how; they soon get over them, youknow. A blasted deal of assumption, as you say. Ha, ha, ha! I ratherlike this sort of modesty. 'Tis n't every one can put it oncleverly. " Mr. Snivel winks to Keepum, who makes an ineffectualattempt to extinguish the light, which Maria seizes in her hand, andsummoning her courage, stands before them in a defiant attitude, anexpression of hate and scorn on her countenance. "Ah, fiend! youtake this liberty-you seek to destroy me because I am poor-becauseyou think me humble-an easy object to prey upon. I am neither astranger to the world nor your cowardly designs; and so long as Ihave life you shall not gloat over the destruction of my virtue. Approach me at your peril-knaves! You have compromised my father;you have got him in your grasp, that you may the more easily destroyme. But you will be disappointed, your perfidy will recoil onyourselves: though stripped of all else, I will die protecting thatvirtue you would not dare to offend but for my poverty. " Thisunexpected display of resolution has the effect of making theposition of the intruders somewhat uncomfortable. Mr. Keepum, whosedesigns Snivel would put in execution, sinks, cowardly, upon thesofa, while his compatriot (both are celebrated for their chivalry)stands off apace endeavoring to palliate the insult with facetiousremarks. (This chivalry of ours is a mockery, a convenient word inthe foul mouths of fouler ruffians. ) Mr. Snivel makes a secondattempt to overcome the unprotected girl. With every expression ofhate and scorn rising to her face, she bids him defiance. Seeinghimself thus firmly repulsed, he begs to assure her, on the word ofa gentleman-a commodity always on hand, and exceedingly cheap withus-he was far from intending an insult. He meant it for a bit of agood turn-nothing more. "Always fractious at first-these sort ofpeople are, " pursues Keepum, relighting his cigar as he sits on thesofa, squinting his right eye. "Take bravely to gentlemen after alittle display of modesty-always! Try her again, Squire. " Mr. Sniveldashes the candle from her hand, and in the darkness grasps herwrists. The enraged girl shrieks, and calls aloud for assistance. Simultaneously a blow fells Mr. Snivel to the floor. The voice ofTom Swiggs is heard, crying: "Wretch! villain!--what brings you here?(Mr. Keepum, like the coward, who fears the vengeance he hasmerited, makes good his escape. ) Will you never cease polluting thehabitations of the poor? Would to God there was justice for thepoor, as well as law for the rich; then I would make thee bite thedust, like a dying viper. You should no longer banquet on poorvirtue. Wretch!--I would teach thee that virtue has its value withthe poor as well as the rich;--that with the true gentleman it isequally sacred. " Tom stands a few moments over the tremblingmiscreant, Maria sinks into a chair, and with her elbows resting onthe table, buries her face in her hands and gives vent to her tears. 

"Never did criminal so merit punishment; but I will prove thee notworth my hand. Go, wretch, go! and know that he who proves himselfworthy of entering the habitations of the humble is more to beprized than kings and princes. " Tom relights the candle in time tosee Mr. Snivel rushing into the street. 

The moon sheds a pale light over the city as the two chivalricgentlemen, having rejoined and sworn to have revenge, are seenentering a little gate that opens to a dilapidated old building, fronted by a neglected garden, situate on the north side of Queenstreet, and in days gone by called "Rogues' Retreat. " "Rogues'Retreat" has seared vines creeping over its black, clap-boardedfront, which viewed from the street appears in a squatting mood, while its broken door, closed shutters-the neglected branches ofgrape vines that depend upon decayed trellice and arbors, invest itwith a forlorn air: indeed, one might without prejudicing hisfaculties imagine it a fit receptacle for our deceased politiciansand our whiskey-drinking congressmen-the last resting-place of ourdeparted chivalry. Nevertheless, generous reader, we will show youthat "Rogues' Retreat" serves a very different purpose. Ourmob-politicians, who make their lungs and fists supply the want ofbrains, use it as their favorite haunt, and may be seen on the eveof an election passing in and out of a door in the rear. Hogsheadsof bad whiskey have been drunk in "Rogues' Retreat;" it reeks withthe fumes of uncounted cigars; it has been the scene of untoldvillanies. Follow us; we will forego politeness, and peep in througha little, suspicious-looking window, in the rear of the building. This window looks into a cavern-like room, some sixteen feet bythirty, the ceiling of which is low, and blotched here and therewith lamp-smoke and water-stains, the plastering hanging in festoonsfrom the walls, and lighted by the faint blaze of a small globularlamp, depending from the centre, and shedding a lurid glare overfourteen grotesque faces, formed round a broad deal-table. Here, atone side of the table sits Judge Sleepyhorn, Milman Mingle, thevote-cribber, on his right; there, on the other, sits Mr. Snivel andMr. Keepum. More conspicuous than anything else, stands, in thecentre of the table, bottles and decanters of whiskey, of which eachman is armed with a stout glass. "I am as well aware of the law asmy friend who has just taken his seat can be. But we all know thatthe law can be made subordinate; and it must be made subordinate toparty ends. We must not (understand me, I do not say this in myjudicial capacity) be too scrupulous when momentous issues are uponus. The man who has not nerve enough to make citizens by thedozen-to stuff double-drawered ballot-boxes, is not equal to thetimes we live in;--this is a great moral fact. " This is said by theJudge, who, having risen with an easy air, sits down and resumes hisglass and cigar. 

"Them's my sentiments-exactly, " interposes the vote-cribber, hisburly, scarred face, and crispy red hair and beard, forming astriking picture in the pale light. "I have given up the trade ofmaking Presidents, what I used to foller when, you see, I lived inNorth Caroliner; but I tell you on the faith of my experience, thatto carry the day we must let the law slide, and crib with a freechain: there's no gettin' over this. "

"It is due, " interrupts the Judge, again rising to his feet andbowing to the cribber, "to this worthy man, whose patriotism hasbeen tried so often within prison-walls, that we give weight to hisadvice. Hie bears the brunt of the battle like a hero-he is a hero!"(The vote-cribber acknowledges the compliment by filling his glassand drinking to the Judge. )

"Of this worthy gentleman I have, as a member of the learnedprofession, an exalted opinion. His services are as necessary to oursuccess as steam to the speed of a locomotive. I am in favor ofleaving the law entirely out of the question. What society sanctionsas a means to party ends, the law in most cases fails to reach, "rejoins a tall, sandy-complexioned man, of the name of Booper, verydistinguished among lawyers and ladies. Never was truth spoken withstronger testimony at hand. Mr. Keepum could boast of killing twopoor men; Mr. Snivel could testify to the fallacy of the law bygaining him an honorable acquittal. There were numerous indictmentsagainst Mr. Keepum for his dealings in lottery tickets, but theyfound their way into the Attorney-General's pocket, and it waswhispered he meant to keep them there. It was indeed pretty wellknown he could not get them out in consequence of the gold Keepumpoured in. Not a week passes but men kill each other in the openstreets. We call these little affairs, "rencontres;" the fact is, weare become so accustomed to them that we rather like them, andregard them as evidences of our advanced civilization. We areinfested with slave-hunters, and slave-killers, who daily disgraceus with their barbarities; yet the law is weak when the victor isstrong. So we continue to live in the harmless belief that we arethe most chivalrous people in the world. 

"Mr. Booper!" ejaculates Mr. Snivel, knocking the ashes from hiscigar and rising to his feet, "you have paid no more than a meritedcompliment to the masterly completeness of this excellent man'scribbing. (He points to the cribber, and bows. ) Now, permit me tosay here, I have at my disposal a set of fellows, (he smiles, ) whocan fight their way into Congress, duplicate any system of sharps, and stand in fear of nothing. Oh! gentlemen, (Mr. Snivel becomesenthusiastic, ) I was-as I have said, I believe-enjoying a bottle ofchampagne with my friend Keepum here, when we overheard twoDutchmen-the Dutch always go with the wrong party-discoursing abouta villanous caucus held to-night in King street. There is villany upwith these Dutch! But, you see, we-that is, I mean I-made some fortyor more citizens last year. We have the patent process; we can makeas many this year. "

Mr. Sharp, an exceedingly clever politician, who has meekly born anynumber of cudgellings at the polls, and hopes ere long to get theappointment of Minister to Paris, interrupts by begging that Mr. Soloman will fill his glass, and resume his seat. Mr. Snivel havingtaking his seat, Mr. Sharp proceeds: "I tell you all what it is, says I, the other day to a friend-these ponderous Dutch ain't to bedepended on. Then, says I, you must separate the Irish into threeclasses, and to each class you must hold out a different inducement, says I. There's the Rev. Father Flaherty, says I, and he is a trumpcard at electioneering. He can form a breach between his people andthe Dutch, and, says I, by the means of this breach we will gain thewhole tribe of Emeralds over to our party. I confess I hate thesevagabonds right soundly; but necessity demands that we butter andsugar the mover until we carry our ends. You must not look at themeans, says I, when the ends are momentous. "

"The staunch Irish, " pursues the Judge, rising as Mr. Sharp sitsdown, "are noble fellows, and with us. To the middle class-thegrocers and shopkeepers-we must, however, hold out flatteringinducements; such as the reduction of taxes, the repeal of ouroppressive license laws, taking the power out of the hands of ouraristocracy-they are very tender here-and giving equal rights toemigrants. These points we must put as Paul did his sermons-withforce and ingenuity. As for the low Irish, all we have to do is tocrib them, feed and pickle them in whiskey for a week. To gain anIrishman's generosity, you cannot use a better instrument than meat, drink, and blarney. I often contemplate these fellows when I ampassing sentence upon them for crime. "

"True! I have the same dislike to them personally; but politically, the matter assumes quite a different form of attraction. Thelaboring Irish-the dull-headed-are what we have to do with. We mustwork them over, and over, and over, until we get them just right. Then we must turn them all into legal voting citizens--"

"That depends on how long they have been in the country, " interruptsa brisk little man, rising quickly to his feet, and assuming a legalair. 

"Mr. Sprig! you are entirely behind the age. It matters not how longthese gentlemen from Ireland have been in the country. They take topolitics like rats to good cheese. A few months' residence, and alittle working over you know, and they become trump voters. TheDutch are a different sort of animal; the fellows are thinkers, "resumes the Judge. 

Mr. Snivel, who has been sipping his whiskey, and listening veryattentively to the Judge, rises to what he calls the most importantorder. He has got the papers all ready, and proposes the gentlemenhe thinks best qualified for the naturalization committee. Thisdone, Mr. Snivel draws from his pocket a copy of the forged papers, which are examined, and approved by every one present. Thisinstrument is surmounted with the eagle and arms of the UnitedStates, and reads thus: "STATE OF NEW YORK. 

"In the Court of Common Pleas for the city and county of New York:

"I--do declare on oath, that it is bona fide my intention tobecome a citizen of the United States, and to renounce forever allallegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, State orsovereignty whatever, and particularly to the Queen of the UnitedKingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, of whom I am a subject. 

"Signed this --day of --184-. 

"JAMES CONNOR, Clerk. Clerk's office, Court of Common Pleas for the city and countyof New York. "

"I hereby certify that the foregoing is a true copy of an originaldeclaration of intention remaining on record in my office, &c. , &c. , &c. "

"There! it required skill and practice to imitate like that" Mr. Snivel exultingly exclaims. "We require to make thirty-sevencitizens, and have prepared the exact number of papers. If thecribbers do their duty, the day is ours. " Thus is revealed one ofthe scenes common to "Rogues' Retreat. " We shrink at themultiplicity of crime in our midst; we too seldom trace the sourcefrom whence it flows. If we did but turn our eyes in the rightdirection we would find the very men we have elected our guardians, protecting the vicious, whose power they covet-sacrificing theirhigh trust to a low political ambition. You cannot serve a politicalend by committing a wrong without inflicting a moral degradation onsome one. Political intrigue begets laxity of habits; it dispelsthat integrity without which the unfixed mind becomes vicious; itacts as a festering sore in the body politic. 

Having concluded their arrangements for the Mayor's election, theparty drinks itself into a noisy mood, each outshouting the otherfor the right to speak, each refilling and emptying his glass, eachasserting with vile imprecations, his dignity as a gentleman. Midnight finds the reeling party adjourning in the midst ofconfusion. 

Mr. Snivel winks the vote-cribber into a corner, and commencesinterrogating him concerning Mag Munday. The implacable face of thevote-cribber reddens, he contorts his brows, frets his jagged beardwith the fingers of his left hand, runs his right over the crown ofhis head, and stammers: "I know'd her, lived with her-she used torun sort of wild, and was twice flogged. She got crazed at last!" Heshrugs his stalworth shoulders and pauses. "Being a politician, yousee, a body can't divest their minds of State affairs sufficientlyto keep up on women matters, " he pursues: "She got into thepoor-house, that I knows--"

"She is dead then?" interposes Mr. Snivel. 

"As like as not. The poor relatives of our 'first families' rot anddie there without much being said about it. Just look in at thatinstitution-it's a terrible place to kill folks off!--and if she benot there then come to me. Don't let the keepers put you off. Passthrough the outer gate, into and through the main building, thenturn sharp to the left, and advance some twenty feet up a filthypassage, then enter a passage on the right, (have a light with you, )that leads to a dozen or fourteen steps, wet and slippery. Then youmust descend into a sort of grotto, or sickly vault, which you willcross and find yourself in a spacious passage, crawling with beetlesand lizards. Don't be frightened, sir; keep on till you hearmoanings and clankings of chains. Then you will come upon a row ofhorrid cells, only suited for dog kennels. In these cells our crazyfolks are chained and left to die. Give Glentworthy few shillingsfor liquor, sir, and he, having these poor devils in charge, willput you through. It's a terrible place, sir, but our authoritiesnever look into it, and few of our people know of its existence. "

Mr. Snivel thanks the vote-cribber, who pledges his honor he wouldaccompany him, but for the reason that he opens crib to-morrow, andhas in his eye a dozen voters he intends to look up. He has also afew recently-arrived sons of the Emerald Isle he purposes turninginto citizens. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

MRS. SWIGGS FALLS UPON A MODERN HEATHEN WORLD. 

PURGED of all the ill-humors of her mind, Mrs. Swiggs finds herself, on the morning following the excellent little gathering at SisterScudder's, restored to the happiest of tempers. The flatteryadministered by Brother Spyke, and so charmingly sprinkled with hispious designs on the heathen world, has had the desired effect. Thissort of drug has, indeed, a wonderful efficacy in setting disorderedconstitutions to rights. It would not become us to question theinnocence, or the right to indulge in such correctives; it is enoughthat our venerable friend finds herself in a happy vein, and isresolved to spend the day for the benefit of that heathen world, thedarkness of which Brother Spyke pictured in colors so terrible. 

Breakfast is scarcely over when Sister Slocum, in great agitation, comes bustling into the parlor, offers the most acceptable apologiesfor her absence, and pours forth such a vast profusion of solicitudefor Mrs. Swiggs' welfare, that that lady is scarce able to withstandthe kindness. She recounts the numerous duties that absorb herattention, the missions she has on hand, the means she uses to keepup an interest in them, the amount of funds necessary to theirmaintenance. A large portion of these funds she raises with her ownenergy. She will drag up the heathen world; she will drag downSatan. Furnishing Mrs. Swiggs with the address of the House of theForeign Missions, in Centre street, she excuses herself. Howsuperlatively happy she would be to accompany Mrs. Swiggs. A reportto present to the committee on finance, she regrets, will preventthis. However, she will join her precisely at twelve o'clock, at theHouse. She must receive the congratulations of the Board. She musthave a reception that will show how much the North respects herco-laborers of the South. And with this, Sister Slocum takes leaveof her guest, assuring her that all she has to do is to get into thecars in the Bowery. They will set her down at the door. 

Ten o'clock finds our indomitable lady, having preferred the lessexpensive mode of walking, entering a strange world. Saunteringalong the Bowery she turns down Bayard street. Bayard street shefinds lined with filthy looking houses, swarming with sickly, ragged, and besotted poor; the street is knee-deep with corruptingmire; carts are tilted here and there at intervals; the very airseems hurling its pestilence into your blood. Ghastly-eyed andsquallid children, like ants in quest of food, creep and swarm overthe pavement, begging for bread or uttering profane oaths at oneanother. Mothers who never heard the Word of God, nor can beexpected to teach it to their children, protrude their vicious facesfrom out reeking gin shops, and with bare breasts and uncombed hair, sweep wildly along the muddy pavement, disappear into somecavern-like cellar, and seek on some filthy straw a resting placefor their wasting bodies. A whiskey-drinking Corporation might feastits peculative eyes upon hogs wallowing in mud; and cellars whereswarming beggars, for six cents a night, cover with rags theirhideous heads--where vice and crime are fostered, and into whichyour sensitive policeman prefers not to go, are giving out theirseething miasma. The very neighborhood seems vegetating in mire. Inthe streets, in the cellars, in the filthy lanes, in the dwellingsof the honest poor, as well as the vicious, muck and mire is thepredominating order. The besotted remnants of depraved men, coveredwith rags and bedaubed with mire, sit, half sleeping in disease andhunger on decayed door-stoops. Men with bruised faces, men withbleared eyes; men in whose every feature crime and dissipation isstamped, now drag their waning bodies from out filthy alleys, as ifto gasp some breath of air, then drag themselves back, as if to diein a desolate hiding-place. Engines of pestilence and death thecorporation might see and remove, if it would, are left here tofester--to serve a church-yard as gluttonous as its own belly. Thecorporation keeps its eyes in its belly, its little sense in its bigboots, and its dull action in the whiskey-jug. Like Mrs. Swiggs, itcannot afford to do anything for this heathen world in the heart ofhome. No, sir! The corporation has the most delicate sense of itsduties. It is well paid to nurture the nucleus of a pestilence thatmay some day break out and sweep over the city like an avengingenemy. It thanks kind Providence, eating oysters and makingPresidents the while, for averting the dire scourge it encourageswith its apathy. Like our humane and very fashionable preachers, itcontents itself with looking into the Points from Broadway. Whatmore would you ask of it?

Mrs. Swiggs is seized with fear and trembling. Surely she is in aworld of darkness. Can it be that so graphically described byBrother Syngleton Spyke? she questions within herself. It might, indeed, put Antioch to shame: but the benighted denizens with whichit swarms speak her own tongue. "It is a deal worse in Orangestreet. "

"Now called Baxter street Marm-a deal, I assure you!" speaks a low, muttering voice. Lady Swiggs is startled. She only paused a momentto view this sea of vice and wretchedness she finds herselfsurrounded with. Turning quickly round she sees before her a man, orwhat there is left of a man. His tattered garments, his lean, shrunken figure, his glassy eyes, and pale, haggard face, cause herto shrink back in fright. He bows, touches his shattered hat, andsays, "Be not afraid, good Madam. May I ask if you have not mistakenyour way?" Mrs. Swiggs looks querulously through her spectacles andsays, "Do tell me where I am?" "In the Points, good Madam. You seemconfused, and I don't wonder. It's a dreadful place. I know it, madam, to my sorrow. " There is a certain politeness in the manner ofthis man-an absence of rudeness she is surprised to find in one sodejected. The red, distended nose, the wild expression of hiscountenance, his jagged hair, hanging in tufts over his ragged coatcollar, give him a repulsiveness not easily described. In answer toan inquiry he says, "They call me, Madam, and I'm contented with thename, --they call me Tom Toddleworth, the Chronicle. I am welldown-not in years, but sorrow. Being sick of the world I came here, have lived, or rather drifted about, in this sea of hopeless misery, homeless and at times foodless, for ten years or more. Oh! I haveseen better days, Madam. You are a stranger here. May God alwayskeep you a stranger to the sufferings of those who dwell with us. Inever expect to be anything again, owe nothing to the world, andnever go into Broadway. "

"Never go into Broadway, " repeats Mrs. Swiggs, her fingers wanderingto her spectacles. Turning into Orange street, Mr. Toddleworthtenders his services in piloting Mrs. Swiggs into Centre street, which, as he adds, will place her beyond harm. As they advance thescene becomes darker and darker. Orange street seems that centrefrom which radiates the avenues of every vice known to a great city. One might fancy the world's outcasts hurled by some mysterious handinto this pool of crime and misery, and left to feast their wantonappetites and die. "And you have no home, my man?" says Mrs. Swiggs, mechanically. "As to that, Madam, " returns the man, with a bow, "Ican't exactly say I have no home. I kind of preside over and amlooked up to by these people. One says, 'come spend a night with me, Mr. Toddleworth;' another says, 'come spend a night with me, Mr. TomToddleworth. ' I am a sort of respectable man with them, have a placeto lay down free, in any of their houses. They all esteem me, andsay, come spend a night with me, Mr. Toddleworth. It's very kind ofthem. And whenever they get a drop of gin I'm sure of a taste. Surmising what I was once, they look up to me, you see. This givesme heart. " And as he says this he smiles, and draws about him theragged remnants of his coat, as if touched by shame. Arrived at thecorner of Orange street, Mr. Toddleworth pauses and begs his chargeto survey the prospect. Look whither she will nothing but a scene ofdesolation-a Babylon of hideous, wasting forms, mucky streets, andreeking dens, meet her eye. The Jews have arranged themselves on oneside of Orange street, to speculate on the wasted harlotry of theother. "Look you, Madam!" says Mr. Toddleworth, leaning on his stickand pointing towards Chatham street. "A desert, truly, " replies theaugust old lady, nervously twitching her head. She sees to the right("it is wantonness warring upon misery, " says Mr. Toddleworth) along line of irregular, wooden buildings, black and besmeared withmud. Little houses with decrepid door-steps; little houses withdecayed platforms in front; little dens that seem crammed withrubbish; little houses with black-eyed, curly-haired, andcrooked-nosed children looking shyly about the doors; little houseswith lusty and lecherous-eyed Jewesses sitting saucily in the opendoor; little houses with open doors, broken windows, and shatteredshutters, where the devil's elixir is being served to ragged andbesotted denizens; little houses into which women with blotchedfaces slip suspiciously, deposit their almost worthless rags, andpass out to seek the gin-shop; little houses with eagle-faced menpeering curiously out at broken windows, or beckoning some wayfarerto enter and buy from their door; little houses piled inside withthe cast-off garments of the poor and dissolute, and hung outsidewith smashed bonnets, old gowns, tattered shawls; flaunting-red, blue, and yellow, in the wind, emblematic of those poor wretches, onthe opposite side, who have pledged here their last offerings, andblazed down into that stage of human degradation, which finds thenext step the grave-all range along, forming a picturesque but sadpanorama. Mr. Moses, the man of the eagle face, who keeps the recordof death, as the neighbors call it, sits opulently in his door, andsmokes his cigar; while his sharp-eyed daughters estimate exactlyhow much it is safe to advance on the last rag some lean wretchwould pledge. He will tell you just how long that brawny harlot, passing on the opposite side, will last, and what the few rags onher back will be worth when she is "shoved into Potters' Field. " Atthe sign of the "Three Martyrs" Mr. Levy is seen, in his fashionablecoat, and a massive chain falling over his tight waistcoat, registering the names of his grotesque customers, ticketing theirlittle packages, and advancing each a shilling or two, which theywill soon spend at the opposite druggery. Thus bravely wages thewar. London has nothing so besotted, Paris nothing so vicious, Naples nothing so dark and despairing, as this heathen world we passby so heedlessly. Beside it even the purlieus of Rome sink intoinsignificance. Now run your eye along the East side of Orangestreet. A sidewalk sinking in mire; a long line of one-story woodenshanties, ready to cave-in with decay; dismal looking groceries, inwhich the god, gin, is sending his victims by hundreds to the greedygrave-yard; suspicious looking dens with dingy fronts, open doors, and windows stuffed with filthy rags-in which crimes are nightlyperpetrated, and where broken-hearted victims of seduction andneglect, seeking here a last refuge, are held in a slavery delicacyforbids our describing; dens where negro dancers nightly revel, andmake the very air re-echo their profaning voices; filthy lanesleading to haunts up alleys and in narrow passages, where thievesand burglars hide their vicious heads; mysterious looking stepsleading to cavern-like cellars, where swarm and lay prostratewretched beings made drunk by the "devil's elixir"--all these besetthe East side of Orange street. Wasted nature, blanched anddespairing, ferments here into one terrible pool. Women ingaudy-colored dresses, their bared breasts and brawny armscontrasting curiously with their wicked faces, hang lasciviouslyover "half-doors, " taunt the dreamy policeman on his round, andbeckon the unwary stranger into their dens. Piles of filth one mightimagine had been thrown up by the devil or the street commissionersand in which you might bury a dozen fat aldermen without missingone; little shops where unwholesome food is sold; corner shops whereidlers of every color, and sharpers of all grades, sit dreaming outthe day over their gin-are here to be found. Young Ireland would, indeed, seem to have made this the citadel from which to vomit hisvice over the city. 

"They're perfectly wild, Madam-these children are, " says Mr. Toddleworth, in reply to a question Mrs. Swiggs put respecting theimmense number of ragged and profaning urchins that swarm thestreets. "They never heard of the Bible, nor God, nor that sort ofthing. How could they hear of it? No one ever comes in here-that is, they come in now and then, and throw a bit of a tract in here andthere, and are glad to get out with a whole coat. The tracts are allGreek to the dwellers here. Besides that, you see, something must bedone for the belly, before you can patch up the head. I say thiswith a fruitful experience. A good, kind little man, who seemsearnest in the welfare of these wild little children that you seerunning about here-not the half of them know their parents-looks innow and then, acts as if he wasn't afraid of us, (that is a gooddeal, Madam, ) and the boys are beginning to take to him. But, withnothing but his kind heart and earnest resolution, he'll find arugged mountain to move. If he move it, he will deserve a monumentof fairest marble erected to his memory, and letters of gold toemblazon his deeds thereon. He seems to understand the key to someof their affections. It's no use mending the sails without makingsafe the hull. "

"At this moment Mrs. Swiggs' attention is attracted by a crowd ofragged urchins and grotesque-looking men, gathered about a heap offilth at that corner of Orange street that opens into the Points. 

"They are disinterring his Honor, the Mayor, " says Mr. Toddleworth. "Do this sort of thing every day, Madam; they mean no harm, yousee. "

Mrs. Swiggs, curious to witness the process of disinterring sodistinguished a person, forgets entirely her appointment at theHouse of the Foreign Missions, crowds her way into the filthythrong, and watches with intense anxiety a vacant-looking idiot, whohas seen some sixteen sumers, lean and half clad, and who has dugwith his staff a hole deep in the mud, which he is busy piling up atthe edges. 

"Deeper, deeper!" cries out a dozen voices, of as many mischievousurchins, who are gathered round in a ring, making him the victim oftheir sport. Having cast his glassy eyes upward, and scannedvacantly his audience, he sets to work again, and continues throwingout dead cats by the dozen, all of which he exults over, and pausesnow and then for the approbation of the bystanders, who declare theybear no resemblance to his Honor, or any one of the Board ofAldermen. One chubby urchin, with a bundle of Tribunes under hisarm, looks mischievously into the pit, and says, "His 'Onor 'illwant the Tribune. " Another, of a more taciturn disposition, shrugshis shoulders, gives his cap a pull over his eyes, and says, spicinghis declaration with an oath, "He'll buy two Heralds!--he will. " Thetaciturn urchin draws them from his bundle with an air ofindependence, flaunts them in the face of his rival, and exults overtheir merits. A splashing of mud, followed by a deafening shout, announces that the persevering idiot has come upon the object heseeks. One proclaims to his motley neighbors that the wholecorporation is come to light; another swears it is only his Honorand a dead Alderman. A third, more astute than the rest, says it isonly the head and body of the Corporation-a dead pig and a decayingpumpkin! Shout after shout goes up as the idiot, exultingly, dragsout the prostrate pig, following it with the pumpkin. Mr. Toddleworth beckons Lady Swiggs away. The wicked-faced harlots aregathering about her in scores. One has just been seen fingering herdress, and hurrying away, disappearing suspiciously into an Alley. 

"You see, Madam, " says Mr. Toddleworth, as they gain the vicinity ofCow Bay, "it is currently reported, and believed by the dwellershere, that our Corporation ate itself out of the world not longsince; and seeing how much they suffer by the loss of such--to have adead Corporation in a great city, is an evil, I assure you--aninstitution, they adopt this method of finding it. It affords themno little amusement. These swarming urchins will have the filthythings laid out in state, holding with due ceremony an inquest overthem, and mischievously proposing to the first policeman who chancesalong, that he officiate as coroner. Lady Swiggs has not a doubtthat light might be valuably reflected over this heathen world. Likemany other very excellent ladies, however, she has no candles for aheathen world outside of Antioch. "

Mr. Toddleworth escorts her safely into Centre street, and directsher to the House of the Foreign Missions. 

"Thank you! thank you!--may God never let you want a shilling, " hesays, bowing and touching his hat as Mrs. Swiggs puts four shillingsinto his left hand. 

"One shilling, Madam, " he pursues, with a smile, "will get me a newcollar. A clean collar now and then, it must be said, gives a body alook of respectability. "

Mr. Toddleworth has a passion for new collars, regards them as ameans of sustaining his respectability. Indeed, he considers himselfin full dress with one mounted, no matter how ragged the rest of hiswardrobe. And when he walks out of a morning, thus conditioned, hisfriends greet him with: "Hi! ho!--Mister Toddleworth is uppish thismorning. " He has bid his charge good morning, and hurries back tohis wonted haunts. There is a mysterious and melancholy interest inthis man's history, which many have attempted but failed to fathom. He was once heard to say his name was not Toddleworth-that he hadsunk his right name in his sorrows. He was sentimental at times, always used good language, and spoke like one who had seen betterdays and enjoyed a superior education. He wanted, he would say, whenin one of his melancholy moods, to forget the world, and have theworld forget him. Thus he shut himself up in the Points, and onlyonce or twice had he been seen in the Bowery, and never in Broadwayduring his sojourn among the denizens who swarm that vortex ofdeath. How he managed to obtain funds, for he was never without ashilling, was equally involved in mystery. He had no very badhabits, seemed inoffensive to all he approached, spoke familiarly onpast events, and national affairs, and discovered a generalknowledge of the history of the world. And while he was always readyto share his shilling with his more destitute associates, he evermaintained a degree of politeness and civility toward those he wascast among not common to the place. He was ready to serve every one, would seek out the sick and watch over them with a kindness almostpaternal, discovering a singular familiarity with the duties of aphysician. He had, however, an inveterate hatred of fashionablewives; and whenever the subject was brought up, which it frequentlywas by the denizens of the Points, he would walk away, with a sigh. "Fashionable wives, " he would mutter, his eyes filling with tears, "are never constant. Ah! they have deluged the world with sorrow, and sent me here to seek a hiding place. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN WHICH THE VERY BEST INTENTIONS ARE SEEN TO FAIL. 

THE city clock strikes one as Mrs. Swiggs, nervous and weary, entersthe House of the Foreign Missions. Into a comfortably-furnished roomon the right, she is ushered by a man meekly dressed, and whosecountenance wears an expression of melancholy. Maps and drawings ofPalestine, Hindostan, and sundry other fields of missionary labor, hang here and there upon the walls. These are alternated withnicely-framed engravings and lithographs of Mission establishmentsin the East, all located in some pretty grove, and invested with awarmth and cheerfulness that cannot fail to make a few years'residence in them rather desirable than otherwise. These in turn arerelieved with portraits of distinguished missionaries. Earnest-facedbusts, in plaster, stand prominently about the room, periodicals andpapers are piled on little shelves, and bright bookcases are filledwith reports and various documents concerning the society, all boundso exactly. The good-natured man of the kind face sits in refreshingease behind a little desk; the wise-looking lean man, in thespectacles, is just in front of him, buried in ponderous folios ofreports. In the centre of the room stands a highly-polished mahoganytable, at which Brother Spyke is seated, his elbow rested, and hishead leaning thoughtfully in his hand. The rotund figure andenergetic face of Sister Slocum is seen, whisking aboutconspicuously among a bevy of sleek but rather lean gentlemen, studious of countenance, and in modest cloth. For each she hassomething cheerful to impart; each in his turn has some complimentto bestow upon her. Several nicely-dressed, but rather meek-lookingladies, two or three accompanied by their knitting work, havearranged themselves on a settee in front of the wise man in thespectacles. 

Scarcely has the representative of our chivalry entered the roomwhen Sister Slocum, with all the ardor of a lover of seventeen, runsto her with open arms, embraces her, and kisses her with anaffection truly grateful. Choking to relate her curious adventure, she is suddenly heaped with adulations, told how the time of hercoming was looked to, as an event of no common occurrence-howBrothers Sharp, Spyke, and Phills, expressed apprehensions for hersafety this morning, each in turn offering in the kindest manner toget a carriage and go in pursuit. The good-natured fat man gets downfrom his high seat, and receives her with pious congratulations; theman in the spectacles looks askant, and advances with extended hand. To use a convenient phrase, she is received with open arms; and someek and good is the aspect, that she finds her thoughts transportedto an higher, a region where only is bliss. Provided with a seat ina conspicuous place, she is told to consider herself the guest ofthe society. Sundry ovations, Sister Slocum gives her to understand, will be made in her honor, ere long. The fact must here be disclosedthat Sister Slocum had prepared the minds of those present for thereception of an embodiment of perfect generosity. 

No sooner has Lady Swiggs time to breathe freely, than she changesthe wondrous kind aspect of the assembly, and sends it into aparoxysm of fright, by relating her curious adventure among thedenizens of the Points. Brother Spyke nearly makes up his mind tofaint; the good-natured fat man turns pale; the wise man in thespectacles is seen to tremble; the neatly-attired females, sopious-demeanored, express their horror of such a place; and SisterSlocum stands aghast. "Oh! dear, Sister Swiggs, " she says, "yourescape from such a vile place is truly marvellous! Thank God you arewith us once more. " The good-natured fat man says, "A horribleworld, truly!" and sighs. Brother Spyke shrugs his shoulders, adding, "No respectable person here ever thinks of going into such aplace; the people there are so corrupt. " Brother Sharp says heshudders at the very thought of such a place. He has heard much saidof the dark deeds nightly committed in it-of the stubborn vilenessof the dwellers therein. God knows he never wants to descend intoit. "Truly, " Brother Phills interposes, "I walked through it once, and beheld with mine eyes such sights, such human deformity! O, God!Since then, I am content to go to my home through Broadway. I neverforget to shudder when I look into the vile place from a distance, nevertheless. " Brother Phills says this after the manner of aphilosopher, fretting his fingers, and contorting his comely facethe while. Sister Slocum, having recovered somewhat from the shock(the shock had no permanent effect on any of them), hopes SisterSwiggs did not lend an ear to their false pleadings, nor distributecharity among the vile wretches. "Such would be like scatteringchaff to the winds, " a dozen voices chime in. "Indeed!" Lady Swiggsejaculates, giving her head a toss, in token of her satisfaction, "not a shilling, except to the miserable wretch who showed me theway out. And he seemed harmless enough. I never met a moremelancholy object, never!" Brother Spyke raises his eyesimploringly, and says he harbors no ill-will against these vilepeople, but melancholy is an art with them-they make it a study. They affect it while picking one's pocket. 

The body now resolves itself into working order. Brother Spykeoffers up a prayer. He thanks kind Providence for the happy escapeof Sister Swiggs-this generous woman whose kindness of heart hasbrought her here-from among the hardened wretches who inhabit thatslough of despair, so terrible in all its aspects, and sodisgraceful to a great and prosperous city. He thanks Him whoblessed him with the light of learning-who endowed him with vigorand resolution-and told him to go forth in armor, beating downSatan, and raising up the heathen world. A mustering of spectaclesfollows. Sister Slocum draws from her bosom a copy of the report thewise man in the spectacles rises to read. A fashionable gold chainand gold-framed eye-glass is called to her aid; and with a massivepencil of gold, she dots and points certain items of dollars andcents her keen eye rests upon every now and then. 

The wise man in the spectacles rises, having exchanged glances withSister Slocum, and commences reading a very long, and in nowise leanreport. The anxious gentlemen draw up their chairs, and turnattentive ears. For nearly an hour, he buzzes and bores the contentsof this report into their ears, takes sundry sips of water, andinforms those present, and the world in general, that nearly fortythousand dollars have recently been consumed for missionary labor. The school at Corsica, the missions at Canton, Ningpo, Pu-kong, Cassaba, Abheokuta, and sundry other places, the names of whichcould not, by any possibility, aid the reader in discovering theirlocation-all, were doing as well as could be expected, under thecircumstances. After many years labor, and a considerableexpenditure of money, they were encouraged to go forward, inasmuchas the children of the school at Corsica were beginning to learn toread. At Casaba, Droneyo, the native scholar, had, after many years'teaching, been made conscious of the sin of idol-worship, and hadgiven his solemn promise to relinquish it as soon as he couldpropitiate two favorite gods bequeathed to him by his great uncle. The furnace of "Satanic cruelty" had been broken down at Dahomey. Brother Smash had, after several years' labor, and muchexpense-after having broken down his health, and the health of manyothers-penetrated the dark regions of Arabia, and there found thevery seat of Satanic power. It was firmly pegged to Paganism andMahomedan darkness! This news the world was expected to hail withconsternation. Not one word is lisped about that terrible devilholding his court of beggary and crime in the Points. He had all hisfurnaces in full blast there; his victims were legion! No BrotherSpyke is found to venture in and drag him down. The region of theSeven Churches offers inducements more congenial. Round about themall is shady groves, gentle breezes, and rural habitations; in thePoints the very air is thick with pestilence!

A pause follows the reading. The wise man in the spectacles-hisvoice soft and persuasive, and his aspect meekness itself-would liketo know if any one present be inclined to offer a remark. Generalsatisfaction prevails. Brother Sharp moves, and Brother Phillsseconds, that the report be accepted. The report is accepted withouta dissenting voice. A second paper is handed him by Sister Slocum, whose countenance is seen to flash bright with smiles. Then therefollows the proclaiming of the fact of funds, to the amount of threethousand six hundred dollars, having been subscribed, and now readyto be appropriated to getting Brother Syngleton Spyke off toAntioch. A din of satisfaction follows; every face is radiant withjoy. Sister Swiggs twitches her head, begins to finger her pocket, and finally readjusts her spectacles. Having worked her countenanceinto a good staring condition, she sets her eyes fixedly uponBrother Spyke, who rises, saying he has a few words to offer. 

The object of his mission to Antioch, so important at this moment, he would not have misunderstood. Turks, Greeks, Jews, Arabs, Armenians, and Kurds, and Yesedees-yes, brethren, Yesedees! inhabitthis part of Assyria, which opens up an extensive field ofmissionary labor, even yet. Much had been done by the ancient Greeksfor the people who roamed in these Eastern wilds-much remained forus to do; for it was yet a dark spot on the missionary map. Thousands of these poor souls were without the saving knowledge ofthe Gospel. He could not shrink from a duty so demanding-wringinghis very heart with its pleadings! Giving the light of the Gospel tothese vicious Arabs and Kurds was the end and aim of his mission. (Amotion of satisfaction was here perceptible. ) And while there, hewould teach the Jews a just sense of their Lord's design-which wasthe subjugation of the heathen world. Inward light was very good, old prophecies were very grand; but Judaism was made of stubbornmetal, had no missionary element in it, and could only be forced toaccept light through strong and energetic movement. He had read withthrobbing heart how Rome, while in her greatness, protected thoseChristian pilgrims who went forth into the East, to do battle withthe enemy. Would not America imitate Rome, that mighty mother ofRepublics? A deeper responsibility rested on her at this moment. Rome, then, was semi-barbarous; America, now, was Christianized andcivilized. Hence she would be held more accountable for thedissemination of light. 

In those days the wandering Christian Jews undertook to instruct thepolished Greeks-why could not Americans at this day inculcate thedoctrines of Jesus to these educated heathen? It was a bold anddaring experiment, but he was willing to try it. The All-wise workedhis wonders in a mysterious way. In this irrelevant and somewhatmystical style, Brother Spyke continues nearly an hour, sending hisaudience into a highly-edified state. We have said mystical, for, indeed, none but those in the secret could have divined, fromBrother Spyke's logic, what was the precise nature of his mission. His speech was very like a country parson's model sermon; one textwas selected, and a dozen or more (all different) preached from;while fifty things were said no one could understand. 

Brother Spyke sits down-Sister Slocum rises. "Our dear and verygenerous guest now present, " she says, addressing the good-naturedfat man in the chair, as Lady Swiggs bows, "moved by the goodnessthat is in her, and conscious of the terrible condition of theheathen world, has come nobly to our aid. Like a true Christian shehas crossed the sea, and is here. Not only is she here, but ready togive her mite toward getting Brother Spyke off to Antioch. Anotherdonation she proposes giving the 'Tract Society, ' an excellentinstitution, in high favor at the South. Indeed I may add, that itnever has offended against its social--"

Sister Slocum hesitates. Social slavery will not sound just right, she says to her herself. She must have a term more musical, and lessgrating to the ear. A smile flashes across her countenance, hergold-framed eye-glasses vibrate in her fingers: "Well! I was goingto say, their social arrangements, " she pursues. 

The assembly is suddenly thrown into a fit of excitement. LadySwiggs is seen trembling from head to foot, her yellow complexionchanging to pale white, her features contorting as with pain, andher hand clutching at her pocket. "O heavens!" she sighs, "all isgone, gone, gone: how vain and uncertain are the things here below. "She drops, fainting, into the arms of Sister Slocum, who has oversetthe wise man in the spectacles, in her haste to catch the prostrateform. On a bench the august body is laid. Fans, water, camphor, hartshorn, and numerous other restoratives are brought into use. Persons get in each other's way, run every way but the right way, causing, as is common in such cases, very unnecessary alarm. Thestately representative of the great Swiggs family lies motionless. Like the last of our chivalry, she has nothing left her but a name. 

A dash or two of cold water, and the application of a littlehartshorn, and that sympathy so necessary to the fainting ofdistinguished people-proves all-efficient. A slight heaving of thebosom is detected, the hands-they have been well chaffed-quiver andmove slowly, her face resumes its color. She opens her eyes, laysher hand solicitously on Sister Slocum's arm: "It must be the willof Heaven, " she lisps, motioning her head, regretfully; "it cannotnow be undone--"

"Sister! sister! sister!" interrupts Sister Slocum, grasping herhand, and looking inquiringly in the face of the recovering woman, "is it an affection of the heart?-where is the pain?-what hasbefallen you? We are all so sorry!"

"It was there, there, there! But it is gone now. " Regaining herconsciousness, she lays her hand nervously upon her pocket, andpursues: "Oh! yes, sister, it was there when I entered that vileplace, as you call it. What am I to do? The loss of the money doesnot so much trouble my mind. Oh! dear, no. It is the thought ofgoing home deprived of the means of aiding these nobleinstitutions. "

Had Lady Swiggs inquired into the character of the purchaser of oldDolly she might now have become conscious of the fact, that whatevercomes of evil seldom does good. The money she had so struggled toget together to aid her in maintaining her hypocrisy, was the resultof crime. Perhaps it were better the wretch purloined it, than thatthe fair name of a noble institution be stained with its acceptance. Atonement is too often sought to be purchased with the gold got ofinfamy. 

The cause of this fainting being traced to Lady Swiggs' pocket bookinstead of her heart, the whole scene changes, Sister Slocum becomesas one dumb, the good fat man is seized with a nervous fit, the manin the spectacles hangs his head, and runs his fingers through hiscrispy hair, as Brother Spyke elongates his lean body, and is seengoing into a melancholy mood, the others gathering round withserious faces. Lady Swiggs commences describing with greatminuteness the appearance of Mr. Tom Toddleworth. That he is theperson who carried off the money, every one is certain. "He is theman!" responds a dozen voices. And as many more volunteer to go insearch of Mr. Detective Fitzgerald. Brother Spyke pricks up hiscourage, and proceeds to initiate his missionary labors byconsulting Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, with whom he starts off inpursuit of Mr. Tom Toddleworth. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

MR. SNIVEL ADVISES GEORGE MULLHOLLAND HOW TO MAKE STRONG LOVE. 

LET us leave for a time the pursuit with which we concluded theforegoing chapter, and return to Charleston. It is the still hour ofmidnight. There has been a ball at the fashionable house of theFlamingo, which still retains its name. In the great parlour we havebefore described, standing here and there upon massive tables withEgyptian marble-tops, are half-empty bottles of wine, decanters, tumblers, and viands of various descriptions. Bits of artificialflowers are strewn about the carpet, a shawl is seen thrown over onechair, a mantle over another; the light is half shut off-everythingbears evidence of the gaieties of luxurious life, the sumptuousrevel and the debauch. The gilded mirrors reflect but two faces, both hectic and moody of dissipation. George Mullholland and Mr. Snivel face each other, at a pier-table. Before them are severalhalf filled bottles, from one of which Mr. Snivel fills George'sglass. 

"There is something in this champaign (one only gets rubbish inthese houses) that compounds and elevates one's ideas, " says Mr. Snivel, holding his glass in the light, and squinting hisblood-shotten eyes, the lids of which he has scarce power to keepopen. "Drink, George-drink! You have had your day-why let suchnonsense trouble you? The whole city is in love with the girl. Herbeauty makes her capricious; if the old Judge has got her, let himkeep her. Indeed, I'm not so sure that she doesn't love him, and(well, I always laugh when I think of it), it is a well laid downprinciple among us lawyers, that no law stands good against love. "Mr. Snivel's leaden eyelids close, and his head drops upon hisbosom. "She never can love him-never! His wealth, and some falsetale, has beguiled her. He is a hoary-headed lecher, with wealth andposition to aid him in his hellish pursuits; I am poor, and anoutcast! He has flattered me and showered his favors upon me, onlyto affect my ruin. I will have--"

"Pshaw! George, " interrupts Mr. Snivel, brightening up, "be aphilosopher. Chivalry, you know-chivalry! A dashing fellow like youshould doff the kid to a knight of his metal: challenge him. " Mr. Snivel reaches over the table and pats his opponent on the arm. "These women, George! Funny things, eh? Make any kind of love-have asample for every sort of gallant, and can make the quantity to suitthe purchaser. 'Pon my soul this is my opinion. I'm a lawyer, knowpretty well how the sex lay their points. As for these unfortunatedevils, as we of the profession call them (he pauses and empties hisglass, saying, not bad for a house of this kind), there are so manyshades of them, life is such a struggle with them; they dream ofbroken hopes, and they die sighing to think how good a thing isvirtue. You only love this girl because she is beautiful, andbeautiful women, at best, are the most capricious things in theworld. D-n it, you have gone through enough of this kind of life tobe accustomed to it. We think nothing of these things, inCharleston-bless you, nothing! Keep the Judge your friend-hisposition may give him a means to serve you. A man of the world oughtat all times to have the private friendship of as many judges as hecan. "

"Never! poor as I am-outcast as I feel myself! I want no suchfriendship. Society may shun me, the community may fear me, necessity may crush me-yea! you may regard me as a villain if youwill, but, were I a judge, I would scorn to use my office to servebase ends. " As he says this he draws a pistol from his pocket, andthrowing it defiantly upon the table, continues as his lip curlswith scorn, "poor men's lives are cheap in Charleston-let us seewhat rich men's are worth!"

"His age, George!--you should respect that!" says Mr. Snivel, laconically. 

"His age ought to be my protection. "

"Ah!--you forget that the follies of our nature too often go with usto the grave. "

"And am I to suffer because public opinion honors him, and gives himpower to disgrace me? Can he rob me of the one I love-of the one inwhose welfare my whole soul is staked, and do it with impunity?"

"D--d inconvenient, I know, George. Sympathize with you, I do. But, you see, we are governed here by the laws of chivalry. Don't letyour (I am a piece of a philosopher, you see) temper get up, keep ona stiff upper lip. You may catch him napping. I respect yourfeelings, my dear fellow; ready to do you a bit of a good turn-youunderstand! Now let me tell you, my boy, he has made her hisadopted, and to-morrow she moves with him to his quiet little villanear the Magnolia. "

"I am a poor, forlorn wretch, " interrupts George, with a sigh. "Those of whom I had a right to expect good counsel, and a helpinghand, have been first to encourage me in the ways of evil--"

"Get money, Mullholland-get money. It takes money to make lovestrong. Say what you will, a woman's heart is sure to be sound onthe gold question. Mark ye, Mullholland!--there is an easy way to getmoney. Do you take? (His fingers wander over his forehead, as hewatches intently in George's face. ) You can make names? Such thingsare done by men in higher walks, you know. Quite a common affair inthese parts. The Judge has carried off your property; make a fairexchange-you can use his name, get money with it, and make it holdfast the woman you love. There are three things, George, you may setdown as facts that will be of service to you through life, and theyare these: when a man eternally rings in your ears the immoralitiesof the age, watch him closely; when a man makes what he has done forothers a boast, set him down a knave; and when a woman dwells uponthe excellent qualities of her many admirers, set her down aswanting. But, get money, and when you have got it, charm back thisbeautiful creature. "

Such is the advice of Mr. Soloman Snivel, the paid intriguer of thevenerable Judge. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A SLIGHT CHANGE IN THE PICTURE. 

THE two lone revellers remain at the pier-table; moody and hectic. Mr. Snivel drops into a sound sleep, his head resting on the marble. Weak-minded, jealous, contentious-with all the attendants natural toone who leads an unsettled life, sits George Mullholland, his elbowresting on the table, and his head poised thoughtfully in his hand. "I will have revenge-sweet revenge; yes, I will have revengeto-night!" he mutters, and sets his teeth firmly. 

In Anna's chamber all is hushed into stillness. The silverymoonbeams play softly through the half-closed windows, lighting upand giving an air of enchantment to the scene. Curtains hang, mist-like, from massive cornices in gilt. Satin drapery, mysteriously underlaid with lace, and floating in bewitchingchasteness over a fairy-like bed, makes more voluptuous thatravishing form calmly sleeping-half revealed among the snowy sheets, and forming a picture before which fancy soars, passion unbendsitself, and sentiment is led away captive. With such exquisite formsstrange nature excites our love;--that love that like a little streammeanders capriciously through our feelings, refreshing life, purifying our thoughts, exciting our ambition, and modulating ouractions. That love, too, like a quick-sand, too often proves adestroyer to the weak-minded. 

Costly chairs, of various styles, carved in black walnut, standaround the chamber: lounges covered with chastely-designed tapestryare seen half concealed by the gorgeous window curtains. The footfalls upon a soft, Turkey carpet; the ceiling-in French white, andgilt mouldings-is set off with two Cupids in a circle, frescoed by askilled hand. On a lounge, concealed in an alcove masked by curtainspending from the hands of a fairy in bronze, and nearly oppositeAnna's bed, the old Judge sleeps in his judicial dignity. To-day hesentenced three rogues to the whipping-post, and two wretchednegroes-one for raising his hand to a white man-to the gallows. 

Calmly Anna continues to sleep, the lights in the girandolesshedding a mysterious paleness over the scene. To the eye that scansonly the exterior of life, how dazzling! Like a refulgent cloudswelling golden in the evening sky, how soon it passes away intodarkness and disappointment! Suddenly there appears, like a visionin the chamber, the stately figure of a female. Advancing slowly tothe bed-side, for a minute she stands contemplating the sleepingbeauty before her. A dark, languishing eye, an aquiline nose, beautifully-cut mouth, and a finely-oval face, is revealed by theshadow in which she stands. "How willingly, " she mutters, raisingthe jewelled fingers of her right hand to her lips, as her eyesbecome liquid with emotion, and her every action betokens one whosevery soul is goaded with remorse, "would I exchange all theseworldly pleasures for one single day in peace of mind. " She laysaside her mantle, and keeps her eyes fixed upon the object beforeher. A finely-rounded shoulder and exactly-developed bust is setoff with a light satin boddice or corsage, cut low, openingshawl-fashion at the breast, and relieved with a stomacher of fineBrussels lace. Down the edges are rows of small, unpolished pearls, running into points. A skirt of orange-colored brocade, trimmed withtulle, and surrounded with three flounces, falls, cloud-like, fromher girdle, which is set with cameos and unpolished pearls. With herleft hand she raises slightly her skirts, revealing the embroideredgimps of a white taffeta underskirt, flashing in the moonlight. Small, unpolished pearls ornament the bands of her short sleeves; onher fingers are rings, set with diamonds and costly emeralds; andher wrists are clasped with bracelets of diamonds, shedding a modestlustre over her marble-like arms. 

"Can this be my child? Has this crime that so like a demon hauntsme-that curses me even in my dreams, driven her, perhaps against herwill, to seek this life of shame?" She takes the sleeper's handgently in her own, as the tears gush down her cheeks. 

The sleeper startles, half raises herself from her pillow, parts herblack, silky hair, that lays upon her gently-swelling bosom, andthrows it carelessly down her shoulders, wildly setting her greatblack orbs on the strange figure before her. "Hush, hush!" says thespeaker, "I am a friend. One who seeks you for a good purpose. Giveme your confidence-do not betray me! I need not tell you by whatmeans I gained access to you. "

A glow of sadness flashes across Anna's countenance. With a look ofsuspicion she scans the mysterious figure from head to foot. "It isthe Judge's wife!" she says within herself. "Some one has betrayedme to her; and, as is too often the case, she seeks revenge of theless guilty party. " But the figure before her is in full dress, andone seeking revenge would have disguised herself. "Why, and who isit, that seeks me in this mysterious manner?" whispers Anna, holdingher delicate hand in the shadow, over her eyes. "I seek you in thehope of finding something to relieve my troubled spirit. I am amother who has wronged her child-I have no peace of mind-my heart islacerated--"

"Are you, then, my mother?" inerrupts Anna, with a look of scorn. 

"That I would answer if I could. You have occupied my thoughts dayand night. I have traced your history up to a certain period. ("WhatI know of my own, I would fain not contemplate, " interrupts Anna. )Beyond that, all is darkness. And yet there are circumstances thatgo far to prove you the child I seek. Last night I dreamed I saw agate leading to a dungeon, that into the dungeon I was impelledagainst my will. While there I was haunted with the figure of awoman of the name of Mag Munday-a maniac, and in chains! My heartbled at the sight, for she, I thought, was the woman in whose chargeI left the child I seek. I spoke-I asked her what had become of thechild! She pointed with her finger, told me to go seek you here, andvanished as I awoke. I spent the day in unrest, went to the ballto-night, but found no pleasure in its gay circle. Goaded in myconscience, I left the ball-room, and with the aid of a confidant amhere. "

"I recognize-yes, my lady, I recognize you! You think me yourabandoned child, and yet you are too much the slave of society toseek me as a mother ought to do. I am the supposed victim of yourcrime; you are the favored and flattered ornament of society. Ourlikenesses have been compared many times:-I am glad we have met. Go, woman, go! I would not, outcast as I am, deign to acknowledge themother who could enjoy the luxuries of life and see her child awretch. "

"Woman! do not upbraid me. Spare, oh! spare my troubled heart thislast pang, " (she grasps convulsively at Anna's hand, then shrinksback in fright. ) "Tell me! oh, tell me!" she pursues, the tearscoursing down her cheeks--

Anna Bonard interrupts by saying, peremptorily, she has nothing totell one so guilty. To be thus rebuked by an abandoned woman, notwithstanding she might be her own child, wounded her feelingsdeeply. It was like poison drying up her very blood. Tormented withthe thought of her error, (for she evidently labored under the smartof an error in early life, ) her very existence now seemed a burdento her. Gloomy and motionless she stood, as if hesitating how bestto make her escape. 

"Woman! I will not betray your coming here. But you cannot give meback my virtue; you cannot restore me untainted to the world-theworld never forgives a fallen woman. Her own sex will be first tolacerate her heart with her shame. " These words were spoken withsuch biting sarcasm, that the Judge, whose nap the loudness ofAnna's voice had disturbed, protruded his flushed face and snowylocks from out the curtains of the alcove. "The gay Madame Montford, as I am a Christian, " he exclaims in the eagerness of the moment, and the strange figure vanishes out of the door. 

"A fashionable, but very mysterious sort of person, " pursues theJudge, confusedly. "Ah! ha, --her case, like many others, is the wantof a clear conscience. Snivel has it in hand. A great knave, but acapital lawyer, that Snivel--"

The Judge is interrupted in his remarks by the entrance of Mr. Snivel, who, with hectic face, and flushed eyes, comes rushing intothe chamber. "Hollo!--old boy, there's a high bid on your headto-night. Ready to do you a bit of a good turn, you see. " Mr. Snivelruns his fingers through his hair, and works his shoulders with anair of exultation. "If, " he continues, "that weak-mindedfellow-that Mullholland we have shown some respect to, hasn't got apistol! He's been furbishing it up while in the parlor, and swearshe will seriously damage you with it. Blasted assurance, thoseNortherners have. Won't fight, can't make 'em gentlemen; and if youknock 'em down they don't understand enough of chivalry to resentit. They shout to satisfy their fear and not to maintain theirhonor. Keep an eye out!"

The Judge, in a tone of cool indifference, says he has no fears ofthe renegade, and will one of these days have the pleasure ofsending him to the whipping-post. 

"As to that, Judge, " interposes Mr. Snivel, "I have already preparedthe preliminaries. I gave him the trifle you desired-to-morrow Iwill nail him at the Keno crib. " With this the Judge and the Justiceeach take an affectionate leave of the frail girl, and, as it is nowpast one o'clock in the morning, an hour much profaned inCharleston, take their departure. 

Armed with a revolver Mullholland has taken up his position in thestreet, where he awaits the coming of his adversaries. In doubt andanxiety, he reflects and re-reflects, recurs to the associations ofhis past life, and hesitates. Such reflections only bring morevividly to his mind the wrong he feels himself the victim of, andhas no power to resent except with violence. His contemplations onlynerve him to revenge. 

A click, and the door cautiously opens, as if some votary of crimewas about to issue forth in quest of booty. The hostess' heedprotrudes suddenly from the door, she scans first up and then downthe street, then withdraws it. The Judge and Mr. Snivel, each inturn, shake the landlady by the hand, and emerge into the street. They have scarce stepped upon the sidepath when the report of apistol resounds through the air. The ball struck a lamp-post, glanced, passed through the collar of Judge Sleepyhorn's coat, andbrushed Mr. Snivel's fashionable whiskers. Madame Ashley, successorto Madame Flamingo, shrieks and alarms the house, which is suddenlythrown into a state of confusion. Acting upon the maxim ofdiscretion being the better part of valor, the Judge and the Justicebeat a hasty retreat into the house, and secrete themselves in acloset at the further end of the back-parlor. 

As if suddenly moved by some strange impulse, Madame Ashley runsfrom room to room, screaming at the very top of her voice, anddeclaring that she saw the assassin enter her house. Females rushfrom their rooms and into the great parlor, where they form groupsof living statuary, strange and grotesque. Anxious faces-faces halfpainted, faces hectic of dissipation, faces waning and sallow, eyesglassy and lascivious, dishevelled hair floating over nakedshoulders;--the flashing of bewitching drapery, the waving andflitting of embroidered underskirts, the tripping of pretty feet andprettier ankles, the gesticulating and swaying of half-drapedbodies-such is the scene occasioned by the bench and the bar. 

Madame Ashley, having inherited of Madame Flamingo the value of ascrupulous regard for the good reputation of her house, must needscall in the watch to eject the assassin, whom she swears isconcealed somewhere on the premises. Mr. Sergeant Stubbs, a muchrespected detective, and reputed one of the very best officers ofthe guard, inasmuch as he never troubles his head about otherpeople's business, and is quite content to let every one fight theirown battles, --provided they give him a "nip" of whiskey when they arethrough, lights his lantern and goes bobbing into every room in thehouse. We must here inform the reader that the cause of the emeutewas kept a profound secret between the judicial gentry. MadameAshley, at the same time, is fully convinced the ball was intendedfor her, while Anna lays in a terrible fright in her chamber. 

"Ho, " says Mr. Stubbs, starting back suddenly as he opened the doorof the closet in which the two gentlemen had concealed themselves. "I see! I see!--beg your pardon, gentlemen!" Mr. Stubbs whispers, andbows, and shuts the door quickly. 

"An infernal affair this, Judge! D-n me if I wouldn't as soon be inthe dock. It will all get out tomorrow, " interposes Mr. Snivel, facetiously. 

"Blast these improper associations!" the high functionary exclaims, fussily shrugging his shoulders, and wiping the sweat from hisforehead. "I love the girl, though, I confess it!"

"Nothing more natural. A man without gallantry is like a pilgrim inthe South-West Pass. You can't resist this charming creature. Intruth it's a sort of longing weakness, which even the scales ofjustice fail to bring to a balance. "

Mr. Stubbs fails to find the assassin, and enters Madame Ashley'schamber, the door of which leads into the hall. Here Mr. Stubbs'squick eye suddenly discerns a slight motion of the curtains thatenclose the great, square bed, standing in one corner. "I ax yourpardon, Mam, but may I look in this 'ere bed?" Mr. Stubbs points tothe bed, as Madame, having thrown herself into a great rockingchair, proceeds to sway her dignity backward and forward, and giveout signs of making up her mind to faint. 

Mr. Stubbs draws back the curtains, when, behold! but tell it not inthe by-ways, there is revealed the stalworth figure of SimonPatterson, the plantation parson. Our plantation parsons, be itknown, are a singular species of depraved humanity, a sort ofitinerant sermon-makers, holding forth here and there to the negroesof the rich planters, receiving a paltry pittance in return, andhaving in lieu of morals an excellent taste for whiskey, an articlethey invariably call to their aid when discoursing to the ignorantslave-telling him how content with his lot he ought to be, seeingthat God intended him only for ignorance and servitude. The parsondid, indeed, cut a sorry figure before the gaze of thisindescribable group, as it rushed into the room and commencedheaping upon his head epithets delicacy forbids our insertinghere-calling him a clerical old lecher, an assassin, and a disturberof the peace and respectability of the house. Indeed, Madame Ashleyquite forgot to faint, and with a display of courage amountingalmost to heroism, rushed at the poor parson, and had left him inthe state he was born but for the timely precautions of Mr. Stubbs, who, finding a revolver in his possession, and wanting no betterproof of his guilt, straightway took him off to the guardhouse. Parson Patterson would have entered the most solemn and piousprotestations of his innocence but the evidence was so strongagainst him, and the zeal of Mr. Sargeant Stubbs so apparent, thathe held it the better policy to quietly submit to the rough fare ofhis new lodgings. 

"I have a terror of these brawls!" says Mr. Snivel, emerging fromhis hiding-place, and entering the chamber, followed by the highlegal functionary. 

"A pretty how-do-ye-do, this is;" returns Madame Ashley, cooling herpassion in the rocking-chair, "I never had much respect forparsons--"

"Parsons?" interrupts Mr. Snivel, inquiringly, "you don't mean tosay it was all the doings of a parson?"

"As I'm a lady it was no one else. He was discovered behind thecurtain there, a terrible pistol in his pocket-the wretch!"

Mr. Snivel exchanges a wink with the Judge, points his thumb overhis left shoulder, and says, captiously: "I always had an implacablehatred of that old thief. A bad lot! these plantation parsons. "

Mr. Stubbs having discovered and removed the assassin, the terrifieddamsels return to their chambers, and Madame Ashley proceeds toclose her house, as the two legal gentlemen take their departure. Perhaps it would be well to inform the reader that a principal causeof Anna's preference for the Judge, so recently manifested, was thedeep impression made on her already suspicious mind by Mr. McArthur, the antiquary, who revealed to her sincerely, as she thought, herfuture dark destiny. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

IN WHICH A HIGH FUNCTIONARY IS MADE TO PLAY A SINGULAR PART. 

THE morning following the events detailed in the foregoing chapter, finds the august Sleepyhorn seated on his judgment-seat. The clockstrikes ten as he casts his heavy eyes over the grotesque groupgathered into his little, dingy court-room; and he bows to hisclerk, of whom he gets his law knowledge, and with his right handmakes a sign that he is ready to admonish the erring, or passsentence on any amount of criminals. History affords no record of ajudge so unrelenting of his judgments. 

A few dilapidated gentlemen of the "learned profession, " with sharpfeatures and anxious faces, fuss about among the crowd, reeking ofwhiskey and tobacco. Now they whisper suspiciously in the ears offorlorn prisoners, now they struggle to get a market for their legalnostrums. A few, more respectably clothed and less vicious ofaspect, sit writing at a table inside the bar, while a dozen or morepunch-faced policemen, affecting an air of superiority, dragthemselves lazily through the crowd of seedy humanity, lookingquerulously over the railing encircling the dock, or exchangingrecognitions with friends. 

Some twenty "negro cases" having been disposed of without muchrespect to law, and being sent up for punishment (the Judge finds itmore convenient to forego testimony in these cases), a daughter ofthe Emerald Isle, standing nearly six feet in her bare soles, andmuch shattered about the dress, is, against her inclination, arraigned before his Honor. "I think I have seen you before, Mrs. Donahue?" says the Judge, inquiringly. 

"Arrah, good-morning, yer 'onher! Shure, it's only the sixth timethese three weeks. Doesn't meself like to see yer smiling face, onyhow!" Here Mrs. Donahue commences complimenting the Judge in onebreath, and laying no end of charges at the door of the verydiminutive and harmless Mister Donahue in the next. 

"This being the sixth time, " returns his Honor, somewhat seriously, "I would advise you to compromise the matter with Donahue, and notbe seen here again. The state of South Carolina cannot pay your feesso often--"

"Och, bad luck to Donahue! Troth, an' if yer onher'd put the feesdown to Donahue, our acquaintance 'ouldn't be so fraquent. " Mrs. Donahue says this with great unction, throwing her uncombed hairback, then daintily raising her dress apace, and inquiring of Mr. Sheriff Hardscrabble, who sits on his Honor's left, peering sharplythrough his spectacles, how he likes the spread of her broad, flatfoot; "the charging the fees to Donahue, yer onher, 'd do it!" Therewas more truth in this remark than his Honor seemed to comprehend, for having heard the charge against her (Mr. Donahue having beencaught in the act of taking a drop of her gin, she had well-nighbroken his head with the bottle), and having listened attentivelywhile poor Donahue related his wrongs, and exhibited two very wellblacked eyes and a broken nose, he came to the very just conclusionthat it were well to save the blood of the Donahues. And to this enddid he grant Mrs. Donahue board and lodging for one month in the oldprison. Mrs. Donahue is led away, heaping curses on the head ofDonahue, and compliments on that of his Honor. 

A pale, sickly looking boy, some eleven years old, is next placedupon the stand. Mr. Sergeant Stubbs, who leans his corpulent figureagainst the clerk's desk, every few minutes bowing his sleepy headto some friend in the crowd, says: "A hard 'un-don't do no goodabout here. A vagrant; found him sleeping in the market. "

His Honor looks at the poor boy for some minutes, a smile ofkindliness seems lighting up his face; he says he would there weresome place of refuge-a place where reformation rather thanpunishment might be the aim and end, where such poor creatures couldbe sent to, instead of confining them in cells occupied by depravedprisoners. 

Mr. Sheriff Hardscrabble, always eager to get every one into jail hecan, inasmuch as it pays him twenty-two cents a day clear profit oneach and every person confined, says: "A hard customer. Foundsleeping in the market, eh? Well, we must merge him in a tub ofwater, and scrub him up a little. " Mr. Hardscrabble views him withan air of satisfaction, touches him with a small cane he holds inhis hand, as if he were something very common. Indeed, Mr. Hardscrabble seems quite at a loss to know what species of animal heis, or whether he be really intended for any other use than fillingup his cells and returning him twenty-two cents a day clear profit. "Probably an incendiary, " mutters the sagacious sheriff. Thehelpless boy would explain how he came to sleep in the market-howhe, a poor cabin-boy, walked, foot-sore and hungry, from Wilmington, in the hope of getting a ship; and being moneyless and friendless helaid down in the market to sleep. Mr. Hardscrabble, however, suggests that such stories are extremely common. His Honor thinks itnot worth while to differ from this opinion, but to the end that nogreat legal wisdom may be thrown away, he orders the accused to besent to the common jail for three months. This, in the opinion ofJudge Sleepyhorn, is an extremely mild penalty for being foundsleeping in the market. 

Next there comes forward a lean, up-country Cracker, (anhalf-civilized native, ) who commences telling his story withcommendable simplicity, the Judge in the meanwhile endeavoring tosuppress a smile, which the quaintness of his remarks excite. Makinga tenement of his cart, as is usual with these people when theyvisit the city, which they do now and then for the purpose ofreplenishing their stock of whiskey, he had, about eleven o'clock onthe previous night, been set upon by three intoxicated students, who, having driven off his mule, overturned his cart, landing himand his wife prostrate in the ditch. A great noise was the result, and the guard, with their accustomed zeal for seizing upon theinnocent party, dragged up the weaker (the Cracker and his wife) andlet the guilty go free. He had brought the good wife, he added, as aliving evidence of the truth of what he said, and would bring themule if his honor was not satisfied. The good wife commences avolley of what she is pleased to call voluntary testimony, praisingand defending all the good qualities of her much-abused husband, without permitting any one else an opposing word. No sufficientcharge being brought against the Cracker (he wisely slipped a fivedollar bill into the hands of Stubbs), he joins his good wife andgoes on his way rejoicing. 

During this little episode between the court and the Cracker's wife, Madame Grace Ashley, arrayed in her most fashionable toilet, comesblazing into Court, bows to the Judge and a few of her most selectfriends of the Bar. A seat for Madame is provided near his Honor'sdesk. His Honor's blushes seem somewhat overtaxed; Madame, on theother hand, is not at all disconcerted; indeed, she claims anextensive acquaintance with the most distinguished of the Bar. 

The Judge suggests to Mr. Stubbs that it would be as well to waivethe charge against the clergyman. Somewhat the worse for his nightin the guard-house, Parson Patterson comes forward and commences inthe most unintelligible manner to explain the whole affair, when theJudge very blandly interrupts by inquiring if he is a member of theclergy at this moment. "Welle, " returns the parson, withcharacteristic drawl, "can't zactly say I am. " The natural seedinessof the parson excites suspicion, nevertheless he is scrupulous ofhis white cravat, and preserves withal a strictly clerical aspect. Having paused a few moments and exchanged glances with the Judge, hecontinues: "I do nigger preaching on Sunday-that is (ParsonPatterson corrects himself), I hold forth, here and there-we are allflesh and blood-on plantations when I have a demand for my services. Our large planters hold it good policy to encourage the piety oftheir property. "

"You make a good thing of it?" inquires the Judge, jocosely. Theparson replies, with much meekness of manner, that business is notso good as it was, planters having got it into their heads thatsermons can be got at a very low figure. Here he commences toexplain his singular position. He happened to meet an old andmuch-esteemed friend, whom he accompanied home, and while spendingthe evening conversing on spiritual matters-it was best not tolie-he took a little too much. On his way to the hotel he selectedBeresford street as a short cut, and being near the house where hewas unfortunately found when the shooting took place, he ran into itto escape the police--"

"Don't believe a word he says, " interrupts Madame Ashley, springingsuddenly to her feet, and commencing to pour out her phials of wrathon the head of the poor parson, whom she accuses of being asuspicious and extremely unprofitable frequenter of her house, whichshe describes as exceedingly respectable. "Your Honor can bear meout in what I say!" pursues Madame, bowing with an air ofexultation, as the sheriff demands order. 

"A sorry lot, these plantation preachers! Punish him right soundly, your honor. It is not the first time he has damaged therespectability of my house!" again interrupts Madame Ashley. HisHonor replies only with a blush. Mr. Snivel, who watches withquisical countenance, over the bar, enjoys the joke wonderfully. 

Order being restored, the Judge turns to address the parson. 

"I see, my friend-I always address my prisoners familiarly-you placebut little value on the fact of your being a clergyman, on theground that you only preach to slaves. This charge brought againstyou is a grave one-I assure you! And I cannot incline to the viewyou take of your profession. I may not be as erudite as some;however, I hold it that the ignorant and not the learned have mostneed of good example. "

"Aye! I always told the old reprobate so, " interposes Madam Ashley, with great fervor. 

"A charge, " resumes the Judge, "quite sufficient to warrant me incommitting you to durance vile, might be preferred. You may thank mygenerosity that it is not. These houses, as you know, Mr. Patterson, are not only dangerous, but damaging to men of potent morality likeyou. "

"But, your Honor knows they are much frequented, " meekly drawls theparson. 

"It affords no palliation, " sharply responds the Judge, his facecrimsoning with blushes. "Mark ye, my friend of the clergy, theseplaces make sad destruction of our young men. Indeed I may say withbecoming sincerity and truth, that they spread a poison over thecommunity, and act as the great enemy of our social system. "

"Heigh ho!" ejaculates Madame Ashley, to the great delight of thethrong assembled, "Satan has come to rebuke sin. " Madame bids hisHonor a very polite good morning, and takes her departure, lookingdisdainfully over her shoulder as she disappears out of the door. 

Not a little disturbed in his equanimity, the Judge pursues hischarge. "The clergy ought to keep their garments clear of suchplaces, for being the source of all evil, the effect on thecommunity is not good-I mean when such things are brought to light!I would address you frankly and admonish you to go no more into suchplaces. Let your ways merit the approbation of those to whom youpreach the Gospel. You can go. Henceforth, live after the ways ofthe virtuous. "

Parson Patterson thanks his Honor, begs to assure him of hisinnocence, and seems only too anxious to get away. His Honor bows toMr. Patterson, Mr. Patterson returns it, and adds another for theaudience, whereupon the court adjourns, and so ends the episode. HisHonor takes Mr. Snivel's arm, and together they proceed to the "mostconvenient" saloon, where, over a well-compounded punch, "the benchand the bar" compliment each other on the happy disposal of suchvexatious cases. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE HOUSE OF THE NINE NATIONS, AND WHAT MAY BE SEEN IN IT. 

ON the corner of Anthony street and the Points, Now Worth street and Mission Place. In New York, there stands, likea grim savage, the house of the Nine Nations, a dingy woodentenement, that for twenty years has threatened to tumble away fromits more upright neighbor, and before which the stranger wayfarer isseen to stop and contemplate. In a neighborhood redolent of crime, there it stands, its vices thick upon its head, exciting in the mindof the observer its association with some dark and terrible deed. Onthe one side, opens that area of misery, mud and sombre walls, called "Cow Bay;" on the other a triangular plot, reeking with thegarbage of the miserable cellars that flank it, and in which swarmsof wasting beings seek a hiding-place, inhale pestilential air, anddie. Gutters running with seething matter; homeless outcastssitting, besotted, on crazy door-steps; the vicious, with savagevisage, and keen, watchful eye, loitering at the doors of filthy"groceries;" the sickly and neglected child crawling upon theside-pave, or seeking a crust to appease its hunger-all are foundhere, gasping, in rags, a breath of air by day, or seeking ashelter, at night, in dens so abject that the world can furnish nocounterpart. And this forlorn picture of dilapidated houses, half-clad, squabbish women, blistered-faced men, and sicklychildren, the house of the Nine Nations overlooks. And yet thishouse, to the disgrace of an opulent people be it said, is but thesample of an hundred others standing in the same neighborhood. 

With its basement-doors opening into its bottomless pit; with itscontinual outgoing and ingoing of sooty and cruel-visaged denizens;with its rickety old steps leading to the second story; with itsbattered windows, begrimed walls, demolished shutters, clapboardshanging at sixes and sevens-with its suspicious aspect;--there itstands, with its distained sign over the doors of its bottomlesspit. You may read on this sign, that a gentleman from Ireland, whofor convenience' sake we will call Mr. Krone, is licensed to sellimported and other liquors. 

Indeed the house of the Nine Nations would seem to say withinitself: "I am mother of this banquet of death you behold with youreyes. " There it stands, its stream of poison hurrying its victims tothe grave; its little dark passages leading to curioushiding-places; its caving roof, and its ominous-looking backplatform, overlooking the dead walls of Murderers' Yard. How itmocks your philanthropy, your regal edifices, your boastedcharities-your gorgeous churches! Everybody but the corporationknows the house of the Nine Nations, a haunt for wasted prostitutes, assassins, burglars, thieves-every grade of criminals known todepraved nature. The corporation would seem either to have acharming sympathy for it, or to look upon it with that good-naturedindifference so happily illustrated while eating its oysters anddrinking its whiskey. An empty-headed corporation is sure always tohave its hands very full, which is the case with yours at thismoment. Having the people's money to waste, its own ambition toserve, and its hat to fill with political waste paper-what morewould you ask of it?

The man of the house of the Nine Nations, you ought to know, makescriminals by the hundred, deluges your alms houses with paupers, andmakes your Potters' field reek with his victims: for this he isbecome rich. Mr. Krone is an intimate friend of more than oneCouncilman, and a man of much measure in the political world-thatis, Mr. Krone is a politician-maker. When you say there exists tooclose an intimacy between the pugilist and the politician, Mr. Kronewill bet twenty drinks with any one of his customers that he canprove such doctrines at fault. He can secure the election of hisfavorite candidate with the same facility that he can make anhundred paupers per week. You may well believe him a choice flowerin the bouquet of the corporation; we mean the corporation thatbanquets and becomes jubilant while assassins stab their victims inthe broad street-that becomes befogged while bands of ruffiansdisgrace the city with their fiendish outrages-that makes presidentsand drinks whiskey when the city would seem given over to theswell-mobsman-when no security is offered to life, and wholesaleharlotry, flaunting with naked arms and bared bosoms, passes alongin possession of Broadway by night. 

It is the night succeeding the day Lady Swiggs discovered, at thehouse of the Foreign Missions, the loss of her cherished donations. As this is a world of disappointments, Lady Swiggs resigns herselfto this most galling of all, and with her Milton firmly grasped inher hand, may be seen in a little room at Sister Scudder's, rockingherself in the arm-chair, and wondering if Brother Spyke hascaptured the robber-wretch. A chilly wind howls, and a drizzlingrain falls thick over the dingy dwellings of the Points, which, sullen and dark, seem in a dripping mood. A glimmering light, hereand there, throws curious shadows over the liquid streets. Now thedrenched form of some half-naked and homeless being is reflected, standing shivering in the entrance to some dark and narrow alley;then the half-crazed inebriate hurries into the open door of adismal cellar, or seeks eagerly a shelter for his bewildered head, in some suspicious den. Flashing through the shadow of the policelamp, in "Cow Bay, " a forlorn female is seen, a bottle held tightlyunder her shawl. Sailing as it were into the bottomless pit of thehouse of the Nine Nations, then suddenly returning with the drug, seeking the cheerless garret of her dissolute partner, and therestriving to blunt her feelings against the horrors of starvation. 

Two men stand, an umbrella over their heads, at the corner, in theglare of the bottomless pit, which is in a blaze of light, andcrowded with savage-faced figures, of various ages and colors, --allhabited in the poison-seller's uniform of rags. "I don't thinkyou'll find him here, sir, " says one, addressing the other, who istall and slender of person, and singularly timid. "God knows I am astranger here. To-morrow I leave for Antioch, " is the reply, delivered in nervous accents. The one is Brother Syngleton Spyke, the other Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, a man of more than middlestature, with compact figure, firmly-knit limbs, and an expressionof countenance rather pleasant. 

"You see, sir, this Toddleworth is a harmless creature, always aimsto be obliging and civil. I don't, sir-I really don't think he'llsteal. But one can't tell what a man will do who is driven to suchstraits as the poor devils here are. We rather like Toddleworth atthe station, look upon him as rather wanting in the head, and forthat reason rather incline to favor him. I may say we now and thenlet him 'tie up' all night in the station. And for this he seemsvery thankful. I may say, " continues Mr. Fitzgerald, touching thevisor of his cap, "that he always repays with kindness any littleattention we may extend to him at the station, and at times seemstoo anxious to make it his home. We give him a shirt and a fewshillings now and then; and when we want to be rid of him we beginto talk about fashionable wives. He is sure to go then. Can't standsuch a topic, I assure you, sir, and is sure togo off in a huff whenSergeant Pottle starts it. "

They enter the great door of the bottomless pit; the youngmissionary hesitates. His countenance changes, his eyes scansteadily over the scene. A room some sixty feet by twenty opens tohis astonished eyes. Its black, boarded walls, and bare beams, areenlivened here and there with extravagant pictures of notoriouspugilists, show-bills, and illustrated advertisements of lasciviousbooks, in which the murder of an unfortunate woman is the principalfeature. Slippery mud covers the floor. Mr. Krone sits on an emptywhiskey-barrel, his stunted features betraying the hardened avariceof his character. He smokes his black pipe, folds his armsdeliberately, discoursing of the affairs of the nation to twostupefied negroes and one blear-eyed son of the Emerald Isle. Threeuncouth females, with hair hanging matted over their faces, andtheir features hidden in distortion, stand cooling their bared limbsat a running faucet just inside the door, to the left. A group ofhalf-naked negroes lie insensible on the floor, to the right. Alittle further on two prostrate females, shivering, and reeking ofgin, sleep undisturbed by the profanity that is making the very airresound. "The gin gets a-many of us, " is the mournful cry of many awasting inebriate. Mr. Krone, however, will tell you he has nosympathy with such cries. You arraign, and perhaps punish, theapothecary who sells by mistake his deadly drug. With aphilosophical air, Mr. Krone will tell you he deals out his poisonwithout scruple, fills alms-houses without a pang of remorse, andproves that a politician-maker may do much to degrade society andremain in high favor with his friends of the bench of justice. Onone side of the dungeon-like place stands a rickety old counter, behind which three savage-faced men stand, filling and servingincessant potions of deleterious liquor to the miserable beings, haggard and ragged, crowding to be first served. Behind the bar, orcounter, rises a pyramid of dingy shelves, on which are arrangedlittle painted kegs, labelled, and made bright by the glaring gas-light reflected upon them. On the opposite side, on rows of slabbenches, sit a group of motley beings, --the young girl and the oldman, the negro and the frail white, --half sleeping, half conscious;all imbibing the stifling draught. 

Like revelling witches in rags, and seen through the bedimmedatmosphere at the further end of the den, are half-frantic men, women, and girls, now sitting at deal tables, playing for drinks, now jostling, jeering, and profaning in wild disorder. A girl ofsixteen, wasted and deformed with dissipation, approaches BrotherSpyke, extends her blanched hand, and importunes him for gin. Heshudders, and shrinks from her touch, as from a reptile. A look ofscorn, and she turns from him, and is lost among the grotesque crowdin the distance. 

"This gin, " says Mr. Fitzgerald, turning methodically to BrotherSpyke, "they make do for food and clothing. We used to call this thedevil's paradise. As to Krone, we used to call him the devil'sbar-tender. These ragged revellers, you see, beg and steal duringthe day, and get gin with it at night. Krone thinks nothing of it!Lord bless your soul, sir! why, this man is reckoned a tip-toppolitician; on an emergency he can turn up such a lot of votes!" Mr. Fitzgerald, approaching Mr. Krone, says "you're a pretty fellow. Keeping such a place as this!" The detective playfully strikes thehat of the other, crowding it over his eyes, and inquiring if he hasseen Tom Toddleworth during the day. Mr. Toddleworth was not seenduring the day. No one in the bottomless pit knows where he may befound. A dozen husky voices are heard to say, he has no home-storeshimself away anywhere, and may be found everywhere. 

Brother Spyke bows, and sighs. Mr. Fitzgerald says: "he is alwaysharmless-this Toddleworth. " As the two searchers are about towithdraw, the shrunken figure of a woman rushes wildly into the pit. "Devils! devils!--hideous devils of darkness! here you are-stillhover-hover-hovering; turning midnight into revelling, day intohorrid dreaming!" she shrieks at the top of her voice. Now shepauses suddenly, and with a demoniacal laugh sets her dull, glassyeyes on Mr. Krone, then walks round him with clenched fists andthreatening gestures. The politician-maker sits unmoved. Now shethrows her hair about her bare breasts, turns her eyes upward, imploringly, and approaches Brother Spyke, with hand extended. Hertale of sorrow and suffering is written in her very look. "She won'thurt you-never harms anybody;" says Mr. Fitzgerald, methodically, observing Brother Spyke's timidity. 

"No, no, no, " she mutters incoherently, "you are not of thisplace-you know, like the rich world up-town, little of theserevelling devils. Cling! yes, cling to the wise one-tell him to keepyou from this, and forever be your teacher. Tell him! tell him! oh!tell him!" She wrings her hands, and having sailed as it were intothe further end of the pit, vaults back, and commences a series ofwild gyrations round Mr. Krone. 

"Poor wretch!" says Brother Spyke, complacently, "the gin has driedup her senses-made her what she is. "

"Maniac Munday! Maniac Munday!" suddenly echoes and re-echoes throughthe pit. She turns her ear, and with a listless countenance listensattentively, then breaks out into an hysterical laugh. "Yes! yeloathsome denizens. Like me, no one seeks you, no one cares for you. I am poor, poor maniac Munday. The maniac that one fell errorbrought to this awful end. " Again she lowers her voice, flings herhair back over her shoulders, and gives vent to her tears. Like oneburdened with sorrow she commences humming an air, that even in thisdark den floats sweetly through the polluted atmosphere. "Well, I amwhat I am, " she sighs, having paused in her tune. "That one fatalstep-that plighted faith! How bitter to look back. " Her bony fingerswander to her lips, which she commences biting and fretting, as hercountenance becomes pale and corpse-like. Again her reason takes itsflight. She staggers to the drenched counter, holds forth herbottle, lays her last sixpence tauntingly upon the board, andwatches with glassy eyes the drawing of the poisonous drug. Meanwhile Mr. Krone, with an imprecation, declares he has power toelect his candidate to the Senate. The man behind the counter-theman of savage face, has filled the maniac's bottle, which he pushestoward her with one hand, as with the other he sweeps her coin intoa drawer. "Oh! save poor maniac Munday-save poor maniac Munday!" thewoman cries, like one in despair, clutching the bottle, and reelsout of the pit. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

IN WHICH IS PRESENTED ANOTHER PICTURE OF THE HOUSE OF THE NINENATIONS. 

PALE and hesitating, Brother Spyke says: "I have no passion fordelving into such places; and having seen enough for one night, amcontent to leave the search for this vile old man to you. " Thevaliant missionary addresses Mr. Fitzgerald, who stands with onefoot upon the rickety old steps that lead to the second story of theHouse of the Nine Nations. 

This morning, Brother Spyke was ready to do battle with the wholeheathen world, to drag it up into light, to evangelize it. Now hequails before this heathen world, so terribly dark, at his own door. 

"You have, sir, " says the detective, "seen nuthin' as yet. Thesights are in these 'ere upper dens; but, I may say it, a body wantsnerve. Some of our Aldermen say ye can't see such sights nowhereelse. "

The missionary replies, holding tenaciously to his umbrella, "Thatmay be true; but I fear they will be waiting me at home. " Again hescans inquiringly into the drenched area of the Points; then biddingthe officer good-night, is soon out of sight, on his way into CentreStreet. Reaching the old stoop, the detective touches a spring, andthe shattered door opens into a narrow, gloomy passage, along whichhe gropes his way, over a floor cobbled with filth, and against anatmosphere thick of disease. Now a faint light flashes through acrevice in the left wall, plays fantastically upon the black surfaceof the opposite, then dies away. The detective lights his lantern, stands a moment with his ear turned, as if listening to the revelryin the bottomless pit. A door opens to his touch, he enters acave-like room-it is the one from out which the light stole socuriously, and in which all is misery and sadness. A few embersstill burn in a great brick fire-place, shedding a lurid glow overthe damp, filthy walls, the discolored ceiling, and the grotesquegroup upon the floor. "You needn't come at this time of night-we areall honest people;" speaks a massive negro, of savage visage, who(he is clothed in rags) sits at the left side of the fireplace. Hecoaxes the remnant of his fire to cook some coarse food he hasplaced in a small, black stew-pan, he watches with steady gaze. Three white females (we blush to say it), their bare, brawny armsresting on their knees, and their disfigured faces drooped intotheir hands, form an half circle on the opposite side. 

"The world don't think nothin' of us down here-we haven't had a biteto eat to-night, " gruffly resumes the negro. 

"May them that have riches enjoy them, for to be supperless is nouncommon thing wid us, " interrupts one of the women, gathering abouther the shreds of her tattered garment, parting the matted hair overher face, and revealing her ghastly features. The detective turnshis light full upon her. "If we live we live, if we die wedie-nobody cares! Look you yonder, Mr. Fitzgerald, " continues thenegro, with a sarcastic leer. Turning his light to where the negropoints, the detective casts a glance into the shadow, and therediscovers the rags move. A dozen pair of glassy eyes are seenpeering from out the filthy coverings, over which lean arms andblanched hands keep up an incessant motion. Here an emaciated andheart-sick Welsh girl, of thirteen (enciente) lays shivering on thebroken floor; there an half-famished Scotch woman, two moaningchildren nestling at her heart, suffers uncovered upon a pallet ofstraw. The busy world without would seem not to have a care for her;the clergy have got the heathen world upon their shoulders. Hunger, like a grim tyrant, has driven her to seek shelter in this wretchedabode. Despair has made her but too anxious that the grave or prisonwalls should close the record of her sorrows. How tightly she withher right hand presses her babe to her bosom; how appealingly withher left she asks a pittance of the detective! Will he not save fromdeath her starving child? He has nothing to give her, turns hishead, answers only with a look of pity, and moves slowly towards thedoor. 

"You have not been long off the Island, Washington?" inquires thedetective, with an air of familiarity. 

"I wish, " replies the negro, sullenly, "I was back. An honest man asI is, can't get on in this world. Necessity makes rascals of bettermen than me, Mr. Fitzgerald. Mr. Krone (he's a white man, though)makes all the politicians for the district, and charges me eightdollars a month for this hole. Just measure them two thingstogether, Mr. Fitzgerald: then see if takin' in sixpenny lodgerspays. " Mr. Fitzgerald commences counting them. "You needn't count, "pursues the negro, uncovering his stew-pan, "there's only eighteenin to-night. Have twenty, sometimes! Don't get nothin' for that poorScotch woman an' her children. Can't get it when they haint gotit-you know that, Mr. Fitzgerald. "

The detective inquires if any of them have seen Mr. Toddleworthto-day. Washington has not seen him, and makes no scruple of sayinghe thinks very little of him. 

"Faith an' it's hard times with poor Tom, " speaks up one of thewomen, in a deep brogue. "It was only last night-the same I'mtellin' is true, God knows-Mrs. McCarty took him to the Rookery-thedivil a mouthful he'd ate durin' the day-and says, bein' a gineroussort of body, come, take a drop, an' a bite to ate. MisterToddleworth did that same, and thin lay the night on the floor. To-night-it's the truth, God knows-Tom Downey took him above. An'it's Tom who woundn't be the frind of the man who hadn't a shillin'in his pocket. "

The detective shrugs his shoulders, and having thanked the woman, withdraws into the passage, to the end of which he cautiously pickshis way, and knocks at a distained door that fronts him. A voicedeep and husky bids him enter, which he does, as the lurid glare ofhis lantern reveals a room some twelve by sixteen feet, the plasterhanging in festoons from the black walls, and so low of ceiling thathe scarce can stand upright. Four bunk-beds, a little bureau, abroken chair or two, and a few cheap pictures, hung here and thereon the sombre walls, give it an air of comfort in grateful contrastwith the room just left. "Who lives here?" inquires the detective, turning his light full upon each object that attracts his attention. "Shure it's only me-Mrs. Terence Murphy-and my three sisters (theyoungest is scarce fourteen), and the two English sisters: allhonest people, God knows, " replies Mrs. Murphy, with a rapid tongue. "It's not right of you to live this way, " returns the detective, continuing to survey the prostrate forms of Mrs. Murphy, her threesisters, and the two fair-haired English girls, and the besottedbeings they claim as husbands. Alarm is pictured in everycountenance. A browned face withdraws under a dingy coverlid, ananxious face peers from out a pallet on the floor, a prostratefigure in the corner inquires the object of Mr. DetectiveFitzgerald's visit-and Mrs. Murphy, holding it more becoming ofrespectable society, leaves the bed in which she had accommodatedfive others, and gets into one she calls her own. A second thought, and she makes up her mind not to get into bed, but to ask Mr. Fitzgerald if he will be good enough, when next he meets his Onher, the Mayor, just to say to him how Mr. Krone is bringing disgraceupon the house and every one in it, by letting rooms to negroes. Here she commences pouring out her pent-up wrath upon the head ofMr. Krone, and the colored gentleman, whom she declares has a dozenwhite females in his room every night. The detective encourages herby saying it is not right of Mr. Krone, who looks more at the colorof his money than the skin of his tenants. "To come of a dacintfamily-and be brought to this!" says Mrs. Murphy, allowing herpassion to rise, and swearing to have revenge of the negro in thenext room. 

"You drink this gin, yet-I have warned you against it, " interposesthe detective, pointing to some bottles on the bureau. "Faith, an'it's the gin gets a many of us, " returns the woman, curtly, as shegathers about her the skirts of her garments. "Onyhow, yerselfwouldn't deprive us of a drop now and then, jist to keep up thespirits. " The detective shakes his head, then discloses to them theobject of his search, adding, in parenthesis, that he does not thinkMr. Toddleworth is the thief. A dozen tongues are ready to confirmthe detective's belief. "Not a shillin' of it did the poor craturetake-indeed he didn't, now, Mr. Fitzgerald. 'Onor's 'onor, all overthe wurld!" says Mrs. Murphy, grasping the detective by the hand. "Stay till I tell ye all about it. Mary Maguire-indeed an' ye knowsher, Mr. Fitzgerald-this same afternoon looked in to say--'how do yedo, Mrs. Murphy. See this! Mrs. Murphy, ' says she, 'an' the divil asich a pocket of money I'd see before, as she held in her righthand, jist. 'Long life to ye, Mary, ' says I. 'We'll have a pint, Mrs. Murphy, ' says she. 'May ye niver want the worth of it, ' says I. And the pint was not long in, when Mary got a little the worse ofit, and let all out about the money. 'You won't whisper it, Mrs. Murphy, ' says she, 'if I'd tell ye in confidence by what manes I gotthe lift?'"

"'Not in the wide world, Mary, ' says I; 'ye may trust me for thatsame. ' 'Shure didn't I raise it from the pocket of an auld woman inspectacles, that watched the fool beyant dig up the corporation. ''An' it'll not do yerself much good, ' says I, liftin' the same, andcuttin' away to the house. 'You won't whisper it?' says she. "

"I can confirm the truth of that same, " rejoins a brusque-figuredman, rising from his pallet, and speaking with regained confidence. "Mary looked in at the Blazers, and being the worse of liquor, showed a dale of ready money, and trated everybody, and gave themoney to everybody, and was wilcome wid everybody. Then Mrs. McCartygot aboard of her ginerosity, and got her into the Rookery, wherethe Miss McCartys thought it would not be amiss to have a quart. Thesame was brought in, and Mary hersel' was soon like a dead woman ohthe floor, jist--"

"And they got the money all away?" interrupts the detective. 

"Faith, an' she'll not have a blessed dollar come daylight, "continues the man, resuming his pallet. 

The detective bids Mrs. Murphy good night, and is soon groping hisway over a rickety old floor, along a dark, narrow passage, scarcehigh enough to admit him, and running at right angles with thefirst. A door on the left opens into a grotto-like place, the sicklyatmosphere of which seems hurling its poison into the very blood. "Who's here?" inquires the detective, and a voice, feeble andhollow, responds: "Lodgers!"

The damp, greasy walls; the broken ceilings; the sooty fireplace, with its shattered bricks; the decayed wainscoating-its dark, forlorn aspect, all bespeak it the fit abode of rats. And yet Mr. Krone thinks it comfortable enough (the authorities think Mr. Kronethe best judge) for the accommodation of thirteen remnants of humanmisery, all of whom are here huddled together on the wet, brokenfloor, borrowing warmth of one another. The detective's light fallscuriously upon the dread picture, which he stands contemplating. Apale, sickly girl, of some eleven summers, her hair falling wildlyover her wan features, lays upon some rags near the fireplace, clinging to an inebriated mother. Here a father, heartsick andprostrate with disease, seeks to keep warm his three raggedchildren, nestling about him. An homeless outcast, necessity forceshim to send them out to prey upon the community by day, and to seekin this wretched hovel a shelter at night. Yonder the rags arethrown back, a moving mass is disclosed, and there protrudes adisfigured face, made ghostly by the shadow of the detective'slantern. At the detective's feet a prostrate girl, insensible ofgin, is seized with convulsions, clutches with wasted hands at thefew rags about her poor, flabby body, then with fingers grasping, and teeth firmly set, her whole frame writhes in agony. Yourmissionary never whispered a kind, encouraging word in her ear; hishand never pressed that blanched bone with which she now saddensyour heart! Different might it have been with her had some gentle-tongued Brother Spyke sought her out, bore patiently with herwaywardness, snatched her from this life of shame, and placed herhigh in an atmosphere of light and love. 

It is here, gentle shepherds, the benighted stand most in need ofyour labors. Seek not to evangelize the Mahomedan world until youhave worked a reform here; and when you have done it, a monument inheaven will be your reward. 

"Mr. Toddleworth is not here, " says the detective, withdrawing intothe passage, then ascending a broken and steep stairs that lead intothe third story. Nine shivering forms crouched in one dismal room;four squabbish women, and three besotted men in another; and in athird, nine ragged boys and two small girls-such are the scenes ofsqualid misery presented here. In a little front room, Mr. TomDowney, his wife, and eight children, lay together upon the floor, half covered with rags. Mr. Downey startles at the appearance of thedetective, rises nervously from his pallet, and after the pause of amoment, says: "Indeed, yer welcome, Mr. Fitzgerald. Indeed, I havenot-an' God knows it's the truth I tell-seen Mr. Toddleworth theweek;" he replies, in answer to a question from the detective. 

"You took a drop with him this afternoon?" continues the detective, observing his nervousness. 

"God knows it's a mistake, Mr. Fitzgerald. " Mr. Downey changes thesubject, by saying the foreigners in the garret are a greatnuisance, and disturb him of his rest at night. 

A small, crooked stair leads into "Organ-grinders' Roost, " in thegarret. To "Organ-grinders' Roost" the detective ascends. If, reader, you have ever pictured in your mind the cave of despair, peopled by beings human only in shape, you may form a faint idea ofthe wretchedness presented in "Organ-grinders' Roost, " at the top ofthe house of the Nine Nations. Seven stalworth men shoot out fromamong a mass of rags on the floor, and with dark, wandering eyes, and massive, uncombed beards, commence in their native Italian aseries of interrogatories, not one of which the detective canunderstand. They would inquire for whom he seeks at this strangehour. He (the detective) stands unmoved, as with savage gesture-hehas discovered his star-they tell him they are famishing of hunger. A pretty black-eyed girl, to whose pale, but beautifully oval facean expression of sorrow lends a touching softness, lays on the barefloor, beside a mother of patriarchal aspect. Now she is seized witha sharp cough that brings blood at every paroxysm. As if forgettingherself, she lays her hand gently upon the cheek of her mother, anxious to comfort her. Ah! the hard hand of poverty has been uponher through life, and stubbornly refuses to relax its grip, even inher old age. An organ forms here and there a division between thesleepers; two grave-visaged monkeys sit chattering in the fireplace, then crouch down on the few charred sticks. A picture of thecrucifix is seen conspicuous over the dingy fireplace, while fromthe slanting roof hang several leathern girdles. Oh, what a strugglefor life is their's! Mothers, fathers, daughters, and littlechildren, thus promiscuously grouped, and coming up in neglect andshame. There an old man, whom remorseless death is just calling intoeternity, with dull, glassy eyes, white, flowing beard, bald head, sunken mouth, begrimed and deeply-wrinkled face, rises, spectre-like, from his pallet. Now he draws from his breast a smallcrucifix, and commences muttering to it in a guttural voice. "Peace, peace, good old man-the holy father will come soon-the holy virginwill come soon: he will receive the good spirit to his bosom, " saysa black-eyed daughter, patting him gently upon the head, thenlooking in his face solicitously, as he turns his eyes upward, andfor a few moments seems invoking the mercy of the Allwise. "Yes, father, " she resumes, lightening up the mat of straw upon which helays, "the world has been unkind to you, but you are passing from itto a better-you will be at peace soon. "

"Soon, soon, soon, " mumbles the old man, in a whisper; and havingcarefully returned the crucifix to his bosom, grasps fervently thehand of the girl and kisses it, as her eyes swim in tears. 

Such, to the shame of those who live in princely palaces, and revelin luxury, are but faintly-drawn pictures of what may be seen inthe house of the Nine Nations. 

The detective is about to give up the search, and turns to descendthe stairs, when suddenly he discerns a passage leading to the northend of the garret. Here, in a little closet-like room, on the right, the rats his only companions, lies the prostrate form of poorToddleworth. 

"Well, I persevered till I found you, " says the detective, turninghis light full upon the body. Another minute, and his featuresbecome as marble; he stands aghast, and his whole frame seemsstruggling under the effect of some violent shock. "What, what, what!" he shouts, in nervous accents, "Murder! murder! murder! someone has murdered him. " Motionless the form lies, the shadow of thelight revealing the ghastly spectacle. The head lies in a pool ofblood, the bedimmed eyes, having taken their last look, remainfixedly set on the black roof. "He has died of a blow-of a brokenskull!" says the frightened official, feeling, and feeling, andpressing the arms and hands that are fast becoming rigid. Life isgone out; a pauper's grave will soon close over what remains of thiswretched outcast. The detective hastens down stairs, spreads thealarm over the neighborhood, and soon the House of the Nine Nationsis the scene of great excitement. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN WHICH MAY BE SEEN A FEW OF OUR COMMON EVILS. 

LEAVING for a time the scenes in the House of the Nine Nations, letus return to Charleston, that we may see how matters appertaining tothis history are progressing. Mr. Snivel is a popular candidate forthe Senate of South Carolina; and having shot his man down in thestreet, the question of his fighting abilities we regard ashonorably settled. Madame Montford, too, has by him been kept in astate of nervous anxiety, for he has not yet found time to search inthe "Poor-house for the woman Munday. " All our very first, andbest-known families, have dropped Madame, who is become a wet sheeton the fashionable world. A select committee of the St. Cecilia hastwice considered her expulsion, while numerous very respectable andequally active old ladies have been shaking their scandal-bags ather head. Sins have been laid at her door that would indeed damage areputation with a fairer endorsement than New York can give. 

Our city at this moment is warmed into a singular state ofexcitement. A Georgia editor (we regard editors as belonging to avery windy class of men), not having the mightiness of our chivalrybefore him, said the Union would have peace if South Carolina wereshut up in a penitentiary. And for this we have invited theindiscreet gentleman to step over the border, that we may hang him, being extremely fond of such common-place amusements. What thefacetious fellow meant was, that our own State would enjoy peace andprosperity were our mob-politicians all in the penitentiary. Andwith this sensible opinion we heartily agree. 

We regard our state of civilization as extremely enviable. To-day wemade a lion of the notorious Hines, the forger. Hines, fashioningafter our hapless chivalry, boasts that South Carolina is hisState-his political mother. He has, nevertheless, graced with hispresence no few penitentiaries. We feasted him in that same prisonwhere we degrade and starve the honest poor; we knew him guilty ofan henious crime-yet we carried him jubilantly to the "halls ofjustice. " And while distinguished lawyers tendered their services tothe "clever villain, " you might have witnessed in sorrow a mocktrial, and heard a mob sanction with its acclamations his release. 

Oh, truth and justice! how feeble is thy existence where the godslavery reigns. And while men are heard sounding the praises of thishighwayman at the street corners, extolling men who have shot downtheir fellow-men in the streets, and calling those "Hon. Gentlemen, "who have in the most cowardly manner assassinated their opponents, let us turn to a different picture. Two genteely-dressed men areseen entering the old jail. "I have twice promised them a happysurprise, " says one, whose pale, studious features, wear anexpression of gentleness. The face of the other is somewhat florid, but beaming with warmth of heart. They enter, having passed up oneof the long halls, a room looking into the prison-yard. Severalweary-faced prisoners are seated round a deal table, playing cards;among them is the old sailor described in the early part of thishistory. "You don't know my friend, here?" says the young man of thestudious face, addressing the prisoners, and pointing to hiscompanion. The prisoners look inquiringly at the stranger, thenshake their heads in response. 

"No, you don't know me: you never knew me when I was a man, " speaksthe stranger, raising his hat, as a smile lights up his features. "You don't know Tom Swiggs, the miserable inebriate--"

A spontaneaus shout of recognition, echoing and re-echoing throughthe old halls, interrupts this declaration. One by one theimprisoned men grasp him by the hand, and shower upon him thewarmest, the heartiest congratulations. A once fallen brother hasrisen to a knowledge of his own happiness. Hands that raised himfrom that mat of straw, when the mental man seemed lost, now welcomehim restored, a purer being. 

"Ah, Spunyarn, " says Tom, greeting the old sailor with child-likefondness, as the tears are seen gushing into the eyes, and coursingdown the browned face of the old mariner, "I owe you a debt I fear Inever can pay. I have thought of you in my absence, and had hoped onmy return to see you released. I am sorry you are not--"

"Well, as to that, " interrupts the old sailor, his face resuming itswonted calm, "I can't-you know I can't, Tom, --sail without aclearance. I sometimes think I'm never going to get one. Two years, as you know, I've been here, now backing and then filling, in andout, just as it suits that chap with the face like a snatch-block. They call him a justice. 'Pon my soul, Tom, I begin to think justicefor us poor folks is got aground. Well, give us your hand agin' (heseizes Tom by the hand); its all well wi' you, anyhows. '

"Yes, thank God, " says Tom, returning his friendly shake, "I haveconquered the enemy, and my thanks for it are due to those whoreached my heart with kind words, and gave me a brother's hand. Iwas not dead to my own degradation; but imprisonment left me nohope. The sting of disappointment may pain your feelings; hopedeferred may torture you here in a prison; the persecutions ofenemies may madden your very soul; but when a mother turns coldlyfrom you--No, I will not say it, for I love her still--" hehesitates, as the old sailor says, with touching simplicity, henever knew what it was to have a mother or father. Having spreadbefore the old man and his companions sundry refreshments he hadordered brought in, and received in return their thanks, he inquiresof Spunyarn how it happened that he got into prison, and how it isthat he remains here a fixture. 

"I'll tell you, Tom, " says the old sailor, commencing his story. "We'd just come ashore-had a rough passage-and, says I to myself, here's lay up ashore awhile. So I gets a crimp, who takes me to acrib. 'It's all right here-you'll have snug quarters, Jack, ' sayshe, introducing me to the chap who kept it. I gives him twentydollars on stack, and gets up my chest and hammock, thinking it wasall fair and square. Then I meets an old shipmate, who I took intow, he being hard ashore for cash. 'Let us top the meetin' with aglass, ' says I. 'Agreed, ' says Bill, and I calls her on, the verybest. 'Ten cents a glass, ' says the fellow behind the counter, giving us stuff that burnt as it went. 'Mister, ' says I, 'do ye wantto poison a sailor?' 'If you no like him, ' says he, 'go get bettersomewhere else. ' I told him to give me back the twenty, and medunnage. 

"'You don't get him-clear out of mine 'ouse, ' says he, "'Under the peak, ' says I, fetching him a but under the lug thatbeached him among his beer-barrels. He picked himself up, and begantalking about a magistrate. And knowing what sort of navigation afellow'd have in the hands of that sort of land-craft, I began tothink about laying my course for another port. 'Hold on here, ' saysa big-sided land-lubber, seizing me by the fore-sheets. 'Cast offthere, ' says I, 'or I'll put ye on yer beam-ends. '

"'I'm a constable, ' says he, pulling out a pair of irons he saidmust go on my hands. "

"I hope he did not put them on, " interrupts the young theologian, for it is he who accompanies Tom. 

"Avast! I'll come to that. He said he'd only charge me five dollarsfor going to jail without 'em, so rather than have me callingdamaged, I giv him it. It was only a trifle. 'Now, Jack, ' says thefellow, as we went along, in a friendly sort of way, 'just let uspop in and see the justice. I think a ten 'll get ye a clearance. ''No objection to that, ' says I, and in we went, and there sat thejustice, face as long and sharp as a marlinspike, in a dirty oldhole, that looked like our forecastle. 'Bad affair this, Jack, ' sayshe, looking up over his spectacles. 'You must be locked up for ayear and a day, Jack. '

"'You'll give a sailor a hearin', won't ye?' says I. 'As tothat, --well, I don't know, Jack; you musn't break the laws of SouthCarolina when you get ashore. You seem like a desirable sailor, andcan no doubt get a ship and good wages-this is a bad affair. However, as I'm not inclined to be hard, if you are disposed to paytwenty dollars, you can go. ' 'Law and justice, ' says I, shaking myfist at him-'do ye take this salt-water citizen for a fool?'

"'Take him away, Mr. Stubble-lock him up!--lock him up!' says thejustice, and here I am, locked up, hard up, hoping. I'd been tied upabout three weeks when the justice looked in one day, and afterinquiring for me, and saying, 'good morning, Jack, ' and seeming alittle by the head: 'about this affair of yourn, Jack, ' says he, 'now, if you'll mind your eye when you get out--my trouble's worthten dollars-and pay me, I'll discharge you, and charge the costs tothe State. '

"'Charge the cost to the State!' says I. 'Do you take Spunyarn for amarine?' At this he hauled his wind, and stood out. "

"You have had a hearing before the Grand Jury, have you not?"inquires Tom, evincing a deep interest in the story of his oldfriend. 

"Not I. This South Carolina justice is a hard old craft to sail in. The Grand Jury only looks in once every six months, and then looksout again, without inquiring who's here. And just before the time itcomes round, I'm shuffled out, and just after it has left, I'mshuffled in again-fees charged to the State! That's it. So here Iam, a fee-making machine, bobbing in and out of jail to suit theconveniences of Mister Justice. I don't say this with any ill will-Idon't. " Having concluded his story, the old sailor follows hisvisitors to the prison gate, takes an affectionate leave of TomSwiggs, and returns to join his companions. On the following day, Tom intercedes with Mr. Snivel, for it is he who thus harvests feesof the State by retaining the old sailor in prison, and procures hisrelease. And here, in Mr. Snivel, you have an instrument of thatdebased magistracy which triumphs over the weak, that sits inignorance and indolence, that invests the hypocritical designer witha power almost absolute, that keeps justice muzzled on herthrone-the natural offspring of that demon-making institution thatscruples not to brunt the intellect of millions, while dragging apall of sloth over the land. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

CONTAINING VARIOUS THINGS APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY. 

MARIA MCARTHUR having, by her womanly sympathy, awakened thegenerous impulses of Tom Swiggs, he is resolved they shall have anew channel for their action. Her kindness touched his heart; hersolicitude for his welfare gained his affections, and a recognitionof that love she so long and silently cherished for him, is thenatural result. The heart that does not move to woman's kindness, must indeed be hard. But there were other things which strengthenedTom's affections for Maria. The poverty of her aged father; theinsults offered her by Keepum and Snivel; the manner in which theysought her ruin while harassing her father; the artlessness and lonecondition of the pure-minded girl; and the almost holy affectionevinced for the old man on whom she doated-all tended to bring himnearer and nearer to her, until he irresistibly found himself at herfeet, pledging that faith lovers call eternal. Maria is not of thatspecies of being the world calls beautiful; but there is about hersomething pure, thoughtful, even noble; and this her lone conditionheightens. Love does not always bow before beauty. The singularitiesof human nature are most strikingly blended in woman. She canovercome physical defects; she can cultivate attractions most ap-preciated by those who study her worth deepest. Have you not seenthose whose charms at first-sight found no place in your thoughts, but as you were drawn nearer and nearer to them, so also did youresteem quicken, and that esteem, almost unconsciously, you foundripening into affection, until in turn you were seized with anardent passion? You have. And you have found yourself enamored ofthe very one against whom you had endeavored most to restrain yourgenerous impulses. Like the fine lines upon a picture with arepulsive design, you trace them, and recur to them until youradmiration is carried away captive. So it is with woman's charms. Tom Swiggs, then, the restored man, bows before the simple goodnessof the daughter of the old Antiquary. 

Mr. Trueman, the shipowner, gave Tom employment, and has proved afriend to him. Tom, in turn, has so far gained his confidence andrespect that Mr. Trueman contemplates sending him to London, onboard one of his ships. Nor has Tom forgotten to repay the oldAntiquary, who gave him a shelter when he was homeless; this home isstill under the roof of the old man, toward whose comfort hecontributes weekly a portion of his earnings. If you could but lookinto that little back-parlor, you would see a picture of humblecheerfulness presented in the old man, his daughter, and Tom Swiggs, seated round the tea-table. Let us, however, turn and look into oneof our gaudy saloons, that we may see how different a picture ispresented there. 

It is the night previous to an election for Mayor. Leaden cloudshang threatening over the city; the gaslight throws out its shadowsat an early hour; and loud-talking men throng our street-corners andpublic resorts. Our politicians tell us that the destiny of the richand the poor is to forever guard that institution which employs allour passions, and absorbs all our energies. 

In a curtained box, at the St. Charles, sits Mr. Snivel and GeorgeMullholland-the latter careworn and downcast of countenance. "Let usfinish this champaign, my good fellow, " says the politician, emptying his glass. "A man-I mean one who wants to get up in theworld-must, like me, have two distinct natures. He must have agrave, moral nature-that is necessary to the affairs of State. Andhe must, to accommodate himself to the world (law and society, Imean), have a terribly loose nature-a perfect quicksand, into whichhe can drag everything that serves himself. You have seen how I candevelop both these, eh?" The downcast man shakes his head, as thepolitician watches him with a steady gaze. "Take the advice of afriend, now, let the Judge alone-don't threaten again to shoot thatgirl. Threats are sometimes dragged in as testimony against a man(Mr. Snivel taps George admonishingly on the arm); and shouldanything of a serious nature befall her-the law is curious-why, whatyou have said might implicate you, though you were innocent. "

"You, " interrupts George, "have shot your man down in the street. "

"A very different affair, George. My position in society protectsme. I am a member of the Jockey-Club, a candidate for the StateSenate--a Justice of the Peace--yes, a politician! You are--Well, Iwas going to say-nothing! We regard northerners as enemies;socially, they are nothing. Come, George, come with me. I am yourbest friend. You shall see the power in my hands. " The two mensaunter out together, pass up a narrow lane leading from KingStreet, and are soon groping their way up the dark stairway of anold, neglected-looking wooden building, that for several years hasremained deserted by everything but rats and politicians, --oneseeming to gnaw away at the bowels of the nation, the other at thebowels of the old building. Having ascended to the second floor, Mr. Snivel touches a spring, a suspicious little trap opens, and twobright eyes peer out, as a low, whispering voice inquires, "Who'sthere?" Mr. Snivel has exchanged the countersign, and with hiscompanion is admitted into a dark vestibule, in which sits a brawnyguardsman. 

"Cribs are necessary, sir-I suppose you never looked into onebefore?"

George, in a voice discovering timidity, says he never has. 

"You must have cribs, and crib-voters; they are necessary to getinto high office-indeed, I may say, to keep up with the politicalspirit of the age. " Mr. Snivel is interrupted by the deep, coarsevoice of Milman Mingle, the vote-cribber, whose broad, savage facelooks out at a small guard trap. "All right, " he says, recognizingMr. Snivel. Another minute, and a door opens into a long, sombre-looking room, redolent of the fumes of whiskey and tobacco. "The day is ours. We'll elect our candidate, and then my election iscertain; naturalized thirteen rather green ones to-day-to-morrowthey will be trump cards. Stubbs has attended to the little matterof the ballot-boxes. " Mr. Snivel gives the vote-cribber's hand awarm shake, and turns to introduce his friend. The vote-cribber hasseen him before. "There are thirteen in, " he says, and two more hehas in his eye, and will have in to-night, having sent trappers outfor them. 

Cold meats, bread, cheese, and crackers, and a bountiful supply ofbad whiskey, are spread over a table in the centre of the room;while the pale light of two small lamps, suspended from the ceiling, throws a curious shadow over the repulsive features of thirteenforlorn, ragged, and half-drunken men, sitting here and there roundthe room, on wooden benches. You see ignorance and cruelty writtenin their very countenances. For nearly three weeks they have notscented the air of heaven, but have been held here in a despicablebondage. Ragged and filthy, like Falstaff's invincibles, they willbe marched to the polls to-morrow, and cast their votes at the bidof the cribber. "A happy lot of fellows, " says Mr. Snivel, exultingly. "I have a passion for this sort of business-am generalsupervisor of all these cribs, you understand. We have several ofthem. Some of these 'drifts' we kidnap, and some come and be lockedup of their own accord-merely for the feed and drink. We use them, and then snuff them out until we want them again. " Having turnedfrom George, and complimented the vote-cribber for his skill, hebids him good-night. Together George and the politician wend theirway to an obscure part of the city, and having passed up two flightof winding stairs, into a large, old-fashioned house on the Neck, are in a sort of barrack-room, fitted up with bunks and benches, andfilled with a grotesque assembly, making night jubilant-eating, drinking, smoking, and singing. "A jolly set of fellows, " says Mr. Snivel, with an expression of satisfaction. "This is a decoycrib-the vagabonds all belong to the party of our opponents, butdon't know it. We work in this way: we catch them-they are mostlyforeigners-lock them up, give them good food and drink, and makethem-not the half can speak our language-believe we belong to thesame party. They yield, as submissive as curs. To morrow, we-this isin confidence-drug them all, send them into a fast sleep, in whichwe keep them till the polls are closed, then, not wanting themlonger, we kick them out for a set of drunkards. Dangerous sort ofcribbing, this. I let you into the secret out of pure friendship. "Mr. Snivel pauses. George has at heart something of deeper interestto him than votes and vote-cribbers. But why, he says to himself, does Mr. Snivel evince this anxiety to befriend me? This question isanswered by Mr. Snivel inviting him to take a look into the Kenoden. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE KENO DEN, AND WHAT MAY BE SEEN IN IT. 

THE clock has just struck twelve. Mr. Snivel and George, passingfrom the scenes of our last chapter, enter a Keno den, A gambling den. Situated on Meeting street. "You must get money, George. Here you are nothing without money. Take this, try yourhand, make your genius serve you. " Mr. Snivel puts twenty dollarsinto George's hand. They are in a room some twenty by thirty feet indimensions, dimly-lighted. Standing here and there are gamblingtables, around which are seated numerous mechanics, losing, andbeing defrauded of that for which they have labored hard during theweek. Hope, anxiety, and even desperation is pictured on thecountenances of the players. Maddened and disappointed, one youngman rises from a table, at which sits a craven-faced man sweepingthe winnings into his pile, and with profane tongue, says he haslost his all. Another, with flushed face and bloodshot eyes, declares it the sixth time he has lost his earnings here. A thirdreels confusedly about the room, says a mechanic is but a dog inSouth Carolina; and the sooner he comes to a dog's end the better. 

Mr. Snivel points George to a table, at which he is soon seated. "Blank-blank-blank!" he reiterates, as the numbers turn up, and oneby one the moody bank-keeper sweeps the money into hisfast-increasing heap. "Cursed fate!--it is against me, " mutters theforlorn man. "Another gone, and yet another! How this deluding, thisfascinating money tortures me. " With hectic face and agitated nerve, he puts down his last dollar. "Luck's mysterious!" exclaims Mr. Snivel, looking on unmoved, as the man of the moody face declares ablank, and again sweeps the money into his heap. "Gone!" saysGeorge, "all's gone now. " He rises from his seat, in despair. 

"Don't get frantic, George-be a philosopher-try again-here's a ten. Luck 'll turn, " says Mr. Snivel, patting the deluded man familiarlyon the shoulder, as he resumes his seat. "Will poverty never ceasetorturing me? I have tried to be a man, an honest man, a respectableman. And yet, here I am, again cast upon a gambler's sea, strugglingwith its fearful tempests. How cold, how stone-like the faces aroundme!" he muses, watching with death-like gaze each number as it turnsup. Again he has staked his last dollar; again fortune frowns uponhim. Like a furnace of livid flame, the excitement seems burning uphis brain. "I am a fool again, " he says, throwing the blank numbercontemptuously upon the table. "Take it-take it, speechless, imperturbable man! Rake it into your pile, for my eyes are dim, andmy fortune I must seek elsewhere. "

A noise at the door, as of some one in distress, is heard, and thererushes frantically into the den a pale, dejected-looking woman, bearing in her arms a sick and emaciated babe. "Oh, William!William!--has it come to this?" she shrieks, casting a wild glanceround the den, until, with a dark, sad expression, her eye fallsupon the object of her search. It is her husband, once a happymechanic. Enticed by degrees into this den of ruin, becomingfascinated with its games of chance, he is now an habitue. To-nighthe left his suffering family, lost his all here, and now, havingdrank to relieve his feelings, lies insensible on the floor. "Comehome!--come home! for God's sake come home to your suffering family, "cries the woman, vaulting to him and taking him by the hand, herhair floating dishevelled down her shoulders. "I sent Tommy into thestreet to beg-I am ashamed-and he is picked up by the watch for athief, a vagrant!" The prostrate man remains insensible to herappeal. Two policemen, who have been quietly neglecting their dutieswhile taking a few chances, sit unmoved. Mr. Snivel thinks the womanbetter be removed. "Our half-starved mechanics, " he says, "are adepraved set; and these wives they bring with them from the Northare a sort of cross between a lean stage-driver and a wildcat. Sheseems a poor, destitute creature-just what they all come to, outhere. " Mr. Snivel shrugs his shoulders, bids George good night, andtakes his departure. "Take care of yourself, George, " he saysadmonitiously, as the destitute man watches him take his leave. Thewoman, frantic at the coldness and apathy manifested for herdistress, lays her babe hurriedly upon the floor, and with passionand despair darting from her very eyes, makes a lunge across thekeno table at the man who sits stoically at the bank. In an instanteverything is turned into uproar and confusion. Glasses, chairs, andtables, are hurled about the floor; shriek follows shriek--"help!pity me! murder!" rises above the confusion, the watch without soundthe alarm, and the watch within suddenly become conscious of theirduty. In the midst of all the confusion, a voice cries out: "Mypocket book-my pocket book!--I have been robbed. " A light flashesfrom a guardsman's lantern, and George Mullholland is discoveredwith the forlorn woman in his arms-she clings tenaciously to herbabe-rushing into the street. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

WHICH A STATE OF SOCIETY IS SLIGHTLY REVEALED. 

A WEEK has rolled into the past since the event at the Keno den. 

Madame Montford, pale, thoughtful, and abstracted, sits musing inher parlor. "Between this hope and fear-this remorse of conscience, this struggle to overcome the suspicions of society, I have nopeace. I am weary of this slandering-this unforgiving world. And yetit is my own conscience that refuses to forgive me. Go where I willI see the cold finger of scorn pointed at me: I read in everycountenance, 'Madame Montford, you have wronged some one-your guiltyconscience betrays you!' I have sought to atone for my error-torender justice to one my heart tells me I have wronged, yet I cannotshake off the dread burden; and there seems rest for me only in thegrave. Ah! there it is. The one error of my life, and the means usedto conceal it, may have brought misery upon more heads than one. "She lays her hand upon her heart, and shakes her head sorrowfully. "Yes! something like a death-knell rings in my ears-'more than onehave you sent, unhappy, to the grave. ' Rejected by the one I fancymy own; my very touch scorned; my motives misconstrued-all, perhaps, by-a doubt yet hangs between us-an abandoned stranger. Duty to myconscience has driven me to acts that have betrayed me to society. Icannot shake my guilt from me even for a day; and now society coldlycancels all my claims to its attentions. If I could believe herdead; if I but knew this girl was not the object of all my heart'sunrest, then the wearying doubt would be buried, and my heart mightfind peace in some remote corner of the earth. Well, well-perhaps Iam wasting all this torture on an unworthy object. I should havethought of this sooner, for now foul slander is upon every tongue, and my misery is made thrice painful by my old flatterers. I willmake one more effort, then if I fail of getting a certain clue toher, I will remove to some foreign country, shake off these hauntingdreams, and be no longer a victim to my own thoughts. " Somewhatrelieved, Madame is roused from her reverie by a gentle tap at thedoor. "I have waited your coming, and am glad to see you;" she says, extending her hand, as a servant, in response to her command, ushersinto her presence no less a person than Tom Swiggs. "I have sent foryou, " she resumes, motioning him gracefully to a chair, in which shebegs he will be seated, "because I feel I can confide in you--"

"Anything in my power is at your service, Madame, " modestlyinterposes Tom, regaining confidence. 

"I entrusted something of much importance to me, to Mr. Snivel--"

"We call him the Hon. Mr. Snivel now, since he has got to be a greatpolitician, " interrupts Tom. 

"And he not only betrayed my confidence, " pursues Madame Montford, "but retains the amount I paid him, and forgets to render thepromised service. You, I am told, can render me a service--"

"As for Mr. Snivel, " pursues Tom, hastily, "he has of late had hishands full, getting a poor but good-natured fellow, by the name ofGeorge Mullholland, into trouble. His friend, Judge Sleepyhorn, andhe, have for some time had a plot on hand to crush this poor fellow. A few nights ago Snivel drove him mad at a gambling den, and in hisdesperation he robbed a man of his pocket-book. He shared the moneywith a poor woman he rescued at the den, and that is the way it wasdiscovered that he was the criminal. He is a poor, thoughtless man, and he has been goaded on from one thing to another, until he wasdriven to commit this act. First, his wife was got away from him--"Tom pauses and blushes, as Madame Montford says: "His wife was gotaway from him?"

"Yes, Madame, " returns Tom, with an expression of sincerity. "TheJudge got her away from him; and this morning he was arraignedbefore that same Judge for examination, and Mr. Snivel was aprincipal witness, and there was enough found against him to commithim for trial at the Sessions. " Discovering that this information isexciting her emotions, Tom pauses, and contemplates her with steadygaze. She desires he will be her guide to the Poor-House, and thereassist her in searching for Mag Munday, whom, report says, isconfined in a cell. Tom having expressed his readiness to serve her, they are soon on their way to that establishment. 

A low, squatty building, with a red, moss-covered roof, two leanchimneys peeping out, the windows blockaded with dirt, and situatedin one of the by-lanes of the city, is our Poor-House, standing halfhid behind a crabbed old wall, and looking very like amuch-neglected Quaker church in vegetation. We boast much of ourinstitutions, and this being a sample of them, we hold it in greatreverence. You may say that nothing so forcibly illustrates a stateof society as the character of its institutions for the care ofthose unfortunate beings whom a capricious nature has deprived oftheir reason. We agree with you. We see our Poor-House crumbling tothe ground with decay, yet imagine it, or affect to imagine it, avery grand edifice, in every way suited to the wants of such roughends of humanity as are found in it. Like Satan, we are brilliantbelievers in ourselves, not bad sophists, and singularly clever infinding apologies for all great crimes. 

At the door of the Poor-House stands a dilapidated hearse, to whichan old gray horse is attached. A number of buzzards have gatheredabout him, turn their heads suspiciously now and then, and seemmeditating a descent upon his bones at no very distant day. Madamecasts a glance at the hearse, and the poor old horse, and the cawingbuzzards, then follows Tom, timidly, to the door. He has rung thebell, and soon there stands before them, in the damp doorway, afussy old man, with a very broad, red face, and a very blunt nose, and two very dull, gray eyes, which he fortifies with a pair ofmassive-framed spectacles, that have a passion for getting upon thetip-end of his broad blunt nose. 

"There, you want to see somebody! Always somebody wanted to be seen, when we have dead folks to get rid of, " mutters the old man, querulously, then looking inquiringly at the visitors. Tom says theywould like to go over the premises. "Yes-know you would. Ain't sodull but I can see what folks want when they look in here. " The oldman, his countenance wearing an expression of stupidity, runs hisdingy fingers over the crown of his bald head, and seems questioningwithin himself whether to admit them. "I'm not in a very good humorto-day, " he rather growls than speaks, "but you can come in--I'm ofa good family-and I'll call Glentworthy. I'm old-I can't get aboutmuch. We'll all get old. " The building seems in a very bad tempergenerally. 

Mr. Glentworthy is called. Mr. Glentworthy, with a profaneexpletive, pops his head out at the top of the stairs, and inquireswho wants him. The visitors have advanced into a little, narrowpassage, lumbered with all sorts of rubbish, and swarming withflies. Mr. Saddlerock (for this is the old man's name) seems in adeclining mood, the building seems in a declining mood, Mr. Glentworthy seems in a declining mood-everything you look at seemsin a declining mood. "As if I hadn't enough to do, gettin' off thisdead cribber!" interpolates Mr. Glentworthy, withdrawing his wickedface, and taking himself back into a room on the left. 

"He's not so bad a man, only it doesn't come out at first;" pursuesMr. Saddlerock, continuing to rub his head, and to fuss round on histoes. His mind, Madame Montford verily believes stuck in a fog. "Wemust wait a bit, " says the old man, his face seeming to elongate. "You can look about-there's not much to be seen, and what thereis-well, it's not the finest. " Mr. Saddlerock shuffles his feet, andthen shuffles himself into a small side room. Through the buildingthere breathes a warm, sickly atmosphere; the effect has left itsmarks upon the sad, waning countenances of its unfortunate inmates. 

Tom and Madame Montford set out to explore the establishment. Theyenter room after room, find them small, dark, and filthy beyonddescription. Some are crowded with half-naked, flabby females, whosecareworn faces, and well-starved aspect, tells a sorrowful tale ofthe chivalry. An abundant supply of profane works, in yellow and redcovers, would indeed seem to have been substituted for food, which, to the shame of our commissioners, be it said, is a scarce articlehere. Cooped up in another little room, after the fashion of wildbeasts in a cage, are seven poor idiots, whose forlorn condition, sad, dull countenances, as they sit round a table, staring vacantlyat one another, like mummies in contemplation, form a wild butsingularly touching picture. Each countenance pales before theseeming study of its opponent, until, enraptured and amazed, theybreak out into a wild, hysterical laugh. And thus, poisoned, starved, and left to die, does time with these poor mortals fleeton. 

The visitors ascend to the second story. A shuffling of feet in aroom at the top of the stairs excites their curiosity. Mr. Glentworthy's voice grates harshly on the ear, in language we cannotinsert in this history. "Our high families never look into lowplaces-chance if the commissioner has looked in here for years, "says Tom, observing Madame Montford protect her inhaling organs withher perfumed cambric. "There is a principle of economy carriedout-and a very nice principle, too, in getting these poor out of theworld as quick as possible. " Tom pushes open a door, and, heavens!what a sight is here. He stands aghast in the doorway-Madam, ontip-toe, peers anxiously in over his shoulders. Mr. Glentworthy andtwo negroes-the former slightly inebriated, the latter trembling offright-are preparing to box up a lifeless mass, lying carelesslyupon the floor. The distorted features, the profusion of long, redhair, curling over a scared face, and the stalworth figure, shedsome light upon the identity of the deceased. "Who is it?"ejaculates Mr. Glentworthy, in response to an inquiry from Tom. Mr. Glentworthy shrugs his shoulders, and commences whistling a tune. "That cove!" he resumes, having stopped short in his tune, "a manwhat don't know that cove, never had much to do with politics. Stuffed more ballot boxes, cribbed more voters, and knocked downmore slip-shod citizens-that cove has, than, put 'em all together, would make a South Carolina regiment. A mighty man amongpoliticians, he was! Now the devil has cribbed him-he'll know howgood it is!" Mr. Glentworthy says this with an air of superlativesatisfaction, resuming his tune. The dead man is Milman Mingle, thevote-cribber, who died of a wound he received at the hands of anantagonist, whom he was endeavoring to "block out" while going tothe polls to cast his vote. "Big politician, but had no home!" saysMadame, with a sigh. 

Mr. Glentworthy soon had what remained of the vote-cribber-the manto whom so many were indebted for their high offices-into a dealbox, and the deal box into the old hearse, and the old hearse, driven by a mischievous negro, hastening to that great crib to whichwe must all go. "Visitors, " Mr. Glentworthy smiles, "must notquestion the way we do business here, I get no pay, and there's onlyold Saddlerock and me to do all the work. Old Saddlerock, you see, is a bit of a miser, and having a large family of small Saddlerocksto provide for, scrapes what he can into his own pocket. No one isthe wiser. They can't be-they never come in. " Mr. Glentworthy, inreply to a question from Madame Montford, says Mag Munday (he hassome faint recollection of her) was twice in the house, which hedignifies with the title of "Institution. " She never was in the "madcells"--to his recollection. "Them what get there, mostly die there. "A gift of two dollars secures Mr. Glentworthy's services, andrestores him to perfect good nature. "You will remember, " says Tom, "that this woman ran neglected about the streets, was much abused, and ended in becoming a maniac. " Mr. Glentworthy remembers verywell, but adds: "We have so many maniacs on our hands, that we can'tdistinctly remember them all. The clergymen take good care never tolook in here. They couldn't do any good if they did, for nobodycares for the rubbish sent here; and if you tried to Christianizethem, you would only get laughed at. I don't like to be laughed at. Munday's not here now, that's settled-but I'll-for curiosity'ssake-show you into the 'mad cells. '" Mr. Glentworthy leads the way, down the rickety old stairs, through the lumbered passage, into anopen square, and from thence into a small out-building, at theextreme end of which some dozen wet, slippery steps, led into a darksubterranean passage, on each side of which are small, dungeon-likecells. "Heavens!" exclaims Madame Montford, picking her way down thesteep, slippery steps. "How chilling! how tomb-like! Can it be thatmortals are confined here, and live?" she mutters, incoherently. Thestifling atmosphere is redolent of disease. 

"It straightens 'em down, sublimely-to put 'em in here, " says Mr. Glentworthy, laconically, lighting his lamp. "I hope to get oldSaddlerock in here. Give him such a mellowing!" He turns his light, and the shadows play, spectre-like, along a low, wet aisle, hung oneach side with rusty bolts and locks, revealing the doors of cells. An ominous stillness is broken by the dull clank of chains, themuttering of voices, the shuffling of limbs; then a low wail breaksupon the ear, and rises higher and higher, shriller and shriller, until in piercing shrieks it chills the very heart. Now it ceases, and the echoes, like the murmuring winds, die faintly away. "Look inhere, now, " says Mr. Glentworthy--"a likely wench-once she was!"

He swings open a door, and there issues from a cell about four feetsix inches wide, and nine long, the hideous countenance of a poor, mulatto girl, whose shrunken body, skeleton-like arms, distended andglassy eyes, tell but too forcibly her tale of sorrow. How vivid thepicture of wild idiocy is pictured in her sad, sorrowing face. Nopainter's touch could have added a line more perfect. Now she rushesforward, with a suddenness that makes Madame Montford shrink back, appalled-now she fixes her eyes, hangs down her head, and gives ventto her tears. "My soul is white-yes, yes, yes! I know it is white;God tells me it is white-he knows-he never tortures. He doesn't keepme here to die-no, I can't die here in the dark. I won't get toheaven if I do. Oh! yes, yes, yes, I have a white soul, but my skinis not, " she rather murmurs than speaks, continuing to hold down herhead, while parting her long, clustering hair over her shoulders. Notwithstanding the spectacle of horror presented in this livingskeleton, there is something in her look and action which bespeaksmore the abuse of long confinement than the result of naturalaberration of mind. "She gets fierce now and then, and yells, " saysthe unmoved Glentworthy, "but she won't hurt ye--"

Can it be possible that such things as are here pictured have anexistence among a people laying any claim to a state ofcivilization? the reader may ask. The author would here say that tothe end of fortifying himself against the charge of exaggeration, hesubmitted the MS. Of this chapter to a gentleman of the highestrespectability in Charleston, whose unqualified approval itreceived, as well as enlisting his sympathies in behalf of theunfortunate lunatics found in the cells described. Four years havepassed since that time. He subsequently sent the author thefollowing, from the "Charleston Courier, " which speaks for itself. 

"FROM THE REPORTS OF COUNCIL. 

"January 4th, 1843. 

"The following communication was received from William M. Lawton, Esq. , Chairman of the Commissioners of the Poor-house. 

"'Charleston, Dec. 17th, 1852. "'To the Honorable, the City Councilof Charleston:

"'By a resolution of the Board of Commissioners of this City, I havebeen instructed to communicate with your honorable body in relationto the insane paupers now in Poor-house', (the insane in apoorhouse!) 'and to request that you will adopt the necessaryprovision for sending them to the Lunatic Asylum at Columbia. 

* * * *

There are twelve on the list, many of whom, it is feared, havealready remained too long in an institution quite unsuited to theirunfortunate situation. 

"'With great respect, your very obedient servant, "'(Signed) WM. M. LAWTON, "'Chairman of the Board of Commissioners. '"

"How long, " inquires Madame Montford, who has been questioningwithin herself whether any act of her life could have brought ahuman being into such a place, "has she been confined here?" Mr. Glentworthy says she tells her own tale. 

"Five years, --five years, --five long, long years, I have waited forhim in the dark, but he won't come, " she lisps in a faltering voice, as her emotions overwhelm her. Then crouching back upon the floor, she supports her head pensively in her left hand, her elbow restingon her knee, and her right hand poised against the brick wall. "Pencele!" says Mr. Glentworthy, for such is the wretched woman'sname, "cannot you sing a song for your friends?" Turning aside toMadame Montford, he adds, "she sings nicely. We shall soon get herout of the way-can't last much longer. " Mr. Glentworthy, drawing asmall bottle from his pocket, places it to his lips, saying he stoleit from old Saddlerock, and gulps down a portion of the contents. His breath is already redolent of whiskey. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! I cansing for them, I can smother them with kisses. Good faces seldomlook in here, seldom look in here, " she rises to her feet, andextends her bony hand, as the tears steal down Madame Montford'scheeks. Tom stands speechless. He wishes he had power to redress thewrongs of this suffering maniac-his very soul fires up against thecoldness and apathy of a people who permit such outrages againsthumanity. "There!--he comes! he comes! he comes!" the maniac speaks, with faltering voice, then strikes up a plaintive air, which shesings with a voice of much sweetness, to these words: When you findhim, speed him to me, And this heart will cease its bleeding, &c. 

The history of all this poor maniac's sufferings is told in a fewsimple words that fall incautiously from Mr. Glentworthy's lips:"Poor fool, she had only been married a couple of weeks, when theysold her husband down South. She thinks if she keeps mad, he'll comeback. "

There was something touching, something melancholy in the music ofher song, as its strains verberated and reverberated through thedread vault, then, like the echo of a lover's lute on some Alpinehill, died softly away. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

IN WHICH THERE IS A SINGULAR REVELATION. 

MADAME MONTFORD returns, unsuccessful, to her parlor. It isconscience that unlocks the guilty heart, that forces mortals toseek relief where there is no chance of finding it. It was thisirresistible emotion that found her counciling Tom Swiggs, making ofhim a confidant in her search for the woman she felt could removethe doubt, in respect to Anna's identity, that hung so painfully inher mind. And yet, such was her position, hesitating as it werebetween her ambition to move in fashionable society, and her anxietyto atone for a past error, that she dare not disclose the secret ofall her troubles even to him. She sought him, not that he couldsoften her anxiety, but that being an humble person, she couldpursue her object through him, unobserved to society-in a word, thathe would be a protection against the apprehensions ofscandal-mongers. Such are the shifts to which the ambitious guiltyhave recourse. What she has beheld in the poorhouse, too, onlyserves to quicken her thoughts of the misery she may have inflictedupon others, and to stimulate her resolution to persevere in hersearch for the woman. Conscious that wealth and luxury does notalways bring happiness, and that without a spotless character, womanis but a feeble creature in this world, she would now sacrificeeverything else for that one ennobling charm. 

It may be proper here to add, that although Tom Swiggs could notenter into the repentant woman's designs, having arranged with hisemployer to sail for London in a few days, she learned of himsomething that reflected a little more light in her path. And thatwas, that the woman Anna Bonard, repined of her act in leavingGeorge Mullholland, to whom she was anxious to return-that she wasnow held against her will; that she detested Judge Sleepyhorn, although he had provided lavishly for her comfort. Anna knew Georgeloved her, and that love, even to an abandoned woman (if she couldknow it sincere), was dearer to her than all else. She learned, too, that high up on Anna's right arm, there was imprinted in blue andred ink, two hearts and a broken anchor. And this tended further toincrease her anxiety. And while evolving all these things in hermind, and contemplating the next best course to pursue, her parloris invaded by Mr. Snivel. He is no longer Mr. Soloman, nor Mr. Snivel. He is the Hon. Mr. Snivel. It is curious to contemplate thecharacter of the men to whose name we attach this mark ofdistinction. "I know you will pardon my seeming neglect, Madame, " hesays, grasping her hand warmly, as a smile of exultation lights uphis countenance. "The fact is, we public men are so absorbed in theaffairs of the nation, that we have scarce a thought to give toaffairs of a private nature. We have elected our ticket. I wasdetermined it should be so, if Jericho fell. And, more than all, Iam made an honorable, by the popular sentiment of the people--"

"To be popular with the people, is truly an honor, " interrupts thelady, facetiously. 

"Thank you-O, thank you, for the compliment, " pursues our hero. "Now, as to this unfortunate person you seek, knowing it was oflittle use to search for her in our institutions of charity-onenever can find out anything about the wretches who get into them-Iput the matter into the hands of one of our day-police-a plagueysharp fellow-and he set about scenting her out. I gave him a largesum, and promised him more if successful. Here, then, after a longand tedious search-I have no doubt the fellow earned his money-iswhat he got from New York, this morning. " The Hon. Mr. Snivel, fixing his eye steadily upon her, hands her a letter which readsthus:

"NEW YORK, Dec. 14th, 18-. 

"Last night, while making search after a habitant of the Points, aodd old chip what has wandered about here for some years, some thinkhe has bin a better sort of man once, I struck across the woman youwant. She is somewhere tucked away in a Cow Bay garret, and is awfulcrazy; I'll keep me eye out till somethin' further. If her friendswants to give her a lift out of this place, they'd better come andsee me at once. 

"Yours, as ever, "M. FITZGERALD. "

Mr. Snivel ogles Madame Montford over the page of a book he affectsto read. "Guilt! deep and strong, " he says within himself, asMadame, with flushed countenance and trembling hand, ponders andponders over the paper. Then her emotions quicken, her eyes exchangeglances with Mr. Snivel, and she whispers, with a sigh, "found-atlast! And yet how foolish of me to give way to my feelings? Theaffair, at best, is none of mine. " Mr. Snivel bows, and curls hisSaxon mustache. "To do good for others is the natural quality of agenerous nature. "

Madame, somewhat relieved by this condescension of the Hon. Gentleman, says, in reply, "I am curious at solving family affairs. "

"And I!" says our hero, with refreshing coolness--"always ready to doa bit of a good turn. "

Madame pauses, as if in doubt whether to proceed or qualify what shehas already said. "A relative, whose happiness I make my own, " sheresumes, and again pauses, while the words tremble upon her lips. She hears the words knelling in her ears: "A guilty conscience needsno betrayer. "

"You have, " pursues our hero, "a certain clue; and of that I maycongratulate you. "

Madame says she will prepare at once to return to her home in NewYork, and-and here again the words hang upon her lips. She was goingto say, her future proceedings would be governed by the paper sheholds so nervously in her fingers. 

Snivel here receives a nostrum from the lady's purse. "Truly, !--Madame, " he says, in taking leave of her, "the St. Ceciliawill regret you-we shall all regret you; you honored and graced ourassemblies so. Our first families will part with you reluctantly. Itmay, however, be some satisfaction to know how many kind things willbe said of you in your absence. " Mr. Snivel makes his last bow, asarcastic smile playing over his face, and passes into the street. 

On the following day she encloses a present of fifty dollars to TomSwiggs, enjoins the necessity of his keeping her visit to thepoor-house a secret, and takes leave of Charleston. 

And here our scene changes, and we must transport the reader to NewYork. It is the day following the night Mr. Detective Fitzgeralddiscovered what remained of poor Toddleworth, in the garret of theHouse of the Nine Nations. The City Hall clock strikes twelve. Thegoodly are gathered into the House of the Foreign Missions, in whichpeace and respectability would seem to preside. The good-natured fatman is in his seat, pondering over letters lately received from the"dark regions" of Arabia; the somewhat lean, but veryrespectable-looking Secretary, is got nicely into his spectacles, and sits pondering over lusty folios of reports from Hindostan, andvarious other fields of missionary labor, all setting forth thevarious large amounts of money expended, how much more could beexpended, and what a blessing it is to be enabled to announce thefact that there is now a hope of something being done. The sameanxious-faced bevy of females we described in a previous chapter, are here, seated at a table, deeply interested in certainperiodicals and papers; while here and there about the room, areseveral contemplative gentlemen in black. Brother Spyke, havingdeeply interested Brothers Phills and Prim with an account of hisvisit to the Bottomless Pit, paces up and down the room, thinking ofAntioch, and the evangelization of the heathen world. "Truly, brother, " speaks the good-natured fat man, "his coming seemethlong. " "Eleven was the hour; but why he tarryeth I know not, "returns Brother Spyke, with calm demeanor. "There is something morealarming in Sister Slocum's absence, " interposes one of the ladies. The house seems in a waiting mood, when suddenly Mr. DetectiveFitzgerald enters, and changes it to one of anxiety. Several voicesinquire if he was successful. He shakes his head, and havingrecounted his adventures, the discovery of where the money went to, and the utter hopelessness of an effort to recover it; "as for theman, Toddleworth, " he says, methodically, "he was found with abroken skull. The Coroner has had an inquest over him; but murdersare so common. The verdict was, that he died of a broken skull, bythe hands of some one to the jury unknown. Suspicions were strongagainst one Tom Downey, who is very like a heathen, and ismistrusted of several murders. The affair disturbed the neighborhooda little, and the Coroner tried to get something out concerning theman's history; but it all went to the wind, for the people were allso ignorant. They all knew everything about him, which turned out tobe just nothing, which they were ready to swear to. One believedFather Flaherty made the Bible, another believed the Devil stillchained in Columbia College-a third believed the stars were lanternsto guide priests-the only angels they know-on their way to heaven. "

"Truly!" exclaims the man of the spectacles, in a moment ofabstraction. 

Brother Spyke says: "the Lord be merciful. "

"On the body of the poor man we found this document. It was rolledcarefully up in a rag, and is supposed to throw some light on hishistory. " Mr. Fitzgerald draws leisurely from his pocket a distainedand much-crumpled paper, written over in a bold, business-like hand, and passes it to the man in the spectacles, as a dozen or moreanxious faces gather round, eager to explore the contents. 

"He went out of the Points as mysteriously as he came in. We buriedhim a bit ago, and have got Downey in the Tombs: he'll be hanged, nodoubt, " concludes the detective, laying aside his cap, and settinghimself, uninvited, into a chair. The man in the spectaclescommences reading the paper, which runs as follows:

"I have been to you an unknown, and had died such an unknown, butthat my conscience tells me I have a duty to perform. I have wrongedno one, owe no one a penny, harbor no malice against any one; I am avictim of a broken heart, and my own melancholy. Many years ago Ipursued an honorable business in this city, and was respected andesteemed. Many knew me, and fortune seemed to shed upon me hersmiles. I married a lady of wealth and affluence, one I loved anddoted on. Our affections seemed formed for our bond; we lived forone another; our happiness seemed complete. But alas! an evil hourcame. Ambitious of admiration, she gradually became a slave tofashionable society, and then gave herself up to those flattererswho hang about it, and whose chief occupation it is to makeweak-minded women vain of their own charms. Coldness, andindifference to home, soon followed. My house was invaded, myhome-that home I regarded so sacredly-became the resort of men inwhose society I found no pleasure, with whom I had no feeling incommon. I could not remonstrate, for that would have betrayed in mea want of confidence in the fidelity of one I loved too blindly. Iwas not one of those who make life miserable in seeing a little andsuspecting much. No! I forgave many things that wounded my feelings;and my love for her would not permit a thought to invade thesanctity of her fidelity. Business called me into a foreign country, where I remained several months, then returned-not, alas! to a homemade happy by the purity of one I esteemed an angel;--not to the armsof a pure, fond wife, but to find my confidence betrayed, my homeinvaded-she, in whom I had treasured up my love, polluted; andslander, like a desert wind, pouring its desolating breath into myvery heart. In my blindness I would have forgiven her, taken herback to my distracted bosom, and fled with her to some distant land, there still to have lived and loved her. But she sought rather toconceal her guilt than ask forgiveness. My reason fled me, mypassion rose above my judgment, I sank under the burden of mysorrow, attempted to put an end to her life, and to my own misery. Failing in this, for my hand was stayed by a voice I heard callingto me, I fled the country and sought relief for my feelings in thewilds of Chili. I left nearly all to my wife, took but little withme, for my object was to bury myself from the world that had knownme, and respected me. Destitution followed me; whither I went thereseemed no rest, no peace of mind for me. The past floated uppermostin my mind. I was ever recurring to home, to those with whom I hadassociated, to an hundred things that had endeared me to my owncountry. Years passed-years of suffering and sorrow, and I foundmyself a lone wanderer, without friend or money. During this time itwas reported at home, as well as chronicled in the newspapers, thatI was dead. The inventor of this report had ends, I will not namethem here, to serve. I was indeed dead to all who had known me happyin this world. Disguised, a mere shadow of what I was once, Iwandered back to New York, heart-sick and discouraged, and buriedmyself among those whose destitution, worse, perhaps, than my own, afforded me a means of consolation. My life has long been a burdento me; I have many times prayed God, in his mercy, to take me away, to close the account of my misery. Do you ask my name? Ah! that iswhat pains me most. To live unknown, a wretched outcast, in a citywhere I once enjoyed a name that was respected, is what has hauntedmy thoughts, and tortured my feelings. But I cannot withhold it, even though it has gone down, tainted and dishonored. It is HenryMontford. And with this short record I close my history, leaving therest for those to search out who find this paper, at my death, whichcannot be long hence. "HENRY MONTFORD. "New York, Nov. -, 184-. "

A few sighs follow the reading of the paper, but no very deepinterest, no very tender emotion, is awakened in the hearts of thegoodly. Nevertheless, it throws a flood of light upon the morals ofa class of society vulgarly termed fashionable. The meek femaleshold their tears and shake their heads. Brother Spyke elongates hislean figure, draws near, and says the whole thing is veryunsatisfactory. Not one word is let drop about the lost money. 

Brother Phills will say this-that the romance is very cleverly gotup, as the theatre people say. 

The good-natured fat man, breathing somewhat freer, says: "Truly!these people have a pleasant way of passing out of the world. Theydie of their artful practices-seeking to devour the good and thegenerous. "

"There's more suffers than imposes-an' there's more than's writtenmeant in that same bit of paper. Toddleworth was as inoffensive acreature as you'd meet in a day. May God forgive him all hisfaults;" interposes Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, gathering up his capand passing slowly out of the room. 

And this colloquy is put an end to by the sudden appearance ofSister Slocum. A rustling silk dress, of quiet color, and set offwith three modest flounces; an India shawl, loosely thrown over hershoulders; a dainty little collar, of honiton, drawn neatly abouther neck, and a bonnet of buff-colored silk, tastefully set off withtart-pie work without, and lined with virtuous white satin within, so saucily poised on her head, suggests the idea that she has an eyeto fashion as well as the heathen world. Her face, too, always sobroad, bright, and benevolent in its changes-is chastely framed in acrape border, so nicely crimped, so nicely tucked under herbenevolent chin at one end, and so nicely pinned under the virtuouswhite lining at the other. Goodness itself radiates from thoselarge, earnest blue eyes, those soft, white cheeks, that largeforehead, with those dashes of silvery hair crossing it so smoothlyand so exactly-that well-developed, but rather broad nose, and thatmouth so expressive of gentleness. 

Sister Slocum, it requires no very acute observer to discover, hasgot something more than the heathen world at heart, for all thosesoft, congenial features are shadowed with sadness. Silently shetakes her seat, sits abstracted for a few minutes-the house isthrown into a wondering mood-then looks wisely through herspectacles, and having folded her hands with an air of greatresignation, shakes, and shakes, and shakes her head. Her eyes sud-denly fill with tears, her thoughts wander, or seem to wander, sheattempts to speak, her voice choaks, and the words hang upon herlips. All is consternation and excitement. Anxious faces gatherround, and whispering voices inquire the cause. The lean man in thespectacles having applied his hartshorn bottle, Sister Slocum, tothe great joy of all present, is so far restored as to be able toannounce the singular, but no less melancholy fact, that our dearguest, Sister Swiggs, has passed from this world to a better. Sheretired full of sorrow, but came not in the morning. And this sotroubled Sister Scudder that there was no peace until she enteredher room. But she found the angel had been there before her, smoothed the pillow of the stranger, and left her to sleep in death. On earth her work was well done, and in the arms of the angel, herpure spirit now beareth witness in heaven. Sister Slocum's emotionsforbid her saying more. She concludes, and buries her face in hercambric. Then an outpouring of consoling words follow. "He comethlike a thief in the night: His works are full of mystery; truly, Hechasteneth; He giveth and taketh away. " Such are a few of thesentiments lisped, regrettingly, for the departed. 

How vain are the hopes with which we build castles in the air; howstrange the motives that impel us to ill-advised acts. We leaveuntouched the things that call loudest for our energies, andtreasure up our little that we may serve that which least concernsus. In this instance it is seen how that which came of evil went inevil; how disapointment stepped in and blew the castle down at abreath. 

There could not be a doubt that the disease of which Sister Smiggsdied, and which it is feared the State to which she belongs will oneday die, was little dignity. Leaving her then in the arms of theHouse of the Foreign Mission, and her burial to the Secretary of thevery excellent "Tract Society" she struggled so faithfully to serve, we close this chapter of events, the reader having, no doubt, discovered the husband of Madame Montford in the wretched man, Mr. Toddleworth. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE TWO PICTURES. 

WE come now to another stage of this history. Six months have glidedinto the past since the events recorded in the foregoing chapter. The political world of Charleston is resolved to remain in the Uniona few months longer. It is a pleasant evening in early May. Thewestern sky is golden with the setting sun, and the heavens arefilled with battlements of refulgent clouds, now softening away intonight. Yonder to the East, reposes a dark grove. A gentle breezefans through its foliage, the leaves laugh and whisper, the perfumesof flowers are diffusing through the air birds make melodious withtheir songs, the trilling stream mingles its murmurs, and naturewould seem gathering her beauties into one enchanting harmony. Inthe foreground of the grove, and looking as if it borrowed solitudeof the deep foliage, in which it is half buried, rises a prettyvilla, wherein may be seen, surrounded by luxuries the common herdmight well envy, the fair, the beautiful siren, Anna Bonard. In thedingy little back parlor of the old antiquary, grim poverty lookingin through every crevasse, sits the artless and pure-minded MariaMcArthur. How different are the thoughts, the hopes, the emotions ofthese two women. Comfort would seem smiling on the one, whiledestitution threatens the other. To the eye that looks only upon thesurface, how deceptive is the picture. The one with every wishgratified, an expression of sorrow shadowing her countenance, andthat freshness and sweetness for which she was distinguished passingaway, contemplates herself a submissive captive, at the mercy of onefor whom she has no love, whose gold she cannot inherit, and whoseroof she must some day leave for the street. The other feels povertygrasping at her, but is proud in the possession of her virtue; andthough trouble would seem tracing its lines upon her features, herheart remains untouched by remorse;--she is strong in theconsciousness that when all else is gone, her virtue will remain herbeacon light to happiness. Anna, in the loss of that virtue, seesherself shut out from that very world that points her to the yawningchasm of her future; she feels how like a slave in the hands of onewhose heart is as cold as his smiles are false, she is. Maria owesthe world no hate, nor are her thougnts disturbed by suchcontemplations. Anna, with embittered and remorseful feelings-withdark and terrible passions agitating her bosom, looks back over hereventful life, to a period when even her own history is shut to her, only to find the tortures of her soul heightened. Maria looks backupon a life of fond attachment to her father, to her humble effortsto serve others, and to know that she has borne with Christianfortitude those ills which are incident to humble life. With her, anemotion of joy repays the contemplation. To Anna, the future is hungin dark forebodings. She recalls to mind the interview with MadameMontford, but that only tends to deepen the storm of anguish thecontemplation of her parentage naturally gives rise to. With Maria, the present hangs dark and the future brightens. She thinks of theabsent one she loves-of how she can best serve her aged father, andhow she can make their little home cheerful until the return of TomSwiggs, who is gone abroad. It must be here disclosed that the oldman had joined their hands, and invoked a blessing on their heads, ere Tom took his departure. Maria looks forward to the day of hisreturn with joyous emotions. That return is the day dream of herheart; in it she sees her future brightening. Such are the cherishedthoughts of a pure mind. Poverty may gnaw away at the hearthstone, cares and sorrow may fall thick in your path, the rich may frownupon you, and the vicious sport with your misfortunes, but virtuegives you power to overcome them all. In Maria's ear somethingwhispers: Woman! hold fast to thy virtue, for if once it go neithergold nor false tongues can buy it back. 

Anna sees the companion of her early life, and the sharer of hersufferings, shut up in a prison, a robber, doomed to the lash. "Hewas sincere to me, and my only true friend--am I the cause of this?"she muses. Her heart answers, and her bosom fills with dark andstormy emotions. One small boon is now all she asks. She could bowdown and worship before the throne of virgin innocence, for now itsworth towers, majestic, before her. It discovers to her the falsityof her day-dream; it tells her what an empty vessel is this life ofours without it. She knows George Mullholland loves herpassionately; she knows how deep will be his grief, how revengefulhis feelings. It is poverty that fastens the poison in the heart ofthe rejected lover. The thought of this flashes through her mind. His hopeless condition, crushed out as it were to gratify him inwhose company her pleasures are but transitory, and may any dayend, darkens as she contemplates it. How can she acquit herconscience of having deliberately and faithlessly renounced one whowas so true to her? She repines, her womanly nature revolts at thethought-the destiny her superstition pictured so dark and terrible, stares her in the face. She resolves a plan for his release, and, relieved with a hope that she can accomplish it while propitiatingthe friendship of the Judge, the next day seeks him in his prisoncell, and with all that vehemence woman, in the outpouring of hergenerous impulses, can call to her aid, implores his forgiveness. But the rust of disappointment has dried up his better nature; hisheart is wrung with the shafts of ingratitude--all the fiercepassions of his nature, hate, scorn and revenge, rise up in the onestormy outburst of his soul. He casts upon her a look of witheringscorn, the past of that life so chequered flashes vividly throughhis thoughts, his hate deepens, he hurls her from him, invokes acurse upon her head, and shuts her from his sight. "Mine will be theretribution!" he says, knitting his dark brow. 

How is it with the Judge-that high functionary who provides thussumptuously for his mistress? His morals, like his judgments, areexcused, in the cheap quality of our social morality. 

Such is gilded vice; such is humble virtue. 

A few days more and the term of the Sessions commences. George isarraigned, and the honorable Mr. Snivel, who laid the plot, andfurthered the crime, now appears as a principal witness. He procuresthe man's conviction, and listens with guilty heart to the sentence, for he is rearrainged on sentence day, and Mr. Snivel is present. And while the culprit is sentenced to two years imprisonment, and toreceive eighty lashes, laid on his bare back, while at the publicwhipping-post, at four stated times, the man who stimulated the handof the criminal, is honored and flattered by society. Such is themajesty of the law. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

IN WHICH A LITTLE LIGHT IS SHED UPON THE CHARACTER OF OUR CHIVALRY. 

MR. MCARTHUR has jogged on, in the good old way but his worldlystore seems not to increase. The time, nevertheless, is arrived whenhe is expected to return the little amount borrowed of Keepum, through the agency of Mr. Snivel. Again and again has he beennotified that he must pay or go to that place in which we lock upall our very estimable "first families, " whose money has taken wingsand flown away. Not content with this, the two worthy gentlemen havemore than once invaded the Antiquary's back parlor, and offered, aswe have described in a former chapter, improper advances to hisdaughter. 

Mr. Keepum, dressed in a flashy coat, his sharp, mercenary face, hectic of night revels, and his small but wicked eyes wandering overMr. McArthur's stock in trade, is seen in pursuit of his darlingobject. "I don't mind so much about the pay, old man! I'm up well inthe world. The fact is, I am esteemed-and I am!--a public benefactor. I never forget how much we owe to the chivalric spirit of ourancestors, and in dealing with the poor-money matters and politicsare different from anything else-I am too generous. I don't mind myown interests enough. There it is!" Mr. Keepum says this with anevident relief to himself. Indeed it must here be acknowledged thatthis very excellent member of the St. Cecilia Society, and profounddealer in lottery tickets, like our fine gentlemen who are soscrupulous of their chivalry while stabbing men behind their backs, fancies himself one of the most disinterested beings known togenerous nature. 

Bent and tottering, the old man recounts the value of hiscuriosities; which, like our chivalry, is much talked of but hard toget at. He offers in apology for the nonpayment of the debt hisknowledge of the old continentals, just as we offer our chivalry inexcuse for every disgraceful act-every savage law. In fine, hefollows the maxims of our politicians, recapitulating a dozen ormore things (wiping the sweat from his brow the while) that have noearthly connection with the subject. "They are all very well, " Mr. Keepum rejoins, with an air of self-importance, dusting the ashesfrom his cigar. He only wishes to impress the old man with the factthat he is his very best friend. 

And having somewhat relieved the Antiquary's mind of itsapprehensions, for McArthur stood in great fear of duns, Mr. Keepumpops, uninvited, into the "back parlor, " where he has not long beenwhen Maria's screams for assistance break forth. 

"Ah! I am old-there is not much left me now. Yes, I am old, myinfirmities are upon me. Pray, good man, spare me my daughter. Nay, you must not break the peace of my house;" mutters the old man, advancing into the room, with infirm step, and looking wistfully athis daughter, as if eager to clasp her in his arms. Maria stands ina defiant attitude, her left hand poised on a chair, and her rightpointing scornfully in the face of Keepum, who recoils under thelook of withering scorn that darkens her countenance. "A gentleman!begone, knave! for your looks betray you. You cannot buy my ruinwith your gold; you cannot deceive me with your false tongue. Ifhate were a noble passion, I would not vent that which now agitatesmy bosom on you. Nay, I would reserve it for a better purpose--"

"Indeed, indeed-now I say honestly, your daughter mistakes me. I wasonly being a little friendly to her, " interrupts the chopfallen man. He did not think her capable of summoning so much passion to heraid. 

Maria, it must be said, was one of those seemingly calm natures inwhich resentment takes deepest root, in which the passions are mostviolent when roused. Solitude does, indeed, tend to invest thepassionate nature with a calm surface. A less penetrating observerthan the chivalrous Keepum, might have discovered in Maria a spirithe could not so easily humble to his uses. It is the modest, thoughtful woman, you cannot make lick the dust in sorrow and tears. "Coward! you laid ruffian hands on me!" says Maria, again toweringto her height, and giving vent to her feelings. 

"Madam, Madam, " pursues Keepum, trembling and crouching, "youasperse my honor, --my sacred honor, Madam. You see-let me say aword, now-you are leting your temper get the better of you. I never, and the public know I never did-I never did a dishonorable thing inmy life. " Turning to the bewildered old man, he continues: "to becalled a knave, and upbraided in this manner by your daughter, whenI have befriended you all these days!" His wicked eyes fall guiltyto the floor. 

"Out man!--out! Let your sense of right, if you have it, teach youwhat is friendship. Know that, like mercy, it is not poured out withhands reeking of female dishonor. "

Mr. Keepum, like many more of our very fine gentlemen, had sotrained his thoughts to look upon the poor as slaves created for abase use, that he neither could bring his mind to believe in theexistence of such things as noble spirits under humble roofs, nor toimagine himself-even while committing the grossest outrages-doingaught to sully the high chivalric spirit he fancied he possessed. The old Antiquary, on the other hand, was not a little surprised tofind his daughter displaying such extraordinary means of repulsingan enemy. 

Trembling, and child-like he stands, conscious of being in the graspof a knave, whose object was more the ruin of his daughter than therecovery of a small amount of money, the tears glistening in hiseyes, and the finger of old age marked on his furrowed brow. 

"Father, father!" says Maria, and the words hang upon her quiveringlips, her face becomes pale as marble, her strength deserts her, --shetrembles from head to foot, and sinks upon the old man's bosom, struggling to smother her sobs. Her passion has left her; her calmernature has risen up to rebuke it. The old man leads her tenderly tothe sofa, and there seeks to sooth her troubled spirit. 

"As if this hub bub was always to last!" a voice speaks suddenly. Itis the Hon. Mr. Snivel, who looks in at the eleventh hour, as hesays, to find affairs always in a fuss. "Being a man of legalknowledge-always ready to do a bit of a good turn-especially inputting a disordered house to rights-I thought it well to look in, having a leisure minute or two (we have had a convention fordissolving the Union, and passed a vote to that end!) to give to myold friends, " Mr. Snivel says, in a voice at once conciliating andinsinuating. "I always think of a border feud when I comehere-things that find no favor with me. " Mr. Snivel, having firstpatted the old man on the shoulder, exchanges a significant winkwith his friend Keepum, and then bestows upon him what he is pleasedto call a little wholesome advice. "People misunderstand Mr. Keepum, " he says, "who is one of the most generous of men, but lacksdiscretion, and in trying to be polite to everybody, lets hisfeelings have too much latitude now and then. " Maria buries her facein her handkerchief, as if indifferent to the reconciliationoffered. 

"Now let this all be forgotten-let friendship reign among friends:that's my motto. But! I say, --this is a bad piece of news we havethis morning. Clipped this from an English paper, " resumes the Hon. Gentleman, drawing coolly from his pocket a bit of paper, having theappearance of an extract. 

"You are never without some kind of news-mostly bad!" says Keepum, flinging himself into a chair, with an air of restored confidence. Mr. Snivel bows, thanks the gentleman for the compliment, andcommences to read. "This news, " he adds, "may be relied upon, havingcome from Lloyd's List: 'Intelligence was received here (this is, you must remember, from a London paper, he says, in parentheses)this morning, of the total loss of the American ship--, bound fromthis port for Charleston, U. S. , near the Needles. Every soul onboard, except the Captain and second mate, perished. The gale wasone of the worst ever known on this coast-'"

"The worst ever known on this coast!" ejaculates Mr. Keepum, hiswicked eyes steadily fixed upon Maria. "One of Trueman's ships, " Mr. Snivel adds. "Unlucky fellow, that Trueman--second ship he haslost. "

"By-the-bye, " rejoins Keepum, as if a thought has just flashed uponhim, "your old friend, Tom Swiggs, was supercargo, clerk, orwhatever you may call it, aboard that ship, eh?"

It is the knave who can most naturally affect surprise and regretwhen it suits his purposes, and Mr. Snivel is well learned in theart. "True!" he says, "as I'm a Christian. Well, I had made a man ofhim-I don't regret it, for I always liked him-and this is the end ofthe poor fellow, eh?" Turning to McArthur, he adds, ratherunconcernedly: "You know somewhat of him?" The old man sitsmotionless beside his daughter, the changes of whose countenancediscover the inward emotions that agitate her bosom. Her eyes fillwith tears; she exchanges inquiring glances, first with Keepum, thenwith Snivel; then a thought strikes her that she received a letterfrom Tom, setting forth his prospects, and his intention to returnin the ship above named. It was very natural that news thus artfullymanufactured, and revealed with such apparent truthfulness, shouldproduce a deep impression in the mind of an unsuspecting girl. Indeed, it was with some effort that she bore up under it. Expressions of grief she would fain suppress before the enemy gain amastery over her-and ere they are gone the cup flows over, and shesinks exhausted upon the sofa. 

"There! good as far as it goes. You have now another mode of gainingthe victory, " Mr. Snivel whispers in the ear of his friend, Keepum;and the two gentlemen pass into the street. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

IN WHICH A LAW IS SEEN TO SERVE BASE PURPOSES. 

MARIA has passed a night of unhappiness. Hopes and fears areknelling in the morning, which brings nothing to relieve her anxietyfor the absent one; and Mr. Snivel has taken the precaution to havethe news of the lost ship find its way into the papers. 

And while our city seems in a state of very general excitement;while great placards on every street corner inform the wonderingstranger that a mighty Convention (presided over by the Hon. S. Snivel) for dissolving the Union, is shortly to be holden; while ourpolitical world has got the Union on its shoulders, and threatens tothrow it into the nearest ditch; while our streets swarm with long, lean, and very hairy-faced delegates (all lusty of war andsecession), who have dragged themselves into the city to drink noend of whiskey, and say all sorts of foolish things their savage andhalf-civilized constituents are expected to applaud; while our morematerial and conservative citizens are thinking what asses we makeof ourselves; while the ship-of-war we built to fight the rest ofthe Union, lies an ugly lump in the harbor, and "won't go over thebar;" while the "shoe-factory" we established to supply niggerdomwith soles, is snuffed out for want of energy and capacity to manageit; while some of our non-slaveholding, but most active secessionmerchants, are moving seriously in the great project of establishinga "SOUTHERN CANDLE-FACTORY"--a thing much needed in the"up-country;" while our graver statesmen (who don't get the Stateout of the Union fast enough for the ignorant rabble, who havenothing but their folly at stake) are pondering over the policy ofspending five hundred thousand dollars for the building of anotherwar-ship-one that "will go over the bar;" and whilecuriously-written letters from Generals Commander and Quattlebum, offering to bring their allied forces into the field-to blow thisconfederation down at a breath whenever called upon, are beingpublished, to the great joy of all secessiondom; while saltpetre, broadswords, and the muskets made for us by Yankees to fightYankees, and which were found to have wood instead of flint in theirhammers, (and which trick of the Yankees we said was just like theYankees, ) are in great demand-and a few of our mob-politicians, whoare all "Kern'ls" of regiments that never muster, prove conclusivelyour necessity for keeping a fighting-man in Congress; while, weassert, many of our first and best known families have sunk theassemblies of the St. Cecilia in the more important question of whatorder of government will best suit-in the event of our gettinghappily out of the Union!--our refined and very exacting state ofsociety;--whether an Empire or a Monarchy, and whether we ought toset up a Quattlebum or Commander dynasty?-whether the Bungle familyor the Jungle family (both fighting families) will have a placenearest the throne; what sort of orders will be bestowed, who willget them, and what colored liveries will best become us (all ofwhich grave questions threaten us with a very extensive war offamilies)?--while all these great matters find us in a sea oftrouble, there enters the curiosity-shop of the old Antiquary asuspicious-looking individual in green spectacles. 

"Mr. Hardscrabble!" says the man, bowing and taking a seat, leisurely, upon the decrepid sofa. Mr. McArthur returns hissalutation, contemplates him doubtingly for a minute, then resumeshis fussing and brushing. 

The small, lean figure; the somewhat seedy broadcloth in which it isenveloped; the well-browned and very sharp features; the straight, dark-gray hair, and the absent manner of Mr. Hardscrabble, might, with the uninitiated, cause him to be mistaken for an "up-country"clergyman of the Methodist denomination. 

"Mr. Hardscrabble? Mr. Hardscrabble? Mr. Hardscrabble?" muses theAntiquary, canting his head wisely, "the Sheriff, as I'm a man ofyears!"

Mr. Hardscrabble comforts his eyes with his spectacles, and havingglanced vacantly over the little shop, as if to take an inventory ofits contents, draws from his breast-pocket a paper containing veryominous seals and scrawls. 

"I'm reluctant about doing these things with an old man like you, "Mr. Hardscrabble condescends to say, in a sharp, grating voice; "butI have to obey the demands of my office. " Here he commences readingthe paper to the trembling old man, who, having adjusted hisbroad-bowed spectacles, and arrayed them against the spectacles ofMr. Hardscrabble, says he thinks it contains a great many uselessrecapitulations. 

Mr. Hardscrabble, his eyes peering eagerly through his glasses, andhis lower jaw falling and exposing the inner domain of his mouth, replies with an--"Umph. " The old Antiquary was never before calledupon to examine a document so confusing to his mind. Not contentwith a surrender of his property, it demands his body into thebargain-all at the suit of one Keepum. He makes several motions togo show it to his daughter; but that, Mr. Hardscrabble thinks, isscarce worth while. "I sympathize with you-knowing how frugal youhave been through life. A list of your effects-if you have one-willsave a deal of trouble. I fear (Mr. Hardscrabble works his quid) mycosts will hardly come out of them. "

"There's a fortune in them-if the love of things of yore--" The oldman hesitates, and shakes his head dolefully. 

"Yore!--a thing that would starve out our profession. "

"A little time to turn, you know. There's my stock of uniforms. "

"Well-I-know, " Mr. Hardscrabble rejoins, with a drawl; "but I mustlock up the traps. Yes, I must lock you up, and sell you out-unlessyou redeem before sale day; that you can't do, I suppose?"

And while the old man totters into the little back parlor, and, giving way to his emotions, throws himself upon the bosom of hisfond daughter, to whom he discloses his troubles, Mr. Hardscrabbleputs locks and bolts upon his curiosity-shop. This importantbusiness done, he leads the old man away, and gives him a lodging inthe old jail. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A SHORT CHAPTER OF ORDINARY EVENTS. 

TO bear up against the malice of inexorable enemies is at once thegift and the shield of a noble nature. And here it will be enough tosay, that Maria bore the burden of her ills with fortitude andresignation, trusting in Him who rights the wronged, to be herdeliverer. What took place when she saw her aged father led away, aprisoner; what thoughts invaded that father's mind when the prisonbolt grated on his ear, and he found himself shut from all that hadbeen dear to him through life, regard for the feelings of the readerforbids us recounting here. 

Naturally intelligent, Maria had, by close application to books, acquired some knowledge of the world. Nor was she entirely ignorantof those arts designing men call to their aid when seeking to effectthe ruin of the unwary female. Thus fortified, she fancied she sawin the story of the lost ship a plot against herself, while thepersecution of her father was only a means to effect the object. Launched between hope and fear, then-hope that her lover stilllived, and that with his return her day would brighten-fear lest thereport might be founded in truth, she nerves herself for thestruggle. She knew full well that to give up in despair-to castherself upon the cold charities of a busy world, would only be tohasten her downfall. Indeed, she had already felt how cold, and howfar apart were the lines that separated our rich from our poor. 

The little back parlor is yet spared to Maria, and in it she may nowbe seen plying at her needle, early and late. It is the only meansleft her of succoring the parent from whom she has been soruthlessly separated. Hoping, fearing, bright to-day and darkto-morrow, willing to work and wait-here she sits. A few days pass, and the odds and ends of the Antiquary's little shop, like the"shirts" of the gallant Fremont, whom we oppressed while poor, andessayed to flatter when a hero, are gazetted under the head of"sheriff's sale. " Hope, alas! brings no comfort to Maria. Time rollson, the month's rent falls due, her father pines and sinks inconfinement, and her needle is found inadequate to the taskundertaken. Necessity demands, and one by one she parts with her fewcherished mementos of the past, that she may save an aged fatherfrom starvation. 

The "prisoner" has given notice that he will take the benefit of theact-commonly called "an act for the relief of poor debtors. " Butbefore he can reach this boon, ten days must elapse. Generous-mindedlegislators, no doubt, intended well when they constructed this act, but so complex are its provisions that any legal gentleman may makeit a very convenient means of oppression. And in a community wherelaws not only have their origin in the passions of men, but are madeto serve popular prejudices-where the quality of justice obtaineddepends upon the position and sentiments of him who seeks it, --theweak have no chance against the powerful. 

The multiplicity of notices, citations, and schedules, necessary tothe setting free of this "poor debtor" (for these fussy officialsmust be paid), Maria finds making a heavy drain on her lean purse. 

The Court is in session, and the ten days having glided away, theold man is brought into "open Court" by two officials with longtipstaffs, and faces looking as if they had been carefully pickledin strong drinks. "Surely, now, they'll set me free-I can give themno more-I am old and infirm-they have got all-and my daughter!" hemuses within himself. Ah! he little knows how uncertain a thing isthe law. 

The Judge is engaged over a case in which two very fine old familiesare disputing for the blood and bones of a little "nigger" girl. Thepossession of this helpless slave, the Judge (he sits in easydignity) very naturally regards of superior importance when comparedwith the freedom of a "poor debtor. " He cannot listen to the storyof destitution-precisely what was sought by Keepum-to-day, andto-morrow the Court adjourns for six months. 

The Antiquary is remanded back to his cell. No one in Court caresfor him; no one has a thought for the achings of that heart hisrelease would unburden; the sorrows of that lone girl are known onlyto herself and the One in whom she puts her trust. She, nevertheless, seeks the old man in his prison, and there comfortshim as best she can. 

Five days more, and the "prisoner" is brought before theCommissioner for Special Bail, who is no less a personage than therosy-faced Clerk of the Court, just adjourned. And here we cannotforbear to say, that however despicable the object sought, howeverbarren of right the plea, however adverse to common humanity thespirit of the action, there is always to be found some legalgentleman, true to the lower instincts of the profession, ready tolend himself to his client's motives. And in this instance, thecunning Keepum finds an excellent instrument of furthering his ends, in one Peter Crimpton, a somewhat faded and rather disreputablemember of the learned profession. It is said of Crimpton, that he isclever at managing cases where oppression rather than justice issought, and that his present client furnishes the larger half of hispractice. 

And while Maria, too sensitive to face the gaze of the coarse crowd, pauses without, silent and anxious, listening one moment and hopingthe next will see her old father restored to her, the adroitCrimpton rises to object to "the Schedule. " To the end that he maysubstantiate his objections, he proposes to examine the prisoner. Having no alternative, the Commissioner grants the request. 

The old Antiquary made out his schedule with the aid of thegood-hearted jailer, who inserted as his effects, "Necessary wearingapparel. " It was all he had. Like the gallant Fremont, when heoffered to resign his shirts to his chivalric creditor, he couldgive them no more. A few questions are put; the old man answers themwith childlike simplicity, then sits down, his trembling fingerswandering into his beard. Mr. Crimpton produces his paper, setsforth his objections, and asks permission to file them, that thecase may come before a jury of "Special Bail. "

Permission is granted. The reader will not fail to discover theobject of this procedure. Keepum hopes to continue the old man inprison, that he may succeed in breaking down the proud spirit of hisdaughter. 

The Commissioner listens attentively to the reading of theobjections. The first sets forth that Mr. McArthur has a gold watch;

Our Charleston readers will recognize the case here described, without any further key. The second, that he has a valuablebreast-pin, said to have been worn by Lord Cornwallis; and thethird, that he has one Yorick's skull. All of these, Mr. Crimptonregrets to say, are withheld from the schedule, which virtuallyconstitutes fraud. The facile Commissioner bows; the assembled crowdlook on unmoved; but the old man shakes his head and listens. He issurprised to find himself accused of fraud; but the law gives him nopower to show his own innocence. The Judge of the Sessions wascompetent to decide the question now raised, and to have preventedthis reverting to a "special jury"--this giving the vindictiveplaintiff a means of torturing his infirm victim. Had he butlistened to the old man's tale of poverty, he might have saved theheart of that forlorn girl many a bitter pang. 

The motion granted, a day is appointed-ten days must elapse-for ahearing before the Commissioner of "Special Bail, " and his specialjury. The rosy-faced functionary, being a jolly and somewhatflexible sort of man, must needs give his health an airing in thecountry. What is the liberty of a poor white with us? Our Governor, whom we esteem singularly sagacious, said it were better all ourpoor were enslaved, and this opinion finds high favor with our firstfamilies. The worthy Commissioner, in addition to taking care of hishealth, is expected to make any number of speeches, full of wind andwar, to several recently called Secession Conventions. He will findtime (being a General by courtesy) to review the up-countrymilitia, and the right and left divisions of the South Carolinaarmy. He will be feted by some few of our most distinguishedGenerals, and lecture before the people of Beaufort (a very noisytown of forty-two inhabitants, all heroes), to whom he will provethe necessity of our State providing itself with an independentsteam navy. 

The old Antiquary is remanded back to jail-to wait the coming day. Maria, almost breathless with anxiety, runs to him as he comestottering out of Court in advance of the official, lays hertrembling hand upon his arm, and looks inquiringly in his face. "Oh!my father, my father!--released? released?" she inquires, withquivering lips and throbbing heart. A forced smile plays over histime-worn face, he looks upward, shakes his head in sorrow, andhaving patted her affectionately on the shoulder, throws his armsabout her neck and kisses her. That mute appeal, that melancholyvoucher of his sorrows, knells the painful answer in her ears, "Thenyou are not free to come with me? Oh, father, father!" and shewrings her hands and gives vent to her tears. 

"The time will come, my daughter, when my Judge will hear me-willjudge me right. My time will come soon--" And here the old manpauses, and chokes with his emotions. Maria returns the old man'skiss, and being satisfied that he is yet in the hands of hisoppressors, sets about cheering up his drooping spirits. "Don'tthink of me, father, " she says--"don't think of me! Let us put ourtrust in Him who can shorten the days of our tribulation. " She takesthe old man's arm, and like one who would forget her own troubles inher anxiety to relieve another, supports him on his way back toprison. 

It is high noon. She stands before the prison gate, now glancing atthe serene sky, then at the cold, frowning walls, and again at theold pile, as if contemplating the wearying hours he must pass withinit. "Don't repine-nerve yourself with resolution, and all will bewell!" Having said this with an air of confidence in herself, shethrows her arms about the old man's neck, presses him to her bosom, kisses and kisses his wrinkled cheek, then grasps his hand warmly inher own. "Forget those who persecute you, for it is good. Lookabove, father-to Him who tempers the winds, who watches over theweak, and gives the victory to the right!" She pauses, as the oldman holds her hand in silence. "This life is but a transient sojournat best; full of hopes and fears, that, like a soldier's dream, passaway when the battle is ended. " Again she fondly shakes his hand, lisps a sorrowing "good-bye, " watches him, in silence, out of sight, then turns away in tears, and seeks her home. There is something sopure, so earnest in her solicitude for the old man, that it seemsmore of heaven than earth. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A STORY WITHOUT WHICH THIS HISTORY WOULD BE FOUND WANTING. 

ON taking leave of her father, Maria, her heart overburdened withgrief, and her mind abstracted, turned towards the Battery, andcontinued, slowly and sadly, until she found herself seated beneatha tree, looking out upon the calm bay. Here, scarce conscious ofthose who were observing her in their sallies, she mused until duskyevening, when the air seemed hushed, and the busy hum of day wasdying away in the distance. The dark woodland on the opposite bankgave a bold border to the soft picture; the ships rode sluggishlyupon the polished waters; the negro's touching song echoed andre-echoed along the shore; and the boatman's chorus broke upon thestilly air in strains so dulcet. And as the mellow shadows of nightstole over the scene-as the heavens looked down in all theirsereneness, and the stars shone out, and twinkled, and laughed, anddanced upon the blue waters, and coquetted with the moonbeams--forthe moon was up, and shedding a halo of mystic light over thescene-making night merry, nature seemed speaking to Maria in wordsof condolence. Her heart was touched, her spirits gained strength, her soul seemed in a loftier and purer atmosphere. 

"Poor, but virtuous-virtue ennobles the poor. Once gone, the worldnever gives it back!" she muses, and is awakened from her reverie bya sweet, sympathizing voice, whispering in her ear. "Woman! you arein trouble, --linger no longer here, or you will fall into the handsof your enemies. " She looks up, and there stands at her side a youngfemale, whose beauty the angels might envy. The figure came upon herso suddenly that she hesitates for a reply to the admonition. 

"Take this, it will do something toward relieving your wants (do notopen it now), and with this (she places a stiletto in her hand) youcan strike down the one who attempts your virtue. Nay, remember thatwhile you cling to that, you are safe-lose it, and you are goneforever. Your troubles will soon end; mine are for a life-time. Yours find a relaxation in your innocence; mine is seared into myheart with my own shame. It is guilt-shame! that infuses into theheart that poison, for which years of rectitude afford no antidote. Go quickly-get from this lone place! You are richer than me. " Sheslips something into Maria's hand, and suddenly disappears. 

Maria rises from her seat, intending to follow the stranger, but sheis out of sight. Who can this mysterious messenger, this beautifulstranger be? Maria muses. A thought flashes across her mind; it isshe who sought our house at midnight, when my father revealed herdark future! "Yes, " she says to herself, "it is the same lovelyface; how oft it has flitted in my fancy!"

She reaches her home only to find its doors closed against her. Aruthless landlord has taken her all, and forced her into the street. 

You may shut out the sterner sex without involving character orinviting insult; but with woman the case is very different. Howeverpure her character, to turn her into the street, is to subject herto a stigma, if not to fasten upon her a disgrace. You may paint, inyour imagination, the picture of a woman in distress, but you canknow little of the heart-achings of the sufferer. The surface onlyreflects the faint gleams, standing out here and there like thelesser objects upon a dark canvas. 

Maria turns reluctantly from that home of so many happyassociations, to wander about the streets and by-ways of the city. The houses of the rich seem frowning upon her; her timid naturetells her they have no doors open to her. The haunts of the poor, atthis moment, infuse a sanguine joyousness into her soul. How gladwould she be, if they did but open to her. Is not the Allwise, through the beauties of His works, holding her up, while man only isstruggling to pull her down?

And while Maria wanders homeless about the streets of Charleston, wemust beg you, gentle reader, to accompany us into one of the greatthoroughfares of London, where is being enacted a scene appertainingto this history. 

It is well-nigh midnight, the hour when young London is most astirin his favorite haunts; when ragged and well-starved flower-girls, issuing from no one knows where, beset your path through Trafalgarand Liecester squares, and pierce your heart with their pleadings;when the Casinoes of the Haymarket and Picadilly are vomiting intothe streets their frail but richly-dressed women; when gaudysupper-rooms, reeking of lobster and bad liquor, are made noisy withthe demands of their flauntily-dressed customers; when little girlsof thirteen are dodging in and out of mysterious courts and passagesleading to and from Liecester square; when wily cabmen, rangedaround the "great globe, " importune you for a last fare; and whenthe aristocratic swell, with hectic face and maudlin laugh, saunters from his club-room to seek excitement in the revels atVauxhall. 

A brown mist hangs over the dull area of Trafalgar square. The bellsof old St. Martin's church have chimed merrily out their last nightpeal; the sharp voice of the omnibus conductor no longer offends theear; the tiny little fountains have ceased to give out their greenwater, and the lights of the Union Club on one side, and Morley'shotel on the other, throw pale shadows into the open square. 

The solitary figure of a man, dressed in the garb of a gentleman, isseen sauntering past Northumberland house, then up the east side ofthe square. Now he halts at the corner of old St. Martin's church, turns and contemplates the scene before him. On his right is thatsquatty mass of freestone and smoke, Englishmen exultingly call theRoyal Academy, but which Frenchmen affect contempt for, anduninitiated Americans mistake for a tomb. An equestrian statue ofone of the Georges rises at the east corner; Morley's Hotel, whereAmericans get poor fare and enormous charges, with the privilege offancying themselves quite as good as the queen, on the left; thedead walls of Northumberland House, with their prisonlike aspect, and the mounted lion, his tail high in air, and quite as rigid asthe Duke's dignity, in front; the opening that terminates theStrand, and gives place to Parliament street, at the head of whichan equestrian statue of Charles the First, much admired byEnglishmen, stands, his back, on Westminster; the dingy shops ofSpring Garden, and the Union Club to the right; and, towering highover all, Nelson's Column, the statue looking as if it had turnedits back in pity on the little fountains, to look with contempt, first upon the bronze face of the unfortunate Charles, then uponParliament, whose parsimony in withholding justice from hisdaughter, he would rebuke-and the picture is complete. 

The stranger turns, walks slowly past the steps of St. Martin'schurch, crosses to the opposite side of the street, and enters anarrow, wet, and dimly-lighted court, on the left. Having passed upa few paces, he finds himself hemmed in between the dead walls ofSt. Martin's "Work-house" on one side, and the Royal Academy on theother. He hesitates between fear and curiosity. The dull, sombreaspect of the court is indeed enough to excite the fears of thetimid; but curiosity being the stronger impulse, he proceeds, resolved to explore it-to see whence it leads. 

A short turn to the right, and he has reached the front wall of theQueen's Barracks, on his left, and the entrance to the "Work-house, "on his right; the one overlooking the other, and separated by anarrow street. Leave men are seen reluctantly returning in at thenight-gate; the dull tramp of the sentinel within sounds ominouslyon the still air; and the chilly atmosphere steals into the system. Again the stranger pauses, as if questioning the safety of hisposition. Suddenly a low moan grates upon his ear, he starts back, then listens. Again it rises, in a sad wail, and pierces his veryheart. His first thought is, that some tortured mortal is bemoaninghis bruises in a cell of the "Work-house, " which he mistakes for aprison. But his eyes fall to the ground, and his apprehensions aredispelled. 

The doors of the "Work-house" are fast closed; but there, huddledalong the cold pavement, and lying crouched upon its doorsteps, inheaps that resemble the gatherings of a rag-seller, are four-and-thirty shivering, famishing, and homeless human beings--

An institution for the relief of the destitute. (mostly young girlsand aged women), who have sought at this "institutution of charity"shelter for the night, and bread to appease their hunger. 

This sight may be seen at any time. Alas! its ruthless keepers haverefused them bread, shut them into the street, and left them in ragsscarce sufficient to cover their nakedness, to sleep upon the coldstones, a mute but terrible rebuke to those hearts that bleed overthe sorrows of Africa, but have no blood to give out when the objectof pity is a poor, heart-sick girl, forced to make the cold pavementher bed. The stranger shudders. "Are these heaps of human beings?"he questions within himself, doubting the reality before him. As ifcounting and hesitating what course to pursue for their relief, hepaces up and down the grotesque mass, touching one, and gazing uponthe haggard features of another, who looks up to see what it is thatdisturbs her. Again the low moan breaks on his ear, as the sentinelcries the first hour of morning. The figure of a female, her headresting on one of the steps, moves, a trembling hand steals fromunder her shawl, makes an effort to reach her head, and falls numbat her side. "Her hand is cold-her breathing like one in death--oh!God!--how terrible-what, what am I to do?" he says, taking thesufferer's hand in his own. Now he rubs it, now raises her head, makes an effort to wake a few of the miserable sleepers, and callsaloud for help. "Help! help! help!" he shouts, and the shoutre-echoes through the air and along the hollow court. "A woman isdying, --dying here on the cold stones-with no one to raise a handfor her!" He seizes the exhausted woman in his arms, and withherculean strength rushes up the narrow street, in the hope offinding relief at the Gin Palace he sees at its head, in a blaze oflight. But the body is seized with spasms, an hollow, hysteric wailfollows, his strength gives way under the burden, and he sets thesufferer down in the shadow of a gas light. Her dress, although wornthreadbare, still bears evidence of having belonged to one who hasenjoyed comfort, and, perhaps, luxury. Indeed, there is somethingabout the woman which bespeaks her not of the class generally foundsleeping on the steps of St. Martin's Work-house. 

"What's here to do?" gruffly inquires a policeman, coming up with anair of indifference. The stranger says the woman is dying. Thepoliceman stoops down, lays his hand upon her temples, thenmechanically feels her arms and hands. 

"And I-must die-die-die in the street, " whispers the woman, her headfalling carelessly from the policeman's hand, in which it hadrested. 

"Got her a bit below, at the Work'ouse door, among them wot sleepsthere, eh?"

The stranger says he did. 

"A common enough thing, " pursues the policeman; "this a bad lot. Anyhow, we must give her a tow to the station. " He rubs his hands, and prepares to raise her from the ground. 

"Hold! hold, " interrupts the other, "she will die ere you get herthere. "

"Die, --ah! yes, yes, " whispers the woman. The mention of death seemsto have wrung like poison into her very soul. "Don't-don't moveme-the spell is almost broken. Oh! how can I die here, a wretch. Yes, I am going now-let me rest, rest, rest, " the moaning supplicantmutters in a guttural voice, grasps spasmodically at the policeman'shand, heaves a deep sigh, and sets her eyes fixedly upon thestranger. She seems recognizing in his features something that givesher strength. 

"There-there-there!" she continues, incoherently, as a fit ofhysterics seize upon her; "you, you, you, have-yes, you have come atthe last hour, when my sufferings close. I see devils all aboutme-haunting me-torturing my very soul-burning me up! See them! seethem!--here they come-tearing, worrying me-in a cloud of flame!" Sheclutches with her hands, her countenance fills with despair, and herbody writhes in agony. 

"Bring brandy! warm, --stimulant! anything to give her strength!Quick! quick!--go fetch it, or she is gone!" stammers out thestranger. 

In another minute she calms away, and sinks exhausted upon thepavement. Policeman shakes his head, and says, "It 'ont do nogood-she's done for. "

The light of the "Trumpeter's Arms" still blazes into the street, while a few greasy ale-bibbers sit moody about the tap room. 

The two men raise the exhausted woman from the ground and carry herto the door. Mine host of the Trumpeter's Arms shrugs his shouldersand says, "She can't come in here. " He fears she will damage therespectability of his house. "The Work-house is the place for her, "he continues, gruffly. 

A sight at the stranger's well-filled purse, however, and a fewshillings slipped into the host's hand, secures his generosity andthe woman's admittance. "Indeed, " says the host, bowing mostservilely, "gentlemen, the whole Trumpeter's Arms is at yourservice. " The woman is carried into a lonely, little back room, andlaid upon a cot, which, with two wooden chairs, constitutes itsfurniture. And while the policeman goes in search of medical aid, the host of the Trumpeter's bestirs himself right manfully in theforthcoming of a stimulant. The stranger, meanwhile, lends himselfto the care of the forlorn sufferer with the gentleness of a woman. He smoothes her pillow, arranges her dress tenderly, and administersthe stimulant with a hand accustomed to the sick. 

A few minutes pass, and the woman seems to revive and brighten up. Mine host has set a light on the chair, at the side of the cot, andleft her alone with the stranger. Slowly she opens her eyes, andwith increasing anxiety sets them full upon him. Their recognitionis mutual. "Madame Flamingo!" ejaculates the man, grasping her hand. 

"Tom Swiggs!" exclaims the woman, burying her face for a second, then pressing his hand to her lips, and kissing it with the fondnessof a child, as her eyes swim in tears. "How strange to find youthus--" continues Tom, for truly it is he who sits by the forlornwoman. 

"More strange, " mutters the woman, shaking her head sorrowfully, "that I should be brought to this terrible end. I am dying-I cannotlast long-the fever has left me only to die a neglected wretch. Hearme-hear me, while I tell you the tale of my troubles, that othersmay take warning. And may God give me strength. And you, --if I havewronged you, forgive me-it is all I can ask in this world. " Here Tomadministers another draught of warm brandy and water, the influenceof which is soon perceptible in the regaining strength of thepatient. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A STORY WITH MANY COUNTERPARTS. 

A VERY common story is this of Madame Flamingo's troubles. It hascounterparts enough, and though they may be traced to a class ofsociety less notorious than that with which she moved, are generallykept in the dark chamber of hidden thoughts. We are indeed fastgaining an unenviable fame for snobbery, for affecting to be what wenever can be, and for our sad imitation of foreign flunkydom, which, finding us rivals in the realm of its tinsil, begins to button upits coat and look contemptuously at us over the left shoulder. If, albeit, the result of that passion for titles and plush (thingswhich the empty-headed of the old world would seem to have consignedto the empty-headed of the new), which has of late so singularlydiscovered itself among our "best-known families, " could be told, itwould unfold many a tale of misery and betrayal. Pardon thisdigression, generous reader, and proceed with us to the story ofMadame Flamingo. 

"And now, " says the forlorn woman, in a faint, hollow voice, "whenmy ambition seemed served-I was ambitious, perhaps vain-I foundmyself the victim of an intrigue. I ask forgiveness of Him who onlycan forgive the wicked; but how can I expect to gain it?" Shepresses Tom's hand, and pauses for a second. "Yes, I was ambitious, "she continues, "and there was something I wanted. I had money enoughto live in comfort, but the thought that it was got of vice and theruin of others, weighed me down. I wanted the respect of the world. To die a forgotten wretch; to have the grave close over me, and ifremembered at all, only with execration, caused me many a darkthought. " Here she struggles to suppress her emotions. "I sought tochange my condition; that, you see, has brought me here. I marriedone to whom I intrusted my all, in whose rank, as represented to meby Mr. Snivel, and confirmed by his friend, the Judge, I confided. Ihoped to move with him to a foreign country, where the past wouldall be wiped out, and where the associations of respectable societywould be the reward of future virtue. 

"In London, where I now reap the fruits of my vanity, we enjoyedgood society for a time, were sought after, and heaped withattentions. But I met those who had known me; it got out who I was;I was represented much worse than I was, and even those who hadflattered me in one sphere, did not know me. In Paris it was thesame. And there my husband said it would not do to be known by histitles, for, being an exile, it might be the means of his beingrecognized and kidnapped, and carried back a prisoner to his owndear Poland. In this I acquiesced, as I did in everything else thatlightened his cares. Gradually he grew cold and morose towards me, left me for days at a time, and returned only to abuse and treat mecruelly. He had possession of all my money, which I soon found hewas gambling away, without gaining an entr‚e for me into society. 

"From Paris we travelled, as if without any settled purpose, intoItaly, and from thence to Vienna, where I discovered that instead ofbeing a prince, my husband was an impostor, and I his dupe. He hadformerly been a crafty shoemaker; was known to the police as anotorious character, who, instead of having been engaged in thepolitical struggles of his countrymen, had fled the country toescape the penalty of being the confederate of a desperate gang ofcoiners and counterfeiters. We had only been two days in Vienna whenI found he had disappeared, and left me destitute of money orfriends. My connection with him only rendered my condition moredeplorable, for the police would not credit my story; and while heeluded its vigilance, I was suspected of being a spy in theconfidence of a felon, and ruthlessly ordered to leave the country. "

"Did not your passport protect you?" interrupts Tom, with evidentfeeling. 

"No one paid it the least regard, " resumes Madame Flamingo, becomingweaker and weaker. "No one at our legations evinced sympathy for me. Indeed, they all refused to believe my story. I wandered back fromcity to city, selling my wardrobe and the few jewels I had left, andconfidently expecting to find in each place I entered, some one Ihad known, who would listen to my story, and supply me with means toreach my home. I could soon have repaid it, but my friends had gonewith my money; no one dare venture to trust me-no one had confidencein me-every one to whom I appealed had an excuse that betrayed theirsuspicion of me. Almost destitute, I found myself back in London-howI got here, I scarce know-where I could make myself understood. Myhopes now brightened, I felt that some generous-hearted captainwould give me a passage to New York, and once home, my troubleswould end. But being worn down with fatigue, and my strengthprostrated, a fever set in, and I was forced to seek refuge in amiserable garret in Drury-Lane, and where I parted with all but whatnow remains on my back, to procure nourishment. I had begun torecover somewhat, but the malady left me broken down, and when allwas gone, I was turned into the street. Yes, yes, yes, (shewhispers, ) they gave me to the streets; for twenty-four hours I havewandered without nourishment, or a place to lay my head. I soughtshelter in a dark court, and there laid down to die; and when myeyes were dim, and all before me seemed mysterious and dark withcurious visions, a hand touched me, and I felt myself borne away. "Here her voice chokes, she sinks back upon the pillow, and closesher eyes as her hands fall careless at her side. "She breathes! shebreathes yet!" says Tom, advancing his ear to the pale, quiveringlips of the wretched woman. Now he bathes her temples with thevinegar from a bottle in the hand of the host, who is just entered, and stands looking on, his countenance full of alarm. 

"If she deys in my 'ouse, good sir, w'oat then?"

"You mean the expense?"

"Just so-it 'll be nae trifle, ye kno'!" The host shakes his head, doubtingly. Tom begs he will not be troubled about that, and givesanother assurance from his purse that quite relieves the host'sapprehensions. A low, heavy breathing, followed by a return ofspasms, bespeaks the sinking condition of the sufferer. Thepoliceman returns, preceded by a physician-the only one to be gotat, he says-in very dilapidated broadcloth, and whose breath israther strong of gin. "An' whereabutes did ye pick the woman up, --an, an, wha's teu stond the bill?" he inquires, in a deep Scotch brogue, then ordering the little window opened, feels clumsily the almostpulseless hand. Encouraged on the matter of his bill, he turns firstto the host, then to Tom, and says, "the wuman's nae much, for she'samast dede wi' exhaustion. " And while he is ordering a nostrum heknows can do no good, the woman makes a violent struggle, opens hereyes, and seems casting a last glance round the dark room. Now shesets them fixedly upon the ceiling, her lips pale, and hercountenance becomes spectre-like-a low, gurgling sound is heard, themessenger of retribution is come-Madame Flamingo is dead!

CHAPTER XL. 

IN WHICH THE LAW IS SEEN TO CONFLICT WITH OUR CHERISHED CHIVALRY. 

"WHAT could the woman mean, when on taking leave of me she said, 'you are far richer than me?'" questions Maria McArthur to herself, when, finding she is alone and homeless in the street, she opens thepacket the woman Anna slipped so mysteriously into her hand, andfinds it contains two twenty-dollar gold pieces. And while evolvingin her mind whether she shall appropriate them to the relief of herdestitute condition, her conscience smites her. It is the gold gotof vice. Her heart shares the impulse that prompted the act, but herpure spirit recoils from the acceptance of such charity. "You arefar richer than me!" knells in her ears, and reveals to her theheart-burnings of the woman who lives in licentious splendor. "Ihave no home, no friend near me, and nowhere to lay my head; and yetI am richer than her;" she says, gazing at the moon, and the stars, and the serene heavens. And the contemplation brings to herconsolation and strength. She wanders back to the gate of the oldprison, resolved to return the gold in the morning, and, was thenight not so far spent, ask admittance into the cell her fatheroccupies. But she reflects, and turns away; well knowing how muchmore painful will be the smart of his troubles does she disclose tohim what has befallen her. 

She continues sauntering up a narrow by-lane in the outskirts of thecity. A light suddenly flashes across her path, glimmers from thewindow of a little cabin, and inspires her with new hopes. Shequickens her steps, reaches the door, meets a welcome reception, andis made comfortable for the night by the mulatto woman who is itssolitary tenant. The woman, having given Maria of her humble cheer, seems only too anxious to disclose the fact that she is the slaveand cast-off mistress of Judge Sleepyhorn, on whose head she invokesno few curses. It does not touch her pride so much that he hasabandoned her, as that he has taken to himself one of another color. She is tall and straight of figure, with prominent features, long, silky black hair, and a rich olive complexion; and though somewhatfaded of age, it is clear that she possessed in youth charms ofgreat value in the flesh market. 

Maria discloses to her how she came in possession of the money, asalso her resolve to return it in the morning. Undine (for such isher name) applauds this with great gusto. "Now, thar!" she says, "that's the spirit I likes. " And straightway she volunteers to bethe medium of returning the money, adding that she will show thehussy her contempt of her by throwing it at her feet, and "lettingher see a slave knows all about it. "

Maria fully appreciates the kindness, as well as sympathizes withthe wounded pride of this slave daughter; nevertheless, there is anhumiliation in being driven to seek shelter in a negro cabin thattouches her feelings. For a white female to seek shelter under theroof of a negro's cabin, is a deep disgrace in the eyes of our veryrefined society; and having subjected herself to the humiliation, she knows full well that it may be used against her-in fine, made ameans to defame her character. 

Night passes away, and the morning ushers in soft and sunny, butbrings with it nothing to relieve her situation. She, however, returns the gold to Anna through a channel less objectionable thanthat Undine would have supplied, and sallies out to seek lodgings. In a house occupied by a poor German family, she seeks and obtains alittle room, wherein she continues plying at her needle. 

The day set apart for the trial before a jury of "special bail"arrives. The rosy-faced commissioner is in his seat, a verygood-natured jury is impanelled, and the feeble old man is againbrought into court. Maria saunters, thoughtful, and anxious for theresult, at the outer door. Peter Crimpton rises, addresses the juryat great length, sets forth the evident intention of fraud on thepart of the applicant, and the enormity of the crime. He will nowprove his objections by competent witnesses. The proceedings beingin accordance with what Mr. Snivel facetiously terms the strictrules of special pleading, the old man's lips are closed. Severalvery respectable witnesses are called, and aver they saw the oldAntiquary with a gold watch mounted, at a recent date; witnessesquite as dependable aver they have known him for many years, butnever mounted with anything so extravagant as a gold watch. So muchfor the validity of testimony! It is very clear that the veryrespectable witnesses have confounded some one else with theprisoner. 

The Antiquary openly confesses to the possession of a pin, and thecurious skull (neither of which are valuable beyond theirassociations), but declares it more an over-sight than an intentionthat they were left out of the schedule. For the virtue of theschedule, Mr. Crimpton is singularly scrupulous; nor does it softenhis aspersions that the old man offers to resign them for thebenefit of the State. Mr. Crimpton gives his case to the jury, expressing his belief that a verdict will be rendered in his favor. A verdict of guilty (for so it is rendered in our courts) willindeed give the prisoner to him for an indefinite period. In truth, the only drawback is that the plaintiff will be required to paythirty cents a day to Mr. Hardscrabble, who will starve him rightlysoundly. 

The jury, very much to Mr. Crimpton's chagrin, remain seated, anddeclare the prisoner not guilty. Was this sufficient-all the lawdemanded? No. Although justice might have been satisfied, the lawhad other ends to serve, and in the hands of an instrument likeCrimpton, could be turned to uses delicacy forbids our transcribinghere. The old man's persecutors were not satisfied; the verdict ofthe jury was with him, but the law gave his enemies power to retainhim six months longer. Mr. Crimpton demands a writ of appeal to thesessions. The Commissioner has no alternative, notwithstanding thecharacter of the pretext upon which it is demanded is patent on itsface. Such is but a feeble description of one of the many laws SouthCarolina retains on her statute book to oppress the poor and givepower to the rich. If we would but purge ourselves of this distemperof chivalry and secession, that so blinds our eyes to the sufferingsof the poor, while driving our politicians mad over the country (weverily believe them all coming to the gallows or insane hospital), how much higher and nobler would be our claim to the respect of theworld!

Again the old man is separated from his daughter, placed in thehands of a bailiff, and remanded back to prison, there to hope, fear, and while away the time, waiting six, perhaps eight months, for the sitting of the Court of Appeals. The "Appeal Court, " youmust know, would seem to have inherited the aristocracy of ourancestors, for, having a great aversion to business pursuits, itsits at very long intervals, and gets through very little business. 

When the news of her father's remand reaches Maria, it overwhelmsher with grief. Varied are her thoughts of how she shall provide forthe future; dark and sad are the pictures of trouble that rise upbefore her. Look whichever way she will, her ruin seems sealed. Thehealth of her aged father is fast breaking-her own is graduallydeclining under the pressure of her troubles. Rapidly forced fromone extreme to another, she appeals to a few acquaintances who haveexpressed friendship for her father; but their friendship took wingswhen grim poverty looked in. Southern hospitality, thoughbountifully bestowed upon the rich, rarely condescends to shed itsbright rays over the needy poor. 

Maria advertises for a situation, in some of our first families, asprivate seamstress. Our first families having slaves for suchoffices, have no need of "poor white trash. " She applies personallyto several ladies of "eminent standing, " and who busy themselves ingetting up donations for northern Tract Societies. They have nosympathy to waste upon her. Her appeal only enlists coldness andindifference. The "Church Home" had lent an ear to her story, butthat her address is very unsatisfactory, and it is got out that sheis living a very suspicious life. The "Church Home, " so virtuous andpious, can do nothing for her until she improves her mode of living. Necessity pinches Maria at every turn. "To be poor in a slaveatmosphere, is truly a crime, " she says to herself, musing over herhard lot, while sitting in her chamber one evening. "But I am thericher! I will rise above all!" She has just prepared to carry somenourishment to her father, when Keepum enters, his face flushed, andhis features darkened with a savage scowl. "I have said you were afool-all women are fools!--and now I know I was not mistaken!" ThisMr. Keepum says while throwing his hat sullenly upon the floor. "Well, " he pursues, having seated himself in a chair, lookeddesigningly at the candle, then contorted his narrow face, andfrisked his fingers through his bright red hair, "as to this herewincing and mincing-its all humbuggery of a woman like you. Affecting such morals! Don't go down here; tell you that, my spunkygirl. Loose morals is what takes in poor folks. "

Maria answers him only with a look of scorn. She advances to thedoor to find it locked. 

"It was me-I locked it. Best to be private about the matter, " saysKeepum, a forced smile playing over his countenance. 

Unresolved whether to give vent to her passion, or make an effort toinspire his better nature, she stands a few moments, as if immersedin deep thought, then suddenly falls upon her knees at his feet, andimplores him to save her this last step to her ruin. "Hear me, oh, hear me, and let your heart give out its pity for one who has onlyher virtue left her in this world;" she appeals to him with earnestvoice, and eyes swimming in tears. "Save my father, for you havepower. Give him his liberty, that I, his child, his only comfort inhis old age, may make him happy. Yes! yes!--he will die where he is. Will you, can you-you have a heart-see me struggle against the rudebuffets of an unthinking world! Will you not save me from thePoor-house-from the shame that awaits me with greedy clutches, andreceive in return the blessing of a friendless woman! Oh!--you will, you will-release my father!--give him back to me and make me happy. Ah, ha!--I see, I see, you have feelings, better feelings--feelingsthat are not seared. You will have pity on me; you will forgive, relent-you cannot see a wretch suffer and not be moved to lightenher pain!" The calm, pensive expression that lights up hercountenance is indeed enough to inspire the tender impulses of aheart in which every sense of generosity is not dried up. 

Her appeal, nevertheless, falls ineffectual. Mr. Keepum has nogenerous impulses to bestow upon beings so sensitive of theirvirtue. With him, it is a ware of very little value, inasmuch as themoral standard fixed by a better class of people is quite loose. Herises from his chair with an air of self-confidence, seizes her bythe hand, and attempts to drag her upon his knee, saying, "you knowI can and will make you a lady. Upon the honor of a gentleman, Ilove you-always have loved you; but what stands in the way, and isjust enough to make any gentleman of my standing mad, is this heresqueamishness--"

"No! no! go from me. Attempt not again to lay your cruel hands uponme!" The goaded woman struggles from his grasp, and shrieks for helpat the very top of her voice. And as the neighbors come rushing upstairs, Mr. Keepum valorously betakes himself into the street. Mad-dened with disappointment, and swearing to have revenge, he seekshis home, and there muses over the "curious woman's" unswervingresolution. "Cruelty!" he says to himself--"she charges me withcruelty! Well, " (here he sighs) "it's only because she lacks abringing up that can appreciate a gentleman. " (Keepum could nevercondescend to believe himself less than a very fine gentleman. ) "Assure as the world the creature is somewhat out in the head. Shefancies all sorts of things-shame, disgrace, and ruin!--only becauseshe don't understand the quality of our morality-that's all! There'sno harm, after all, in these little enjoyments-if the girl wouldonly understand them so. Our society is free from pedantry; andthere-no damage can result where no one's the wiser. It's likestealing a blush from the cheek of beauty-nobody misses it, and thecheek continues as beautiful as ever. " Thus philosophizes thechivalric gentleman, until he falls into a fast sleep. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

IN WHICH JUSTICE IS SEEN TO BE VERY ACCOMMODATING. 

A FEW days have elapsed, Maria has just paid a visit to her father, still in prison, and may be seen looking in at Mr. Keepum's office, in Broad street. "I come not to ask a favor, sir; but, at myfather's request, to say to you that, having given up all he has inthe world, it can do no good to any one to continue him in durance, and to ask of you-in whom the sole power rests-that you will granthim his release ere he dies?" She addresses Mr. Keepum, who seemsnot in a very good temper this morning, inasmuch as several of hisbest negroes, without regard to their value to him, got a passionfor freedom into their heads, and have taken themselves away. Inaddition to this, he is much put out, as he says, at being compelledto forego the pleasure held out on the previous night, of tarringand feathering two northerners suspected of entertaining sentimentsnot exactly straight on the "peculiar question. " A glorious time wasexpected, and a great deal of very strong patriotism wasted; but thetwo unfortunate individuals, by some means not yet discovered, gotthe vigilance committee, to whose care they were entrusted, verymuch intoxicated, and were not to be found when called for. Freeknives, and not free speech, is our motto. And this Mr. Keepum isone of the most zealous in carrying out. 

Mr. Keepum sits, his hair fretted back over his lean forehead, before a table covered with papers, all indicating an immensebusiness in lottery and other speculations. Now he deposits his feetupon it; leans back in his chair, puffs his cigar, and says, with anair of indifference to the speaker: "I shall not be able to attendto any business of yours to-day, Madam!" His clerk, a man of sturdyfigure, with a broad, red face, and dressed in rather dilapidatedbroadcloth, is passing in and out of the front office, bearing inhis fingers documents that require a signature or mark of approval. 

"I only come, sir, to tell you that we are destitute--" Maria pauses, and stands trembling in the doorway. 

"That's a very common cry, " interrupts Keepum, relieving his mouthof the cigar. "The affair is entirely out of my hands. Go to myattorney, Peter Crimpton, Esq. , --what he does for you will receive mysanction. I must not be interrupted to-day. I might express athousand regrets; yes, pass an opinion on your foolish pride, butwhat good would it do. "

And while Maria stands silent and hesitating, there enters theoffice abrubtly a man in the garb of a mechanic. "I have come, "speaks the man, in a tone of no very good humor, "for the last time. I asks of you-you professes to be a gentleman-my honest rights. Ifthe law don't give it to me, I mean to take it with this erehand. "(He shakes his hand at Keepum. ) "I am a poor man who ain't thoughtmuch of because I works for a living; you have got what I had workedhard for, and lain up to make my little family comfortable. I ask asettlement and my own-what is due from one honest man to another!"He now approaches the table, strikes his hand upon it, and pausesfor a reply. 

Mr. Keepum coolly looks up, and with an insidious leer, says, "There, take yourself into the street. When next you enter agentleman's office, learn to deport yourself with good manners. "

"Pshaw! pshaw!" interrupts the man. "What mockery! When men likeyou-yes, I say men like you-that has brought ruin on so many poorfamilies, can claim to be gentlemen, rogues may get a patent fortheir order. " The man turns to take his departure, when theinfuriated Keepum, who, as we have before described, getsexceedingly put out if any one doubts his honor, seizes an iron bar, and stealing up behind, fetches him a blow over the head that fellshim lifeless to the floor. 

Maria shrieks, and vaults into the street. The mass upon the floorfetches a last agonizing shrug, and a low moan, and is dead. Themurderer stands over him, exultant, as the blood streams from thedeep fracture. In fine, the blood of his victim would seem rather toincrease his satisfaction at the deed, than excite a regret. 

Call you this murder? Truly, the man has outraged God's law. And thelover of law and order, of social good, and moral honesty, wouldfind reasons for designating the perpetrator an assassin. For has henot first distressed a family, and then left it bereft of itsprotector? You may think of it and designate it as you please. Nevertheless we, in our fancied mightiness, cannot condescend tosuch vulgar considerations. We esteem it extremely courageous of Mr. Keepum, to defend himself "to the death" against the insults of oneof the common herd. Our first families applaud the act, oursensitive press say it was "an unfortunate affair, " and by way ofadmonition, add that it were better working people be more carefulhow they approach gentlemen. Mr. Snivel will call this, the sublimequality of our chivalry. What say the jury of inquest?

Duly weighing the high position of Mr. Keepum, and the very lowcondition of the deceased, the good-natured jury return a verdictthat the man met his death in consequence of an accidental blow, administered with an iron instrument, in the hands of one Keepum. From the testimony-Keepum's clerk-it is believed the act wascommitted in self-defence. 

Mr. Keepum, as is customary with our fine gentlemen, and like a hero(we will not content ourselves with making him one jot less), magnanimously surrenders himself to the authorities. The majesty ofour laws is not easily offended by gentlemen of standing. Only thepoor and the helpless slave can call forth the terrible majesty ofthe law, and quicken to action its sensitive quality. The city isshocked that Mr. Keepum is subjected to a night in jail, notwithstanding he has the jailer's best parlor, and a barricade ofchampaign bottles are strewn at his feet by flattering friends, whomake night jubilant with their carousal. 

Southern society asks no repentance of him whose hands reek with theblood of his poor victim; southern society has no pittance for thatfamily Keepum has made lick the dust in tears and sorrow. Even whilewe write-while the corpse of the murdered man, followed by a fewbrother craftsmen, is being borne to its last resting-place, theperpetrator, released on a paltry bail, is being regaled at afestive board. Such is our civilization! How had the case stood witha poor man! Could he have stood up against the chivalry of SouthCarolina, scoffed at the law, or bid good-natured justice close hereyes? No. He had been dragged to a close cell, and long months hadpassed ere the tardy movements of the law reached his case. Eventhen, popular opinion would have turned upon him, pre-judged him, and held him up as dangerous to the peace of the people. Yes, pliantjustice would have affected great virtue, and getting on her highthrone, never ceased her demands until he had expiated his crime atthe gallows. 

A few weeks pass: Keepum's reputation for courage is fully endorsed, the Attorney-General finds nothing in the act to justify him inbringing it before a Grand Jury, the law is satisfied (or ought tobe satisfied), and the rich murderer sleeps without a pang ofremorse. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

IN WHICH SOME LIGHT IS THROWN ON THE PLOT OF THIS HISTORY. 

JUNE, July, and August are past away, and September, with all itsautumnal beauties, ushers in, without bringing anything to lightenthe cares of that girl whose father yet pines in prison. She looksforward, hoping against hope, to the return of her lover (somethingtells her he still lives), only to feel more keenly the pangs ofhope deferred. 

And now, once more, New York, we are in thy busy streets. It is apleasant evening in early September. The soft rays of an autumn sunare tinging the western sky, and night is fast drawing her sablemantle over the scene. In Washington Square, near where the tinyfountain jets its stream into a round, grassy-bordered basin, theresits a man of middle stature, apparently in deep study. His dress isplain, and might be taken for that of either a working man, or asomewhat faded inspector of customs. Heedless of those passing toand fro, he sits until night fairly sets in, then rises, and facestowards the East. Through the trunks of trees he sees, and seemscontemplating the gray walls of the University, and the bold, sombrefront of the very aristocratic church of the Reformed Dutch. 

"Well!" he mutters to himself, resuming his seat, and again facingto the west, "this ere business of ourn is a great book of life-'tisthat! Finds us in queer places; now and then mixed up curiously. " Herises a second time, advances to a gas-light, draws a letter fromhis pocket, and scans, with an air of evident satisfaction, over thecontents. "Umph!" he resumes, and shrugs his shoulders, "I was righton the address-ought to have known it without looking. " Havingresumed his seat, he returns the letter to his pocket, sits with hiselbow upon his knee, and his head rested thoughtfully in his righthand. The picture before him, so calm and soft, has no attractionsfor him. The dusky hues of night, for slowly the scene darkens, seemlending a softness and calmness to the foliage. The weeping branchesof the willow, interspersed here and there, as if to invest thepicture with a touching melancholy, sway gently to and fro; theleaves of the silvery poplar tremble and reflect their shadows onthe fresh waters; and the flitting gas-lights mingle their gleams, play and sport over the rippled surface, coquet with the trippingstar-beams, then throw fantastic lights over the swaying foliage;and from beneath the massive branches of trees, there shines out, inbold relief, the marble porticoes and lintels of stately--lookingmansions. Such is the calm grandeur of the scene, that one couldimagine some Thalia investing it with a poetic charm the gods mightmuse over. 

"It is not quite time yet, " says the man, starting suddenly to hisfeet. He again approaches a gas-light, looks attentively at hiswatch, then saunters to the corner of Fourth and Thompson streets. An old, dilapidated wooden building, which some friend haswhitewashed into respectability, and looking as if it had a stronginclination to tumble either upon the sidewalk, or against the greattrunk of a hoary-headed tree at the corner, arrests his attention. "Well, " he says, having paused before it, and scanned its crookedfront, "this surely is the house where the woman lived when she wasgiven the child. Practice, and putting two things together to findwhat one means, is the great thing in our profession. Like its oldtenant, the house has got down a deal. It's on its last legs. " Againhe consults his watch, and with a quickened step recrosses theSquare, and enters -- Avenue. Now he halts before a spaciousmansion, the front of which is high and bold, and deep, and of brownfreestone. The fluted columns; the elegantly-chiselled lintels; thebroad, scrolled window-frames; the exactly-moulded arches; themassive steps leading to the deep, vaulted entrance, with its doorsof sombre and highly-polished walnut; and its bold style ofarchitecture, so grand in its outlines, --all invest it with a regalair. The man casts a glance along the broad avenue, then into thesombre entrance of the mansion. Now he seems questioning withinhimself whether to enter or retrace his steps. One-half of the outerdoor, which is in the Italian style, with heavy fluted mouldings, stands ajar; while from out the lace curtains of the inner, theresteals a faint light. The man rests his elbow on the great stonescroll of the guard-rail, and here we leave him for a few moments. 

The mansion, it may be well to add here, remains closed the greaterpart of the year; and when opened seems visited by few persons, andthose not of the very highest standing in society. A broken-downpolitician, a seedy hanger-on of some "literary club, " presided overby a rich, but very stupid tailor, and now and then a lady aboutwhose skirts something not exactly straight hangs, and who has beenelbowed out of fashionable society for her too ardent love ofopera-singers, and handsome actors, may be seen dodging in now andthen. Otherwise, the mansion would seem very generally deserted bythe neighborhood. 

Everybody will tell you, and everybody is an individual so extremelybusy in other people's affairs, that he ought to know, that there issomething that hangs so like a rain-cloud about the magnificentskirts of those who live so secluded "in that fine old pile, "(mansion, ) that the virtuous satin of the Avenue never can be got to"mix in. " Indeed, the Avenue generally seems to have set its faceagainst those who reside in it. They enjoy none of those very grandassemblies, balls, and receptions, for which the Avenue is becomecelebrated, and yet they luxuriate in wealth and splendor. 

Though the head of the house seems banished by society, societymakes her the subject of many evil reports and mysteriouswhisperings. The lady of the mansion, however, as if to retort uponher traducers, makes it known that she is very popular abroad, everynow and then during her absence honoring them with mysteriousclippings from foreign journals-all setting forth the admiration herappearance called forth at a grand reception given by the Earl andCountess of --. 

Society is made of inexorable metal, she thinks, for the prejudicesof the neighborhood have not relaxed one iota with time. That shehas been presented to kings, queens, and emperors; that she hasenjoyed the hospitalities of foreign embassies; that she has (andshe makes no little ado that she has) shone in the assemblies ofprime ministers; that she has been invited to court concerts, andbeen the flattered of no end of fashionable coteries, serves hernothing at home. They are events, it must be admitted, muchdiscussed, much wondered at, much regretted by those who windthemselves up in a robe of stern morality. In a few instances theyare lamented, lest the morals and manners of those who make it apoint to represent us abroad should reflect only the brown side ofour society. 

As if with regained confidence, the man, whom we left at the doorscroll, is seen slowly ascending the broad steps. He enters thevaulted vestibule, and having touched the great, silver bell-knob ofthe inner door, stands listening to the tinkling chimes within. Apause of several minutes, and the door swings cautiously open. Therestands before him the broad figure of a fussy servant man, wedgedinto a livery quite like that worn by the servants of an Englishtallow-chandler, but which, it must be said, and said to beregretted, is much in fashion with our aristocracy, who, inconsequence of its brightness, belive it the exact style of somecelebrated lord. The servant receives a card from the visitor, andwith a bow, inquires if he will wait an answer. 

"I will wait the lady's pleasure-I came by appointment, " returns theman. And as the servant disappears up the hall, he takes a seat, uninvited, upon a large settee, in carved walnut. "Somethingmysterious about this whole affair!" he muses, scanning along thespacious hall, into the conservatory of statuary and rare plants, seen opening away at the extreme end. The high, vaulted roof; thebright, tesselated floor; the taste with which the frescoesdecorating the walls are designed; the great winding stairs, sorichly carpeted-all enhanced in beauty by the soft light reflectedupon them from a massive chandelier of stained glass, inspire himwith a feeling of awe. The stillness, and the air of grandeurpervading each object that meets his eye, reminds him of the hallsof those medi‘val castles he has read of in his youth. The servantreturns, and makes his bow. "My leady, " he says, in a strongLincolnshire brogue, "as weated ye an 'our or more. "

The visitor, evincing some nervousness, rises quickly to his feet, follows the servant up the hall, and is ushered into a parlor ofregal dimensions, on the right. His eye falls upon one solitaryoccupant, who rises from a lounge of oriental richness, and advancestowards him with an air of familiarity their conditions seem not towarrant. Having greeted the visitor, and bid him be seated (he takeshis seat, shyly, beside the door), the lady resumes her seat in amagnificent chair. For a moment the visitor scans over the greatparlor, as if moved by the taste and elegance of everything thatmeets his eye. The hand of art has indeed been lavishly laid on thedecorations of this chamber, which presents a scene of luxuryprinces might revel in. And though the soft wind of whispering silksseemed lending its aid to make complete the enjoyment of theoccupant, it might be said, in the words of Crabbe:

"But oh, what storm was in that mind!"

The person of the lady is in harmony with the splendor of theapartment. Rather tall and graceful of figure, her complexion pale, yet soft and delicate, her features as fine and regular as eversculptor chiselled, her manner gentle and womanly. In her face, nevertheless, there is an expression of thoughtfulness, perhapsmelancholy, to which her large, earnest black eyes, andfinely-arched brows, fringed with dark lashes, lend a peculiarcharm. While over all there plays a shadow of languor, increasedperhaps by the tinge of age, or a mind and heart overtaxed withcares. 

"I received your note, which I hastened to answer. Of course youreceived my answer. I rejoice that you have persevered, andsucceeded in finding the object I have so long sought. Not hearingfrom you for so many weeks, I had begun to fear she had goneforever, " says the lady, in a soft, musical voice, raising herwhite, delicate hand to her cheek, which is suffused with blushes. 

"I had myself almost given her over, for she disappeared from thePoints, and no clue could be got of her, " returns the man, pausingfor a moment, then resuming his story. "A week ago yesterday sheturned up again, and I got wind that she was in a place we call'Black-beetle Hole'--"

"Black-beetle Hole!" ejaculates the lady, whom the reader will havediscovered is no less a person than Madame Montford. Mr. DetectiveFitzgerald is the visitor. 

"Yes, there's where she's got, and it isn't much of a place, to saythe best. But when a poor creature has no other place to get astretch down, she stretches down there--"

"Proceed to how you found her, and what you have got from herconcerning the child, " the lady interrupts, with a deep sigh. 

"Well, " proceeds the detective, "I meets-havin' an eye out all thewhile-Sergeant Dobbs one morning-Dobbs knows every roost in thePoints better than me!--and says he, 'Fitzgerald, that are woman, that crazy woman, you've been in tow of so long, has turned up. There was a row in Black-beetle Hole last night. I got a force anddescended into the place, found it crammed with them half-dead kindof women and men, and three thieves, what wanted to have a fuss withthe hag that keeps it. One on 'em was thrashing the poor crazywoman. They had torn all the rags off her back. Howsever, if youwants to fish her out, you'd better be spry about it-'"

The lady interrupts by saying she will disguise, and with hisassistance, go bring her from the place-save her! Mr. Fitzgeraldbegs she will take the matter practically. She could not breathe theair of the place, he says. 

"'Thank you Dobbs, ' says I, " he resumes, "and when it got a bit darkI went incog. To Black-beetle's Hole--"

"And where is this curious place?" she questions, with an air ofanxiety. 

"As to that, Madame-well, you wouldn't know it was lived in, becauseits underground, and one not up to the entrance never would think itled to a place where human beings crawled in at night. I don'twonder so many of 'em does things what get 'em into the Station, andafter that treated to a short luxury on the Island. As I was goin'on to say, I got myself fortified, started out into the Points, andwalked-we take these things practically-down and up the eastsidewalk, then stopped in front of the old rotten house thatBlack-beetle Hole is under. Then I looks down the wet little stonesteps, that ain't wide enough for a big man to get down, and whatlead into the cellar. Some call it Black-beetle Hole, and then againsome call it the Hole of the Black-beetles. 'Yer after no good, Mr. Fitzgerald, ' says Mrs. McQuade, whose husband keeps the junk-shopover the Hole, putting her malicious face out of the window. 

"'You're the woman I want, Mrs. McQuade, ' says I. 'Don't be puttin'your foot in the house, ' says she. And when I got her temper alittle down by telling her I only wanted to know who lived in theHole, she swore by all the saints it had niver a soul in it, and washard closed up. Being well up to the dodges of the Points folks, Idescended the steps, and gettin' underground, knocked at the Holedoor, and then sent it smash in. 'Well! who's here?' says I. 'It'sme, ' says Mrs. Lynch, a knot of an old woman, who has kept the Holefor many years, and says she has no fear of the devil. "

Madame Montford listens with increasing anxiety; Mr. DetectiveFitzgerald proceeds: "'Get a light here, then;' says I. You couldn'tsee nothing, it was so dark, but you could hear 'em move, andbreathe. And then the place was so hot and sickly. Had to stand itbest way I could. There was no standing straight in the dismalplace, which was wet and nasty under foot, and not more nor twelveby fourteen. The old woman said she had only a dozen lodgers in;when she made out to get a light for me I found she hadtwenty-three, tucked away here and there, under straw and stuff. Well, it was curious to see 'em (here the detective wipes hisforehead with his handkerchief) rise up, one after another, allround you, you know, like fiends that had been buried for a time, then come to life merely to get something to eat. "

"And did you find the woman-and was she one of them?"

"That's what I'm comin' at. Well, I caught a sight at the woman;knew her at the glance. I got a sight at her one night in the Pit atthe House of the Nine Nations. 'Here! I wants you, ' says I, takin'what there was left of her by the arm. She shrieked, and croucheddown, and begged me not to hurt her, and looked wilder than a tigerat me. And then the whole den got into a fright, and young women, and boys, and men-they were all huddled together-set up such ascreaming. 'Munday!' says I, 'you don't go to the Tombs-here! I'vegot good news for you. ' This quieted her some, and then I picked herup-she was nearly naked-and seeing she wanted scrubbing up, carriedher out of the Hole, and made her follow me to my house, where wegot her into some clothes, and seeing that she was got right in hermind, I thought it would be a good time to question her. "

"If you will hasten the result of your search, it will, my good sir, relieve my feelings much!" again interposes the lady, drawing herchair nearer the detective. 

"'You've had, ' I says to her, 'a hard enough time in this world, andnow here's the man what's going to be a friend to ye-understandthat!' says I, and she looked at me bewildered. We gave hersomething to eat, and a pledge that no one would harm her, and shetamed down, and began to look up a bit. 'Your name wasn't alwaysMunday?' says I, in a way that she couldn't tell what I was after. She said she had taken several names, but Munday was her right name. Then she corrected herself-she was weak and hoarse-and said it washer husband's name. 'You've a good memory, Mrs. Munday, ' says I;'now, just think as far back as you can, and tell us where you livedas long back as you can think. ' She shook her head, and began tobury her face in her hands. I tried for several minutes, but couldget nothing more out of her. Then she quickened up, shrieked outthat she had just got out of the devil's regions, and made a rushfor the door. "

CHAPTER XLIII. 

IN WHICH IS REVEALED THE ONE ERROR THAT BROUGHT SO MUCH SUFFERINGUPON MANY. 

MR. FITZGERALD sees that his last remark is having no very goodeffect on Madame Montford, and hastens to qualify, ere it overcomeher. "That, I may say, Madame, was not the last of her. My wife andme, seeing how her mind was going wrong again, got her in bed forthe night, and took what care of her we could. Well, you see, shegot rational in the morning, and, thinking it a chance, I 'plied aheap of kindness to her, and got her to tell all she knew ofherself. She went on to tell where she lived-I followed yourdirections in questioning her-at the time you noted down. Shedescribed the house exactly. I have been to it to-night; knew it ata sight, from her description. Some few practical questions I put toher about the child you wanted to get at, I found frightened her sothat she kept shut-for fear, I take it, that it was a crime she maybe punished for at some time. I says, 'You was trusted with a childonce, wasn't you?' 'The Lord forgive me, ' she says, 'I know I'mguilty-but I've been punished enough in this world haven't I?' Andshe burst out into tears, and hung down her head, and got into thecorner, as if wantin' nobody to see her. She only wanted a littlegood care, and a little kindness, to bring her to. This we did aswell as we could, and made her understand that no one thought ofpunishing her, but wanted to be her friends. Well, the poor wretchbegan to pick up, as I said before, and in three days was suchanother woman that nobody could have told that she was the poorcrazy thing that ran about the lanes and alleys of the Points. Andnow, Madame, doing as you bid me, I thought it more practical tocome to you, knowing you could get of her all you wanted. She ismade comfortable. Perhaps you wouldn't like to have her broughthere-I may say I don't think it would be good policy. If you wouldcondescend to come to our house, you can see her alone. I hope youare satisfied with my services. " The detective pauses, and againwipes his face. 

"My gratitude for your perseverance I can never fully express toyou. I owe you a debt I never can repay. To-morrow, at ten o'clock, I will meet you at your house; and then, if you can leave me alonewith her--"

"Certainly, certainly, everything will be at your service, Madame, "returns the detective, rising from his seat and thanking the lady, who rewards him bountifully from her purse, and bids him good night. The servant escorts him to the door, while Madame Montford buriesher face in her hands, and gives vent to her emotions. 

On the morning following, a neatly-caparisoned carriage is seendriving to the door of a little brick house in Crosby street. Fromit Madame Montford alights, and passes in at the front door, whilein another minute it rolls away up the street and is lost to sight. A few moments' consultation, and the detective, who has ushered thelady into his humbly-furnished little parlor, withdraws to giveplace to the pale and emaciated figure of the woman Munday, whoadvances with faltering step and downcast countenance. "Oh! forgiveme, forgive me! have mercy upon me! forgive me this crime!" sheshrieks. Suddenly she raises her eyes, and rushing forward throwsherself at Madame Montford's feet, in an imploring attitude. Darkand varied fancies crowd confusedly on Madame Montfort's mind atthis moment. 

"Nay, nay, my poor sufferer, rather I might ask forgiveness of you. "She takes the woman by the hand, and, with an air of regainedcalmness, raises her from the floor. With her, the outer life seemspreparing the inner for what is to come. "But I have long soughtyou-sought you in obedience to the demands of my conscience, which Iwould the world gave me power to purify; and now I have found you, and with you some rest for my aching heart. Come, sit down; forgetwhat you have suffered; tell me what befell you, and what has becomeof the child; tell me all, and remember that I will provide for youa comfortable home for the rest of your life. " Madame motions her toa chair, struggling the while to suppress her own feelings. 

"I loved the child you intrusted to my care; yes, God knows I lovedit, and watched over it for two years, as carefully as a mother. ButI was poor, and the brother, in whose hands you intrusted the amountfor its support (this, the reader must here know, was not a brother, but the paramour of Madame Montford), failed, and gave me nothingafter the first six months. I never saw him, and when I found youhad gone abroad--" The woman hesitates, and, with weeping eyes andtrembling voice, again implores forgiveness. "My husband gavehimself up to drink, lost his situation, and then he got to hatingthe child, and abusing me for taking it, and embarrassing our scantymeans of living. Night and day, I was harassed and abused, despisedand neglected. I was discouraged, and gave up in despair. I clung tothe child as long as I could. I struggled, and struggled, andstruggled--" Here the woman pauses, and with a submissive look, againhangs down her head and sobs. 

"Be calm, be calm, " says Madame Montford, drawing nearer to her, andmaking an effort to inspirit her. "Throw off all your fears, forgetwhat you have suffered, for I, too, have suffered. And you partedwith the child?"

"Necessity forced me, " pursues the woman, shaking her head. "I sawonly the street before me on one side, and felt only the coldpinchings of poverty on the other. You had gone abroad--"

"It was my intention to have adopted the child as my own when Ireturned, " interrupts Madame Montford, still clinging to thatflattering hope in which the criminal sees a chance of escape. 

"And I, " resumes the woman, "left the husband who neglected me, andwho treated me cruelly, and gave myself, --perhaps I was to blame forit, --up to one who befriended me. He was the only one who seemed tocare for me, or to have any sympathy for me. But he, like myself, was poor; and, being compelled to flee from our home, and to live inobscurity, where my husband could not find me out, the child was anincumbrance I had no means of supporting. I parted with her-yes, yes, I parted with her to Mother Bridges, who kept a stand at acorner in West street--"

"And then what became of her?" again interposes Madame Montford. Thewoman assumes a sullenness, and it is some time before she can begot to proceed. 

"My conscience rebuked me, " she resumes, as if indifferent aboutanswering the question, "for I loved the child as my own; and thefriend I lived with, and who followed the sea, printed on its rightarm two hearts and a broken anchor, which remain there now. Myhusband died of the cholera, and the friend I had taken to, and whotreated me kindly, also died, and I soon found myself an abandonedwoman, an outcast-yes, ruined forever, and in the streets, leading alife that my own feelings revolted at, but from which starvationonly seemed the alternative. My conscience rebuked me again andagain, and something--I cannot tell what it was--impelled me with anirresistible force to watch over the fortunes of the child I knewmust come to the same degraded life necessity-perhaps it was my ownfalse step-had forced upon me. I watched her a child runningneglected about the streets, then I saw her sold to Hag Zogbaum, wholived in Pell street; I never lost sight of her-no, I never lostsight of her, but fear of criminating myself kept me from makingmyself known to her. When I had got old in vice, and years had gonepast, and she was on the first step to the vice she had beeneducated to, we shared the same roof. Then she was known as AnnaBonard--"

"Anna Bonard!" exclaims Madame Montford. "Then truly it is she whonow lives in Charleston! There is no longer a doubt. I may seek andclaim her, and return her to at least a life of comfort. "

"There you will find her. Ah, many times have I looked upon her, andthought if I could only save her, how happy I could die. I sharedthe same roof with her in Charleston, and when I got sick she waskind to me, and watched over me, and was full of gentleness, andwept over her condition. She has sighed many a time, and said howshe wished she knew how she came into the world, to be forced tolive despised by the world. But I got down, down, down, from onestep to another, one step to another, as I had gone up from one stepto another in the splendor of vice, until I found myself, torturedin mind and body, a poor neglected wretch in the CharlestonPoor-house. In it I was treated worse than a slave, left, sick andheart-broken, and uncared-for, to the preying of a fever thatdestroyed my mind. And as if that were not enough, I was carriedinto the dungeons-the 'mad cells, '-and chained. And this struck sucha feeling of terror into my soul that my reason, as they said, wasgone forever. But I got word to Anna, and she came to me, and gaveme clothes and many little things to comfort me, and got me out, andgave me money to get back to New York, where I have been ever since, haunted from place to place, with scarce a place to lay my head. Surely I have suffered. Shall I be forgiven?" Her voice herefalters, she becomes weak, and seems sinking under the burden of heremotions. "If, --if-if, " she mutters, incoherently, "you can save me, and forgive me, you will have the prayers of one who has drank deepof the bitter cup. " She looks up with a sad, melancholy countenance, again implores forgiveness, and bursts into loud sobs. 

"Mine is the guilty part-it is me who needs forgiveness!" speaksMadame Montford, pressing the hand of the forlorn woman, as thetears stream down her cheeks. She has unburdened her emotions, butsuch is the irresistible power of a guilty conscience that she findsher crushed heart and smitten frame sinking under the shock-that shefeels the very fever of remorse mounting to her brain. 

"Be calm, be calm-for you have suffered, wandered through the darkabyss; truly you have been chastened enough in this world. But whileyour heart is only bruised and sore, mine is stung deep andlacerated. The image of that child now rises up before me. I see herlooking back over her chequered life, and pining to know herbirthright. Mine is the task of seeking her out, reconciling her, saving her from this life of shame. I must sacrifice the secrets ofmy own heart, go boldly in pursuit of her--" She pauses a moment. There is yet a thin veil between her and society. Society onlyfounds its suspicions upon the mystery involved in the separationfrom her husband, and the doubtful character of her long residencein Europe. Society knows nothing of the birth of the child. Thescandal leveled at her in Charleston, was only the result of her ownindiscretion. "Yes, " she whispers, attempting at the same time tosoothe the feelings of the poor disconsolate woman, "I must go, andgo quickly-I must drag her from the terrible life she isleading;--but, ah! I must do it so as to shield myself. Yes, I mustshield myself!" And she puts into the woman's hand several pieces ofgold, saying: "take this!--to-morrow you will be better provided for. Be silent. Speak to no one of what has passed between us, nor makethe acquaintance of any one outside the home I shall provide foryou. " Thus saying, she recalls Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, rewards himwith a nostrum from her purse, and charges him to make the womancomfortable at her expense. 

"Her mind, now I do believe, " says the detective, with an approvingtoss of the head, "her faculties 'll come right again, --they onlywants a little care and kindness, mum. " The detective thanks heragain and again, then puts the money methodically into his pocket. 

The carriage having returned, Madame Montford vaults into it asquickly as she alighted, and is rolled away to her mansion. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

IN WHICH IS RECORDED EVENTS THE READER MAY NOT HAVE EXPECTED. 

WHILE the events we have recorded in the foregoing chapter, confused, hurried, and curious, are being enacted in New York, letus once more turn to Charleston. 

You must know that, notwithstanding our high state of civilization, we yet maintain in practice two of the most loathsome relics ofbarbarism-we lash helpless women, and we scourge, at the publicwhipping-post, the bare backs of men. 

George Mullholland has twice been dragged to the whipping-post, twice stripped before a crowd in the market-place, twice lashed, maddened to desperation, and twice degraded in the eyes of the verynegroes we teach to yield entire submission to the white man, however humble his grade. Hate, scorn, remorse-every dark passionhis nature can summon-rises up in one torturing tempest, and fillshis bosom with a mad longing for revenge. "Death!" he says, whilelooking out from his cell upon the bright landscape without, "whatis death to me? The burnings of an outraged soul subdue the thoughtof death. "

The woman through whom this dread finale was brought upon him, andwho now repines, unable to shake off the smarts old associationscrowd upon her heart, has a second and third time crept noiselesslyto his cell, and sought in vain his forgiveness. Yea, she has openedthe door gently, but drew back in terror before his dark frown, hissardonic scorn, his frenzied rush at her. Had he not loved herfondly, his hate had not taken such deep root in his bosom. 

Two or three days pass, he has armed himself "to the death, " and isresolved to make his escape, and seek revenge of his enemies. It isevening. Dark festoons of clouds hang over the city, lambentlightning plays along the heavens in the south. Now it flashesacross the city, the dull panorama lights up, the tall, gauntsteeples gleam out, and the surface of the Bay flashes out in aphosphoric blaze. Patiently and diligently has he filed, and filed, and filed, until he has removed the bar that will give egress to hisbody. The window of his cell overlooks the ditch, beyond which isthe prison wall. Noiselessly he arranges the rope, for he is in thethird story, then paces his cell, silent and thoughtful. "Must itbe?" he questions within himself, "must I stain these hands with theblood of the woman I love? Revenge, revenge-I will have revenge. Iwill destroy both of them, for to-morrow I am to be dragged a thirdtime to the whipping-post. " Now he casts a glance round the darkcell, now he pauses at the window, now the lightning courses alongthe high wall, then reflects back the deep ditch. Another moment, and he has commenced his descent. Down, down, down, he lowershimself. Now he holds on tenaciously, the lightning reflects hisdangling figure, a prisoner in a lower cell gives the alarm, hehears the watchword of his discovery pass from cell to cell, theclashing of the keeper's door grates upon his ear like thunder-hehas reached the end of his rope, and yet hangs suspended in the air. A heavy fall is heard, he has reached the ditch, bounds up its sideto the wall, seizes a pole, and places against it, and, with onevault, is over into the open street. Not a moment is to be lost. Uproar and confusion reigns throughout the prison, his keepers havetaken the alarm, and will soon be on his track, pursuing him withferocious hounds. Burning for revenge, and yet bewildered, he setsoff at full speed, through back lanes, over fields, passing in hiscourse the astonished guardmen. He looks neither to the right northe left, but speeds on toward the grove. Now he reaches the bridgethat crosses the millpond, pauses for breath, then proceeds on. Suddenly a light from the villa Anna occupies flashes out. He hascrossed the bridge, bounds over the little hedge-grown avenue, through the garden, and in another minute stands before her, apistol pointed at her breast, and all the terrible passions of anenraged fiend darkening his countenance. Her implorings for mercybring an old servant rushing into the room, the report of a pistolrings out upon the still air, shriek after shriek follows, mingledwith piercing moans, and death-struggles. "Ha, ha!" says theavenger, looking on with a sardonic smile upon his face, and a curlof hate upon his lip, "I have taken the life to which I gave myown-yes, I have taken it-I have taken it!" And she writhes her body, and sets her eyes fixedly upon him, as he hastens out of the room. 

"Quick! quick!" he says to himself. "There, then! I am pursued!" Herecrosses the millpond over another bridge, and in his confusionturns a short angle into a lane leading to the city. The yelping ofdogs, the deep, dull tramp of hoofs, the echoing of voices, theominous baying and scenting of blood-hounds-all break upon his earin one terrible chaos. Not a moment is to be lost. The sight at thevilla will attract the attention of his pursuers, and give him timeto make a distance! The thought of what he has done, and theterrible death that awaits him, crowds upon his mind, and rises upbefore him like a fierce monster of retribution. He rushes at fullspeed down the lane, vaults across a field into the main road, onlyto find his pursuers close upon him. The patrol along the streetshave caught the alarm, which he finds spreading withlightning-speed. The clank of side-arms, the scenting and baying ofthe hounds, coming louder and louder, nearer and nearer, warns himof the approaching danger. A gate at the head of a wharf standsopen, the hounds are fast gaining upon him, a few jumps more andthey will have him fast in their ferocious grasp. He rushes throughthe gate, down the wharf, the tumultuous cry of his pursuersstriking terror into his very heart. Another instant and the houndsare at his feet, he stands on the capsill at the end, gives onewild, despairing look into the abyss beneath--"I die revenged, " heshouts, discharges a pistol into his breast, and with one wildplunge, is buried forever in the water beneath. The dark stream ofan unhappy life has run out. Upon whom does the responsibility ofthis terrible closing rest? In the words of Thomson, the avengerleft behind him only "Gaunt Beggary, and Scorn, with manyhell-hounds more. "

When the gray dawn of morning streamed in through the windows of thelittle villa, and upon the parlor table, that had so often beenadorned with caskets and fresh-plucked flowers, there, in theirstead, lay the lifeless form of the unhappy Anna, her features paleas marble, but beautiful even in death. There, rolled in a mysticshroud, calm as a sleeper in repose, she lay, watched over by twofaithful slaves. 

The Judge and Mr. Snivel have found it convenient to make a trip ofpleasure into the country. And though the affair creates some littlecomment in fashionable society, it would be exceedingly unpopular topry too deeply into the private affairs of men high in office. Weare not encumbered with scrutinizing morality. Being an "unfortunatewoman, " the law cannot condescend to deal with her case. Indeed, were it brought before a judge, and the judge to find himselfsitting in judgment upon a judge, his feelings would find some meansof defrauding his judgment, while society would carefully close theshutter of its sanctity. 

At high noon there comes a man of the name of Moon, commonly calledMr. Moon, the good-natured Coroner. In truth, a better-humored manthan Mr. Moon cannot be found; and what is more, he has the happiestway in the world of disposing of such cases, and getting verdicts ofhis jury exactly suited to circumstances. Mr. Moon never proceeds tobusiness without regaling his jury with good brandy andhigh-flavored cigars. In this instance he has bustled about and gottogether six very solemn and seriously-disposed gentlemen, whoproceed to deliberate. "A mystery hangs over the case, " says one. Asecond shakes his head, and views the body as if anxious to getaway. A third says, reprovingly, that "such cases are coming toofrequent. " Mr. Moon explains the attendant circumstances, and puts achanged face on the whole affair. One juryman chalks, and anotherjuryman chalks, and Mr. Moon says, by way of bringing the matter toa settled point, "It is a bad ending to a wretched life. " A solemnstillness ensues, and then follows the verdict. The body beingidentified as that of one Anna Bonard, a woman celebrated for herbeauty, but of notorious reputation, the jury are of opinion (havingduly weighed the circumstances) that she came to her melancholydeath by the hands of one George Mullholland, who was prompted tocommit the act for some cause to the jury unknown. And the jury, inpassing the case over to the authorities, recommend that the saidMullholland be brought to justice. This done, Mr. Moon orders herburial, and the jury hasten home, fully confident of havingperformed their duty unswerved. 

When night came, when all was hushed without, and the silence withinwas broken only by the cricket's chirp, when the lone watcher, thefaithful old slave, sat beside the cold, shrouded figure, when thedim light of the chamber of death seemed mingling with the shadowsof departed souls, there appeared in the room, like a vision, thetall figure of a female, wrapped in a dark mantle. Slowly andnoiselessly she stole to the side of the deceased, stood motionlessand statue-like for several minutes, her eyes fixed in mutecontemplation on the face of the corpse. The watcher looked andstarted back, still the figure remained motionless. Raising herright hand to her chin, pensively, she lifted her eyes heavenward, and in that silent appeal, in those dewy tears that glistened in hergreat orbs, in those words that seemed freezing to her quiveringlips, the fierce struggle waging in that bosom was told. She heardthe words, "You cannot redeem me now!" knelling in her ears, herthoughts flashed back over years of remorse, to the day of hererror, and she saw rising up as it were before her, like a spectrefrom the tomb, seeking retribution, the image of the child she hadsacrificed to her vanity. She pressed and pressed the cold hand, sodelicate, so like her own; she unbared the round, snowy arm, andthere beheld the imprinted hearts, and the broken anchor! Herpent-up grief then burst its bounds, the tears rolled down hercheeks, her lips quivered, her hand trembled, and her very bloodseemed as ice in her veins. She cast a hurried glance round theroom, a calm and serene smile seemed lighting up the features of thelifeless woman, and she bent over her, and kissed and kissed hercold, marble-like brow, and bathed it with her burning tears. It wasa last sad offering; and having bestowed it, she turned slowly away, and disappeared. It was Madame Montford, who came a day too late tosave the storm-tossed girl, but returned to think of the hereafterof her own soul. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

ANOTHER SHADE OF THE PICTURE. 

WHILE the earth of Potter's Field is closing over all that remainsof Anna Bonard, Maria McArthur may be seen, snatching a moment ofrest, as it were, seated under the shade of a tree on the Battery, musing, as is her wont. The ships sail by cheerily, there is atouching beauty about the landscape before her, all nature seemsglad. Even the heavens smile serenely; and a genial warmth breathesthrough the soft air. "Truly the Allwise, " she says within herself, "will be my protector, and is chastising me while consecratingsomething to my good. Mr. Keepum has made my father's release thecondition of my ruin. But he is but flesh and blood, and I--no, I amnot yet a slave! The virtue of the poor, truly, doth hang by tenderthreads; but I am resolved to die struggling to preserve it. " And alight, as of some future joy, rises up in her fancy, and gives hernew strength. 

The German family have removed from the house in which she occupiesa room, and in its place are come two women of doubtful character. Still, necessity compels her to remain in it; for though it is ameans resorted to by Keepum to effect his purpose, she cannot removewithout being followed, and harassed by him. Strong in theconsciousness of her own purity, and doubly incensed at the proof ofwhat extremes the designer will condescend to, she nerves herselffor the struggle she sees before her. True, she was under the sameroof with them; she was subjected to many inconveniencies by theirpresence; but not all their flattering inducements could change herresolution. Nevertheless, the resolution of a helpless female doesnot protect her from the insults of heartless men. She returns hometo find that Mother Rumor, with her thousand tongues, is circulatingall kinds of evil reports about her. It is even asserted that shehas become an abandoned woman, and is the occupant of a house ofdoubtful repute. And this, instead of enlisting the sympathies ofsome kind heart, rather increases the prejudice and coldness ofthose upon whom she has depended for work. It is seldom the story ofsuffering innocence finds listeners. The sufferer is too frequentlyrequired to qualify in crime, before she becomes an object ofsympathy. 

She returns, one day, some work just finished for one of our highold families, the lady of which makes it a boast that she is alwaysengaged in "laudable pursuits of a humane kind. " The lady sends herservant to the door with the pittance due, and begs to say she issorry to hear of the life Miss McArthur is leading, and requests shewill not show herself at the house again. Mortified in her feelings, Maria begs an interview; but the servant soon returns an answer thather Missus cannot descend to anything of the kind. Our high oldfamilies despise working people, and wall themselves up against thepoor, whose virtue they regard as an exceedingly cheap commodity. Our high old families choose rather to charge guilt, and deny theright to prove innocence. 

With the four shillings, Maria, weeping, turns from the door, procures some bread and coffee, and wends her way to the old prison. But the chords of her resolution are shaken, the cold repulse hasgone like poison to her heart. The ray of joy that was lighting upher future, seems passing away; whilst fainter and fainter comes thehope of once more greeting her lover. She sees vice pampered by therich, and poor virtue begging at their doors. She sees a price setupon her own ruin; she sees men in high places waiting with eagerpassion the moment when the thread of her resolution will give out. The cloud of her night does, indeed, seem darkening again. 

But she gains the prison, and falters as she enters the cell wherethe old Antiquary, his brow furrowed deep of age, sleeps calmly uponhis cot. Near his hand, which he has raised over his head, lays aletter, with the envelope broken. Maria's quick eye flashes over thesuperscription, and recognizes in it the hand of Tom Swiggs. Atransport of joy fills her bosom with emotions she has no power toconstrain. She trembles from head to foot; fancies mingled with joysand fears crowd rapidly upon her thoughts. She grasps it withfeelings frantic of joy, and holds it in her shaking hand; the shockhas nigh overcome her. The hope in which she has so long foundcomfort and strength-that has so long buoyed her up, and carried hersafely through trials, has truly been her beacon light. "Truly, " shesays within herself, "the dawn of my morning is brightening now. "She opens the envelope, and finds a letter enclosed to her. "Oh!yes, yes, yes! it is him-it is from him!" she stammers, in theexuberance of her wild joy. And now the words, "You are richer thanme, " flash through her thoughts with revealed significance. 

Maria grasps the old man's hand. He starts and wakes, as ifunconscious of his situation, then fixes his eyes upon her with asteady, vacant gaze. Then, with childlike fervor, he presses herhand to his lips, and kisses it. "It was a pleasant dream--ah! yes, Iwas dreaming all things went so well!" Again a change comes over hiscountenance, and he glances round the room, with a wild and confusedlook. "Am I yet in prison?-well, it was only a dream. If death werelike dreaming, I would crave it to take me to its peace, that mymind might no longer be harassed with the troubles of this life. Ah!there, there!"--(the old man starts suddenly, as if a thought hasflashed upon him)--" there is the letter, and from poor Tom, too! Ionly broke the envelope. I have not opened it. "

"It is safe, father; I have it, " resumes Maria, holding it beforehim, unopened, as the words tremble upon her lips. One moment shefears it may convey bad news, and in the next she is overjoyed withthe hope that it brings tidings of the safety and return of him forwhose welfare she breathed many a prayer. Pale and agitated, shehesitates a moment, then proceeds to open it. 

"Father, father! heaven has shielded me-heaven has shielded me! Ha!ha! ha! yes, yes, yes! He is safe! he is safe!" And she breaks outinto one wild exclamation of joy, presses the letter to her lips, and kisses it, and moistens it with her tears. "It was all a plot-adark plot set for my ruin!" she mutters, and sinks back, overcomewith her emotions. The old man fondles her to his bosom, his whitebeard flowing over her suffused cheeks, and his tears mingling withhers. And here she remains, until the anguish of her joy runs out, and her mind resumes its wonted calm. 

Having broken the spell, she reads the letter to the enraptured oldman. Tom has arrived in New York; explains the cause of his longabsence; speaks of several letters he has transmitted by post, (which she never received;) and his readiness to proceed toCharleston, by steamer, in a few days. His letter is warm with loveand constancy; he recurs to old associations; he recounts hisremembrance of the many kindnesses he received at the hands of herfather, when homeless; of the care, to which he owes his reform, bestowed upon him by herself, and his burning anxiety to clasp herto his bosom. 

A second thought flashes upon her fevered brain. Am I not thesubject of slander! Am I not contaminated by associations? Has notsociety sought to clothe me with shame? Truth bends beforefalsehood, and virtue withers under the rust of slandering tongues. Again a storm rises up before her, and she feels the poisoned arrowpiercing deep into her heart. Am I not living under the very roofthat will confirm the slanders of mine enemies? she asks herself. And the answer rings back in confirmation upon her too sensitiveears, and fastens itself in her feelings like a reptile with deadlyfangs. No; she is not yet free from her enemies. They have the powerof falsifying her to her lover. The thought fills her bosom with sademotions. Strong in the consciousness of her virtue, she feels howweak she is in the walks of the worldly. Her persecutors are guilty, but being all-powerful may seek in still further damaging hercharacter, a means of shielding themselves from merited retribution. It is the natural expedient of bad men in power to fasten crime uponthe weak they have injured. 

Only a few days have to elapse, then, and Maria will be face to facewith him in whom her fondest hopes have found refuge; but even inthose few days it will be our duty to show how much injury may beinflicted upon the weak by the powerful. 

The old Antiquary observes the change that has come so suddenly overMaria's feelings, but his entreaties fail to elicit the cause. Shallshe return to the house made doubtful by its frail occupants; orshall she crave the jailer's permission to let her remain and shareher father's cell? Ah! solicitude for her father settles thequestion. The alternative may increase his apprehensions, and withthem his sufferings. Night comes on; she kisses him, bids him a fondadieu, and with an aching heart returns to the house that hasbrought so much scandal upon her. 

On reaching the door she finds the house turned into a bivouac ofrevelry; her own chamber is invaded, and young men and women aremaking night jubilant over Champagne and cigars. Mr. Keepum and theHon. Mr. Snivel are prominent among the carousers; and both arehectic of dissipation. Shall she flee back to the prison? Shall shego cast herself at the mercy of the keeper? As she is aboutfollowing the thought with the act, she is seized rudely by thearms, dragged into the scene of carousal, and made the object ofcoarse jokes. One insists that she must come forward and drink;another holds an effervescing glass to her lips; a third says heregards her modesty out of place, and demands that she drown it withmellowing drinks. The almost helpless girl shrieks, and struggles tofree herself from the grasp of her enemies. Mr. Snivel, thinking ithighly improper that such cries go free, catches her in his arms, and places his hand over her mouth. "Caught among queer birds atlast, " he says, throwing an insidious wink at Keepum. "Will flocktogether, eh?"

As if suddenly invested with herculean strength, Maria hurls theruffian from her, and lays him prostrate on the floor. In his fallthe table is overset, and bottles, decanters and sundry cut glassaccompaniments, are spread in a confused mass on the floor. SuddenlyMr. Keepum extinguishes the lights. This is the signal for a sceneof uproar and confusion we leave the reader to picture in hisimagination. The cry of "murder" is followed quickly by the cry of"watch, watch!" and when the guardmen appear, which they are notlong in doing, it is seen that the very chivalric gentlemen havetaken themselves off-left, as a prey for the guard, only Maria andthree frail females. 

Cries, entreaties, and explanations, are all useless with such menas our guard is composed of. Her clothes are torn, and she is foundrioting in disreputable company. The sergeant of the guard says, "Being thus disagreeably caught, she must abide the penalty. It mayteach you how to model your morals, " he adds; and straightway, atmidnight, she is dragged to the guard-house, and in spite of herentreaties, locked up in a cell with the outcast women. "Will younot hear me? will you not allow an innocent woman to speak in herown behalf? Do, I beg, I beseech, I implore you-listen but for aminute-render me justice, and save me from this last step of shameand disgrace, " she appeals to the sergeant, as the cell door closesupon her. 

Mr. Sergeant Stubble, for such is his name, shakes his head indoubt. "Always just so, " he says, with a shrug of the shoulders:"every one's innocent what comes here 'specially women of your sort. The worst rioters 'come the greatest sentimentalists, and repentsmost when they gets locked up-does! You'll find it a righteous placefor reflection, in there. " Mr. Sergeant Stubble shuts the door, andsmothers her cries. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE SOUL MAY GAIN STRENGTH IN A DREARY CELL. 

IT is Bulwer, the prince of modern novelists, who says: "There is incalumny a rank poison that, even when the character throws off theslander, the heart remains diseased beneath the effect. " And this isthe exact condition in which Maria finds herself. The knaves whohave sought her ruin would seem to have triumphed; the ears of thecharitable are closed to her; her judgment seems sealed. And yetwhen all is dark and still; when her companions sleep in undisturbedtranquillity; when her agitated feelings become calmed; when thereseems speaking to her, through the hushed air of midnight, the voiceof a merciful providence-her soul quickens, and she counsels herself-command, which has not yet deserted her. Woman's nature isindeed strung in delicate threads, but her power of endurance notunfrequently puts the sterner sex to the blush. "Slander has trulyleft my heart diseased, but I am innocent, and to-morrow, perhaps, my star will brighten. These dark struggles cannot last forever!"she muses, as her self-command strengthens, and gives her newhopes. Her betrothed may return to-morrow, and his generous naturewill not refuse her an opportunity to assert her innocence. 

And while she thus muses in the cell of the guard-house, the steamerin which Tom proceeds to Charleston is dashing through the waves, speeding on, like a thing of life, leaving a long train ofphosphoric brine behind her. As might naturally have been expected, Tom learns from a fellow-passenger all that has befallen the oldAntiquary. This filled his mind with gloomy forebodings concerningthe fate of Maria. There was, too, something evasive in the mannerof the man who conveyed to him this intelligence, and this excitedhis apprehensions, and prompted him to make further inquiries. Hisconfidence in her faith animated and encouraged his heart. But whenhe remembered that the old man was, even when he left, in theclutches of Snivel and Keepum (men whose wealth and influence gavethem power to crush the poor into the dust), an abyss, terrible anddark, opened to him, his whole nature seemed changed, and hisemotions became turbulent. He again sought the passenger, andbegging him to throw off all restraint, assured him that it wouldrelieve his feelings to know what had become of Maria. The manhesitated for a few moments, then, with reluctant lips, disclosed tohim that she had fallen a victim of necessity-more, that she wasleading the life of an outcast. Tom listened attentively to thestory, which lost nothing in the recital; then, with passionsexcited to frenzy, sought his state-room. At first it seemed like asentence of eternal separation ringing through his burning brain. All the dark struggles of his life rose up before him, and seemedhastening him back into that stream of dissipation in which his mindhad found relief when his mother forsook him. But no! something-heknew not what-whispered in his ear, "Do not reject her. Faith andhope remains to you; let truth be the judge. " He stretched himselfin his berth, but not to sleep. 

On the following morning Maria, with the frail companions of hercell, is brought into court, and arraigned before His Honor, JudgeSleepyhorn, who, be it said to his credit, though terrible in hisdealings with the harder sex, and whose love of hanging negroes isnot to be outdone, is exceedingly lenient with female cases, as heis pleased to style them. Though her virtue is as chaste as thefalling snow, Maria is compelled to suffer, for nearly an hour, thejeers and ribald insinuations of a coarse crowd, while the fact ofher being in the guard-house is winged over the city by exultantscandal-mongers. Nevertheless, she remains calm and resolute. Shesees the last struggle of an eventful life before her, and isresolved to meet it with womanly fortitude. 

The Judge smiles, casts a glance over his assembly, and takes hisseat, as Mr. Sergeant Stubble commences to read over the chargesagainst the accused. "Business, " says the Judge, "will proceed. "

"Now, Judge!" speaks up one of the frail women, coming forward in abold, off-hand manner to speak for her companions, "I don't exactlysee what we have done so much out of the way. No ladies of ourstanding have been up here before. The law's comin' very nice all atonce. There's a heap, as you know, Judge--"

"No, no, no! I know nothing about such places!" quickly interruptsthe Judge, his face full of virtuous indignation, and his handsraised in horror. 

"Then I may be pardoned for not wearing spectacles, " resumes thewoman, with a curtsy. Finding the judgment-seat becoming a littletoo warm for his nerves, the Judge very prudently dismisses thedamsels, with an admonition to go and do better-in fine, to tightentheir tongues as well as their morality. 

With the aid of Mr. Sergeant Stubble, Maria is brought forward, paleand trembling, and struggling with the war of grief waging in herheart. Calmly she looks up at the Judge for a moment, then hangsdown her head in silence. "There is a Judge above who knows thecircumstances, gives me now His hand, and will judge me in thebalance of truth and mercy, when my enemies are at my feet, " flashesthrough her thoughts, and strengthens the inner nature. But hertongue has lost its power; her feelings unbend to the thought thatshe is in a criminal court, arraigned before a Judge. She has noanswer to make to the Judge's questions, but gives way to heremotions, and breaks out into loud sobs. Several minutes, duringwhich a sympathizing silence is manifest, pass, when she raisesslowly her head, and makes an attempt to mutter a few words in herdefence. But her voice chokes, and the words hang, inarticulate, upon her lips. She buries her face in her hands, and shakes herhead, as if saying, "I have said all. "

His Honor seems moved to mercy by the touching spectacle before him. He whispers in the ear of Mr. Sergeant Stubble, and that functionarybrightens up, and with an attempt to be kind, says: "Pray, MissMcArthur--it's a duty we have to perform, you see--where is yourfather? the Judge says. "

Ah! That question has touched the fountain-spring of all hertroubles, and the waters come gushing forth, as if to engulph thelast faint shadow of hope in darkness. Almost simultaneously shefalls to the floor in a fit of violent hysterics. The Judge ordersthe court-room cleared of its spectators, and if the reader hasever witnessed the painful sight of a female suffering suchparoxysms, he may picture more forcibly in his imagination than wecan describe, the scene that follows. For some fifteen minutes thesufferer struggles, and when her mind resumes its calm, she casts awild, despairing look round the room, then fixes her eyes upon thosewho are gathered about her. 

There was a kind impulse yet left in the Judge. He discovers asympathy for her condition, holds her weak, trembling hand in hisown, and bathes her temples with cologne. "You are free to gohome-there is no charge against you, " he whispers in her ear. "Ihave ordered a carriage, and will send you to your home-where isit?" This is, indeed, cruel kindness. 

"If I had a home, " responds Maria, in a low voice, as she rises, andrests herself on her elbow, "it would shelter me from this distress. Yes, I would then be happy once more. "

A carriage soon arrives, she is put into it, and with a fewconsoling words from the Judge, is driven back, as hastily aspossible, to the house from which she was dragged only last night. She has nowhere else to go to-day, but resolves to-morrow to seek ashelter elsewhere. Through the whisperings of that unaccountablehuman telegraph, the news of her shame, made great and terrible witha thousand additions, is flown into the family secrets of the city. How strange and yet how true of human nature is it, that we standever ready to point the finger of scorn at those we fancy in thedownward path, while refusing ourselves to receive the moralist'slessons. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, AND SOMETHING PLEASING. 

IT is night-Mr. Keepum is seen seated before a table in hisdrawing-room, finishing a sumptuous supper, and asking himself: "Whodares to question me, the opulent Keepum?" Mr. Snivel enters, joinshim over a glass of wine, and says, "this little matter must besettled tonight, Keepum, old fellow-been minced long enough. " Andthe two chivalric gentlemen, after a short conversation, sally intothe street. Yonder, in the harbor, just rounding the frowning wallsof Fort Sumpter, blazes out the great red light of the steamer, onwhich the impatient lover fast approaches Charleston city. 

"She can do nothing at law--against our influence she is powerless!"ejaculates Keepum, as the two emerge from the house and stroll alongup Broad street. 

Maria, pale and exhausted with the fatigues and excitements of theday, sits in her solitary chamber, fearing lest each footstep shehears advancing, may be that of her enemies, or hoping that it mayannounce the coming of her lover and rescuer. 

"You are richer than me!" still tinkles its silvery music in herear, and brings comfort to her agitated heart. The clock strikesten, and suddenly her room is entered by Keepum and Snivel. Theformer, with an insinuating leer, draws a chair near her, while thelatter, doffing his coat, flings himself upon the cot. Neither speakfor some minutes; but Maria reads in their looks and actions thestudied villany they have at heart. 

"Inconsistency adorned!" exclaims Keepum, drawing his chair a littlenearer. "Now, I say, you have stuck stubbornly to this ere folly. "Mr. Keepum's sharp, red face, comes redder, and his small, wickedeyes flash like orbs of fire. "Better come down off that highhorse-live like a lady. The devil's got Tom, long ago. "

"So you have said before, Mr. Keepum, " rejoins Maria, turning uponhim a look of disdain. "You may persecute me to the death; you maycontinue to trample me into the dust; but only with my death shallyour lust be gratified on me!" This declaration is made with an airof firmness Mr. Keepum seems to understand. "D-n it, " rejoins Mr. Snivel, with a sardonic laugh, "these folks are affecting to besomething. "

Maria raises her right hand, and motions Mr. Keepum away. It doesindeed seem to her that the moment when nature in her last struggleunbends before the destroyer-when the treasure of a life passes awayto give place to dark regrets and future remorse, is come. Let uspause here for a moment, and turn to another part of the city. 

The steamer has scarce reached her berth at the wharf, when theimpatient lover springs ashore, dashes through the throng ofspectators, and, bewildered as it were, and scarce knowing which wayhe is proceeding, hurries on, meeting no one he knows, and at lengthreaching Meeting street. Here he pauses, and to his great joy meetsan old negro, who kindly offers to escort him to the distant quarterof the city where Maria resides. Again he sets out, his mind hung insuspense, and his emotions agitated to the highest degree. Hehurries on into King street, pauses for a moment before the house ofthe old Antiquary, now fast closed, and as if the eventful past werecrowding upon his fancy, he turns away with dizzy eyes, and followsthe old negro, step by step-faint, nervous, and sinking withexcitement-until they reach the cabin of Undine, the mulatto woman, under whose roof Maria once sought refuge for the night. Ready toexclaim, "Maria, I am here!" his heart is once more doomed todisappointment. The question hangs upon his lips, as his wonderingeyes glance round the room of the cabin. Undine tells him she is nothere; but points him to a light, nearly half a mile distant, andtells him she is there! there! The faithful old negro sets offagain, and at full speed they proceed up the lane in the directionof the light. And while they vault as it were o'er the ground, letus again turn to the chamber of Maria. 

With a sudden spring, Keepum, who had been for several minuteskeeping his eyes fixedly set upon Maria, and endeavoring to diverther attention, seized her arms, and was about to drag her down, whenSnivel put out the light and ran to his assistance. "Never! never!"she shrieks, at the very top of her voice. "Only with my life!" Alast struggle, a stifled cry of "never! never!" mingled with thealtercation of voices, rang out upon the air, and grated upon theimpatient lover's ear like death-knells. "Up stairs, up stairs!"shouts the old negro, and in an instant he has burst the outer doorin, mounts the stairs with the nimbleness of a catamount, and isthundering at the door, which gives way before his herculeanstrength. "I am here! I am here! Maria, I am here!" he shouts, atthe top of his voice, and with an air of triumph stands in the door, as the flashing light from without reveals his dilating figure. "Foul villains! fiends in human form! A light! a light! Mercifulheavens-a light!" He dashes his hat from his brow, turns arevengeful glance round the room, and grasps Maria in his arms, asthe old negro strikes a light and reveals the back of Mr. Snivelescaping out of a window. Keepum, esteeming discretion the betterpart of valor, has preceded him. 

Tightly Tom clasps Maria to his bosom, and with a look of triumphsays: "Maria! speak, speak! They have not robbed you?"

She shakes her head, returns a look of sweet innocence, and mutters:"It was the moment of life or death. Thank heaven-merciful heaven, Iam yet guiltless. They have not robbed me of my virtue-no, no, no. Iam faint, I am weak-set me down-set me down. The dawn of my morninghas brightened. "

And she seems swooning in his arms. Gently he bears her to the cot, lays her upon it, and with the solicitude of one whose heart she hastouched with a recital of her troubles, smooths her pillow andwatches over her until her emotions come subdued. 

"And will you believe me innocent? Will you hear my story, andreject the calumny of those who have sought my ruin?" speaks Maria, impressing a kiss upon the fevered lips of her deliverer, and, having regained her self-command, commences to recount some of theills she has suffered. 

"Maria!" rejoins Tom, returning her embrace, "you, whom I have lovedso sincerely, so quietly but passionately, have no need of declaringyour innocence. I have loved you-no one but you. My faith in yourinnocence has never been shaken. I hastened to you, and am here, your protector, as you have been mine. Had I not myself suffered bythose who have sought your ruin, my pride might be touched at theevil reports that have already been rung in my ears. Grateful am Ito Him who protects the weak, that I have spared you from the dreadguilt they would have forced upon you. "

Again and again he declares his eternal love, and seals it with akiss. His, nature is too generous to doubt her innocence. He alreadyknows the condition of her father, hence keeps silent on that point, lest it might overcome her. He raises her gently from the cot andseats her in a chair; and as he does so, Mr. Snivel's coat fallsupon the floor, and from the pocket there protrudes four of his(Tom's) letters, addressed to Maria. 

"Here! here!" says Tom, confusedly, "here is the proof of theirguilt and your innocence. " And he picks up the letters and holdsthem before her. "I was not silent, though our enemies would havehad it so. "

And she looks up again, and with a sweet smile says: "There trulyseems a divine light watching over me and lightening the burdens ofa sorrowing heart. "

The excitement of the meeting over, Maria rapidly recounts a few ofthe trials she has been subjected to. 

Tom's first impulse is, that he will seek redress at law. Certainlythe law will give an injured woman her rights. But a second thoughttells him how calmly justice sits on her throne when the rights ofthe poor are at stake. Again, Mr. Keepum has proceeded strictlyaccording to law in prosecuting her father, and there is no witnessof his attempts upon her virtue. The law, too, has nothing to dowith the motives. No! he is in an atmosphere where justice is madeof curious metal. 

"And now, Maria, " says Tom, pressing her hand in his own, "I, whomyou rescued when homeless-I, who was loathed when a wretchedinebriate, am now a man. My manhood I owe to you. I acknowledge itwith a grateful heart. You were my friend then-I am your friend now. May I, nay! am I worthy of retaining this hand for life?"

"Rather, I might ask, " she responds, in a faltering voice, "am Iworthy of this forgiveness, this confidence, this pledge of eternalhappiness?"

It is now the image of a large and noble heart reflects itself inthe emotions of the lovers, whose joys heaven seems to smile upon. 

"Let us forget the past, and live only for the future-for eachother's happiness; and heaven will reward the pure and the good!"concludes Tom, again sealing his faith with an ardent embrace. "Youare richer than me!" now, for the last time, rings its gladdeningmusic into her very soul. 

Tom recompenses the faithful old negro, who has been a silent lookeron, and though the night is far spent, he leads Maria from the placethat has been a house of torment to her, provides her a comfortableresidence for the night, and, as it is our object not to detain thereader longer with any lengthened description of what follows, maysay that, ere a few days have passed, leads Maria to the altar andmakes her his happy Bride. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

A FEW WORDS WITH THE READER. 

THE abruptness with which we were compelled to conclude thishistory, may render it necessary to make a few explanations. Indeed, we fancy we hear the reader demanding them. 

By some mysterious process, known only to Keepum and Snivel, the oldAntiquary was found at large on the day following Tom Swiggs'return, notwithstanding the Appeal Court did not sit for some sixweeks. It is some months since Tom returned, and although he hasprovided a comfortable home for the Antiquary, the queer old manstill retains a longing for the old business, and may be seen of afine morning, his staff in his right hand, his great-bowedspectacles mounted, and his infirm step, casting many an anxiouslook up at his old shop, and thinking how much more happy he wouldbe if he were installed in business, selling curiosities to hisaristocratic customers, and serving the chivalry in general. 

As for Keepum, why he lost no time in assuring Tom of his highregard for him, and has several times since offered to lend him atrifle, knowing full well that he stands in no need of it. 

Snivel is a type of our low, intriguing politician and justice, asort of cross between fashionable society and rogues, who, notwithstanding they are a great nuisance to the community, manageto get a sort of windy popularity, which is sure to carry them intohigh office. He is well thought of by our ignorant crackers, wire-grassmen, and sand-pitters, who imagine him the great medium bywhich the Union is to be dissolved, and South Carolina set free tostart a species of government best suited to her notions of liberty, which are extremely contracted. It may here be as well to add, thathe is come rich, but has not yet succeeded in his darling project ofdissolving the Union. 

Judge Sleepyhorn thinks of withdrawing into private life, of whichhe regards himself an exquisite ornament. This, some say, is theresult of the tragic death of Anna Bonard, as well as his love ofhanging negroes having somewhat subsided. 

Madame Montford takes her journeys abroad, where she finds herselfmuch more popular than at home. Nevertheless, she suffers thepunishment of a guilty heart, and this leaves her no peace in bodyor mind. It is, however, some relief to her that she has provided agood, comfortable home for the woman Munday. Tenacious of hercharacter, she still finds a refuge for her pride in the hope thatthe public is ignorant on the score of the child. 

Brother Spyke is in Antioch, and writes home that he finds the Jewsthe most intractable beings he ever had to deal with. He, however, has strong hopes of doing much good. The field is wide, and with afew thousand dollars more-well, a great deal of light may bereflected over Antioch. 

Sister Slocum is actively employed in the good cause of dragging upand evangelizing the heathen world generally. She has now on handfourteen nice couples, young, earnest, and full of the bestintentions. She hopes to get them all off to various dark fields ofmissionary labor as soon as the requisite amount of funds is scrapedup. 

There came very near being a little misunderstanding between theHouse of the Foreign Missions and the House of the Tract Society, inreference to the matter of burying Mrs. Swiggs. The Secretary of theTract Society, notwithstanding he had strong leanings to the South, and would not for the world do aught to offend the dignity of the"peculiar institution, " did not see his way so clearly in the matterof contributing to the burial expenses of the sister who had so longlabored in the cause of their tracts. However, the case was apeculiar one, and called for peculiar generosity; hence, afterconsulting "The Board, " the matter was compromised by the "TractSociety" paying a third of the amount. 

If you would have strong arguments in favor of reform in the Pointsjust look in at the House of the Nine Nations. There you will findMr. Krone and his satellites making politicians, and deluging youralms-houses and graveyards with his victims, while he himself is oneof the happiest fellows in the world. And after you have feastedyour eyes on his den, then come out and pay your homage to the manwho, like a fearless Hercules, has sacrificed his own comfort, andgone nobly to work to drag up this terrible heathen world at yourown door. Give him of your good gifts, whisper an encouraging wordin his ear (he has multiplied the joys of the saved inebriate), andbid him God-speed in his labor of love. 

A word in reference to the young theologian. He continues his visitsto the old jail, and has rendered solace to many a drooping heart. But he is come a serious obstacle to Mr. Sheriff Hardscrabble, who, having an eye to profit, regards a "slim goal" in anything but afavorable light. 

Old Spunyarn has made a voyage to the Mediterranean, and returnedwith a bag full of oranges for Tom Swiggs; but now that he sees himin possession of such a fine craft as Maria, he proposes that shehave the oranges, while his hearty good wishes can just as well beexpressed over a bumper of wine. He hopes Tom may always havesunshine, a gentle breeze, and a smooth sea. Farther, he pledgesthat he will hereafter keep clear of the "land-sharks, " nor everagain give the fellow with the face like a snatch-block a chance torun him aboard the "Brig Standfast. "

As for Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, he still pursues his profession, and is one of the kindest and most efficient officers of his corps. 

And now, ere we close our remarks, and let the curtain fall, we mustsay a word of Tom and Maria. Tom, then, is one of the happiestfellows of the lot. He occupies a nice little villa on the banks ofthe "mill-dam. " And here his friends, who having found wings andreturned with his fortunes, look in now and then, rather envy theair of comfort that reigns in his domicil, and are surprised to findMaria really so beautiful. Tom so far gained the confidence of hisemployer, that he is now a partner in the concern; and, we ventureto say, will never forfeit his trust. About Maria there is an air ofself-command-a calmness and intelligence of manner, and atruthfulness in her devotion to Tom, that we can only designate withthe word "nobleness. " And, too, there is a sweetness and earnestnessin her face that seems to bespeak the true woman, while leavingnothing that can add to the happiness of him she now looks up to andcalls her deliverer. 

THE END.