OUR WORLD:

OR, The Slaveholder's Daughter. 

"An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. "

NEW YORK AND AUBURN:

1855. 

PREFACE. 

IN presenting this work to the public, we are fully conscious of thegrave charges of misrepresenting society, and misconstruing facts, which will be made by our friends of the South, and its verypeculiar institution; but earnestly do we enjoin all such championsof "things as they are, " to read and well digest what is here setbefore them, believing that they will find the TRUTH even "strangerthan fiction. " And, as an incentive to the noble exertions of those, either North or South, who would rid our country of its "darkest, foulest blot, " we would say, that our attempt has been to give atrue picture of Southern society in its various aspects, and that, in our judgment, the institution of Slavery is directly chargeablewith the various moral, social and political evils detailed in OURWORLD. 

THE AUTHOR. 

CONTENTS. 

I. Marston's Plantation, II. How a Night was spent on Marston's PlantationIII. Things not so bright as they seemIV. An Unexpected ConfessionV. The Marooning PartyVI. Another Scene in Southern LifeVII. "Buckra-Man very Uncertain, "VIII. A Cloud of Misfortune hangs over the PlantationIX. Who is Safe against the Power?X. Another Shade of the Picture, XI. Mrs. Rosebrook's Project, XII. Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy Changes his Business, XIII. A Father tries to be a Father, XIV. In which Extremes are Presented, XV. A Scene of Many Lights, XVI. Another Phase of the Picture, XVII. Pleasant Dealings with Human Property, XVIII. A not uncommon Scene slightly changed, XIX. They are going to be Sold, XX. Let us follow poor Human Nature to the Man Shambles, XXI. A Father's Trials, XXII. We Change with Fortune, XXIII. The Vicissitudes of a Preacher, XXIV. How we Manufacture Political Faith, XXV. Mr. M'Fadden sees Shadows of the Future, XXVI. How they stole the Preacher, XXVII. Competition in Human Things, XXVIII. The Pretty Children are to be Sold, XXIX. Nature Shames Itself, XXX. The Vision of Death is Past, XXXI. A Friend is Woman, XXXII. Marston in Prison, XXXIII. Venders of Human Property are not Responsible for its Mental Caprices, XXXIV. A Common Incident shortly told, XXXV. The Children are Improving, XXXVI. Workings of the Slave System, XXXVII. An Item in the Common Calendar, XXXVIII. In which Regrets are shown of little Worth, XXXIX. How we should all be Forgiving, XL. Containing Various Matters, XLI. Nicholas's Simple Story, XLII. He would Deliver her from Bondage, XLIII. Other Phases of the Subject, XLIV. How Daddy Bob Departed, XLV. How Slaveholders Fear each other, XLVI. Southern Administration of Justice, XLVII. Prosperity the Result of Justice, XLVIII. In which the Fate of Franconia is seen, XLIX. In which is a Sad Recognition, L. In which a Dangerous Principle is Illustrated, LI. A Continuation of the Last Chapter, LII. In which are Pleasures and Disappointments, LIII. A Familiar Scene, in which Pringle Blowers has Business, LIV. In which are Discoveries and Pleasant Scenes, LV. In which is a Happy Meeting, some Curious Facts Developed, and Clotild History Disclosed, LVI. In which a Plot is Disclosed, and the Man-Seller made to Pay the Penalty of his Crimes, OUR WORLD. 

CHAPTER I

MARSTON'S PLANTATION. 

ON the left bank of the Ashly River, in the State of South Carolina, and a few miles from its principal city, is a plantation once theproperty of Hugh Marston. It was near this spot, the braveHuguenots, fleeing religious and political persecution, foundedtheir first American colony-invoked Heaven to guard theirliberties-sought a refuge in a new world! And it was here the piousHuguenot forgot his appeals to high heaven-forgot what had drivenhim from his fatherland, and-unlike the pilgrim fathers who plantedtheir standard on "New England's happy shore, "-became the first tooppress. It was here, against a fierce tyranny, the gallantYamassee, A tribe of faithful and heroic Indians. Loyal to his professedfriend, struggled and died for his liberty. It was here the lastremnant of his tribe fought the fierce battle of right over might!It was here, in this domain, destined to be the great and powerfulof nations-the asylum of an old world's shelter seeking poor, andthe proud embodiment of a people's sovereignty, -liberty was firstbetrayed! It was here men deceived themselves, and freedomproclaimers became freedom destroyers. And, too, it was here Spanishcupidity, murderous in its search for gold, turned a deaf ear tohumanity's cries, slaughtered the friendly Indian, and drenched thesoil with his innocent blood. And it is here, at this moment, slavery-fierce monster, threatening the peace of a happy people-runsriot in all its savage vicissitudes, denying man his commonestbirthright. 

If history did but record the barbarous scenes yet enacted on thebanks of this lovely stream, the contrast with its calm surfacesweeping gently onward to mingle its waters with the great deep, would be strange indeed. How mellowed by the calm beauty of a summerevening, the one!-how stained with scenes of misery, torment, anddeath, the other!

Let us beg the reader to follow us back to the time when Marston isfound in possession of the plantation, and view it as it is when hisfriends gather round him to enjoy his bounteous hospitality. 

We have ascended the Ashly on a bright spring morning, and are at ajut covered with dark jungle, where the river, about twenty rodswide, sweeps slowly round ;-flowering brakes, waving their tops toand fro in the breeze, bedeck the river banks, and far in thedistance, on the left, opens the broad area of the plantation. As wenear it, a beautifully undulating slope presents itself, bounded onits upper edge by a long line of sombre-looking pines. Again weemerge beneath clustering foliage overhanging the river; and fromout this-sovereign of a southern clime-the wild azalia and fairmagnolia diffuse their fragrance to perfume the air. From the pineridge the slope recedes till it reaches a line of jungle, or hedge, that separates it from the marshy bottom, extending to the river, against which it is protected by a dyke. Most of the slope is undera high state of cultivation, and on its upper edge is a newlycleared patch of ground, which negroes are preparing for thecotton-seed. 

Smoking piles burn here and there, burned stumps and trees pointtheir black peaks upward in the murky atmosphere, half-clad negroesin coarse osnaburgs are busy among the smoke and fire: the scenepresents a smouldering volcano inhabited by semi-devils. Among thesombre denizens are women, their only clothing being osnaburgfrocks, made loose at the neck and tied about the waist with astring: with hoes they work upon the "top surface, " gather charredwood into piles, and waddle along as if time were a drug upon life. 

Far away to the right the young corn shoots its green sprouts in asquare plat, where a few negroes are quietly engaged at the firsthoeing. Being tasked, they work with system, and expect, if theynever receive, a share of the fruits. All love and respect Marston, for he is generous and kind to them; but system in business is atvariance with his nature. His overseer, however, is just thereverse: he is a sharp fellow, has an unbending will, is proud ofhis office, and has long been reckoned among the very best in thecounty. Full well he knows what sort of negro makes the best driver;and where nature is ignorant of itself, the accomplishment isvaluable. That he watches Marston's welfare, no one doubts; that henever forgets his own, is equally certain. From near mid-distance ofthe slope we see him approaching on a bay-coloured horse. The sun'srays are fiercely hot, and, though his features are browned andhaggard, he holds a huge umbrella in one hand and the inseparablewhip in the other. The former is his protector; the latter, hissceptre. John Ryan, for such is his name, is a tall, athletic man, whose very look excites terror. Some say he was born in Limerick, onthe Emerald Isle, and only left it because his proud spirit wouldnot succumb to the unbending rod England held over his poor bleedingcountry. 

Running along the centre of the slope is a line of cotton-fields, inwhich the young plants, sickly in spots, have reached a stage whenthey require much nursing. Among them are men, women, and children, crouched on the ground like so many sable spectres, picking andpulling at the roots to give them strength. John Ryan has beenkeeping a sharp eye on them. He will salute you with an air ofindependence, tell you how he hated oppression and loved freedom, and how, at the present day, he is a great democrat. Now, whetherJohn left his country for his country's good, is a question; butcertain it is he dearly delights to ply the lash, -to whip mankindmerely for amusement's sake. In a word, John has a good Irish heartwithin him, and he always lays particular emphasis on the good, whenhe tells us of its qualities; but let us rather charge to the Statethat spare use he makes of its gentler parts. 

John Ryan, his face indicating tyranny stereotyped, has just beenplacing drivers over each gang of workmen. How careful he was toselect a trustworthy negro, whose vanity he has excited, and whoviews his position as dearly important. Our driver not unfrequentlyis the monster tyrant of his circle; but whether from inclination toserve the interests of his master, or a knowledge of the fiercesystem that holds him alike abject, we know not. At times he is morethan obedient to his master's will. 

Excuse, reader, this distant view of the plantation at early spring, and follow us back to the Ashly. Here we will still continue alongthe river-bank, pass borders of thick jungle, flowering vines, androws of stately pines, their tops moaning in the wind, -and soon findwe have reached Marston's landing. This is situated at thetermination of an elevated plat extending from thence to themansion, nearly a mile distant. Three negroes lay basking on thebank; they were sent to wait our coming. Tonio! Murel! Pompe!-theyejaculate, calling one another, as we surprise them. They arecheerful and polite, are dressed in striped shirts and trousers, receive us with great suavity of manner, present master'scompliments, tell us with an air of welcome that master will be"right glad" to see us, and conclude by making sundry inquiriesabout our passage and our "Missuses. " Pompe, the "most importantnigger" of the three, expresses great solicitude lest we get ourfeet in the mud. Black as Afric's purest, and with a face of greatgood nature, Pompe, in curious jargon, apologises for the bad stateof the landing, tells us he often reminds Mas'r how necessary it isto have it look genteel. Pompe, more than master, is deeplyconcerned lest the dignity of the plantation suffer. 

Planks and slabs are lain from the water's edge to the high groundon the ridge, upon which we ascend to the crown, a piece of naturalsoil rising into a beautiful convex of about six rods wide, extending to the garden gate. We wend our way to the mansion, leaving Pompe and his assistants in charge of our luggage, whichthey will see safely landed. The ridge forms a level walk, sequestered by long lines of huge oaks, their massive branchesforming an arch of foliage, with long trailing moss hanging likemourning drapery to enhance its rural beauty. At the extreme of thisfestooned walk the mansion is seen dwindling into an almostimperceptible perspective. There is something grand and impressivein the still arch above us-something which revives our sense of thebeauty of nature. Through the trunks of the trees, on our right andleft, extensive rice fields are seen stretching far into thedistance. The young blades are shooting above the surface of thewater, giving it the appearance of a frozen sheet clothed withgreen, and protected from the river by a serpentine embankment. Howbeautiful the expanse viewed from beneath these hoary-headed oaks!

On the surface and along the banks of the river aligators aresporting; moccason snakes twist their way along, and scouringkingfishers croak in the balmy air. If a venerable rattlesnake warnus we need not fear-being an honourable snake partaking of the oldsoutherner's affected chivalry;-he will not approach disguised;-no!he will politely give us warning. But we have emerged from the mossywalk and reached a slab fence, dilapidated and broken, whichencloses an area of an acre of ground, in the centre of which standsthe mansion: the area seems to have been a garden, which, in formerdays, may have been cultivated with great care. At present it onlypresents a few beds rank with weeds. We are told the gardener hasbeen dismissed in consideration of his more lucrative services inthe corn-field. That the place is not entirely neglected, we haveonly to add that Marston's hogs are exercising an independent rightto till the soil according to their own system. The mansion is aquadrangular building, about sixty feet long by fifty wide, built ofwood, two stories high, having upper and lower verandas. 

We pass the dilapidated gate, and reach it by a narrow passagethrough the garden, on each side of which is a piece of antiquestatuary, broken and defaced. Entering the lower veranda, we pacethe quadrangle, viewing innumerable cuttings and carvings upon theposts: they are initials and full names, cut to please the vanity ofthose anxious to leave the Marston family a memento. Again we arriveat the back of the mansion where the quadrangle opens a courtyardfilled with broken vines, blackened cedars, and venerable-lookingleaks;-they were once much valued by the ancient and veryrespectable Marston family. A few yards from the left wing of themansion are the "yard houses"-little, comely cabins, about twelvefeet by twenty, and proportionately high. One is the kitchen: it hasa dingy look, the smoke issuing from its chinks regardless of thechimney; while from its door, sable denizens, ragged and greasy, andstraining their curious faces, issue forth. The polished black cook, with her ample figure, is foaming with excitement, lest the feastshe is preparing for master's guests may fail to sustain hercelebrity. Conspicuous among these cabins are two presenting a muchneater appearance: they are brightly whitewashed, and the littlewindows are decorated with flowering plants. Within them there is anair of simple neatness and freshness we have seldom seen surpassed;the meagre furniture seems to have been arranged by some carefulhand, and presents an air of cheerfulness in strange contrast withthe dingy cabins around. In each there is a neatly arranged bed, spread over with a white cover, and by its side a piece of softcarpet. It is from these we shall draw forth the principalcharacters of our story. 

Upon a brick foundation, about twenty rods from the right wing ofthe mansion, stands a wood cottage, occupied by the overseer. Mr. John Ryan not being blessed with family, when Marston is nothonoured with company takes his meals at the mansion. In thedistance, to the left, is seen a long line of humble huts, standingupon piles, and occupied by promiscuous negro families:--we saypromiscuous, for the marriage-tie is of little value to the master, nor does it give forth specific claim to parentage. The sableoccupants are beings of uncertainty; their toil is for a life-time-aweary waste of hope and disappointment. Yes! their dreary life is aheritage, the conditions of which no man would share willingly. Victors of husbandry, they share not of the spoils; nor is the sweatof their brows repaid with justice. 

Near these cabins, mere specks in the distance, are two large sheds, under which are primitive mills, wherein negroes grind corn fortheir humble meal. Returning from the field at night, hungry andfatigued, he who gets a turn at the mill first is the luckiestfellow. Now that the workpeople are busily engaged on theplantation, the cabins are in charge of two nurses, matronly-lookingold bodies, who are vainly endeavouring to keep in order numerousgrowing specimens of the race too young to destroy a grub at theroot of a cotton plant. The task is indeed a difficult one, theybeing as unruly as an excited Congress. They gambol round the door, make pert faces at old mamma, and seem as happy as snakes in thespring sun. Some are in a nude state, others have bits of frockscovering hapless portions of their bodies; they are imps of mischiefpersonified, yet our heart bounds with sympathy for them. Alive withcomicality, they move us, almost unconsciously, to fondle them. Andyet we know not why we would fondle the sable "rascals. " One knot islarking on the grass, running, toddling, yelling, and hooting;another, ankle-deep in mud, clench together and roll among theducks, work their clawy fingers through the tufts of each other'scrispy hair, and enjoy their childish sports with an air of genialhappiness; while a third sit in a circle beside an oak tree, playingwith "Dash, " whose tail they pull without stint. "Dash" is thefaithful and favourite dog; he rather likes a saucy young "nigger, "and, while feeling himself equal to the very best in the clan, willpermit the small fry, without resenting the injury, to pull histail. 

It being "ration day, " we must describe the serving, that being aninteresting phase of plantation life. Negroes have gathered intomotley groups around two weatherbeaten store-houses--the overseerhas retired to his apartment-when they wait the signal from the headdriver, who figures as master of ceremonies. One sings:---"Jim Crackcorn, an' I don't care, Fo'h mas'r's gone away! way! way!" Anotheris croaking over the time he saved on his task, a third is trying toplay a trick with the driver (come the possum over him), and a thirdunfolds the scheme by which the extra for whiskey and molasses wasraised. Presenting a sable pot pourri, they jibber and croak amongthemselves, laugh and whistle, go through the antics of the"break-down" dance, make the very air echo with the music of theirincomprehensible jargon. We are well nigh deafened by it, and yet itexcites our joy. We are amused and instructed; we laugh because theylaugh, our feelings vibrate with theirs, their quaint humour forcesitself into our very soul, and our sympathy glows with their happyanticipations. The philosophy of their jargon is catching to oursenses; we listen that we may know their natures, and learn goodfrom their simplicity. He is a strange mortal who cannot learnsomething from a fool!

The happy moment has arrived: "Ho, boys!" is sounded, -the doorsopen, the negroes stop their antics and their jargon; stores areexposed, and with one dinning mutter all press into a half-circle atthe doors, in one of which stands the huge figure of Balam, the headdriver. He gives a scanning look at the circle of anxious faces; hewould have us think the importance of the plantation centred in hisglowing black face. There he stands-a measure in his hand-whileanother driver, with an air of less dignity, cries out, with astentorian voice, the names of the heads of families, and the numberof children belonging thereto. Thus, one by one, the name beingannounced in muddled accents, they step forward, and receive theircorn, or rice, as may be. In pans and pails they receive it, pass itto the younger members of the family; with running and scampering, they carry the coarse allotment to their cabin with seemingcheerfulness. Marston, esteemed a good master, always gives bacon, and to receive this the negroes will gather round the store a secondtime. In this, the all-fascinating bacon is concealed, for which thechildren evince more concern; their eyes begin to shine brighter, their watchfulness becomes more intent. Presently a negro begins towithdraw the meat, and as he commences action the jargon getslouder, until we are deafened, and would fain move beyond it. Justthen, the important driver, with hand extended, commands, -"Order!"at the very top of his loud voice. All is again still; the manreturns to his duty. The meat is somewhat oily and rancid, but Balamcuts it as if it were choice and scarce. Another driver weighs it ina pair of scales he holds in his hands; while still another, cuttingthe same as before, throws it upon some chaff at the door, as if itwere a bone thrown to a hungry dog. How humbly the recipient picksit up and carries it to his or her cabin! Not unfrequently the young"imps" will scramble for it, string it upon skewers, and with greatnonchalance throw it over their shoulders, and walk off. If it bathetheir backs with grease so much more the comfort. Those littlenecessaries which add so much to the negro's comfort, and of whichhe is so fond, must be purchased with the result of his extraenergy. Even this allowance may serve the boasted hospitality; butthe impression that there is a pennyworth of generosity for everypound of parsimony, forces itself upon us. On his little spot, bymoonlight or starlight, the negro must cultivate for himself, thathis family may enjoy a few of those fruits of which master has many. How miserable is the man without a spark of generosity in his soul;and how much more miserable the man who will not return good forgood's worth! To the negro, kindness is a mite inspiring theimpulses of a simple heart, and bringing forth great good. 

Let us again beg the reader to return with us to those conspicuouscottages near the court-yard, and in which we will find several ofour characters. 

We cross the threshold of one, and are accosted by a female who, speaking in musical accents, invites us to sit down. She has none ofAfric's blood in her veins;-no! her features are beautifully olive, and the intonation of her voice discovers a different origin. Herfigure is tall and well-formed; she has delicately-formed hands andfeet, long, tapering fingers, well-rounded limbs, and an oval face, shaded with melancholy. How reserved she seems, and yet how quicklyshe moves her graceful figure! Now she places her right hand uponher finely-arched forehead, parts the heavy folds of glossy hairthat hang carelessly over her brown shoulders, and with ahalf-suppressed smile answers our salutation. We are welcome in herhumble cabin; but her dark, languishing eyes, so full of intensity, watch us with irresistible suspicion. They are the symbols of herinward soul; they speak through that melancholy pervading hercountenance! The deep purple of her cheek is softened by it, whileit adds to her face that calm beauty which moves the gentle of ournature. How like a woman born to fill a loftier sphere than that towhich a cruel law subjects her, she seems!

Neither a field nor a house servant, the uninitiated may be at aloss to know what sphere on the plantation is her's? She is themother of Annette, a little girl of remarkable beauty, sitting ather side, playing with her left hand. Annette is fair, has lightauburn hair-not the first tinge of her mother's olive invades herfeatures. Her little cheerful face is lit up with a smile, and whiletoying with the rings on her mother's fingers, asks questions thatperson does not seem inclined to answer. Vivacious and sprightly, she chatters and lisps until we become eager for her history. "It'sonly a child's history, " some would say. But the mother displays somuch fondness for it; and yet we become more and more excited by thestrange manner in which she tries to suppress an outward display ofher feelings. At times she pats it gently on the head, runs herhands through its hair, and twists the ends into tiny ringlets. 

In the next cabin we meet the shortish figure of a tawny female, whose Indian features stand boldly out. Her high cheek bones, longglossy black hair, and flashing eyes, are the indexes of herpedigree. "My master says I am a slave:" in broken accents sheanswers our question. As she sits in her chair near the fire-placeof bricks, a male issue of the mixed blood toddles round and roundher, tossing her long coarse hair every time he makes a circut. Thelittle boy is much fairer than the brawny daughter who seems hismother. Playful, and even mischievous, he delights in pulling thehair which curls over his head; and when the woman calls him heanswers with a childish heedlessness, and runs for the door. Reader!this woman's name is Ellen Juvarna; she has youth on her side, andthough she retains the name of her ancient sire, is proud of beingmaster's mistress. She tells us how comfortable she is; howNicholas, for such is his name, resembles his father, how he loveshim, but how he fails to acknowledge him. A feud, with itsconsequences, is kept up between the two cabins; and while she makesmany insinuations about her rival, tells us she knows her featureshave few charms. Meanwhile, she assures us that neither good looksnor sweet smiles make good mothers. "Nicholas!" she exclaims, "comehere; the gentlemen want to know all about papa. " And, as sheextends her hand, the child answers the summons, runs across theroom, fondles his head in his mother's lap, -seems ashamed!

CHAPTER II. 

HOW A NIGHT WAS SPENT ON MARSTON'S PLANTATION. 

EARTH is mantled with richest verdure; far away to the west andsouth of the mansion the scene stretches out in calm grandeur. Thesun sinks beneath glowing clouds that crimson the horizon and spreadrefulgent shadows on the distant hills, as darkness slowly stealsits way on the mellow landscape. 

Motley groups of negroes are returned from the field, fires arelighted in and about the cabins, and men mutter their curious jargonwhile moving to prepare the coarse meal. Their anxious countenancesform a picture wild and deeply interesting. 

Entering Marston's mansion, we find its interior neater than itsweather-stained and paintless sides portended. Through the centreruns a broad passage, and on the left and right are large parlours, comfortably furnished, divided by folding doors of carved walnut. Weare ushered into the one on the right by a yellow servant, who, neatly dressed in black, has prepared his politeness for theoccasion. With great suavity, accompanied by a figurative grin, heinforms us that master will pay his respects presently. Pieces ofsingularly antique furniture are arranged round the room, of which, he adds, master is proud indeed. Two plaster figures, standing indingy niches, he tells us are wonders of the white man's genius. Inhis own random style he gives us an essay on the arts, adding a wordhere and there to remind us of master's exquisite taste, andanxiously waits our confirmation of what he says. 

A large open fire-place, with fancifully carved framework andmantel-pieces, in Italian marble of polished blackness, upon whichstood massive silver candlesticks, in chased work, denotes theancient character of the mansion. It has many years been the home ofthe ever-hospitable Marston family. 

In another part of the room is a mahogany side-board of antiquepattern, upon which stand sundry bottles and glasses, indicative ofMarston having entertained company in the morning. While we arecontemplating the furniture around us, and somewhat disappointed atthe want of taste displayed in its arrangement, the door opens, andSam, the yellow servant, bows Marston in with a gracious smile. Itis in the south where the polite part is played by the negro. DeaconRosebrook and Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, a man of the world, follow Marston into the room. Marston is rather tall of figure, robust, and frank of countenance. A florid face, and an extremelylarge nose bordering on the red, at times give him an aldermanicair. He rubs his fingers through the short, sandy-coloured hair thatbristles over a low forehead (Tom, the barber, has just fritted it)smiles, and introduces us to his friends. He is vain-vanity belongsto the slave world-is sorry his eyes are grey, but adds an assuranceevery now and then that his blood is of the very best stock. Lest adoubt should hang upon our mind, he asserts, with great confidence, that grey eyes indicate pure Norman birth. As for phrenology! henever believed in a single bump, and cites his own contractedforehead as the very strongest proof against the theory. Indeed, there is nothing remarkable in our host's countenance, if we exceptits floridness; but a blunt nose protruding over a wide mouth andflat chin gives the contour of his face an expression not the mostprepossessing. He has been heard to say, "A man who didn't lovehimself wasn't worth loving:" and, to show his belief in thisprinciple of nature, he adorns his face with thick red whiskers, notthe most pleasing to those unaccustomed to the hairy follies of afashionable southron. 

Times are prosperous; the plantation puts forth its bounties, andMarston withholds nothing that can make time pass pleasantly withthose who honour him with a visit. He is dressed in an elaboratelycut black coat, with sweeping skirts, a white vest, fancy-colouredpantaloons, and bright boots. About his neck is an enormous shirtcollar, turned carelessly over, and secured with a plain blackribbon. Elder Praiseworthy is of lean figure, with sharp, cravenfeatures. The people of the parish have a doubtful opinion of him. Some say he will preach sermons setting forth the divine right ofslavery, or any other institution that has freedom for its foe, provided always there is no lack of pay. As a divine, he isparticularly sensitive lest anything should be said disparaginglyagainst the institution he lends his aid to protect. That allinstitutions founded in patriarchal usage are of God's creation, heholds to be indisputable; and that working for their overthrow is agreat crime, as well as an unpardonable sin, he never had theslightest doubt. He is careful of his clerical dress, which is ofsmoothest black; and remembering how essential are gold-framedspectacles, arranges and re-arranges his with greatest care. He is agreat admirer of large books with gilt edges and very expensivebindings. They show to best advantage in the southern parlourlibrary, where books are rarely opened. To say the Elder is not aman of great parts, is to circulate a libel of the first magnitude. Indeed, he liked big books for their solidity; they reminded him ofgreat thoughts well preserved, and sound principles more firmlyestablished. At times he had thought they were like moderndemocratic rights, linked to huge comprehending faculties, such aswas his good fortune to use when expounding state rights and federalobligations. 

Deacon Rosebrook is a comely, fair-faced man, a moderate thinker, acharitable Christian, a very good man, who lets his deeds ofkindness speak of him. He is not a politician-no! he is a betterquality of man, has filled higher stations. Nor is he of themodernly pious-that is, as piety professes itself in our democraticworld, where men use it more as a necessary appliance to subdue themind than a means to improve civilization. But he was alwayscautious in giving expression to his sentiments, knowing thedelicate sensibilities of those he had to deal with, and fearinglest he might spring a democratic mine of very illiberalindignation. 

"Come, gentlemen guests, you are as welcome as the showers, " saysMarston, in a stentorious voice: "Be seated; you are at home undermy roof. Yes, the hospitality of my plantation is at your service. "The yellow man removes a table that stood in the centre of the room, places chairs around it, and each takes his seat. 

"Pardon me, my dear Marston, you live with the comfort of a nabob. Wealth seems to spring up on all sides, " returns the Deacon, good-naturedly. 

"And so I think, " joins the Elder: "the pleasures of the plantationare manifold, swimming along from day to day; but I fear there isone thing our friend has not yet considered. "

"Pray what is that? Let us hear it; let us hear it. Perhaps it isthe very piety of nonsense, " rejoined Marston, quickly. "Dead menand devils are always haunting us. " The Elder draws his spectaclesfrom his pocket, wipes them with his silk handkerchief, adjusts themon his nose, and replies with some effort, "The Future. "

"Nothing more?" Marston inquires, quaintly: "Never contented; richesall around us, favourable prospects for the next crop, prices stiff, markets good, advices from abroad exciting. Let the future take careof itself; you are like all preachers, Elder, borrowing darknesswhen you can't see light. "

"The Elder, so full of allegory!" whispers the Deacon. "He means amoral condition, which we all esteem as a source of riches laid upin store for the future. "

"I discover; but it never troubles me while I take care of others. Ipray for my negro property-pray loudly and long. And then, theirpiety is a charge of great magnitude; but when I need yourassistance in looking after it, be assured you will receive an extrafee. "

"That's personal-personal, decidedly personal. "

"Quite the reverse, " returns Marston, suddenly smiling, and, placinghis elbows on the table, rests his face on his hands. "Religion iswell in its place, good on simple minds; just the thing to keepvassals in their places: that's why I pay to have it talked to myproperty. Elder, I get the worth of my money in seeing theexcitement my fellows get into by hearing you preach that oldworn-out sermon. You've preached it to them so long, they have gotit by heart. Only impress the rascals that it's God's will theyshould labour for a life, and they'll stick to it like Trojans: theyare just like pigs, sir. "

"You don't comprehend me, my friend Marston: I mean that you shouldprepare-it's a rule applicable to all-to meet the terrible that maycome upon us at any moment. " The Elder is fearful that he is notquite explicit enough. He continues: "Well, there is something to beconsidered;"-he is not quite certain that we should curtail thepleasures of this life by binding ourselves with the dread of whatis to come. "Seems as if we owed a common duty to ourselves, " heejaculates. 

The conversation became more exciting, Marston facetiouslyattempting to be humorous at the Elder's expense: "It isn't thepleasure, my dear fellow, it's the contentment. We were all born toan end; and if that end be to labour through life for others, itmust be right. Everything is right that custom has establishedright. "

"Marston, give us your hand, my friend. 'Twould do to plead so if wehad no enemies, but enemies are upon us, watching our movementsthrough partizans' eyes, full of fierceness, and evil tomisconstruct. "

"I care not, " interrupts Marston. "My slaves are my property-I shalldo with them as it pleases me; no insinuations about morality, or Ishall mark you on an old score. Do you sound? Good Elders should begood men; but they, as well as planters, have their frailties; itwould not do to tell them all, lest high heaven should cry out. "Marston points his finger, and laughs heartily. "I wish we had sevenlives to live, and they were all as happy as most of our planterscould desire to make them. "

The Elder understood the delicate hint, but desiring to avoidplacing himself in an awkward position before the Deacon, began tochange the conversation, criticising the merits of several oldpictures hung upon the walls. They were much valued by Marston, asmementoes of his ancestry: of this the Elder attempted in vain tomake a point. During this conversation, so disguised in meaning, themulatto servant stood at the door waiting Marston's commands. Soon, wine and refreshments were brought in, and spread out in oldplantation style. The company had scarcely filled glasses, when arap sounded at the hall door: a servant hastened to announce acarriage; and in another minute was ushered into the room thegraceful figure of a young lady whose sweet and joyous countenancebespoke the absence of care. She was followed by a genteelly-dressedyoung man of straight person and placid features. 

"Oh! Franconia, " said Marston, rising from his seat, grasping herhand affectionately, and bestowing a kiss on her fair cheek, for itwas fair indeed. 

Taking her right hand in his left, he added, "My niece, gentlemen;my brother's only daughter, and nearly spoiled with attentions. " Apleasant smile stole over her face, as gracefully she acknowledgedthe compliment. In another minute three or four old negroes, movedby the exuberance of their affection for her, gathered about her, contending with anxious faces for the honour of seeing hercomfortable. 

"I love her!" continued Marston; "and, as well as she could afather, she loves me, making time pass pleasantly with hercheerfulness. " She was the child of his affections; and as he spokehis face glowed with animation. Scarce seventeen summers had bloomedupon his fair niece, who, though well developed in form, was of adelicate constitution, and had inherited that sensitiveness sopeculiar to the child of the South, especially she who has beencradled in the nursery of ease and refinement. As she spoke, smiled, and raised her jewelled fingers, the grace accompanying the wordswas expressive of love and tenderness. Turning to the gentleman whoaccompanied her, "My friend!" she added, simply, with a frolicsomelaugh. A dozen anxious black faces were now watching in the hall, ready to scamper round her ere she made her appearance to say, "Howde'h!" to young Missus, and get a glimpse at her stranger friend. After receiving a happy salute from the old servants, she re-entersthe room. "Uncle's always drinking wine when I come;-but Uncleforgets me; he has not so much as once asked me to join him!" Shelays her hand on his arm playfully, smiles cunningly, pointsreproachfully at the Elder, and takes a seat at her uncle's side. The wine has seized the Elder's mind; he stares at her through hisspectacles, and holds his glass with his left hand. 

"Come, Dandy, " said Marston, addressing himself to the mulattoattendant, "bring a glass; she shall join us. " The glass is brought, Marston fills it, she bows, they drink to her and to the buoyantspirits of the noble southern lady. "I don't admire the habit; but Ido like to please so, " she whispers, and, excusing herself, skipsinto the parlour on the right, where she is again beset by the oldservants, who rush to her, shake her hand, cling playfully to herdress: some present various new-plucked flowers others are becomenoisy with their chattering jargon. At length she is so beset withthe display of their affection as to be compelled to break away fromthem, and call for Clotilda. "I must have Clotilda!" she says: "Tellher to come soon, Dandy: she alone can arrange my dress. " Thussaying, she disappeared up a winding stair leading from the hallinto the second story. 

We were anxious to know who Clotilda was, and why Franconia shouldsummon her with so much solicitude. Presently a door opened:Franconia appeared at the top of the stairs, her face glowing withvivacity, her hair dishevelled waving in beautiful confusion, givinga fascination to her person. "I do wish she would come, I do!" shemutters, resting her hands upon the banisters, and looking intentlyinto the passage: "she thinks more of fussing over Annette's hair, than she does about taking care of mine. Well, I won't get cross-Iwon't! Poor Clotilda, I do like her; I can't help it; it is no morethan natural that she should evince so much solicitude for herchild: we would do the same. " Scarcely had she uttered these words, when the beautiful female we have described in the foregoing chapterran from her cabin, across the yard, into the mansion. "Where isyoung Miss Franconia?" she inquires; looks hastily around, ascendsthe stairs, greets Franconia with a fervent shake of the hand, commences adjusting her hair. There is a marked similarity in theircountenances: it awakens our reflections. Had Clotilda exhibitedthat exactness of toilet for which Franconia is become celebrated, she would excel in her attractions. There was the same oval face, the same arched brows; there was the same Grecian contour offeatures, the same sharply lined nose; there was the same delicatelycut mouth, disclosing white, pearly teeth; the same eyes, nowglowing with sentiment, and again pensive, indicating thought andtenderness; there was the same classically moulded bust, a shoulderslightly converging, of beautiful olive, enriched by a dark mole. 

Clotilda would fain have kissed Franconia, but she dare not. "Clotilda, you must take good care of me while I make my visit. Onlydo my hair nicely, and I will see that Uncle gets a new dress foryou when he goes to the city. If Uncle would only get married, howmuch happier it would be, " says Franconia, looking at Clotilda thewhile. 

"And me, too, -I would be happier!" Clotilda replies, resting herarms on the back of Franconia's lolling chair, as her eyes assumed amelancholy glare. She heaved a sigh. 

"You could not be happier than you are; you are well cared for;Uncle will never see you want; but you must be cheerful when I come, Clotilda, -you must! To see you unhappy makes me feel unhappy. "

"Cheerful!-its better said than felt. Can he or she be cheerful whois forced to sin against God and himself? There is little to becheerful with, where the nature is not its own. Why should I be thedespised wretch at your Uncle's feet: did God, the great God, makeme a slave to his licentiousness?"

"Suppress such feelings, Clotilda; do not let them get the better ofyou. God ordains all things: it is well to abide by His will, for itis sinful to be discontented, especially where everything is so wellprovided. Why, Uncle has learned you to read, and even to write. "

"Ah! that's just what gave me light; through it I knew that I had alife, and a soul beyond that, as valuable to me as yours is to you. "

"Be careful, Clotilda, " she interrupts; "remember there is a widedifference between us. Do not cross Uncle; he is kind, but he mayget a freak into his head, and sell you. "

Clotilda's cheeks brightened; she frowned at the word, and, givingher black hair a toss from her shoulder, muttered, "To sell me!-Hadyou measured the depth of pain in that word, Franconia, your lipshad never given it utterance. To sell me!-'tis that. The differenceis wide indeed, but the point is sharpest. Was it my mother who madethat point so sharp? It could not! a mother would not entail suchmisery on her offspring. That name, so full of associations dear tome-so full of a mother's love and tenderness, -could not reflectpain. Nay; her affections were bestowed upon me, -I love to treasurethem, I do. To tell me that a mother would entail misery without anend, is to tell me that the spirit of love is without good!"

"Do not make yourself unhappy, Clotilda. Perhaps you are as wellwith us as you would be elsewhere. Even at the free north, in happyNew England, ladies would not take the notice of you we do: many ofyour class have died there, poor and wretched, among the mostmiserable creatures ever born to a sad end. And you are not black-"

"All is not truth that is told for such, " Clotilda interruptsFranconia. "If I were black, my life would have but one stream: nowit is terrible with uncertainty. As I am, my hopes and affectionsare blasted. "

"Sit down, Clotilda, " rejoins Franconia, quickly. 

Clotilda, having lavished her skill on Franconia's hair, seatsherself by her side. Franconia affectionately takes her taperinghand and presses it with her jewelled fingers. "Remember, Clotilda, "she continues, "all the negroes on the plantation become unhappy atseeing you fretful. It is well to seem happy, for its influence onothers. Uncle will always provide for Annette and you; and he iskind. If he pays more attention to Ellen at times, take no notice ofit. Ellen Juvarna is Indian, moved to peculiarities by the instinctsof her race. Uncle is imprudent, I admit; but society is not with usas it is elsewhere!"

"I care not so much for myself, " speaks the woman, in a despondingvoice; "it is Annette; and when you spoke of her you touched thechord of all my troubles. I can endure the sin forced upon myself;but, O heavens! how can I butcher my very thoughts with the unhappylife that is before her? My poor mother's words haunt me. I know herfeelings now, because I can judge them by my own-can see how herbroken heart was crushed into the grave! She kissed my hand, andsaid, 'Clotilda, my child, you are born to a cruel death. Give mebut a heart to meet my friends in judgment!'"

The child with the flaxen hair, humming a tune, came scampering upthe stairs into the room. It recognises Franconia, and, with asportive laugh, runs to her and fondles in her lap; then, turning toits mother, seems anxious to divide its affections between them. Itsfeatures resembled Franconia's-the similarity was unmistakeable; andalthough she fondled it, talked with it, and smoothed its littlelocks, she resisted its attempts to climb on her knee: she was cold. 

"Mother says I look like you, and so does old Aunt Rachel, MissFranconia-they do, " whispers the child, shyly, as it twisted itsfingers round the rings on Franconia's hand. Franconia blushed, and cast an inquiring look at Clotilda. 

"You must not be naughty, " she says; "those black imps you play witharound Aunt Rachel's cabin teach you wrong. You must be careful withher, Clotilda; never allow her to such things to white people: shemay use such expressions before strangers, -which would be extremelypainful-"

"It seems too plain: if there be no social sin, why fear thedegradation?" she quietly interrupts. "You cannot keep it from thechild. O, how I should like to know my strange history, Franconia, -to know if it can be that I was born to such cruelmisfortunes, such bitter heart-achings, such gloomy forebodings. IfI were, then am I content with my lot. "

Franconia listened attentively, saw the anguish that was burstingthe bounds of the unhappy woman's feelings, and interrupted bysaying, "Speak of it no more, Clotilda. Take your child; go to yourcabin. I shall stay a few days: to-morrow I will visit you there. "As she spoke, she waved her hand, bid Clotilda good night, kissingAnnette as she was led down stairs. Now alone, she begins tocontemplate the subject more deeply. "It must be wrong, " she says toherself: "but few are brought to feel it who have the power to removeit. The poor creature seems so unhappy; and my feelings are painedwhen they tell me how much she looks like me--and it must be so; forwhen she sat by my side, looking in the glass the portrait ofsimilarity touched my feelings deeply. 'Tis not the thing for Uncleto live in this way. Here am I, loved and beloved, with the luxuryof wealth, and friends at my pleasure; I am caressed: she is butborn a wretch to serve my Uncle's vanity; and, too, were I toreproach him, he would laugh at what he calls our folly, our sicklysensitiveness; he would tell me of the pleasures of southern life, southern scenery, southern chivalry, southern refinement;--yes, hewould tell me how it were best to credit the whole to southernliberality of custom:--so it continues! There is a principle to beserved after all: he says we are not sent into the world toexcommune ourselves from its pleasures. This may be good logic, forI own I don't believe with those who want the world screwed up intoa religious vice; but pleasure is divided into so many differentqualities, one hardly knows which suits best now-a-days. Philosophers say we should avoid making pleasure of that which cangive pain to others; but philosophers say so many things, and giveso much advice that we never think of following. Uncle has astandard of his own. I do, however, wish southern society would bemore circumspect, looking upon morality in its proper light. Its alldoubtful! doubtful! doubtful! There is Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy;he preaches, preaches, preaches!--his preaching is to live, not todie by. I do pity those poor negroes, who, notwithstanding theirimpenetrable heads, are bored to death every Sunday with thatselfsame sermon. Such preaching, such strained effort, suchmachinery to make men pious, --it's as soulless as a well. I don'twonder the world has got to be so very wicked, when the wickednessof the slavery church has become so sublime. And there's Uncle, too, --he's been affected just in that way; hearing pious discoursesto uphold that which in his soul he knew to be the heaviestwickedness the world groaned under, he has come to look uponreligion as if it were a commodity too stale for him. He sees theminister of God's Word a mere machine of task, paid to do a certainamount of talking to negroes, endeavouring to impress their simpleminds with the belief that it is God's will they should be slaves. And this is all for necessity's sake!" In this musing mood she sitsrocking in her chair, until at length, overcome with the heat, shereclines her head against the cushion, resigning herself to thesoothing embrace of sweet sleep. 

The moon's silver rays were playing on the calm surface of theriver, the foliage on its banks seemed bathed in quiet repose, thegentle breeze, bearing its balmy odours, wafted through the arbourof oaks, as if to fan her crimson cheeks; the azalia and magnoliacombined their fragrance, impregnating the dew falling over thescene, as if to mantle it with beauty. She slept, a picture ofsouthern beauty; her auburn tresses in undulating richness playingto and fro upon her swelling bosom, -how developed in all itsdelicacy!-her sensitive nature made more lovely by the warmth andgenerosity of her heart. Still she slept, her youthful mindoverflowing with joy and buoyancy: about her there was a ravishingsimplicity more than earthly: a blush upon her cheek becamedeeper, -it was the blush of love flashing in a dream, that tells itstale in nervous vibrations, adding enchantment to sleepingvoluptuousness;-and yet all was sacred, an envied object no rudehand dare touch!

Franconia had been educated at the north, in a land where--God blessthe name--Puritanism is not quite extinct; and through the force ofprinciples there inculcated had outgrown much of that feeling whichat the south admits to be right what is basely wrong. She hesitatedto reproach Marston with the bad effect of his life, but resolved onendeavouring to enlist Clotilda's confidence, and learn how far herdegraded condition affected her feelings. She saw her with the sameproud spirit that burned in her own bosom; the same tenderness, thesame affection for her child, the same hopes and expectations forthe future, and its rewards. The question was, what could be donefor Clotilda? Was it better to reason with her, -to, if possible, make her happy in her condition? Custom had sanctioned manyunrighteous inconsistencies: they were southern, nothing more! Shewould intercede with her Uncle, she would have him sign free papersfor Clotilda and her child; she saw a relationship which the lawcould not disguise, though it might crush out the naturalaffections. With these thoughts passing in her mind, her imaginationwandered until she dropped into the sleep we have described. 

There she slept, the blushes suffusing her cheeks, until old AuntRachel, puffing and blowing like an exhausting engine, entered theroom. Aunty is the pink of a plantation mother: she is as black asthe blackest, has a face embodying all the good-nature of theplantation, boasts of her dimensions, which she says are six feet, well as anybody proportioned. Her head is done up in a flashybandana, the points nicely crosslain, and extending an elaboratedistance beyond her ears, nearly covering the immense circular ringsthat hang from them. Her gingham dress, starched just so, herwhitest white apron, never worn before missus come, sets her off togreat advantage. Aunty is a good piece of property-tells us how manyhundred dollars there is in her-feels that she has been promotedbecause Mas'r told somebody he would not take a dollar less for her. She can superintend the domestic affairs of the mansion just as wellas anybody. In one hand she bears a cup of orange-grove coffee, inthe other a fan, made of palmetto-leaves. 

"Gi'h-e-you!" she exclaimed. "If young missus aint nappin' just sonice! I likes to cotch 'em just so;" and setting her tray upon astand, she views Franconia intently, and in the exuberance of herfeelings seats herself in front of her chair, fanning her with thepalmetto. The inquisitive and affectionate nature of the good oldslave was here presented in its purity. Nothing can be stronger, nothing show the existence of happy associations more forcibly. Theold servant's attachment is proverbial, -his enthusiasm knows nobounds, -Mas'r's comfort absorbs all his thoughts. Here, AuntRachel's feelings rose beyond her power of restraint: she gazed onher young missus with admiration, laughed, fanned her more and more;then grasping her little jewelled hand, pressed it to her spaciousmouth and kissed it. "Young Missus! Franconia, I does lub ye so!"she whispers. 

"Why, Aunt Rachel!" ejaculated Franconia, starting suddenly: "I amglad you wakened me, for I dreamed of trouble: it made meweak-nervous. Where is Clotilda?" And she stared vacantly round theroom, as if unconscious of her position. "Guess 'e aint 'boutnowhere. Ye see, Miss, how she don't take no care on ye, -takes dischild to stir up de old cook, when ye comes to see us. " And steppingto the stand she brings the salver; and in her excitement to serveMissus, forgets that the coffee is cold. "Da'h he is; just as niceas 'em get in de city. Rachel made 'em!"

"I want Clotilda, Rachel; you must bring her to me. I was dreamingof her and Annette; and she can tell dreams-"

The old slave interrupts her. "If Miss Franconia hab had dream, 'ebad, sartin. Old Mas'r spoil dat gal, Clotilda, -make her tink shelady, anyhow. She mos' white, fo'h true; but aint no better den odernigger on de plantation, " she returns. Franconia sips her coffee, takes a waf from the plate as the old servant holds it before her, and orders Dandy to summon Clotilda. 

CHAPTER III. 

THINGS ARE NOT SO BRIGHT AS THEY SEEM. 

THE following morning broke forth bright and serene. Marston and hisguests, after passing a pleasant night, were early at breakfast. When over, they joined him for a stroll over the plantation, to hearhim descant upon the prospects of the coming crop. Nothing could bemore certain, to his mind, than a bountiful harvest. The rice, cotton, and corn grounds had been well prepared, the weather wasmost favourable, he had plenty of help, a good overseer, andfaithful drivers. "We have plenty, -we live easy, you see, and ourpeople are contented, " he says, directing his conversation to theyoung Englishman, who was suspected of being Franconia's friend. "Wedo things different from what you do in your country. Yourcountrymen will not learn to grow cotton: they manufacture it, andhence we are connected in firm bonds. Cotton connects many things, even men's minds and souls. You would like to be a planter, I knowyou would: who would not, seeing how we live? Here is the Elder, ashappy a fellow as you'll find in forty. He can be as jolly as anEnglishman over a good dinner: he can think with anybody, preachwith anybody!" Touching the Elder on the shoulder, he smiles, andwith an insinuating leer, smooths his beard. "I am at your service, "replies the Elder, folding his arms. 

"I pay him to preach for my nigger property, -I pay him to teach themto be good. He preaches just as I wants him to. My boys think him alittle man, but a great divine. You would like to hear the Elder onSunday; he's funny then, and has a very funny sermon, which you mayget by heart without much exertion. " The young man seems indifferentto the conversation. He had not been taught to realise how easy itwas to bring religion into contempt. 

"Make no grave charges against me, Marston; you carry your practicaljokes a little too far, Sir. I am a quiet man, but the feelings ofquiet men may be disturbed. " The Elder speaks moodily, as ifconsidering whether it were best to resent Marston's triflingsarcasm. Deacon Rosebrook now interceded by saying, with unruffledcountenance, that the Elder had but one thing funny about him, -hisdignity on Sundays: that he was, at times, half inclined to believeit the dignity of cogniac, instead of pious sentiment. 

"I preach my sermon, -who can do more?" the Elder rejoins, withseeming concern for his honour. "I thought we came to view theplantation?"

"Yes, true; but our little repartee cannot stop our sight. Youpreach your sermon, Elder, --that is, you preach what there is leftof it. It is one of the best-used sermons ever manufactured. Itwould serve as a model for the most stale Oxonian. Do you think youcould write another like it? It has lasted seven years, and servedthe means of propitiating the gospel on seven manors. Can they beatthat in your country?" says Marston, again turning to the youngEnglishmam, and laughing at the Elder, who was deliberately takingoff his glasses to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. 

"Our ministers have a different way of patching up old sermons; butI'm not quite sure about their mode of getting them, " the young manreplies, takes Deacon Rosebrook's arm, and walks ahead. 

"The Elder must conform to the doctrines of the South; but they sayhe bets at the race-course, which is not an uncommon thing for ourdivines, " rejoins the Deacon, facetiously. 

The Elder, becoming seriously inclined, thinks gentlemen had betteravoid personalities. Personalities are not tolerated in the South, where gentlemen are removed far above common people, and protectthemselves by the code duello. He will expose Marston. 

Marston's good capon sides are proof against jokes. He may crack on, that individual says. 

"My friend, " interposed the Elder, "you desired me to preach to yourniggers in one style and for one purpose, -according to the rule oflabour and submission. Just such an one as your niggers would thinkthe right stripe, I preached, and it made your niggers wonder andgape. I'll pledge you my religious faith I can preach a different-"

"Oh! oh! oh! Elder, " interrupted Marston, "pledge somethingvaluable. "

"To me, my faith is the most sacred thing in the world. I will-as Iwas going to say-preach to your moulding and necessities. Pay forit, and, on my word, it shall be in the cause of the South! With thelandmarks from my planter customers, I will follow to their liking, "continues Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, not a smile on his hardface. 

Deacon Rosebrook thinks it is well said. Pay is the greatdesideratum in everything. The Elder, though not an uncommonsouthern clergyman, is the most versatile preacher to be met with ina day's walk. Having a wonderful opinion of nigger knowledge, hepreaches to it in accordance, receiving good pay and having noobjection to the wine. 

"Well, Gentlemen, " Marston remarks, coolly, "I think the Elder hasborne our jokes well; we will now go and moisten our lips. The elderlikes my old Madeira-always passes the highest compliments upon it. "Having sallied about the plantation, we return to the mansion, whereDandy, Enoch, and Sam-three well-dressed mulattoes-their hairfrizzed and their white aprons looking so bright, meet us at theveranda, and bow us back into the parlour, as we bear our willingtestimony of the prospects of the crop. With scraping of feet, grins, and bows, they welcome us back, smother us with compliments, and seem overwilling to lavish their kindness. From the parlour theybow us into a long room in the right wing, its walls being plainboarded, and well ventilated with open seams. A table is spread withsubstantial edibles, -such as ham, bacon, mutton, and fish. Theserepresent the southern planter's fare, to which he seldom adds thosepastry delicacies with which the New Englander is prone to decoratehis table. The party become seated as Franconia graces the festiveboard with her presence, which, being an incentive of gallantry, preserves the nicest decorum, smooths the conversation. The wine-cupflows freely; the Elder dips deeply-as he declares it choice. Temperance being unpopular in the south, it is little regarded atMarston's mansion. As for Marston himself, he is merely preparingthe way to play facetious jokes on the Elder, whose arm he touchesevery few minutes, reminding him how backward he is in replenishinghis glass. 

Not at all backward in such matters, the Elder fills up, asks thepleasure of drinking his very good health, and empties the liquidinto the safest place nearest at hand. Repeated courses have theireffect; Marston is pleased, the Elder is mellow. With muddledsensibilities his eyes glare wildly about the table, and at everyfresh invitation to drink he begs pardon for having neglected hisduty, fingers the ends of his cravat, and deposits anotherglass, -certainly the very last. Franconia, perceiving her uncle'smotive, begs to be excused, and is escorted out of the room. Mr. Praiseworthy, attempting to get a last glass of wine to his lipswithout spilling, is quite surprised that the lady should leave. Hecommences descanting on his own fierce enmity to infidelity andcatholicism. He would that everybody rose up and trampled them intothe dust; both are ruinous to negro property. 

Marston coolly suggests that the Elder is decidedly uncatholicised. 

"Elder, " interrupted Deacon Rosebrook, touching him on the shoulder, "you are modestly undone-that is, very respectably sold to yourwine. "

"Yes, " rejoined Marston; "I would give an extra ten dollars to hearhim preach a sermon to my niggers at this moment. "

"Villainous inconsistency!" exclaimed the Elder, in an indistinctvoice, his eyes half closed, and the spectacles gradually fallingfrom his nose. "You are scandalising my excellent character, whichcan't be replaced with gold. " Making another attempt to raise aglass of wine to his lips, as he concluded, he unconsciously let thecontents flow into his bosom, instead of his mouth. 

"Well, my opinion is, Elder, that if you get my nigger property intoheaven with your preaching, there'll be a chance for the likes ofme, " said Marston, watching the Elder intently. It was now evidentthe party were all becoming pretty deeply tinctured. Rosebrookthought a minister of the gospel, to get in such a condition, andthen refer to religious matters, must have a soul empty to the verycore. There could be no better proof of how easily true religioncould be brought into contempt. The Elder foreclosed with thespirit, considered himself unsafe in the chair, and was about torelieve it, when Dandy caught him in his arms like a lifeless mass, and carried him to a settee, upon which he spread him, like asubstance to be bleached in the sun. 

"Gentlemen! the Elder is completely unreverenced, -he is the mostversatile individual that ever wore black cloth. I reverence him forhis qualities, " says Marston: then, turning to Maxwell, hecontinued, "you must excuse this little joviality; it occurs butseldom, and the southern people take it for what it is worth, excusing, or forgetting its effects. "

"Don't speak of it-it's not unlike our English do at times-nor doour ministers form exceptions; but they do such things under amonster protection, without reckoning the effect, " the Englishmanreplied, looking round as if he missed the presence of Franconia. 

The Elder, soon in a profound sleep, was beset by swarms ofmosquitoes preying upon his haggard face, as if it were good food. "He's a pretty picture, " says Marston, looking upon the sleepingElder with a frown, and then working his fingers through his crispyred hair. "A hard subject for the student's knife he'll make, won'the?" To add to the comical appearance of the reverend gentleman, Marston, rising from his seat, approached him, drew the spectaclesfrom his pocket, and placed them on the tip of his nose, addingpiquancy to his already indescribable physiognomy. 

"Don't you think this is carrying the joke a point too far?" askedDeacon Rosebrook, who had been some time silently watching theprostrate condition of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy. 

Marston shrugs his shoulders, whispers a word or two in the ear ofhis friend Maxwell, twirls his glass upon the table. He is somewhatcautious how he gives an opinion on such matters, having previouslyread one or two law books; but believes it does'nt portray allthings just right. He has studied ideal good-at least he tells usso-if he never practises it; finally, he is constrained to admitthat this 'ere's all very well once in a while, but becomestiresome--especially when kept up as strong as the Elder does it. Heis free to confess that southern mankind is curiously constituted, too often giving license to revelries, but condemning those who fallby them. He feels quite right about the Elder's preaching being justthe chime for his nigger property; but, were he a professingChristian, it would'nt suit him by fifty per cent. There issomething between the mind of a "nigger" and the mind of a whiteman, --something he can't exactly analyse, though he is certain it iswonderfully different; and though such preaching can do niggers noharm, he would just as soon think of listening to Infidelity. Painful as it was to acknowledge the fact, he only appeared at the"Meet'n House" on Sundays for the looks of the thing, and in thehope that it might have some influence with his nigger property. Several times he had been heard to say it was meremachine-preaching-made according to pattern, delivered according toprice, by persons whose heads and hearts had no sympathy with thedowncast. 

"There's my prime fellow Harry; a right good fellow, worth ninehundred, nothing short, and he is a Christian in conscience. He hasgot a kind of a notion into his head about being a divine. Hethinks, in the consequence of his black noddle, that he can preachjust as well as anybody; and, believe me, he can't read a letter inthe book, --at least, I don't see how he can. True, he has heard theElder's sermon so often that he has committed every word of it tomemory, --can say it off like a plantation song, and no mistake. " ThusMarston discoursed. And yet he declared that nobody could fool himwith the idea of "niggers" having souls: they were only mortal, --hewould produce abundant proof, if required. 

Deacon Rosebrook listened attentively to this part of Marston'sdiscourse. "The task of proving your theory would be rendereddifficult if you were to transcend upon the scale of blood, " hereplied, getting up and spreading his handkerchief over the Elder'sface, to keep off the mosquitoes. 

"When our most learned divines and philosophers are the stringentsupporters of the principle, what should make the task difficult?Nevertheless, I admit, if my fellow Harry could do the preaching forour plantation, no objections would be interposed by me; on thecontrary, I could make a good speculation by it. Harry would beworth two common niggers then. Nigger property, christianised, isthe most valuable of property. You may distinguish a christianisednigger in a moment; and piety takes the stubborn out of theircomposition better than all the cowhides you can employ; and, too, it's a saving of time, considering that it subdues so much quicker, "says Marston, stretching back in his chair, as he orders Dandy tobring Harry into his presence. He will tell them what he knows aboutpreaching, the Elder's sermon, and the Bible!

Maxwell smiles at such singularly out of place remarks on religion. They are not uncommon in the south, notwithstanding. 

A few minutes elapsed, when Dandy opened the door, and entered theroom, followed by a creature-a piece of property!-in which the rightof a soul had been disputed, not alone by Marston, but by southernministers and southern philosophers. The thing was very good-looking, very black;-it had straight features, differing from thecommon African, and stood very erect. We have said he differed fromthe common African-we mean, as he is recognised through ourprejudices. His forehead was bold and well-developed-his hair short, thick and crispy, eyes keen and piercing, cheeks regularly declininginto a well-shaped mouth and chin. Dejected and forlorn, the wretchof chance stood before them, the fires of a burning soul glaringforth from his quick, wandering eyes. "There!" exclaimed Marston. "See that, " pointing at his extremes; "he has foot enough for abrick-maker, and a head equal to a deacon-no insinuation, myfriend, " bowing to Deacon Rosebrook. "They say it takes a big headto get into Congress; but I'm afraid, Harry, I'd never get there. "

The door again opened, and another clever-looking old negro, anxiousto say "how de do" to mas'r and his visitors, made his appearance, bowing, and keeping time with his foot. "Oh, here's my old daddy-oldDaddy Bob, one of the best old niggers on the plantation; Harry andBob are my deacons. There, --stand there, Harry; tell thesegentlemen, --they are right glad to see you, --what you know about ElderPraiseworthy's sermon, and what you can do in the way of preaching, "says Marston, laughing good-naturedly. 

"Rather a rough piece of property to make a preacher of, " mutteredMaxwell. 

The poor fellow's feet were encrusted as hard as an alligator'sback; and there he stood, a picture upon which the sympathies ofChristendom were enlisted-a human object without the rights of man, in a free republic. He held a red cap in his left hand, a pair ofcoarse osnaburg trousers reached a few inches below his knees, and, together with a ragged shirt of the same material, constituted hiscovering. 

"You might have dressed yourself before you appeared beforegentlemen from abroad-at least, put on your new jacket, " saidMarston. 

"Why, mas'r, t'ant de clothes. God neber make Christian wid'e hisclothes on;-den, mas'r, I gin' my new jacket to Daddy Bob. But nebermind him, mas'r-you wants I to tell you what I tinks ob de Lor. Itink great site ob the Bible, mas'r, but me don' tink much obElder's sermon, mas'r. "

"How is that, Harry?" interrupted the deacon. 

"Why, Mas'r Deacon, ye sees how when ye preaches de good tings ob deLor', ye mus'nt 'dulge in 'e wicked tings on 'arth. A'h done wantsay Mas'r Elder do dem tings-but 'e seem to me t' warn't right wen'e join de wickedness ob de world, and preach so ebery Sunday. Hemay know de varse, and de chapter, but 'e done preach what de Lor'say, nohow. "

"Then you don't believe in a one-sided sermon, Harry?" returned thedeacon, while Marston and Maxwell sat enjoying the negro's simpleopinion of the Elder's sermon. 

"No, mas'r. What the Bible teach me is to lob de Lor'-be goodmyself, and set example fo'h oders. I an't what big white Christiansay must be good, wen 'e neber practice him, --but I good in me heartwhen me tink what de Lor' say be good. Why, mas'r, Elder preach datsarmon so many Sundays, dat a' forgot him three times, since me know'im ebery word, " said Harry; and his face began to fill withanimation and fervency. 

"Well, now, Harry, I think you are a little too severe on theElder's sermon; but if you know so much about it, give thesegentlemen a small portion of it, just to amuse them while the Elderis taking a nap, " said Marston. 

"Ay, mas'r, be nap dat way too often for pious man what say he lobede Lor', " replied Harry; and drawing himself into a tragic attitude, making sundry gesticulations, and putting his hand to his forehead, commenced with the opening portion of the Elder's sermon. "And itwas said-Servants obey your masters, for that is right in the sightof the Lord, " and with a style of native eloquence, and richcantation, he continued for about ten minutes, giving every word, seriatim, of the Elder's sermon; and would have kept it up, in wordand action, to the end, had he not been stopped by Marston. Allseemed astonished at his power of memory. Maxwell begged that hemight be allowed to proceed. 

"He's a valuable fellow, that-eh?" said Marston. "He'll be worththree-sixteenths of a rise on cotton to all the planters in theneighbourhood, by-and-by. He's larned to read, somehow, on thesly-isn't it so, Harry? come, talk up!"

"Yes, mas'r, I larn dat when you sleepin'; do Lor' tell me hisspirit warn't in dat sarmon what de Elder preach, --dat me must sarchde good book, and make me own tinking valuable. Mas'r tink ignorantnigger lob him best, but t'ant so, mas'r. Good book make heart good, and make nigger love de Lor', and love mas'r too. "

"I'll bet the rascal's got a Bible, or a Prayer-book, hid upsomewhere. He and old Daddy Bob are worse on religion than two oldcoons on a fowl-yard, " said Marston. Here old Aunt Rachel enteredthe room to fuss around a little, and have a pleasant meeting withmas'r's guests. Harry smiled at Marston's remark, and turned hiseyes upward, as much as to say, "a day will come when God's Wordwill not thus be turned into ridicule!"

"And he's made such a good old Christian of this dark sinner, AuntRachel, that I wouldn't take two thousand dollars for her. I expectshe'll be turning preacher next, and going north to join theabolitionists. "

"Mas'r, " said Rachel, "'t wouldn't do to mind what you say. Nebermind, you get old one ob dese days; den you don't make so much funob old Rachel. "

"Shut up your corn-trap, " Marston says, smiling; and turning to hisguests, continues-"You hear that, gentlemen; she talks just as shepleases, directs my household as if she were governor. " Again, AuntRachel, summoning her dignity, retorts, "Not so, Mas'r Deacon, (turning to Deacon Rosebrook, ) "'t won'tsquare t' believe all old Boss tell, dat it won't! Mas'r take careob de two cabins in de yard yonder, while I tends de big house. "Rachel was more than a match for Marston; she could beat him inquick retort. The party, recognising Aunt Rachel's insinuation, joined in a hearty laugh. The conversation was a little too pointedfor Marston, who, changing the subject, turned to Harry, saying, "now, my old boy, we'll have a little more of your wisdom onreligious matters. " Harry had been standing the while like a forlornimage, with a red cap in his hand. 

"I can preach, mas'r; I can do dat, fo'h true, " he replied quickly. "But mas'r, nigger got to preach against his colour; Buckra tinknigger preachin' ain't good, cus he black. "

"Never mind that, Harry, " interrupts Marston: "We'll forget thenigger, and listen just as if it were all white. Give us the verybest specimen of it. Daddy Bob, my old patriarch, must help you; andafter you get through, he must lift out by telling us all about thetime when General Washington landed in the city; and how the peoplespread carpets, at the landing, for him to walk upon. " Theentertainment was, in Marston's estimation, quite a recherch‚concern: that his guests should be the better pleased, the venerableold Daddy Bob, his head white with goodly years of toil, and full ofgenuine negro humour, steps forward to perform his part. He makeshis best bows, his best scrapes, his best laughs; and says, "Bobready to do anything to please mas'r. " He pulls the sleeves of hisjacket, looks vacantly at Harry, is proud to be in the presence ofmas'r's guests. He tells them he is a better nigger "den" Harry, points to his extremes, which are decorated with a pair of newrusset broghans. 

"Daddy's worth his weight in gold, " continues Marston, "and can doas much work as any nigger on the plantation, if he is old. "

"No, no, mas'r; I ain't so good what I was. Bob can't tote so muchwid de hoe now. I work first-rate once, mas'r, but 'a done gonenow!"

"Now, Bob, I want you to tell me the truth, --niggers will lie, butyou are an exception, Bob; and can tell the truth when there's nobacon in the way. "

"Gih! Mas'r, I do dat sartin, " replied Bob, laughing heartily, andpulling up the little piece of shirt that peeped out above thecollar of his jacket. 

"How did Harry and you come by so much knowledge of the Bible? yougot one somewhere, hav'n't you?" enquired Marston, laconically. 

This was rather a "poser" on Bob; and, after stammering and mumblingfor some time-looking at Harry slyly, then at Marston, and againdropping his eyes on the floor, he ejaculated, "Well, mas'r, 'spose I might as well own 'im. Harry and me got one, for sartin!"

"Ah, you black rascals, I knew you had one somewhere. Where did youget it? That's some of Miss Franconia's doings. "

"Can't tell you, mas'r, whar I got him; but he don't stop my hoein'corn, for' true. "

Franconia had observed Harry's tractableness, and heard him wish fora Bible, that he might learn to read from it, --and she had secretlysupplied him with one. Two years Harry and Daddy Bob had spent hoursof the night in communion over it; the latter had learned to readfrom it, the former had imbibed its great truths. The artless girlhad given it to them in confidence, knowing its consolatoryinfluences and that they, with a peculiar firmness in such cases, would never betray her trust. Bob would not have refused his masterany other request; but he would never disclose the secret of MissFranconia giving it. 

"Well, my old faithful, " said Marston, "we want you to put the spritinto Harry; we want to hear a sample of his preaching. Now, Harry, you can begin; give it big eloquence, none of the new fashionpreaching, give us the old plantation break-down style. "

The negro's countenance assumed a look indicative of more than hislips dare speak. Looking upward pensively, he replied, --"Can't dodat, mas'r; he ain't what do God justice; but there is something inde text, --where shall I take 'em from?"

"Ministers should choose their own; I always do, " interrupted DeaconRosebrook. 

Daddy Bob, touching Harry on the arm, looks up innocently, interposes his knowledge of Scripture. "D'ar, Harry, I tells youwhat text to gin 'em. Gin 'em dat one from de fourt' chapter ofEphes: dat one whar de Lor' say:--'Great mas'r led captivity captive, and gin gifts unto men. ' And whar he say, 'Till we come unto a unityof the faith of the knowledge of the son of God unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ; that we beno more children tossed to and fro, and carried about with everywind of doctrine, by the slight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lay in wait to deceive. '"

"And you tink dat 'll do, --eh, Daddy?" Harry replies, looking at theold man, as if to say, were he anything but a slave he would followthe advice. 

"Den, dars t' oder one, away 'long yonder, where 'e say in Isaiah, fifty-eight chapter--'Wherefore have we fasted, say they, and thouseest not? Wherefore have we afflicted our soul, and thou takest noknowledge? Behold ye fast for strife and debate, and to smite withthe fist of wickedness. " The old man seemed perfectly at home onmatters of Scripture; he had studied it in stolen moments. 

The young Englishman seemed surprised at such a show of talent. Hesaw the humble position of the old man, his want of earlyinstruction, and his anxiety to be enlightened. "How singular!" heejaculated, "to hear property preach, and know so much of the Bible, too! People in my country would open their eyes with surprise. " Theyoung man had been educated in an atmosphere where religion wasprized-where it was held as a sacred element for the good of man. His feelings were tenderly susceptible; the scene before himawakened his better nature, struck deep into his mind. He viewed itas a cruel mockery of Christianity, a torture of innocent nature, for which man had no shame. He saw the struggling spirit of the oldnegro contending against wrong, --his yearnings for the teachings ofChristianity, his solicitude for Marston's good. And he saw how manhad cut down the unoffending image of himself-how Christianministers had become the tyrant's hand-fellow in the work ofoppression. It incited him to resolution; a project sprung up in hismind, which, from that day forward, as if it had been a newdiscovery in the rights of man, he determined to carry out infuture, for the freedom of his fellows. 

Harry, in accordance with Bob's advice, chose the latter text. Forsome minutes he expounded the power of divine inspiration, in hissimple but impressive manner, being several times interrupted by theDeacon, who assumed the right of correcting his philosophy. Atlength, Marston interrupted, reminding him that he had lost the"plantation gauge. " "You must preach according to the Elder's rule, "said he. 

With a submissive stare, Harry replied: "Mas'r, a man what livesfo'h dis world only is a slave to himself; but God says, he datlives fo'h de world to come, is the light of life coming forth toenjoy the pleasures of eternity;" and again he burst into a rhapsodyof eloquence, to the astonishment and admiration of Maxwell, andeven touching the feelings of Marston, who was seldom moved by suchdisplays. Seeing the man in the thing of merchandise, he inclined tolook upon him as a being worthy of immortality; and yet it seemednext to impossible that he should bring his natural feelings torealise the simple nobleness that stood before him, --the man beyondthe increase of dollars and cents in his person! The colouredwinter's hand leaned against the mantel-piece, watching the changesin Marston's countenance, as Daddy stood at Harry's side, inpatriarchal muteness. A tear stealing down Maxwell's cheek told ofthe sensation produced; while Marston, setting his elbow on thetable, supported his head in his hands, and listened. The Deacon, good man that he was, filled his glass, --as if to say, "I don't standnigger preaching. " As for the Elder, his pishes and painfulgurglings, while he slept, were a source of much annoyance. Awakingsuddenly-raising himself to a half-bent position-he rubs his littleeyes, adjusts his spectacles on his nose, stares at Harry withsurprise, and then, with quizzical demeanour, leaves us to inferwhat sort of a protest he is about to enter. He, however, thinks itbetter to say nothing. 

"Stop, Harry, " says Marston, interrupting him in a point of hisdiscourse: then turning to his guests, he inquired, with a look ofridicule, "Gentlemen, what have you got to say against suchpreaching? Elder, you old snoring Christian, you have lost all thebest of it. Why didn't you wake up before?"

"Verri-ly, truly! ah, indeed: you have been giving us a monkey-showwith your nigger, I suppose. I thought I'd lost nothing; you shouldremember, Marston, there's a future, " said the Elder, winking andblinking sardonically. 

"Yes, old boosey, " Marston replies, with an air of indifference, "and you should remember there's a present, which you may lose yourway in. That venerable sermon won't keep you straight-"

The Elder is extremely sensitive on this particular point-anythingbut speak disparagingly of that sermon. It has been his stock intrade for numerous years. He begs they will listen to him for aminute, excuse this little trifling variation, charge it to thesusceptibility of his constitution. He is willing to admit there iscapital in his example which may be used for bad purposes, and says, "Somehow, when I take a little, it don't seem to go right. " Again hegives a vacant look at his friends, gets up, resting his hands onthe table, endeavours to keep a perpendicular, but declares himselfso debilitated by his sleep that he must wait a little longer. Sinking back upon the settee, he exclaims, "You had better send thatnigger to his cabin. " This was carrying the amusement a littlebeyond Marston's own "gauge, " and it being declared time to adjourn, preparations were made to take care of the Elder, who was soonplaced horizontally in a waggon and driven away for his home. "TheElder is gone beyond himself, beyond everything, " said Marston, asthey carried him out of the door. "You can go, Harry, I like yourpreaching; bring it down to the right system for my property, andI'll make a dollar or two out of it yet, " he whispers, shaking hishead, as Harry, bowing submissively, leaves the door. 

Just as they were making preparations to retire, a carriage drove tothe gate, and in the next minute a dashing young fellow came rushinginto the house, apparently in great anxiety. He was followed by awell-dressed man, whose countenance and sharp features, full ofsternness, indicated much mechanical study. He hesitated as theyoung man advanced, took Marston by the hand, nervously, led himaside, whispered something in his ear. Taking a few steps towards awindow, the intruder, for such he seemed, stood almost motionless, with his eyes firmly and watchfully fixed upon them, a paper in hisright hand. "It is too often, Lorenzo; these things may provefatal, " said Marston, giving an inquiring glance at the man, stillstanding at the window. 

"I pledge you my honour, uncle, it shall be the last time, " said theyoung stranger. "Uncle, I have not forgotten your advice. " Marston, much excited, exhibited changes of countenance peculiar to a manlabouring under the effect of sudden disappointment. Apologising tohis guests, he dismissed them-with the exception of Maxwell-orderedpen and ink, drew a chair to the table, and without asking thestranger to be seated, signed his name to a paper. While this wasbeing done, the man who had waited in silence stepped to the doorand admitted two gentlemanly-looking men, who approached Marston andauthenticated the instrument. It was evident there was something ofdeep importance associated with Marston's signature. No sooner hadhis pen fulfilled the mission, than Lorenzo's face, which had justbefore exhibited the most watchful anxiety, lighted up with joy, asif it had dismantled its care for some new scene of worldlyprosperity. 

CHAPTER IV. 

AN UNEXPECTED CONFESSION. 

HAVING executed the document, Marston ordered one of the servants toshow Maxwell his room. The persons who had acted the part ofjustices, authenticating the instrument, withdrew without furtherconversation; while the person who had followed Lorenzo, for suchwas the young man's name, remained as if requiring some furthernegotiation with Marston. He approached the table sullenly, and withone hand resting upon it, and the other adjusted in his vest, deliberately waited the moment to interrupt the conversation. Thisman, reader, is Marco Graspum, an immense dealer in humanflesh, --great in that dealing in the flesh and blood of mankind whichbrings with it all the wickedness of the demon. It is almostimpossible to conceive the suddenness with which that species oftrade changes man into a craving creature, restless for the dross ofthe world. There he was, the heartless dealer in human flesh, dressed in the garb of a gentleman, and by many would have beentaken as such. Care and anxiety sat upon his countenance; he watchedthe chances of the flesh market, stood ready to ensnare the carelessyouth, to take advantage of the frailer portions of a Southerner'snoble nature. "A word or two with you, Mr. Marston, " said he. 

"Sit down, Graspum, sit down, " Marston rejoined, ordering Dandy togive him a chair; which being done he seats himself in front ofMarston, and commences dilating upon his leniency. "You may take mefor an importune feller, in coming this time o'night, but the factis I've been-you know my feelings for helpin'everybody-good-naturedly drawn into a very bad scrape with thiscareless young nephew of yourn: he's a dashing devil, and you don'tknow it, he is. But I've stood it so long that I was compelled tomake myself sure. This nephew of yourn, " said he, turning toLorenzo, "thinks my money is made for his gambling propensities, andif he has used your name improperly, you should have known of itbefore. " At this Lorenzo's fine open countenance assumed a glow ofindignation, and turning to his uncle, with a nervous tremor, hesaid, "Uncle, he has led me into this trouble. You know not thesnares of city life; and were I to tell you him-this monster-yea, Isay monster, for he has drawn me into a snare like one who wasseeking to devour my life-that document, uncle, which he now holdsin his hand saves me from a shame and disgrace which I never couldhave withstood before the world. "

"Ah! you are just like all gamblers: never consider yourself in thelight of bringing yourself into trouble. Take my advice, young man;there is a step in a gambler's life to which it is dangerous todescend, and if you have brought your father and uncle into trouble, blame neither me nor my money, " returned Graspum. 

"You do not say that there is forgery connected with this affair, doyou?" inquired Marston, grasping Lorenzo by the arm. 

"I wish it were otherwise, uncle, " replied Lorenzo, leaning forwardupon the table and covering his face with his hands. "It was myfolly, and the flattery of this man, which have driven me to it, " hecontinued. 

"Oh! cursed inconsistency: and you have now fallen back upon thelast resource, to save a name that, once gone, cannot reinstateitself. Tell me, Marco Graspum; are you not implicated in thisaffair? Your name stands full of dark implications; are you notfollowing up one of those avenues through which you make so manyvictims? What is the amount?" returned Marston. 

"You will know that to-morrow. He has given paper in your name to anuncertain extent. You should have known this before. Your nephew hasbeen leading a reckless gambler's life-spending whatsoever moneycame into his possession, and at length giving bills purporting tobe drawn by you and his father. You must now honour them, ordishonour him. You see, I am straightforward in business: all mytransactions are conducted with promptness; but I must have what isdue to me. I have a purpose in all my transactions, and I pursuethem to the end. You know the purport of this document, Marston;save yourself trouble, and do not allow me to call too often. " Thussaying, he took his hat and left the room. 

Uncle, " said Lorenzo, as soon as Graspum had left, "I have been ledinto difficulty. First led away by fashionable associations, intothe allurements with which our city is filled, from small vices Ihave been hurried onward, step by step, deeper and deeper, until nowI have arrived at the dark abyss. Those who have watched me througheach sin, been my supposed friends, and hurried me onwards to thissad climax, have proved my worst enemies. I have but just learnedthe great virtue of human nature, --mistrust him who would makepleasure of vice. I have ruined my father, and have involved you bythe very act which you have committed for my relief to-night. In myvain struggle to relieve myself from the odium which must attach tomy transactions, I have only added to your sorrows. I cannot ask youto forgive me, nor can I disclose all my errors-they are manifold. "

"This is an unexpected blow-one which I was not prepared to meet. Iam ready to save your honour, but there is something beyond thiswhich the voice of rumour will soon spread. You know our society, and the strange manner in which it countenances certain things, yetshuts out those who fall by them. But what is to be done? Althoughwe may discharge the obligation with Graspum, it does not followthat he retains the stigma in his own breast. Tell me, Lorenzo, whatis the amount?" inquired Marston, anxiously. 

"My father has already discharged a secret debt of fourteen thousanddollars for me, and there cannot be less than thirty thousandremaining. Uncle, do not let it worry you; I will leave the country, bear the stigma with me, and you can repudiate the obligation, " saidhe, pleading nervously, as he grasped his uncle's hand firmer andfirmer. 

Among the many vices of the south, spreading their corruptinginfluence through the social body, that of gambling stands first. Confined to no one grade of society, it may be found working ruinamong rich and poor, old and young. Labour being disreputable, oneclass of men affect to consider themselves born gentlemen, while theplanter is ever ready to indulge his sons with some profession theyseldom practise, and which too often results in idleness and itsattendants. This, coupled to a want of proper society with which theyoung may mix for social elevation, finds gratification in drinkingsaloons, fashionable billiard rooms, and at the card table. In thefirst, gentlemen of all professions meet and revel away the night insuppers and wine. They must keep up appearances, or fall doubtfulvisitors of these fashionable stepping-stones to ruin. Like afurnace to devour its victims, the drinking saloon first opens itsgorgeous doors, and when the burning liquid has inflamed the mentaland physical man, soon hurries him onward into those fascinatinghabitations where vice and voluptuousness mingle their degradingpowers. Once in these whirlpools of sin, the young man finds himselfborne away by every species of vicious allurement-his feelingsbecome unrestrained, until at length that last spark of filialadvice which had hovered round his consciousness dies out. When thisis gone, vice becomes the great charmer, and with its thousandsnares and resplendent workers never fails to hold out a hope witheach temptation; but while the victim now and then asks hope to behis guardian, he seldom thinks how surely he is sinking faster andfaster to an irretrievable depth. 

Through this combination of snares-all having their life-springs inslavery-Lorenzo brought ruin upon his father, and involved hisuncle. With an excellent education, a fine person, frank and gentledemeanour, he made his way into the city, and soon attracted theattention of those who affect to grace polished society. Had societylaid its restraints upon character and personal worth, it would havebeen well for Lorenzo; but the neglect to found this moralconservator only serves to increase the avenues to vice, and tobring men from high places into the lowest moral scale. This is thelamentable fault of southern society; and through the want of thatmoral bulwark, so protective of society in the New EnglandStates-personal worth-estates are squandered, families brought topoverty, young men degraded, and persons once happy driven fromthose homes they can only look back upon with pain and regret. Theassociations of birth, education, and polished society-so muchvalued by the southerner-all become as nothing when poverty sets itsseal upon the victim. 

And yet, among some classes in the south there exists a religioussentiment apparently grateful; but what credit for sincerity shallwe accord to it when the result proves that no part of theorganisation itself works for the elevation of a degraded class? Howmuch this is to be regretted we leave to the reader'sdiscrimination. The want of a greater effort to make religiousinfluence predominant has been, and yet is, a source of great evil. But let us continue our narrative, and beg the reader's indulgencefor having thus transgressed. 

Flattered and caressed among gay assemblages, Lorenzo soon foundhimself drawn beyond their social pleasantries into deeper and morealluring excitements. His frequent visits at the saloon andgambling-tables did not detract, for a time, from the socialposition society had conferred upon him. 

His parents, instead of restraining, fostered these associations, prided themselves on his reception, providing means of maintaininghim in this style of living. Vanity and passion led him captive intheir gratifications; they were inseparable from the whirlpool ofconfused society that triumphs at the south, --that leads the proudheart writhing in the agony of its follies. He cast himself uponthis, like a frail thing upon a rapid stream, and--forgetting thevoyage was short--found his pleasures soon ended in the troubledwaters of misery and disgrace. 

There is no fundamental morality in the south, nor is educationinvested with the material qualities of social good; in this itdiffers from the north, against which it is fast building up apolitical and social organisation totally at variance. Instead ofmaintaining those great principles upon which the true foundation ofthe republic stands, the south allows itself to run into a hyper-aristocratic vagueness, coupled with an arbitrary determination toperpetuate its follies for the guidance of the whole Union. And theeffect of this becomes still more dangerous, when it is attempted tocarry it out under the name of democracy, --American democracy! Inthis manner it serves the despotic ends of European despots: theypoint to the freest government in the world for examples of theirown absolutism, shield their autocracy beneath its democracy, andwith it annihilate the rights of the commoner. 

Heedlessly wending his way, the man of rank and station at one side, the courtesan with his bland smiles at the other, Lorenzo had notseen the black poniard that was to cut the cord of his downfall, --ithad remained gilded. He drank copious draughts at the house oflicentiousness, became infatuated with the soft music that leads theway of the unwary, until at length, he, unconsciously at it were, found himself in the midst of a clan who are forming a plot to putthe black seal upon his dishonour. Monto Graspum, his money playingthrough the hands of his minions in the gambling rooms, hadprofessed to be his friend. He had watched his pliable nature, hadstudied the resources of his parents, knew their kindness, felt sureof his prey while abetting the downfall. Causing him to perpetratethe crime, from time to time, he would incite him with prospects ofretrieve, guide his hand to consummate the crime again, and watchthe moment when he might reap the harvest of his own infamy. Thus, when he had brought the young man to that last pitiless issue, wherethe proud heart quickens with a sense of its wrongs-when the mindrecurs painfully to the past, imploring that forgiveness which seemsbeyond the power of mankind to grant, he left him a poor outcast, whose errors would be first condemned by his professed friends. Thatwhich seemed worthy of praise was forgotten, his errors weremagnified; and the seducer made himself secure by crushing hisvictim, compromising the respectability of his parents, making thedisgrace a forfeiture for life. 

Unexpected as the shock was to Marston, he bore it with seemingcoolness, as if dreading the appearance of the man who had takenadvantage of the moment to bring him under obligations, more than hedid the amount to be discharged. Arising from the table, he tookLorenzo by the hand, saying:--"Veil your trouble, Lorenzo! Let thepast be forgotten, bury the stigma in your own bosom; let it be anexample to your feelings and your actions. Go not upon the world towrestle with its ingratitude; if you do, misfortune will befallyou-you will stumble through it the remainder of your life. With me, I fear the very presence of the man who has found means ofengrafting his avarice upon our misfortunes; he deals with those inhis grasp like one who would cut the flesh and blood of mankind intofragments of gain. Be firm, Lorenzo; be firm! Remember, it is notthe province of youth to despair; be manly-manliness even in crimelends its virtue to the falling. " At which he bid him good night, and retired to rest. 

The young man, more pained at his uncle's kindness, --kindnessstronger in its effects than reproof, --still lingered, as if to watchsome change of expression on his uncle's countenance, as he left thedoor. His face changed into pallid gloominess, and again, as if bymagic influence, filled with the impress of passion; it was despairholding conflict with a bending spirit. He felt himself a criminal, marked by the whispers of society; he might not hear the chargesagainst him, nor be within the sound of scandal's tongue, but hewould see it outlined in faces that once smiled at his seemingprosperity. He would feel it in the cold hand that had welcomedhim, --that had warmly embraced him; his name would no longer berespected. The circle of refined society that had kindly receivedhim, had made him one of its attractions, would now shun him as ifhe were contagion. Beyond this he saw the fate that hovered over hisfather's and his uncle's estates;-all the filial affection they hadbestowed upon him, blasted; the caresses of his beloved andbeautiful sister; the shame the exposure would bring upon her; theknave who held him in his grasp, while dragging the last remnants oftheir property away to appease dishonest demands, haunted him todespair. And, yet, to sink under them-to leave all behind him and bean outcast, homeless and friendless upon the world, where he couldonly look back upon the familiar scenes of his boyhood with regret, would be to carry a greater amount of anguish to his destiny. Thedestroyer was upon him; his grasp was firm and painful. He mightlive a life of rectitude; but his principles and affections would beunfixed. It would be like an infectious robe encircling him, --adisease which he never could eradicate, so that he might feel he wasnot an empty vessel among honourable men. When men depicted theirvillains, moving in the grateful spheres of life, he would be one oftheir models; and though the thoughtlessness of youth had made himthe type haunting himself by day and night, the world never made adistinction. Right and wrong were things that to him only murmuredin distrust; they would be blemishes exaggerated from simple error;but the judgment of society would never overlook them. He must nowchoose between a resolution to bear the consequences at home, orturn his back upon all that had been near and dear to him, --be awanderer struggling with the eventful trials of life in a distantland! Turning pale, as if frantic with the thought of what wasbefore him, the struggle to choose between the two extremes, and theonly seeming alternative, he grasped the candle that flickeredbefore him, gave a glance round the room, as if taking a last lookat each familiar object that met his eyes, and retired. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MAROONING PARTY. 

A MAROONING pic-nic had been proposed and arranged by the youngbeaux and belles of the neighbouring plantations. The day proposedfor the festive event was that following the disclosure of Lorenzo'sdifficulties. Every negro on the plantation was agog long beforedaylight: the morning ushered forth bright and balmy, with bustleand confusion reigning throughout the plantation, --the rendezvousbeing Marston's mansion, from which the gay party would be conveyedin a barge, overspread with an awning, to a romantic spot, overshaded with luxuriant pines, some ten miles up the stream. Heregay fˆtes, mirth and joy, the mingling of happy spirits, were tomake the time pass pleasantly. The night passed without producingany decision in Lorenzo's mind; and when he made his appearance onthe veranda an unusual thoughtfulness pervaded his countenance; allhis attempts to be joyous failed to conceal his trouble. Marston, too, was moody and reserved even to coldness; that frank, happy, andcareless expression of a genial nature, which had so long marked himin social gatherings, was departed. When Maxwell, the youngEnglishman, with quiet demeanour, attempted to draw him intoconversation about the prospects of the day, his answers weremeasured, cold, beyond his power of comprehending, yet inciting. 

To appreciate those pleasant scenes-those scenes so apparentlyhappy, at times adding a charm to plantation life-those innocentmerry-makings in spring time-one must live among them, be born tothe recreations of the soil. Not a negro on the plantation, old oryoung, who does not think himself part and parcel of the scene-thathe is indispensably necessary to make Mas'r's enjoyment complete! Inthis instance, the lawn, decked in resplendent verdure, the foliagetinged by the mellow rays of the rising sun, presented a pastoralloveliness that can only be appreciated by those who havecontemplated that soft beauty which pervades a southern landscape atmorning and evening. The arbour of old oaks, their branches twinedinto a panoply of thick foliage, stretching from the mansion to thelanding, seemed like a sleeping battlement, its dark clusterssoaring above redolent brakes and spreading water-leaks. Beneaththeir fretted branches hung the bedewed moss like a veil ofsparkling crystals, moving gently to and fro as if touched by someunseen power. The rice fields, stretching far in the distance, present the appearance of a mirror decked with shadows of fleecyclouds, transparent and sublime. Around the cabins of the plantationpeople-the human property-the dark sons and daughters of promiscuousfamilies-are in "heyday glee:" they laughed, chattered, contended, and sported over the presence of the party;-the overseer had giventhem an hour or two to see the party "gwine so;" and they wereoverjoyed. Even the dogs, as if incited by an instinctive sense ofsome gay scene in which they were to take part, joined their barkingwith the jargon of the negroes, while the mules claimed a right todo likewise. In the cabins near the mansion another scene of fixing, fussing, toddling, chattering, running here and there withsun-slouches, white aprons, fans, shades, baskets, and tin pans, presented itself; any sort of vessel that would hold provender forthe day was being brought forth. Clotilda, her face more cheerful, is dressed in a nice drab merino, a plain white stomacher, a littlecollar neatly turned over: with her plain bodice, her white rufflesround her wrists, she presents the embodiment of neatness. She ispretty, very pretty; and yet her beauty has made her the worstslave-a slave in the sight of Heaven and earth! Her large, meaningeyes, glow beneath her arched brows, while her auburn hair, laid insmooth folds over her ears and braided into a heavy circle at theback of her head, gives her the fascinating beauty of a Normanpeasant. Annette plays around her, is dressed in her very best, --forMarston is proud of the child's beauty, and nothing is withheld thatcan gratify the ambition of the mother, so characteristic, to dresswith fantastic colours: the child gambols at her feet, views itsmany-coloured dress, keeps asking various unanswerable questionsabout Daddy Bob, Harry, and the pic-nic. Again it scramblespettishly, sings snatches of some merry plantation song, pulls itsbraided hat about the floor, climbs upon the table to see what is inthe basket. 

Passing to the cabin of Ellen Juvarna, we see her in the sameconfusion which seems to have beset the plantation: her dark, piercing eyes, display more of that melancholy which marksClotilda's; nor does thoughtfulness pervade her countenance, and yetthere is the restlessness of an Indian about her, --she is Indian byblood and birth; her look calls up all the sad associations of herforefathers; her black glossy hair, in heavy folds, hangs carelesslyabout her olive shoulders, contrasting strangely with the other. 

"And you, Nicholas! remember what your father will say: but you mustnot call him such, " she says, taking by the hand a child we havedescribed, who is impatient to join the gay group. 

"That ain't no harm, mother! Father always is fondling about me whennobody's lookin', " the child answers, with a pertness indicating aknowledge of his parentage rather in advance of his years. 

We pass to the kitchen, --a little, dingy cabin, presenting the mostindescribable portion of the scene, the smoke issuing from everycrevice. Here old Peggy, the cook, --an enveloped representative ofsmoke and grease, --as if emerging from the regions of Vulcan, movesher fat sides with the independence of a sovereign. In thisminiature smoke-pit she sweats and frets, runs to the door every fewminutes, adjusts the points of her flashy bandana, and takes awistful look at the movements without. Sal, Suke, Rose, and Beck, young members of Peggy's family, are working at the top of theirenergy among stew-pans, griddles, pots and pails, baskets, bottlesand jugs. Wafs, fritters, donjohns and hominy flap-jacks, finedoused hams, savoury meats, ices, and fruit-cakes, are beingprepared and packed up for the occasion. Negro faces of every shadeseem full of interest and freshness, newly brightened for thepleasures of the day. Now and then broke upon our ear that plaintivemelody with the words, "Down on the Old Plantation;" and again, "Jimcrack corn, an' I don't care, for Mas'r's gone away. " Then came AuntRachel, always persisting in her right to be master of ceremonies, dressed in her Sunday bombazine, puffed and flounced, her ginghamapron so clean, her head "did up" with the flashiest bandana in herwardrobe; it's just the colour for her taste-real yellow, red, andblue, tied with that knot which is the height of plantation toilet:there is as little restraint in her familiarity with the gentry ofthe mansion as there is in her control over the denizens of thekitchen. Even Dandy and Enoch, dressed in their best black coats, white pantaloons, ruffled shirts, with collars endangering theirears, hair crisped with an extra nicety, stand aside at her bidding. The height of her ambition is to direct the affairs of the mansion:sometimes she extends it to the overseer. The trait is amiablyexercised: she is the best nigger on the plantation, and Marstonallows her to indulge her feelings, while his guests laugh at hernative pomposity, so generously carried out in all her commands. Sheis preparing an elegant breakfast, which "her friends" must partakeof before starting. Everything must be in her nicest: she runs fromthe ante-room to the hall, and from thence to the yard, gatheringplates and dishes; she hurries Old Peggy the cook, and again scoldsthe waiters. 

Daddy Bob and Harry have come into the yard to ask Marston'spermission to join the party as boatmen. They are in Aunt Rachel'sway, and she rushes past them, pushing them aside, and calling Mas'rto come and attend to their wants. Marston comes forward, greetsthem with a familiar shake of the hand, granting their requestwithout further ceremony. Breakfast is ready; but, anxious for theamusement of the day, their appetites are despoiled. Franconia, morelovely than ever, presenting that ease, elegance, and reserve of thesouthern lady, makes her appearance in the hall, is escorted to thetable leaning on the arm of Maxwell. Delicacy, sensitiveness, womanly character full of genial goodness, are traits with which thetrue southern lady is blessed:--would she were blessed with another, an energy to work for the good of the enslaved! Could she add thatto the poetry of her nature, how much greater would be her charm-howmuch more fascinating that quiet current of thought with which sheseems blessed! There is a gentleness in her impulses--a pensivenessin her smile--a softness in her emotions--a grace in her movements--anardent soul in her love! She is gay and lightsome in her youth; shevalues her beauty, is capricious with her admirers, and yet becomesthe most affectionate mother; she can level her frowns, play withthe feelings, make her mercurial sympathy touching, knows the powerof her smiles: but once her feelings are enlisted, she is sincereand ardent in her responses. If she cannot boast of the brightcarnatic cheek, she can swell the painter's ideal with her finefeatures, her classic face, the glow of her impassioned eyes. Butshe seldom carries this fresh picture into the ordinary years ofwomanhood: the bloom enlivening her face is but transient; she losesthe freshness of girlhood, and in riper years, fades like asensitive flower, withering, unhappy with herself, unadmired byothers. 

Franconia sat at the table, a pensiveness pervading her countenancethat bespoke melancholy: as she glanced inquiringly round, her eyesrested upon Lorenzo fixedly, as if she detected something in hismanner at variance with his natural deportment. She addressed him;but his cold reply only excited her more: she resolved upon knowingthe cause ere they embarked. Breakfast was scarcely over before theguests of the party from the neighbouring plantations began toassemble in the veranda, leaving their servants in charge of theviands grouped together upon the grass, under a clump of oaks a fewrods from the mansion. Soon the merry-makers, about forty in number, old and young, their servants following, repaired to the landing, where a long barge, surrounded by brakes and water-lilies, presentedanother picture. 

"Him all straight, Mas'r-him all straight, jus so!" said Daddy Bob, as he strode off ahead, singing "Dis is de way to de jim crackcorn. "

Servants of all ages and colour, mammies and daddies, young 'uns andprime fellows, --"wenches" that had just become hand-maids, --broughtup the train, dancing, singing, hopping, laughing, and sporting:some discuss the looks of their young mistresses, others arecriticising their dress. Arrived at the landing, Daddy Bob andHarry, full of cares, are hurrying several prime fellows, givingorders to subordinate boatmen about getting the substantial onboard, --the baskets of champagne, the demijohns, the sparklingnectar. The young beaux and belles, mingling with their dark sonsand daughters of servitude, present a motley group indeed-a scenefrom which the different issues of southern life may be faithfullydrawn. 

A band of five musicians, engaged to enliven the sports of the daywith their music, announce, "All on board!" and give the signal forstarting by striking up "Life on the Ocean Wave. " Away they speed, drawn by horses on the bank, amidst the waving of handkerchiefs, thesoft notes of the music reverberating over the pine-clad hills. Smoothly and gently, onward they speed upon the still bosom of theAshly;-the deep, dark stream, its banks bedecked with blossoms andrichest verdure, is indeed enough to excite the romantic of one'snature. Wild, yet serene with rural beauty, if ever sensations oflove steal upon us, it is while mingling in the simpleconvivialities so expressive of southern life. On, on, the bargemoved, as lovers gathered together, the music dancing upon thewaters. Another party sing the waterman's merry song, still anothertrail for lilies, and a third gather into the prow to test champagneand ice, or regale with choice Havannas. Marston, and a few of theolder members, seated at midships, discuss the all-absorbingquestion of State-rights; while the negroes are as merry as larks inMay, their deep jargon sounding high above the clarion notes of themusic. Now it subsides into stillness, broken only by the splashingof an alligator, whose sports call forth a rapturous shout. 

After some three hours' sailing the barge nears a jut of risingground on the left bank. Close by it is a grove of noble old pines, in the centre of which stands a dilapidated brick building, desertedfor some cause not set forth on the door: it is a pretty, shadedretreat-a spot breathing of romance. To the right are broad lagoonsstretching far into the distance; their dark waters, beneath thickcypress, presenting the appearance of an inundated grove. Thecypress-trees hang their tufted tops over the water's surface, opening an area beneath studded with their trunks, like rude columnssupporting a panoply of foliage. 

The barge stops, the party land; the shrill music, still dancingthrough the thick forest, re-echoes in soft chimes as it stealsback upon the scene. Another minute, and we hear the voices of DaddyBob and Harry, Dandy and Enoch: they are exchanging merry laughs, shouting in great good-nature, directing the smaller fry, who arefagging away at the larder, sucking the ice, and pocketing thelemons. "Dat ain't just straight, nohow: got de tings ashore, an' yeget 'e share whin de white folk done! Don' make 'e nigger obyourse'f, now, old Boss, doing the ting up so nice, " Daddy says, frowning on his minions. A vanguard have proceeded in advance totake possession of the deserted house; while Aunt Rachel, with hercortŠge of feminines, is fussing over "young missus. " Here, a groupare adjusting their sun-shades; there, another are preparing theirfans and nets. Then they follow the train, Clotilda and Ellenleading their young representatives by the hand, bringing up therear among a cluster of smaller fry. Taking peaceable possession ofthe house, they commence to clear the rooms, the back ones beingreserved for the sumptuous collation which Rachel and her juniorsare preparing. The musicians are mustered, --the young belles andbeaux, and not a few old bachelors, gather into the front room, commence the fˆtes with country dances, and conclude with the polkaand schottische. 

Rachel's department presents a bustling picture; she is master ofceremonies, making her sombre minions move at her bidding, adjustingthe various dishes upon the table. None, not even the most favouredguests, dare intrude themselves into her apartments until sheannounces the completion of her tables, her readiness to receivefriends. And yet, amidst all this interest of character, this happypleasantry, this seeming contentment, there is one group pauses ereit arrives at the house, --dare not enter. The distinction seemsundefinable to us; but they, poor wretches, feel it deeply. Shamerankles deep, to their very heart's core. They doubt their position, hesitate at the door, and, after several nervous attempts to enter, fall back, --gather round a pine-tree, where they enjoy the day, separated from the rest. There is a simplicity-a forlornness, aboutthis little group, which attracts our attention, excites oursympathies, unbends our curiosity: we would relieve the burden itlabours under. They are Ellen Juvarna, Clotilda, and their children. Socially, they are disowned; they are not allowed to join thefestivities with those in the dance, and their feelings revolt atbeing compelled to associate with the negroes. They are as white asmany of the whitest, have the same outlines of interest upon theirfaces; but their lives are sealed with the black seal of slavery. Sensible of the injustice that has stripped them of their rights, they value their whiteness; the blood of birth tinges their face, and through it they find themselves mere dregs of humankind, --objects of sensualism in its vilest associations. 

Maxwell has taken a deep interest in Clotilda; and the solicitudeshe manifests for her child has drawn him still further in herfavour; he is determined to solve the mystery that shrouds herhistory. Drawing near to them, he seats himself upon the ground attheir side, inquires why they did not come into the house. "There'sno place there for us, --none for me, " Clotilda modestly replies, holding down her head, placing her arm around Annette's waist. 

"You would enjoy it much better, and there is no restraint uponanyone. "

"We know not why the day was not for us to enjoy as well as others;but it is ordained so. Where life is a dreary pain, pleasure is norecompense for disgrace enforced upon us. They tell us we are notwhat God made us to be; but it is the worst torture to be told so. There is nothing in it-it is the curse only that remains to enforcewrong. Those who have gifts to enjoy life, and those who move tomake others happy, can enjoy their separate pleasures; our lives arebetween the two, hence there is little pleasure for us, " sheanswered, her eyes moistening with tears. 

"If you will but come with me-"

"Oh, I will go anywhere, " she rejoined, quickly; "anywhere fromthis; that I may know who I am-may bear my child with me-may lead avirtuous life, instead of suffering the pangs of shame through alife of unholy trouble. "

"She never knows when she's well off. If Marston was to hear hertalk in that way, I wouldn't stand in her shoes, " interrupted Ellen, with a significant air. 

Touched by this anxious reply, Maxwell determined to know more ofher feelings-to solve the anxiety that was hanging upon her mind, and, if possible, to carry her beyond the power that held her andher child in such an uncertain position. 

"I meant into the house, " said he, observing that Ellen was notinclined to favour Clotilda's feelings; and just at that moment theshrill sounds of a bugle summoned the party to the collation. Hereanother scene was enacted, which is beyond the power of pen todescribe. The tables, decorated with wild flowers, were spread withmeats of all descriptions, --fowl, game, pastry, and fruit, wines, andcool drinks. Faces wearing the blandest smiles, grave matrons, andcheerful planters, --all dressed in rustic style and neatness-gatheredaround to partake of the feast, while servants were running hitherand thither to serve mas'r and missus with the choicest bits. Toasts, compliments, and piquant squibs, follow the wine-cup. Thencame that picture of southern life which would be more worthy ofpraise if it were carried out in the purity of motive:--as soon asthe party had finished, the older members, in their turn, set aboutpreparing a repast for the servants. This seemed to elate thenegroes, who sat down to their meal with great pomp, and were notrestrained in the free use of the choicest beverage. While this wasgoing on, Marston ordered Rachel to prepare fruit and pastry forEllen and Clotilda. "See to them; and they must have wine too, "whispered Marston. 

"I know's dat, old Boss, " returned Rachel, with a knowing wink. 

After the collation, the party divided into different sections. Someenjoyed the dance, others strolled through the pine-grove, whispering tales of love. Anglers repaired to the deep pond in questof trout, but more likely to find water-snakes and snapping turtles. Far in the distance, on the right, moving like fairy gondolasthrough the cypress-covered lagoon, little barks skim the darksurface. They move like spectres, carrying their fair freight, fanned by the gentle breeze pregnant with the magnolia' sweetperfume. The fair ones in those tiny barks are fishing; they movefrom tree to tree trailing their lines to tempt the finny tribehere, and there breaking the surface with their gambols. 

Lorenzo, as we have before informed the reader, exhibited signs ofmelancholy during the day. So evident were they that Franconia'ssympathies became enlisted in his behalf, and even carried so far, that Maxwell mistook her manner for indifference toward himself. And, as if to confirm his apprehensions, no sooner had the collationended than she took Lorenzo's arm and retired to the remains of anold mill, a few rods above the landing. It was a quiet, sequesteredspot-just such an one as would inspire the emotions of a sensitiveheart, recall the associations of childhood, and give life to ourpent-up enthusiasm. There they seated themselves, the one waitingfor the other to speak. 

"Tell me, Lorenzo, " said Franconia, laying her hand on his arm, andwatching with nervous anxiety each change of his countenance, "whyare you not joyous? you are gloomy to-day. I speak as a sister-youare nervous, faltering with trouble-"

"Trouble!" he interrupted, raising his eyes, and accompanying anaffected indifference with a sigh. It is something he hesitates todisclose. He has erred! his heart speaks, it is high-handed crime!He looks upon her affectionately, a forced smile spreads itself overhis face. How forcibly it tells its tale. "Speak out, " shecontinues, tremulously: "I am a sister; a sister cannot betray abrother's secrets. " She removes her hand and lays it gently upon hisshoulder. 

Looking imploringly in her face for a few minutes, he replies as ifit were an effort of great magnitude. "Something you must notknow-nor must the world! Many things are buried in the secrets oftime that would make great commotion if the world knew them. It werewell they passed unknown, for the world is like a great stream witha surface of busy life moving on its way above a troubled current, lashing and foaming beneath, but only breaking here and there as ifto mark the smothered conflict. And yet with me it is nothing, amoment of disappointment creeping into my contemplations, transplanting them with melancholy-"

"Something more!" interrupted Franconia, "something more; it is astep beyond melancholy, more than disappointment. Uncle feels itsensibly-it pains him, it wears upon him. I have seen it foremost inhis thoughts. " Her anxiety increases, her soft meaning eyes lookupon him imploringly, she fondles him with a sister's tenderness, the tears trickling down her cheeks as she beholds him downcast andin sorrow. His reluctance to disclose the secret becomes morepainful to her. 

"You may know it soon enough, " he replies. "I have erred, and myerrors have brought me to a sad brink. My friends-those who haveindulged my follies-have quickened the canker that will destroythemselves. Indulgence too often hastens the cup of sorrow, and whenit poisons most, we are least conscious. It is an alluring charmer, betraying in the gayest livery-"

"Lorenzo, " she interrupts, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Tell meall; remember woman's influence-she can relieve others when shecannot relieve herself. Make me your confidant--relieve yourfeelings. "

"This night, Franconia, I shall bid a painful good-bye to thosefamiliar scenes which have surrounded my life, --to you, my sister, tothose faithful old friends of the plantation, Daddy Bob and Harry. They have fondled me, protected me, played with me in my childhood, led me to my boyish sports when all was bright and pleasant, whenthe plantation had its merry scenes for slave and master. I must goupon the world, mingle with strange life, make experience myguardian. I have committed a crime-one which for ever disgraces thehonourable-"

Crime, crime, crime! weighed itself in her mind. "And what of that?"she rejoined, suddenly; "a sister can forgive a brother any crime;and even a lover, if she love truly, can forget them in heraffections. Do not go upon the world; be a man above crime, abovethe bar of scandal. Have confidence in yourself; do not let theinjustice overcome you. Once on the world a wanderer, remember theuntold tale of misery, speeding its victims to that death ofconscience burning unseen. "

"Nay, Franconia, you mean well; but you have not learned the world. Take this as my advice, remember it when I am gone, and in years tocome you will acknowledge its truth--Fortune at the south rests onan unsound foundation! We are lofty in feelings, but poor inprinciple, poor in government, --poor in that which has built ourgreat republic. Uncertainty hangs over us at every step; but, whatever befall you, stand firm through adversity. Never chideothers for the evils that may befall you; bear your burdens withoutcasting reflections on others, --it is nobler! Befriend those who haveno power to befriend themselves; and when the world forgets you, donot forget yourself. There is no step of return for those who falterin poverty. To-night I shall leave for the city; in a few days youwill know all. " Thus saying, he conducted Franconia back to rejointhe party, already making preparations to return. 

He gave her an insight of his troubles, in such a manner as tocreate deep agitation; and, although satisfied that an event of morethan ordinary magnitude was at hand, she could not associate it withthe commission of crime. The day, spent with all the conviviality ofsouthern life, ended amidst the clang of merry voices, and softmusic: a gay group assembled at the bank, ready to return under thecheering influence of music and moonlight. 

The bugle sounded, --the soft notes of "Home, sweet Home!" followed:the party, forming into double file, gay and grotesque, marchedthrough the grove to the barge. Servants, old and young, were inhigh glee; some joining in chorus with the music; some preparing thebarge, others strewing branches and flowers in the pathway, to thedelight of young "mas'r" and "missus, "-all singing. Aunt Rachel, high above her minions in authority, is poised on the bank, givingdirections at the very top of her voice. Daddy Bob, Harry, andDandy-the latter named after "mas'r's" fleetest horse-are freightingtheir young "missusses" in their arms to the boat, shielding theirfeet from the damp. 

"Now, mas'r, Old Boss, " Bob says, directing himself to Marston, after completing his charge with the young ladies, "Jus' lef' 'umtote, old mas'r safe da'? So 'e don' mus e' foot. " And forthwith heshoulders Marston, lands him like a bale of cotton on one of theseats, much to the amusement of those on board, sending forth shoutsof applause. The party are on board; all is quiet for a minute;again the music strikes up, the barge is gliding over the stillbosom of the fairy-like stream. 

The sun has just sunk into a fiery cloud that hangs its crimsoncurtains high in the heavens, shedding refulgent beauty over thedark jungle lining the river's banks. And then, twilight, as ifstealing its way across the hills, follows, softening the scene. Soon it has gone, the landscape sleeps, tranquilly arched by theserene vault of a southern sky. Everything seems peaceful, reposing, and serene; the air breathes warm and balmy, distributing itsinvigorating influence. The music has ceased, nothing but the rippleof the water is heard; then the stars, like pearls suspended overthe dark surface, begin to glimmer and shine. Above all is the moon, like a silver goddess, rising stealthily and shedding her pale lightupon the calm glow. 

Onward, onward, onward, over the still stream, winding its way tothe great deep, they move; and again the music echoes and re-echoesthrough the forest, over the lawn; dying away in chimes that faintlyplay around us. The sudden changes in the heavens, --monitor of thingsdivine, --call up in Lorenzo's feelings the reverses of fortune thatwill soon take place on the plantation. He had never beforerecognised the lesson conveyed by heavenly bodies; and such was theeffect at that moment that it proved a guardian to him in his futurecareer. 

It was near midnight when the barge reached the plantation. Fireswere lighted on the bank, negroes were here and there stretched uponthe ground, sleeping with such superlative comfort that it landedere they awoke. One by one the parties returned for their homes;and, after shaking hands with Marston, taking an affectionate adieuof Franconia (telling her he would call on the morrow), lisping akind word to the old negroes, Lorenzo ordered a horse, and left forthe city. He took leave of the plantation, of its dearestassociations, like one who had the conflict of battle before him, and the light of friendship behind. 

CHAPTER VI. 

ANOTHER SCENE IN SOUTHERN LIFE. 

IN the city, a few miles from the plantation, a scene which toooften affords those degrading pictures that disgrace a free andhappy country, was being enacted. A low brick building, standing inan area protected by a high fence, surmounted with spikes and otherdangerous projectiles, formed the place. The upper and lower windowsof this building were strongly secured with iron gratings, andemitted the morbid air from cells scarcely large enough to containhuman beings of ordinary size. In the rear, a sort of triangulararea opened, along which was a line of low buildings, displayingsingle and double cells. Some had iron rings in the floor; some hadrings in the walls; and, again, others had rings over head. Some ofthese confines of misery-for here men's souls were goaded by theavarice of our natures-were solitary; and at night, when the turmoilof the day had ceased, human wailings and the clank of chains mightbe heard breaking through the walls of this charnel-house. Thesenarrow confines were filled with living beings-beings with souls, souls sold according to the privileges of a free and happycountry, --a country that fills us with admiration of its greatness. It is here, O man, the tyrant sways his hand most! it is here theflesh and blood of the same Maker, in chains of death, yearns forfreedom. 

We walk through the corridor, between narrow arches containing theabodes of misery, while our ears drink the sad melancholy thatsounds in agitated throbs, made painful by the gloom and darkness. Touching an iron latch, the door of a cell opens, cold and damp, asif death sat upon its walls; but it discloses no part of theinmate's person, and excites our sympathies still more. We know theunfortunate is there, --we hear the murmuring, like a death-bell inour ears; it is mingled with a dismal chaos of sound, piercing deepinto our feelings. It tells us in terror how gold blasts the verysoul of man-what a dark monster of cruelty he can become, --how he canforget the grave, and think only of his living self, --how he canstrip reason of its right, making himself an animal with man for hisfood. See the monster seeking only for the things that can serve himon earth-see him stripping man of his best birth-right, see him theraving fiend, unconscious of his hell-born practices, disseveringthe hope that by a fibre hangs over the ruins of those beings whowill stand in judgment against him. His soul, like their faces, willbe black, when theirs has been whitened for judgment in the world tocome!

Ascending a few steps, leading into a centre building-where theslave merchant is polished into respectability-we enter a small roomat the right hand. Several men, some having the appearance ofrespectable merchants, some dressed in a coarse, red-mixed homespun, others smoking cigars very leisurely, are seated at a table, uponwhich are several bottles and tumblers. They drank every fewminutes, touched glasses, uttered the vilest imprecations. Conspicuous among them is Marco Graspum: it is enough that we havebefore introduced him to the reader at Marston's mansion. His darkpeering eyes glisten as he sits holding a glass of liquor in onehand, and runs his fingers through his bristly hair with the other. "The depths of trade are beyond some men, " he says, striking hishand on the table; then, catching up a paper, tears it into pieces. "Only follow my directions; and there can be no missing your man, "he continued, addressing one who sat opposite to him; and who up tothat time had been puffing his cigar with great unconcern. His wholeenergies seemed roused to action at the word. After keeping his eyesfixed upon Graspum for more than a minute, he replied, at the sametime replenishing his cigar with a fresh one--

"Yee'h sees, Marco, --you'r just got to take that ar' say back, orstand an all-fired chaffing. You don't scar' this 'un, on a point a'business. If I hain't larned to put in the big pins, no fellow has. When ye wants to 'sap' a tall 'un, like Marston, ye stands shy untilye thinks he's right for pulling, and then ye'll make a muffin onhim, quicker. But, ye likes to have yer own way in gettin' roundthings, so that a fellow can't stick a pinte to make a hundred ortwo unless he weaves his way clean through the law-unless heunderstands Mr. Justice, and puts a double blinder on his eye. There's nothing like getting on the right side of a fellow whatknows how to get on the wrong side of the law; and seeing how I'vestudied Mr. Justice a little bit better than he's studied his books, I knows just what can be done with him when a feller's got chink inhis pocket. You can't buy 'em, sir, they're so modest; but you cancoax 'em at a mighty cheaper rate-you can do that!" "And ye can makehim feel as if law and his business warn't two and two, " rejoinedAnthony Romescos, a lean, wiry man, whose small indescribable face, very much sun-scorched, is covered with bright sandy hair, mattedand uncombed. His forehead is low, the hair grows nearly to hiseyebrows, profuse and red; his eyes wander and glisten withdesperation; he is a merciless character. Men fear him, dread him;he sets the law at defiance, laughs when he is told he is thecunningest rogue in the county. He owns to the fearful; says it hasserved him through many a hard squeeze; but now that he finds law sonecessary to carry out villainy, he's taken to studying it himself. His dress is of yellow cotton, of which he has a short roundaboutand loose pantaloons. His shirt bosom is open, the collar secured atthe neck with a short black ribbon; he is much bedaubed withtobacco-juice, which he has deposited over his clothes for the wantof a more convenient place. A gray, slouch hat usually adorns hishead, which, in consequence of the thinking it does, needs a deal ofscratching. Reminding us how careful he is of his feet, he showsthem ensconced in a pair of Indian moccasins ornamented withbead-work; and, as if we had not become fully conscious of hispower, he draws aside his roundabout, and there, beneath the waistof his pantaloons, is a girdle, to which a large hunting-knife isattached, some five inches of the handle protruding above the belt. "Now, fellers, I tell ye what's what, ye'r point-up at bragin'; butye don't come square up to the line when there's anything to putthrough what wants pluck. 'Tain't what a knowin' 'un like I can do;it's just what he can larn to be with a little training in thingsrequiring spunk. I'm a going to have a square horse, or no horse; ifI don't, by the great Davy, I'll back out and do business on my ownaccount, --Anthony Romescos always makes his mark and then masters it. If ye don't give Anthony a fair showin', he'll set up business onhis own account, and pocket the comins in. Now! thar's Dan Bengaland his dogs; they can do a thing or two in the way of trade now andthen; but it requires the cunnin as well as the plucky part of afeller. It makes a great go when they're combined, though, --theyala's makes sure game and slap-up profit. "

"Hold a stave, Anthony, " interrupted a grim-visaged individual whohad just filled his glass with whiskey, which he declared was onlyto counteract the effect of what he had already taken. He begs theywill not think him half so stupid as he seems, says he is alwayswell behaved in genteel society, and is fully convinced from theappearance of things that they are all gentlemen. He wears asemi-bandittical garb, which, with his craven features, presents hischaracter in all its repulsiveness. "You needn't reckon on thatcourage o' yourn, old fellow; this citizen can go two pins above it. If you wants a showin', just name the mark. I've seed ye timesenough, --how ye would not stand ramrod when a nigger looked lightningat ye. Twice I seed a nigger make ye show flum; and ye darn't makethe cussed critter toe the line trim up, nohow, " he mumbles out, dropping his tumbler on the table, spilling his liquor. They areGraspum's "men;" they move as he directs-carry out his plans oftrade in human flesh. Through these promulgators of his plans, hisplots, his desperate games, he has become a mighty man of trade. They are all his good fellows-they are worth their weight in gold;but he can purchase their souls for any purpose, at any price! "Ah, yes, I see-the best I can do don't satisfy. My good fellows, you areplum up on business, do the square thing; but you're becomin' alittle too familiar. Doing the nigger business is one thing, andchoosing company's another. Remember, gentlemen, I hold a positionin society, I do, " says Graspum, all the dignity of his dear selfglowing in his countenance. 

"I see! There's no spoilin' a gentleman what's got to be one by hismerits in trade. Thar's whar ye takes the shine out of us. Y'ergentleman gives ye a right smart chance to walk into them ar' bigbugs what's careless, --don't think yer comin' it over 'em with a sorto' dignity what don't 'tract no s'picion. " rejoined Romescos, takingup his hat, and placing it carelessly on his head, as if to assureGraspum that he is no better than the rest. 

"Comprehend me, comprehend me, gentlemen! There can, and must be, dignity in nigger trading; it can be made as honourable as any otherbranch of business. For there is an intricacy about our businessrequiring more dignity and ability than general folks know. Youfellers couldn't carry out the schemes, run the law down, keep yourfinger on people's opinion, and them sort o' things, if I didn'ttake a position in society what 'ud ensure puttin' ye straightthrough. South's the place where position's worth somethin'; andthen, when we acts independent, and don't look as if we cared twotoss-ups, ah!"

"I wonder you don't set up a dignity shop, and go to selling thearticle;-might have it manufactured to sell down south. "

"Ah, Romescos, " continued Graspum, "you may play the fool; but youmust play it wisely to make it profitable. Here, position puts lawat defiance!-here it puts croakers over humanity to rest-here, whenit has money, it makes lawyers talk round the points, get fat amongthemselves, fills the old judge's head with anything; so that helaughs and thinks he don't know nothin'. Listen to what I'm goin' tosay, because you'll all make somethin' out on't. I've just got thedignity to do all; and with the coin to back her up, can safe everychance. When you fellers get into a snarl running off a white 'un, or a free nigger, I has to bring out the big talk to make it seemhow you didn't understand the thing. 'Tain't the putting the big on, but it's the keepin' on it on. You'd laugh to see how I does it;it's the way I keeps you out of limbo, though. "

We have said these men were Graspum's "men;" they are more-they area band of outlaws, who boast of living in a free country, where itsinstitutions may be turned into despotism. They carry on a system oftrade in human bodies; they stain the fairest spots of earth withtheir crimes. They set law at defiance-they scoff at the depths ofhell that yawn for them, --the blackness of their villainy is knownonly in heaven. Earth cares little for it; and those familiar withthe devices of dealers in human bodies shrink from the shame ofmaking them known to the world. There was a discontent in the party, a clashing of interests, occasioned by the meagre manner in whichGraspum had divided the spoils of their degradation. He had set hisdignity and position in society at a much higher value than theywere willing to recognise, --especially when it was to share thespoils in proportion. Dan Bengal, so called from his ferocity ofcharacter, was a celebrated dog-trainer and negro-hunter, "was greatin doing the savager portion of negro business. " This, Romescoscontended, did not require so much cunning as his branch of thebusiness-which was to find "loose places, " where doubtful whites seeout remnants of the Indian race, and free negroes could be foundeasy objects of prey; to lay plots, do the "sharp, " carry out plansfor running all free rubbish down south, where they would sell forsomething. 

"True! it's all true as sunshine, " says Romescos; "we understand Mr. Graspum inside and out. But ye ain't paid a dime to get me out ofany scrape. I was larned to nigger business afore I got into the'tarnal thing; and when I just gits me eye on a nigger what nobodydon't own, I comes the sly over him-puts him through a course ofnigger diplomacy. The way he goes down to the Mississippi is acaution to nigger property!"

He has enlisted their attention, all eyes are set upon him, everyvoice calls out to know his process. He begs they will drink round;they fill their glasses, and demand that he will continue theinterest of his story. 

"My plans are worth a fortune to those who follow the business, " hesays, giving his glass a twirl as he sets it upon the table, andcommences--

"Born 'cute, you see; trade comes natural. Afore a free 'un don'tknow it, I has him bonded and tucked off for eight or nine hundreddollars, slap-up, cash and all. And then, ye sees, it's worthsomethin' in knowin' who to sell such criturs too-so that the brutedon't git a chance to talk about it without getting his backtroubled. And then, it requires as much knowin' as a senator's gotjust to fix things as smooth so nobody won't know it; and just likeye can jingle the coin in yer pocket, for the nigger, whateverybody's wonderin' where he can be gone to. I tell ye what, ittakes some stameny to keep the price of a prime feller in yourpocket, and wonder along with the rest where the rascal can be. Ifyou'd just see Bob Osmand doe it up, you'd think his face was madefor a methodist deacon in camp meeting-time. The way he comes itwhen he wants to prove a free nigger's a runaway, would beat all thedisciples of Blackstone between here and old Kentuck. And then, Bob's any sort of a gentleman, what you don't get in town every day, and wouldn't make a bad senator, if he'd bin in Congress when thecompromise was settled upon, --'cos he can reason right into justnothin' at all. Ye see it ain't the feelings that makes a feller agentleman in our business, it's knowing the human natur o' things;how to be a statesman, when ye meets the like, how to be agentleman, and talk polite things, and sich like; how to be a jollyfellow, an' put the tall sayings into the things of life; and whenye gets among the lawyers, to know all about the pintes of the law, and how to cut off the corners, so they'll think ye're bin a parishjudge. And then, when ye comes before the squire, just to talkdignity to him-tell him where the law is what he don't seem tocomprehend. You've got to make a right good feller of the squire bysticking a fee under his vest-pocket when he don't obsarve it. Andthen, ye know, when ye make the squire a right good feller, you mustkeep him to the point; and when there's any swarin' to be done, he'sjust as easily satisfied as the law. It's all business, you see; andthar's just the same kind a thing in it; because profit rulesprinciple, and puts a right smart chance o' business into theirhands without troubling their consciences. But then, Bob ain't gotthe cunnin' in him like I-nor he can't "rope-in on the sly, "-knockdown and drag out, and just tell a whole possee to come on, as I do. And that's what ye don't seem to come at, Graspum, " said Romescos, again filling his glass, and drawing a long black pipe from hispocket prepares it for a smoke. 

"Now, the trouble is, you all think you can carry out these matterson your own hook; but it's no go, and you'll find it so. It's ascheme that must have larger means at the head of it; and each man'srights must be stipulated, and paid according to his own enterprise. But this discontent is monstrous and injurious, and if continuedwill prove unprofitable. You see, fellers, you've no responsibility, and my position is your protection, and if you don't get rich youmust not charge the blame to me; and then just see how you live nowto what you did when ranging the piny woods and catching a straynigger here and there, what didn't hardly pay dog money. There's agood deal in the sport of the thing, too; and ye know it amounts toa good deal to do the gentleman and associate with big folks, whoputs the business into one's hands, by finding out who's got leanpurses and prime niggers, " rejoined Graspum, very coolly. 

"Ah, yes; that's the way ye comes it over these haristocrats, bydoin' the modest. Now, Graspum, 'tain't no trouble to leak a saplike that Lorenzo, and make his friends stand the blunt after we'veroped him into your fixings, " replied Romescos. 

"No, no; not a bit of it, " resounded several voices. "We do all thedragwork with the niggers, and Graspum gets the tin. "

"But he pays for the drink. Come, none of this bickering; we mustagree upon business, and do the thing up brown under the oldsystem, " interrupted another. 

"Hold! close that bread trap o' yourn, " Romescos shouts at the topof his voice. "You're only a green croaker from the piny woods, where gophers crawl independent; you ain't seen life on the bordersof Texas. Fellers, I can whip any man in the crowd, --can maker thebest stump speech, can bring up the best logic; and can prove thatthe best frightenin' man is the best man in the nigger business. Now, if you wants a brief sketch of this child's history, ye canhave it. " Here Romescos entered into an interesting account ofhimself. He was the descendant of a good family, living in the cityof Charleston; his parents, when a youth, had encouraged hispropensities for bravery. Without protecting them with that mediumof education which assimilates courage with gentlemanly conduct, carrying out the nobler impulses of our nature, they allowed him toroam in that sphere which produces its ruffians. At the age offifteen he entered a counting-room, when his quick mercurialtemperament soon rendered him expert at its minor functions. Threeyears had hardly elapsed when, in a moment of passion, he drew hisdirk, (a weapon he always carried) and, in making a plunge at hisantagonist, inflicted a wound in the breast of a near friend. Thewound was deep, and proved fatal. For this he was arraigned before ajury, tried for his life. He proved the accident by an existingfriendship-he was honourably acquitted. His employer, afterreproaching him for his proceedings, again admitted him into hisemployment. Such, however, was his inclination to display thedesperado, that before the expiration of another year he killed anegro, shot two balls at one of his fellows, one of which was wellnigh proving fatal, and left the state. His recklessness, hisprevious acts of malignity, his want of position, all left himlittle hope of escaping the confines of a prison. Fleeing to partsunknown, his absence relieved the neighbourhood of a responsibility. For a time, he roamed among farmers and drovers in the mountains ofTennessee; again he did menial labour, often forced to the direstnecessity to live. One day, when nearly famished, he met aslave-driver, conducting his coffle towards the Mississippi, to whomhe proffered his services. The coarse driver readily accepted them;they proceeded on together, and it was not long before they foundthemselves fitting companions. The one was desperate-the othertraded in desperation. An ardent nature, full of courage andadventure, was a valuable acquisition to the dealer, who found thathe had enlisted a youngster capable of relieving him of inflictingthat cruelty so necessary to his profession. With a passion forinflicting torture, this youth could now gratify it upon thoseunfortunate beings of merchandise who were being driven to theshambles: he could gloat in the exercise of those naturalpropensities which made the infliction of pain a pleasantrecreation. In the trade of human flesh all these cruel traitsbecame valuable; they enabled him to demand a good price for hisservices. Initiated in all the mysteries of the trade, he was soonentrusted with gangs of very considerable extent; then he madepurchases, laid plans to entrap free negroes, performed the variousintricacies of procuring affidavits with which to make slaveproperty out of free flesh. Nature was nature, and what was hard inhim soon became harder; he could crib "doubtful white stuff" thatwas a nuisance among folks, and sell it for something he could putin his pocket. In this way Romescos accumulated several hundreddollars; but avarice increased, and with it his ferocity. Itbelonged to the trade, a trade of wanton depravity. He became theterror of those who assumed to look upon a negro's sufferings withsympathy, scoffing at the finer feelings of mankind. Twice had hisrapacity been let loose-twice had it nearly brought him to thegallows, or to the tribunal of Judge Lynch. And now, when completelyinured in the traffic of human flesh, --that traffic which transposesman into a demon, his progress is checked for a while by a falsestep. 

It was this; and this only to the deep disgrace of the freest andhappiest country on earth. A poor orphan girl, like many of herclass in our hospitable slave world, had been a mere cast-off uponthe community. She knew nothing of the world, was ignorant, couldneither read nor write, --something quite common in the south, butseldom known in New England. Thus she became the associate ofdepraved negroes, and again, served Romescos as a victim. Notcontent with this, after becoming tired of her, he secured her inthe slave-pen of one of his fellow traders. Here he kept her forseveral weeks, closely confined, feeding her with grits. Eventually"running" her to Vicksburg, he found an accomplice to sign a bill ofsale, by which he sold her to a notorious planter, who carried herinto the interior. The wretched girl had qualities which the plantersaw might, with a little care, be made extremely valuable in the NewOrleans market, --one was natural beauty. She was not suitableproperty for the agricultural department of either a cotton or sugarplantation, nor was she "the stripe" to increase prime stock; henceshe must be prepared for the general market. When qualifiedaccording to what the planter knew would suit the fancy market, shewas conveyed to New Orleans, a piece of property bright as the verybrightest, very handsome, not very intelligent, --just suited to thewants of bidders. 

Here, at the shambles in the crescent city, she remained guarded, and for several weeks was not allowed to go beyond the door-sill;after which a sale was effected of her with the keeper of a brothel, for the good price of thirteen hundred dollars. In this sink ofiniquity she remained nearly two years. Fearing the ulteriorconsequences, she dared not assert her rights to freedom, she darednot say she was born free in a free country. Her disappearance fromthe village in which she had been reared caused some excitement; butit soon reduced itself to a very trifling affair. Indeed, whitetrash like this was considered little else than rubbish, not worthbringing up respectably. And while suspicion pointed to Romescos, asthe person who could account for her mysterious disappearance, suchwas the fear of his revenge that no one dared be the accuser. Quietly matters rested, poor virtue was mean merchandise, had itsvalue, could be bought and sold-could be turned to various uses, except enlisting the sympathies of those who study it as a marketcommodity. A few days passed and all was hushed; no one enquiredabout the poor orphan, Martha Johnson. In the hands of her creoleowner, who held her as a price for licentious purposes, sheassociated with gentlemen of polite manners-of wealth and position. Even this, though profane, had advantages, which she employed forthe best of purposes; she learned to read and to write, --toassimilate her feelings with those of a higher class. Society haddegraded her, she had not degraded herself. One night, as thepromiscuous company gathered into the drawing-room, she recognised ayoung man from her native village; the familiar face inspired herwith joy, her heart leaped with gladness; he had befriended her poormother-she knew he had kind feelings, and would be her friend onceher story was told. The moments passed painfully; she watched himrestlessly through the dance, --sat at his side. Still he did notrecognise her, --toilet had changed her for another being; but she hadcourted self-respect rather than yielded to degradation. Again shemade signs to attract his attention; she passed and repassed him, and failed. Have I thus changed, she thought to herself. 

At length she succeeded in attracting his attention; she drew himaside, then to her chamber. In it she disclosed her touchingnarrative, unfolded her sorrows, appealed to him with tears in hereyes to procure her freedom and restore her to her rights. Her storyenlisted the better feelings of a man, while her self-respect, theearnestness with which she pleaded her deliverance, and theheartlessness of the act, strongly rebuked the levity of those whohad made her an orphan outcast in her own village. She was then inthe theatre of vice, surrounded by its allurements, consigned to itsdegradation, a prey to libertinism-yet respecting herself. Theobject of his visit among the denizens was changed to a highermission, a duty which he owed to his moral life, --to his ownmanliness. He promised his mediation to better her eventful andmysterious life, to be a friend to her; and nobly did he keep hispromise. On the following day he took measures for her rescue, andthough several attempts were made to wrest her from him, and themendacity of slave-dealers summoned to effect it, he had thesatisfaction of seeing her restored to her native village, --tofreedom, to respectability. 

We withhold the details of this too true transaction, lest we shouldbe classed among those who are endeavouring to create undueexcitement. The orphan girl we here refer to was married to arespectable mechanic, who afterwards removed to Cincinnati, and withhis wife became much respected citizens. 

Proceedings were after some delay commenced against Romescos, but, --we trust it was not through collusion with officials-he escapedthe merited punishment that would have been inflicted upon him by aNew England tribunal. Again he left the state, and during hisabsence it is supposed he was engaged in nefarious practices withthe notorious Murrel, who carried rapine and death into theunoffending villages of the far west. However, be this as it may, little was known of him for several years, except in some desperateencounter. The next step in his career of desperation known, wasjoining a band of guerillos led by one of the most intrepid captainsthat infested the borders of Mexico, during the internal warfare bywhich her Texan provinces struggled for independence. Freebooters, they espoused the Texan cause because it offered food for theirrapacity, and through it they became formidable and desperate foesto the enemy. They were the terror of the ranchoes, the inhabitantsfled at their approach; their pillage, rapine, and slaughtering, would stain the annals of barbarous Africa. They are buried, let ushope for the name of a great nation, that they may remain beneaththe pale of oblivion. 

In their incursions, as mounted riflemen, they besieged villages, slaughtered the inhabitants, plundered churches, and burneddwellings; they carried off captive females, drove herds of cattleto distant markets. Through the auspices of this band, as is nowwell known, many young females were carried off and sold intoslavery, where they and their offspring yet remain. While pursuingthis nefarious course of life, Romescos accumulated more than twentythousand dollars; and yet, --though ferocity increased with thedaring of his profession, --there was one impulse of his nature, deeply buried, directing his ambition. Amid the dangers of war, thetumult of conflict, the passion for daring-this impulse kept alivethe associations of home, --it was love! In early life he had formedan attachment for a beautiful young lady of his native town; it hadripened with his years; the thoughts of her, and the hope ofregaining her love if he gained wealth, so worked upon his mind thathe resolved to abandon the life of a guerillo, and return home. After an absence of fourteen years he found the object of his earlylove, --that woman who had refused to requite his affection, --a widow, having buried her husband, a gentleman of position, some monthsprevious. 

Romescos had money, --the man was not considered; he is not consideredwhere slavery spreads its vices to corrupt social life. He had beencareful to keep his business a profound secret, and pressing hisaffections, soon found the object of his ambition keenly sensitiveto his advances. Rumour recounted his character with mystery andsuspicion; friends remonstrated, but in vain; they were uniteddespite all opposition, all appeals. For a time he seemed a betterman, the business he had followed harassed his mind, seeming tohaunt him, and poison his progress. He purchased a plantation on thebanks of the Santee; for once resolved to pursue an honest course, to be a respectable citizen, and enjoy the quiet of home. 

A year passed: he might have enjoyed the felicity of domestic life, the affections of a beautiful bride; but the change was too suddenfor his restless spirit. He was not made to enjoy the quiet of life, the task stood before him like a mountain without a pass, he couldnot wean himself from the vices of a marauder. He had abused thefree offerings of a free country, had set law at defiance; he haddealt in human flesh, and the task of resistance was more than themoral element in his nature could effect. Violations of human lawswere mere speculations to him; they had beguiled him, body and soul. He had no apology for violating personal feeling; what cared he forthat small consideration, when the bodies of men, women, andchildren could be sacrificed for that gold which would give himposition among the men of the south. If he carried off poor whites, and sold them into slavery, he saw no enormity in the performance;the law invested him with power he made absolute. Society waschargeable with all his wrongs, with all his crimes, all hisenormities. He had repeatedly told it so, pointing for proof to thatliteral observance of the rule by which man is made meremerchandise. Society had continued in its pedantic folly, disregarding legal rights, imposing no restraints on the holder ofhuman property, violating its spirit and pride by neglecting toenforce the great principles of justice whereby we are bound toprotect the lives of those unjustly considered inferior beings. Thusends a sketch of what Romescos gave of his own career. 

We now find him associated with the desperadoes of slave-dealing, inthe scene we have presented. After Romescos had related what hecalled the romance of his life, --intended, no doubt, to impress theparty with his power and intrepidity, and enable him to set a highervalue upon his services, --he lighted a pipe, threw his hat upon thefloor, commenced pacing up and down the room, as if labouring underdeep excitement. And while each one seemed watching him intently, aloud knocking was heard at the door, --then the baying ofblood-hounds, the yelps of curs, mingling with the murmurs of thosepoor wretches confined in the cells beneath. Then followed theclanking of chains, cries, and wailings, startling and fearful. 

Dan Bengal sprang to the door, as if conscious of its import. Avoice demanded admittance; and as the door opened Bengal exclaimed, "Halloo!-here's Nath Nimrod: what's the tune of the adventure?"

A short, stout man entered, dressed in a coarse homespun huntingdress, a profuse black beard and moustache nearly covering his face. "I is'nt so bad a feller a'ter all-is I?" he says, rushing forwardinto the centre of the room, followed by four huge hounds. They werenoble animals, had more instinctive gentleness than their masters, displayed a knowledge of the importance of the prize they had justgained. 

"Hurrah for Nath! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah, for Nath! You got him, Nath-did'nt ye?" resounded from several tongues, and was followed bya variety of expressions highly complimentary to his efficiency. 

Romescos, however, remained silent, pacing the floor unconcerned, except in his own anxiety-as if nothing had occurred to disturb him. Advancing to the table, the new visitor, his face glowing withexultation, held forth, by the crispy hair, the blanched and bloodyhead of an unfortunate negro who had paid the penalty of the State'sallowance for outlaws. "There: beat that, who can? Four hundreddollars made since breakfast;" he cries out at the top of his voice. They cast a measured look at the ghastly object, as if it were aprecious ornament, much valued for the price it would bring, according to law. The demon expresses his joy, descants on hisexpertness and skill, holds up his prize again, turns it round, smiles upon it as his offering, then throws it into the fire place, carelessly, like a piece of fuel. The dogs spring upon it, as if thetrophy was for their feast; but he repulses them; dogs are not sobad after all-the canine is often the better of the two-the morselis too precious for canine dogs, --human dogs must devour it. "Thereis nothing like a free country, nothing; and good business, whenit's well protected by law, " says Nimrod, seating himself at thetable, filling a glass, bowing to his companions, drinking to thehealth of his friends. He imagines himself the best fellow of thelot. Taking Graspum by the hand, he says, "there is a clear hundredfor you, old patron!" pulls an Executive proclamation from hispocket, and points to where it sets forth the amount of reward forthe outlaw-dead or alive. "I know'd whar the brute had his hole inthe swamp, " he continues: "and I summed up the resolution to bringhim out. And then the gal o' Ginral Brinkle's, if I could pin her, would be a clear fifty more, provided I could catch her withoutdamage, and twenty-five if the dogs havocked her shins. There was notrouble in getting the fifty, seeing how my dogs were trained to thepoint and call. Taste or no taste, they come square off at the word. To see the critters trace a nigger, you'd think they had human inthem; they understands it so! But, I tell you what, it's one thingto hunt a gal nigger, and another to run down an outlaw what has hadtwo or three years in the swamp. The catching him's not much, butwhen ye have to slide the head off, all the pious in yer natur comesright up to make yer feelings feel kind a' softish. However, the lawprotects ye, and the game being only a nigger, different rules andthings govern one's feelings. "

Bengal interrupts by laconically insinuating-raising his moody face, and winking at Graspum-that it was all moonshine to talk abouttrouble in that kind of business; "It's the very highest ofexhilarating sport!" he concludes emphatically. 

"Dan!" returns the other, with a fierce stare, as he seizes thebottle and is about to enjoy a glass of whisky uninvited; "let yourliquor stop your mouth. I set the whole pack upon the trail atdaylight, and in less than two hours they came upon him, bolted him, and put him to the river. The leader nabbed him about half wayacross, but the chap, instead of giving in, turned and fought like ahero. Twice I thought he would whip the whole pack, but the way theymade the rags fly warn't nobody's business. Well, I just come upwith him as he plunged into the stream, lifts old sure mark, asgives him about a dozen plugs; and then the old feller begged justso, you'd thought he was a Christian pleadin' forgiveness at thelast moment. But, when I seizes him and gives him three or fourlevellers with the butt of the rifle, ye never saw a sarpent plunge, and struggle, and warp so. Says I, 'It's no use, old feller, --yermight as well give her up;' and the way his eyes popped, just as ifhe expected I war'nt goin to finish him. I tell ye, boys, itrequired some spunk about then, for the critter got his claws uponme with a death grip, and the dogs ripped him like an old cornstalk, and would'nt keep off. And then there was no fracturin hisskull; and seeing how he was overpowering me, I just seizes him bythe throat and pops his head off quicker than a Chinese executioner. "

The author has given the language of the slave-hunter who relatedthe case personally. 

"Now, thar' war'nt so much in takin' the gal, cos jist when she seedthe dogs comin', the critter took to tree and gin right up: but whenI went to muzlin' on her, so she could'nt scream, then she getssaucy; and I promised to gin her bricks, --which, fellers, I reckonyer must take a hand in so the brute won't wake the neighbours; andI'll do'e it afore I sleeps, " said Nimrod, getting up from the tableand playfully touching Romescos upon the arm. "I see ye ain'tbrightened to-day--Graspum's share don't seem to suit yer, oldfeller; ah! ah!!" he continued. 

"Just put another ten per cent. Upon the out-lining, and runningfree 'uns, and I'll stand flint, " said Romescos, seeming to be actedupon by a sudden change of feelings, as he turned to Graspum, with alook of anxiety. 

"Very well, " returned Graspum. "Yer see, there's that Marston affairto be brought to a point; and his affairs are just in such a fixthat he don't know what's what, nor who's who. Ther'll have to besome tall swearing done in that case afore it's brought to thehammer. That cunning of yours, Romescos, will just come into play inthis case. It'll be just the thing to do the crooked and get roundthe legal points. " Thus Graspum, with the dignity and assurance of agentleman, gave his opinion, drank with his companions, and withdrewfor the night. 

Romescos, Bengal, and Nimrod, soon after descended into the vaultsbelow, followed by a negro bearing a lantern. Here they unbolted oneof the cells, dragged forth a dejected-looking mulatto woman, herrags scarcely covering her nakedness. The poor wretch, a child bornto degradation and torture, whose cries were heard in heaven, heaveda deep sigh, then gave vent to a flood of tears. They told how deepwas her anguish, how she struggled against injustice, how sorrow wasburning her very soul. The outpourings of her feelings might havearoused the sympathies of savage hearts; but the slave monsters wereunmoved. Humbleness, despair, and even death, sat upon her verycountenance; hope had fled her, left her a wreck for whom man had nopity. And though her prayers ascended to heaven, the God of mercyseemed to have abandoned her to her tormentors. She came forwardtrembling and reluctantly, her countenance changed; she gave afrowning look at her tormentors, wild and gloomy, shrank back intothe cell, the folds of straight, black hair hanging about hershoulders. 

"Come out here!" Nimrod commands in an angry tone; then, seizing herby the arm, dragged her forth, and jerked her prostrate on theground. Here, like as many fiends in human form, the rest fell uponher, held her flat to the floor by the hands and feet, her facedownwards, while Nimrod, with a raw hide, inflicted thirty lashes onher bare back. Her cries and groans, as she lay writhing, the fleshhanging in quivering shreds, and lifting with the lash, --her appealsfor mercy, her prayers to heaven, her fainting moans as the agony ofher torture stung into her very soul, would have touched a heart ofstone. But, though her skin had not defiled her in the eyes of therighteous, there was none to take pity on her, nor to break thegalling chains; no! the punishment was inflicted with the measuredcoolness of men engaged in an every-day vocation. It was simply theright which a democratic law gave men to become lawless, fierce inthe conspiracy of wrong, and where the legal excitement oftrafficking in the flesh and blood of one another sinks themunconsciously into demons. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"BUCKRA-MAN VERY UNCERTAIN. "

THE caption, a common saying among negroes at the south, had itsorigin in a consciousness, on the part of the negro, of the manyliabilities to which his master's affairs are subject, and his owndependence on the ulterior consequences. It carries with it a deepsignificance, opens a field for reflection, comprehends the negro'sknowledge of his own uncertain state, his being a piece of propertythe good or evil of which is effected by his master's caprices, thebinding force of the law that makes him merchandise. Nevertheless, while the negro feels them in all their force, the master valuesthem only in an abstract light. Ask the negro whose master is kindto him, if he would prefer his freedom and go north?-At first hewill hesitate, dilate upon his master's goodness, his affection forhim, the kindly feeling evinced for him by the family-they oftenlook upon him with a patriarchal tenderness-and, finally, he willconclude by telling you he wishes master and missus would live forever. He tells you, in the very simplicity of his nature, that "Eve'ting so unsartin! and mas'r don't know if he die when he gwine to. "That when he is dying he does not realise it; and though hisintention be good, death may blot out his desires, and he, thedependent, being only a chattel, must sink into the uncertain streamof slave-life. Marston's plantation might have been taken as anillustration of the truth of this saying. Long had it beenconsidered one of eminent profit; his field slaves were well caredfor; his favourite house servants had every reasonable indulgencegranted them. And, too, Marston's mansion was the pleasant retreatof many a neighbour, whose visits were welcomed by the kindlyattention he had taught his domestics to bestow. Marston's fault layin his belonging to that class of planters who repose too muchconfidence in others. 

The morning following Lorenzo's departure ushered forth bright andbalmy. A quiet aspect reigned in and about the plantation, servantsmoved sluggishly about, the incidents of the preceding nightoppressed Marston's mind; his feelings broke beyond his power ofrestraint. Like contagion, the effect seized each member of hishousehold, --forcibly it spoke in word and action! Marston hadbestowed much care upon Lorenzo and Franconia; he had indulged andidolised the latter, and given the former some good advice. Butadvice without example seldom produces lasting good; in truth, precept had the very worst effect upon Lorenzo, --it had proved hisruin! His singular and mysterious departure might for a time beexcused, --even accounted for in some plausible manner, but suspicionwas a stealing monster that would play upon the deeply tincturedsurface, and soar above in disgrace. That the Rovero family wereamong the first of the State would not be received as a palliation;they had suffered reverses of fortune, and, with the addition ofLorenzo's profligacy, which had been secretly drawing upon theirresources, were themselves well nigh in discredit. And now that thissudden and unexpected reverse had befallen Marston, he could donothing for their relief. Involved, perplexed, and distrusted-withever-slaying suspicion staring him in the face-he was a victimpursued by one who never failed to lay low his object. That manmoved with unerring method, could look around him upon thedestitution made by his avarice, without evincing a shadow ofsympathy. Yes! he was in the grasp of a living Shylock, whose soul, worn out in the love of gold, had forgotten that there existed adistinction between right and wrong. 

Surrounded by all these dark forebodings, Marston begins to reflecton his past life. He sees that mercy which overlooks the sins of manwhen repentance is pure; but his life is full of moral blemishes; hehas sinned against the innocent, against the God of forgiveness. Theinert of his nature is unfolding itself, --he has lived according tothe tolerated vices of society-he has done no more than the law gavehim a right to do! And yet, that very society, overlooking its ownwrongs, would now strip him of its associations. He lives in a Statewhere it is difficult to tell what society will approve orreprobate; where a rich man may do with impunity what would consigna poor man to the gallows. 

If we examine the many rencontres that take place in the south, especially those proving fatal, we will find that the perpetrator, if he be a rich man, invariably receives an "honourable acquittal. "Again, when the man of position shoots down his victim in thestreets of a city, he is esteemed brave; but a singular reversiontakes place if the rencontre be between poor men. It is then adiabolical act, a murder, which nothing short of the gallows canserve for punishment. The creatures whom he had made mere objects toserve his sensuality were before him; he traced the gloomy historyof their unfortunate sires; he knew that Ellen and Clotilda wereborn free. The cordon that had bound his feelings to the system ofslavery relaxed. For the first time, he saw that which he could notrecognise in his better nature-himself the medium of keeping humanbeings in slavery who were the rightful heirs of freedom. Theblackness of the crime-its cruelty, its injustice-haunted him; theywere at that very moment held by Graspum's caprice. He might doomthe poor wretches to irretrievable slavery, to torture and death!Then his mind wandered to Annette and Nicholas; he saw them of hisown flesh and blood; his natural affections bounded forth; how couldhe disown them? The creations of love and right were upon him, misfortune had unbound his sensations; his own offspring stoodbefore him clothed in trouble thick and dangerous. His follies haveentailed a life-rent of misery upon others; the fathomless depth ofthe future opens its yawning jaws to swallow up those upon whom thefondness of a father should have been bestowed for their moral andphysical good. 

As he sits contemplating this painful picture, Aunt Rachel entersthe room to inquire if Lorenzo breakfasts with them. "Why! oldmas'r, what ail ye dis mornin'? Ye don't seems nohow. Not a stripelike what ye was yesterday; somethin' gi 'h de wrong way, and mas'rdone know what i' is, " she mutters to herself, looking seriously atMarston. 

"Nothing! old bustler; nothing that concerns you. Do not mentionLorenzo's name again; he has gone on a journey. Send my old faithfulDaddy Bob to me. " Rachel hastened to fulfil the command; soonbrought the old servant to the door. His countenance lighted up withsmiles as he stood at the doorway, bowing and scraping, working hisred cap in his hand. There stood the old man, a picture ofattachment. 

"Come in, Bob, come in!" Marston says, motioning his hand, "I wishthe world was as faithful as you are. You are worthy the indulgenceI have bestowed upon you; let me hope there is something better inprospect for you. My life reproves me; and when I turn and reviewits crooked path-when I behold each inconsistency chiding me-Ilament what I cannot recall. " Taking the old man by the hand, thetears glistening in his eyes, he looks upon him as a father wouldhis child. 

"In a short time, Bob, you shall be free to go where you please, onthe plantation or off it. But remember, Bob, you are old-you havegrown grey in faithfulness, --the good southerner is the true friendof the negro! I mean he is the true friend of the negro, because hehas associated with him from childhood, assimilated with hisfeelings, made his nature a study. He welcomes him without reserve, approaches him without that sensitiveness and prejudice which thenortherner too often manifests towards him. You shall be free, Bob!you shall be free!-free to go where you please; but you must remainamong southerners, southerners are your friends. "

"Yes, mas'r, 'im all just so good, if t'warn't dat I so old. Freenigger, when 'e old, don't gwane to get along much. Old Bob tink ondat mighty much, he do dat! Lef Bob free win 'e young, den 'e gettru' de world like Buckra, only lef 'im de chance what Buckra hab. Freedom ain't wof much ven old Bob worn out, mas'r; and Buckra whatsell nigger, --what make 'e trade on him, run 'im off sartin. He sellold nigger what got five dollar wof' a work in 'e old bones. Mas'rset 'um free, bad Buckra catch 'um, old Bob get used up afo' he knownofin, " quaintly replied the old man, seeming to have an instinctiveknowledge of the "nigger trade, " but with so much attachment for hismaster that he could not be induced to accept his freedom. 

"It's not the leaving me, Bob; you may be taken from me. You areworth but little, 'tis true, and yet you may be sold from me to abad master. If the slave-dealers run you off, you can let me know, and I will prosecute them, " returned Marston. 

"Ah! mas'r; dat's just whar de blunt is-in de unsartainty! How Igwane to let mas'r know, when mas'r no larn nigger to read, " hequickly responded. There is something in his simple remark thatMarston has never before condescended to contemplate, --something thesimple nature of the negro has just disclosed; it lies deeply rootedat the foundation of all the wrongs of slavery. Education would bevaluable to the negro, especially in his old age; it would softenhis impulses rather than impair his attachment, unless the master bea tyrant fearing the results of his own oppression. Marston, a goodmaster, had deprived the old man of the means of protecting himselfagainst the avarice of those who would snatch him from freedom, andwhile his flesh and blood contained dollars and cents, sell him intoslavery. Freedom, under the best circumstances, could do him littlegood in his old age; and yet, a knowledge of the wrong rankled deepin Marston's feelings: he could relieve it only by giving Daddy Boband Harry their freedom if they would accept it. 

Relinquishing Daddy's hand, he commanded him to go and bring himAnnette and Nicholas. "Bring them, " he says, "without the knowledgeof their mothers. " Bob withdrew, hastened to the cabins in the yardto fulfil the mission. Poor things, thought Marston; they are mine, how can I disown them? Ah, there's the point to conquer-I cannot! Itis like the mad torrents of hell, stretched out before me to consumemy very soul, to bid me defiance. Misfortune is truly a greatpurifier, a great regenerator of our moral being; but how can I makethe wrong right?-how can I live to hope for something beyond thecaprice of this alluring world? My frailties have stamped theirfuture with shame. 

Thus he mused as the children came scampering into the room. Annette, her flaxen curls dangling about her neck, looking as tidyand bright as the skill of Clotilda could make her, runs to Marston, throws herself on his knee, fondles about his bosom, kisses his handagain and again. She loves him, --she knows no other father. Nicholas, more shy, moves slowly behind a chair, his fingers in his mouth thewhile. Looking through its rounds wistfully, he shakes his headenviously, moves the chair backwards and forwards, and is toobashful to approach Annette's position. 

Marston has taken Annette in his arms, he caresses her; she twirlsher tiny fingers through his whiskers, as if to play with him in thetoying recognition of a father. He is deeply immersed in thought, smooths her hair, walks to the glass with her in his arms, holds herbefore it as if to detect his own features in the countenance of thechild. Resuming his seat, he sets her on one knee, calls Nicholas tohim, takes him on the other, and fondles them with an air ofkindness it had never before been their good fortune to receive athis hands. He looked upon them again, and again caressed them, parted their hair with his fingers. And as Annette would open hereyes and gaze in his, with an air of sweetest acknowledgment, histhoughts seemed contending with something fearful. He was introuble; he saw the enemy brooding over the future; he heaved asigh, a convulsive motion followed, a tear stealing down his cheektold the tale of his reflections. 

"Now, Daddy;" he speaks, directing himself to old Bob, who stands atthe door surprised at Marston's singular movements, "you are myconfidant, what do you think the world-I mean the people about thedistrict, about the city-would say if they knew these were mine? Youknow, Bob, --you must tell me straight out, do they look like me?-havethey features like mine?" he inquires with rapid utterance. 

"Mas'r, Bob don' like to say all he feels, " meekly muttered the oldman. 

"There is the spot on which we lay the most unholy blot; and yet, itrecoils upon us when we least think. Unfortunate wretches bear themunto us; yet we dare not make them our own; we blast their lives forselfish ends, yield them to others, shield ourselves by a misnomercalled right! We sell the most interesting beings for aprice, --beings that should be nearest and dearest to our hearts. "

The old slave's eyes glistened with excitement; he looked onastonished, as if some extraordinary scene had surprised him. As hisagitation subsided, he continued, "Mas'r, I bin watch 'im dis longtime. Reckon how nobody wouldn't take 'em fo'h nobody else's-fo'htrue! Dar ain't no spozin' bout 'em, 'e so right smart twarn't nouse to guise 'em: da'h just like old Boss. Mas'r, nigger watch demtings mighty close; more close den Buckra, cos' Buckra tink 'e allright when nigger tink 'e all wrong. "

Marston is not quite content with this: he must needs put anotherquestion to the old man. "You are sure there can be no mistakingthem for mine?" he rejoins, fixing his eyes upon the children withan almost death-like stare, as Daddy leads them out of the room. Thedoor closes after them, he paces the room for a time, seats himselfin his chair again, and is soon absorbed in contemplation. "I mustdo something for them-I must snatch them from the jaws of danger. They are full of interest-they are mine; there is not a drop ofnegro blood in their veins, and yet the world asks who are theirmothers, what is their history? Ah! yes; in that history lies thecanker that has eaten out the living springs of many lives. It isthat which cuts deepest. Had I known myself, done what I might havedone before it was too late, kindness would have its rewards; but Iam fettered, and the more I move the worse for them. Custom has laidthe foundation of wrong, the law protects it, and a free governmenttolerates a law that shields iniquities blackening earth. " In thistrain of thought his mind wandered. He would send the children intoa free state, there to be educated; that they may live in theenjoyment of those rights with which nature had blest them. Theobstacles of the law again stared him in the face; the wrong bywhich they were first enslaved, now forgotten, had brought itsclimax. 

Suddenly arousing from his reverie, he started to his feet, andwalking across the floor, exclaimed in an audible voice, "I willsurmount all difficulties, --I will recognise them as my children; Iwill send them where they may become ornaments of society, insteadof living in shame and licentiousness. This is my resolve, and Iwill carry it out, or die!"

CHAPTER VIII. 

A CLOUD OF MISFORTUNE HANGS OVER THE PLANTATION. 

THE document Marston signed for Lorenzo-to release him from thedifficulties into which he had been drawn by Graspum-guaranteed theholder against all loss. This, in the absence of Lorenzo, and undersuch stranger circumstances, implied an amount which might beincreased according to the will of the man into whose hands he hadso unfortunately fallen. 

Nearly twelve months had now elapsed since the disclosure of thecrime. Maxwell, our young Englishman, had spent the time among theneighbouring plantations; and failing to enlist more than friendlyconsiderations from Franconia, resolved to return to Bermuda andjoin his family. He had, however, taken a deep interest in Clotildaand Annette, --had gone to their apartment unobserved, and in secretinterviews listened to Clotilda's tale of trouble. Its recitalenlisted his sympathies; and being of an ardent and impressibletemper, he determined to carry out a design for her relief. Herealised her silent suffering, --saw how her degraded conditionwrangled with her noble feelings, --how the true character of a womanloathed at being the slave of one who claimed her as his property. And this, too, without the hope of redeeming herself, except by somedesperate effort. And, too, he saw but little difference between theblood of Franconia and the blood of Clotilda; the same outline ofperson was there, --her delicate countenance, finely moulded bust, smoothly converging shoulders. There was the same Grecian cast offace, the same soft, reflective eyes, --filling a smile withsweetness, and again with deep-felt sorrow. The same sensitivenature, ready to yield forth love and tenderness, or to press onwardthe more impassioned affections, was visible in both. And yet, whatart had done for Franconia nature had replenished for Clotilda. But, the servile hand was upon her, she crouched beneath its grasp; itbranded her life, and that of her child, with ignominy and death. 

During these interviews he would watch her emotions as she lookedupon her child; when she would clasp it to her bosom, weeping, untilfrom the slightest emotion her feelings would become frantic withanguish. 

"And you, my child, a mother's hope when all other pleasures aregone! Are you some day to be torn from me, and, like myself, sent towrithe under the coarse hand of a slave-dealer, to be stung withshame enforced while asking God's forgiveness? Sometimes I think itcannot be so; I think it must all be a dream. But it is so, and wemight as well submit, say as little of the hardship as possible, andthink it's all as they tell us-according to God's will, " she wouldsay, pressing the child closer and closer to her bosom, theagitation of her feelings rising into convulsions as the tearscoursed down her cheeks. Then she would roll her soft eyes upwards, her countenance filling with despair. The preservation of her childwas pictured in the depth of her imploring look. For a time heremotions would recede into quiet, --she would smile placidly uponAnnette, forget the realities that had just swept her mind into sucha train of trouble. 

One night, as Maxwell entered her apartment, he found her kneelingat her bed-side, supplicating in prayer. The word, "Oh, God; not me, but my child-guide her through the perils that are before her, andreceive her into heaven at last, " fell upon his ear. He paused, gazed upon her as if some angel spirit had touched the tenderestchord of his feelings-listened unmoved. A lovely woman, anaffectionate mother, the offspring of a noble race, --herself forcedby relentless injustice to become an instrument oflicentiousness-stood before him in all that can make woman anornament to her sex. What to Ellen Juvarna seemed the happiness ofher lot, was pain and remorse to Clotilda; and when she arose therewas a nervousness, a shrinking in her manner, betokeningapprehension. "It is not now; it is hereafter. And yet there is noglimmer of hope!" she whispers, as she seats herself in a chair, pulls the little curtain around the bed, and prepares to retire. 

The scene so worked upon Maxwell's feelings that he could withstandthe effect no longer; he approached her, held out his hand, greetedher with a smile: "Clotilda, I am your friend, " he whispers, "come, sit down and tell me what troubles you!"

"If what I say be told in confidence?" she replied, as ifquestioning his advance. 

"You may trust me with any secret; I am ready to serve you, if it bewith my life!"

Clasping her arms round her child, again she wept in silence. Themoment was propitious--the summer sun had just set beneath darkfoliage in the west, its refulgent curtains now fading into mellowtints; night was closing rapidly over the scene, the serene moonshone softly through the arbour into the little window at herbedside. Again she took him by the hand, invited him to sit down ather side, and, looking imploringly in his face, continued, --"If youare a friend, you can be a friend in confidence, in purpose. I am aslave! yes, a slave; there is much in the word, more than most menare disposed to analyse. It may seem simple to you, but follow it toits degraded depths-follow it to where it sows the seeds of sorrow, and there you will find it spreading poison and death, uprooting allthat is good in nature. Worse than that, my child is a slave too. Itis that which makes the wrong more cruel, that mantles the polishedvice, that holds us in that fearful grasp by which we dare not seekour rights. 

"My mother, ah! yes, my mother"-Clotilda shakes her head in sorrow. "How strange that, by her misfortune, all, all, is misfortune forever! from one generation to another, sinking each life down, down, down, into misery and woe. How oft she clasped my hand and whisperedin my ear: 'If we could but have our rights. ' And she, my mother, --asby that sacred name I called her-was fair; fairer than those whoheld her for a hideous purpose, made her existence loathsome toherself, who knew the right but forced the wrong. She once hadrights, but was stripped of them; and once in slavery who can askthat right be done?"

"What rights have you beyond these?" he interrupted, suddenly. "There is mystery in what you have said, in what I have seen;something I want to solve. The same ardent devotion, tenderness, affection, --the same touching chasteness, that characterisesFranconia, assimilates in you. You are a slave, a menial-she iscourted and caressed by persons of rank and station. Heavens! hereis the curse confounding the flesh and blood of those in highplaces, making slaves of their own kinsmen, crushing out the spiritof life, rearing up those broken flowers whose heads droop withshame. And you want your freedom?"

"For my child first, " she replied, quickly: "I rest my hopes of herin the future. "

Maxwell hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating some plan forher escape, ran his fingers through his hair again and again, thenrested his forehead in his hand, as the perspiration stood in heavydrops upon it. "My child!" There was something inexpressiblytouching in the words of a mother ready to sacrifice her ownhappiness for the freedom of her child. And yet an awfulresponsibility hung over him; should he attempt to gain theirfreedom, and fail in carrying out the project, notwithstanding hewas in a free country, the act might cost him his life. But therewas the mother, her pride beaming forth in every action, a woundedspirit stung with the knowledge of being a slave, the remorse of hersuffering soul-the vicissitudes of that sin thus forced upon her. The temptation became irresistible. 

"You are English!"-northerners and Englishmen know what liberty is. 

Negroes at the South have a very high opinion of Northern clevernessin devising means of procuring their liberty. The Author here usesthe language employed by a slave girl who frequently implored aid todevise some plan by which she would be enabled to make her escape. Northerners could do great things for us, if they would but know usas we are, study our feelings, cast aside selfish motives, andsustain our rights!" Clotilda now commenced giving Maxwell a historyof her mother, --which, however, we must reserve for another chapter. "And my mother gave me this!" she said, drawing from her pocket apaper written over in Greek characters, but so defaced as to bealmost unintelligible. "Some day you will find a friend who willsecure your freedom through that, " she would say. "But freedom-thatwhich is such a boon to us-is so much feared by others that you mustmark that friend cautiously, know him well, and be sure he will notbetray the liberty you attempt to gain. " And she handed him thedefaced paper, telling him to put it in his pocket. 

"And where is your mother?"

"There would be a store of balm in that, if I did but know. Herbeauty doomed her to a creature life, which, when she had worn out, she was sold, as I may be, God knows how soon. Though far away fromme, she is my mother still, in all that recollection can make her;her countenance seems like a wreath decorating our pastassociations. Shrink not when I tell it, for few shrink at suchthings now, --I saw her chained; I didn't think much of it then, for Iwas too young. And she took me in her arms and kissed me, the tearsrolled down her cheeks; and she said-'Clotilda, Clotilda, farewell!There is a world beyond this, a God who knows our hearts, whorecords our sorrows;' and her image impressed me with feelings Icannot banish. To look back upon it seems like a rough pilgrimage;and then when I think of seeing her again my mind gets lost inhopeless expectations"--

"You saw her chained?" interrupted Maxwell. 

"Yes, even chained with strong irons. It need not surprise you. Slavery is a crime; and they chain the innocent lest the wrongshould break forth upon themselves. " And she raised her hands to herface, shook her head, and laid Annette in the little bed at the footof her own. 

What is it that in chaining a woman, whether she be black as ebonyor white as snow, degrades all the traits of the southerner'scharacter, which he would have the world think noble? It is fear!The monster which the southerner sees by day, tolerates in hissilence, protects as part and parcel of a legal trade, only clotheshim with the disgrace that menials who make themselves mere fiendsare guilty of, Maxwell thought to himself. 

"I will set you free, if it cost my life!" he exclaimed. 

"Hush, hush!" rejoined Clotilda: "remember those wretches on theplantation. They, through their ignorance, have learned to wield thetyranny of petty power; they look upon us with suspicious eyes. Theyknow we are negroes (white negroes, who are despicable in theireyes), and feeling that we are more favoured, their envy is excited. They, with the hope of gaining favour, are first to disclose asecret. Save my child first, and then save me"--

"I will save you first; rest assured, I will save you;" heresponded, shaking her hand, bidding her good night. On returning tothe mansion he found Marston seated at the table in thedrawing-room, in a meditative mood. Good night, my friend!" heaccosted him. 

"Ah, good night!" was the sudden response. 

"You seem cast down?"

"No!-all's not as it seems with a man in trouble. How misfortunequickens our sense of right! O! how it unfolds political and moralwrongs! how it purges the understanding, and turns the good of ournatures to thoughts of justice. But when the power to correct isbeyond our reach we feel the wrong most painfully, " Marston coldlyreplied. 

"It never is too late to do good; my word for it, friend Marston, good is always worth its services. I am young and may serve you yet;rise above trouble, never let trifles trouble a man like you. Theworld seems wagging pleasantly for you; everybody on the plantationis happy; Lorenzo has gone into the world to distinguish himself;grief should never lay its scalpel in your feelings. Remember themotto-peace, pleasantry, and plenty; they are things which shouldalways dispel the foreshadowing of unhappiness, " says Maxwell, jocularly, taking a chair at Marston's request, and seating himselfby the table. 

Marston declares such consolation to be refreshing, but too easilyconceived to effect his purpose. The ripest fruits of vice oftenproduce the best moral reflections: he feels convinced of thistruth; but here the consequences are entailed upon others. Thedegradation is sunk too deep for recovery by him, --his reflectionsare only a burden to him. The principle that moves him to atone iscrushed by the very perplexity of the law that compels him to dowrong. "There's what goads me, " he says: "it is the system, theforced condition making one man merchandise, and giving anotherpower to continue him as such. " He arises from the table, his faceflushed with excitement, and in silence paces the room to and frofor several minutes. Every now and then he watches at thewindow, --looks out towards the river, and again at the pine-woodsforming a belt in the background, as if he expected some one fromthat direction. The serene scene without, calm and beautiful, contrasting with the perplexity that surrounded him within, brought the reality of the change which must soon take place in hisaffairs more vividly to his mind. 

"Your feelings have been stimulated and modified by education; theyare keenly sensitive to right, --to justice between man and man. Thoseare the beautiful results of early instruction. New Englandeducation! It founds a principle for doing good; it needs nocontingencies to rouse it to action. You can view slavery with theunprejudiced eye of a philosopher. Listen to what I am about to say:but a few months have passed since I thought myself a man ofaffluence, and now nothing but the inroads of penury are upon me. The cholera (that scourge of a southern plantation) is againsweeping the district: I cannot expect to escape it, and I am in thehands of a greater scourge than the cholera, --a slow death-broker. Hewill take from you that which the cholera would not deign to touch:he has no more conscience than a cotton-press, " says Marston, reclining back in his chair, and calling the negro waiter. 

The word conscience fell upon Maxwell's ear with strange effect. Hehad esteemed Marston according to his habits-not a good test whensociety is so remiss of its duties: he could not reconcile the touchof conscience in such a person, nor could he realise the impulsethrough which some sudden event was working a moral regeneration inhis mind. There was something he struggled to keep from notice. Theseason had been unpropitious, bad crops had resulted; the choleramade its appearance, swept off many of the best negroes, spreadconsternation, nearly suspended discipline and labour. One by onehis negroes fell victims to its ravages, until it becameimperatively necessary to remove the remainder to the pine-woods. 

Families might be seen here and there making their littlepreparations to leave for the hills: the direful scourge to them wasan evil spirit, sent as a visitation upon their bad deeds. This theysincerely believe, coupling it with all the superstition theirignorance gives rise to. A few miles from the mansion, among thepines, rude camps are spread out, fires burn to absorb the malaria, to war against mosquitoes, to cook the evening meal; while, uplonely paths, ragged and forlorn-looking negroes are quietlywending their way to take possession. The stranger might view thisforest bivouac as a picture of humble life pleasantly domiciled; butit is one of those unfortunate scenes, fruitful of evil, which besetthe planter when he is least able to contend against them. Suchevents develope the sin of an unrighteous institution, bring itssupporters to the portals of poverty, consign harmless hundreds tothe slave-marts. 

In this instance, however, we must give Marston credit for all thatwas good in his intentions, and separate him from the system. Repentance, however produced, is valuable for its example, and iftoo late for present utility, seldom fails to have an ultimateinfluence. Thus it was with Marston; and now that all theseinevitable disasters were upon him, he resolved to be a father toAnnette and Nicholas, --those unfortunates whom law and custom hadhitherto compelled him to disown. 

Drawing his chair close to Maxwell, he lighted a cigar, and resumedthe disclosure his feelings had apparently interrupted a few minutesbefore. "Now, my good friend, all these things are upon me; there isno escaping the issue. My people will soon be separated from me; myold, faithful servants, Bob and Harry, will regret me, and if theyfall into the hands of a knave, will die thinking of the oldplantation. As for Harry, I have made him a preacher, --his knowledgeis wonderfully up on Scripture; he has demonstrated to me thatniggers are more than mortal, or transitory things. My consciencewas touched while listening to one of his sermons; and then, tothink how I had leased him to preach upon a neighbouring plantation, just as a man would an ox to do a day's work! Planters paid me somuch per sermon, as if the gospel were merchandise, and he a merething falsifying all my arguments against his knowledge of the Wordof God. Well, it makes me feel as if I were half buried in my owndegradation and blindness. And then, again, they are our property, and are bestowed upon us by a legal-"

"If that be wrong, " interrupted Maxwell, "you have no excuse forcontinuing it. "

"True! That's just what I was coming at. The evil in its broadestexpanse is there. We look calmly on the external objects of thesystem without solving its internal grievances, --we build a rightupon the ruins of ancient wrongs, and we swathe our thoughts withinconsistency that we may make the curse of a system invulnerable. It is not that we cannot do good under a bad system, but that wecannot ameliorate it, lest we weaken the foundation. And yet allthis seems as nothing when I recall a sin of greater magnitude-a sinthat is upon me-a hideous blot, goading my very soul, rising upagainst me like a mountain, over which I can see no pass. Again theimpelling force of conscience incites me to make a desperate effort;but conscience rebukes me for not preparing the way in time. I couldtranslate my feelings further, but, in doing so, the remedy seemsstill further from me-"

"Is it ever too late to try a remedy-to make an effort to surmountgreat impediments-to render justice to those who have suffered fromsuch acts?" inquired Maxwell, interrupting Marston as he proceeded. 

"If I could do it without sacrificing my honour, without exposingmyself to the vengeance of the law. We are great sticklers forconstitutional law, while we care little for constitutional justice. There is Clotilda; you see her, but you don't know her history: ifit were told it would resound through the broad expanse of our land. Yes, it would disclose a wrong, perpetrated under the smiles ofliberty, against which the vengeance of high Heaven would beinvoked. I know the secret, and yet I dare not disclose it; thecurse handed down from her forefathers has been perpetuated by me. She seems happy, and yet she is unhappy; the secret recesses of hersoul are poisoned. And what more natural? for, by some unluckyincident, she has got an inkling of the foul means by which she wasmade a slave. To him who knows the right, the wrong is most painful;but I bought her of him whose trade it was to sell such flesh andblood! And yet that does not relieve me from the curse: there's thestain; it hangs upon me, it involves my inclinations, it gloats overmy downfall-"

"You bought her!" again interrupts Maxwell. 

"True, " rejoins the other, quickly, "'tis a trade well protected byour democracy. Once bought, we cannot relieve ourselves by givingthem rights in conflict with the claims of creditors. Our will maybe good, but the will without the means falls hopeless. My heartbreaks under the knowledge that those children are mine. It is a sadrevelation to make, --sad in the eyes of heaven and earth. Myparticipation in wrong has proved sorrow to them: how can I look tothe pains and struggles they must endure in life, when stung withthe knowledge that I am the cause of it? I shall wither under thetorture of my own conscience. And there is even an interest aboutthem that makes my feelings bound joyfully when I recur them. Can itbe aught but the fruit of natural affection? I think not; and yet Iam compelled to disown them, and even to smother with falsehood therancour that might find a place in Franconia's bosom. Clotilda lovesAnnette with a mother's fondness; but with all her fondness for herchild she dare not love me, nor I the child. "

Maxwell suggests that his not having bought the child wouldcertainly give him the right to control his own flesh and blood: buthe knows little of slave law, and less of its customs. He, however, was anxious to draw from Marston full particulars of the secret thatwould disclose Clotilda's history, over which the partial expositionhad thrown the charm of mystery. Several times he was on the eve ofproffering his services to relieve the burden working upon Marston'smind; but his sympathies were enlisted toward the two unfortunatewomen, for whom he was ready to render good service, to relieve themand their children. Again, he remembered how singularly sensitiveSoutherners were on matters concerning the peculiar institution, especially when approached by persons from abroad. Perhaps it was aplot laid by Marston to ascertain his feelings on the subject, or, under that peculiar jealousy of Southerners who live in this manner, he might have discovered his interview with Clotilda, and, informing a plan to thwart his project, adopted this singular coursefor disarming apprehensions. 

At this stage of the proceedings a whispering noise was heard, as ifcoming from another part of the room. They stopped at the moment, looked round with surprise, but not seeing anything, resumed theconversation. 

"Of whom did you purchase?" inquired Maxwell, anxiously. 

"One Silenus; a trader who trades in this quality of property only, and has become rich by the traffic. He is associated with AnthonyRomescos, once a desperado on the Texan frontier. These two coveyswould sell their mossmates without a scruple, and think it no harmso long as they turned a dime. They know every justice of the peacefrom Texas to Fort M'Henry. Romescos is turned the desperado again, shoots, kills, and otherwise commits fell deeds upon his neighbour'snegroes; he even threatens them with death when they approach himfor reparation. He snaps his fingers at law, lawyers, and judges:slave law is moonshine to those who have no rights in common law-"

"And he escapes? Then you institute laws, and substitute custom tomake them null. It is a poor apology for a namesake. But do youassert that in the freest and happiest country-a country that boaststhe observance of its statute laws-a man is privileged to shoot, maim, and torture a fellow-being, and that public opinion fails tobring him to justice?" ejaculated Maxwell. 

"Yes, " returns Marston, seriously; "it is no less shameful thantrue. Three of my negroes has he killed very good-naturedly, and yetI have no proof to convict him. Even were I to seek redress, itwould be against that prejudice which makes the rights of theenslaved unpopular. "

The trouble exists in making the man merchandise, reducing him to anabject being, without the protection of common law. Presently thetears began to flow down Marston's cheeks, as he unbuttoned hisshirt-collar with an air of restlessness, approached a desk thatstood in one corner of the room, and drew from it a somewhat defacedbill of sale. There was something connected with that bit of paper, which, apart from anything else, seemed to harass him most. "But aminute before you entered I looked upon that paper, " he spoke, throwing it upon the table, "and thought how much trouble it hadbrought me, how through it I had left a curse upon innocent life. Ipaid fifteen hundred dollars for the souls and bodies of those twowomen, creatures of sense, delicacy, and tenderness. But I am not abad man, after all. No, there are worse men than me in the world. "

"Gather, gather, ye incubus of misfortune, bearing to me the lightof heaven, with which to see my sins. May it come to turn my heartin the right way, to seek its retribution on the wrong!" Thusconcluding, Marston covers his face in his hands, and for severalminutes weeps like a child. Again rising from his seat, he throwsthe paper on a table near an open window, and himself upon a couchnear by. 

Maxwell attempts to quiet him by drawing his attention from thesubject. There is little use, however, --it is a terribleconflict, --the conflict of conscience awakening to a sense of itserrors; the fate of regrets when it is too late to make amends. 

While this was going on, a brawny hand reached into the window, andquickly withdrew the paper from the table. Neither observed it. 

And at the moment, Marston ejaculated, "I will! I will! let it costwhat it may. I will do justice to Clotilda and her child, --to Ellenand her child; I will free them, send them into a free country to beeducated. " In his excitement he forgot the bill of sale. 

"Like enough you will!" responds a gruff voice; and a loud rap atthe hall-door followed. Dandy was summoned, opened the door, bowedRomescos into the room. He pretends to be under the influence ofliquor, which he hopes will excuse his extraordinary familiarity atsuch a late hour. Touching the hilt of his knife, he swaggers intothe presence of Marston, looks at him fixedly, impertinently demandssomething to drink. He cares not what it be, waits for no ceremony, tips the decanter, gulps his glass, and deliberately takes a seat. 

The reader will perhaps detect the object of his presence; but, beyond that, there is something deep and desperate in the appearanceof the man, rendering his familiarity exceedingly disagreeable. Thathe should present himself at such an untimely hour was strange, beyond Marston's comprehension. It was, indeed, most inopportune;but knowing him, he feared him. He could not treat him withindifference, --there was his connection with Graspum, his power overthe poor servile whites; he must be courteous-so, summoning hissuavity, he orders Dandy to wait upon him. 

Romescos amuses himself with sundry rude expressions about theetiquette of gentlemen, --their rights and associations, --the gloriousfreedom of a glorious land. Not heeding Dandy's attention, he fillsanother glass copiously, twirls it upon the table, eyes Marston, andthen Maxwell, playfully-drinks his beverage with the air of onequite at home. 

"Marston, old feller, " he says, winking at Maxwell, "things don'tjibe so straight as they use't-do they? I wants a stave o'conversation on matters o' business with ye to-morrow. It's a smartlittle property arrangement; but I ain't in the right fix just now;I can't make the marks straight so we can understand two and two. Yetake, don't ye? Somethin' touching a genteel business with your fastyoung nephew, Lorenzo. Caution to the wise. " Romescos, makingseveral vain attempts, rises, laughing with a half-independent air, puts his slouch hat on his head, staggers to the door, makes passesat Dandy, who waits his egress, and bidding them good night, disappears. 

CHAPTER IX. 

WHO IS SAFE AGAINST THE POWER?

THE cholera raging on Marston's plantation, had excited Graspum'sfears. His pecuniary interests were above every otherconsideration-he knew no higher object than the accumulation ofwealth; and to ascertain the precise nature and extent of the maladyhe had sent Romescos to reconnoitre. 

Returning to the long-room at Graspum's slave-pen, we must introducethe reader to scenes which take place on the night following thatupon which Romescos secured the bill of sale at Marston's mansion. 

Around the table we have before described sit Graspum and some dozenof his clan. Conspicuous among them is Dan Bengal, and Nath Nimrod, whom we described as running into the room unceremoniously, holdingby the hair the head of a negro, and exulting over it as a prize ofmuch value. They are relating their adventures, speculating over theprospects of trade, comparing notes on the result of making freetrash human property worth something! They all manifest the happiestof feelings, have a language of their own, converse freely; at timessprinkle their conversation with pointed oaths. They are conversantwith the business affairs of every planter in the State, know hisliabilities, the condition of his negroes, his hard cases, his badcases, his runaways, and his prime property. Their dilations on thedevelopment of wenches, shades of colour, qualities of stock suitedto the various markets-from Richmond to New Orleans-disclose asingular foresight into the article of poor human nature. 

"There's nothing like pushing our kind of business, specially whinye gits it where ye can push profitably, " speaks Bengal, his fieryred eyes glaring over the table as he droops his head sluggishly, and, sipping his whiskey, lets it drip over his beard upon hisbosom; "if 't warn't for Anthony's cunnin' we'd have a pesky deal ofcrooked law to stumble through afore we'd get them rich uns upset. "

My reader must know that southern law and justice for the poorsuccumb to popular feeling in all slave atmospheres; and happy isthe fellow who can work his way through slavedom without beingdependent upon the one or brought under the influence of the other. 

Graspum, in reply to Bengal, feels that gentlemen in the "niggerbusiness" should respect themselves. He well knows there exists notthe best feeling in the world between them and the more exclusivearistocracy, whose feelings must inevitably be modified to suit thedemocratic spirit of the age. He himself enjoys that most refinedsociety, which he asserts to be strong proof of the manner in whichdemocracy is working its way to distinction. Our business, he says, hath so many avenues that it has become positively necessary thatsome of them should be guarded by men of honour, dignity, andirreproachable conduct. Now, he has sent Anthony Romescos to do somewatching on the sly, at Marston's plantation; but there is nothingdishonourable in that, inasmuch as the victim is safe in his claws. Contented with these considerations, Graspum puffs his cigar verycomposedly. From slave nature, slave-seeking adventures, and theintricacies of the human-property-market, they turn to thediscussion of state rights, of freedom in its broadest and mostpractical sense. And, upon the principle of the greatest despotbeing foremost to discuss what really constitutes freedom, which, however, he always argues in an abstract sense, Nimrod was loudestand most lavish in his praises of a protective government--agovernment that would grant great good justice to the white manonly. It matters little to Nimrod which is the greater nigger; hebelieves in the straight principles of right in the white man. It isnot so much how justice is carried out when menial beings form aglorious merchandise; but it is the true essence of liberty, givingmen power to keep society all straight, to practice liberty veryliberally. "Ye see, now, Graspum, " he quaintly remarks, as he takesup the candle to light his cigar, "whatever ye do is right, so longas the law gives a feller a right to do it. 'Tisn't a bit o' use tothink how a man can be too nice in his feelings when a hundred ortwo's to be made on nigger property what's delicate, t'aint! Afeller feels sore once in a while, a' cos his conscience is a littletouchy now and then; but it won't do to give way to it-consciencedon't bring cash. When ye launches out in the nigger-tradingbusiness ye must feel vengeance agin the brutes, and think how it'sonly trade; how it's perfectly legal-and how it's encouraged by theGovernor's proclamations. Human natur's human natur'; and when yecan turn a penny at it, sink all the in'ard inclinations. Just letthe shiners slide in, it don't matter a tenpence where ye got 'em. Trade's everything! you might as well talk about patriotism amongcrowned heads, --about the chivalry of commerce: cash makesconsequence, and them's what makes gentlemen, south. "

They welcome the spirits, although it has already made themsoulless. The negro listens to a dialogue of singular import tohimself; his eyes glistened with interest, as one by one theysported over the ignorance enforced upon the weak. One by one theythrew their slouch hats upon the floor, drew closer in conclave, forming a grotesque picture of fiendish faces. "Now, gentlemen, "Graspum deigns to say, after a moment's pause, motioning to thedecanter, "pass it along round when ye gets a turn about. " He fillshis glass and drinks, as if drink were a necessary accompaniment ofthe project before them. "This case of Marston's is a regularplumper; there's a spec to be made in that stock of stuff; and thembright bits of his own-they look like him-'ll make right smartfancy. Ther' developing just in the right sort of way to be valuablefor market. "

"There's movin' o' the shrewdest kind to be done there, Graspum!Where's the dockerment what 'll make 'um property, eh?" interruptedNimrod, twisting the hair with which his face is covered intofantastic points. 

"Oh, my good fellows, public opinion's the dockerment; with thebright side of public opinion! Public opinion whispers aboutClotilda: it says she looks so much like that niece of Marston's, that you couldn't tell them apart. And they are like two pins, gentlemen; but then one's property and t'other's anything butproperty. One will bring something substantial in the market: Iwouldn't say much about the other. But there's pride in the wholefamily, and where it's got into the niggers it's worth a few extradollars. The Marstons and Roveros don't think much of we dealerswhen they don't want our money; but when they do we are cousins ofthe right stripe. However, these ere little aristocratic notionsdon't mount to much; they are bin generous blood-mixers, and nowthey may wince over it-"

Graspum is interrupted again. Bengal has been analysing his logic, and rises to dispute the logic of his arguments. He is ready tostake his political faith, and all his common sense-of which henever fails to boast-that mixing the blood of the two races destroysthe purity of the nigger, spiles the gauge of the market, detractsfrom real plantation property, and will just upset the growin' ofyoung niggers. He is sure he knows just as much about the thing asanybody else, has never missed his guess, although folks say he aintno way clever at selection; and, rubbing his eyes after adjustingthe long black hair that hangs down over his shoulders, he folds hisarms with an independent air, and waits the rejoinder. 

The dingy room breathes thick of deleterious fumes; a gloom hangsover their meditations, deep and treacherous: it excites fear, notof the men, but of the horrors of their trade. A dim light hangssuspended from the ceiling: even the sickly shade contrastsstrangely with their black purpose. 

"Variety of shade, my dear Bengal, is none of our business. If youmake a division you destroy the property and the principle. We don'trepresent the South: if we did, my stars! how the abolitionistswould start up, --eh! Now, there's a right smart chance of bigaristocrat folks in the district, and they think something of theirniggers, and some are fools enough to think niggers have souls justas white as we. That's where the thing don't strike our moralsalike. It's all right to let such folks represent us-that it is! Ittells down north. "

"I goes in for that! It puts a polished face on the brown side ofthings. That's the way I puts it on when I gets among the big 'unson 'Change. I talks to one, shakes hands with another, touches myhat to the president of the bank; and then them what don't knowthinks how I do a little in the taking a corner of notes line!" "Inthe same sly way that directors of banks do, " interrupts a voice, sullenly and slow. It was long Joe Morphet, the constable's sponge, who did a little in the line of nigger trailing, and now and thenacted as a contingent of Graspum. Joe had, silently and with greatattention, listened to their consultations, expecting to get a hookon at some point where his services would play at a profit; but itall seemed beyond his comprehension-amounted to nothing. 

"There's something in Joe, gentlemen! But our genteelest folks don'talway do the genteelest things, arter all. Right-right! Joe'sright!" Graspum has suddenly comprehended Joe's logic, and brightensup with the possession of a new idea, that at first was inclined toget crosswise in his mind, which he has drilled in the minor detailsof human nature rather than the political dignity of the state. Joe's ideas are ranging over the necessity of keeping up a goodoutside for the state; Graspum thinks only of keeping up the dignityof himself. "Well, give in, fellers; Joe's right clever. He's gothead enough to get into Congress, and if polished up wouldn't makethe worst feller that ever was sent: he wouldn't, to my certainknowledge. Joe's clever! What great men do with impunity little menhave no scruples in following; what the state tolerates, knaves mayplay upon to their own advantage. To keep up the dignity of a slavestate, slave dealers must keep up dignity among themselves: the onecannot live without the other. They must affect, and the state mustput on, the dignity; and northerners what aint gentlemen must betaught to know that they aint gentlemen. " This is the conclusion towhich Graspum has arrived on the maturest reflection of a fewminutes: it conforms with the opinion and dignity ofslaveocracy-must be right, else the glorious Union, with thefree-thinking north unfortunately attached, could never bepreserved. It's the nut of a glorious compact which the south onlymust crack, and will crack. Graspum apologised for the thing havingescaped his memory so long. He remembered that southerners left nostone unturned that could serve the policy of concentrating slavepower; and he remembered that it was equally necessary to keep aneye to the feeling abroad. There were in America none but southernnobles, --no affable gentlemen who could do the grace of politecircles except themselves, --none who, through their bland manners, could do more to repel the awful descriptions given of southernsociety, nor who could not make strangers believe slaves were happymortals, happily created to live in all the happiness of slave life. "There's nothing like putting our learned folks ahead-they'repolished down for the purpose, you see-and letting them represent uswhen abroad; they puts a different sort of shine on things what ourinstitution makes profitable. They don't always set good examples athome, but we can't control their tastes on small matters of thatkind: and then, what a valuable offset it is, just to have the powerof doing the free and easy gentleman, to be the brilliant companion, to put on the smooth when you go among nobility what don'tunderstand the thing!" Graspum adds, with a cunning wink. 

"Pooh! pooh! such talk don't jingle. You can't separate ouraristocracy from mistress-keeping. It's a matter of romance withthem, --a matter of romance, gentlemen, that's all. The south couldn'tlive without romance, she couldn't!" adds Nimrod, stretching back inhis chair. 

"And where did you get that broad idea from, Jakey? I kind o' likesthat sort of philosophy, " adds another. 

"Philosophy! I reckon how there is deep and strong philosophy inthat ar; but ye can't calc'late much on't when ye haint talents tobring it out. That point where the soul comes in is a puzzler onYankees; but it takes our editors and parsons to put the argumentswhere the Yankees can't demolish them. Read the Richmond--, mygrandmother of the day, if ye want to see the philosophy of niggers, and their souls. That editor is a philosopher; the world's got tolearn his philosophy. Just take that preacher from New Jersey, whatpreaches in All Saints; if he don't prove niggers aint no souls I'ma Dutchman, and dead at that! He gives 'em broadside logic, gentlemen; and if he hadn't been raised north he wouldn't bin so upon niggers when he cum south, " was the quick rejoinder of ourknowing expounder, who, looking Graspum in the face, demanded toknow if he was not correct. Graspum thinks it better to waste nomore time in words, but to get at the particular piece of businessfor which they have been called together. He is a man of money, --aman of trade, ever willing to admit the philosophy of theman-market, but don't see the difference of honour between thearistocrat who sells his bits in the market, and the honourabledealer who gets but a commission for selling them. And there'ssomething about the parson who, forgetting the sanctity of hiscalling, sanctifies everything pertaining to slavery. Conscience, headmits, is a wonderful thing fixed somewhere about the heart, and, in spite of all he can do, will trouble it once in a while. Marston-poor Marston!-he declares to be foolishly troubled with it, and it makes him commit grievous errors. And then, there's nounderstandin' it, because Marston has a funny way of keeping itunder such a knotty-looking exterior. Graspum declares he hadnothing to do with the breaking out of the cholera, is very sorryfor it, --only wants his own, just like any other honest man. He kindo' likes Marston, admits he is a sort of good fellow in his way;mighty careless though, wouldn't cheat anybody if he knew it, andnever gave half a minute's thinking about how uncertain the worldwas. But the cholera-a dire disease among niggers-has broke out inall the fury of its ravages; and it makes him think of his sickniggers and paying his debts. "You see, gentlemen-we are allgentlemen here, " Graspum continues, --"a man must pay the penalty ofhis folly once in a while. It's the fate of great men as well assmaller ones; all are liable to it. That isn't the thing, though; itdon't do to be chicken-hearted afore niggers, nor when yer dealingin niggers, nor in any kind o' business what ye want to make coinat. Marston 'll stick on that point, he will; see if he don't. Hisfeelins' are troubling him: he knows I've got the assignment; and ifhe don't put them ar' white 'uns of his in the schedule, I'll snaphim up for fraud, --I will-"

The conversation is here interrupted by a loud rap at the door, which is opened by the negro, who stands with his finger on thelatch. Romescos, in his slovenly garb, presents himself with an airof self-assurance that marks the result of his enterprise. He is aprominent feature in all Graspum's great operations; he is desperatein serving his interests. Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket-itis printed with the stars and stripes of freedom-he calls it a NewEngland rag, disdainfully denounces that area of unbelievers inslaveocracy, wipes his blistered face with it, advances to thetable-every eye intently watching him-and pauses for breath. 

"What success, Anthony? Tell us quickly, " Graspum demands, extendinghis hand nervously. "Anthony never fails! It's a fool who fails inour business, " was the reply, delivered with great unconcern, andresponded to with unanimous applause. A warrior returned fromvictory was Anthony, --a victory of villainy recorded in heaven, wherethe rewards will, at some day, be measured out with a just but awfulretribution. 

The bosom of his shirt lays broadly open: one by one they shake hishand, as he hastily unties the chequered cloth about his neck, poursout his drink of whiskey, seats himself in a chair, and deliberatelyplaces his feet upon the table. "Ther's nothin' like making atriangle of oneself when ye wants to feel so ye can blowcomfortable, " he says. "I done nothin' shorter than put all straightat Marston's last night. It was science, ye see, gents; and I doneit up strictly according to science. A feller what aint cunnin', anddon't know the nice work o' the law, can't do nothin' in the way o'science. It's just as you said"-addressing his remarks to Graspum, --"Marston's slackin' out his conscience because he sees how thingsare goin' down hill with him. If that old hoss cholera don't claroff the nigger property, I'm no prophet. It'll carry 'em into glory;and glory, I reckon, isn't what you calls good pay, eh, Graspum? Ioverheard his intentions: he sees the black page before him; ittroubles the chicken part of his heart. Feels mighty meek and gentleall at once; and, it's no lie, he begins to see sin in what he hasdone; and to make repentance good he's goin' to shove off that nabobstock of his, so the creditors can't lay paws upon it. Ye got tospring; Marston 'll get ahead of ye if he don't, old feller. Thischild 'll show him how he can't cum some o' them things while SquireHobble and I'm on hand. " Thus quaintly he speaks, pulling the billof sale from a side-pocket, throwing it upon the table with an airof satisfaction amounting to exultation. "Take that ar; put it whereye can put yer finger on't when the 'mergency comes. " And he smilesto see how gratefully and anxiously Graspum receives it, reviews it, re-reviews it, --how it excites the joy of his nature. He has no soulbeyond the love of gold, and the system of his bloody trade. It wasthat fatal instrument, great in the atmosphere of ungrateful law, bending some of nature's noblest beneath its seal of crimes. "It'sfrom Silenus to Marston; rather old, but just the thing! Ah, you'rea valuable fellow, Anthony. " Mr. Graspum manifests his approbationby certain smiles, grimaces, and shakes of the hand, while word byword he reads it, as if eagerly relishing its worth. "It's a littlething for a great purpose; it'll tell a tale in its time;" and heputs the precious scrip safely in his pocket, and rubbing his handstogether, declares "that deserves a bumper!" They fill up atGraspum's request, drink with social cheers, followed by a song fromNimrod, who pitches his tune to the words, "Come, landlord, fill theflowing bowl. "

Nimrod finishes his song: Romescos takes the floor to tell a storyabout the old judge what hung the nigger a'cos he didn't want tospend his patience listening to the testimony, and adjourned thecourt to go and take a drink at Sal Stiles's grocery. Hisdescription of the court, its high jurisdiction, the dignity of thesquire what sits as judge, how he drinks the threejurymen-freeholders-what are going to try a nigger, how they goesout and takes three drinks when the case gets about half waythrough, how the nigger winks and blinks when he sees the jurydrunk, and hears the judge say there's only two things he likes tohang, --niggers and schoolmasters. But as it's no harm to killschoolmasters-speaking in a southern sense-so Romescos thinks thesquire who got the jury inebriated afore he sent the "nigger" to behung doesn't mean the least harm when he evinces an abhorrence tothe whole clan of schoolmaster trash. He turns to the old story ofdoing everything by system; ends by describing his method ofdrinking a whole jury. He has surprised Marston, got him on the hip, where he can feather him or sciver him, and where things must bedone sly. Public opinion, he whispers, may set folks moving, andthen they'll all be down upon him like hawks after chickens. In hismind, the feller what pulls first comes off first best-if the lawhounds are not too soon let loose! If they are, there will be a longdrag, a small cage for the flock, and very few birds with featherson. Romescos cares for nobody but the judge: he tells us how thejudge and he are right good cronies, and how it's telling a goodmany dollars at the end of the year to keep on the best of termswith him, always taking him to drink when they meet. The judge is awonderfully clever fellow, in Romescos' opinion; ranks amongfirst-class drinkers; can do most anything, from hanging a nigger toclearing the fellow that killed the schoolmaster, and said he'dclear a dozen in two two's, if they'd kill off ever so many of therubbish. It is well to make his favour a point of interest. Thecompany are become tired of this sort of cantation; they have heardenough of high functionaries, know quite enough of judges:--suchthings are in their line of business. Romescos must needs turn theconversation. "Well, taking it how I can entertain ye to mostanything, I'll give ye a story on the secrets of how I used to runoff Ingin remnants of the old tribes. 'Taint but a few years ago, yeknow, when ther was a lot of Ingin and white, mixed stuff-somecalled it beautiful-down in Beaufort district. It was temptin'though, I reckon, and made a feller feel just as if he was runnin'it off to sell, every time it come in his way. Ye see, most on't wasgal property, and that kind, ollers keeps the whole district in ahubbub; everybody's offended, and there's so much delicacy about theladies what come in contact with it. Yes, gentlemen! the ladies-Imeans the aristocracy's ladies-hate these copper-coloured Ingins asthey would female devils. It didn't do to offend the delicacy of ourladies, ye see; so something must be done, but it was all forcharity's sake. Squire Hornblower and me fixes a plan a'tween us: itwas just the plan to do good for the town-we must always be kind, yeknow, and try to do good-and save the dear good ladies a great dealof unnecessary pain. 

"Now, the squire had law larnin', and I had cunnin'; and both puttogether made the thing work to a point. The scheme worked so nicelythat we put twelve out of fifteen of 'em right into pocket-money inless than three years-"

"Hold a second, Romescos; how did you play the game so adroitly, when they were all members of families living in the town? You're aremarkable fellow, " Graspum interposes, stretching his arms, andtwisting his sturdy figure over the side of his chair. 

"That's what I was coming at. Ye see, whenever ye makes white trashwhat ain't slaved a nuisance, you makes it mightily unpopular; andwhen folks is unpopular the nuisance is easily removed, especiallywhen ye can get pay for removing it. The law will be as tame as amouse-nobody 'll say nothin'? Ingin and white rubbish is justalike-one's worth as little as t'other. Both's only fit to sell, sir!-worthless for any other purpose. Ye see, gentlemen, I'msomething of a philosopher, and has strong faith in the doctrine ofour popular governor, who believes it better to sell all poor whitesinto slavery. 'Tain't a free country where ye don't have the rightto sell folks what don't provide for number one. I likes to hear ourbig folks talk so"-Anthony's face brightens-"'cause it gives afeller a chance for a free speculation in them lank, lean rascals;and, too, it would stop their rifle-shooting and corn-stealing-"

"You never try your hand at such hits-do you, Nathe?" Bengalinterrupts, his fore-finger poised on his nose. 

"Now, Dan, " Anthony quaintly replies, "none o' yer pointedinsinuations. 'Twouldn't be much harm if the varmin would only keepits mouth shut along the road. But when the critturs ar' gotschoolmaster gumption it's mighty apt to get a feller into atarnation snarl. Schoolmaster gumption makes d-d bad niggers; andthere's why I say it's best to hang schoolmasters. It's dangerous, 'cos it larns the critturs to writin' a scrawl now and then; and, unless ye knows just how much talent he's got, and can whitewash himyaller, it's plaguy ticklish. When the brutes have larnin', and canwrite a little, they won't stay sold when ye sell 'em-that is, Imean, white riff-raff stuff; they ain't a bit like niggers andIngins. And there's just as much difference a'tween the human naturof a white nigger and a poverty-bloated white as there is a'twixtphilosophy and water-melons. "

"You're drawing a long bow, Anthony, " interrupts Graspum, with asuggestion that it were better to come to the point; and concludesby saying: "We don't care sevenpence about the worthless whites allover the State. They can't read nor write-except a few on 'em-andeverybody knows it wouldn't do to give them learning-that wouldn'tdo! We want the way you cleared that nuisance out of Beaufortdistrict so quick-that's what we want to hear. "

"Well, ye'h sees, it took some keen play, some sly play, somedignity, and some talent; but the best thing of the whole was thesquire's honour. He and me, ye see, joined partners--that is, he getsplaces for 'em away out o' town--you understand--places where I keepsa couple of the very best nags that ever stepped turf. And then heputs on the soft sauder, an' is so friendly to the critturs--gets 'emto come out with him to where he will make 'um nice house servants, and such things. He is good at planin', as all justices is, andwould time it to arrive at midnight. I, havin' got a start, has allready to meet him; so when he gives me the papers, I makes a bolt atfull speed, and has 'um nowhere afore they knows it. And then, whenthey sees who it is, it don't do to make a fuss about it--don't! Andthen, they're so handsome, it ain't no trouble finding a market for'em down Memphis way. It only takes forty-eight hours--the way thingsis done up by steam--from the time I clears the line until TimothyPortman signs the bond-that's five per cent. For him-and Ned Sturmdoes the swearin', and they're sold for a slap-up price--sent towhere there's no muttering about it. That's one way we does it; andthen, there's another. But, all in all, there's a right smart lot ofother ways that will work their way into a talented mind. And when afeller gets the hang on it, and knows lawyer gumption, he can do itup smooth. You must strap 'em down, chain 'em, look vengeance at'em; and now and then, when the varmin will squeal, spite of all thethrashin' ye can give 'em, box 'em up like rats, and put yer horseslike Jehu until ye cl'ar the State. The more ye scars 'em thebetter-make 'em as whist as mice, and ye can run 'em through therail-road, and sell 'um just as easy. 

"There was another way I used to do the thing-it was a sort of anhonourable way; but it used to take the talents of a senator to doit up square, so the dignity didn't suffer. Then the gals got shy ofsquire, 'cos them he got places for never cum back; and I know'd how'twas best to leave two or three for a nest-egg. It was the way todo, in case some green should raise a fuss. But connected with theseIngin gals was one of the likleest yaller fellers that ever shinedon a stand. Thar' was about twelve hundred dollars in him, I saw itjust as straight, and felt it just as safe in my pocket; and then itmade a feller's eyes glisten afore it was got out of him. I tell youwhat, boys, it's rather hard when ye comes to think on't. " Anthonypauses for a moment, sharpens his eloquence with another drop ofwhiskey, and resumes his discourse. "The feller shined all outside, but he hadn't head talents-though he was as cunnin' as a fox-andevery time the squire tried an experiment to get him out o'town, thenigger would dodge like a wounded raccoon. 'Twarn't a bit of use forthe squire-so he just gin it up. Then I trys a hand, ye see, comesthe soft soap over him, in a Sam Slick kind of a way. I'se a privategentleman, and gets the fellers round to call me a sort of anaristocrat. Doing this 'ere makes me a nabob in the town-anothertime I'm from New York, and has monstrous letters of introduction tothe squire. Then I goes among the niggers and comes it over theirstupid; tells 'em how I'm an abolitionist in a kind of secretway-gets their confidence. And then I larns a right smart deal ofsayings from the Bible-a nigger's curious on Christianity, yesee-and it makes him think ye belong to that school, sartin! All thedeviltry in his black natur' 'll cum out then; and he'll do justwhat ye tells him. So, ye see, I just draws the pious over him, andthen-like all niggers-I gets him to jine in what he calculates to bea nice little bit of roguery-running off. "

Graspum becomes interested in the fine qualities of the prospectiveproperty, and must needs ask if he is bright and trim. 

"Bright! I reckon he warn't nothin' else in a money sense-brighternor most niggers, but mighty Inginy. Had the fierce of one and thecunnin' of t'other. Tom Pridgeon and me has an understandin' aboutthe thing; and Tom's such a ripper for tradin' in nigger property-heis about the only devil niggers can imagine; and they delight toplay tricks on Tom. Well, the nigger and me's good friends, right tothe point; a good trick is to be played off on Tom, who buys thenigger in confidence; the nigger is to run off when he gets toSavannah, and Tom is to be indicted for running off 'free niggers. 'I'se a great Christian, and joins heart and hand with the darkey; wetakes our walks together, reads together, prays together. And then'tain't long afore I becomes just the best white man in hisestimation. Knowing when Tom makes up his gang, I proposes a walk inthe grove to the nigger. 'Thank ye, sir, ' says he, in an Ingin kindof way, and out we goes, sits down, talks pious, sings hymns, andwaits to see the rascally nigger-trader come along. Presently Tommakes his appearance, with a right smart lot of extra primeproperty. The nigger and me marches down the road just like masterand servant, and stops just when we meets Tom. You'd laughed to seeTom and me do the stranger, 'Well, mister, ' says I, 'how's trade inyour line?-there's mighty good prices for cotton just now; an' I'spose 't keeps the market stiff up in your line!'"

'Well, no, ' says Tom: 'a feller can turn a good penny in the way o'fancy articles, just now; but 'tain't the time for primeplantation-stock. Planters are all buying, and breeders downVirginia way won't give a feller a chance to make a shaving. Itdrives a feller hard up, ye see, and forces more business in runningthe free 'uns. '

'Why, stranger! what on 'arth do you mean by that 'ar;-wouldn't yeget straightened if you'd git catched at that business?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing! I forgot what I was saying, ' says Tom, justas if he was scared at what he had let slip. 

'I say, trader, ye got the brightest assortment of property thar' Iseen for many a day: you don't call them gals slaves, do you? Downwhere I cum from, our folks wouldn't know 'em from white folks. ' Itell you, boys, he had some bits that would o' made yer heart cumstraight up. 

'But I say, mister, I kind 'a like yer horse property-somehow he'sfull blood, ' says I. 

'Yes, ' says Tom; 'he's one o' the best critturs to drive niggerswith that ye ever did see; and he's beat the best horse on theColumbia course, twice. '

'Well, now; seein' how I likes the animal, about how much do ye'hset him at?' says I. 

'Well! can't part with the nag nohow; seems as if he knowed anigger, and understands the business right up. '

'But, you see, I'se got a bit of nigger property here what ye'hdon't pick up every day for the Memphis trade, ' says I, looking atthe feller, who played his part right up to the hilt. 

'Well, I don't mind strikin' a trade, ' says Tom: 'but you see mynag's worth a little risin' a thousand dollars. '

'I don't doubt that, stranger, ' says I: 'but ye'h sees this 'arpiece of property o' mine is worth more 'an twelve hundred. Youdon't come across such a looking chap every day. There's a spec. Inhim, in any market down south, ' says I; and I puts my hands on thenigger and makes him show out, just as if Tom and me was strikingfor a trade. So Tom examines him, as if he was green in niggerbusiness, and he and me strangers just come from t'other side ofmoon shadows. 

'Well, now, ' says Tom, 'it's mighty likely property, and seeing it'syou, jist name a trade. '

'Put down the nag and two hundred dollars, and I'll sign the bill ofsale, for a swap. ' And Tom plants down the dimes, and takes thenigger. When Tom gets him to Savannah, he plunks him into jail, andkeeps him locked up in a cell until he is ready to start south. Ipromises the nigger half of the spiles; but I slips an X

Ten dollars. Into his hand, and promises him the rest when he getsback-when he does! And ye see how Tom just tryced him up to thecross and put thirty-nine to his bare skin when he talked aboutbeing free, in Savannah; and gagged him when he got his Ingin up. Warn't that doing the thing up slick, fellers?" exclaimed Romescos, chuckling over the sport. 

"It warn't nothing else. That's what I calls catching a nigger inhis own trap, " said one. "That's sarvin' him right; I go for sellin'all niggers and Ingins, " said another. "Free niggers have no souls, and are impediments to personal rights in a free country, " said athird. 

"Ye'h see, there's such an infernal lot of loose corners about ourbusiness, that it takes a feller what has got a big head to do allthe things smooth, in a legal way; and it's so profitable all roundthat it kind o' tempts a feller, once in a while, to do things hedon't feel just right in; but then a glass of old monongahela bringsye'h all straight in yer feelins again, a'ter a few minutes, " saidRomescos. 

"It's an amusing business; a man's got to have nerve and maxim, ifhe wants to make a fortune at it. But-now, gentlemen, we'll takeanother round, " said Graspum, stopping short. "Anthony, tell us howyou work it when you want to run a free nigger down Maryland way. "

"There ain't no trouble about that, " replied Romescos, quickly. "Yousee, " he continued, squinting his eye, and holding his glass betweenhis face and the light. "Shut out all hope first, and then primelegal gentlemen along the road, and yer sartin to make safebusiness. I has chaps what keeps their eye on all the free bits, andmakes good fellers with 'em; niggers think they'r the right stripefriends; and then they gives 'em jobs once in a while, and tobacco, and whiskey. So when I gets all fixed for a run, some on 'm gets thenigger into a sly spot, and then we pounces upon him like a hawk ona chicken-gags him, and screws him up in the chains, head andfeet, --boxes him up, too, and drives him like lightning until I meetsTilman at the cross-roads; and then I just has a document

"A forged bill of sale, all ready, which I gives to Till, and heputs his nags in-a pair what can take the road from anythingabout-and the way he drives, just to make the nigger forget wherehe's going, and think he's riding in a balloon on his way to glory. Just afore Til. Gets to the boat, ye see, he takes the headchainsoff-so the delicate-hearted passengers won't let their feelins getkind-a out o' sorts. Once in a while the nigger makes a blubberabout being free, to the captain, --and if he's fool enough t' takeany notice on't then there's a fuss; but that's just the easiestthing to get over, if ye only know the squire, and how to managehim. You must know the pintes of the law, and ye must do the cleanthing in the 'tin' way with the squire; and then ye can cut 'emright off by makin' t'other pintes make 'em mean nothing. Once in awhile t'll do to make the nigger a criminal, and then there's notrouble in't, 'cos ye can ollers git the swearin' done cheap. OldCaptain Smith used to get himself into a scrape a heap o' times bylistenin' to free nigger stories, till he gets sick and would kickevery nigger what came to him about being free. He takes the law inhis hands with a nigger o' mine once, and hands him over to a citypoliceman as soon as we lands. He didn't understand the thing, yesee, and I jist puts an Ten dollars into the pole's hand, what hetakes the hint at. 'Now, ye'll take good care on the feller, " saysI, giving him a wink. "And he just keeps broad off from the oldhard-faced mayor, and runs up to the squire's, who commits him onhis own committimus. Then I gets Bob Blanker to stand 'all right'with the squire, who's got all the say in the matter, when it's doneso. I cuts like lightenin' on to far down Mississippi, and theregets Sam Slang, just one o' the keenest fellers in that line, about. Sam's a hotel-keeper all at once, and I gets him up afore theMississippi squire; and as Sam don't think much about the swearin'and the squire ain't particular, so he makes a five: we provesstraight off how the crittur's Sam's runaway, gets the dockermentand sends to Bob Blanker, who puts a blinder on the squire's eye, and gets an order to the old jailor, who must give him up, when hesees the squire's order. You see, it's larnin' the secret, that'sthe thing, and the difference between common law and nigger law; andthe way to work the matter so the squire will have it all in his ownfingers, and don't let the old judge get a pick. Squire makes itsquare, hands the nigger over to Bob, Bob puts fifty cuts on hishide, makes him as clever as a kitten, and ships him off down southafore he has time to wink. Then, ye sees, I goes back as independentas a senator from Arkansas, and sues Captain Smith for damages indetainin' the property, and I makes him pay a right round sum, whatlarns him never to try that agin. "

Thus Romescos concludes the details of his nefarious trade, amidcheers and bravos. The party are in ecstasies, evincing a singularmerriment at the issue. There is nothing like liberty--liberty to dowhat you please, to turn freedom into barbarity! They gloat over theprivileges of a free country; and, as Romescos recounts eachproceeding, --tracing it into the lowest depths of human villainy, they sing songs to right, justice, freedom-they praise the bountiesof a great country. How different is the picture below! Beneath thisplotting conclave, devising schemes to defraud human nature of itsrights, to bring poverty and disgrace upon happy families-all inaccordance with the law-are chained in narrow cells poor mortals, hoping for an end to their dreary existence, pining under the weightof pinions dashing their very souls into endless despair. A tale offreedom is being told above, but their chains of death clank insolemn music as the midnight revelry sports with the very agony oftheir sorrows. Oh! who has made their lives a wanton jest?-can it bethe will of heaven, or is it the birthright of a downtrodden race?They look for to-morrow, hope reverberates one happy thought, it maybring some tidings of joy; but again they sink, as that endlessgloom rises before them. Hope fades from their feelings, from thebleeding heart for which compassion is dead. The tyrant's heart isof stone; what cares he for their supplications, their cries, theirpleadings to heaven; such things have no dollars for him!

Arranging the preliminaries necessary for proceeding with Marston'saffairs, they agreed to the plans, received orders from Graspum inreference to their proceedings on the following day, and retired totheir homes, singing praises to great good laws, and the freedom ofa free country. 

CHAPTER X. 

ANOTHER SHADE OF THE PICTURE. 

WHILE the proceedings we have detailed in the foregoing chapter wereprogressing at Graspum's slave-pen, a different phase of the systemwas being discussed by several persons who had assembled at thehouse of Deacon Rosebrook. Rumour had been busy spreading itsmany-sided tales about Marston-his difficulties, his connection withGraspum, his sudden downfall. All agreed that Marston was anoble-minded fellow, generous to a fault-generous in his worsterrors; and, like many other southerners, who meant well, thoughpersonally kind to his slaves, never set a good example in his ownperson. Religion was indispensably necessary to preserve submission;and, with a view to that end, he had made the Church a means ofproducing it. 

Now, if the southerner resorted to the Church in the purity ofChristian motives, he would merit that praise which many are sowilling to bestow. Or, if Christianity were embraced by thesoutherner with heartfelt purity and faith, it would undoubtedlyhave a beneficial influence, elevate the character of the slave, promote kindly feelings between him and his master, and ultimatelyprove profitable to both. But where Christianity, used byirreligious persons, whose very acts destroy the vitality of themeans, is made the medium of enforcing superstition, and of debasingthe mind of the person it degrades into submission, its applicationbecomes nothing less than criminal. It is criminal because it bringstrue religion into contempt, perverts Christianity-makes it amockery, and gives to the degraded whites of the South a plea fordiscarding its precepts. Religion-were it not used as a mechanicalagency-would elevate the degraded white population of the South;they would, through its influence, become valuable citizens. 

These remarks have been forced upon us by observation. Frequentlyhave we lamented its application, and grieved that its holy missionwere made to serve the vilest purposes in a land of liberty, ofChristian love. Religion a means of degrading the masses-asubservient agent! It is so, nevertheless; and men use it whose onlydesire it is to make it serve a property interest-the interest ofmaking men, women, and children, more valuable in the market. Godordained it for a higher purpose, --man applies it for his benefit inthe man-market. Hence, where the means for exercising the mind uponthe right is forbidden-where ignorance becomes the necessary part ofthe maintenance of a system, and religion is applied to that end, itbecomes farcical; and while it must combine all the imperfections ofthe performer, necessarily tends to confine the ignorance of thoseit seeks to degrade, within the narrowest boundary. There aredifferent ways of destroying the rights of different classes; and asmany different ways, after they are destroyed, of wiping out theknowledge of their ever having had rights. But, we regret to say, that most resorted to by the South, in the face of civilisation, isthe Holy Scriptures, which are made the medium of blotting out allknowledge of the rights a people once possessed. The wrong-doer thusfears the result of natural laws; if they be allowed to produceresults through the cultivation of a slave's mind, such may provefatal to his immediate interests. And to maintain a system which isbased on force, the southern minister of the gospel is doublyculpable in the sight of heaven; for while he stimulates ignoranceby degrading the man, he mystifies the Word of God, that he mayremain for ever and ever degraded. 

What a deplorable process of stealing-nay, gently taking away theknowledge which an all-wise Providence has given to man as hisinheritance; how it reduces his natural immunities to sensualmisery! And, too, it forbids all legitimate influences that couldpossibly give the menial a link to elevation, to the formation of asociety of his own. We would fain shrink from such a system ofdebasing mankind-even more, from the hideous crimes of those whowould make Scripture the means to such an end. And yet, the Churchdefender of slavery-the Christian little one-his neck-cloth as whiteas the crimes he defends are black-must distinguish his arguments;and that the world may not suspect his devotion, his honesty, hisserious intention, he points us to the many blessings of theplantation-service. 

Heavenly divinity! Let us have faith in the little ones sent toteach it; they tell us slavery enforces Christianity! The managementof ignorance under the direction of ministers of the gospel iscertainly becoming well-defined; while statesmen more energeticallylegalise it. The one devises, the other carries out a law to makeman ignorant of everything but labour. But while the statesmanmoulds the theory, the preacher manufactures Scripture texts, thatthe menial may believe God has ordained him the pliable victim. 

Under the apparent necessity of the slave world, Marston hadregularly paid Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy for preaching to hisproperty on Sundays; and to the requisite end the good Elder felthimself in duty bound to inculcate humility in all things that wouldpromote obedience to a master's will. Of course, one sermon wasquite sufficient; and this the credulous property had listened tofor more than three years. The effect was entirely satisfactory, theresult being that the honest property were really impressed with abelief, that to evince Christian fortitude under suffering andpunishment was the best means of cleansing themselves of the sinsthey were born to. This formality was misnamed Christianity--it was!And through the force of this one sermon the Elder became indolent;and indolence led him to its natural yoke-fellow-intemperance. Hisindulgent mood, such as we have described him enjoying in a previouschapter, became too frequent, leading to serious annoyances. Theyhad been especially serious for Marston, whom they placed in anawkward situation before his property, and he resolved to toleratethem no longer. Probably this resolution was hastened by the suddendiscovery of Harry's singular knowledge of Scripture; be that as itmay, the only difficulty in the way was to know if Harry could be sotrained, that he would preach the "right stripe" doctrine. This, however, was soon settled, and Marston not only suspended hisengagement with the Elder, but entered into a contract with theneighbouring planters, by the terms of which Harry will fill theirpulpit, and preach extempore--the Elder has brought written sermonsinto contempt with Harry--at a stipulated price per Sunday. In thisnew avocation-this leap from the plantation to the pulpit, Harry, asa piece of property, became extremely valuable; while, through thecharm of his new black coat, he rose a great man in the estimationof the common property. Here was a valuable incentive of submission, a lesson for all bad niggers, a chance for them to improve under thepeculiar institution. It proved to niggerdom what a good niggercould be if he only fear God and obey his master in all things. 

Here was proof that a nigger could be something more than a nigger, in spite of southern philosophy. The Elder-good, pious man that hewas-found himself out of pocket and out of preaching. Thrown uponthe resources of his ingenuity, he had, in order to save thedictates of his conscience, while taking advantage of the manyopportunities of making money afforded by the peculiar institution, entered upon another branch of business, having for its object theadvancement of humanity. He resolved to go forth purchasing the sickand the dying; to reclaim sinking humanity and make it marketable. 

But, before describing the vicissitudes through which ElderPemberton Praiseworthy passes in his new mission of humanity, wemust introduce the reader to the precincts of a neat little villa, situated at the outskirts of the city of C--. It is a small cottagesurrounded with verandas and trellis-work, over which are creepingnumerous woodbines and multafloras, spreading their fragrantblossoms, giving it an air of sequestered beauty. An arbour ofgrapevines extends from a little portico at the front to a wickerfence that separates the embankment of a well-arranged garden, inwhich are pots of rare plants, beds and walks decorated withflowers, presenting great care and taste. A few paces in the rear ofthe cottage are several "negro cabins" nicely white-washed without, and an air of cheerfulness and comfort reigning within. The house-servants are trimly dressed; they look and act as if their thoughtsand affections were with "mas'r and missus. " Their white aprons andclean bright frocks-some bombazine, and some gingham-give them anappearance of exactness, which, whether it be voluntary or force ofdiscipline, bears evidence of attention in the slave, andencouragement on the part of the master. This is the Villa of DeaconRosebrook; they call him deacon, by courtesy; in the same sense thatGeorgia majors and South Carolina generals are honoured with thosefar-famed titles which so distinguish them when abroad. Perhaps weshould be doing the deacon no more than justice if we were to admitthat he had preached in very respectable spheres; but, feeling thathe was wanting in the purity of divine love-that he could not dojustice to his conscience while setting forth teachings he did notfollow, he laid the profession aside for the more genialassociations of plantation life. Indeed, he was what many called avery easy backslider; and at times was recognised by the somewhatsingular soubriquet of Deacon Pious-proof. But he was kind to hisslaves, and had projected a system singularly at variance with thatof his neighbours-a system of mildness, amelioration, freedom. 

His plantation, a small one, some few miles from the Villa, presented the same neatness and comfort, the same cheerfulness amongthe negroes, and the same kindly feeling between master and slave, which characterised the Villa. 

We enter a neatly-furnished parlour, where the deacon and a friendare seated on a sofa; various pictures are suspended from thewall, --everything betokens New England neatness. The old-fashioneddog-irons and fender are polished to exquisite brightness, aBrussels carpet spreads the floor, a bright surbase encircles theroom; upon the flossy hearth-rug lies crouched the little caninepet, which Aunt Dolly has washed to snowy whiteness. Aunt Dollyenters the room with a low curtsy, gently raises the poodle, thenlays him down as carefully as if he were an heir to the estate. Master is happy, "missus" is happy, and Aunt Dolly is happy; and thelarge bookcase, filled with well-selected volumes, adds to the airof contentment everywhere apparent. In a niche stands a largepier-table, upon which are sundry volumes with gilt edges, nets ofcross-work, porcelain ornaments, and card-cases inlaid with mosaic. Antique tables with massive carved feet, in imitation of lions'paws, chairs of curious patterns, reclines and ottomans of softestmaterial, and covered with satin damask, are arranged round the roomin harmony and good taste. 

"Now, Mr. Scranton, " the deacon says to his friend, who is a tall, prim, sedate-looking man, apparently about forty, "I pity Marston; Ipity him because he is a noble-hearted fellow. But, after all, thiswhispering about the city may be only mother Rumour distributing herfalse tales. Let us hope it is all rumour and scandal. Come, tellme-what do you think of our negroes?"

"Nigger character has not changed a bit in my mind, since I camesouth. Inferior race of mortals, sir!-without principles, and fitonly for service and submission. A southern man knows theircomposition, but it takes a northern to study the philosophy-itdoes, " replies Mr. Scranton, running his left hand over hisforehead, and then his right over the crown of his head, as if tocover a bald spot with the scanty remnant of hair that projectedfrom the sides. 

The deacon smiles at the quaint reply. He knows Mr. Scranton'snorthern tenacity, and begs to differ with him. "You are ultra, alittle ultra, in all things, Mr. Scranton. I fear it is that, carried out in morals as well as politics, that is fast reducing oursystem to degradation and tyranny. You northern gentlemen have asort of pedantic solicitude for our rights, but you underrate ourfeelings upon the slavery question. I'm one among the fewsoutherners who hold what are considered strange views: we aresubjected to ridicule for our views; but it is only by those who seenothing but servitude in the negro, --nothing but dollars and cents inthe institution of slavery. "

Mr. Scranton is struck with astonishment, interrupts the argument byinsisting upon the great superiority of the gentlemen whites, andthe Bible philosophy which he can bring to sustain his argument. 

"Stop one moment, my philosophic friend, " the deacon interposes, earnestly. "Upon that you northerners who come out here to sustainthe cause of slavery for the south, all make fools of yourselves. This continual reasoning upon Bible philosophy has lost its life, funeral dirges have been played over it, the instruments are wornout. And yet, the subject of the philosophy lives, --he belies it withhis physical vigour and moral action. We doubt the sincerity ofnortherners; we have reasons for so doing; they know little of thenegro, and care less. Instead of assisting southerners who areinclined to do justice to the wretch-to be his friend-to improve hiscondition-to protect him against a tyrant's wrong, you bring us intocontempt by your proclaiming virtue over the vice we acknowledgebelongs to the institution. We know its defects-we fear them; but, in the name of heaven, do not defend them at the cost of virtue, truth, honesty. Do not debase us by proclaiming its glories over ourheads;-do not take advantage of us by attempting to make wrongright. " The deacon's feelings have become earnest; his face glowswith animation. 

Mr. Scranton seems discomfited. "That's just like all yousoutherners: you never appreciate anything we do for you. What isthe good of our love, if you always doubt it?"

"Such love!" says the deacon, with a sarcastic curl on his lip. "It's cotton-bag love, as full of self as a pressed bale-"

"But, deacon; you're getting up on the question. "

"Up as high as northern sincerity is low. Nothing personal, " is thecool rejoinder. 

Mr. Scranton inquires very seriously-wishing it particularly to beunderstood that he is not a fighting-man-if Deacon Rosebrookconsiders all northerners white-washed, ready to deceive through thedim shadows of self. The deacon's frank and manly opinion ofnorthern editors and preachers disturbs Scranton's seriousphilosophy. "Cotton-bag love!" there's something in it, and contemptat the bottom, he declares within himself. And he gives a seriouslook, as much as to say-"go on. "

"I do! He who maketh right, what those most interested in know to bewrong, cherishes a bad motive. When a philosopher teaches doctrinesthat become doubtful in their ultraness, the weakness carries theinsincerity, --the effort becomes stagnant. Never sell yourself to anyclass of evils for popularity's sake. If you attempt it you mistakethe end, and sell yourself to the obscurity of a politicaltrickster, flatttered by a few, believed by none. "

"Deacon! a little more moderate. Give us credit for the good we do. Don't get excited, don't. These are ticklish times, and wenortherners are quick to observe-"

"Yes, when it will turn a penny on a nigger or a bale of cotton. "

"Allow me; one minute if you please!" returned Scranton, with anasal twang peculiar to his class, as he began to work himself upinto a declamatory attitude. "You southerners don't understand whata force them northern abolitionists are bringing against you; andyou know how slow you are to do things, and to let your property allgo to waste while you might make a good speculation on it. There'sjust the difference of things: we study political economy so as toapply it to trade and such like; you let things go to waste, justthinking over it. And, you see, it's our nature to be restless andsearching out the best avenues for developing trade. Why, deacon, your political philosophy would die out if the New Englander didn'tedit your papers and keep your nigger principles straight. "

"Nigger principles straight! Ah, indeed! Only another evidence ofthat cotton bag love that has caused the banns of matrimony to bepublished between tyrants who disgrace us and northern speculators. The book-publisher-poor servile tool-fears to publish Mrs. Johnson'sbook, lest it should contain something to offend Mrs. ColonelSportington, at the south. Mr. Stevens, the grocer, dare not put hisvote into the ballot-box for somebody, because he fears one of hiscustomers at the south will hear of it. Parson Munson dare not speakwhat he thinks in a New England village, because Mrs. Bruce andDeacon Donaldson have yearly interests in slaves at the south; andold Mattock, the boot-maker, thinks it aint right for niggers to bein church with white folks, and declares, if they do go, they shouldsit away back in one corner, up stairs. He thinks about thecombination that brings wealth, old age, and the grave, into onevortex, --feels little misgiving upon humanity, but loves the union, and wants nothing said about niggers. We understand what it allmeans, Mr. Scranton; and we can credit it for what it's worth, without making any account for its sincerity and independence. I amone among the few who go for educating the negroes, and in thateducation to cultivate affections between slave and master, to makeencouragement perform the part of discipline, and inspire energythrough proper rewards. "

"What!-educate a nigger! These are pretty principles for asoutherner to maintain! Why, sir, if such doctrines were advocatedin the body politic they would be incendiary to southerninstitutions. Just educate the niggers, and I wouldn't be an editorin the south two days. You'd see me tramping, bag and baggage, forthe north, much as I dislike it! It would never do to educate such amiserable set of wretches as they are. You may depend what I say istrue, sir. Their condition is perfectly hopeless at the north, andthe more you try to teach them, the greater nuisance they become. "

"Now, my good northern friend, not so fast, if you please; I can seethe evil of all this, and so can you, if you will but study thenegro's character a little deeper. The menial man who has passedthrough generations of oppression, and whose life and soul areblotted from the right of manhood, is sensitive of the power thatcrushes him. He has been robbed of the means of elevating himself bythose who now accuse him of the crime of degradation: and, whereverthe chance is afforded him of elevation, as that increases so does atenacious knowledge of his rights; yet, he feels the prejudice thatcuts and slights him in his progress, that charges him with theimpudence of a negro, that calls his attempts to be a man merepompous foolery. "

"And it is so! To see a nigger setting himself up among whitefolks-it's perfectly ridiculous!"

"Mark me, Mr. Scranton: there's where you northerners mistakeyourselves. The negro seldom desires to mix with whites, and I holdit better they should keep together; but that two races cannot livetogether without the one enslaving the other is a fallacy popularonly with those who will not see the future, and obstinately refuseto review the past. You must lessen your delicate sensibilities; andwhen you make them less painful to the man of colour at the north, believe me, the south will respond to the feeling. Experience haschanged my feelings, --experience has been my teacher. I have basedmy new system upon experience; and its working justifies me in all Ihave said. Let us set about extracting the poison from ourinstitutions, instead of losing ourselves in contemplating anabstract theory for its government. "

"Remember, deacon, men are not all born to see alike. There arerights and privileges belonging to the southerner: he holds thetrade in men right, and he would see the Union sundered to atomsbefore he would permit the intervention of the federal government onthat subject, " Mr. Scranton seriously remarks, placing his twothumbs in the armpits of his vest, and assuming an air ofconfidence, as if to say, "I shall outsouthern the southerner yet, Ishall. "

"That's just the point upon which all the villainy of ourinstitution rests: the simple word man!-man a progressive being; mana chattel, --a thing upon which the sordid appetite of every wretchmay feed. Why cannot Africa give up men? She has been the victim ofChristendom-her flesh and blood have served its traffic, haveenriched its coffers, and even built its churches; but like aferocious wolf that preys upon the fold in spite of watchers, sheyet steals Afric's bleeding victims, and frowns upon them becausethey are not white, nor live as white men live. "

"Mercy on me!" says Mr. Scranton, with a sigh, "you can't amelioratethe system as it stands: that's out of the question. Begin to loosenthe props, and the whole fabric will tumble down. And then, niggerswon't be encouraged to work at a price for their labour; and how areyou going to get along in this climate, and with such an enormouspopulation of vagabonds?"

"Remember, Mr. Scranton, " ejaculated the deacon, "there's where youmistake the man in the negro; and through these arguments, set forthin your journal, we suffer. You must have contracted them byassociation with bad slave-owners. Mark ye! the negro has been sunkto the depths where we yet curse him; and is it right that we shouldkeep him cursed?-to say nothing of the semi-barbarous position inwhich it finds our poor whites. He feels that his curse is forlife-time; his hopes vibrate with its knowledge, and through it hefalls from that holy inspiration that could make him a man, enjoyingmanhood's rights. Would not our energy yield itself a sacrifice tothe same sacrificer? Had we been loaded with chains of tyranny, whatwould have been our condition? Would not that passion which has ledthe Saxon on to conquest, and spread his energy through the westernworld, have yielded when he saw the last shadow of hope die out, andrealised that his degradation was for life-time? Would not theyearnings of such a consummation have recoiled to blast every actionof the being who found himself a chattel? And yet this very chattel, thus yoked in death, toils on in doubts and fears, in humbleness andsubmission, with unrequited fortitude and affection. And still allis doubted that he does, even crushed in the prejudice against hiscolour!"

"Well, deacon, you perfectly startle me, to hear a southerner talkthat way at the south. If you keep on, you'll soon have an abolitionsociety without sending north for it. "

"That's just what I want. I want our southerners to look upon thematter properly, and to take such steps as will set us right in theeyes of the world. Humanity is progressing with rapidstrides-slavery cannot exist before it! It must fall; and we shouldprepare to meet it, and not be so ungrateful, at least, that wecannot reflect upon its worth, and give merit to whom merit is due. "Thus were presented the north and south; the former loses herinterests in humanity by seeking to serve the political ends of thelatter. 

CHAPTER XI. 

MRS. ROSEBROOK'S PROJECT. 

AT this juncture of the conversation, a sprightly, well-dressedservant opens the parlour-door, announces missus! The deacon's goodlady enters. She is a perfect pattern of neatness, --afinely-developed woman of more than ordinary height, with blondefeatures, and a countenance as full of cheerfulness as a bright Maymorning. She bows gracefully; her soft eyes kindle with intelligenceas she approaches Mr. Scranton, who rises with the coldness of aniceberg. 

"Be seated, Mr. Scranton, " she says, with a voice so full ofgentleness, --"be seated. " Her form is well-rounded, her featuresexquisite. Mr. Scranton views her seriously, as if he foundsomething of great interest in that marble forehead, those finefeatures moulding a countenance full of soul, love, and sweetness. Her dress is of plain black brocade, made high at the neck, where itis secured with a small diamond pin, the front opening anddisclosing a lace stomacher set with undressed pearls. Rufflets anddiamond bracelets, of chaste workmanship, clasp her wrists; whileher light auburn hair, neatly laid in plain folds, and gathered intoa plait on the back of her head, where it is delicately secured withgold and silver cord, forms a soft contrast. There is chasteness andsimplicity combined to represent character, sense, and refinement. She is the mother of the plantation: old negroes call her mother, young ones clamour with joy when she visits their abodes: her verysoul is in their wants; they look to her for guidance. Theirhappiness is her pleasure, and by sharing the good fortune that hasfollowed them she has fostered the energy of their negroes, formedthem into families, encouraged their morality, impressed them withthe necessity of preserving family relations. Against the sternmandates of the law, she has taught them to read the Bible, readingand explaining it to them herself. Indeed, she has risen above thelaw: she has taught the more tractable ones to write; she hassupplied the younger with little story-books, attractive andcontaining good moral lessons. She rejoices over her system: it ishonest, kind, generous, --it will serve the future, and is notunprofitable at present. It is different from that pursued by thosewho would, through the instrumentality of bad laws, enforceignorance. Nay, to her there is something abhorrent in using theWord of God as an excuse for the existence of slavery. Her system ispracticable, enlightening first, and then enforcing that which givesencouragement to the inert faculties of our nature. Punishments werescarcely known upon her plantation; the lash never used. Old andyoung were made to feel themselves part and parcel of a familycompact, to know they had an interest in the crop, to gather hopesfor the future, to make home on the old plantation pleasant. Therewas something refreshing in the pride and protection evinced in thesolicitation of this gentle creature for her negroes. In early lifeshe had listened to their fables, had mixed with them as children, had enjoyed their hours of play, had studied their sympathies, andentered with delight into the very soul of their jargon merriment. She felt their wants, and knew their grievances; she had comeforward to be their protector, their mother! "Why, Mr. Scranton, "she exclaims, laughingly, in reply to that gentleman's remarks, asshe interrupted the conversation between him and the deacon, "wewould sooner suffer than sell one of our boys or girls-even if theworst came to the worst. I know the value of family ties; I know howto manage negroes. I would just as soon think of selling ourMatilda, I would! If some of you good northern folks could only seehow comfortable my negroes are!-"

"Oh, yes!" interrupts the deacon, "she takes it all out of my hands;I'm going to give her the reins altogether one of these days. Shehas got a nice way of touching a negro's feelings so that anythingcan be done with him: it tells largely at times. " Mr. Scranton'sface becomes more serious; he doesn't seem to understand this new"nigger philosophy. " "Poor creatures!" the deacon continues, "howwonderful is the power of encouragement;-how much may be done ifproper means are applied-"

"The trouble is in the means, " Mr. Scranton interposes, scratchinghis head, as if ideas were scarce, and valuable for the distancethey had to be transported. 

Our good lady smiles. "I cannot help smiling, Mr. Scranton. " Shespeaks softly. "There are two things I want done-done quickly: Iwant southern philosophers to consider, and I want southern ladiesto act-to put on energy-to take less care of themselves and more ofthe poor negro!" She lays her hand gently upon Mr. Scranton's arm, her soft blue eyes staring him in the face. "When they do this, " shecontinues, "all will be well. We can soon show the north how muchcan be done without their assistance. I don't believe in women'srights meetings, --not I; but I hold there should be some combinationof southern ladies, to take the moral elevation of the slave intoconsideration, --to set about the work in good earnest, to see whatcan be done. It's a monster work; but monster evils can be removedif females will give their hands and hearts to the task. Thisseparating families to serve the interests of traders in humanbeings must be stopped: females know the pains it inflicts onsuffering wretches; they are best suited to stop that heinousoffence in the sight of God and man. They must rise to the work;they must devise means to stay the waste of fortune now progressingthrough dissipation; and, above all other things, they must rise upand drive these frightful slave-dealers from their doors. "

Mr. Scranton admits there is something in all this, but suggeststhat it were better to let the future take care of itself; there'sno knowing what the future may do; and to let those who come in itenjoy our labours "aint just the policy. " He contends-willing toadmit how much the ladies could do if they would-it would not beconsistent with the times to put forth such experiments, especiallywhen there is so much opposition. "It wouldn't do!" he whispers. 

The deacon here interrupts Mr. Scranton, by stepping to the door andordering one of the servants to prepare refreshments. 

"'It must do! It won't do!' keeps us where we are, and where we arealways complaining that we never have done. You know I speakfrankly, Mr. Scranton-women may say what they please;-and let metell you, that when you do your duty it will do. Hard times neverwere harder than when everybody thought them hard. We must infuseprinciple into our poor people; we must make them earnest inagricultural pursuits; we must elevate the character of labour; wemust encourage the mechanic, and give tone to his pursuits; and, more than all, we must arrest the spread of conventional nonsense, and develope our natural resources by establishing a system of paidlabour, and removing the odium which attaches itself to those whopursue such avocations as the slave may be engaged in. My word forit, Mr. Scranton, there's where the trouble lies. Nature has beenlavish in her good gifts to the south; but we must lend Nature ahelping hand, --we must be the women of the south for the south'sgood; and we must break down those social barriers clogging ourprogress. Nature wants good government to go along with her, to beher handfellow in regeneration; but good government must give Natureher rights. This done, slavery will cease to spread its loathsomediseases through the body politic, virtue will be protected andreceive its rewards, and the buds of prosperity will be nourishedwith energy and ripen into greatness. "

Mr. Scranton suggests that the nigger question was forced upon him, and thinks it better to change the conversation. Mr. Scranton wasonce in Congress, thinks a deal of his Congressional experience, anddeclares, with great seriousness, that the nigger question will cometo something one of these days. "Ah! bless me, madam, " he says, adjusting his arms, "you talk-very-like-a-statesman. Southernersbetter leave all this regenerating of slaves to you. But let me say, whatever you may see in perspective, it's mighty dangerous when youmove such principles to practice. Mark me! you'll have to pull downthe iron walls of the south, make planters of different minds, driveself out of mankind, and overthrow the northern speculator'scotton-bag love. You've got a great work before you, my dearmadam, --a work that'll want an extended lease of your life-time. Remember how hard it is to convince man of the wrong of anythingthat's profitable. A paid system, even emancipation, would have beena small affair in 1824 or 1827. Old niggers and prime fellows werethen of little value; now it is different. You may see the obstacleto your project in the Nashville Convention or Georgia platform-"

"Nashville Convention, indeed!" exclaims Mrs. Rosebrook, her faceinfused with animation, and a curl of disdain on her lip. "Suchthings! Mere happy illustrations of the folly of our politicalaffairs. The one was an exotic do-nothing got up by MisterWanting-to-say-something, who soon gets ashamed of his mission; theother was a mixture of political log-rolling, got up by those whowanted to tell the Union not to mind the Nashville Convention. Whata pity they did not tell the Union to be patient with us! We musthave no more Nashville Conventions; we must change Georgia platformsfor individual enterprise, --southern conventions for moralregeneration. Give us these changes, and we shall show you what canbe done without the aid of the north. " Several servants in tidydresses, their white aprons looking so clean, come bustling into theroom and invite missus and her guest into an airy ante-room, where atable is bountifully spread with cake, fruit, fine old Madeira, andlemonade. Mr. Scranton bows and asks "the pleasure;" Mrs. Rosebrookacknowledgingly takes his arm, while the negroes bow and scrape asthey enter the room. Mr. Scranton stands a few moments gazing at theset-out. "I hope Mr. Scranton will make himself quite at home, " thegood lady interposes. Everything was so exquisitely arranged, so setoff with fresh-plucked flowers, as if some magic hand had justtouched the whole. 

"Now!" continued Mrs. Rosebrook, motioning her head as she points tothe table: "you'll admit my negroes can do something? Poor helplesswretches, we say continually: perhaps they are worse when bad ownerscan make the world look upon them through northern prejudice. Theyare just like children; nobody gives them credit for being anythingelse; and yet they can do much for our good. It would trouble somepersons to arrange a table so neatly; my boys did it all, you see!"And she exults over the efficiency of her negroes, who stand at herside acknowledging the compliment with broad grins. The deacon helpsMr. Scranton, who commences stowing away the sweetmeats with greatgusto. "It is truly surprising what charming nigger property youhave got. They don't seem a bit like niggers" he concludesdeliberately taking a mouthful. Mrs. Rosebrook, pleased at thehonest remark, reminds him that the deacon carries out her viewsmost charmingly, that she studies negro character, and knows that bystimulating it with little things she promotes good. She studiescharacter while the deacon studies politics. At the same time, sherather ironically reminds Mr. Scranton that the deacon is not guiltyof reading any long-winded articles on "state rights and secession. ""Not he!" she says, laughingly; "you don't catch him with suchcast-iron material in his head. They call him pious-proof now andthen, but he's progress all over. "

Mr. Scranton, attentive to his appetite, draws a serious face, givesa side glance, begs a negro to supply his plate anew, and reckons hemay soon make a new discovery in southern political economy. But hefears Mrs. Rosebrook's plan will make a mongrel, the specific natureof which it would be difficult to define in philosophy. Perhaps itwill not be acceptable to the north as a thinking people, nor willit please the generosity of southern ladies. 

"There is where the trouble lies!" exclaimed the deacon, who haduntil then yielded up the discussion to his good lady. "They lookupon our system with distrust, as if it were something they couldnot understand. "

"I move we don't say another word about it, but take our partquietly, " says Mrs. Rosebrook, insinuating that Mr. Scranton hadbetter be left to take his refreshment comfortably; that he is alittle misanthropic; that he must be cheered up. "Come, myboys"-directing her conversation to the negroes-"see that Mr. Scranton is cared for. And you must summon Daddy; tell him to getthe carriage ready, to put on his best blue coat, --that we are goingto take Mr. Scranton over the plantation, to show him how things canprosper when we ladies take a hand in the management. " The negroleaves to execute the order: Mr. Scranton remains mute, now and thensipping his wine. He imagines himself in a small paradise, but"hadn't the least idea how it was made such a place by niggers. "Why, they are just the smartest things in the shape of property thatcould be started up. Regular dandy niggers, dressed up to "shineso, " they set him thinking there was something in his politics notjust straight. And then, there was so much intelligence, so muchpoliteness about the critters! Why, if it had not been for thedoctrines he had so long held, he would have felt bashful at hiswant of ease and suavity, --things seldom taught in the New Englandvillage where our pro-slavery advocate was born and educated. 

Presently servants are seen outside, running here and there, theireyes glistening with anxiety, as if preparing for a May-dayfestival. Old Dolly, the cook, shining with the importance of herprofession, stands her greasy portions in the kitchen door, scoldsaway at old Dad, whose face smiles with good-nature as he fussesover the carriage, wipes it, rubs it, and brushes it, every now andthen stopping to see if it will reflect his full black face. Littlewoolly-headed urchins are toddling round old Maum Dolly, pulling thefolds of her frock, teasing for cakes and fritters. One, more expertin mischief, has perched himself in an aperture over the door, substituting himself for the old black hat with which it is usuallyfilled. Here, his face like a full moon in a cloud, he twists hismoving fingers into the ingeniously-tied knot of Dolly's bandana, which he cunningly draws from her head. Ben and Loblolly, two minorsprats of the race, are seated in the centre of the yard, contendingfor the leaves of a picture-book, which, to appease theircharacteristic inquisitiveness, they have dissected. Daddy has thehorses ready and the carriage waiting; and Uncle Bradshaw, thecoachman, and C‘sar, the likely fellow, wait at the door with asmuch satisfaction expressed in their faces as if it were all forthem. Missus is not to be outdone in expertness: a few minutes agoshe was "snaring" Mr. Scranton with his own philosophy; now she isready to take her seat. 

"Missus! I wants t' go down yander wid ye, I doe, " says Daddy, approaching her with hand extended, and working his black face upinto a broad grin as he detects Mr. Scranton's awkwardness ingetting into the carriage. 

"Certainly, Daddy, certainly: you shall go. Daddy knows how to getalongside of Aunt Rachel when he gets down on the plantation. Heknows where to get a good cup of coffee and a waff. " And she patsthe old negro on the head as he clambers up on the box. "No, himaint dat. Daddy want t' go wid missus-ya'h, ya! dat him, tis. Missuswant somebody down da'h what spry, so'e take care on 'em round deold plantation. Takes my missus to know what nigger is, " says Daddy, taking off his cap, and bowing missus into the carriage. 

"Not one word for mas'r, eh, Daddy?" rejoins the deacon, lookingplayfully at Daddy. "Why, Boss, you aint nofin whin missus about, "returns Daddy, tauntingly, as he buttons his grey coat, and tellsBradshaw to "go ahead!" Away they go, galloping over the plain, through the swamp, for the plantation, --that model experiment doubtedby so many. Major Sprag, the politician, and Judge Snow, thestatesman, had declared publicly it never would do any good. Withthem it was not practical, --it gave negroes too much liberty; andthey declared the system must be kept within the narrowest sphere oflaw, or it would be destroyed for ever. 

Onward the carriage bounded, and long before it reached theplantation gate was espied by the negroes, who came sallying forthfrom their white cabins, crying out at the top of theirvoices-"Missus comin'! Missus comin! Da'h missus-dat she! I know'dmissus wa' comin' t' day!" and the music of their voices re-echoedthrough the arbour of oaks that lined the road. Their tongues seemedto have taken new impulse for the occasion. The dogs, at full run, came barking to the gate; old daddies and mammas, with faces "allover smiles, " followed in the train. And they were dressed sotidily, looked so cheerful, and gave such expressions of theirexuberant feelings, that Mr. Scranton seemed quite at a loss how toaccount for it. He had never before witnessed such a mingling offondness for owners, --the welcome sounds of "God bless good missus!"They were at variance with the misanthropic ideas he had imbibed atthe north. And then there was a regular retinue of the "small-fryproperty" bringing up the rear, with curious faces, and making thejargon more confounding with the music of their voices. Theytoddled, screamed, and shouted, clustered around the gate, andbefore Daddy had time to dismount, had it wide open, and werecontending for the palm of shaking missus by the hand "fust. "

The carriage drives to the plantation house, followed by the trainof moving darkness, flocking around it like as many devotees beforean object of superstitious worship. Mas'r is only a secondaryconsideration, Missus is the angel of their thoughts; her kindnessand perseverance in their behalf has softened theirfeelings--stimulated their energy. How touching is the fondness andtenderness of these degraded mortals! They love their benefactor. And, too, there is a lesson in it worthy the statesman'sconsideration, --it shows a knowledge of right, and a deep sense ofgratitude for kindness bestowed. Mrs. Rosebrook alights from thecarriage, receives their warm congratulations, and, turning to Mr. Scranton, touches him on the arm, and remarks:--"Now, here they are. Poor old bodies, "--taking them by the hand in rotation-just like asmany children. "What do you think of them, Mr. Scranton? do you notfind a softening sympathy creeping upon you? I forgot, though, yourpolitical responsibility! Ah! that is the point with statesmen. Youfeel a touch of conscience once in a while, but cannot speak forfear of the consequences. " And she laughs heartily at Mr. Scranton, who draws his face into a very serious length. "Pest the niggers!"he says, as they gather at his feet, asking all sorts of importunequestions. 

"My good lady is a regular reformer, you see, Mr. Scranton, " rejoinsthe deacon, as he follows that gentleman into the hall. 

Mr. Scranton remarks, in reply, that such does not become caste, andtwo pompous-looking servants set upon him brushing the dirt fromhis clothes with great earnestness. The negroes understand Mr. Scranton at a glance; he is an amiable stoic!

Mrs. Rosebrook disappears for a few minutes, and returns minus herbonnet and mantle. She delights to have the old and the young aroundher, --to study their characters, to hear their stories, theirgrievances, and to relieve their wants. "These little black imps, "she says, patting them on the head as they toddle around her, "They're just as full of interest as their shiny black skins arefull of mischief;" and one after another, with hand extended, theyseek a recognition; and she takes them in her arms, fondling themwith the affection of a nurse. 

"Here's Toby, too; the little cunning rascal! He is as sleek as amole, a young coon, " she ejaculates, stooping down and playfullyworking her fingers over Toby's crispy hair, as he sits upon thegrass in front of the house, feasting on a huge sweet potato, withwhich he has so bedaubed his face that it looks like a mask with theterrific portrayed in the rolling of two immense white eyes. "Andhere is Nichol Garvio!" and she turns to another, pats him on thehead, and shakes his hand. "We mean to make a great man of him, yousee, --he has head enough to make a Congress man; who knows but thathe'll get there when he grows up?"

"Congress, happily, is beyond niggers, " replies Mr. Scranton, approving the lady: "Congress is pure yet!" Turning round, sherecommends Mr. Scranton to put his northern prejudices in hispocket, where they will be safe when required for the purposes ofthe south. "A nigger 's a nigger all over the world, " rejoins Mr. Scranton, significantly shrugging his shoulders and casting adoubtful glance at the young type. 

"True! true!" she returns, giving Mr. Scranton a look of pity. "Godgive us sight to see! We praise our forefathers-honest praise!-butwe forget what they did. They brought them here, poor wretches;decoyed them, deceived them, --and now we wish them back at the verytime it would be impossible to live without them. How happy is themind that believes a 'nigger' must be a nigger for ever and ever;and that we must do all in our power to keep him from being anythingelse!" And her soft blue eyes glowed with sympathy; it was the soulof a noble woman intent on doing good. She had stepped from thedarkness of a political error into the airy height of light andlove. 

Daddy and Bradshaw had taken care of the horses; the deacon greetedhis negroes as one by one they came to welcome him; and for each hehad a kind word, a joke, a shake of the hand, or an enquiry aboutsome missing member of a family. The scene presented an interestingpicture-the interest, policy, and good faith between master andslave. No sooner were the horses cared for, than Daddy and Bradshawstarted for the "cabins, " to say welcome to the old folks, "a heapa' how de" to the gals, and tell de boys, down yander, in de taterpatch, dat Missus come. They must have their touchingcongratulations, interchange the news of the city for the gossip ofthe plantation, and drink the cup of tea Mamma makes for theoccasion. Soon the plantation is all agog; and the homely, but neatcabins, swarm with negroes of all ages, bustling here and there, andmaking preparations for the evening supper, which Aunt Peggy, thecook, has been instructed to prepare in her very best style. 

The deacon joins his good lady, and, with Mr. Scranton, they prepareto walk over and view the plantation. They are followed by a retinueof old and young property, giving vent to their thoughts inexpressions of gratitude to Missus and Mas'r. A broad expanse ofrural beauty stretches towards the west, soft and enchanting. Thesun is sinking into the curtains of a refulgent cloud; its crimsonlight casts a mellow shade over the broad landscape; the eveningbreeze is wafting coolly over the foliage, a welcome relief to thescorching heat of mid-day; the balmy atmosphere breathes sweetnessover the whole. To the north stands a clump of fine old oaks, highabove the distant "bottom, " reflecting in all their richness thewarm tints of the setting sun. The leaves rustle as they pass along;long lines of cotton plants, with their healthy blossoms, brightenin the evening shade; the corn bends under its fruit; the potatofield looks fresh and luxuriant, and negroes are gathering from theslip-beds supplies of market gardening. There is but one appearanceamong the workers-cheerfulness! They welcome Mas'r as he passesalong; and again busily employ themselves, hoeing, weeding, andworking at the roots of vines in search of destructive insects. 

"My overseers are all black, every one! I would'nt have a white one;they are mostly tyrants, " says the deacon, looking at his fields, exultingly. "And my overseers plan out the very best mode ofplanting. They get through a heap of work, with a little kindnessand a little management. Those two things do a deal, Sir! Five yearsago, I projected this new system of managing negroes-or, rather mylady planned it, --she is a great manager, you see, --and I adopted it. You see how it has worked, Mr. Scranton. " The deacon takes Mr. Scranton by the arm, pointing over the broad expanse of cultivatedland, bending under the harvest. I make all my negroes marry whenthey have arrived at a specific age; I assure them I never will sellone unless he or she commits a heinous crime; and I never have. There is a great deal in keeping faith with a negro; he is ofmankind, and moved by natural laws mentally and physically, andfeels deeply the want of what we rarely regard of muchconsequence-confidence in his master's word. Wife encourages theirmoral energy; I encourage their physical by filling their bellieswith as much corn and bacon as they can eat; and then I give themfive cents per day (the heads of families) to get those littlenecessaries which are so essential to their comfort andencouragement. I call it our paid-labour system; and I give themtasks, too, and when they have finished them I allow a small stipendfor extra work. It's a small mite for a great end; and it's such anencouragement with them that I get about thirty per cent. More workdone. And then I allow them to read just as much as they please-whatdo I care about law? I don't want to live where learning to read isdangerous to the State, I don't. Their learning to read never candestroy their affections for me and wife; and kindness to them willmake them less dangerous in case of insurrection. It's not theeducation we've got to fear; our fears increase with the knowledgeof our oppression. They know these things-they feel them; and if byeducating them one can cultivate their confidence, had we not betterdo it with a view to contingencies? Now, as the result of oursystem, we have promised to give all our negroes their freedom atthe expiration of ten years, and send such as wish to go, toLiberia; but, I hold that they can do as much for us at home, workfor us if properly encouraged, and be good free citizens, obedientto the laws of the State, serving the general good of a greatcountry. "

"Yes!" the good lady interposes; "I want to see those things carriedout; they will yet work for the regeneration of their own race. Heaven will some day reward the hand that drags the cursed mantlefrom off poor Africa; and Africa herself will breathe a prayer toHeaven in grateful acknowledgment of the act that frees her from thestain of being the world's bonded warehouse for human flesh andblood. "

The deacon interrupts, --suggests "that it were better to movepractically; and that small streams may yet direct how a mountainmay be removed. Our Union is a great monument of what a Republic maybe, --a happy combination of life, freshness, and greatness, uponwhich the Old World looks with distrust. The people have founded itshappiness-its greatness! God alone knows its destiny; crowned headswould not weep over its downfall! It were better each citizen felthis heart beating to the words-It is my country; cursed be the handraised to sever its members!" The lady tells Mr. Scranton that theirproduce has increased every year; that last year they planted onehundred and twenty acres with cotton, ninety with corn, forty withsweet potatoes, as many more with slips and roots; and three acresof water-melons for the boys, which they may eat or sell. Sheassures him that by encouraging the pay system they get a doubleprofit, besides preparing the way for something that must come. 

"Come!" Mr. Scranton interrupts: "let the south be true to herself, and there's no fear of that. But I confess, deacon, there issomething good as well as curious about your way of treatingniggers. " And Mr. Scranton shakes his head, as if the practicabilityyet remained the great obstacle in his mind. "Your niggers ain'tevery body's, " he concludes. 

"Try it, try it!" Mrs. Rosebrook rejoins: "Go home and propoundsomething that will relieve us from fear-something that will prepareus for any crisis that may occur!"

It was six o'clock, the plantation bell struck, and the cry sounded"All hands quit work, and repair to supper!" Scarcely had the echoesresounded over the woods when the labourers were seen scampering fortheir cabins, in great glee. They jumped, danced, jostled oneanother, and sang the cheering melodies, "Sally put da' hoe cakedown!" and "Down in Old Tennessee. "

Reaching their cabins they gathered into a conclave around Daddy andBradshaw, making the very air resound with their merry jargon. Sucha happy meeting-such social congratulations, pouring forth of theheart's affections, warm and true, --it had never been before Mr. Scranton's fortune to witness. Indeed, when he listened to the readyflashes of dialogue accompanying their animation, and saw thestrange contortions of their fresh, shining faces, he began to"reckon" there was something about niggers that might, by a processnot yet discovered, be turned into something. 

Old "Mammies" strive for the honour of having Daddy and Bradshaw supat their cabins, taunting each other on the spareness of their meal. Fires are soon lit, the stew-pans brought into requisition, and thesmoke, curling upward among a myriad of mosquitoes, is dispersingthem like a band of unwelcome intruders; while the corn-mills rattleand rumble, making the din and clatter more confounding. Daddy andBradshaw being "aristocratic darkies from the city"-caste beingtenaciously kept up among negroes-were, of course, recipients of thechoicest delicacies the plantation afforded, not excepting fresheggs poached, and possum. Bradshaw is particularly fond of ghoststories; and as old Maum Nancy deals largely in this article, aswell as being the best believer in spectres on the plantation, heconcludes to sup with her, in her hospitable cabin, when she willrelate all that she has seen since she last saw him. Maum Nancy isas black as a crow, has a rich store of tales on hand; she willplease the old man, more particularly when she tells him about thevery bad ghost seen about the mansion for more than "three weeks ofnights. " He has got two sarpents' heads; Maum Nancy declares thestatement true, for uncle Enoch "seen him, "-he is a grey ghost-andmight a' knocked him over with his wattle, only he darn't lest heshould reek his vengeance at some unexpected moment. And then he wasthe very worst kind of a ghost, for he stole all the chickens, noteven leaving the feathers. They said he had a tail like the thingMas'r Sluck whipped his "niggers" with. Bradshaw sups of MaumNancy's best, listening to her stories with great concern. The storyof the ghost with two heads startles him; his black picture, framefills with excitement; he has never before heard that ghosts wereguilty of predatory crimes. So enchained and excited is he with herstory, that the party at the house having finished supper, have madepreparations to leave for the city. A finger touches him on theshoulder; he startles, recognises Daddy, who is in search of him, and suddenly becomes conscious that his absence has caused greatanxiety. Daddy has found him quietly eating Maum Nancy's cakes, while intently listening to the story about the ghost "what" stealsall her chickens. He is quite unconcerned about Mas'r, Missus-anything but the ghost! He catches his cap, gives Nancy'shand a warm shake, says God bless 'em, hastens for the mansion, finds the carriage waiting at the door, for Mas'r and Missus, whotake their seats as he arrives. Bradshaw mounts the box again, andaway it rolls down the oak avenue. The happy party leave for home;the plantation people are turned out en masse to say good bye toMissus, and "hope Mas'r get safe home. " Their greetings sound forthas the carriage disappears in the distance; fainter and fainter thegood wish falls upon their ears. They are well on the road; Mr. Scranton, who sits at the side of the good lady, on the back seat, has not deigned to say a word: the evening grows dark, and his mindseems correspondingly gloomy. "I tell you, I feel so pleased, sooverjoyed, and so happy when I visit the plantation, to see thosepoor creatures so happy and so full of fondness! It's worth all theriches to know that one is loved by the poor. Did you ever see suchhappiness, Mr. Scranton?" Mrs. Rosebrook enquires, coolly. 

"It requires a great deal of thinking, a great deal of caution, agreat deal of political foresight, before answering such questions. You'll pardon me, my dear madam, I know you will; I always speaksquare on questions, you know. It's hard to reconcile oneself toniggers being free. "

"Ah! yes-it's very amiable to think; but how much more praiseworthyto act! If we southern ladies set ourselves about it we can do agreat deal; we can save the poor creatures being sold, like cows andcalves, in this free country. We must save ourselves from the moraldegradation that is upon us. What a pity Marston's friends did notmake an effort to change his course! If they had he would not now bein the hands of that Graspum. We are surrounded by a world oftemptation; and yet our planters yield to them; they thinkeverything a certainty, forgetting that the moment they fall intoGraspum's hands they are gone. "

Mr. Scranton acknowledges he likes the look of things on theplantation, but suggests that it will be considered aninnovation, --an innovation too dangerous to be considered. Innovations are dangerous with him, --unpopular, cannot amount to muchpractical good. He gives these insinuations merely as happyexpressions of his own profound opinion. The carriage approaches thevilla, which, seen from the distance, seems sleeping in the calm ofnight. Mr. Scranton is like those among us who are always fearing, but never make an effort to remove the cause; they, too, aredoggedly attached to political inconsistency, and, though at timesled to see the evil, never can be made to acknowledge the wrong. They reach the garden gate; Mr. Scranton begs to be excused fromentering the Villa, --takes a formal leave of his friend, and wendshis way home, thinking. "There's something in it!" he says tohimself, as he passes the old bridge that separates the city fromthe suburb. "It's not so much for the present as it is for thehereafter. Nobody thinks of repairing this old bridge, and yet ithas been decaying under our eyes for years. Some day it willsuddenly fall, --a dozen people will be precipitated into the waterbelow, some killed; the city will then resound with lamentations;every body knows it must take place one of these days, everybody isto blame, but no special criminal can be found. There's something inthe comparison!" he says, looking over the old railing into thewater. And then his thoughts wandered to the plantation. There thegerms of an enlightened policy were growing up; the purity of anoble woman's heart was spreading blessings among a downcast race, cultivating their minds, raising them up to do good for themselves, to reward the efforts of the benefactor. Her motto was:--Let usthrough simple means seek the elevation of a class of beings whosedegradation has distracted the political wisdom of our happycountry, from its conquest to the present day. "There's something init, " again mutters Mr. Scranton, as he enters his room, lights histaper, and with his elbow resting on the table, his head supportedin his hand, sits musing over the subject. 

CHAPTER XII. 

ELDER PEMBERTON PRAISEWORTHY CHANGES HIS BUSINESS. 

LET us beg the reader's indulgence for a few moments, while we saythat Mr. Scranton belonged to that large class of servile flattererswho too often come from the New England States-men, who, having nodirect interest in slaves, make no scruple of sacrificing theirindependence that they may appear true to the south and slavery. Such men not unfrequently do the political vampirism of the southwithout receiving its thanks, but look for the respect of politicalfactions for being loudest supporters of inconsistency. They neverreceive the thanks of the southerner; frequently and deservedly dothey sink into contempt!

A few days after the visit to the plantation we have described inthe foregoing chapter, Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, divested of hispastoral occupation, and seriously anxious to keep up his friendlyassociations with those who had taken a part in furthering the causeof humanity, calls on his old acquaintance, Mrs. Rosebrook. He hasalways found a welcome under her hospitable roof, --a good meal, overwhich he could discourse the benefits he bestowed, through hisspiritual mission, upon a fallen race; never leaving without kindlyasking permission to offer up a prayer, in which he invoked themercy of the Supreme Ruler over all things. In this instance heseems somewhat downcast, forlorn; he has changed his business; hisbrown, lean face, small peering eyes, and low forehead, with bristlyblack hair standing erect, give his features a careworn air. Heapologises for the unceremonious call, and says he always forgetsetiquette in his fervour to do good; to serve his fellow-creatures, to be a Christian among the living, and serve the dying and thedead-if such have wants--is his motto. And that his motives may notbe misconstrued he has come to report the peculiar phases of thebusiness he found it actually necessary to turn his hand to. That hewill gain a complete mastery over the devil he has not the fractionof a doubt; and as he has always--deeming him less harmless than manycitizens of the south--had strong prejudices against that gentleman, he now has strong expectations of carrying his point against him. Elder Praiseworthy once heard a great statesman--who said singularthings as well in as out of Congress--say that he did'nt believe thedevil was a bad fellow after all; and that with a little moreschooling he might make a very useful gentleman to preventduelling--in a word, that there was no knowing how we'd get along atthe south without such an all-important personage. He has hadseveral spells of deep thinking on this point, which, though hecannot exactly agree with it, he holds firmly to the belief that, sofar as it affects duelling, the devil should be one of theprincipals, and he, being specially ordained, the great antagonistto demolish him with his chosen weapon--humanity. 

"They tell me you have gone back into the world, " says Mrs. Rosebrook, as the waiter hands Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy a chair. "It's only the duty of love, of Christian goodness, he humblyreplies, and takes his seat as Mrs. Rosebrook says-"pray be seated!"

"I'm somewhat fatigued; but it's the fatigue of loving to do good, "he says, rubbing his hands very piously, and giving a look of greatministerial seriousness at the good lady. We will omit several minorportions of the Elder's cautious introduction of his humaneoccupation, commencing where he sets forth the kind reasons for sucha virtuous policy. "You honestly think you are serving the Lord, doyou?" enquires the lady, as she takes her seat. 

The Elder evinces surprise at such a question. Hath he moved amongChristians so many years, ministering to spiritual wants, and yetthe purity of his motives be questioned? "Good madam! we must havefaith to believe. All that is meant well should be accepted in thegreatness of the intention. You will observe, I am neither a lawyernor a politician; I would'nt be for the world! We must always bedoing something for the good of others; and we must not forget, whilst we are doing it, to serve the Allwise one; and while we areeffecting the good of one we are serving the designs of the other. "Thus emphatically spoke the Elder, fingering a book that lay on thetable. "I buy sick people, I save the dying, and I instruct them inthe ways of the Lord as soon as they are cured, and-" And here theElder suddenly stops. 

"Add, Mr. Praiseworthy, that when you have cured them, andinstructed them in the way of the Lord, you sell them!" interruptsthe lady, watching the sudden changes that pass over his cravenfeatures. 

"I always get them good masters; I never fail in that. Nor do Istand upon the profit-it's the humanity I takes into the balance. "He conceives good under the motley garb of his new mission. 

"Humanity-strange humanity, with self coiled beneath. Why, Mr. Praiseworthy!" the lady starts from her seat, and speaks withemphasis, "do you tell me that you have become a resurrection man, standing at the platform of death, interposing with it for aspeculation?"

"It's no uncommon business, Madam; hundreds follow it; some have gotrich at it. "

"Got rich at it!" Mrs. Rosebrook interrupts, as a sagacious lookingcat bounds on the table, much to the discomfiture of the Elder, whojumps up in a great fright, --"What irresistible natures we have; mayheaven save us from the cravings of avarice!"

The Elder very methodically puts the interrupting cat upon thefloor, and resumes his seat. "Why, bless us, good madam, we musthave something to keep our consciences clear; there's nothing likeliving a straightforward life. "

"What a horrible inconsistency! Buying the sick and the dying. Maythe dead not come in for a portion of your singular generosity? Ifyou can speculate in the dying why exclude the dead? the principlewould serve the same faith in Christianity. The heart that canpurchase the dying must be full of sad coldness, dragging the woesand pains of mortality down to a tortuous death. Save us from thefeelings of speculation, --call them Christian, if you will, --thatmakes man look upon a dying mortal, valuing but the dollars andcents that are passing away with his life, " she interrupts, givingvent to her pent-up feelings. 

Mr. Praiseworthy suggests that the good lady does not comprehend thevirtue lying beneath his motives; that it takes a philosophical mindto analyse the good that can be done to human nature, especiallypoor black human nature. And he asserts, with great sincerity, thatsaving the lives of those about to die miserable deaths is awonderful thing for the cause of humanity. Buying them saves theirhopeless lives; and if that isn't praiseworthy nothing can be, andwhen the act is good the motive should not be questioned. 

"Do you save their lives for a Christian purpose, or is it lucre youseek, Mr. Praiseworthy?" she enquires, giving the Elder asignificant look, and waiting for a reply. 

The Elder rises sedately, and walks across the room, considering hisreply. "The question's so kind of round about, " he mutters, as shecontinues:--

"Sick when you purchase, your Christianity consists in the art ofhealing; but you sell them, and consequently save their lives for aprofit. There is no cholera in our plantation, thank God! you cannotspeculate on our sick. You outshine the London street Jews; theydeal in old clothes, you deal in human oddities, totteringinfirmity, sick negroes. " Mrs. Rosebrook suggests that such abusiness in a great and happy country should be consigned to itsgrave-digger and executioner, or made to pay a killing income tax. 

The humane Elder views his clothes; they have become somewhatthreadbare since he entered upon his new profession. He, as may besupposed, feels the force of the lady's remarks, and yet cannotbring his mind to believe himself actuated by anything but a love todo good. Kindness, he contends, was always the most inherent thingin his nature: it is an insult to insinuate anything degradingconnected with his calling. And, too, there is another consolationwhich soars above all, --it is legal, and there is a respectabilityconnected with all legal callings. 

"To be upright is my motto, madam, " the Elder says, drawing his handmodestly over his mouth, and again adjusting the tie of his whiteneck-cloth. "I'm trying to save them, and a penny with them. Yousee-the Lord forgive him!-my dear madam, Marston didn't do the cleanthing with me; and, the worst of all was, he made a preacher of thatnigger of his. The principle is a very bad one for nigger propertyto contend for; and when their masters permit it, our profession isupset; for, whenever a nigger becomes a preacher, he's sure to be aprofitable investment for his owner. There is where it injures us;and we have no redress, because the nigger preacher is his master'sproperty, and his master can make him preach, or do what he pleaseswith him, " says Mr. Praiseworthy, becoming extremely serious. 

"Ah! yes, --self pinches the principles; I see where it is, Elder, "says the lady. "But you were indiscreet, given to taking at times;and the boy Harry, proving himself quite as good at preaching, destroyed your practice. I wish every negro knew as much of theBible as that boy Harry. There would be no fear of insurrections; itwould be the greatest blessing that ever befell the South. It wouldmake some of your Christians blush, --perhaps ashamed. "

"Ashamed! ashamed! a thing little used the way times are, " hemutters, fretting his fingers through his bristly hair, until itstands erect like quills on a porcupine's back. This done, hemeasuredly adjusts his glasses on the tip of his nose, giving histawny visage an appearance at once strange and indicative of all thepeculiarities of his peculiar character. "It wasn't that, " he says, "Marston did'nt get dissatisfied with my spiritual conditions; itwas the saving made by the negro's preaching. But, to my newbusiness, which so touches your sensitive feelings. If you willhonour me, my dear madam, with a visit at my hospital, I am certainyour impressions will change, and you will do justice to mymotives. "

"Indeed!" interrupts the lady, quickly, "nothing would give me moregratification, --I esteem any person engaged in a laudable pursuit;but if philanthropy be expressed through the frailties ofspeculation, --especially where it is carried out in the buying andselling of afflicted men and women, --I am willing to admit the age ofprogress to have got ahead of me. However, Elder, I suppose you goupon the principle of what is not lost to sin being gained to theLord: and if your sick property die pious, the knowledge of it is asufficient recompense for the loss. " Thus saying, she readilyaccepted the Elder's kind invitation, and, ordering a basket ofprepared nourishment, which, together with the carriage, was soonready, she accompanied him to his infirmary. They drove throughnarrow lanes and streets lined with small dilapidated cottages, andreached a wooden tenement near the suburb of the city of C--. It wassurrounded by a lattice fence, the approach being through a gate, onwhich was inscribed, "Mr. Praiseworthy's Infirmary;" and immediatelybelow this, in small letters, was the significant notice, "Plantershaving the cholera and other prevailing diseases upon theirplantations will please take notice that I am prepared to pay thehighest price for the infirm and other negroes attacked with thedisease. Offers will be made for the most doubtful cases!"

"Elder Praiseworthy!" ejaculates the lady, starting back, andstopping to read the strange sign. "'Offers will be made for themost doubtful cases!'" she mutters, turning towards him with a lookof melancholy. "What thoughts, feelings, sentiments! That means, that unto death you have a pecuniary interest in their bodies; and, for a price, you will interpose between their owners and death. Themind so grotesque as to conceive such a purpose should berestrained, lest it trifle with life unconsciously. "

"You see, " interrupts Mr. Praiseworthy, looking more serious thanever, "It's the life saved to the nigger; he's grateful for it; andif they ain't pious just then, it gives them time to consider, toprepare themselves. My little per centage is small-it's a meancommission; and if it were not for the satisfaction of knowing howmuch good I do, it wouldn't begin to pay a professional gentleman. "As the Elder concludes his remarks, melancholy sounds are breakingforth in frightful discord. From strange murmurings it rises intoloud wailings and implorings. "Take me, good Lord, to a world ofpeace!" sounds in her ears, as they approach through a garden andenter a door that opens into a long room, a store-house of humaninfirmity, where moans, cries, and groans are made a medium oftraffic. The room, about thirty feet long and twenty wide, isrough-boarded, contains three tiers of narrow berths, one above theother, encircling its walls. Here and there on the floor are cots, which Mr. Praiseworthy informs us are for those whose cases he wouldnot give much for. Black nurses are busily attending the sickproperty; some are carrying bowls of gruel, others rubbing limbs andquieting the cries of the frantic, and again supplying water toquench thirst. On a round table that stands in the centre of theroom is a large medicine-chest, disclosing papers, pills, powders, phials, and plasters, strewn about in great disorder. A bedlam ofghastly faces presents itself, --dark, haggard, and frantic with thepains of the malady preying upon the victims. One poor wretchsprings from his couch, crying, "Oh, death! death! come soon!" andhis features glare with terror. Again he utters a wild shriek, andbounds round the room, looking madly at one and another, as ifchased by some furious animal. The figure of a female, whoseelongated body seems ready to sink under its disease, sits on alittle box in the corner, humming a dolorous air, and looking withglassy eyes pensively around the room at those stretched in theirberths. For a few seconds she is quiet; then, contorting her faceinto a deep scowl, she gives vent to the most violent bursts ofpassion, --holds her long black hair above her head, assumes a tragicattitude, threatens to distort it from the scalp. "That one's losther mind-she's fitty; but I think the devil has something to do withher fits. And, though you wouldn't think it, she's just as harmlessas can be, " Mr. Praiseworthy coolly remarks, looking at Mrs. Rosebrook, hoping she will say something encouraging in reply. Thelady only replies by asking him if he purchased her from her owner?

Mr. Praiseworthy responds in the affirmative, adding that shedoesn't seem to like it much. He, however, has strong hopes ofcuring her mind, getting it "in fix" again, and making a good pennyon her. "She's a'most white, and, unfortunately, took a liking to ayoung man down town. Marston owned her then, and, being a friend ofhers, wouldn't allow it, and it took away her senses; he thought hermalady incurable, and sold her to me for a little or nothing, " hecontinues, with great complacency. 

This poor broken flower of misfortune holds down her head as thelady approaches, gives a look of melancholy expressive of shame andremorse. "She's sensitive for a nigger, and the only one that hassaid anything about being put among men, " Mr. Praiseworthy remarks, advancing a few steps, and then going from berth to berth, descanting on the prospects of his sick, explaining their variousdiseases, their improvements, and his doubts of the dying. The ladywatches all his movements, as if more intently interested in Mr. Praiseworthy's strange character. "And here's one, " he says, "I fearI shall lose; and if I do, there's fifty dollars gone, slap!" and hepoints to an emaciated yellow man, whose body is literally a crustof sores, and whose painful implorings for water and nourishment aredeep and touching. 

"Poor wretch!" Mr. Praiseworthy exclaims, "I wish I'd never boughthim-it's pained my feelings so; but I did it to save his life whenhe was most dead with the rheumatics, and was drawn up as crooked asbranch cord-wood. And then, after I had got the cinques out of him-after nearly getting him straight for a 'prime fellow' (good caredid the thing), he took the water on the chest, and is grown outlike that. " He points coolly to the sufferer's breast, which isfearfully distended with disease; saying that, "as if that wasn'tenough, he took the lepors, and it's a squeak if they don't endhim. " He pities the "crittur, " but has done all he can for him, which he would have done if he hadn't expected a copper for sellinghim when cured. "So you see, madam, " he reiterates, "it isn't allprofit. I paid a good price for the poor skeleton, have had all nytrouble, and shall have no gain-except the recompense of feeling. There was a time when I might have shared one hundred and fiftydollars by him, but I felt humane towards him; didn't want him toslide until he was a No. 1. " Thus the Elder sets forth his owngoodness of heart. 

"Pray, what do you pay a head for them, Mr. Praiseworthy?" enquiresthe lady, smoothing her hand over the feverish head of the poorvictim, as the carnatic of her cheek changed to pallid languor. Pursuing her object with calmness, she determined not to display heremotions until fully satisfied how far the Elder would go. 

"That, madam, depends on cases; cripples are not worth much. But, now and then, we get a legless fellow what's sound in body, can getround sprightly, and such like; and, seeing how we can make himanswer a sight of purposes, he'll bring something, " he sedatelyreplies, with muscles unmoved. "Cases what doctors give up as 'donegone, ' we gets for ten and twenty dollars; cases not hanging underother diseases, we give from thirty to fifty-and so on! Remember, however, you must deduct thirty per cent. For death. At times, whereyou would make two or three hundred dollars by curing one, andsaving his life, you lose three, sometimes half-a-dozen head. " TheElder consoles his feelings with the fact that it is not all profit, looks highly gratified, puts a large cut of tobacco in his mouth, thanks God that the common school-bill didn't pass in thelegislature, and that his business is more humane than peoplegenerally admit. 

"How many have you in all?"

"The number of head, I suppose? Well, there's about thirty sick, andten well ones what I sent to market last week. Did-n-'t-make-a-goodmarket, though, " he drawls out. 

"You are alone in the business?"

"Well, no; I've a partner-Jones; there's a good many phases in thebusiness, you see, and one can't get along. Jones was anigger-broker, and Jones and me went into partnership to do thething smooth up, on joint account. I does the curing, and he doesthe selling, and we both turns a dollar or two-"

"Oh, horrors!" interrupts the lady, looking at Mr. Praiseworthysarcastically. "Murder will out, men's sentiments will betray them, selfishness will get above them all; ornament them as you will, their ornaments will drop, --naked self will uncover herself and bethe deceiver. "

"Not at all!" the Elder exclaims, in his confidence. "The Lord'swill is in everything; without it we could not battle with thedevil; we relieve suffering humanity, and the end justifies themeans. "

"You should have left out the means: it is only the end you aim at. "

"That's like accusing Deacon Seabury of impious motives, because heshaves notes at an illegal interest. It's worse-because what the lawmakes legal the church should not make sinful. " This isPraiseworthy's philosophy, which he proclaims while forgetting theexistence of a law of conscience having higher claims than thetechnicalities of statutes. We must look to that to modify ourselfishness, to strengthen our love for human laws when founded injustice. 

"And who is this poor girl?" enquires Mrs. Rosebrook, steppingsoftly forward, and taking her by the hand. 

"Marston's once; some Indian in her, they say. She's right fairlooks when she's herself. Marston's in trouble now, and the cholerahas made sad havoc of his niggers, " Mr. Praiseworthy replies, placing a chair, and motioning his hand for the lady to be seated. The lady seats herself beside the girl, --takes her hand. 

"Yes, missus; God bless good missus. Ye don't know me now, " muttersthe poor girl, raising her wild glassy eyes, as she parts the longblack hair from her forehead: "you don't know me; I'm changed so!"

"My child, who has made you this wretch?" says the good lady, pressing her tawny hand. 

My child!" she exclaims, with emphasis: "My child Nicholas, --mychild! Missus, save Nicholas; he is my child. Oh! do save him!" and, as if terrified, she grasps tighter the lady's hand, while heremotions swell into a frantic outburst of grief. "Nicholas, mychild!" she shrieks. 

"She will come to, soon: it's only one of her strange fits ofaberration. Sometimes I fling cold water over her; and, if it's verycold, she soon comes to, " Mr. Praiseworthy remarks, as he standsunmoved, probably contemplating the goodness of a forgiving God. What magic simplicity lies concealed in his nature; and yet it ishis trade, sanctioned by the law of a generous state. Let us blessthe land that has given us power to discover the depths to whichhuman nature can reduce itself, and what man can make himself whenhuman flesh and blood become mere things of traffic. 

"That gal's name is Ellen. I wish I knew all that has turned up atMarston's, " remarks the Elder. 

"Ellen!" ejaculates the lady, looking at her more intently, placingher left hand under her chin. "Not Ellen Juvarna?"

"Yes, good missus-the lady has distributed her nourishment among thesick-that's my name, " she says, raising her eyes with a look ofmelancholy that tells the tale of her troubles. Again her feelingssubside into quiet; she seems in meditation. "I knowed you once, good missus, but you don't know me now, I'm changed so!" shewhispers, the good lady holding her hand, as a tear courses down hercheek-"I'm changed so!" she whispers, shaking her head. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A FATHER TRIES TO BE A FATHER. 

WE have conducted the reader through scenes perhaps unnecessary toour narration, nevertheless associated with and appertaining to theobject of our work. And, in this sense, the reader cannot fail todraw from them lessons developing the corrupting influences of abody politic that gives one man power to sell another. They go toprove how soon a man may forget himself, --how soon he may become ademon in the practice of abominations, how soon he can reconcilehimself to things that outrage the most sacred ties of our socialbeing. And, too, consoling himself with the usages of society, making it right, gives himself up to the most barbarous practices. 

When we left Marston in a former chapter, he had become sensible ofthe wrong he so long assisted to inflict upon innocent anddefenceless persons; and, stung with remorse made painful by theweight of misfortune, had avowed his object of saving his children. Yet, strange as it may seem, so inured were his feelings to thosearbitrary customs which slave-owners are educated to view asprivileges guaranteed in the rights of a peculiar institution-therights of property in the being slave-that, although conscious ofhis duty toward the children, no sooner had the mother of Nicholasbeen attacked with cholera, than he sold her to the Elder PembertonPraiseworthy, in whose infirmary we have just left her. The Elder, since his discharge from parochial life, --from ministering thegospel, has transferred his mission to that of being the partner ina firm, the ostensible business of which is purchasing the sick, theliving, and the dying. 

Do not blush, reader; you know not how elastic dealing in human kindmakes man's feelings. Gold is the beacon-light of avarice; for itman will climb over a catacomb of the dead. In this instance thevery man-Marston-who, touched by misfortune, began to cherish afather's natural feelings, could see nothing but property in themother, though he knew that mother to be born free. Perhaps it wasnot without some compunction of feelings-perhaps it was done tosoften the separation at that moment so necessary to thepreservation of the children. But we must leave this phase of thepicture, and turn to another. 

Graspum had diligently watched Marston's affairs, and through thecunning and perseverance of Romescos, carefully noted every movementon the plantation. Each death from cholera was reported, --the changein Marston's feelings observed and provided against, --every stage ofthe crop carefully watched. Graspum, however, had secured himself inthe real estate, and gave little heed to the epidemic that wascarrying off the negro property. Finally, to pass over severalstages in the decline of Marston's affairs, the ravages of thedisease continued until but forty-three negroes, old and young, were left on the old homestead. The culminating point had arrived. He was in the grasp of Graspum, and nothing could save him fromutter ruin. It had lately been proved that the Rovero family, instead of being rich, were extremely poor, their plantation havinglong been under a mortgage, the holder of which was threateningforeclosure. 

With Marston, an amount of promiscuous debts had accumulated so farbeyond his expectation that he was without means of dischargingthem. His affairs became more and more confused, while the amount ofhis liabilities remained a perfect obscurity to the community. Rumour began to disseminate his troubles, suspicion summoned hercharges, and town-talk left little unadded; while those of hiscreditors who had been least suspicious of his wealth and honourbecame the most importunate applicants for their claims. At length, driven by the pressure of the times, he calls Clotilda to him, andtells her that he is resolved to send Annette and Nicholas into thecity, where they will remain in the care of a coloured woman, untilan opportunity offers of sending them to the north. He is fond ofClotilda, --tells her of the excitement concerning his businessaffairs, and impresses her with the necessity of preservingcalmness; it is requisite to the evasion of any ulterior consequencethat may be brought upon him. Every-thing hangs upon a thread-apolitical thread, a lawful thread-a thread that holds the fate ofthirty, forty, or fifty human beings-that separates them from thatverge of uncertainty upon which a straw may turn the weal or woe oftheir lives. "When I get them comfortably cared for, Clotilda, Iwill send for you. Nicholas's mother has gone, but you shall be amother to them both, " he says, looking upon her seriously, as ifcontemplating the trouble before him in the attempt to rescue hischildren. 

"You will not send Annette away without me?" she inquires, quickly, falling on her knees at his side, and reiterating, "Don't sendAnnette away without me, --don't, mas'r!"

"The separation will only be for a few days. Annette shall beeducated-I care not for the laws of our free land against it-andtogether you shall go where your parentage will not shame you, --whereyou may ornament society, " he replies, as Clotilda's face lights upwith satisfaction. With such an assurance-she does not comprehendthe tenour of his troubles-her freedom seems at hand: it excites herto joy. Marston retires and she takes his seat, writes a note toMaxwell, who is then in the city, relating what has transpired, andconcluding with a request that he will call and see her. 

A few days passed, and the two children were sent into the city andplaced in the charge of a free woman, with instructions to keep themsecreted for several weeks. This movement being discovered byRomescos, was the first signal for an onset of creditors. Graspum, always first to secure himself, in this instance compelled Marstonto succumb to his demands by threatening to disclose the crimeLorenzo had committed. Forcing him to fulfil the obligation in thebond, he took formal possession of the plantation. This increasedthe suspicion of fraud; there was a mystery somewhere, --nobody couldsolve it. Marston, even his former friends declared, was a swindler. He could not be honestly indebted in so large an amount to Graspum;nor could he be so connected with such persons without somethingbeing wrong somewhere. Friends began to insinuate that they had beenmisled; and not a few among those who had enjoyed his hospitalitywere first inclined to scandalise his integrity. Graspum hadforeseen all this, and, with Romescos, who had purloined the bill ofsale, was prepared to do any amount of swearing. Marston is a victimof circumstances; his proud spirit prompts him to preserve fromdisgrace the name of his family, and thus he the more easily yieldedto the demands of the betrayer. Hence, Graspum, secure in hisill-gotten booty, leaves his victim to struggle with those who comeafter him. 

A few weeks pass over, and the equity of Graspum's claim isquestioned: his character for honour being doubted, gives rise tomuch comment. The whole thing is denounced-proclaimed a concertedmovement to defraud the rightful creditors. And yet, knowing thesupremacy of money over law in a slave state, Graspum's power, therevenge his followers inflict, and their desperate character, notone dare come forward to test the validity of the debt. They knowand fear the fierce penalty: they are forced to fall back, --to seizehis person, his property, his personal effects. 

In this dilemma, Marston repairs to the city, attempts to make anarrangement with his creditors, singularly fails; he can effectnothing. Wherever he goes his salutation meets a cold, measuredresponse; whisper marks him a swindler. The knife stabs deep intothe already festered wound. Misfortune bears heavily upon asensitive mind; but accusation of wrong, when struggling undertrials, stabs deepest into the heart, and bears its victim sufferingto the very depths of despair. 

To add to this combination of misfortunes, on his return to theplantation he found it deserted, --a sheriff's keeper guarding hispersonal effects, his few remaining negroes seized upon and marchedinto the city for the satisfaction of his debts. Clotilda has beenseized upon, manacled, driven to the city, committed to prison. Another creditor has found out the hiding-place of the children;directs the sheriff, who seizes upon them, like property of theirkind, and drags them to prison. Oh, that prison walls were made fortorturing the innocent!

Marston is left poor upon the world; Ellen Juvarna is in the handsof a resurrectionist; Nicholas-a bright boy he has grown-is withinthe dark confines of a prison cell, along with Clotilda and Annette. Melancholy broods over the plantation now. The act of justice, --theright which Marston saw through wrong, and which he had intended tocarry out, --is now beyond his power. Stripped of those comforts hehad enjoyed, his offspring carried off as trophies ofavarice, --perhaps for sale to some ruffian who would set a price upontheir beauty, --he sits down, sick at heart, and weeps a child'stears. The mansion, so long the scene of pleasure and hospitality, is like a deserted barrack;-still, gloomy, cold, in the absence offamiliar faces. No servant comes to call him master, --Dandy and Enochare gone; and those familiar words, so significant of affectionbetween master and slave, "Glad to see ye home, mas'r, " no longersounded in his ears. Even his overseer has become alarmed, and likethe rest levied for arrears of wages. 

There is nothing for Marston but to give up all, --to leave the homeof his childhood, his manhood, his happier days. He is suddenlyreminded that there is virtue in fortitude; and, as he gazes roundthe room, the relics of happier days redouble his conviction of theevil he has brought upon himself by straying from the paths ofrectitude. Indeed, so sudden was his fall from distinction, that thescene around him seemed like a dream, from which he had just awoketo question its precipitancy. "A sheriff is here now, and I am amere being of sufferance, " he says, casting a moody glance aroundthe room, as if contemplating the dark prospect before him. A fewmoments' pause, and he rises, walks to the window, looks out uponthe serene scene spread out before the mansion. There is the river, on which he has spent so many pleasant hours, calmly winding its waythrough deep green foliage mellowed by the moonlight. Its beautiesonly remind him of the past. He walks away, --struggles to forget, tolook above his trials. He goes to the old side-board that has solong given forth its cheer; that, too, is locked! "Locked to me!" hesays, attempting to open its doors. A sheriff's lock hangs uponthem. Accustomed to every indulgence, each check indicated a doubtof his honour, wounding his feelings. The smaller the restraint thedeeper did it pierce his heart. While in this desponding mood, vainly endeavouring to gain resolution to carry him through, agentle rap is heard at the door. Who can it be at this hour? hequestions to himself. No servant is near him; servants have all beenled into captivity for the satisfaction of debts. He approaches thedoor and opens it himself, looking cautiously into the corridor. There, crouched in a niche, alternately presenting fear andjoy, --fear lest he be seen by the enemy, and joy to see hismaster, --is a dark figure with the familiar face of Daddy Bob, --Bob ofthe old plantation. The old, faithful servant puts out his wrinkledhand nervously, saying, "Oh, good mas'r!" He has looked up toMarston with the same love that an affectionate child does to a kindparent; he has enjoyed mas'r's warm welcome, nurtured hisconfidence, had his say in directing the affairs of the plantation, and watched the frailties that threatened it. 

"Why, Daddy Bob! Can it be you?" Marston says, modulating his voice, as a change comes over his feelings. 

"Dis is me, mas'r; it is me, " again says the old man. He is wet withthe night dew, but his heart is warm and affectionate. Marstonseizes his hand as if to return the old man's gratitude, and leadshim into the room, smiling. "Sit down, Bob, sit down!" he says, handing him a chair. The old servant stands at the chairhesitatingly, doubting his position. "Fear nothing, Bob; sit down. You are my best friend, " Marston continues. Bob takes a seat, layshis cap quietly upon the floor, smiles to see old mas'r, but don'tfeel just right because there's something wrong: he draws the lapsof his jacket together, covers the remnant of a shirt. "Mas'r, whatbe da' gwine to do wid de old plantation? Tings, Bob reckon, b'ntgwine straight, " he speaks, looking at Marston shyly. The old slaveknew his master's heart, and had waited for him to unfold itsbeatings; but the kind heart of the master yielded to the burdenthat was upon it, and never more so than when moved by the strongattachment evinced by the old man. There was mutual sympathypourtrayed in the tenderest emotions. The one was full of grief, and, if touched by the word of a friend, would overflow; the otherwas susceptible of kindness, knew something had befallen his master, and was ready to present the best proofs of his attachment. 

"And how did you get here, my old faithful?" inquires Marston, drawing nearer to him. 

"Well, mas'r, ye see, t'ant just so wid nigger what don' know howtings is! But, Bob up t' dese tings. I sees Buckra, what look as ifhe hab no rights on dis plantation, grab'n up all de folks. AndLor, ' mas'r, old Bob could'nt leave mas'r no how. An, den, when da'begins to chain de folks up-da' chain up old Rachel, mas'r!-Old Bobfeel so de plantation war'nt no-whare; and him time t'be gwine. Da'han't gwine t' cotch old Bob, and carry 'm way from mas'r, so I jistcum possum ober dem-stows away yander, down close in de old corncrib, --"

"And you eluded the sheriff to take care of me, did you, Daddy?"interrupts Marston, and again takes the old man's hand. 

"Oh, mas'r, Bob ain't white, but 'is feeling get so fo' h mas'r, hecan't speak 'em, " the old slave replies, pearls glistening in hiseyes. "My feelings feel so, I can't speak 'em!" And with a brother'sfondness he shakes his master's hand. 

We must beg the reader's indulgence here for the purpose of making afew remarks upon the negro's power of observation. From the manystrange disquisitions that have been put forward on the mentalqualities of the man of colour-more particularly the African-few canbe selected which have not had for their object hisdisqualification. His power of observation has been muchundervalued; but it has been chiefly by those who judge him by asuperficial scale, or from a selfish motive. In the position of mereproperty, he is, of necessity, compelled to yield all claims tomental elevation. And yet, forced to degradation, there are fewnegroes on the plantation, or in the spheres of labour, who do notnote the rise and fall of their master's fortunes, study the natureand prospects of the crop, make enquiries about the market, concoctthe best economy in managing lands, and consult among themselves asto what would promote the interests of the whole. So far is thiscarried out, that in many districts a rivalry for the largest amountof crop on a given space is carried on among the slaves, who notunfrequently "chafe" each other upon the superior wealth and talentof their masters. It is a well-known fact, that John C. Calhoun'sslaves, in addition to being extremely fond of him, were proud andboastful of his talent. 

Daddy Bob is an exemplification. The faithful old slave had becomesensible of something wrong on the plantation: he saw the sheriffseizing upon the families, secreted himself in the corn crib, andfled to the woods when they were out of sight. Here, sheltered bythe myrtle, he remained until midnight, intently watching themansion for signs of old mas'r. Suddenly a light glimmers from thewindow; the old slave's feelings bound with joy; he feels it aninvitation for him to return, and, leaving his hiding-place, approaches the house stealthily, and descries his master at thewindow. Confidence returns, his joy is complete, his hopes have notmisled him. Hungry and wet, he has found his way back to master, whose face at the window gladdens his heart, --carries him beyond thebounds of caution. Hence the cordial greeting between the old slaveand his indulgent master. We hear the oft-expressed words-"Master! Ilove ye, I do!" Marston gets a candle, lights the old man to a bedin the attic, bids him good night, and retires. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

IN WHICH THE EXTREMES ARE PRESENTED. 

WHILE the gloomy prospect we have just presented hovered overMarston's plantation, proceedings of no minor importance, and havingreference to this particular case, are going on in and about thecity. Maxwell, moved by Clotilda's implorings, had promised to gainher freedom for her; but he knew the penalty, feared the result of afailure, and had hesitated to make the attempt. The consequenceswere upon him, he saw the want of prompt action, and regretted thatthe time for carrying his resolution into effect had passed. Theresult harassed him; he saw this daughter of misfortune, on herbended knees, breathing a prayer to Omnipotence for the deliveranceof her child; he remembered her appeal to him, imploring him todeliver her from the grasp of slavery, from that licentiousnesswhich the female slave is compelled to bear. He saw her confiding inhim as a deliverer, --the sight haunted him unto madness! Her child!her child! Yes, that offspring in which her hopes were centered! Forit she pleaded and pleaded; for it she offered to sacrifice her ownhappiness; for it she invoked the all-protecting hand. That child, doomed to a life of chattel misery; to serve the lusts of modernbarbarism in a country where freedom and civilization sound praisesfrom ocean to ocean; to be obscured in the darkness and cruelty ofan institution in which justice is scoffed, where distress has nolisteners, and the trap-keepers of men's souls scorn to make honestrecompense while human flesh and blood are weighed in the scale ofdollars and cents! He trembles before the sad picture; remonstrancesand entreaties from him will be in vain; nor can he seize them andcarry them off. His life might be forfeited in the attempt, evenwere they without prison walls. No! it is almost hopeless. In thenarrow confines of a securely grated cell, where thoughts andanxieties waste the soul in disappointment, and where hopes onlycome and go to spread time with grief, he could only see her and herchild as they suffered. The spectacle had no charm; and those whocarried them into captivity for the satisfaction of paltry debtscould not be made to divest themselves of the self in nature. Criesand sobs were nothing, --such were poor stock for "niggers" to have;pains and anxieties were at a discount, chivalry proclaimed itsrule, and nothing was thought well of that lessened the market valueof body and soul. Among great, generous, hospitable, and chivalrousmen, such things could only be weighed in the common scale of trade. 

Again, Maxwell remembered that Marston had unfolded his troubles tohim, and being a mere stranger the confidence warranted mutualreciprocity. If it were merely an act dictated by the impulse of hisfeelings at that moment, the secret was now laid broadly open. Hewas father of the children, and, sensible of their criticalsituation, the sting was goading him to their rescue. The questionwas-would he interpose and declare them as such? Ah, he forgot itwas not the father's assertion, --it was the law. The crime of beingproperty was inherited from the mother. Acknowledging them hischildren would neither satisfy law nor the creditors. Whathonourable-we except the modernly chivalrous-man would see hischildren jostled by the ruffian trader? What man, with feelings lesssensitive than iron, would see his child sold to the man-vender forpurposes so impious that heaven and earth frowned upon them? And yetthe scene was no uncommon one; slavery affords the medium, and men, laying their hearts aside, make it serve their pockets. Those whomit would insult to call less than gentlemen have covered theirscruples with the law, while consigning their own offspring to thehand of an auctioneer. Man property is subvervient material, --womanis even more; for where her virtue forms its tissues, and can besold, the issue is indeed deplorable. Again, where vice is made apleasure, and the offspring of it become a burden on our hands, slavery affords the most convenient medium of getting rid of theincumbrance. They sell it, perhaps profitably, and consolethemselves with the happy recollection of what a great thing it isto live in a free country, where one may get rid of such thingsprofitably. It may save our shame in the eyes of man, but God seesall, --records the wrong!

Thus Maxwell contemplated the prospects before him. At length heresolved to visit Marston upon his plantation, impress him with thenecessity of asserting their freedom, in order to save them frombeing sold with the effects of the estate. 

He visits Marston's mansion, --finds the picture sadly changed; hisgenerous friend, who has entertained him so hospitably, sits in alittle ante-chamber, pensively, as if something of importance hasabsorbed his attention. No well-dressed servants welcome him withtheir smiles and grimaces; no Franconia greets him with hervivacity, her pleasing conversation, her frankness and fondness forthe old servants. No table is decked out with the viands of theseason-Marston's viands have turned into troubles, --loneliness reignsthroughout. It is night, and nothing but the dull sound of thekeeper's tread breaks the silence. His (Maxwell's) mission is adelicate one. It may be construed as intrusive, he thinks. But itsimportance outweighs the doubt, and, though he approaches withcaution, is received with that embrace of friendship which agentleman can claim as his own when he feels the justice of themission of him who approaches, even though its tenor be painful. Maxwell hesitated for a few moments, looked silently upon the scene. Trouble had already left its prints of sadness upon Marston'scountenance; the past, full of happy associations, floated in hismind; the future--ah! that was--. Happily, at that moment, he hadbeen contemplating the means by which he could save Clotilda and thechildren. He rises, approaches Maxwell, hands him a chair, listensto his proposal. "If I can assist you, we will save them, " concludesMaxwell. 

"That, " he replies, doubtingly, "my good friend, has engaged mythoughts by night and day--has made me most uneasy. Misfortune likessympathy; your words are as soothing as praiseworthy. I will defendmy children if every creditor call me swindler. I will destroy theinfernal bill of sale, --I will crush the hell-born paper that giveslife to deeds so bloody, --I will free them from the shame!" Thus, hisfeelings excited to the uttermost, he rises from his seat, approaches a cupboard, draws forth the small trunk we have beforedescribed, unlocks it. "That fatal document is here, I put it here, I will destroy it now; I will save them through its destruction. There shall be no evidence of Clotilda's mother being a slave, ohno!" he mutters rapidly, running his fingers over packages, papers, and documents. Again he glances vacantly over the whole file, examining paper after paper, carefully. He looks in vain. It is notthere; there is no document so fatal. Sharper men have taken bettercare of it. "It is not here!" he whispers, his countenance becomingpallid and death-like. "Not here!"-and they will swear to suit theirpurposes. Oaths are only worth what they bring in the market, amongslave dealers. But, who can have taken it?" he continues, lookingwildly at Maxwell. Consternation is pictured on his countenance; hefeels there is intrigue at work, and that the want of that paperwill prove fatal to his resolution. A man in trouble always confidesin others, sometimes those whom he would scarce have trusted before. He throws the paper aside, takes a seat at Maxwell's side, graspshim by the hand, saying, "My friend! save them! save them! savethem! Use what stratagem you please; make it the experiment of yourlife. Consummate it, and a penitent's prayer will bless you! I seethe impending catastrophe-"

"We may do without it; be quiet. Let your feelings calm. I haveconsulted Franconia on the same subject. Woman can do much if shewill; and she has promised me she will. My knowledge of her womanlynature tells me she will be true to Clotilda!" Maxwell speaksassuringly, and his words seem as balm to a wounded spirit. 

The bill of sale was among the things intended for a more profitableuse. Marston has satisfied Graspum's claim; but he knew that slaverydeadened the sensibilities of men. Yet, could it have so deadenedGraspum's feeling that he would have been found in a plot againsthim? No! he could not believe it. He would not look for foul playfrom that quarter. It might have been mislaid-if lost, all thebetter. A second thought, and he begins to quiet himself with thebelief that it had become extinct; that, there not being evidence toprove them property, his word would be sufficient to procure theirrelease. Somewhat relieved of the force of parental anxiety-we cancall it by no other name-the troubled planter, with his troublesinherited, promises Maxwell, who has postponed his departure that hemay aid in saving Clotilda and her child, that he will proceeddirect to the sheriff's office, give notice of their freedom to thatfunctionary, and forbid the sale. Upon this resolution they part forthe night, and on the following morning, Marston, sick at heart, leaves for the city, hoping to make arrangements with his attorney, who will serve notice of freedom with all the expense and legalityof form. 

The reader will excuse us for passing over many things of minorimportance which take place during the progress of arrangementsbetween Marston and the attorney, Mr. Dyson--commonly called ThomasDyson, Esq. , wonderfully clever in the practice of slave law--andproceeding to where we find the notice formally served. The documentforbids the sale of certain persons, physically and mentallydescribed, according to the nicest rules of law and tenour of trade;and is, with the dignity of legal proceedings, served on thehonourable sheriff. We give a portion of it, for those who are notinformed on such curious matters: it runs thus:--"'The girlClotilda-aged 27 years; her child Annette-aged 7 years, and aremarkable boy, Nicholas, 6 years old, all negroes, levied upon atthe suit of--, to satisfy a fi fa issued from the--, and set forthto be the property of Hugh Marston of--, &c. &c. ;'" as set forth inthe writ of attachment. Thus runs the curious law, based onprivilege, not principle. 

The document served on the sheriff, Marston resolved to remain a fewdays in the city and watch its effect. The sheriff, who is seldomsupposed to evince sympathy in his duties, conforms with theordinary routine of law in nigger cases; and, in his turn, givesnotice to the plaintiff, who is required to enter security for thepurpose of testing the point of freedom. Freedom here is a slendercommodity; it can be sworn away for a small compensation. Mr. Anthony Romescos has peculiar talent that way, and his services arealways in the market. The point, however, has not resolved itselfinto that peculiar position where it must be either a matter ofcompromise, or a question for the court and jury to decide. 

If Marston, now sensible of his position as father of the children, will yield them a sacrifice to the man trader, it is in his power;the creditors will make it their profit. Who, then, can solve theperplexity for him? The custom of society, pointing the finger ofshame, denies him the right to acknowledge them his children. Society has established the licentious wrong, --the law protects it, custom enforces it. He can only proceed by declaring the mother tobe a free woman, and leaving the producing proof to convict her ofbeing slave property to the plaintiff. In doing this, his judgmentwars with his softer feelings. Custom--though it has nothing to givehim-is goading him with its advice; it tells him to abandon theunfashionable, unpolite scheme. Natural laws have given birth tonatural feelings--natural affections are stronger than bad laws. Theyburn with our nature, --they warm the gentle, inspire the noble, andawake the daring that lies unmoved until it be called into actionfor the rescue of those for whom our affections have taken life. 

Things had arrived at that particular point where law-lovers-we meanlawyers-look on with happy consciences and pleasing expectations;that is, they had arrived at that certain hinge of slave law theturn of which sends men, women, and children, into the vortex ofslavery, where their hopes are for ever crushed. One day Marston hadstrong hopes of saving them; but his hopes vanished on the next. Thefair creature, by him made a wretch, seemed before him, on herbended knees, clasping his hand while imploring him to save herchild. The very thought would have doubly nerved him to action; andyet, what mattered such action against the force of slaveryinjustice? All his exertions, all his pleadings, all hisprotestations, in a land where liberty boasts its greatness, wouldsink to nothing under the power he had placed in their possessionfor his overthrow. 

With this fatal scene before him, this indecision, he walked thestreets, resolving and re-resolving, weighing and re-weighing theconsequences, hoping without a chance for hope. He would be a fatheras he has been a kind master; but the law says, no! no! Societyforbids right, the law crushes justice, --the justice of heaven!Marston is like one driven from his home, from the scene of hishappy childhood, upon which he can now only look back to make thepresent more painful. He has fallen from the full flow of pleasureand wealth to the low ebb of poverty clothed in suspicion; he ishomeless, and fast becoming friendless. A few days after, as hetakes his morning walk, he is pointed to the painful fact, madeknown through certain legal documents, posted at certain corners ofstreets, that his "negro property" is advertised for sale by thesheriff. He fears his legal notice has done little legal good, except to the legal gentlemen who receive the costs. He retires to asaloon, finds the morning paper, commences glancing over its legalcolumns. The waiter is surprised to see him at that hour, isignorant of the war of trouble that is waging within him, knows himonly as a great man, a rice planter of wealth in negroes, treats himwith becoming civility, and enquires, with a polite bow, what hewill be served with. He wants nothing that will supply the physicalman. He has supped on trouble, --the following, painful as it is, willserve him for breakfast; it meets his eye as he traces down thecolumn:--"SHERIFF'S SALE. 

"According to former notice, will be sold on the first Tuesday inSeptember next, between the usual hours of sale, before the CourtHouse door, in this city, the following property-to wit!

"Three yoke of prime oxen, and four carts. 

"Seven horses; two of celebrated breed. 

"Twenty-two mules, together with sundry other effects as perprevious schedule, which will be produced at the sale, when theproperty will be pointed out. The said being levied on as theproperty of Hugh Marston, of--District, and sold to satisfy a fifa issued from the Superior Court, W. W. C--. 

"Also the following gang of negroes, many of whom have beenaccustomed to the cultivation of cotton and rice. Said negroes arevery prime and orderly, having been well trained and fed, inaddition to enjoying the benefit of Christian teaching through aSunday-school worship on the plantation. 

"Dandy, and Enock (yellow), prime house servants. 

"Choate, and Cato, aged 29 and 32, coachman and blacksmith. 

"Harry, a prime fellow of remarkable sagacity, said to be verypious, and has been very valuable as a preacher. 

"Seventeen prime field hands, ranging from 17 to 63 years old, together with sundry children, set forth in the schedule. 

"Peggy, aged 23 years, an excellent cook, house servant-can doalmost any work, is faithful and strictly honest. 

"Rachel, one of the very best wenches in the County; has had chargeof the Manor for several years, is very motherly and well disposed, and fully capable of taking charge of a plantation. "

The description of the negro property continues until it reaches thelast and most touching point, which Marston reads with tearscoursing down his cheeks. But, it is only trade, and it isrefreshing to see how much talent the auctionee-himself adistinguished politician, --exhibits in displaying his bill. It isthat which has worked itself so deep into Marston's feelings. 

"Clotilda, a white negro, and her child Annette; together withNicholas--a bright boy, " remarkably intelligent-six years old. "Theselast, " adds the list, "have been well brought up, with great care, and are extremely promising and pleasant when speaking. The womanhas superior looks, is sometimes called beautiful, has finelydeveloped features, and is considered to be the handsomest brightwoman in the county. "

We acknowledge the italics to be ours. The list, displaying greatcompetency in the trade of human beings, concludes with warrantingthem sound and healthy, informing all those in want of such propertyof the wonderful opportunity of purchasing, and offering toguarantee its qualities. The above being "levied on to satisfy threefi fas, " &c. &c. 

Poor Clotilda! her beauty has betrayed her: her mother was made aslave, and she has inherited the sin which the enlightened of thewestern world say shall be handed down from generation to generationuntil time itself has an end. She is within the damp walls of anarrow cell; the cold stones give forth their moisture to chill herbleeding heart; the rust of oppression cuts into her very soul. Thewarm sunlight of heaven, once so cheering, has now turned black andcold to her. She sits in that cold confine, filled with sorrow, hope, and expectation, awaiting her doom, like a culprit whomeasures the chances of escape between him and the gallows. Shethinks of Marston. "He was a kind friend to me-he was a goodmaster, " she says, little thinking that at that very moment he sitsin the saloon reading that southern death-warrant which dooms somany to a life of woe. In it fathers were not mentioned-Marston'sfeelings were spared that pain; mothers' tears, too, were omitted, lest the sensitiveness of the fashionable world should be touched. Pained, and sick at heart-stung by remorse at finding himselfwithout power to relieve Clotilda-he rises from his seat, and makesarrangement to return to his plantation. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A SCENE OF MANY LIGHTS. 

WE must leave Marston wending his way for the old plantation, andpass to another phase of this complicated affair. In doing this, wemust leave the reader to draw from his own imagination much thatmust have transpired previous to the present incidents. 

The Rovero family-old and distinguished-had struggled against themisfortunes brought upon them by their son Lorenzo. Deeply involved, they had allowed their difficulties to go on till they had foundthemselves living by the favour of courtesy and indulgence. Lorenzoand Franconia were only children; and since the departure of theformer the latter had been the idol of their indulgence. She was, aswe have before said, delicate, sensitive, endowed with generousimpulses, and admired for her gentleness, grace, and vivacity. Tothese she added firmness, and, when once resolved upon any object, could not be moved from her purpose. Nor was she-as is the popularfallacy of the South-susceptible to the influence of wealth. Herlove and tenderness soared above it; she prized wealth less thanmoral worth. But she could not appease the pride of her parents withher feelings. They, labouring under the influence of their reducedfortunes, had favoured and insisted upon the advances of the verywealthy Colonel M'Carstrow, a rice-planter, who had a few yearsbefore inherited a large estate. The colonel is a sturdy specimen ofthe Southern gentleman, which combines a singular mixture ofqualities, some of which are represented by a love of good living, good drinking, good horse-racing, good gambling, and fast company. He lives on the fat of the land, because the fat of the land wasmade for him to enjoy. He has no particular objection to anybody inthe world, providing they believe in slavery, and live according tohis notions of a gentleman. His soul's delight is faro, which hewould not exchange for all the religion in the world; he has strongdoubts about the good of religion, which, he says, should be boxedup with modern morality. 

Laying these things aside, however, he is anything but what wouldhave been properly selected as a partner for Franconia; and, whileshe is only eighteen, he has turned the corner of his forty-thirdyear. In a word, his manners are unmodelled, his feelings coarse, his associations of the worst kind; nor is he adapted to make thehappiness of domestic life lasting. He is one of those persons sooften met with, whose affections-if they may be supposed to haveany-are held in a sort of compromise between an incitement to love, and their natural inclination to revel in voluptuous pleasures. Thetwo being antagonistic at times, the latter is sure to be thestronger, and not unfrequently carries its victim into dissoluteextremes. Riches, however, will always weigh heavy in the scale;their possession sways, --the charm of gold is precious and powerful. And, too, the colonel had another attraction-very much esteemedamong slave-dealers and owners--he had a military title, though noone knew how he came by it. 

Franconia must be the affianced bride of the supposed wealthyColonel M'Carstrow; so say her parents, who feel they are beingcrushed out by misfortune. It is their desire; and, howeverrepulsive it may be to Franconia's feelings, she must accept theman: she must forget his years, his habits, his associations, forthe wealth he can bring to the relief of the family. 

To add ‚clat to the event, it is arranged that the nuptial ceremonyshall take place in the spacious old mansion of General P--, in thecity. General P--is a distant relation of the Rovero family. Hismansion is one of those noble old edifices, met here and there inthe South--especially in South Carolina-which strongly mark thegrandeur of their ancient occupants. It is a massive pile of marble, of mixed style of Grecian and Doric architecture, with three storiesdivided by projecting trellised arbours, and ornamented with flutedcolumns surmounted with ingeniously-worked and sculptured capitals, set off with grotesque figures. The front is ornamented with tabletsof bas-relief, variegated and chaste. These are bordered withscroll-work, chases of flowers, graces, and historical designs. Around the lower story, palisades and curvatures project here andthere between the divisions, forming bowers shaded by vines andsweet-scented blossoms. These are diffusing their fragrance throughthe spacious halls and corridors beneath. The stately old pile wearsa romantic appearance; but it has grown brown with decay, and standsin dumb testimony of that taste and feeling which prevailed amongits British founders. The garden in which it stands, once rich withthe choicest flowers of every clime, now presents an area overgrownwith rank weeds, decaying hedges, dilapidated walks, and sicklyshrubbery. The hand that once nurtured this pretty scene of buds andblossoms with so much care has passed away. Dull inertness now hangsits lifeless festoons over the whole, from the vaulted hall to theiron railing enclosing the whole. 

The day for consummating the nuptial ceremony has arrived; manyyears have passed since the old mansion witnessed such a scene. Thegay, wealthy, and intelligent of the little fashionable world willbe here. The spell of loneliness in which the old walls have so longslept will be broken. Sparkling jewels, bland smiles, the richdecorations of former years, are to again enhance the scene. Exhausted nature is to shake off its monotony, to be enlivened withthe happiness of a seemingly happy assemblage. A lovely bride is tobe showered with smiles, congratulations, tokens of love. Southerngallantry will doff its cares, put on its smiling face. Whatever maysmoulder beneath, pleasure and gaiety will adorn the surface. 

Franconia sits in her spacious chamber. She is arrayed in flowingn‚glig‚; a pensive smile invades her countenance; she supports herhead on her left hand, the jewels on her tiny fingers sparklingthough her hair. Everything round her bears evidence of comfort andluxury; the gentle breeze, as it sweeps through the window to fanher blushing cheek, is impregnated with sweetest odours. Shecontemplates the meeting of him who is to be the partner of herlife; can she reconcile it? Nay, there is something forcing itselfagainst her will. Her bridesmaids, --young, gay, andaccomplished, --gather around her. The fierce conflict raging in herbosom discloses itself; the attempt to cheer her up, under theimpression that it arises from want of vigour to buoy up hersensitive system, fails. Again she seems labouring under excitement. 

"Franconia!" exclaims one, taking her by the hand, "is not the timeapproaching?"

"Time always approaches, " she speaks: her mind has been wandering, picturing the gloomy spectacle that presents itself in Clotilda'scell. She moves her right hand slowly across her brow, casts anenquiring glance around the room, then at those beside her, andchanges her position in the chair. "The time to have your toiletprepared-the servants await you, " is the reply. Franconia gathersstrength, sits erect in her chair, seems to have just resolved uponsomething. A servant hastens into her presence bearing adelicately-enveloped note. She breaks the seal, reads it andre-reads it, holds it carelessly in her hand for a minute, then putsit in her bosom. There is something important in the contents, something she must keep secret. It is from Maxwell. Her friendevinced some surprise, while waiting a reply as she read the letter. 

"No! not yet, " she says, rising from her chair and sallying acrossthe room. "That which is forced upon me-ah! I cannot love him. To methere is no loving wealth. Money may shelter; but it never moveshearts to love truly. How I have struggled against it!" Again sheresumes her chair, weeps. Her tears gush from the parentfountain-woman's heart. "My noble uncle in trouble, my dear brothergone; yes! to where, and for what, I dare not think; and yet it haspreyed upon me through the struggle of pride against love. My fathermay soon follow; but I am to be consigned to the arms of one whom itwould be folly to say I respect. "

Her friend, Miss Alice Latel, reminds her that it were well not tolet such melancholy wanderings trouble her. She suggests that thecolonel, being rich, will fill the place of father as well ashusband; that she will be surrounded by the pleasures which wealthonly can bring, and in this world what more can be desired?

"Such fathers seldom make affectionate husbands; nor do I want thefather without the husband; his wealth would not make me respecthim. " Franconia becomes excited, giving rapid utterance to herlanguage. "Can I suppress my melancholy-can I enjoy such pleasure, and my dear Clotilda in a prison, looking through those gallinggratings? Can I be happy when the anguish of despair pierces deepinto her heart? No! oh, no! Never, while I think of her, can Isummon resolution to put on a bridal robe. Nay! I will not put themon without her. I will not dissemble joy while she sinks in herprison solitude!"

"Can you mean that-at this hour?" enquires Miss Alice, looking uponher with anxiety pictured in her face. One gives the other a look ofsurprise. Miss Alice must needs call older counsel. 

"Yes!" replies Franconia, more calm; "even at this hour! It is nevertoo late to serve our sisters. Could I smile-could I seem happy, andso many things to contemplate? We cannot disguise them now; wecannot smother scandal with a silken mantle. Clotilda must be withme. Negro as she is by law, she is no less dear to me. Nor can Iyield to those feelings so prominent in southern breasts, --I cannotdisclaim her rights, leave her the mere chattel subject of bruteforce, and then ask forgiveness of heaven!" This declaration, madein a positive tone, at once disclosed her resolution. We need nottell the reader with what surprise it took the household; nor, whenshe as suddenly went into a violent paroxysm of hysterics, the alarmit spread. 

The quiet of the mansion has changed for uproar and confusion. Servants are running here and there, getting in each other's way, blocking the passages, and making the confusion more intense. Colonel M'Carstrow is sent for, reaches the mansion in greatconsternation, expects to find Franconia a corpse, for the negromessenger told him such a crooked story, and seemed so frightened, that he can't make anything straight of it-except that there issomething very alarming. 

She has been carried to one of the ante-chambers, reclines on acouch of softest tapestry, a physician at one side, and Alice, bathing her temples with aromatic liquid, on the other. She presentsa ravishing picture of delicacy, modesty, and simplicity, --of allthat is calmly beautiful in woman. "I can scarcely account for it;but, she's coming to, " says the man of medicine, looking onmechanically. Her white bosom swells gently, like a newly-wakedzephyr playing among virgin leaves; while her eyes, like melancholystars, glimmer with the lustre of her soul. "Ah me!" she sighs, raising her hand over her head and resting it upon the cushion, asher auburn hair floats, calm and beautiful, down her pearlyshoulder. 

The colonel touches her hand; and, as if it had been too rudely, shedraws it to her side, then places it upon her bosom. Again raisingher eyes till they meet his, she blushes. It is the blush ofinnocence, that brightens beneath the spirit of calm resolution. Sheextends her hand again, slowly, and accepts his. "You will gratifyme-will you not?" she mutters, attempting to gain a recumbentposition. They raise her as she intimates a desire; she seemsherself again. 

"Whatever your wish may be, you have but to intimate it, " repliesthe colonel, kissing her hand. 

"Then, I want Clotilda. Go, bring her to me; she only can wait onme; and I am fond of her. With her I shall be well soon; she willdress me. Uncle will be happy, and we shall all be happy. "

"But, " the colonel interrupts, suddenly, "where is she to be found?"

"In the prison. You'll find her there!" There is little time tolose, --a carriage is ordered, the colonel drives to the prison, andthere finds the object of Franconia's trouble. She, the two childrenat her side, sits in a cell seven by five feet; the strong grasp ofslave power fears itself, its tyranny glares forth in the emaciatedappearance of its female victim. The cell is lighted through a smallaperture in the door, which hangs with heavy bolts and bars, as iftorturing the innocent served the power of injustice. Theprison-keeper led the way through a narrow passage between stonewalls. His tap on the door startles her; she moves from herposition, where she had been seated on a coarse blanket. It is allthey (the hospitable southern world, with its generous laws) canafford her; she makes it a bed for three. A people less boastful ofhospitality may give her more. She holds a prayer-book in her hand, and motions to the children as they crouch at her feet. 

"Come, girl! somebody's here to see you, " says the keeper, lookingin at the aperture, as the sickly stench escapes from the darkcavern-like place. 

Nervously, the poor victim approaches, lays her trembling hand onthe grating, gives a doubting glance at the stranger, seemssurprised, anxious to know the purport of his mission. 

"Am I wanted?" she enquires eagerly, as if fearing some rude dealerhas come-perhaps to examine her person, that he may be the betterable to judge of her market value. 

Notwithstanding the coldness of M'Carstrow's nature, his feelingsare moved by the womanly appearance of the wench, as he calls her, when addressing the warden. There is something in the means by whichso fair a creature is reduced to merchandise he cannot altogetherreconcile. Were it not for what habit and education can do, it wouldbe repulsive to nature in its crudest state. But it is according tolaw, that inhuman law which is tolerated in a free country. 

"I want you to go with me, and you will see your young missis, " saysM'Carstrow, shrugging his shoulders. He is half inclined to let hisbetter feelings give way to sympathy. But custom and commerce forbidit; they carry off the spoil, just as the sagacious pumpkinphilosopher of England admits slavery a great evil, while deliveringan essay for the purpose of ridiculing emancipation. 

M'Carstrow soon changes his feelings, --addresses himself to business. "Are you in here for sale?" he enquires, attempting to whistle anair, and preserve an unaffected appearance. 

The question touches a tender chord of her feelings; her bosomswells with emotions of grief; he has wounded that sensitive chordupon which the knowledge of her degradation hangs. She draws ahandkerchief from her pocket, wipes the tear that glistens in hereye, clasps Annette in her arms-while Nicholas, frightened, hangs bythe skirts of her dress, --buries her face in her bosom, retires a fewsteps, and again seats herself on the blanket. 

"The question is pending. If I'm right about it-and I believe I'mgenerally so on such cases-it comes on before the next session, fallterm, " says the gaoler, turning to M'Carstrow with a look ofwonderful importance. The gaoler, who, with his keys, lets loose theanxieties of men, continues his learned remarks. "Notice has beenserved how she's free. But that kind o' twisting things to makeslave property free never amounts to much, especially when a mangets where they say Marston is! Anthony Romescos has been quizzingabout, and it don't take much to make such things property when he'sround. " The man of keys again looks very wise, runs his hand deepinto the pocket of his coat, and says something about this being agreat country. 

"How much do you reckon her worth, my friend?" enquires M'Carstrow, exchanging a significant glance. 

"Well, now you've got me. It's a point of judgment, you see. Thearticle's rather questionable-been spoiled. There's a doubt aboutsuch property when you put it up, except a gentleman wants it; andthen, I reckon, it'll bring a smart price. There's this to beconsidered, I reckon, though they haven't set a price on her yet, she's excellent good looking; and the young un's a perfect cherry. It'll bring a big heap one of these days. "

"We won't mind that, just now, gaoler, " M'Carstrow says, verycomplacently; "you'll let me have her tonight, and I'll return hersafe in the morning. "

"No, no, " interposes Clotilda, mistaking M'Carstrow's object. Shecrouches down on the blanket, as if shrinking from a deadly assault:"let me remain, even in my cell. " She draws the children to herside. 

"Don't mistake me, my girl: I am a friend. I want you for FranconiaRovero. She is fond of you, you know. "

"Franconia!" she exclaims with joy, starting to her feet at thesound of the name. "I do know her, dear Franconia! I know her, Ilove her, she loves me-I wish she was my mother. But she is to bethe angel of my freedom-" Here she suddenly stopped, as if she hadbetrayed something. 

"We must lose no time, " M'Carstrow says, informing her thatFranconia is that night to be his bride, and cannot be happy withoutseeing her. 

"Bride! and cannot prepare without me, " mutters the woman, seemingto doubt the reality of his statement. A thought flashes in hermind: "Franconia has not forgotten me; I will go and be Franconia'sfriend. " And with a child-like simplicity she takes Annette by thehand, as if they were inseparable. "Can't Nicholas go, too?" sheinquires. 

"You must leave the child, " is the cool reply. M'Carstrow attemptsto draw the heavy bolt that fastens the door. 

"Not so fast, if you please, " the warden speaks. "I cannot permither to leave without an order from the sheriff. " He puts his handagainst the door. 

"She will surely be returned in the morning; I'm good for a hundredsuch pieces of property. "

"Can't help that, " interrupts the gaoler, coolly. 

"But, there's my honour!"

"An article gaolers better not deal in. It may be very goodcommodity in some kinds of business-don't pay in ours; and then, when this kind of property is in question, it won't do to show afavour beyond the rule. "

M'Carstrow is in a sad dilemma. He must relieve himself through aproblem of law, which, at this late hour, brings matters to asingular point. He believes Franconia suffers from a nervousaffection, as the doctors call it, and has fixed her mind upon theonly object of relief. He had made no preparation for such acritical event; but there is no postponing the ceremony, --nodepriving her of the indulgence. Not a moment is to be lost: he setsoff, post-haste, for the sheriff's office. That functionary is wellknown for his crude method of executing business; to ask a favour ofhim would be like asking the sea to give up its dead. He is cold, methodical, unmoveable; very much opposed to anything having theappearance of an innovation upon his square rules of business. 

M'Carstrow finds him in just the mood to interpose all the frigidpeculiarities of his incomprehensible nature. The colonel has knownhim by reputation; he knows him now through a different medium. After listening to M'Carstrow's request, and comporting himself withall imaginable dignity, he runs his fingers through his hair, looksat M'Carstrow vacantly, and well nigh rouses his temper. M'Carstrowfeels, as southern gentlemen are wont to feel, that his position andtitle are enough to ensure courtesy and a quick response. The man ofwrits and summonses feels quite sure that the pomp of his office issufficient to offset all other distinctions. 

"Whar' d'ye say the gal was, --in my gaol?" the sheriff inquires, withsolemn earnestness, and drawling his words measuredly, as if thewhole affair was quite within his line of business. The sheriff hasthe opportunity of making a nice little thing of it; the object tobe released will serve the profits of the profession. "Gittin' thatgal out yander ain't an easy thing now, 'taint! It'll cost ye 'bouttwenty dollars, sartin, " he adds, turning over the leaves of his bigbook, and running his finger down a scale of names. 

"I don't care if it costs a hundred! Give me an order for herrelease!" M'Carstrow begins to understand Mr. Sheriff's composition, and putting his hand into his pocket, draws forth a dwenty-dollargold piece, throws it upon the table. The effect is electric: itsmooths down the surface of Mr. Sheriff's nature, --brings out thedisposition to accommodate. The Sheriff's politeness now taxesM'Carstrow's power to reciprocate. 

"Now, ye see, my friend, " says Mr. Sheriff, in a quaint tone, "there's three fi fas on that critter. Hold a minute!" He must needstake a better glance; he runs his fingers over the page again, mutters to himself, and then breaks out into a half-musical, half-undefinable humming. "It's a snarled-up affair, the whole on't. T'll take a plaguy cunnin' lawyer to take the shine out. " Thesheriff pushes the piece of coin nearer the inkstand, into thecentre of the table. "I feel all over like accommodatin' ye, " hedeigns to say; "but then t'll be so pestky crooked gettin' the thingstraight. " He hesitates before the wonderful difficulty, --he can'tsee his way straight through it. "Three fi fas! I believe I'mcorrect; there's one principal one, however. "

"I pledge my honour for her return in the morning; and she shall beall shined up with a new dress. Her presence is imperativelynecessary to-night, " M'Carstrow remarks, becoming impatient. 

"Two fi fas!-well, the first look looked like three. But, theprincipal one out of the way, --no matter. " Mr. Sheriff becomes moreand more enlightened on the unenlightened difficulties of the law. He remarks, touching M'Carstrow on the arm, with great seriousnessof countenance, "I sees how the knot's tied. Ye know, my functionsare turned t' most everything; and it makes a body see through athing just as straight as--. Pest on't! Ye see, it's mighty likelyproperty, --don't strike such every day. That gal 'll bring a big tickin the market-"

"Excuse me, my dear sir, " M'Carstrow suddenly interrupts. "Understand me, if you please. I want her for nothing that youcontemplate, --nothing, I pledge you my honour as a southerngentleman!"

"'Ah, --bless me! Well, but there's nothin' in that. I see! I see! Isee!" Mr. Sheriff brightens up, his very soul seems to expand withlegal tenacity. "Well, ye see, there's a question of property raisedabout the gal, and her young 'un, too-nice young 'un 'tis; but it'smighty easy tellin' whose it is. About the law matter, though, youmust get the consent of all the plaintiff's attorneys, --that's nosmall job. Lawyers are devilish slippery, rough a feller amazingly, once in a while; chance if ye don't have to get the critter valuedby a survey. Graspum, though's ollers on hand, is first best good atthat: can say her top price while ye'd say seven, " says Mr. Sheriff, maintaining his wise dignity, as he reminds M'Carstrow that his nameis Cur, commonly called Mr. Cur, sheriff of the county. It must notbe inferred that Mr. Cur has any of the canine qualities about him. The hour for the ceremony is close at hand. M'Carstrow, satisfiedthat rules of law are very arbitrary things in the hands ofofficials-that such property is difficult to get out of the meshesof legal technicality-that honour is neither marketable orpledgeable in such cases, must move quickly: he seeks the veryconscientious attorneys, gets them together, pleads the necessity ofthe case: a convention is arranged, Graspum will value theproperty-as a weigher and gauger of human flesh. This done, M'Carstrow signs a bond in the sum of fifteen hundred dollars, making himself responsible for the property. The instrument containsa provision, that should any unforeseen disaster befall it, thequestion of property will remain subject to the decision of Court. Upon these conditions, M'Carstrow procures an order for her release. He is careful, however, that nothing herein set forth shall affectthe suit already instituted. 

Love is an exhilarating medicine, moving and quickening the heartsof old and young. M'Carstrow felt its influence sensibly, as hehurried back to the prison-excited by the near approach of theceremony-with the all-important order. Bolts, bars, and malariouswalls, yield to it the pining captive whose presence will sootheFranconia's feelings. 

Clotilda was no less elated at the hope of changing her prison forthe presence of her young mistress; and yet, the previous summonshad nearly unnerved her. She lingers at the grating, waitingM'Carstrow's return. Time seems to linger, until her feelings arenearly overwhelmed in suspense. Again, there is a mystery in themission of the stranger; she almost doubts his sincerity. It may beone of those plots, so often laid by slave-traders, to separate herfrom her child, --perhaps to run her where all hope of regainingfreedom will be for ever lost. One after another did these thingsrecur to her mind, only to make the burden of her troubles morepainful. 

Her child has eaten its crust, fallen into a deep sleep, and, itslittle hands resting clasped on its bosom, lies calmly upon thecoarse blanket. She gazes upon it, as a mother only can gaze. Thereis beauty in that sweet face; it is not valued for its loveliness, its tenderness, its purity. How cursed that it is to be the primeobject of her disgrace! Thus contemplating, M'Carstrow appears atthe outer gate, is admitted into the prison, reaches the innergrating, is received by the warden, who smiles generously. "I'm asglad as anything! Hope you had a good time with his honour, Mr. Cur?" he says, holding the big key in his hand, and leading the wayinto the office. He takes his seat at a table, commences preparingthe big book. "Here is the entry, " he says, with a smile ofsatisfaction. "We'll soon straighten the thing now. " Puts out hishand for the order which M'Carstrow has been holding. "That's justthe little thing, " he says, reading it word by word carefully, andconcluding with the remark that he has had a deal of trouble withit. M'Carstrow places some pieces of silver in his hand; they turnthe man of keys into a subservient creature. He hastens to the cell, M'Carstrow following, --draws the heavy bolts, --bids the prisoner comeforth. "Yes, come, girl; I've had a tough time to get you out ofthat place: it holds its prey like lawyers' seals, " rejoinsM'Carstrow. 

"Not without my child?" she inquires quickly. She stoops down andkisses it. "My daughter, --my sweet child!" she mutters. 

"Till to-morrow. You must leave her for to-night. "

"If I must!" Again she kisses the child, adding, as she smoothed herhand over Annette, and parted her hair, "Mother will return soon. "There was something so touching in the word mother, spoken whileleaning over a sleeping babe. Clotilda reaches the door, having kepther eyes upon the child as she left her behind. A tremor comes overher, --she reluctantly passes the threshold of the narrow arch; butshe breathes the fresh air of heaven, --feels as if her life had beenrenewed. A mother's thoughts, a mother's anxieties, a mother's love, veil her countenance. She turns to take a last look as the cold doorcloses upon the dearest object of her life. How it grates upon itshinges! her hopes seem for ever extinguished. 

The law is thus far satisfied-the legal gentlemen are satisfied, thewarden is not the least generous; and Mr. Cur feels that, while thejob was a very nice one, he has not transcended one jot of hisimportance. Such is highly gratifying to all parties. Clotilda ishurried into a carriage, driven at a rapid rate, and soon arrives atthe mansion. Here she is ushered into a chamber, arrayed in a newdress, and conducted into the presence of Franconia. The meeting maybe more easily imagined than described. Their congratulations werewarm, affectionate, touching. Clotilda kisses Franconia's hand againand again; Franconia, in turn, lays her hand upon Clotilda'sshoulder, and, with a look of commiseration, sets her eyes intentlyupon her, as if she detects in her countenance those features shecannot disown. She requests to be left alone with Clotilda for ashort time. Her friends withdraw. She discloses the difficultiesinto which the family have suddenly fallen, the plan of escape shehas arranged, the hopes she entertains of her regaining her freedom. "Public opinion and the state of our difficulties prompted thiscourse, --I prefer it to any other: follow my directions, --Maxwell haseverything prepared, and to-night will carry you off upon the broadblue ocean of liberty. Enjoy that liberty, Clotilda, --be awoman, --follow the path God has strewn for your happiness; above all, let freedom be rewarded with your virtue, your example, " saysFranconia, as she again places her arm round Clotilda's neck. 

"And leave my child, Franconia?" the other inquires, looking upimploringly in Franconia's face. 

"To me, " is the quick response. "I will be her guardian, her mother. Get you beyond the grasp of slavery-get beyond its contaminatingbreath, and I will be Annette's mother. When you are safely there, when you can breathe the free air of liberty, write me, and sheshall meet you. Leave her to me; think of her only in my care, andin my trust she will be happy. Meet Maxwell-he is your friend-at thecentre corridor; he will be there as soon as the ceremony commences;he will have a pass from me; he will be your guide!" She overcomesClotilda's doubts, reasons away her pleadings for her child, givesher a letter and small miniature (they are to be kept until shereaches her destination of freedom), and commences preparing for theceremony. 

Night arrives, the old mansion brightens and resounds with thebustle of preparation. Servants are moving about in great confusion. Everything is in full dress; "yellow fellows, " immersed in trimblack coats, nicely-cut pantaloons, white vests and gloves, shirt-collars of extraordinary dimensions, and hair curiouslycrimped, are standing at their places along the halls, ready forreception. Another class, equally well dressed, are running to andfro through the corridors in the despatch of business. Old mammashave a new shine on their faces, their best "go to church" fixingson their backs. Younger members of the same property species aregaudily attired-some in silk, some in missus's slightly worncashmere. The colour of their faces grades from the purest ebony tothe palest olive. A curious philosophy may be drawn from themixture: it contrasts strangely with the flash and dazzle of theirfantastic dresses, their large circular ear-rings, theircuriously-tied bandanas, the large bow points of which lay crossedon the tufts of their crimpy hair. The whole scene has an air ofbewitching strangeness. In another part of the mansion we find thesmall figures of the estate, all agog, toddling and doddling, withfaces polished like black-balled shoes; they are as piquant andinteresting as their own admiration of the dress master has providedthem for the occasion. 

The darkness increases as the night advances. The arbour leadingfrom the great gate to the vaulted hall in the base of the mansionis hung with lanterns of grotesque patterns, emitting light andshade as variegated as the hues of the rainbow. The trees andshrubbery in the arena, hung with fantastic lanterns, enliven thepicture-make it grand and imposing. It presents a fairy-likeperspective, with spectre lights hung here and there, their mellowglows reflecting softly upon the luxuriant foliage. 

Entering the vaulted hall, its floor of antique tiles; frescoedwalls with well-executed mythological designs, jetting lightsflickering and dazzling through its arches, we find ourselves amidstsplendour unsurpassed in our land. At the termination of the greathall a massive flight of spiral steps, of Egyptian marble, ascendsto the fourth story, forming a balcony at each, where ottomans areplaced, and from which a fine view of the curvature presents itself, from whence those who have ascended may descry those ascending. Onthe second story is a corridor, with moulded juttings and fretworkoverhead; these are hung with festoons of jasmines and otherdelicate flowers, extending its whole length, and lighted byglobular lamps, the prismatic ornaments of which shed their softglows on the fixtures beneath. They invest it with the appearance ofa bower decorated with buds and blossoms. From this, on the right, aspacious arched door, surmounted by a semi-circle of stained glasscontaining devices of the Muses and other allegorical figures, leadsinto an immense parlour, having a centre arch hung with heavy foldsof maroon coloured velvet overspread with lace. Look where you will, the picture of former wealth and taste presents itself. Around thewalls hang costly paintings, by celebrated Italian masters; some areportraits of the sovereigns of England, from that of Elizabeth toGeorge the Third. Brilliant lights jet forth from massivechandeliers and girandoles, lighting up the long line of chastefurniture beneath. The floor is spread with softest Turkey carpet;groups of figures in marble, skilfully executed, form a curiouslyarranged fire-place; Britannia's crest surmounting the whole. Ateach end of the room stand chastely designed pieces of statuary ofheroes and heroines of past ages. Lounges, ottomans, reclines, andcouches, elaborately carved and upholstered, stand here and there inall their antiqueness and grandeur. Pier-glasses, massive tablesinlaid with mosaic and pearl, are arranged along the sides, andoverhung with flowing tapestry that falls carelessly from the largeDoric windows. Over these windows are massive cornices, richlydesigned and gilded. Quiet grandeur pervades the whole; even thefairy-like dais that has been raised for the nuptial ceremony restsupon four pieces of statuary, and is covered with crimson velvet setwith sparkling crystals. And while this spectacle presents but thevanity of our nature, grand but not lasting, the sweet breath ofsummer is wafting its balmy odours to refresh and give life to itslifeless luxury. 

The gay cortŠge begins to assemble; the halls fill with guests; thebeauty, grace, and intelligence of this little fashionable world, arrayed in its very best, will be here with its best face. Sparklingdiamonds and other precious stones, dazzling, will enhance thegorgeous display. And yet, how much of folly's littleness does itall present! All this costly drapery-all this show of worldlyvoluptuousness-all this tempest of gaiety, is but the product ofpain and sorrow. The cheek that blushes in the gay circle, that fairform born to revel in luxury, would not blush nor shrink to see anaked wretch driven with the lash. Yea! we have said it was theproduct of pain and sorrow; it is the force of oppression wringingfrom ignorance and degradation the very dregs of its life. Men say, what of that?-do we not live in a great good land of liberty?

The young affianced, --dressed in a flowing skirt of white satin, withrichly embroidered train; a neat bodice of the same material, withincisions of lace tipped with brilliants; sleeves tapering into neatrufflets of lace clasped upon the wrist with diamond bracelets, astomacher of chastely worked lace with brilliants in the centre, relieved by two rows of small unpolished pearls, --is ushered into theparlour, followed by groomsmen and bridesmaids as chastely dressed. 

There is a striking contrast between the youth and delicacy ofFranconia, blushing modestly and in her calmness suppressing thatinert repugnance working in her mind, and the brusqueness ofM'Carstrow, who assumes the free and easy dash, hoping thereby tolessen his years in the picture of himself. Clotilda, for the lasttime, has arranged Franconia's hair, which lies in simple braidsacross her polished brows, and folds upon the back, where it issecured and set off with a garland of wild flowers. The hand thatlaid it there, that arranged it so neatly, will never arrange itagain. As a last token of affection for her young mistress, Clotildahas plucked a new-blown chiponique, white with crystal dew, andsurrounded it with tiny buds and orange blossoms: this, Franconiaholds in her left hand, the lace to which it is attached fallinglike mist to the ground. 

Thus arrayed, they appear at the altar: the good man of modest clothtakes his place, the ceremony commences; and as it proceeds, and thesolemn words fall upon her ear, "Those whom God hath joined togetherlet no man put asunder, " she raises her eyes upwards, with a look ofmelancholy, as tears, like pearls, glisten in her soft expressiveeyes. Her heart is moved with deeper emotion than this display ofsouthern galaxy can produce. The combination of circumstances thathas brought her to the altar, the decline of fortune, perhapsdisgrace, worked upon her mind. It is that which has consigned herto the arms of one she cannot love, whose feelings and associationsshe never can respect. Was she to be the ransom?-was she to atonefor the loss of family fortune, family pride, family inconsistency?kept forcing itself upon her. There was no gladness in it-nohappiness. And there was the captive, the victim of foul slavery-sofoul that hell yearns for its abettors-whose deliverance she prayedfor with her earnest soul. She knew the oppressor's grasp-she had, with womanly pride, come forward to relieve the wronged, and she hadbecome sensible of the ties binding her to Clotilda. Unlike too manyof her sex, she did not suppress her natural affections; she couldnot see only the slave in a disowned sister; she acknowledged therelationship, and hastened to free her, to send her beyond slavery'sgrasp, into the glad embrace of freedom. 

The ceremony ends; the smiles and congratulations of friends, asthey gather round Franconia, shower upon her; she receives themcoldly, her heart has no love for them, it throbs with anxiety forthat slave whose liberty she has planned, and for whose safety sheinvokes the all-protecting hand of heaven. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

ANOTHER PHASE OF THE PICTURE. 

WHILE the ceremony we have described in the foregoing chapter wasproceeding, Clotilda, yielding to the earnest request of Franconia, dresses herself in garments she has provided, and awaits thecommencement of the scene. A little schooner from one of the BahamaIslands lies moored in the harbour awaiting a fair wind to return. 

We need scarcely tell the reader that a plan of escape had beenpreviously arranged between Franconia and Maxwell; but why she tookso earnest a part in carrying it out, we must reserve for anotherchapter. 

Maxwell had sought the captain of this schooner, found him of agenerous disposition, ready to act in behalf of freedom. Having soongained his confidence, and enlisted his good services, it took nogreat amount of persuasion to do this, his feelings having alreadybeen aroused against slavery, the giant arms of which, stretched outbetween fear and injustice, had interfered with his rights. He hadseen it grasp the bones and sinews of those who were born infreedom-he had seen men laugh at his appeals for justice-he had seenone of his free-born British seamen manacled and dragged to prisonat noonday, merely because his skin was slightly coloured; he hadbeen compelled to pay tribute to keep alive the oppressor's power, to compensate the villainy rogues practise upon honest men. 

"Yes!" says the captain, a sturdy son of the sea, in answer toMaxwell; "bring her on board; and with a heart's best wishes, if Idon't land her free and safe in Old Bahama I'll never cross the gulfstream again. " And the mode of getting the boats ready was at oncearranged. 

The night was still and dark; picturesque illuminations in andaround the mansion glittered in contrast with the starry arch ofheaven; the soft south breeze fans to life the dark foliage thatclusters around-nature has clothed the scene with her beauties. Clotilda-she has eagerly awaited the coming time-descends to thebalustrade in the rear of the mansion. Here she meets a band ofmusicians; they have assembled to serenade, and wait thebenediction, a signal for which will be made from one of thebalconies. She fears they may recognise her, hesitates at theentrance, paces backward and forward in the colonnade, and professesto be awaiting some message from her mistress. Again scanning thescene, she watches intently, keeping her eyes fixed in the directionFranconia has suggested. "I was to meet Maxwell there!" works uponher mind until she becomes nervous and agitated. "I was, and mustmeet him there;" and she walks slowly back to the entrance, turnsand returns, watches until her soul has nearly sickened, at lengthespies the joyous signal. Franconia did not deceive her. Oh, no! hestands there in the glare of a lamp that hangs from a willow-tree. She vaults over the path, grasps his hand with a sister's affection, and simultaneously the soft swelling music of "Still so gently o'erme stealing!" floats in the air, as dulcet and soul-stirring as evertouched the fancy, or clothed with holy inspiration the still reposeof a southern landscape at midnight. But she is with Maxwell; theyhave passed the serenaders, --liberty is the haven of her joy, itgives her new hopes of the future. Those hopes dispel the regretsthat hover over her mind as she thinks of her child. 

For several minutes they stand together, listening to the music, andwatching the familiar faces of old friends as they come upon thebalcony in the second story. Southern life had its pleasantassociations-none would attempt to deny them; but the evil broodedin the uncertainty that hung over the fate of millions, now yieldingindulgence to make life pleasant, then sinking them for ever in thecruelties of a tyrant's power. It is the crushing out of the mind'sforce, --the subduing the mental and physical man to make the chattelcomplete, --the shutting out of all the succinct virtues that nurturefreedom, that incite us to improve the endowments of nature, thatproves the rankling poison. And this poison spreads its banefulinfluence in and around good men's better desires. 

After watching in silence for a few moments, Clotilda gives vent toher feelings. "I should like to see old Daddy Bob once more, Ishould! And my poor Annette; she is celled to be sold, I'm afraid;but I must yield to the kindness of Franconia. I have seen somegood times among the old folks on the plantation. And there's AuntRachel, --a good creature after all, --and Harry. Well; I mustn't thinkof these things; freedom is sweetest, " she says. Maxwell suggeststhat they move onward. The music dies away in the stillness, as theyturn from the scene to flee beyond the grasp of men who traffic inhuman things called property, --not by a great constitution, but undera constitution's freedom giving power. Would that a great andglorious nation had not sold its freedom to the damning stain ofavarice! would that it had not perverted that holy word, for theblessings of which generations have struggled in vain! would that ithad not substituted a freedom that mystifies a jurisprudence, --thatbrings forth the strangest fruit of human passions, --that makesprison walls and dreary cells death-beds of the innocent;-thatpermits human beings to be born for the market, and judged by theripest wisdom! "Has God ordained such freedom lasting?" will forceitself upon us. -We must return to our humble adventurers. 

The fugitives reached the back gate, leading into a narrow lane, from whence they cross into the main street. Clotilda has none ofthe African about her; the most observing guardsman would not stopher for a slave. They pass along unmolested; the guardsmen, somemounted and some walking at a slow pace, bow politely. No onedemands a pass. They arrive in safety at a point about two milesfrom the city, where the captain and his boat await them. No time islost in embarking: the little bark rides at anchor in the stream;the boat quietly glides to her; they are safely on board. A fewminutes more, and the little craft moves seaward under the pressureof a gentle breeze. There is no tragic pursuit of slave-hunters, notramp of horses to terrify the bleeding victim, no howlings ofravenous bloodhounds, --nothing that would seem to make the issuefreedom or death. No! all is as still as a midsummer night in thesame clime. The woman--this daughter of slavery's vices--cherishes alove for freedom; the hope of gaining it, and improving thoseendowments nature has bestowed upon her, freshens her spirits andgives her life to look forward without desponding. Maxwell is herfriend; he has witnessed the blighting power of slavery-not alone inits workings upon the black man, but upon the lineal offspring offreemen-and has resolved to work against its mighty arm. With him itis the spontaneous action of a generous heart sympathising for thewrongs inflicted upon the weak, and loving to see right respected. 

The fair Franconia, who has just been forced to accept the hand of amere charlatan, disclosed the secrets of her mind to him; it was shewho incited him to an act which might have sacrificed his freedom, perhaps his life. But mankind is possessed of an innate feeling todo good; and there is a charm added when the object to be served isa fair creature about to be dragged into the miseries of slavery. Even the rougher of our kind cannot resist it; and at times-weexcept the servile opinion which slavery inflicts upon a peoplethrough its profitable issues-prompts the ruffian to generous acts. 

The little bark, bound for the haven of freedom, sailed onward overthe blue waters, and when daylight dawned had crossed the barseparating the harbour from the ocean. Clotilda ascends to the deck, sits on the companion-seat, and in a pensive mood watches the fadinghills where slavery stains the fair name of freedom, --whereoppression rears its dark monuments to for ever torture and disgracea harmless race. She looks intently upon them, as one by one theyfade in the obscure horizon, seeming to recall the manyassociations, pleasant and painful, through which she has passed. She turns from the contemplation to the deep blue sea, and theunclouded arch of heaven, as they spread out before her: they areGod's own, man cannot pollute them; they are like a picture of gloryinspiring her with emotions she cannot suppress. As the last dimsight of land is lost in the distance, she waves a handkerchief, asif to bid it adieu for ever; then looking at Maxwell, who sits byher side, she says, with a sigh, "I am beyond it! Free, --yes, free!But, have I not left a sufferer behind? There is my poor Annette, mychild; I will clasp her to my bosom, --I will love her more when Imeet her again. Good-bye, Franconia-dear Franconia! She will be amother to my little one; she will keep her word. " Thus saying, shecasts a look upward, invokes heaven to be merciful to herpersecutors, --to protect her child, --to guard Franconia through life. Tears stream down her cheeks as she waves her hand and retires tothe cabin. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

PLEASANT DEALINGS WITH HUMAN PROPERTY. 

WE must deal gently with our scenes; we must describe them withoutexaggeration, and in rotation. While the scenes we have justdescribed were proceeding, another, of deeper import, and moreexpressive of slavery's complicated combinations, was being enactedin another part of the city. 

A raffle of ordinary character had been announced in the morningpapers, --we say ordinary, because it came within the ordinaryspecification of trade, and violated neither statute law normunicipal ordinance, --and the raffler, esteemed a great character inthe city, was no less celebrated for his taste in catering for theamusement of his patrons. On this occasion, purporting to be a verygreat one, the inducements held out were no less an incentive ofgambling propensities than an aim to serve licentious purposes. In aword, it offered "all young connoisseurs of beauty a chance toprocure one of the finest-developed young wenches, --fair, bright, perfectly brought up, young, chaste, and of most amiabledisposition, for a trifling sum. " This was all straight in the wayof trade, in a free country; nobody should blush at it (somemaidens, reading the notice, might feel modestly inclined to), because nobody could gainsay it. This is prize No. 1, prime-as setdown in the schedule-and the amount per toss being only a trifle, persons in want of such prizes are respectfully informed of the factthat only a few chances remain, which will command a premium beforecandle-light. Prize No. 2 is a superior pony, of well-knownbreed-here the pedigree is set forth; which advantage had not beenaccorded to the human animal, lest certain members of the same stockshould blush-raised with great care and attention, and exactlysuited for a gentleman's jant or a lady's saddle-nag. Prize No. 3 isa superior setter dog, who has also been well brought up, is fromgood stock, is kind to children, who play with him when they please. He knows niggers, is good to watch them, has been known to catchrunaways, to tear their shins wonderfully. Indeed, according to thesetting forth of the sagacious animal, he would seem to understandslave-law quite well, and to be ready and willing to lend his aidwith dogs of a different species to enforce its provisions. The onlyfault the brute has, if fault it may be called, is that he does notunderstand the constitutionality of the fugitive slave law, --a lawdestined to be exceedingly troublesome among a free people. Did thesagacity of the animal thus extend to the sovereign law of the landof the brave and free, he would bring a large price at the north, where men are made to do what dogs most delight in at the south. 

The first prize, as set forth, is valued at seven hundred dollars:the magnanimous gentleman who caters thus generously for his patronsstates the delicate prize to be worth fifty or a hundred dollarsmore, and will, with a little more developing, be worth a great dealmore money. Hence, he hopes his patrons will duly appreciateenterprising liberality. 

The second prize he considers generously low at two hundred dollars;and the dog-the sagacious animal constituting the third prize-wouldbe a great bargain to anybody wanting such an animal, especially inconsideration of his propensity to catch negroes, at sixty dollars. The trio of human and animal prizes produce no distinctive effectupon the feelings of those who speculate in such property; with themit is only a matter of gradation between dollars and cents. 

But, to be more off-handed in this generous undertaking, and inconsideration of the deep-felt sensibility and hospitality whichmust always protect southern character, the chances will berestricted to two hundred, at five dollars per chance. Money must bepaid in before friends can consider themselves stock-holders. It isto be a happy time, in a happy country, where all are boasted happy. The first lucky dog will get the human prize; the next lucky dogwill get the pony; the third will make a dog of himself by onlywinning a dog. The fun of the thing, however, will be the greatattraction; men of steady habits are reminded of this. Oldergentlemen, having very nice taste for colour, but no particularscruples about religion, and who seldom think morals worth much toniggers, "because they aint got sense to appreciate such things, "are expected to be on hand. Those who know bright and fair niggerswere never made for anything under the sun but to gratify their owndesires, are expected to spread the good news, to set the youngaristocracy of the city all agog, --to start up a first-bestcrowd, --have some tall drinking and first-rate amusement. Everybodyis expected to tell his friend, and his friend is expected to helpthe generous man out with his generous scheme, and all are expectedto join in the "bender. " Nobody must forget that the whole thing isto come off at "Your House, "-an eating and drinking saloon, of greatcapacity, kept by the very distinguished man, Mr. O'Brodereque. 

Mr. O'Brodereque, who always pledges his word upon the honour of asouthern gentleman-frequently asserting his greatness in thepolitical world, and wondering who could account for his not findinghis way into Congress, where talent like his would be brought outfor the protection of our south-has made no end of money by sellinga monstrous deal of very bad liquor to customers of allgrades, --niggers excepted. And, although his hair is well mixed withthe grey of many years, he declares the guilt of selling liquor toniggers is not on his shoulders. It is owing to this clean state ofhis character, that he has been able to maintain his aristocraticposition. "Yes, indeed, " said one of his patrons, who, having fallenin arrears, found himself undergoing the very disagreeable processof being politely kicked into the street, "money makes a man big inthe south: big in niggers, big in politics, big with everything butthe way I'm big, --with an empty pocket. I don't care, though; he'sgoing up by the process that I'm coming down. There's philosophy inthat. " It could not be denied that Mr. O'Brodereque-commonly calledGeneral O'Brodereque-was very much looked up to by great people andBacchanalians, --men who pay court to appease the wondrous discontentof the belly, to the total neglect of the back. Not a few swore, byall their importance, a greater man never lived. He is, indeed, allthat can be desired to please the simple pretensions of afree-thinking and free-acting southern people, who, having elevatedhim to the office of alderman, declare him exactly the man todevelope its functions. A few of the old school aristocracy, whostill retain the bad left them by their English ancestry, havinglong since forgotten the good, do sneer now and then at Mr. Brodereque's pretensions. But, like all great men who have a greatobject to carry out, he affects to frown such things down, --to remindthe perpetrators of such aristocratic sneers what a spare few theyare. He asserts, and with more truth than poetry, that any gentlemanhaving the capacity to deluge the old aristocracy with doubtfulwine, line his pockets while draining theirs-all the time makingthem feel satisfied he imports the choicest-and who can keep on acheerful face the while, can fill an alderman's chair to a nicety. 

In addition to the above, Mr. O'Brodereque is one of those veryaccommodating individuals who never fail to please their customers, while inciting their vanity; and, at the same time, always secure agood opinion for themselves. And, too, he was liberally inclined, never refused tick, but always made it tell; by which well-devisedprocess, his patrons were continually becoming his humble servants, ready to serve him at call. 

Always civil, and even obsequious at first, ready to condescend andaccommodate, he is equally prompt when matters require that peculiarturn which southerners frequently find themselves turned into, --nomore tick and a turn out of doors. At times, Mr. O'Brodereque'scustomers have the very unenviable consolation of knowing that asmall document called a mortgage of their real and personal propertyremains in his hands, which he will very soon find it necessary toforeclose. 

It is dark, --night has stolen upon us again, --the hour for the raffleis at hand. The saloon, about a hundred and forty feet long by fortywide, is brilliantly lighted for the occasion. The gas-lights throwstrange shadows upon the distemper painting with which the walls aredecorated. Hanging carelessly here and there are badly-daubedpaintings of battle scenes and heroic devices, alternated withlithographic and badly-executed engravings of lustfully-exposedfemales. Soon the saloon fills with a throng of variously-mixedgentlemen. The gay, the grave, the old, and the young men of thefashionable world, are present. Some affect the fast young man;others seem mere speculators, attracted to the place for the purposeof enjoying an hour, seeing the sight, and, it may be, taking athrow for the "gal. " The crowd presents a singular contrast ofbeings. Some are dressed to the very extreme of fantastic fashion, and would seem to have wasted their brains in devising colours fortheir backs; others, aspiring to the seriously genteel, arefashioned in very extravagant broadcloth; while a third group isdressed in most niggardly attire, which sets very loosely. Inaddition to this they wear very large black, white, andgrey-coloured felt hats, slouched over their heads; while theirnether garments, of red and brown linsey-woolsey, fit likeFalstaff's doublet on a whip stock. They seem proud of the grimtufts of hair that, like the moss-grown clumps upon an old oak, spread over their faces; and they move about in the grotesque crowd, making their physiognomies increase its piquancy. 

The saloon is one of those places at the south where great men, small men, men of different spheres and occupations, men inprominently defined positions, men in doubtful calls of life, andmen most disreputably employed, most do congregate. At one end ofthe saloon is a large oyster counter, behind which stand twocoloured men, with sauces, savories, and other mixtures at hand, ready to serve customers who prefer the delicacy in its raw state. Men are partaking without noting numbers. Mr. O'Brodereque has boysserving who take very good care of the numbers. Extending along oneside of the saloon is an elaborately carved mahogany counter, withpanels of French white and gilt mouldings. This is surmounted with amarble slab, upon which stand well-filled decanters, vases, andsalvers. Behind this counter, genteelly-dressed and politeattendants are serving customers who stand along its side in a line, treating in true southern style. The calling for drinks is a problemfor nice ears to solve, so varied are the sounds, so strange thenames: style, quantity, and mixture seemed without limit, set on invarious colours to flow and flood the spirits of the jovial. On theopposite side of the saloon are rows of seats and arm-chairs, interspersed with small tables, from which the beverage can beimbibed more at ease. On the second story is the great "eatingsaloon, " with its various apartments, its curtained boxes, itsprim-looking waiters, its pier-glass walls. There is everyaccommodation for belly theologians, who may discuss the choicestviands of the season. 

The company are assembled, --the lower saloon is crowded; Mr. O'Brodereque, with great dignity, mounts the stand, --a little tablestanding at one end of the room. His face reddens, he gives severaldelinquent coughs, looks round and smiles upon his motley patrons, points a finger recognisingly at a wag in the corner, who hasaddressed some remarks to him, puts his thumbs in the sleeve-holesof his vest, throws back his coat-collar, puts himself in a defiantattitude, and is ready to deliver himself of his speech. 

"A political speech from the General! Gentlemen, hats off, and giveyour attention to Mr. General O'Brodereque's remarks!" resounds fromseveral voices. Mr. O'Brodereque is somewhat overcome, his friendscompliment him so: he stands, hesitating, as if he had lost theopening part of his speech, like a statue on a molasses-cask. Atlength he speaks. "If it was a great political question, gentlemen, I'd get the twist of the thing, --I'd pitch into it, big! These littlethings always trouble public men more than the important intricaciesof government do. You see, they are not comesurate, --that's it!" saysMr. Brodereque, looking wondrously wise the while. After bowing, smiling, and acknowledging the compliments of his generous customerswith prodigious grace, he merely announces to his friends--witheloquence that defies imitation, and turns rhetoric into adiscordant exposition of his own important self--that, not havingexamined the constitution for more nor three Sundays, they must, upon the honour of a gentleman, excuse his political speech. "But, gents, " he says, "you all know how I trys to please ye in the way ofraffles and such things, and how I throws in the belly and stomachfixins. Now, brighten up, ye men of taste"--Mr. Brodereque laughssatisfactorily as he surveys his crowd--"I'm going to do the thingup brown for ye, --to give ye a chance for a bit of bright propertywhat ye don't get every day; can't scare up such property only oncein a while. It'll make ye old fellers wink, some"--Mr. O'Broderequewinks at several aged gentlemen, whose grey hair is figurative inthe crowd--"think about being young again. And, my friends belowthirty-my young friends--ah, ye rascals! I thought I'd play the tuneon the right string!"--he laughs, and puts his finger to his mouthquizzically--"I likes to suit ye, and please ye: own her up, now, --don't I?"

"Hurrah! for Brod, --Brod's a trump!" again resounds from a dozenvoices. 

They all agree to the remark that nobody can touch the great Mr. O'Brodereque in getting up a nice bit of fun, amusing young men withmore money than mind, and being in the favour of aristocraticgentlemen who think nothing of staking a couple of prime niggers ona point of faro. 

Mr. O'Brodereque has been interrupted; he begs his friends will, fora moment, cease their compliments and allow him to proceed. "Gentlemen!" he continues, "the gal's what ye don't get every day;and she's as choice as she's young; and she's as handsome as she'syoung; and for this delicious young crittur throws are only fivedollars a piece. " The sentimental southern gentleman has noreference to the throes of anguish that are piercing the woundedsoul of the woman. 

"A gentleman what ain't got a five-dollar bill in his pocket betternot show his winkers in this crowd. After that, gentlemen, there's aslap-up pony, and one of the knowinest dogs outside of acourt-house. Now, --gents! if this ain't some tall doings, --some of araffle, just take my boots and I'll put it for Texas. A chance for anigger gal-a pony-a dog; who on 'arth wants more, gentlemen?" Mr. O'Brodereque again throws back his coat, shrugs his shoulders, wipesthe perspiration from his brow, and is about to descend from thetable. No, he won't come down just yet. He has struck a vein; hisfriends are getting up a favourable excitement. 

"Bravo! bravo!-long may General Brodereque keep the hospitable YourHouse! Who wouldn't give a vote for Brodereque at the nextelection?" re-echoes through the room. 

"One more remark, gentlemen. " Mr. Brodereque again wipes theperspiration from his forehead, and orders a glass of water, toloosen his oratorical organs. He drinks the water, seems to increasein his own greatness; his red face glows redder, he makes atheatrical gesticulation with his right hand, crumples his hair intocurious points, and proceeds:--"The lucky man what gets the gal prizeis to treat the crowd!" This is seconded and carried by acclamation, without a dissenting voice. 

A murmuring noise, as of some one in trouble, is now heard at thedoor: the crowd gives way: a beautiful mulatto girl, in a black silkdress, with low waist and short sleeves, and morocco slippers on herfeet, is led in and placed upon the stand Mr. O'Brodereque has justvacated. Her complexion is that of a swarthy Greek; her countenanceis moody and reflective; her feelings are stung with the poison ofher degraded position. This last step of her disgrace broods in themelancholy of her face. Shame, pain, hope, and fear, combine to goadher very soul. But it's all for a bit of fun, clearly legal; it'sall in accordance with society; misfortune is turned into aplaything, that generous, good, and noble-hearted men may be amused. Those who stand around her are extravagant with joy. After remaininga few moments in silence, a mute victim of generous freedom, sheturns her head bashfully, covers her face with her hands. Herfeelings gush forth in a stream of tears; she cannot suppress themlonger. 

There is a touching beauty in her face, made more effective by thedeplorable condition to which she is reduced. Again she looksupward, and covers her face with her hands; her soul seems merged insupplication to the God who rules all things aright. He is aforgiving God! Can he thus direct man's injustice to man, while thispoor broken flower thus withers under the bane? Sad, melancholy, doomed! there is no hope, no joy for her. She weeps over herdegradation. 

"Stop that whimperin!" says a ruffianly bystander, who orders acoloured boy to let down her hair. He obeys the summons; it falls inthick, black, undulating tresses over her neck and shoulders. A fewmoments more, and she resumes a calm appearance, looks resolutelyupon her auditors, with indignation and contempt pictured in hercountenance. 

"She'll soon get over that!" ejaculates another bystander, as hesmooths the long beard on his haggard face. "Strip her down!" Therequest is no sooner made, than Mr. O'Brodereque mounts the stand toperform the feat. "Great country this, gentlemen!" he speaks, takingher by the shoulders. 

"All off! all off, general!" is the popular demand. 

The sensitive nature of the innocent girl recoils; she cringes fromhis touch; she shudders, and vainly attempts to resist. She mustyield; the demand is imperative. Her dress falls at Mr. O'Brodereque's touch. She stands before the gazing crowd, exposed tothe very thighs, holding the loose folds of her dress in her hands. There is no sympathy for those moistened eyes; oh, no! it is aluscious feast-puritans have no part in the sin-for those who, inour land of love and liberty, buy and sell poor human nature, andmake it food for serving hell. 

Naked she stands for minutes; the assembled gentlemen have feastedtheir eyes, --good men have played the part of their good natures. General O'Brodereque, conscious of his dignity, orders her to betaken down. The waiter performs the duty, and she is led out midstthe acclamations and plaudits of the crowd, who call for the raffle. 

Mr. O'Brodereque hopes gentlemen are satisfied with what they haveseen, and will pledge his honour that the pony and dog are quite assound and healthy as the wench whose portions they have had a chanceto shy; and for which-the extra sight-they should pay an extratreat. This, however, his generosity will not allow him to standupon; and, seeing how time is precious, and the weather warm, hehopes his friends will excuse the presence of the animals, take hisword of honour in consideration of the sight of the wench. 

"Now, gentlemen, " he says, "the throws are soon to commence, and allwhat ain't put down the tin better attend that ar' needfularrangement, quicker!"

As the general concludes this very significant invitation, DanBengal, Anthony Romescos, and Nath Nimrod, enter together. Theirpresence creates some little commotion, for Romescos is known to beturbulent, and very uncertain when liquor flows freely, which is thecase at present. 

"I say, general!-old hoss! I takes all the chances what's left, "Romescos shouts at the top of his voice. His eyes glare withanxiety, --his red, savage face, doubly sun-scorched, glows out as heelbows his way through the crowd up to the desk, where sits acorpulent clerk. "Beg your pardon, gentlemen: not so fast, if youplease!" he says, entering names in his ledger, receiving money, "doing the polite of the establishment. "

Romescos's coat and nether clothing are torn in several places, ahunting-belt girdles his waist; a bowie-knife (Sheffield make)protrudes from his breast-pocket, his hair hangs in jagged tuftsover the collar of his coat, which, with the rough moccasons on hisfeet, give him an air of fierce desperaton and recklessness. Hispresence is evidently viewed with suspicion; he is a curious objectwhich the crowd are willing to give ample space to. 

"No, you don't take 'em all, neither!" says another, in a defianttone. The remaining "chances" are at once put up for sale; theybring premiums, as one by one they are knocked down to the highestbidders, some as much as fifty per cent. Advance. Gentlemen are notto know it, because Mr. O'Brodereque thinks his honour aboveeverything else; but the fact is, there is a collusion betweenRomescos and the honourable Mr. O'Brodereque. The former is playinghis part to create a rivalry that will put dollars and cents intothe pocket of the latter. 

"Well!" exclaims Romescos, with great indifference, as soon as thesale had concluded, "I've got seven throws, all lucky ones. I'lltake any man's bet for two hundred dollars that I gets the galprize. " Nobody seems inclined to accept the challenge. A table isset in the centre of the saloon, the dice are brought on, amidst ajargon of noise and confusion; to this is added drinking, smoking, swearing, and all kinds of small betting. 

The raffle commences; one by one the numbers are called. Romescos'turn has come; all eyes are intently set upon him. He is celebratedfor tricks of his trade; he seldom repudiates the character, andoftener prides in the name of a shrewd one, who can command a prizefor his sharp dealing. In a word, he has a peculiar faculty ofshielding the doubtful transactions of a class of men no lessdishonest, but more modest in point of reputation. 

Romescos spreads himself wonderfully, throws his dice, and exultsover the result. He has turned up three sixes at the first andsecond throws, and two sixes and five at the third. 

"Beat that! who can?" he says. No one discovers that he has, by avery dexterous movement, slipped a set of false dice into the box, while O'Brodereque diverted attention at the moment by introducingthe pony into the saloon. 

We will pass over many things that occurred, and inform the readerthat Romescos won the first prize-the woman. The dog and pony prizeswere carried off by legitimate winners. This specific part of thescene over, a band of negro minstrels are introduced, who strike uptheir happy glees, the music giving new life to the revelry. Such amedley of drinking, gambling, and carousing followed, as defiesdescription. What a happy thing it is to be free; they feel this, --itit is a happy feeling! The sport lasts till the small hours ofmorning advance. Romescos is seen leaving the saloon very quietly. 

"There!" says Mr. O'Brodereque exultingly, "he hasn't got so much ofa showing. That nigger gal ain't what she's cracked up to be!" andhe shakes his head knowingly, thrusts his hands deep into hisbreeches pockets, smiles with an air of great consequence. 

"Where did ye raise the critter? devil of a feller ye be, Brodereque!" says a young sprig, giving his hat a particular set onthe side of his head, and adjusting his eye-glass anew. "Ye ain'tgin her a name, in all the showin', " he continues, drawlingly. 

"That gal! She ain't worth so much, a'ter all. She's of Marston'sstock; Ellen Juvarna, I think they call her. She's only good for herlooks, in the animal way, --that's all!"

"Hav'n't told where ye got her, yet, " interrupts the sprig; "none ofyer crossin' corners, general. "

"Well, I started up that gal of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy. Shetakes it into her mind to get crazed now and then, and Marston hadto sell her; and the Elder bought her for a trifle, cured up herthinkin'-trap, got her sound up for market, and I makes a strikewith the Elder, and gets her at a tall bargain. " Mr. O'Broderequehas lost none of his dignity, none of his honour, none of his hopesof getting into Congress by the speculation. 

It is poor Ellen Juvarna; she has been cured for the market. Shemight have said, and with truth, --"You don't know me now, sowonderful are they who deal with my rights in this our world ofliberty!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

A NOT UNCOMMON SCENE SLIGHTLY CHANGED. 

ROMESCOS, having withdrawn from the saloon while the excitementraged highest, may be seen, with several others, seated at a tablein the upper room. They are in earnest consultation, --evidentlydevising some plan for carrying out a deep-laid plot. 

"I have just called my friend, who will give us the particularsabout the constitutionality of the thing. Here he is. Mr. Scranton, ye see, knows all about such intricacies; he is an editor! formerlyfrom the North, " one of the party is particular to explain, as hedirects his conversation to Romescos. That gentleman of slave-clothonly knows the part they call the rascality; he pays the gentlemenof the learned law profession to shuffle him out of all the legalintricacies that hang around his murderous deeds. He seems revolvingthe thing over in his mind at the moment, makes no reply. Thegentleman turns to Mr. Scranton--the same methodical gentleman wehave described with the good Mrs. Rosebrook--hopes he will be goodenough to advise on the point in question. Mr. Scranton sits in allthe dignity of his serious philosophy, quite unmoved; his mind isnearly distracted about all that is constitutionally right orconstitutionally wrong. He is bound to his own ways of thinking, andwould suffer martyrdom before his own conscientious scruples wouldallow him to acknowledge a right superior to that constitution. Asfor the humanity! that has nothing to do with the constitution, nothing to do with the laws of the land, nothing to do with populargovernment, --nothing to do with anything, and never should be takeninto consideration when the point at issue involved negro property. The schedule of humanity would be a poor account at one's banker's. Mr. Scranton begins to smooth his face, which seems to elongate likea wet moon. "The question is, as I understand it, gentlemen, how farthe law will give you a right to convict and sell the woman in theabsence of papers and against the assertions of her owner, that sheis free? Now, gentlemen, in the absence of my law books, and withoutthe least scruple that I am legally right, for I'm seldom legallywrong, having been many years secretary to a senator in Congress whomade it my particular duty to keep him posted on all points of theconstitution--he drawls out with the serious complacency of a Londonbeggar--I will just say that, whatever is legal must be just. Lawsare always founded in justice--that's logical, you see, --and I alwaysmaintained it long 'afore I come south, long 'afore I knowed a thingabout 'nigger law. ' The point, thus far, you see, gentlemen, I'vesettled. Now then!" Mr. Scranton rests his elbow on the table, makesmany legal gesticulations with his finger; he, however, disclaimsall and every connection with the legal body, inasmuch as itsmembers have sunk very much in the scale of character, and willrequire a deal of purifying ere he can call them brothers; but heknows a thing or two of constitutional law, and thus proceeds:"'Tain't a whit of matter about the woman, barring the dockerment'sall right. You only want to prove that Marston bought her, that'sall! As for the young scraps, why--supposing they are his-that won'tmake a bit of difference; they are property for all that, subject tolegal restraints. Your claim will be valid against it. You may haveto play nicely over some intricate legal points. But, remember, nigger law is wonderfully elastic; it requires superhuman wisdom tounravel its social and political intricacies, and when I view itthrough the horoscope of an indefinite future it makes my very headache. You may, however, let your claim revert to another, andtraverse the case until such time as you can procure reliable proofto convict. " Mr. Scranton asserts this as the force of his legal andconstitutional acumen. He addresses himself to a mercantile-lookinggentleman who sits at the opposite side of the table, attentivelylistening. He is one of several of Marston's creditors, who sit atthe table; they have attached certain property, and having somedoubts of overthrowing Marston's plea of freedom, which he hasintimated his intention to enter, have called in the valuable aid ofRomescos. That indomitable individual, however, has more intereststhan one to serve, and is playing his cards with great "diplomaticskill. " Indeed, he often remarks that his wonderful diplomatic skillwould have been a great acquisition to the federal government, inasmuch as it would have facilitated all its Southern Americanprojects. 

The point in question at present, and which they must get over, inorder to prove the property, is made more difficult by the doubt inwhich the origin of Clotilda has always been involved. Many are thesurmises about her parentage-many are the assertions that she is notof negro extraction--she has no one feature indicating it--but no onecan positively assert where she came from; in a word, no one dare!Hence is constituted the ground for fearing the issue of Marston'snotice of freedom. 

"Well! I'll own it puzzles my cunnin'; there's a way to get roundit-there is-but deuced if 'tain't too much for my noddle, " Romescosinterposes, taking a little more whiskey, and seeming quiteindifferent about the whole affair. "Suppose-Marston-comes-forward!yes, and brings somebody to swear as a kind a' sideways? That'll bea poser in asserting their freedom; it'll saddle you creditors withthe burden of proof. There'll be the rub; and ye can't plead a rightto enjoin the schedule he files in bankruptcy unless ye show howthey were purchased by him. Perchance on some legal uncertainty itmight be done, --by your producing proof that he had made anadmission, anterior to the levy, of their being purchased by him, "Romescos continues, very wisely appealing to his learned andconstitutional friend, Mr. Scranton, who yields his assent by addingthat the remarks are very legal, and contain truths worthconsidering, inasmuch as they involve great principles of populargovernment. "I think our worthy friend has a clear idea of thepoints, " Mr. Scranton concludes. 

"One word more, gentlemen: a bit of advice what's worth a rightsmart price to ye all"--here he parenthesises by saying he has greatsympathy for creditors in distress--"and ye must profit by it, foryer own interests. As the case now stands, it's a game for lawyersto play and get fat at. And, seein' how Marston's feelins are up ina sort of tender way, he feels strong about savin' them young 'uns;and ye, nor all the gentlemen of the lower place, can't make 'emproperty, if he plays his game right;--he knows how to! ye'll onlymake a fuss over the brutes, while the lawyers bag all the gameworth a dollar. Never see'd a nigger yet what raised a legal squall, that didn't get used up in law leakins; lawyers are sainted pocketmasters! But--that kind a' stuff!--it takes a mighty deal ofcross-cornered swearing to turn it into property. The only way yecan drive the peg in so the lawyers won't get hold on't, is bysellin' out to old Graspum-Norman, I mean--he does up such businessas fine as a fiddle. Make the best strike with him ye can--he's astough as a knot on nigger trade!--and, if there's any makingproperty out on 'em, he's just the tinker to do it. "

They shake their heads doubtingly, as if questioning the policy ofthe advice. Mr. Scranton, however, to whom all looked with greatsolicitation, speaks up, and affirms the advice to be the wisercourse, as a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. 

"Oh, yes!" says Romescos, significantly, "you'll be safe then, andfree from responsibility; Graspum's a great fellow to buy risks;but, seeing how he's not popular with juries, he may want to playbehind the scenes, continue to prosecute the case in the name of thecreditors, --that's all! Curious work, this making property out ofdoubtful women. Sell out to them what understands the curious of thethings, clear yerselfs of the perplexin' risks--ye won't bag a bit ofthe game, you won't. Saddle it on Norman; he knows the philosophy ofnigger trade, and can swim through a sea of legal perplexities innigger cases. " Mr. Romescos never gave more serious advice in hislife; he finishes his whiskey, adjusts his hat slouchingly on hishead, bids them good night; and, in return for their thanks, assuresthem that they are welcome. He withdraws; Mr. Scranton, after atime, gets very muddled; so much so, that, when daylight appears, hefinds, to his utter astonishment, he has enjoyed a sweet sleep onthe floor, some of his quizzical friends having disfigured his facevery much after the fashion of a clown's. He modestly, andmechanically, picks up his lethargic body, views his constitutionalself in the glass, and is much horrified, much disgusted with thosewho perpetrated the freak. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THEY ARE ALL GOING TO BE SOLD. 

SLOWLY we pass through the precious scenes, hoping our readers willindulge us with their patience. 

Five days have passed since Clotilda's departure; her absence iscreating alarm. No one knows anything of her! a general search isinstituted, but the searchers search in vain. Maxwell has eludedsuspicion-Franconia no one for a moment suspects. ColonelM'Carstrow-his mind, for the time, absorbed in the charms of hisyoung bride-gives little attention to the matter. He only knows thathe has signed a bond for fifteen hundred dollars, to indemnify thesheriff, or creditors, in the event of loss; he reconciles himselfwith the belief that she has been enticed into some of theneighbouring bright houses, from which he can regain her in thecourse of time. M'Carstrow knows little of Clotilda's realcharacter; and thus the matter rests a time. 

The sheriff, --important gentleman of an important office, --will givehimself no concern about the matter: the plaintiff's attorneyacknowledged the deed of release, which is quite enough for him. Graspum, a perfect savan where human property was to be judged, haddecided that her square inches of human vitality were worth strongfifteen hundred; that was all desirable for the sheriff-it wouldleave margin enough to cover the cost. But M'Carstrow, when giventhe bond, knew enough of nigger law to demand the insertion of aclause leaving it subject to the question of property, which is tobe decided by the court. A high court this, where freemen sitassembled to administer curious justice. What constitutionalinconsistencies hover over the monstrous judicial dignity of thiscourt, --this court having jurisdiction over the monetary value ofbeings moulded after God's own image! It forms a happy jurisprudencefor those who view it for their selfish ends; it gains freedomtyranny's license, gives birth to strange incongruities, clashingbetween the right of property in man and all the viler passions ofour nature. It holds forth a jurisprudence that turns men intohounds of hell, devouring one another, and dragging human naturedown into the very filth of earth. 

Marston's troubles keep increasing. All the preliminaries of lawnecessary to a sale of the undisputed property have been gonethrough; the day of its disposal has arrived. The children, Annetteand Nicholas, have remained in a cell, suffering under its malariousatmosphere, anxiously awaiting their fate. Marston has had themtaught to read, --contrary to a generous law of a generous land, --andat intervals they sit together pondering over little books he hassent them. 

What are such little books to them? the unbending avarice of humannature, fostered by slavery's power, is grappling at theirexistence. There is no sympathy for them; it is crushed out by thelaw which makes them chattels. Oh, no! sympathy, generosity, humanaffections, have little to do with the transactions of slavedealing; that belongs to commerce, --commerce has an unbending rule tomaintain while money is to be made by a legalised traffic. 

We must invite the reader to accompany us to the county gaol, on themorning of sale. 

The "gang"-Marston's slaves-have been ordered to prepare themselvesfor the market; the yard resounds with their jargon. Some arearranging their little clothing, washing, "brightening up" theirfaces to make the property show off in the market. Others arepreparing homony for breakfast; children, in ragged garments, aretoddling, running, playing, and sporting about the brick pavement;the smallest are crouched at the feet of their mothers, as ifsharing the gloom or nonchalance of their feeling. Men are gatheringtogether the remnants of some cherished memento of the oldplantation; they had many a happy day upon it. Women view as thingsof great worth the little trinkets with which good master, in formerdays, rewarded their energy. They recall each happy association ofthe cabin. Husbands, or such as should be husbands, look upon theirwives with solicitude; they feel it is to be the last day they willmeet together on earth. They may meet in heaven; there is no slaverythere. Mothers look upon their children only to feel the pangs ofsorrow more keenly; they know and feel that their offspring are bornfor the market, not for the enjoyment of their affections. They maybe torn from them, and sold like sheep in the shambles. Happy, freecountry! How fair, how beautiful the picture of constitutionalrights! how in keeping with every-day scenes of southern life!

"I'ze gwine to be sold; you're gwint to be sold; we're all gwine tobe sold. Wonder what mas'r's gwine t'buy dis child, " says AuntRachel, arranging her best dress, making her face "shine just so. "Aunt Rachel endeavours to suit her feelings to the occasion, trimsher bandana about her head with exquisite taste, and lets thebright-coloured points hang about her ears in great profusion. 

"Da'h 's a right smart heap o' dollar in dis old nigger, yet!-ifmas'r what gwine t'buy 'em know how't fotch um out; Mas'r must doda'h clean ting wid dis child, " Rachel says, as if exulting over thevalue of her own person. She brushes and brushes, views and reviewsherself in a piece of mirror-several are waiting to borrow it-thinksshe is just right for market, asks herself what's the use offretting? It's a free country, with boundless hospitality-of thesouthern stamp, --and why not submit to all freedom's dealings? AuntRachel is something of a philosopher. 

"Aunte! da' would'nt gin much fo'h yer old pack a' bones if mas'rwhat gwine to buy ye know'd ye like I. Ye' h'ant da property whatbring long price wid Buckra, " replies Dandy, who views Aunt Rachelrather suspiciously, seems inclined to relieve her conceit, and hastaken very good care that his own dimensions are trimmed up to thehighest point. 

"Dis nigger would'nt swop h'r carcas fo'h yourn. Dat she don't, "Rachel retorts. 

"Reckon how ye wouldn't, ah!" Dandy's face fills with indignation. "Buckra what sting ye back wid de lash 'll buy ye old bag a' bonesfo'h down south; and when 'e get ye down da' he make ye fo'h a corngrinder. " Dandy is somewhat inflated with his rank among thedomestics; he is none of yer common niggers, has never associatedwith black, field niggers, which he views as quite too common forhis aristocratic notions, has on his very best looks, his haircombed with extraordinary care, his shirt collar dangerouslystanding above his ears. He feels something better than nigger bloodin his composition, knows the ins and outs of nigger philosophy; heknows it to be the very best kind of philosophy for a "nigger" toput on a good appearance at the shambles. A dandy nigger is notplantation stock, --hence he has "trimmed up, " and hopes to find apurchaser in want of his specific kind of property; it will save himfrom that field-life so much dreaded. 

The property, in all its varied shades, comes rolling out from allmanner of places in and about the gaol, filling the yard. It is amomentous occasion, the most momentous of their life-time. And yetmany seem indifferent about its consequences. They speak of the oldplantation, jeer each other about the value of themselves, offerbets on the price they will bring, assert a superiority over eachother, and boast of belonging to some particular grade of theproperty. Harry--we mean Harry the preacher--is busy getting his wifeand children ready for market. He evinces great affection for hislittle ones, has helped his wife to arrange their apparel with somuch care. The uninitiated might imagine them going to churchinstead of the man shambles. Indeed, so earnest are many gooddivines in the promotion of slavery, that it would not be unbecomingto form a connection between the southern church and the southernman shambles. The material aid they now give each other for thepurpose of keeping up the man trade would be much facilitated. 

However, there is a chance of Harry being sold to a brother divine, who by way of serving his good Lord and righteous master, may lethim out to preach, after the old way. Harry will then be serving hisbrother in brotherly faith; that is, he will be his brother'sproperty, very profitable, strong in the faith with his dear divinebrother, to whom he will pay large tribute for the right to servethe same God. 

Harry's emotions-he has been struggling to suppress them-have gotbeyond his control; tears will now and then show themselves andcourse down his cheeks. "Never mind, my good folks! it is somethingto know that Jesus still guards us; still watches over us. " Hespeaks encouragingly to them. "The scourge of earth is man's wrongs, the deathspring of injustice. We are made bearers of the burden; butthat very burden will be our passport into a brighter, a justerworld. Let us meekly bear it. Cheer up! arm yourselves with thespirit of the Lord; it will give you fortitude to live out the longjourney of slave life. How we shall feel when, in heaven, we arebrought face to face with master, before the Lord Judge. Our rightsand his wrongs will then weigh in the balance of heavenly justice. "With these remarks, Harry counsels them to join him in prayer. Hekneels on the brick pavement of the yard, clasps his hands togetheras they gather around him kneeling devotedly. Fervently he offers upa prayer, --he invokes the God of heaven to look down upon them, tobestow his mercy upon master, to incline his ways in the paths ofgood; and to protect these, his unfortunate children, and guide themthrough their separate wayfaring. The ardour, grotesqueness, anddevotion of this poor forlorn group, are painfully touching. How itpresents the portrait of an oppressed race! how sunk is the naturethat has thus degraded it! Under the painful burden of their sorrowthey yet manifest the purity of simple goodness. "Oh! Father inheaven, hast thou thus ordained it to be so?" breaks forth fromHarry's lips, as the criminals, moved by the affecting picture, gather upon the veranda, and stand attentive listeners. Theirattention seems rivetted to his words; the more vicious, as he looksthrough grated bars upon them, whispers words of respect. 

Harry has scarcely concluded his prayer when the sheriff, accompanied by several brokers (slave-dealers), comes rushingthrough the transept into the yard. The sheriff is not rude; heapproaches Harry, tells him he is a good boy, has no objection tohis praying, and hopes a good master will buy him. He will do all hecan to further his interests, having heard a deal about his talents. He says this with good-natured measure, and proceeds to take acursory view of the felons. While he is thus proceeding, thegentlemen of trade who accompanied him are putting "the property"through a series of examinations. 

"Property like this ye don't start up every day, " says one. "BestI'ze seen come from that ar' district. Give ye plenty corn, downthere, don't they, boys?" enjoins another, walking among them, andevery moment bringing the end of a small whip which he holds in hisright hand about their legs. This, the gentleman remarks, is merelyfor the purpose-one of the phrases of the very honourable trade-oftesting their nimbleness. 

"Well!" replies a tall, lithe dealer, whose figure would seem tohave been moulded for chasing hogs through the swamp, "There's somegood bits among it; but it won't stand prime, as a lot!" Thegentleman, who seems to have a nicely balanced mind for judging thehuman nature value of such things, is not quite sure that they havebeen bacon fed. He continues his learned remarks. "Ye'h han't hadfull tuck out, I reckon, boys?" he inquires of them, deliberatelyexamining the mouths and nostrils of several. The gentleman is verycool in this little matter of trade; it is an essential element ofsouthern democracy; some say, nothing more!

"Yes, Boss!" replies Enoch, one of the negroes; "Mas'r ollers goodt' e niggers, gin him bacon free times a week-sometimes mo' dendat. " Several voices chime in to affirm what Enoch says. 

"Ah, very good. Few planters in that district give their negroesbacon; and an all corn-fed nigger won't last two years on a sugarplantation, " remarks one of the gentlemen dealers, as he smokes hiscigar with great nonchalance. 

While these quaint appendancies of the trade are proceeding, Romescos and Graspum make their appearance. They have come toforestall opinion, to make a few side-winded remarks. They are readyto enter upon the disgusting business of examining property morecarefully, more scrupulously, more in private. The honourablesheriff again joins the party. He orders that every accommodation beafforded the gentlemen in their examinations of the property. Men, women, and children-sorrowing property-are made to stand erect; togesticulate their arms; to expand their chests, to jump about likejackals, and to perform sundry antics pleasing to the gentlemenlookers-on. This is all very free, very democratic, very gentlemanlyin the way of trade, --very necessary to test the ingredient of thevaluable square inches of the property. What matters all this! thehonourable sheriff holds it no dishonour; modest gentlemen neverblush at it; the coarse dealer makes it his study, --he trades inhuman nature; the happy democrat thinks it should have aco-fellowship with southern hospitality-so long and loudly boasted. 

Those little necessary displays over, the honourable sheriff inviteshis distinguished friends to "have a cigar round;" having satisfiedtheir taste in gymnastarising the property. Romescos, however, thinks he has not quite satisfied his feelings; he is very dogged onnigger flesh. The other gentlemen may smoke their cigars; Mr. Romescos thinks he will enjoy the exercise of his skill in testingthe tenacity of negroes' chests; which he does by administeringheavy blows, which make them groan out now and then. Groans, however, don't amount to much; they are only nigger groans. AgainMr. Romescos applies the full force of his hands upon their ears;then he will just pull them systematically. "Nice property!" hesays, telling the forbearing creatures not to mind the pain. 

Messrs. Graspum and Romescos will make a close inspection of a fewpieces. Here, several men and women are led into a basement cell, under the veranda, and stript most rudely. No discrimination ispermitted. Happy freedom! What a boon is liberty! Mr. Romescos viewstheir nice firm bodies, and their ebony black skins, with greatskill and precaution; his object is to prove the disposition of thearticles, --strong evidence being absence of scars. He lays his bonyfingers on their left shoulders-they being compelled to stand in arecumbent position-tracing their bodies to the hips and thighs. Herethe process ends. Mr. Romescos has satisfied his very nice judgmenton the solidity of the human-flesh-property-he has put their bodiesthrough other disgusting inspections-they belong to the trade-whichcannot be told here; but he finds clean skins, very smooth, withoutscars or cuts, or dangerous diseases. He laughs exultingly, ordersthe people to stow themselves in their clothes again, and relightshis cigar. "If it 'ant a tall lot!" he whispers to Graspum, andgives him a significant touch with his elbow. "Bright-smooth as aleather ninepence; han't had a lash-Marston was a fool, or hisniggers are angels, rather black, though-couldn't start up a scar ontheir flesh. A little trimmin' down-it wants it, you see!-to make itshow off; must have it-eh! Graspum, old feller? It only wants alittle, though, and them dandy niggers, and that slap-up preacher, will bring a smart price fixed up. Great institution! The preacher'sgot knowin'; can discourse like a college-made deacon, and canconvert a whole plantation with his nigger eloquence. A niggerpreacher with Bible knowin, when it's smart, is right valuable whenye want to keep the pious of a plantation straight. And then! whenthe preacher 'ant got a notion a' runnin away in him. " Romescoscrooks his finger upon Graspum's arm, whispers cautiously in hisear. 

"There 'll be a sharp bidding for some of it; they 'll run up someon the preacher. He 'll be a capital investment, --pay more thanthirty per cent. Insinuates another gentleman-a small inquisitivelooking dealer in articles of the nigger line. When a planter's gota big gang a' niggers, and is just fool enough to keep such a thingfor the special purpose of making pious valuable in 'um, " Mr. Romescos rejoins, shrugging his shoulders, rubbing his little hawk'seyes, and looking seriously indifferent. Romescos gives wonderfulevidence of his "first best cunning propensities;" and here hefancies he has pronounced an opinion that will be taken as profound. He affects heedlessness of everything, is quite disinterested, and, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, assumes an air of dignitythat would not unbecome my Lord Chief Justice. 

"Let us see them two bits of disputed property, --where are they?"inquires Graspum, turning half round, and addressing himself to thegaoler. 

"In the close cells, " is the quick reply, --"through the narrow vault, up the stone passage, and on the right, in the arched cell. "

The gaoler-good, honest-hearted man-leads the way, through a chillyvault, up the narrow passage, to the left wing of the building. Theair is pestiferous; warm and diseased, it fans us as we approach. The gaoler puts his face to the grating, and in a guttural voice, says, "You're wanted, young uns. " They understand the summons; theycome forward as if released from torture to enjoy the pure air ofheaven. Confinement, dreary and damp, has worn deep into theirsystems. 

Annette speaks feebly, looks pale and sickly. Her flaxen curls stilldangle prettily upon her shoulders. She expected her mother; thatmother has not come. The picture seems strange; she looks childishlyand vacantly round, --at the dealers, at Graspum, at the sheriff, atthe familiar faces of the old plantation people. She recognizesHarry, and would fain leap into his arms. Nicholas, less moved bywhat is going on around him, hangs reluctantly behind, holding bythe skirt of Annette's frock. He has lost that vivacity and pertnessso characteristic on the plantation. Happy picture of freedom'slove! Happy picture of immortalised injustice! Happy picture ofeverything that is unhappy! How modest is the boast that we live tobe free; and that in our virtuous freedom a child's mother has beensold for losing her mind: a faithful divine, strong with love forhis fellow divines, is to be sold for his faith; the child-thedaughter of the democrat-they say, will be sold from her democraticfather. The death-stinging enemy Washington and Jefferson sought toslaughter-to lay ever dead at their feet, has risen to life again. Annette's mother has fled to escape its poison. We must pause! wemust not discourse thus in our day, when the sordid web of trade isbeing drawn over the land by King Cotton. 

The children, like all such doubtful stock, are considered veryfancy, very choice of their kind. It must be dressed in style tosuit nice eyes at the shambles. 

"Well! ye'r right interesting looking, " says the sheriff--Messrs. Graspum and Co. Look upon them with great concern, now and theninterrupting with some observations upon their pedigree, --taking themby the arms, and again rumpling their hair by rubbing his hands overtheir heads. "Fix it up, trim; we must put them up along with therest to-day. It 'll make Marston--I pity the poor fellow--show hishand on the question of their freedom. Mr. Sheriff, beingsufficiently secured against harm, is quite indifferent about thelatent phases of the suit. He remarks, with great legal logic--wemean legal slave logic--that Marston must object to the sale when thechildren are on the stand. It is very pretty kind a' property, verylike Marston--will be as handsome as pictures when they grow up, " hesays, ordering it put back to be got ready. 

"Why didn't my mother come?" the child whimpers, dewy tearsdecorating her eyes. "Why won't she come back and take me to theplantation again? I want her to come back; I've waited so long. " Asshe turns to follow the gaoler--Nicholas still holds her by the skirtof her frock--her flaxen curls again wave to and fro upon hershoulders, adding beauty to her childlike simplicity. "You'll growto be something, one of these days, won't ye, little dear?" says thegaoler, taking her by the hand. She replies in those silent andtouching arguments of the soul; she raises her soft blue eyes, andheaven fills them with tears, which she lifts her tiny hands to wipeaway. 

Nicholas tremblingly-he cannot understand the strangemovement-follows them through the vault; he looks up submissively, and with instinctive sympathy commences a loud blubbering. "You'regoing to be sold, little uns! but, don't roar about it; there's nouse in that, " says the gaoler, inclining to sympathy. 

Nicholas does'nt comprehend it; he looks up to Annette, plaintively, and, forgetting his own tears, says, in a whisper, "Don't cry, Annette; they 'll let us go and see mother, and mother will be sokind to us-. "

"It does seem a pity to sell ye, young 'uns; ye'r such nice'uns, --have so much interestin' in yer little skins!" interrupts thegaoler, suddenly. The man of keys could unfold a strange history ofmisery, suffering, and death, if fear of popular opinion, illustrated in popular liberty, did not seal his lips. He admits thepresent to be

We are narrating a scene related to us by the very gaoler we heredescribe, and as nearly as possible in his own language. Rather anuncommon case, says it makes a body feel kind a' unhinged about theheart, which heart, however rocky at times, will have its own waywhen little children are sorrowing. "And then, to know theirparents! that's what tells deeper on a body's feeling, --it makes abody look into the hereafter. " The man of keys and shackles would bea father, if the law did but let him. There is a monster power overhim, a power he dreads-it is the power of unbending democracy, movedalone by fretful painstakers of their own freedom. 

"Poor little things! ye 'r most white, yes!-suddenly changing-justas white as white need be. Property's property, though, all over theworld. What's sanctioned by the constitution, and protected by thespirit and wisdom of Congress, must be right, and maintained, " thegaoler concludes. His heart is at war with his head; but the headhas the power, and he must protect the rights of an unrighteoussystem. They have arrived at a flight of steps, up which theyascend, and are soon lost in its windings. They are going to bedressed for the market. 

The sheriff is in the yard, awaiting the preparation of theproperty. Even he-iron-hearted, they say-gives them a look ofgenerous solicitude, as they pass out. He really feels there is apoint, no less in the scale of slave dealing, beyond which there issomething so repugnant that hell itself might frown upon it. "It's aphase too hard, touches a body's conscience, " he says, not observingRomescos at his elbow. 

"Conscience!" interrupts Romescos, his eyes flashing like meteors ofred fire, "the article don't belong to the philosophy of ourbusiness. Establish conscience-let us, gentlemen, give way to ourfeelins, and trade in nigger property 'd be deader than Chatham'sstatue, what was pulled through our streets by the neck. The greatobstacle, however, is only this-it is profitable in its way!"Romescos cautiously attempts to shield this, but it will not do. 

The gaoler, protruding his head from a second-story window, like amop in a rain storm, enquires if it is requisite to dress thechildren in their very best shine. It is evident he merely viewsthem as two bales of merchandise. 

The sheriff, angrily, says, "Yes! I told you that already. Make themlook as bright as two new pins. " His honour has been contemplatinghow they will be mere pins in the market, --pins to bolt the doors ofjustice, pins to play men into Congress, pins to play men out ofCongress, pins to play a President into the White House. 

An old negress, one of the plantation nurses, is called intoservice. She commences the process of preparing them for market. They are nicely washed, dressed in clean clothes; they shine out asbright and white as anybody's children. Their heads look so sleek, their hair is so nicely combed, so nicely parted, so nicely curled. The old slave loves them, --she loved their father. Her skill has beenlavished upon them, --they look as choice and interesting as the humanproperty of any democratic gentleman can be expected to do. Let usbe patriotic, let us be law-loving, patient law-abiding citizens, loving that law of our free country which puts them under theman-vender's hammer, --say our peace-abiding neighbours. 

The gaoler has not been long in getting Annette and Nicholas ready. He brings them forward, so neatly and prettily dressed: he placesthem among the "gang. " But they are disputed property: hence allthat ingenuity which the system engenders for the advancement ofdealers is brought into use to defeat the attempt to assert theirfreedom. Romescos declares it no difficult matter to do this: he hasthe deadly weapon in his possession; he can work (shuffle) the debtinto Graspum's hands, and he can supply the proof to convict. Bythis very desirable arrangement the thing may be made nicelyprofitable. 

No sooner has Aunt Rachel seen the children in their neat andfamiliar attire, than her feelings bound with joy, --she cannot longerrestrain them. She has watched Marston's moral delinquencies withsuspicion; but she loves the children none the less. And with honestnegro nature she runs to them, clasps them to her bosom, fondlesthem, and kisses them like a fond mother. The happy associations ofthe past, contrasted with their present unhappy condition, unbindthe fountain of her solicitude, --she pours it upon them, warm andfervent. "Gwine t' sell ye, too! Mas'r, poor old Mas'r, would'ntsell ye, no how! that he don't. But poor old Boss hab 'e troublenow, God bless 'em, " she says, again pressing Annette to her bosom, nearer and nearer, with fondest, simplest, holiest affection. Looking intently in the child's face, she laughs with the boundingjoy of her soul; then she smooths its hair with her brawny blackhands: they contrast strangely with the pure carnatic of the child'scheek. 

"Lor! good Lor, Mas'r Buckra, " aunt Rachel exclaims, "if eber deLor' smote 'e vengence on yeh, 't'll be fo' sellin' de likes o'dese. Old Mas'r tinks much on 'em, fo' true. Gwine t' sell dem whatMas'r be so fond on? Hard tellin' what Buckra don't sell win i'makes money on him. Neber mind, children; de Lor' aint so unsartinas white man. He, --da'h good Mas'r yonder in the clouds, --save ye yet;he'll make white man gin ye back when de day o' judgment come. " AuntRachel has an instinctive knowledge of the errors, accidents, anddelays which have brought about this sad event, --she becomes absorbedin their cares, as she loses sight of her own trouble. 

All ready for the market, they are chained together in pairs, menand women, as if the wrongs they bore had made them untrustworthy. 

Romescos, ever employed in his favourite trade, is busily engagedchaining up-assorting the pairs! One by one they quietly submit tothe proceeding, until he reaches Harry. That minister-of-the-gospelpiece of property thinks, --that is, is foolish enough to think, --hisnigger religion a sufficient guarantee against any inert propensityto run away. "Now, good master, save my hands from irons, and myheart from pain. Trust me, let me go unbound; my old Master trust mewid 'is life-"

"Halloo!" says Romescos, quickly interrupting, and beginning tobristle with rage; "preach about old Master here you'll get thetinglers, I reckon. Put 'em on-not a grunt-or you'll get thirtymore-yes, a collar on yer neck. " Holding a heavy stick over the poorvictim's head, for several minutes with one hand, he rubs the other, clenched, several times across his nose. Graspum interposes byreminding the minister that it is for his interest to be verycareful how he makes any reply to white gentlemen. 

"Why, massa, I'ze the minister on de plantation. My old masterwouldn't sell-wouldn't do so wid me. Master knows I love God, amhonest and peaceable. Why chain the honest? why chain the peaceable?why chain the innocent? They need no fetters, no poisoning shackles. The guilty only fear the hand of retribution, " says Harry, a curl ofcontempt on his lip. He takes a step backwards as Romescos holds theheavy irons before him. 

"You don't come nigger preacher over this ar' child; 't'ant what'scrack'd up to be. I larns niggers to preach different tunes. Don'tspoil prime stock for such nonsense-"

"Master Sheriff will stand answerable for me, " interrupts Harry, turning to that honourable functionary, and claiming his protection. That gentleman says it is rather out of his line to interfere. 

"Not a preacher trick, I say again-Romescos evinces signs ofincreasing temper-ya' black theologin. Preachers can't put on suchdignity when they'r property. " Preachers of colour must be doublyhumbled: they must be humble before God, humbled before King Cotton, humbled before the king dealer, who will sell them for theirdollars' worth. Harry must do the bidding of his king master; hismonkey tricks won't shine with such a philosopher as Romescos. Theman of bones, blood, and flesh, can tell him to sell a niggerpreacher to his brother of the ministry, and make it veryprofitable. He assures Harry, while holding the shackles in hishands, that he may put on just as much of the preacher as he canget, when he gets to the shambles, and hears the fives and tensbidding on his black hide. 

Harry must submit; he does it with pain and reluctance. He ischained to his wife-a favour suggested by the sheriff-with whom hecan walk the streets of a free country, --but they must be bound infreedom's iron fellowship. The iron shackle clasps his wrist; thelock ticks as Romescos turns the key: it vibrates to his very heart. With a sigh he says, "Ours is a life of sorrow, streaming its darkway along a dangerous path. It will ebb into the bright andbeautiful of heaven; that heaven wherein we put our trust-where ourhopes are strengthened. O! come the day when we shall be borne tothe realms of joy-joy celestial! There no unholy shade ofbirth-unholy only to man-shall doom us; the colour of our skin willnot there be our misfortune-"

"What!" quickly interrupts Romescos, "what's that?" The propertyminister, thus circumstanced, must not show belligerent feelings. Romescos simply, but very skilfully, draws his club; measures him anunamiable blow on the head, fells him to the ground. The poor wretchstruggles a few moments, raises his manacled hands to his face ashis wife falls weeping upon his shuddering body. She supplicatesmercy at the hands of the ruffian-the ruffian torturer. "Quietly, mas'r; my man 'ill go wid me, " says the woman, interposing her handto prevent a second blow. 

Harry opens his eyes imploringly, casts a look of pity upon the manstanding over him. Romescos is in the attitude of dealing himanother blow. The wretch stays his hand. "Do with me as you please, master; you are over me. My hope will be my protector when yourpleasure will have its reward. "

A second thought has struck Romescos; the nigger isn't so bad, afterall. "Well, reckon how nobody won't have no objection to ya'rthinking just as ya'v mind to; but ya' can't talk ya'r own way, norya' can't have ya'r own way with this child. A nigger what puts onparson airs-if it is a progressive age nigger-musn't put on fastnotions to a white gentleman of my standing! If he does, we justtake 'em out on him by the process of a small quantity of first-rate knockin down, " says Romescos, amiably lending him a hand to getup. Graspum and the honourable sheriff are measuredly pacing up anddown the yard, talking over affairs of state, and the singularpurity of their own southern democracy-that democracy which willsurely elect the next President. Stepping aside in one of hissallies, Graspum, in a half whisper, reminds Romescos that, now thenigger has shown symptoms of disobedience, he had better prove thesafety of the shackles. "Right! right! all right!" the man of chainsresponds; he had forgot this very necessary piece of amusement. Heplaces both hands upon the shackles; grasps them firmly; places hisleft foot against Harry's stomach; and then, uttering a fierceimprecation, makes his victim pull with might and main while hebraces against him with full power. The victim, groaning under thepain, begs for mercy. Mercy was not made for him. Freedom and mercy, in this our land of greatness, have been betrayed. 

Harry, made willing property, is now placed by the side of his wife, as four small children--the youngest not more than two yearsold--cling at the skirts of her gown. The children are scarcely oldenough to chain; their strong affections for poor chained mother andfather are quite enough to guarantee against their running away. Romescos, in his ample kindness, will allow them to toddle their wayto market. They are not dangerous property;--they have theirfeelings, and will go to market to be sold, without running away. 

The gang is ready. The gaoler, nearly out of breath, congratulateshimself upon the manner of dispatching business at hisestablishment. Romescos will put them through a few evolutionsbefore marching in the street; so, placing himself at their right, and the gaoler at their left flank, they are made to march andcounter-march several times round the yard. This done, the generousgaoler invites the gentlemen into his office: he has a good glass ofwhiskey waiting their superior tastes. 

The ward gates are opened; the great gate is withdrawn; theproperty, linked in iron fellowship, --the gentlemen having takentheir whiskey, --are all ready for the word, march! This significantadmonition the sheriff gives, and the property sets off in solemnprocession, like wanderers bound on a pilgrimage. Tramp, tramp, tramp, their footsteps fall in dull tones as they sally forth, inbroken file, through the long aisles. Romescos is in high glee, --hisfeelings bound with exultation, he marches along, twirling a stickover his head. They are soon in the street, where he invites them tostrike up a lively song--"Jim crack corn, and I don't care, fo'hMas'r's gone away!" he shouts; and several strike up, the restjoining in the old plantation chorus--"Away! away! away! Mas'r'sgone away. " Thus, with jingling chorus and seemingly joyous hearts, they march down to the man-market. The two children, Annette andNicholas, trail behind, in charge of the sheriff, whose betterfeelings seem to be troubling him very much. Every now and then, asthey walk by his side, he casts a serious look at Annette, as ifconscience, speaking in deep pulsations, said it wasn't just rightto sell such an interesting little creature. Onward they marched, his head and heart warring the while. "There's something about itthat does'nt seem to come just right in a fellow's feelins, " keepsworking itself in his mind, until at length he mutters the words. Itis the natural will to do good, struggling against the privilegeswhich a government gives ungovernable men to do wrong. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

LET US FOLLOW POOR HUMAN NATURE TO THE MAN SHAMBLES. 

GENTLEMEN dealers in want of human property, --planters in want of afew prime people, --brokers who have large transactions in sucharticles, --and factors who, being rather sensitive of their dignity, give to others the negotiation of their business, --are assembled inand around the mart, a covered shed, somewhat resembling those usedby railroad companies for the storing of coarse merchandise. Marston's negroes are to be sold. Suspicious circumstances areconnected with his sudden decline: rumour has sounded herseven-tongued symbols upon it, and loud are the speculations. Thecholera has made mighty ravages; but the cholera could not have doneall. Graspum has grasped the plantation, quietly and adroitly, buthe has not raised the veil of mystery that hangs over the process. There must be long explanations before the obdurate creditors aresatisfied. 

The irons have been removed from the property, who are crouchedround the stand-an elevated platform-in a forlorn group, wheresundry customers can scrutinize their proportions. Being little orno fancy among it, the fast young gentlemen of the town, findingnothing worthy their attention and taste, make a few cursoryobservations, and slowly swagger out of the ring. The children arewonderfully attractive and promising; they are generally admired bythe customers, who view them with suspicious glances. Annette'sclean white skin and fine features are remarkably promising, --muchvalued as articles of merchandise, --and will, in time, pay goodinterest. Her youth, however, saves her from present sacrifice, --itthwarts that spirited competition which older property of the samequality produces when about to be knocked down under the hammer offreedom. 

It is a great day, a day of tribulation, with the once happy peopleof Marston's plantation. No prayer is offered up for them, theirsouls being only embodied in their market value. Prayers are notknown at the man shambles, though the hammer of the vender sealswith death the lives of many. No gentleman in modest black caresaught for such death. The dealer will not pay the service fee! Goodmaster is no longer their protector; his familiar face, so buoyantwith joy and affection, has passed from them. No more will thatstrong attachment manifest itself in their greetings. Fathers willbe fathers no longer-it is unlawful. Mothers cannot longer clasptheir children in their arms with warm affections. Children will nolonger cling around their mothers, --no longer fondle in that bosomwhere once they toyed and joyed. 

The articles murmur among themselves, cast longing glances at eachother, meet the gaze of their purchasers, with pain and distrustbrooding over their countenances. They would seem to trace thecharacter-cruel or gentle-of each in his look. 

Was it that God ordained one man thus to doom another? No! the verythought repulsed the plea. He never made one man's life to be sorrowand fear-to be the basest object, upon which blighting strife forgold fills the passions of tyrants. He never made man to be a dealerin his own kind. He never made man after his own image to imprecatethe wrath of heaven by blackening earth with his foul deeds. Henever made man to blacken this fair portion of earth with storms ofcontention, nor to overthrow the principles that gave it greatness. He never made man to fill the cup that makes the grim oppressorfierce in his triumphs over right. 

Come reader-come with us: let us look around the pale of thesecommon man shambles. Here a venerable father sits, a bale ofmerchandise, moved with the quick pulsation of human senses. Helooks around him as the storm of resentment seems ready to burstforth: his wrinkled brow and haggard face in vain ask for sympathy. A little further on, and a mother leans over her child, --tremblinglydraws it to her side; presses it nearer and nearer to her bosom. Near her, feeding a child with crumbs of bread, is a coarse negro, whose rough exterior covers a good heart. He gives a glance of hateand scorn at those who are soon to tear from him his nearest anddearest. A gloomy ring of sullen faces encircle us: hope, fear, andcontempt are pictured in each countenance. Anxious to know its doom, the pent-up soul burns madly within their breasts; no tears canquench the fire-freedom only can extinguish it. But, what are suchthings? mere trifles when the soul loves only gold. What are they tomen who buy such human trifles? who buy and sell mankind, withfeelings as unmoved as the virgin heart that knows no guilt?

Various are the remarks made by those who are taking a cursory viewof the people; very learned in nigger nature are many; their sayingsevince great profoundness. A question seems to be the separating ofwenches from their young 'uns. This is soon settled. Graspum, whohas made his appearance, and is very quaintly and slowly making hisapprehensions known, informs the doubting spectators that Romescos, being well skilled, will do that little affair right up for a meretrifle. It takes him to bring the nonsense out of nigger wenches. This statement being quite satisfactory, the gentlemen purchasersare at rest on that point. 

The hour of sale has arrived, --the crier rings his bell, thepurchasers crowd up to the stand, the motley group of negroes takethe alarm, and seem inclined to close in towards a centre as thevender mounts the stand. The bell, with the sharp clanking sound, rings their funeral knell; they startle, as with terror; they listenwith subdued anxiety; they wait the result in painful suspense. Howlittle we would recognise the picture from abroad. The vender, anamiable gentleman dressed in modest black, and whose cheerfulcountenance, graced with the blandest smile, betokens the antipodesof his inhuman traffic, holding his hat in his left hand, and a longpaper in his right, makes an obsequious bow to those who havehonoured him with their company. He views them for a few moments, smiles, casts his eye over the paper again, --it sets forth age andquality--and then at his marketable people. The invoice is complete;the goods correspond exactly. The texture and quality have beenappraised by good judges. Being specified, he commences reading thesummons and writs, and concludes with other preliminaries of thesale. 

"Now, gentlemen, " says Mr. Forshou--for such is his name--as headjusts his hat, lays the document on the desk at his right hand, pulls up the point of his shirt-collar, sets his neatly-trimmedwhiskers a point forward, and smooths his well-oiled hair:"We-will-proceed-with-the-sale-of this lot of negroes, according tothe directions of the sheriff of the county. And if no restrictionsare imposed, gentlemen can make their selection of old or young tosuit their choice or necessities! Gentlemen, however, will beexpected to pay for separating. " Mr. Forshou, by way ofinterpolation, reminds his friends that, seeing many of his verybest customers present, he expects sharp and healthy bids. He willfurther remind them (smiling and fretting his hands, as if to showthe number of diamond rings he can afford to wear), that theproperty has been well raised, is well known, and ranges from thebrightest and most interesting, to the commonest black field hand. "Yes, gentlemen, " he adds, "by the fortune of this unfortunate salewe can accommodate you with anything in the line of negro property. We can sell you a Church and a preacher-a dance-house and afiddler-a cook and an oyster-shop. Anything! All sold for no fault;and warranted as sound as a roach. The honourable sheriff will givestitles-that functionary being present signifies his willingness-andevery man purchasing is expected to have his shiners ready, so thathe can plunk down cash in ten days. I need not recount thecircumstances under which this property is offered for sale; it isenough to say that it is offered; but, let me say, gentlemen, toenlarge upon it would be painful to my feelings. I will merely readthe schedule, and, after selling the people, put up the oxen, mules, and farming utensils. " Mr. Forshou, with easy contentment, takes upthe list and reads at the top of his voice. The names of heads offamilies are announced one by one; they answer the call promptly. Hecontinues till he reaches Annette and Nicholas, and here he pausesfor a few moments, turning from the paper to them, as if he oneminute saw them on the paper and the next on the floor. "Here, gentlemen, " he ejaculates, in a half guttural voice-something hecould not account for touched his conscience at the moment-holdingthe paper nearer his eye-glass, "there is two bits of propertybordering on the sublime. It dazzles-seems almost too interesting tosell. It makes a feller's heart feel as if it warn't stuck in theright place. " Mr. Forshou casts another irresistible look at thechildren; his countenance changes; he says he is very sensitive, andshows it in his blushes. He might have saved his blushes for thebenefit of the State. The State is careful of its blushes; it hasnone to sell-none to bestow on a child's sorrow!

Annette returns his somewhat touching manifestation of remorse witha childlike smile. 

"Well! I reckon how folks is gettin' tenderish, now a' days. Who'dthought the major had such touchy kind a' feelins? Anything wrongjust about yer goggler?" interrupts Romescos, giving the vender aquizzical look, and a "half-way wink. " Then, setting his slouch haton an extra poise, he contorts his face into a dozen grimaces. "Keepconscience down, and strike up trade, " he says, very coolly, drawinga large piece of tobacco from his breast-pocket and filling hismouth to its utmost capacity. 

"Feelings are over all things, " responds the sheriff, who stands by, and will speak for the vender, who is less accustomed to speakingfor himself. "Feelings bring up recollections of things one neverthought of before, --of the happiest days of our happiest home. 'Tain't much, no, nothing at all, to sell regular black and colouredproperty; but there's a sort of cross-grained mythology about thebusiness when it comes to selling such clear grain as this. "

The vender relieves the honourable sheriff from all further displayof sympathy, by saying that he feels the truth of all the honourableand learned gentleman has said, "which has 'most made the inwardvirtue of his heart come right up. " He leans over the desk, extendshis hand, helps himself to a generous piece of Romescos' tobacco. 

Romescos rejoins in a subdued voice-"He thinks a man what lovesdimes like the major cannot be modest in nigger business, becausemodesty ain't trade commodity. It cannot be; the man who thinks ofsuch nonsense should sell out-should go north and join the humanesociety. Folks are all saints, he feels sure, down north yander;wouldn't sell nigger property;--they only send south right smartpreachers to keep up the dignity of the institution; to do thepeculiar religion of the very peculiar institution. No objection tothat; nor hain't no objection to their feelin' bad about the poorniggers, so long as they like our cash and take our cotton. That'swhere the pin's drove in; while it hangs they wouldn't be badfriends with us for the world. "

"You may, Mr. Romescos, suspend your remarks, " says the vender, looking indignant, as he thrusts his right hand into his bosom, andattempts a word of introduction. 

Romescos must have his last word; he never says die while he has aword at hand. "The major's love must be credited, gentlemen; he's amodest auctioneer, --a gentleman what don't feel just right when whiteproperty's for sale, " he whispers, sarcastically. 

Another pause, then a hearty laughing, and the man commences to sellhis people. He has uttered but a few words, when Marston's attorney, stepping into the centre of the ring, and near the vender, draws apaper from his pocket, and commences reading in a loud tone. It is acopy of the notice he had previously served on the sheriff, settingforth in legal phraseology the freedom of the children, "Andtherfo'h this is t' stay proceedings until further orders from thehonourable Court of Common Pleas, " is audible at the conclusion. Thecompany are not much surprised. There is not much to be surprisedat, when slave law and common law come in contact. With Marston'ssudden decline and unfathomable connection with Graspum, there isnothing left to make the reading of the notice interesting. 

"You hear this, gentlemen?" says the vender, biting his lips: "thesale of this very interesting portion of this very interestingproperty is objected to by the attorney for the defendant at law. They must, therefore, be remanded to the custody of the sheriff, toawait the decision of court. " That court of strange judgments! Thesheriff, that wonderful medium of slaveocratic power, comes forward, muttering a word of consolation; he will take them away. He passesthem over to an attendant, who conducts them to their dark chillycells. 

"All right!" says Graspum, moving aside to let the children passout. "No more than might have been expected; it's no use, though. Marston will settle that little affair in a very quiet way. " Hegives the man-vender a look of approval; the very celebrated Mr. Graspum has self-confidence enough for "six folks what don't dealin niggers. " A bystander touching him on the arm, he gives his heada cunning shake, crooks his finger on his red nose. "Just a thing ofthat kind, " he whispers, making some very delicate legalgesticulations with the fore-finger of his right hand in the palm ofhis left; then, with great gravity, he discusses some very nicepoints of nigger law. He is heard to say it will only be a waste oftime, and make some profitable rascality for the lawyers. He couldhave settled the whole on't in seven minutes. "Better give them uphonourably, and let them be sold with the rest. Property's propertyall over the world; and we must abide by the laws, or what's thegood of the constitution? To feel bad about one's own folly! Theidea of taking advantage of it at this late hour won't hold good inlaw. How contemptibly silly! men feeling fatherly after they havemade property of their own children! Poor, conscientious fools, howthey whine at times, never thinking how they would let theirwomanish feelings cheat their creditors. There's no honour in that. "

"Gentlemen!" interrupts the vender, "we have had enough discussion, moral, legal, and otherwise. We will now have some selling. "

The honourable sheriff desires to say a word or two upon points notyet advanced. "The sheriff! the sheriff!" is exclaimed by severalvoices. He speaks, having first adjusted his spectacles, andrelieved himself of three troublesome coughs. "The institution-Imean, gentlemen, the peculiar institution-must be preserved; wecannot, must not, violate statutes to accommodate good-feelingpeople. My friend Graspum is right, bob and sinker; we'd getourselves into an everlasting snarl, if we did. I am done!" Thesheriff withdraws his spectacles, places them very carefully in alittle case, wipes his mouth modestly, and walks away humming anair. 

"Now, gentlemen, " says the vender, bristling with renewed animation"seeing how you've all recovered from a small shock of conscience, we will commence the sale. "

Aunt Rachel is now placed upon the stand. Her huge person, cleanlyappearance-Auntie has got her bandana tied with exquisite knot-andvery motherly countenance excite general admiration, as on anelevated stand she looms up before her audience. Mr. Forshou, thevery gentlemanly vender, taking up the paper, proceeds to describeAunt Rachel's qualities, according to the style and manner of acelebrated race-horse. Auntie doesn't like this, --her dignity istouched; she honours him with an angry frown. Then she appeals tothe amiable gentleman; "come, mas'r, sell 'um quick; don' hab nononsense wid dis child! Sell 'um to some mas'r what make Ihousekeeper. Old mas'r, --good old Boss, --know I fus' rate at dat. Let'um done gone, mas'r, fo'h soon. " Rachel is decidedly opposed tolong drawn-out humbuggery. 

The bids now commence; Rachel, in mute anxiety, tremblingly watchesthe lips they fall from. 

"Give you a first best title to this ar' old critter, gentlemen!"says the vender, affecting much dignity, as he holds up his baton ofthe trade in flesh. "Anybody wanting a good old mother on aplantation where little niggers are raised will find the thing inthe old institution before you. The value is not so much in the sizeof her, as in her glorious disposition. " Aunt Rachel makes three orfour turns, like a peacock on a pedestal, to amuse her admirers. Again, Mr. Wormlock intimates, in a tone that the vender may hear, that she has some grit, for he sees it in her demeanour, which isassuming the tragic. Her eyes, as she turns, rest upon the crispyface of Romescos. She views him for a few moments-she fears he willbecome her purchaser. Her lip curls with contempt, as she turns fromhis gaze and recognises an old acquaintance, whom she at oncesingles out, accosts and invites beseechingly to be her purchaser, "to save her from dat man!" She points to Romescos. 

Her friend shakes his head unwillingly. Fearing he may become anobject of derision, he will not come forward. Poor old slave!faithful from her childhood up, she has reached an age where fewfind it profitable to listen to her supplications. The black veil ofslavery has shut out the past good of her life, --all her faithfulnesshas gone for nothing; she has passed into that channel where onlythe man-dealer seeks her for the few dollars worth of labour left ina once powerful body. Oh! valuable remnant of a life, how soon itmay be exhausted-forgotten!

Bidders have some doubts about the amount of labour she can yetperform; and, after much manifest hesitancy, she is knocked down toRomescos for the sum of two hundred and seventy dollars. "There!'tain't a bad price for ye, nohow!" says the vender, laconically. "Get down, old woman. " Rachel moves to the steps, and is received byRomescos, who, taking his purchase by the arm, very mechanicallysets it on one side. "Come, Auntie, we'll make a corn-cracker a'you, until such time as we can put yer old bones in trim to sendsouth. Generousness, ye see, made me gin more nor ye war' worth-notmuch work in ye when ye take it on the square;--but a feller whatunderstands the trimmin' a' niggers like I can do ye up young, andput an honest face on while he's cheatin' some green chap with yerold bones. " Romescos, very clever in his profession, is not quitesure that his newly-purchased property will "stay put. " He turnsabout suddenly, approaches Rachel-crouched in a corner-mumbling oversome incomprehensible jargon, evidently very much disturbed in herfeelings, saying, "I kind a' think I see devil in yer eye, oldwoman. " Rachel turns her head aside, but makes no answer. Mr. Romescos will make everything certain; so, drawing a cord, similarto a small sized clothes line, from his pocket, she holds up herhands at his bidding: he winds it several times round her wrists, then ties it securely. "The property's all safe now, " he whispers, and returns to attend the bidding arrangements. 

One by one-mothers, fathers, and single property, old and young, asmay be-are put upon the stand; sold for the various uses of manifestdemocracy. Harry, --the thinking property, whose sense-keeping hasbetrayed the philosophy of profound democracy, --is a preacher, and, by the value of his theological capacity, attracts more thanordinary attention. But his life has been a failure, --a mereexperiment in divinity struggling with the sensitive power of modeldemocracy. He now seems impatient to know that doom to which thefreedom of an enlightened age has consigned him. One minute somecheering hope of his getting a good master presents itself in afamiliar face; then it turns away, and with it vanishes his hope. Another comes forward, but it is merely to view his fineproportions. 

Harry has feelings, and is strongly inclined to cling to the opinionthat those who know his character and talents, will be inclined topurchase. Will they save him from the cruelties of ordinaryplantation life?

"Now for the preacher!"-Mr. Forshou touches his hat, politely. "Gentlemen purchasing, and wanting a church can be accommodated withthat article to-morrow. Come, boy, mount up here!" The preachingarticle draws his steps reluctantly, gets up, and there stands, --ablack divine: anybody may look at him, anybody may examine him, anybody may kick him; anybody may buy him, body, soul, and theology. How pleasing, how charmingly liberal, is the democracy that grantsthe sweet privilege of doing all these things! Harry has a fewsimple requests to make, which his black sense might have told himthe democracy could not grant. He requests (referring to hisposition as a minister of the gospel) that good master-thevender-will sell him with his poor old woman, and that he do notseparate him from his dear children. In support of his appeal hesets forth, in language that would be impressive were it from whitelips, that he wants to teach his little ones in the ways of theLord. "Do, mas'r! try sell us so we live together, where my heartcan feel and my eyes see my children, " he concludes, pointing to hischildren (living emblems of an oppressed race), who, with hishapless wife, are brought forward and placed on the stand at hisfeet. Harry (the vender pausing a moment) reaches out his hand (thathand so feared and yet so harmless), and affectionately places it onthe head of his youngest child; then, taking it up, he places it inthe arms of his wife, --perhaps not long to be so, --who standstrembling and sobbing at his side. Behold how picturesque is thefruit of democracy! Three small children, clinging round the skirtsof a mother's garment, casting sly peeps at purchasers as if theyhad an instinctive knowledge of their fate. They must be sold forthe satisfaction of sundry debts held by sundry democraticcreditors. How we affect to scorn the tyranny of Russia, because ofher serfdom! Would to God there were truth and virtue in the scorn!

Mr. Forshou, the very sensitive and gentlemanly vender-he hasdropped the title of honourable, which was given him on account ofhis having been a member of the State Senate-takes Harry by theright hand, and leads him round, where, at the front of the tribune, customers may have a much better opportunity of seeing forthemselves. 

"Yes! he's a swell-a right good fellow. " Mr. Forshou turns to hisschedule, glancing his eye up and down. "I see; it's put down herein the invoice: a minister-warranted sound in every respect. It doesseem to me, gentlemen, that here 's a right smart chance for aplanter who 'tends to the pious of his niggers, giving them a littlepreaching once in a while. Now, let the generous move; shake yourdimes; let us turn a point, and see what can be done in the way ofselling the lot, --preacher, wife, and family. The boy, Harry, is apreacher by nature; has by some unknown process tumbled into theprofession. He's a methodist, I reckon! But there's choice fieldproperty in him; and his wife, one of the primest wenches in thegang, never says die when there's plenty of cotton to pick. As forthe young uns, they are pure stock. You must remember, gentlemen, preachers are not in the market every day; and when one's to be gotthat'll preach the right stripe, there's no knowing the value ofhim-"

"We don't want so much of this, " interrupts a voice in the crowd. 

"Rather anxious to buy the feller, " Mr. Forshou replies, affectingmuch indifference. He will say a few words more. "Think the matterover, upon strict principles of political economy, and you'll find, gentlemen, he's just the article for big planters. I am happy to seethe calm and serene faces of three of my friends of the clergypresent; will they not take an interest for a fellow-worker in arighteous cause?" The vender smiles, seems inclined to jocularity, to which the gentlemen in black are unwilling to submit. They havenot been moving among dealers, and examining a piece of propertyhere and there, with any sinecure motive. They view the vender'sremarks as exceedingly offensive, return a look of indignation, andslowly, as if with wounded piety, walk away. The gentlemen in blackare most sensitive when any comparison is made between them and ablack brother. How horible shocked they seem, as, with whiteneckerchiefs so modest, they look back as they merge from the martinto the street!

It is a question whether these sensitive divines were shocked at theaffectation and cold indifference manifested by legitimate dealers, or at the vender's very impertinent remarks. We will not chargeaught against our brethren of the clergy: no, we will leave thequestion open to the reader. We love them as good men who mightlabour for a better cause; we will leave them valiant defenders ofsouthern chivalry, southern generosity, southern affability, andsouthern injustice. To be offended at so small an affair as sellinga brother clergyman, --to make the insinuation that they are nothumane, cause of insult, --is, indeed, the very essence of absurdity. 

The vender makes a few side-motions with his thumbs, winks toseveral of his customers, and gives a significant nod, as thegentlemen in black pass out of the insulting establishment. "Well, gentlemen, I'm sorry if I've offended anybody; but there's adeep-rooted principle in what I've said, nor do I think it christianfor the clergy to clear out in that shape. However, God bless 'em;let 'em go on their way rejoicing. Here's the boy-he turns and putshis hand kindly on Harry's shoulder-and his wench, and his younguns, --a minister and family, put down in the invoice as genuineprime. Our worthy sheriff's a good judge of deacons-the sheriff-highfunctionary-acknowledges the compliment by respectfully nodding-andmy opinion is that the boy'll make a good bishop yet: he only wantsan apron and a fair showing. " He touches Harry under the chin, laughing heartily the while. 

"Yes, master, " replies Harry-he has little of the negroaccent-quieting his feelings; "what I larn is all from the Bible, while master slept. Sell my old woman and little ones with me; myheart is in their welfare-"

"Don't trifle with the poor fellow's feelings; put him up and sellhim to the best advantage. There's nobody here that wants a preacherand family. It's only depreciating the value of the property to sellit in the lot, " says Graspum, in a firm voice. He has been standingas unmoved as a stoic, seeing nothing but property in the wretch ofa clergyman, whose natural affections, pictured in his imploringlooks, might have touched some tender chord of his feelings. 

After several attempts, it is found impossible to sell the ministerand his family in one lot. Hence, by the force of necessity, hisagonising beseechings pouring forth, he is put up like other singlebales of merchandise, and sold to Mr. M'Fadden, of A--district. Theminister brought eleven hundred dollars, ready money down! Thepurchaser is a well-known planter; he has worked his way up in theworld, is a rigid disciplinarian, measuring the square inches oflabour in his property, and adapting the best process of bringing itall out. 

"He's all I want, " says M'Fadden, making a move outward, and edginghis way through the crowd. 

"A moment with my poor old woman, master, if you please?" saysHarry, turning round to his wife. 

"None of your black humbugging; there's wives enough on my place, and a parson can have his choice out of fifty, " returns M'Fadden, dragging him along by the arm. The scene that here ensues isharrowing in the extreme. The cries and sobs of children, --thesolicitude and affection of his poor wife, as she throws her armsabout her husband's neck, --his falling tears of sorrow, as one by onehe snatches up his children and kisses them, --are painfully touching. It is the purest, simplest, holiest of love, gushing forth fromnature's fountain. It were well if we could but cherish its heavenlyworth. That woman, the degraded of a despised race, her arms round afond husband's neck, struggling with death-like grasp, and imploringthem not to take him from her. The men who have made himmerchandise, --who have trodden his race in the dust, --look on unmovedas the unfeeling purchaser drags him from the embrace of all that isnear and dear to him on earth. Here, in this boasted freest countrythe sun shines on-where freedom was bequeathed by our braveforefathers, --where the complex tyranny of an old world wasoverthrown, --such scenes violate no law. When will the glorious, thehappy day of their death come? When shall the land be free?

M'Fadden, having paid the price of his clergyman, drags him to thedoor. "Once more, master, " mutters the victim, looking back withfear and hope pictured on his imploring face. M'Fadden has nopatience with such useless implorings, and orders him to move along. "I will see them once more!" the man exclaims, "I will! Good bye!may Heaven bless you on earth, my little ones!-God will protect uswhen we meet again!" The tears course down his cheeks. 

"None of that ar' kind of nonsense! Shut down yer tear-trap, " saysM'Fadden, calling an attendant, and, drawing a pair of irons fromhis pocket, placing them about Harry's hands. Mr. M'Fadden'sproperty shows signs of being somewhat belligerent: to obviate anyfurther nonsense, and to make short work of the thing, Mr. M'Faddencalls in aid, throws his property on the ground, ties its legs witha piece of rope, places it upon a drag, and orders it to be conveyedto the depot, from whence it will be despatched by rail for a newhome. 

This little ceremony over, the wife and children (Romescos andM'Fadden, not very good friends, were competitors for the preacherproperty) are put up and sold to Romescos. That skilful and veryadroit gentleman is engaged to do the exciting business ofseparating, which he is progressing with very coolly and cleverly. The whole scene closes with selling the animal property and farmingutensils. Happy Christian brothers are they who would spread thewings of their Christianity over such scenes!

CHAPTER XX. 

A FATHER'S TRIALS. 

IF modern Christianity, as improved in our southern world-we meanour world of slavery-had blushes, it might improve the use of themwere we to recount in detail the many painful incidents which theimproved and very christianly process of separating husbands fromwives, parents from children, brothers from sisters, and friendsfrom all the ties and associations the heart, gives birth to. Negroes have tender sympathies, strong loves. Reader, we will saveyour feelings, --we will not recount them; our aim is not to exciteundue feeling, but to relate every-day scenes. 

Days and weeks pass on drearily with Marston. Unhappy, forlorn, driven to the last extremity by obdurate creditors, he waits thetardy process of the law. He seldom appears in public; for those whoprofessed to be his best friends have become his coldestacquaintances. But he has two friends left, --friends whose purefriendship is like sweetest dew-drops: they are Franconia and DaddyBob. The rusty old servant is faithful, full of benevolence, gratitude, and unshaken fidelity; the other is the generous woman, in whose bosom beat the tender impulses of a noble soul. Thoseimpulses have been moved to action in defence of the innocent; theynever can be defeated. Bob is poor, abject, and old with toil. Hecares not to be free, --he wants mas'r free. But there yet remainssome value in Bob; and he has secreted himself, in hopes of escapingthe man-dealer, and sharing his earnings in the support of oldmas'r. Franconia is differently situated; yet she can only takeadvantage of circumstances which yet depend upon the caprice of asubtle-minded husband. Over both these friends of the unfortunate, slavery has stretched its giant arms, confusing the social system, uprooting the integrity of men, weakening respect for law, violatingthe best precepts of nature, substituting passion for principle, confounding reason, and enslaving public opinion. 

Under the above disorganising state of the social compact, thechildren, known to be Marston's, are pursued as property belongingto the bankrupt estate. When the law has made it such, it must besold in satisfaction of Marston's debts. 

Seven months have passed since they were shut up in a felon's cell. They have been visited by Marston; he has been kind to them, --kind asa father could be under such circumstances. Franconia has notforgotten them: she sends many little things to lighten the gloom oftheir confinement; but society closes her lips, and will frown uponany disclosure she may make of their parentage. Were she to discloseit to Colonel M'Carstrow, the effect would be doubtful: it might addto the suspicious circumstances already excited against herunfortunate uncle. The paramount question-whether they are hereafterto be chattel slaves, or human beings with inalienable rights-mustbe submitted to the decision of a judicial tribunal. It is by nomeans an uncommon case, but very full of interest. It will merely beinteresting-not as involving any new question of law, nor presentingnew phases of southern jurisprudence-in showing what very notoriousdealers in human kind, and lawyers of great legal ability, canmorally and legally perform. It will show how great men figure inthe arena of legal degradation, how they unravel the mystery ofslave power. 

Graspum, professedly uninterested, has purchased the claims, andwill pursue the payment in the name of the original plaintiffs. WithRomescos's cunning aid, of course the trial will be a perfect farce, the only exception being that the very profound Mr. Graspum willexhibit a degree of great sincerity on his part. 

The sessions are sitting; the day for the trial of this importantcase has arrived; the little dingy court-room is early crowded toexcess, but there is not much expression of anxiety. Men speaklightly of the issue, as if some simple game were to be played. Thejudge, a grave-looking gentleman of no ordinary mien, in whose fullcountenance sternness is predominant in the well-displayedestimation in which he holds his important self, walks measuredlyinto court-the lacqueys of the law crying "Court! court!" to whichhe bows-and takes his seat upon an elevated tribune. There is greatsolemnity preserved at the opening: the sheriff, with well-ordainedcostume and sword, sits at his honour's left, his deputy on theright, and the very honourable clerk of the court just below, wherethere can be no impediment during the process of feeding "the Court"on very legal points of "nigger law. " In truth, the solemnity ofthis court, to those unacquainted with the tenor of legalproceedings at the south, might have been misconstrued for somethingmore in keeping with justice. 

The legal gentlemen, most modest of face, are seated round the bar-asemicircular railing dividing their dignity from the commonspectator-waiting the reading of the docket. The clerk takes histime about that, and seems a great favourite with the spectators, who applaud his rising. He reads, the sheriff crying "order! order!"while the judge learnedly examines his notes. Some consultationtakes place between several of the attorneys, which is interlardedwith remarks from the judge, who, with seeming satisfaction to allparties, orders the case of B. C. R. K. Marston's writ of replevinto be called and proceeded with. "As there are three fi fas, " saysthe junior attorney for the defendants, a very lean strippling ofthe law, just working his way up in the world, "I object to themanner of procedure; the case only involves a question of law, andshould be submitted to the special decision of the Court. It is nota matter for a jury to decide upon, " he concludes. The judge haslistened to his remarks, objections, and disclaimers, with markedattention; nevertheless, he is compelled to overrule them, and orderthe case to proceed. Upon this it is agreed among theattorneys-happy fellows, always ready to agree or disagree-that adecision taken upon one fi fa shall be held as establishing adecision for all the cases at issue. 

The children are now brought into Court, and seated near one of theattorneys. Marston stands, almost motionless, a few steps back, gazing upon them as intently and solicitously as if the issue werelife or death. Deacon Rosebrook, his good lady, and Franconia, havebeen summoned as witnesses, and sit by the side of each other on abench within the bar. We hear a voice here and there among the crowdof spectators expressing sympathy for the children; others say theyare only "niggers, " and can't be aught else, if it be proved thatMarston bought the mother. And there is Mr. Scranton! He is wellseated among the gentlemen of the legal profession, for whom he hasa strong fellow feeling. He sits, unmoved, in his wonted moodiness;now and then he gives the children a sly look of commiseration, asif the screws of his feelings were unloosing. They-the littleproperty-look so interesting, so innocent, so worthy of beingsomething more than merchandise in a land of liberty, that Mr. Scranton's heart has become irresistibly softened. It gets a fewdegrees above Mr. Scranton's constitutional scruples. "Painfulaffair this! What do you think of it, Mr. Scranton?" enquires amember of the profession, touching his arm. 

"It is the fruit of Marston's weakness, you see!-don't feel juststraight, I reckon. Didn't understand the philosophy of the law, neither; and finds himself pinched up by a sort of humanity thatwon't pass for a legal tender in business-"

"Ah! we cannot always look into the future, " interrupts theattorney. 

Mr. Scranton holds that whatever is constitutional must be right andabidable; that one's feelings never should joggle our betterunderstanding when these little curiosities come in the way. Headmits, however, that they are strange attendants coming up once ina while, like the fluctuations of an occult science. With him, theconstitution gives an indisputable right to overlook every outrageupon natural law; and, while it exists in full force, though it maystrip one half the human race of rights, he has no right to complainso long as it does not interfere with him. It strikes Mr. Scrantonthat people who differ with him in opinion must have been educatedunder the teaching of a bad philosophy. Great governments, he holds, often nurture the greatest errors. It matters not how much they feeltheir magnitude; often, the more they do, the least inclined arethey to correct them. Others fear the constitutional structure somuch, that they stand trembling lest the slightest correction totterit to the ground. Great governments, too, are most likely to standon small points when these errors are pointed out. Mr. Scrantondeclares, with great emphasis, that all these things are mostlegally true, perfectly natural: they follow in man as well asgovernments. 

With all due deference to Mr. Scranton's opinion, so much demandedamong his admiring neighbours, it must be said that he never couldbring his mind to understand the difference between naturalphilosophy and his own constitutional scruples, and was very apt tocommit himself in argument, forgetting that the evil was in thefruits of a bad system, bringing disgrace upon his countrymen, corrupting the moral foundation of society, spreading vice aroundthe domestic fireside, and giving to base-minded men power tospeculate in the foulness of their own crimes. 

The case is opened by the attorney for the plaintiff, who makes agreat many direct and indirect remarks, and then calls witnesses. "Marco Graspum!" the clerk exclaims. That gentleman comes forward, takes his place, calmly, upon the witnesses' stand. At first heaffects to know but little; then suddenly remembers that he hasheard Marston call their mothers property. Further, he has heardhim, while extolling their qualities, state the purchase to havebeen made of one Silenus, a trader. 

"He stated-be sure now!-to you, that he purchased them of oneSilenus, a trader?" interpolates the judge, raising his glasses, andadvancing his ear, with his hand raised at its side. 

Yes, yer honour!" "Please observe this testimony, " rejoins theattorney, quickly. He bows; says that is enough. The opposingattorney has no question to put on cross-examination: he knowsGraspum too well. Being quite at home with the gentlemen of thelegal profession, they know his cool nonchalance never can be shakenupon a point of testimony. 

"Any questions to put?" asks the legal opponent, with an air ofindifference. 

"No, nothing, " is the reply. 

His brother of special pleas smiles, gives a cunning glance atGraspum, and wipes his face with a very white handkerchief. He isconscious of the character of his man; it saves all further trouble. "When we know who we have to deal with, we know how to deal, " hemutters, as he sits down. 

Graspum retires from the stand, and takes his seat among thewitnesses. "We will now call Anthony Romescos, " says the attorney. Afew minutes' pause, and that individual rolls out in all hisindependence, takes his place on the stand. He goes through a longseries of questioning and cross-questioning, answers for which heseems to have well studied. 

The whole amounts to nothing more than a corroboration of Graspum'stestimony. He has heard Marston call their mothers property: once, he thinks, but would hesitate before pledging his honour, thatMarston offered to him the woman Clotilda. Yes; it was her!

Considerable excitement is now apparent; the auditory whisper amongthemselves, attorneys put their heads together, turn and turn overthe leaves of their statutes. His honour, the Court, looks wiserstill. Marston trembles and turns pale; his soul is pinioned betweenhope and fear. Romescos has told something more than he knows, andcontinues, at random, recounting a dozen or more irrelevant things. The court, at length, deems it necessary to stop his voluntarytestimony, orders that he only answer such questions as are put tohim. 

"There's no harm in a feller tellin' what he knows, eh! judge?"returns Romescos, dropping a quid of tobacco at his side, bowingsarcastically to the judge, and drawing his face into a comicalpicture. 

Mr. Romescos is told that he can stand aside. At this seeminglyacceptable announcement, he bristles his crispy red hair with hisfingers, shrugs his shoulders, winks at two or three of the jurymen, pats Graspum on the shoulder as he passes him, and takes his seat. 

"We will close the case here, but reserve the right of introducingfurther testimony, if necessary, " says the learned and veryhonourable counsel. 

The defence here rises, and states the means by which his clientintends to prove the freedom of the children; and concludes bycalling over the names of the witnesses. Franconia! Franconia! wehear that name called; it sounds high above the others, and fallsupon our ear most mournfully. Franconia, that sweet creature ofgrace and delicacy, brought into a court where the scales ofinjustice are made to serve iniquity!

Franconia's reserve and modesty put legal gentlemen's gallantry tothe test. One looks over the pages of his reports, another casts asly look as she sweeps by to take that place the basest of men hasjust left. The interested spectators stretch their personsanxiously, to get a look at the two pretty children, honourable andlegal gentlemen are straining their ability to reduce to property. There stands the blushing woman, calm and beautiful, a virtuousrebuke to curious spectators, mercenary slave dealers, the verylearned gentlemen of the bar, and his enthroned honour, the Court!She will give testimony that makes nature frown at its owndegradation. Not far from Franconia sits the very constitutional Mr. Scranton, casting side glances now and then. Our philosophercertainly thinks, though he will not admit it, the chivalry isovertaxing itself; there was no occasion for compelling so fair acreature to come into court, and hear base testimony before a basecrowd, --to aid a base law in securing base ends. And then, just thinkand blush, ye who have blushes to spare. 

"Will the learned gentleman proceed with the examination of thiswitness?" says his honour, who, pen in hand, has been waitingseveral minutes to take down her testimony. Court and audience, without knowing why, have come to an unconscious pause. 

"Will the witness state to the court in what relation she stands tothe gentleman who defends title freedom of the children, --Mr. HughMarston?" says the attorney, addressing his bland words toFranconia, somewhat nervously. 

"He--he--he--is my--, " she mutters, and stops. Her face turns pale; thensuddenly changes to glowing crimson. She rests her left hand on therail, while the judge, as if suddenly moved by a generous impulse, suggests that the attorney pause a moment, until the deputy providesa chair for the lady. She is quiet again. Calmly and modestly, asher soft, meaning eyes wander over the scene before her, compelledto encounter its piercing gaze, the crystal tears leave their wetcourses on her blushing cheeks. Her feelings are too delicate, toosensitive, to withstand the sharp and deadly poison of liberty'sframework of black laws. She sees her uncle, so kind, so fond of herand her absent brother; her eye meets his in kindred sympathy, imagination wings its way through recollections of the past, drawsforth its pleasures with touching sensations, and fills the cup toofull. That cup is the fountain of the soul, from which trouble drawsits draughts. She watches her uncle as he turns toward the children;she knows they are his; she feels how much he loves them. 

The attorney--the man of duty--is somewhat affected. "I have a duty toperform, " he says, looking at the court, at the witness, at thechildren, at the very red-faced clerk, at the opposing counsel, andanything within the precincts of the court-room. We see his lipsmove; he hesitates, makes slight gesticulations, turns and turns avolume of Blackstone with his hands, and mutters something we cannotunderstand. The devil is doing battle with his heart-a heart boundwith the iron strings of the black law. At length, in brokenaccents, we catch the following remarks, which the learned gentlemanthinks it necessary to make in order to save his gallantry:--"I amsorry--extremely sorry, to see the witness, a lady so touchinglysensitive, somewhat affected; but, nevertheless" (the gentleman bowsto the judge, and says the Court will understand his position!) "itis one of those cases which the demands of the profession at timesfind us engaged in. As such we are bound, morally, let me say, aswell as legally, to protect the interests of our clients. In doingso, we are often compelled to encounter those delicateirregularities to which the laws governing our peculiar institutionsare liable. I may say that they are so interwoven with our peculiarinstitution, that to act in accordance with our duty makes it apainful task to our feelings. We--I may appeal to the court forcorroboration--can scarcely pursue an analysation of these caseswithout pain; I may say, remorse of conscience. " Mr. Petterwester, for such is his name, is evidently touched with that sense of shamewhich the disclosures of the black system bring upon his profession. This is aided by the fascinating appearance of the witness on thestand. It is irresistible because it is at variance with those legalproceedings, those horrors of southern jurisprudence, which he ispressing for the benefit of his clients. Again he attempts to putanother question, but is seized with a tremor; he blushes, isnervous and confused, casts a doubting look at the judge. Thatfunctionary is indeed very grave--unmoved. The responsibility of thepeculiar institution sorely hardened the war of heart against headthat was waging among the learned gentlemen; but the institutionmust be preserved, for its political power works wonders, and itslegal power is wondrously curious. "Please tell the court and jurywhat you know about the relation in which these children stand tothe gentleman who asserts their freedom, dear madam? We will nottrouble you with questions; make a statement, " says Mr. Petterwester, with great sincerity of manner. Indeed, Mr. Petterwester has been highly spoken of among the very oldest, mostrespectable, and best kind of female society, for his gallantry. 

The brother opposite, a small gentleman, with an exceedinglystudious countenance, dressed in shining black, and a profusion ofglossy hair falling upon his shoulders, rises with great legalcalmness, and objects to the manner of procedure, describing it ascontrary to the well-established rules of the bar. The courtinterpolates a few remarks, and then intimates that it veryseriously thinks gentlemen better waive the points, --better come toan understanding to let the lady make her statements! Courtesyentitles her, as a lady, to every respect and consideration. Thegentlemen, having whispered a few words together, bow assent to thehigh functionary's intimation. 

Franconia proceeds. She asserts that Hugh Marston (pointing to him)is her uncle; that she knows little or nothing of his businessaffairs, cannot tell why her brother left the country so suddenly;she knew Clotilda and Ellen Juvarna, mothers of the children. Theynever were considered among the property of the plantation. Hershort story is told in touching tones. The learned and gallantattorney, esteeming it indispensable, puts a question or two as towhether anything was ever said about selling them in consequence ofcertain jealousies. Before the brother can object, she answers themevasively, and the testimony amounts to just no testimony at all. The court, bowing respectfully, informs the lady she can get downfrom the stand. 

The next witness called is Mrs. Rosebrook. This good and benevolentlady is more resolute and determined. The gentlemen of the bar findher quite clever enough for them. Approaching the stand with a firmstep, she takes her place as if determined upon rescuing thechildren. Her answers come rather faster than is compatible with thedignity of the learned gentlemen of the bar. She knows Marston, knows Franconia, knows the old plantation, has spent many happyhours upon it, is sorry to see the old proprietor reduced to thisstate of things. She knows the two children, --dear creatures, --hasalways had a kindly feeling for them; knew their poor mothers, hasbefriended them since Marston's troubles began. She always-herlarge, loving eyes glowing with the kindness of her soul-heardMarston say they were just as free as people could be, and theyshould be free, too! Some people did'nt look at the moral obligationof the thing. Here, the good lady, blushing, draws the veil over herface. There is something more she would like to disclose if modestydid not forbid. 

"Nothing direct in such testimony, your honour will perceive!" saysMr. Petterwester, directing himself to the judge. 

"Is there any question with regard to the father of the children?"enquires his honour, again placing his hand to his ear and leaningforward inquisitively. His honour suddenly forgot himself. 

"Ah, ha'h, he-em! The question, so buried under a mountain ofcomplexity, requires very nice legal discrimination to define itproperly. However, we must be governed by distinct pleadings, and Ithink that, in this case, this specific question is not material;nor do my brother colleagues of the Bench think it would beadvisable to establish such questions, lest they affect the moralpurity of the atmosphere we live in. "

"If your honour will permit it, I may say it will only be necessaryin this case to establish the fact of property existing in themothers. That will settle the whole question; fathers, as you areaware, not being embraced in the law regulating this species ofproperty;" the learned gentleman instructs the court. 

His honour, rejoining with a few very grave and very legal remarks, says they look very much alike, and are of one mother. He is alittle undecided, however, takes another good stare at them, andthen adds his glasses, that the affinity may be more clear. Turningagain to his book, he examines his pages, vacantly. A legal wag, whohas been watching the trial for mere amusement, whispering in theear of his brother, insinuates that the presiding functionary ismeditating some problem of speculation, and has forgotten the pointat issue. 

"No!" interrupts Mr. Petterwester, "your honour is curiouslylabouring under an error; they have two mothers, both of the sametenour in life--that is"--Mr. Petterwester corrects himself--"embodyingthe same questions of property. The issue of the case now on istaken as final over the rest. "

"Ah! bless me, now-I-rather-see-into it. The clerk will hand meCobb's Georgia Reports. A late case, curiously serious, thererecorded, may lead me to gather a parallel. Believe me, gentlemen, my feelings are not so dead-his honour addresses himself to the barin general--that I cannot perceive it to be one of those verydelicate necessities of our law which so embarrasses the gallantryof the profession at times--"

"Yes! yer honour, " the attorney for the defence suddenly interrupts, "and which renders it no less a disgrace to drag ladies of high rankinto a court of this kind--. "

His honour can assure the learned gentleman that this court has veryhigh functions, and can administer justice equal to anything thisside of divine power, --his honour interrupts, indignantly. 

"The court misunderstood the counsel, --he had no reference to theunquestioned high authority of the tribunal; it was only thecharacter of the trials brought before it. When, notwithstanding ourboasts of chivalry, delicate ladies are dragged before it in thismanner, they must not only endure the painful tenour of theevidence, but submit to the insolence of men who would plundernature of its right--"

"I shall claim the protection of the court against suchunprofessional imputations, " his brother of the opposite interrupts, rising and affecting an air of indignation. The court, quitebewildered, turns a listening ear to his remarks--"Hopes the learnedgentlemen will not disgrace themselves. "

Order! order! order! demands the sheriff, making a flourish with hissword. The spectators, rising on tip-toe, express their anxiety tohave the case proceed. They whisper, shake their heads, and areheard to say that it will be utterly useless to attempt anythingagainst the testimony of Graspum and Romescos. Mr. Graspum, in thefulness of his slavish and impudent pedantry, feeling secure in thepossession of his victims, sits within the bar, seeming to feel hisposition elevated a few degrees above his highness the judge. 

"I do hope the interposition of this Court will not be necessary inthis case. Gentlemen of the learned profession should settle thosedifferences more like gentlemen, " says his honour, looking down uponhis minions with a frown of contempt. 

"The matter is one entirely of a professional nature, yer honour!"responds the scion of the law, quickly, first addressing himself tothe judge, and then to the jury. "If the testimony we have alreadyadduced--direct as it is--be not sufficient to establish the existenceof property in these children" (Romescos has just whisperedsomething in his ear) "we will produce other testimony of the mostconclusive character. However, we will yield all furthercross-questioning the ladies; and I now suggest that they berelieved from the painful position of appearing before this courtagain. "

Mrs. Rosebrook descends from the stand amidst murmurs and applause. Some amount of legal tact now ensues; the attorney for theprosecution displays an earnestness amounting to personal interest. 

Here the counsel for the defence steps forward, whispers to theclerk, and gives notice that he shall call witnesses to impeach thecharacters of Graspum and Romescos. These two high dignitaries, sitting together, express the utmost surprise at such aninsinuation. The character of neither is sacred material, nor willit stand even in a southern atmosphere. They have been pronouncedlegally impure many years ago. 

Just at this juncture there is quite an excitement in thecourt-room. Romescos, like a disfigured statue, rises from among hislegal friends and addresses the court on the independent principle. "Well now, Squire, if ya'r goin' to play that ar' lawyer game on afeller what don't understand the dodge, I'll just put a settleron't; I'll put a settler on't what ya' won't get over. My word's myhonour; didn't come into this establishment to do swarin' cos Iwanted to; seein' how, when a feller's summoned by the Boss Squire, he's got to walk up and tell the truth and nothin' shorter. I knowsya' don't feel right about it; and it kind a hurts a feller'sfeelins to make property of such nice young uns, especially when oneknows how nice they've been brought up. This aint the thing, though;'taint the way to get along in the world; and seein' I'm a man ofhonour, and wouldn't do a crooked thing nohow-"

His honour the Sheriff, being somewhat impressed with the fact thatMr. Romescos is rather transgressing the rules of the court, interposes. His defence of his honour cannot longer be tolerated;and yet, very much after the fashion of great outlaws, who, whenarraigned for their crimes, think themselves very badly used men, Romescos has the most exalted opinion of himself; never for a momententertains a doubt of his own integrity. 

He reaches over the bar; places his lips to the attorney's ear; isabout to whisper something. That gentleman quickly draws back, as ifhis presence were repulsive. Not the least offended, Romescos winkssignificantly, crooks the fore-finger of his right hand, andsays-"something that'll put the stopper on. " The legal gentlemanseems reconciled; listens attentively to the important information. "All right! nothing more is needed, " he says, rising from his seat, and asking permission to introduce proof which will render it quiteunnecessary to proceed with anything that may have for its objectthe impeachment of the witnesses. 

The attorney for the defence objects to this mode of procedure; andthe judge, having sustained the objections, orders the counsel toproceed with his witnesses. Several persons, said to be of very highstanding, are now called. They successively depose that they wouldnot believe Romescos nor Graspum upon oath; notwithstanding, bothmay be very honourable and respectable gentlemen. Thus invalidatingthe testimony of these high functionaries of the peculiarinstitution, the gentleman of the prosecution has an opportunity ofproducing his conclusive proof. Romescos has been seen passing him avery suspicious-looking document. 

All attention is now directed to the children; they sit pensively, unconscious of the dread fate hanging over them. "What can thistestimony be?" rings in whispers about the court-room. Some deepintrigue is going on; it is some unforeseen movement of theslave-dealers, not comprehended by the spectators. Can the bonƒ-fidecreditors be implicated? Even Mr. Scranton feels that his knowledgeof the philosophy of slave power is completely at fault. 

"Now, your honour, and gentlemen of the jury, " says the gentleman ofthe prosecution, "I am fully aware of the painful suspense in whichthis case has kept the court, the jury, and the very respectablepersons I see assembled; but, notwithstanding the respectability andwell-known position of my clients and witnesses, the defence in thiscase has succeeded in expunging the testimony, and compelling us tobring forward such proof as cannot be impeached. " Here the legalgentleman draws from his pocket a stained and coloured paper, saying, "Will the gentlemen of the jury be kind enough to minutelyexamine that instrument. " He passes it to the foreman. 

"What is the purport of the instrument?" his honour enquires. 

"The bill of sale, your honour. "

Foreman has examined it satisfactorily; passes it to several of hisfellows. All are satisfied. He returns it to the learned gentleman. That very important and chivalrous individual throws it upon thetable with great self-confidence. 

His honour would like to scan over its details. It is passed to thelittle fat clerk, and by that gentleman to his honour. "Very, singularly strong!" his honour says, giving his head a very wiseshake. 

"When the court gets through, " says the advocate for the defence, rising and placing his hand on the clerk's desk. 

"The gentleman can examine, " replies the court, passing it coldly tothe Sheriff, who politely forwards it. 

He turns it and turns it; reads it slowly; examines the datesminutely. "How did the prosecution come in possession of thisdocument?"

His brother of the law objects, "That's not an admissible question. If the defence will institute an action against the parties forunlawfully procuring it, we will take great pleasure in showing ourhands. It may be, however, well to say, that Mr. Marston and Mr. Graspum have always been on the most friendly terms; but the formergentleman forgot to take care of this very essential document, " hecontinues, taking it from the hand of his professional brother, andturning toward the spectators, his countenance glowing withexultation. The pride of his ambition is served. The profession hashonourably sustained itself through the wonderful abilities of thislearned brother, who, holding the paper in his hand, awaits thegracious applause of the assembled spectators. There is someapplause, some murmuring, much whispering. 

The court, in coldly measured words, hopes the audience will evinceno excitement pro or con. 

Some persons declare the bill of sale a forgery, --that Romescos hastried that very same trick twice before. Others say it matters butlittle on that score, --that all the law in the country won't restrainGraspum; if he sets at it in good earnest he can turn any sort ofpeople into property. A third whispers that the present order ofthings must be changed, or nobody's children will be safe. Legalgentlemen, not interested in the suit, shake their heads, andsuccessively whisper, "The prosecution never came by that bill ofsale honestly. " Creditors, not parties to this suit, and brokers whonow and then do something in the trade of human beings, say, "Ifthis be the way Marston's going to play the dodge with his property, we will see if there be not some more under the same shadedprotection. "

"Will the counsel for the defence permit his client to inspect thisinstrument?" says the learned gentleman, passing it across thetable. 

Marston's face flushes with shame; he is overcome; he extends histrembling hand and takes the fatal document. It is, to him, hischildren's death-warrant. A cloud of darkness overshadows his hopes;he would question the signature, but the signer, Silenus, isdead, --as dead as the justice of the law by which the children arebeing tried. And there is the bond attached to it! Again the thoughtflashed through his mind, that he had sold Ellen Juvarna to ElderPemberton Praiseworthy. However much he might struggle to save hischildren-however much a father's obligations might force themselvesupon him-however much he might acknowledge them the offspring of hisown body, they were property in the law-property in the hands ofGraspum; and, with the forethought of that honourable gentlemanopposed to him--as it evidently was--his efforts and pleadings wouldnot only prove futile, but tend to expose Lorenzo's crime. 

"The philosophy of the thing is coming out, just as Isaid-precisely, " ejaculates Mr. Scranton, raising his methodicaleyes, and whispering to a legal gentleman who sits at his right. 

"Serious philosophy, that embraces and sanctions the sale of suchlovely children, --making property of one's children against hiswishes! I'm a great Southern rights man, but this is shaving theintermixture a little too close, " rejoins the other, casting asolicitous look at Marston, who has been intently and nervouslyexamining the bill of sale. 

"Any objections to make to it?" says the learned gentleman, bowingpolitely and extending his hand, as he concludes by inquiring how ithappened, in the face of such an array of evidence, that he sold thegirl, Ellen Juvarna?

"No objection, none!" is Marston's quick response. His head droops;he wipes the tears from his eyes; he leaves the court in silence, amid murmurs from the crowd. The female witnesses left before him;it was well they did so. 

That this is the original bill of sale, from one Silenus to HughMarston, has been fully established. However painful the issue, nothing remained but to give the case to the jury. All is silent forseveral minutes. The judge has rarely sat upon a case of this kind. He sits unnerved, the pen in his hand refusing to write as histhoughts wander into the wondrous vortex of the future of slavery. But the spell has passed; his face shades with pallor as slowly herises to address the jury. He has but few words to say; they falllike death-knells on the ears of his listeners. Some touching wordsescape his hesitating lips; but duty, enforced by the iron rod ofslave power, demands him to sustain the laws of the land. He setsforth the undisputed evidence contained in the bill of sale, theunmistakeable bond, the singular and very high-handed attempt toconceal it from the honest creditors, and the necessity of jurymenrestraining their sympathies for the children while performing aduty to the laws of the land. Having thus made his brief address, hesits down; the sheriff shoulders his tip-staff, and the augusttwelve, with papers provided, are marched into the jury-room, as thecourt orders that the case of Dunton v. Higgins be called. 

Five minutes have intervened; the clerk calling the case sinterrupted by a knocking at the jury-room door; he stops hisreading, the door is opened, and the sheriff conducts his twelvegentlemen back to their seats. Not a whisper is heard; the stillnessof the tomb reigns over this high judicial scene. The sheriffreceives a packet of papers from the foreman's hands, and passesthem to the clerk. 

"Gentlemen of the jury will please stand up, " says that very amiablefunctionary. "Have you agreed on your verdict?" The foreman bowsassent. 

"Guilty or not guilty, gentlemen?"

"Guilty, " says the former, in tones like church-yard wailings:"Guilty. I suppose that's the style we must render the verdict in?"The foreman is at a loss to know what style of verdict is necessary. 

"Yes, " returns the clerk, bowing; and the gentlemen of the jury wellcomplimented by the judge, are discharged until to-morrow. Theattorney for the defence made a noble, generous, and touching appealto the fatherly twelve; but his appeal fell like dull mist beforethe majesty of slavery. Guilty! O heavens, that ever the innocentshould be made guilty of being born of a mother! That a mother-thatname so holy-should be stained with the crime of bearing her childto criminal life!

Two children, fair and beautiful, are judged by a jury oftwelve-perhaps all good and kind fathers, free and enlightenedcitizens of a free and happy republic-guilty of the crime of beingborn of a slave mother. Can this inquiring jury, this thinkingtwelve, feel as fathers only can feel when their children are on theprecipice of danger? Could they but break over that seeminginvulnerable power of slavery which crushes humanity, freezes up thesouls of men, and makes the lives of millions but a blight ofmisery, and behold with the honesty of the heart what a picture ofmisery their voice "Guilty!" spreads before these unfortunatechildren, how changed would be the result!

A judge, endeared to his own children by the kindest affections, feels no compunction of conscience while administering the law whichdenies a father his own children-which commands those children to besold with the beasts of the field! Mark the slender cord upon whichthe fate of these unfortunates turns; mark the suffering throughwhich they must pass. 

The hand on the clock's pale face marks four. His honour remindsgentlemen of the bar that it is time to adjourn court. Court isaccordingly adjourned. The crowd disperse in silence. Gentlemen ofthe legal profession are satisfied the majesty of the law has beensustained. 

Hence the guilty children, scions of rights-loving democracy, liketwo pieces of valuable merchandise judicially decreed upon, are ledback to prison, where they will await sale. Annette has caught thesound of "Guilty!"-she mutters it while being taken home from thecourt, in the arms of an old slave. May heaven forgive the guilt weinherit from a mother, in this our land of freedom!

CHAPTER XXI. 

WE CHANGE WITH FORTUNE. 

BUT a few months have passed since the popularly called gallantM'Carstrow led the fair Franconia to the hymeneal altar; and, nowthat he has taken up his residence in the city, the excitement ofthe honeymoon is waning, and he has betaken himself to his morecongenial associations. The beautiful Franconia for him had buttransient charms, which he now views as he would objects necessaryto the gratifications of his coarse passions. His feelings have notbeen softened with those finer associations which make man the kindpatron of domestic life; nor is his mind capable of appreciatingthat respect for a wife which makes her an ornament of her circle. Saloons, race-courses, and nameless places, have superiorattractions for him: home is become but endurable. 

In truth, Franconia, compelled to marry in deference to fortune, finds she is ensnared into misfortunes. M'Carstrow (Colonel bycourtesy) had fifteen hundred dollars, cash down, to pay forClotilda: this sad grievance excites his feelings, inasmuch as itwas all owing to his wife's whims, and the poverty of her relations. The verdict of the jury, recently rendered, was to his mind astrictly correct one; but he cannot forget the insane manner inwhich the responsibility was fastened upon him, and the hardcash-which might have made two handsome stakes on the turf-drawnfrom his pocket. His wife's poverty-stricken relations he nowdetests, and can tolerate them best when farthest away from him. ButFranconia does not forget that he is her husband; no, night afternight she sits at the window until midnight, waiting his return. Feeble and weary with anxiety, she will despatch a negro on ahopeless errand of search; he, true to his charge, returns with theconfidential intelligence of finding Mas'r in a place less reputablethan it is proper to mention. Such is our southern society, --veryhospitable in language, chivalrous in memory, --base in morals! Some-times the gallant colonel deems it necessary to remain untildaylight, lest, in returning by night, the pavement may annoy hisunderstanding. Of this, however, he felt the world knew but little. Now and then, merely to keep up the luxury of southern life, thecolonel finds it gratifying to his feelings, on returning home atnight, to order a bed to be made for him in one of the yard-houses, in such manner as to give the deepest pain to his Franconia. Coarseand dissolute, indifference follows, cold and cutting; she findsherself a mere instrument of baser purpose in the hands of one sheknows only as a ruffian-she loathes! Thus driven under the burden oftrouble, she begins to express her unhappiness, to remonstrateagainst his associations, to plead with him against his course oflife. He jeers at this, scouts such prudery, proclaims it farbeneath the dignity of his standing as a southern gentleman. 

The generous woman could have endured his dissipation-she might havetolerated his licentiousness, but his arbitrary and veryuncalled-for remarks upon the misfortunes of her family are morethan she can bear. She has tried to respect him-love him shecannot-and yet her sensitive nature recoils at the thought of beingattached to one whose feelings and associations are so at variancewith her own. Her impulsive spirit quails under the bitterness ofher lot; she sees the dreary waste of trouble before her only toenvy the happiness of those days of rural life spent on the oldplantation. That she should become fretful and unhappy is a naturalconsequence. 

We must invite the reader to go with us to M'Carstrow's residence, an old-fashioned wooden building, three stories high, with largebasement windows and doors, on the south side of King Street. It isa wet, gloomy night, in the month of November, --the wind, fierce andchilling, has just set in from the north-east; a drenching rainbegins to fall, the ships in the harbour ride ill at ease; thesudden gusts of wind, sweeping through the narrow streets of thecity, lighted here and there by the sickly light of an old-fashionedlamp, bespread the scene with drear. At a second-story window, lighted by a taper burning on the sill, sits Franconia, alone, waiting the return of M'Carstrow. M'Carstrow is enjoying his nightorgies! He cares neither for the pelting storm, the anxiety of hiswife, nor the sweets of home. 

A gust of wind shakes the house; the windows rattle their stormymusic; the cricket answers to the wailings of the gale as it gushesthrough the crevices; Franconia's cares are borne to her husband. Now the wind subsides, --a slow rap is heard at the hall door, in thebasement: a female servant, expecting her master, hastens to openit. Her master is not there; the wind has extinguished the flaringlight; and the storm, sweeping through the sombre arch, spreadsnoise and confusion. She runs to the kitchen, seizes the globularlamp, and soon returns, frightened at the sight presented in thedoor. Master is not there-it is the lean figure of a strange old"nigger, " whose weather-worn face, snowy with beard and wrinkledwith age, is lit up with gladness. He has a warm soul within him, --asoul not unacceptable to heaven! The servant shrinks back, --she isfrightened at the strange sight of the strange old man. "Don' befeared, good child; Bob ain't bad nigger, " says the figure, in aguttural whisper. 

"An't da'h fo'h notin good; who is ye'?" returns the girl, holdingthe globular lamp before her shining black face. Cautiously shemakes a step or two forward, squinting at the sombre figure of theold negro, as he stands trembling in the doorway. "Is my good youngMiss wid'n?" he enquires, in the same whispering voice, holding hiscap in his right hand. 

"Reckon how ye bes be gwine out a dat afo'h Miss come. Yer miss don'lib in dis ouse. " So saying, the girl is about to close the door inthe old man's face, for he is ragged and dejected, and has theappearance of a "suspicious nigger without a master. "

"Don' talk so, good gal; ye don' know dis old man, --so hungry, --moststarved. I lub Miss Franconia. Tell she I'ze here, " he says, in asupplicating tone, as the girl, regaining confidence, scrutiniseshim from head to foot with the aid of her lamp. 

The servant is about to request he will come inside that she mayshut out the storm. "Frankone knows old Daddy Bob, --dat she do!" hereiterates, working his cap in his fingers. The familiar words havecaught Franconia's ear; she recognises the sound of the old man'svoice; she springs to her feet, as her heart gladdens with joy. Shebounds down the stairs, and to the door, grasps the old man's hand, as a fond child warmly grasps the hand of a parent, and welcomes himwith the tenderness of a sister. "Poor-my poor old Daddy!" she says, looking in his face so sweetly, so earnestly, "where have you comefrom? who bought you? how did you escape?" she asks, in rapidsuccession. Holding his hand, she leads him along the passage, as hetells her. "Ah, missus, I sees hard times since old mas'r lef' deplantation. Him an't how he was ven you dah. " He views her, curiously, from head to foot; kisses her hand; laughs with joy, ashe was wont to laugh on the old plantation. 

"Faithful as ever, Daddy? You found me out, and came to see me, didn't you?" says Franconia, so kindly, leading him into a smallroom on the left hand of the hall, where, after ordering some supperfor him, she begs he will tell her all about his wayfaring. It issome minutes before Bob can get an opportunity to tell Franconiathat he is a fugitive, having escaped the iron grasp of the law tostand true to old mas'r. At length he, in the enthusiastic boundingsof his heart, commences his story. 

"Nigger true, Miss Franconia"-he mumbles out-"on'e gib 'im chance tobe. Ye sees, Bob warn't gwine t' lef' old mas'r, nohow; so I gin'ein da slip when'e come t' takes 'em fo'h sell-"

"Then they didn't sell you, old Dad? That's good! that's good! AndDaddy's cold and wet?" she interrupts, anxiously, telling theservant to get some dry clothes for him. 

"I is dat, Miss Frankone. Han't ad nofin t' eat dis most two days, "he returns, looking at her affectionately, with one of those simplesmiles, so true, so expressive. 

A supper is soon ready for Daddy, to which he sits down as if hewere about to renew all his former fondness and familiarity. "Seemslike old times, don 'un, Miss Frankone? Wish old mas'r war here, too, " says the old man, putting the bowl of coffee to his lips, andcasting a side-look at the servant. 

Franconia sits watching him intently, as if he were a child justrescued from some impending danger. "Don't mention my poor uncle, Daddy. He feels as much interest in you as I do; but the world don'tlook upon him now as it once did-"

"Neber mind: I gwine to work fo' old mas'r. It'll take dis old childto see old mas'r all right, " replies the old man, forgetting that heis too old to take care of himself, properly. Bob finishes hissupper, rests his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, andcommences disclosing his troubles to Franconia. He tells her how hesecreted himself in the pine-woods, --how he wandered through swamps, waded creeks, slept on trunks of trees, crept stealthily to the oldmansion at night, listened for mas'r's footsteps, and watchedbeneath the veranda; and when he found he was not there, how heturned and left the spot, his poor heart regretting. How his heartbeat as he passed the old familiar cabin, retracing his steps toseek a shelter in the swamp; how, when he learned her residence, famished with hunger, he wended his way into the city to seek herout, knowing she would relieve his wants. 

"What vil da do wid me, spose da cotch me, Miss Frankone?" enquiresthe old man, simply, looking down at his encrusted feet, and againat his nether wardrobe, which he feels is not just the thing toappear in before young missus. 

"They won't do anything cruel to you, Daddy. You are too old; yourgrey hairs will protect you. Why, Daddy, you would not fetch a bidif they found out who owned you, and put you up at auctionto-morrow, " she says, with seeming unconsciousness. She little knewhow much the old man prided in his value, --how much he esteemed theamount of good work he could do for master. He shakes his head, looks doubtingly at her, as if questioning the sincerity of herremark. 

"Just get Daddy Bob-he mutters-a badge, den 'e show missus how muchwork in 'um. "

Franconia promises to comply with his request, and, with the aid ofa friend, will intercede for him, and procure for him a badge, thathe may display his energies for the benefit of old mas'r. This done, she orders the servant to show him his bed in one of the "yardhouses;" bids the old man an affectionate good night, retires to herroom, and watches the return of her truant swain. 

There, seated in an arm-chair, she waits, and waits, and waits, hopeand anxiety recording time as it passes. The servant has seen Daddysafe in his room, and joins her missus, where, by the force ofhabit, she coils herself at her feet, and sleeps. She has not longremained in this position when loud singing breaks upon her ear;louder and louder it vibrates through the music of the storm, andapproaches. Now she distinctly recognises the sharp voice ofM'Carstrow, which is followed by loud rappings at the door of thebasement hall. M'Carstrow, impatiently, demands entrance. Thehalf-sleeping servant, startled at the noise, springs to her feet, rubs her eyes, bounds down the stairs, seizes the globular lamp, andproceeds to open the door. Franconia, a candle in her hand, waits atthe top of the stairs. She swings back the door, and there, bespattered with mud, face bleeding and distorted, and eyes glassy, stands the chivalrous M'Carstrow. He presents a sorry picture;mutters, or half growls, some sharp imprecations; makes a grasp atthe girl, falls prostrate on the floor. Attempting to gain hisperpendicular, he staggers a few yards-the girl screaming withfright-and groans as his face again confronts the tiles. To make thematter still worse, three of his boon companions follow him, and, almost in succession, pay their penance to the floor, in anindescribable catacomb. 

"I tell you what, Colonel! if that nigger gal a' yourn don't standclose with her blazer we'll get into an all-fired snarl, " says one, endeavouring to extricate himself and regain his upright. Aftersundry ineffectual attempts, surging round the room in search of hishat, which is being very unceremoniously transformed into a muffbeneath their entangled extremes, he turns over quietly, saying, "There's something very strange about the floor of thisestablishment, --it don't seem solid; 'pears how there's ups and downsin it. " They wriggle and twist in a curious pile; endeavour to bringtheir knees out of "a fix"--to free themselves from the angles whichthey are most unmathematically working on the floor. Working andtwisting, --now staggering, and again giving utterance to the coarsestlanguage, --one of the gentry--they belong to the sporting world-callsloudly for the colonel's little 'oman. Regaining his feet, he makesindelicate advances towards the female servant, who, nearly palewith fright--a negro can look pale--runs to her mistress at the topof the stairs. 

He misses the frightened maid, and seats himself on the lowest stepof the stairs. Here he delivers a sort of half-musical soliloquy, like the following: "Gentlemen! this kind a' thing only happens attimes, and isn't just the square thing when yer straight; but--seein'how southern life will be so--when a body get's crooked what's got awife what don't look to matters and things, and never comes to takecare on a body when he's done gone, he better shut up shop. Betterbe lookin' round to see what he can scare up!"

Franconia holds the flaring light over the stairs: pale anddeath-like, she trembles with fear, every moment expecting to seethem ascend. 

"I see the colonel's 'oman! yander she is; she what was imposed onhim to save the poverty of her folks. The M'Carstrows know a thingor two: her folks may crawl under the dignity of the name, but theydon't shell under the dignity of the money-they don't!" says astalwart companion, attempting to gain a position by the side of hisfellow on the steps. He gives a leering wink, contorts his face intoa dozen grimaces, stares vacantly round the hall (sliding himselfalong on his hands and knees), his glassy eyes inflamed like ballsof fire. "It'll be all square soon, " he growls out. 

The poor affrighted servant again attempts-having descended thestairs-to relieve her master; but the crawling creature has regainedhis feet. He springs upon her like a fiend, utters a fierce yell, and, snatching the lamp from her hand, dashes it upon the tiles, spreading the fractured pieces about the hall. Wringing herself fromhis grasp, she leaves a portion of her dress in his bony hand, andseeks shelter in a distant part of the hall. Holding up the fragmentas a trophy, he staggers from place to place, making hieroglyphicson the wall with his fingers. His misty mind searches for some pointof egress. Confronting (rather uncomfortably) hat stands, tables, porcelains, and other hall appurtenances, he at length shuffles hisway back to the stairs, where, as if doubting his bleered optics, hestands some moments, swaying to and fro. His hat again falls fromhis head, and his body, following, lays its lumbering length on thestairs. Happy fraternity! how useful is that body! His companion, laying his muddled head upon it, says it will serve for a pillow. "E'ke-hum-spose 'tis so? I reckon how I'm some-ec! eke!-somewhere ornowhere; aint we, Joe? It's a funny house, fellers, " he continues tosoliloquise, laying his arm affectionately over his companion'sneck, and again yielding to the caprice of his nether limbs. 

The gentlemen will now enjoy a little refreshing sleep; to furtherwhich enjoyment, they very coolly and unceremoniously commence apot-pourri of discordant snoring. This seems of grateful concord fortheir boon companions, who-forming an equanimity of good feeling onthe floor-join in. 

The servant is but a slave, subject to her owner's will; she darenot approach him while in such an uncertain condition. Franconiacannot intercede, lest his companions, strangers to her, and havingthe appearance of low-bred men, taking advantage of M'Carstrow'sbesotted condition, make rude advances. M'Carstrow, snoring highabove his cares, will take his comfort upon the tiles. 

The servant is supplied with another candle, which, at Franconia'sbidding, she places in a niche of the hall. It will supply light tothe grotesque sleepers, whose lamp has gone out. 

Franconia has not forgotten that M'Carstrow is her husband; she hasnot forgotten that she owes him a wife's debt of kindness. Shedescends the stairs gently, leans over his besotted body, smoothshis feverish brow with her hand, and orders the servant to bring asoft cushion; which done, she raises his head and places itbeneath-so gently, so carefully. Her loving heart seems swellingwith grief, as compassionately she gazes upon him; then, drawing acambric handkerchief from her bosom, spreads it so kindly over hisface. Woman! there is worth in that last little act. She leaves himto enjoy his follies, but regrets their existence. Retiring to thedrawing-room, agitated and sleepless, she reclines on a lounge toawait the light of morning. Again the faithful servant, endeavouringto appease her mistress's agitation, crouches upon the carpet, resting her head on the ottoman at Franconia's feet. 

The morning dawns bright and sunny: Franconia has not slept. She haspassed the hours in watchfulness; has watched the negro sleeping, while her thoughts were rivetted to the scene in the hall. She getsup, paces the room from the couch to the window, and sits down againundecided, unresolved. Taking Diana-such is the servant's name-bythe hand, she wakes her, and sends her into the hall to ascertainthe condition of the sleepers. The metamorphosed group, poisoningthe air with their reeking breath, are still enjoying the morbidfruits of their bacchanalianism. Quietly, coolly, and promiscuously, they lay as lovingly as fellows of the animal world could desire. 

The servant returns, shaking her head. "Missus, da'h lays yander, soin all fixins dat no tellin' which most done gone. Mas'r seems donegone, sartin!" says the servant, her face glowing with apprehension. 

The significant phrase alarms Franconia. She repairs to the hall, and commences restoring the sleepers to consciousness. The gentlemenare doggedly obstinate; they refuse to be disturbed. She recognisesthe face of one whose business it is to reduce men to the last stageof poverty. Her sensitive nature shudders at the sight, as she viewshim with a curl of contempt on her lip. "Oh, M'Carstrow, --M'Carstrow!" she whispers, and taking him by the hand, shakes it violently. M'Carstrow, with countenance ghastly andinflamed, begins to raise his sluggish head. He sees Franconiapensively gazing in his face; and yet he enquires who it is thatdisturbs the progress of his comforts. "Only me!" says the goodwoman, soliciting him to leave his companions and accompany her. 

Oh, you, is it?" he replies, grumblingly, rising on his right elbow, and rubbing his eyes with his left hand. Wildly and vacantly hestares round the hall, as if aroused from a trance, and madesensible of his condition. 

"Yes, me-simply me, who, lost to your affections, is made mostunhappy-" Franconia would proceed, but is interrupted by hermuddling swain. 

"Unhappy! unhappy!" says the man of southern chivalry, making sundryirresistible nods. "Propagator of mischief, of evil contentions, ofpeace annihilators. Ah! ah! ah! Thinking about the lustre of thembeggared relations. It always takes fools to make a fuss over smallthings: an angel wouldn't make a discontented woman happy. "Franconia breaks out into a paroxysm of grief, so unfeeling is thetone in which he addresses her. He is a southern gentleman, --happilynot of New England in his manners, not of New England in hisaffections, not of New England in his domestic associations. Hethinks Franconia very silly, and scouts with derision the idea ofmarrying a southern gentleman who likes enjoyment, and then making afuss about it. He thinks she had better shut up herwhimpering, --learn to be a good wife upon southern principles. 

"Husbands should be husbands, to claim a wife's respect; and theyshould never forget that kindness makes good wives. Take away thelife springs of woman's love, and what is she? What is she with herhappiness gone, her pride touched, her prospects blasted? Whatrespect or love can she have for the man who degrades her to thelevel of his own loathsome companions?" Franconia points to thosewho lie upon the floor, repulsive, and reeking with the fumes ofdissipation. "There are your companions, " she says. 

"Companions?" he returns, enquiringly. He looks round upon them withsurprise. "Who are those fellows you have got here?" he enquires, angrily. 

"You brought them to your own home; that home you might make happy-"

"Not a bit of it! They are some of your d-d disreputable relations. "

"My relations never violate the conduct of gentlemen. " "No; but theysponge on me. These my companions!" looking at them inquisitively. "Oh, no! Don't let us talk about such things; I'ze got fifteenhundred dollars and costs to pay for that nigger gal you were foolenough to get into a fit about when we were married. That's whatI'ze got for my good-heartedness. " M'Carstrow permits his verygentlemanly southern self to get into a rage. He springs to his feetsuddenly, crosses and recrosses the hall like one frenzied withexcitement. Franconia is frightened, runs up the stairs, and intoher chamber, where, secreting herself, she fastens the door. Helooks wistfully after her, stamping his foot, but he will notfollow. Too much of a polished gentleman, he will merely amusehimself by running over the gamut of his strongest imprecations. Thenoise creates general alarm among his companions, who, gaining theiruprights, commence remonstrating with him on his rude conduct, as ifthey were much superior beings. 

"Now, colonel, major, --or whatever they dubbed ye, in the way of atitle, " says one, putting his hand to his hat with a swaggering bow;"just stop that ar' sort a' nonsense, and pay over this 'ere littleaffair afore we gets into polite etiquette and such things. When, tomake the expenses, ye comes into a place like ours, and runs up acredit score, --when ye gets so lofty that ye can't tell fifty fromfive, we puts a sealer on, so customers don't forget in themorning. " The modest gentleman presents to M'Carstrow's astonishedeyes a note for twenty-seven hundred dollars, with the genuinesignature. M'Carstrow takes it in his hand, stares at it, turns itover and over. The signature is his; but he is undecided about themanner of its getting there, and begins to give expression to somedoubt. 

The gentleman watches M'Carstrow very cautiously. "Straight!colonel-he says-just turn out the shiners, or, to 'commodate, we'lllet ye off with a sprinkling of niggers. "

The colonel puts the fore-finger of his left hand to his lips, and, with serious countenance, walks twice or thrice across the hall, asif consulting his dignity: "Shell out the niggers first; we'll takethe dignity part a'ter, " he concludes. 

"I demand to know how you came in my house, " interrupts the colonel, impatiently. He finds himself in very bad company; company southerngentlemen never acknowledge by daylight. 

"We brought you here! Anything else you'd like to know?" is thecool, sneering response. The gentleman will take a pinch of snuff;he draws his fancy box from his pocket, gives the cover a polite rapwith his finger, invites the enraged M'Carstrow to "take. " Thatgentleman shakes his head, --declines. He is turning the whole affairover in his head, seems taking it into serious consideration. Seriously, he accepted their accommodation, and now finds himselfcompelled to endure their painful presence. 

"I, I, I-m, rather in doubt, " stammers M'Carstrow, fingering thelittle obligation again, turning it over and over, rubbing his eyes, applying his glass. He sees nothing in the signature to dispute. "Imust stop this kind of fishing, " he says; "don't do. It 's just whatfriend Scranton would call very bad philosophy. Gentlemen, supposeyou sit down; we'd better consider this matter a little. Han't got adime in the bank, just now. " M'Carstrow is becoming more quiet, takes a philosophical view of the matter, affects more suavity. Calling loudly for the negro servant, that personage presentsherself, and is ordered to bring chairs to provide accommodation forthe gentlemen, in the hall. 

"Might just as well settle the matter in the parlour, colonel;t'wont put you out a mite, " the gambler suggests, with a laconicair. He will not trouble M'Carstrow by waiting for his reply. No; heleads the way, very coolly, asking no odds of etiquette; and, havingentered the apartment, invites his comrades to take seats. Thedignity and coolness with which the manouvre is executed takes"Boss" M'Carstrow by surprise; makes him feel that he is merely adependent individual, whose presence there is not much need of. "Itell you what it is, gents, I'ze shaved my accounts at the bank downto the smallest figure, have! but there's an honourableconsideration about this matter; and, honour's honour, and I want todischarge it somehow--niggers or cash!" The gentlemen's feelingshave smoothed down amazingly. M'Carstrow is entirely serious, andwilling to comply. 

The gentlemen have seated themselves in a triangle, with the "doneover" colonel in the centre. 

"Well, niggers will do just as well, provided they are sound, prime, and put at prices so a feller can turn 'em into tin, quick, " saysthe gentleman, who elects himself spokesman of the party. 

"Keeps my property in tall condition, but won't shove it off undermarket quotations, no how!" M'Carstrow interrupts, as the spokesman, affecting the nonchalance of a newly-elected alderman, places hisfeet upon the rich upholstery of a sofa close by. He would enjoy theextremes of southern comfort. "Colonel, I wish you had a moreconvenient place to spit, " rejoins the gentleman. He will nottrouble the maid, however-he let's fly the noxious mixture, promiscuously; it falls from his lips upon the soft hearth-rug. "Itwill add another flower to the expensive thing, " he says, verycoolly, elongating his figure a little more. He has relievedhimself, wondrously. M'Carstrow calls the servant, points to theadditional wreath on the hearth-rug!

"All your nigger property as good-conditioned as that gal?" enquiresthe gentleman, the others laughing at the nicety of his humour. Rising from his seat very deliberately, he approaches the servant, lays his hand upon her neck and shoulders. 

"Not quite so fast, my friend: d-n it, gentlemen, don't be rude. That's coming the thing a little too familiar. There is a medium:please direct your moist appropriations and your improper remarks intheir proper places. " The girl, cringing beneath the ruffian's hand, places the necessary receptacle at his feet. 

The gentleman is offended, --very much offended. He thinks it beneaththe expansion of his mind-to be standing on aristocratic nonsense!"Spit boxes and nigger property ain't the thing to stand on aboutharistocrats; just put down the dimes. Three bright niggers 'll do:turn 'em out. "

"Three of my best niggers!" ejaculates the Colonel. 

"Nothin' shorter, Colonel. "

"Remember, gentlemen, the market price of such property. The demandfor cotton has made niggers worth their weight in gold, for anypurpose. Take the prosperity of our country into consideration, gentlemen; remember the worth of prime men. The tip men of themarket are worth 1200 dollars. "

"Might as well lay that kind a' financerin aside, Colonel. What'sthe use of living in a free country, where every man has a right tomake a penny when he can, and talk so? Now, 'pears to me t'aint nouse a' mincing the matter; we might a' leaked ye in for as manythousands as hundreds. Seein' how ye was a good customer, we savedye on a small shot. Better put the niggers out: ownin' such a lot, ye won't feel it! Give us three prime chaps; none a' yer oldsawbones what ye puts up at auction when ther' worked down tonothin'. "

M'Carstrow's powers of reasoning are quite limited; and, findinghimself in one of those strange situations southern gentlemen sooften get into, and which not unfrequently prove as perplexing asthe workings of the peculiar institution itself, he seeks relief bygiving an order for three prime fellows. They will be delivered up, at the plantation, on the following day, when the merchandise willbe duly made over, as per invoice. Everything is according to styleand honour; the gentlemen pledge their faith to be gentlemen, toleave no dishonourable loop-hole for creeping out. And now, havingsettled the little matter, they make M'Carstrow the very best ofbows, desire to be remembered to his woman, bid him good morning, and leave. They will claim their property-three prime men-by thejustice of a "free-born democracy. "

M'Carstrow watches them from the house, moralising over his folly. They have gone! He turns from the sight, ascends the stairs, andrepairs to meet his Franconia. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE VICISSITUDES OF A PREACHER. 

WE left Harry, the faithful servant, whose ministerial functions hadbeen employed in elevating the souls of Marston's property, beingseparated from his wife and sold to Mr. M'Fadden. M'Fadden is agentleman--we do not impugn the name, in a southern sense--of thatclass--very large class--who, finding the laws of their own countrytoo oppressive for their liberal thoughts, seek a republican's homein ours. It is to such men, unhappily, the vices of slavery areopen. They grasp them, apply them to purposes most mercenary, mostvile. The most hardened of foreigners-that essence of degradedoutcasts, --may, under the privileges of slavery, turn human miseryinto the means of making money. He has no true affiliations with thepeople of the south, nor can he feel aught beyond a selfish interestin the prosperity of the State; but he can be active in the work ofevil. With the foreigner--we speak from observation--affecting loveof liberty at home, it would seem, only makes him the greater tyrantwhen slavery gives him power to execute its inhuman trusts. Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden is one of this description of persons; he willmake a fortune in the South, and live a gentleman in the North--perhaps, at home on his own native Isle. Education he has none;moral principle he never enjoyed, --never expects to. He is a tall, athletic man, nearly six feet two inches in height, with extremelybroad, stooping shoulders, and always walks as if he were meditatingsome speculation. His dress is usually of southern red-mixedhomespun, --a dress which he takes much pride in wearing, inconnection with a black brigand hat, which gives his broad face, projecting cheek-bones, and blunt chin, a look of unmistakeablesullenness. Add to this a low, narrow forehead, generally coveredwith thick tufts of matted black hair, beneath which two savage eyesincessantly glare, and, reader, you have the repulsivepersonification of the man. Mr. M'Fadden has bought a preacher, --anarticle with the very best kind of a soul, --which he would send tohis place in the country. Having just sent the article to therail-road, he stands in a neighbouring bar-room, surrounded by hiscronies, who are joining him in a social glass, discussing thequalities of the article preacher. We are not favoured with thepoint at issue; but we hear Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden say, with greatforce, --"Preachers are only good property under certaincircumstances; and if them circumstances ain't just so, it won't doto buy 'em. Old aristocrat rice planters may make a good thing ortwo on 'em, because they can make 'em regulate the cummin' o' theirproperty, and make it understand what the Lord says about mindingtheir masters. " For his-Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden's-own part, hewouldn't give seven coppers for the thinking part of any property, having no belief in that fashionable way of improving its value. "Mypreacher has been nicely packed up and sent off in advance, " hesays, wiping his mouth with his coat sleeve, and smacking his lips, as he twirls his glass upon the zinc counter, shakes hands with hisfriends-they congratulate him upon the good bargain in hisdivine-and proceeds to the railroad dep“t. Harry has arrived nearlytwo hours in advance, --delivered in good condition, as stated in areceipt which he holds in his hand, and which purports to be fromthe baggage-master. "Ah! here you are, " says M'Fadden, taking thepaper from Harry's hand, as he enters the luggage-room. "Take goodcare on ye, --I reckon I will!" He looks down upon him with an air ofsatisfaction. The poor preacher-the soul-glowing property-is yetchained, hand and foot. He sits upon the cold floor, those imploringeyes swelling at the thought that freedom only awaits him in anotherworld. M'Fadden takes a little flask from his breast pocket, and, with a motion of kindness, draws the cork, passes it to him. "It'swhiskey!" he says; "take a drop-do ye good, old feller. " Quietly theman passes it to his lips, and moistens his mouth. "No winking andblinking-it's tip-top stuff, " enjoins M'Fadden; "don't get it everyday. "

Mr. M'Fadden will take a little himself. "Glad to find ye here, allstraight!" he mutters, taking the flask from his mouth. He hadreturned the receipt to his property; and, having gratified hisappetite a little, he begins to take a more perspective view of histheological purchase. 

"Yes, master; I am here!" He again holds up his chained hands, dropshis face upon his knees; as much as to say, be sure I am all safeand sound. 

Looking at the receipt again, and then at his preacher, "Guess'hain't made a bad rap on ye' to-day!" he ejaculates, taking out hispocket-book and laying away the precious paper as carefully as if itwere a hundred dollar note. "Should like to have bought your oldwoman and young 'uns, but hadn't tin enough. And the way stock's upnow, ain't slow! Look up here, my old buck! just put on a face asbright and smooth as a full moon-no sulkin'. Come along here. "

The manacled preacher turns upon his hands, gets up as best hecan-M'Fadden kindly assists by taking hold of his shoulder-andfollows his purchaser to the platform, --like a submissive animalgoaded to the very flesh, but chained, lest it make some show ofresentment. "Good heap o' work in ye', old chuck; had a master whatdidn't understand bringing on't out, though!" mutters M'Fadden, ashe introduces Harry to the negro car, at the same time casting alook of satisfaction at the brakeman standing at his left hand readyto receive the freight. 

In the car-a dungeon-like box about ten feet square, the onlyaperture for admitting light being a lattice of about eight inchessquare, in the door-are three rough negro men and one woman, thelatter apparently about twenty years of age. 

"Got a tall chap here, boys! Make ye stand round some, in pickin'time; and can preach, too. " M'Fadden shakes his head exultingly!"Can put in the big licks preachin'; and I'ze goin' t' let 'im, oncein a while. Goin' t' have good times on my place, boys--ha'h! Got ajug of whiskey to have a fandango when ye gits home. Got itsomewhere, I knows. " Mr. M'Fadden exults over the happy times hisboys have at home. He shakes himself all over, like a polar bearjust out of the water, and laughs heartily. He has delivered himselfof something that makes everybody else laugh; the mania has caughtupon his own subtle self. The negroes laugh in expressivecadences, and shrug their shoulders as Mr. M'Fadden continues toaddress them so sportively, so familiarly. Less initiated personsmight have formed very satisfactory opinions of his character. Hetakes a peep under one of the seats, and with a rhapsody of laughterdraws forth a small jug. "You can't come the smuggle over me, boys!I knew ye had a shot somewhere, " he exclaims. At his bidding, thewoman hands him a gourd, from which he very deliberately helpshimself to a stout draught. 

"Sit down here!-Isaac, Abraham, Daniel, or whatever yer name is-Mr. M'Fadden addresses himself to his preacher. Ye'll get yer share on'twhen ye gits to my place. " He sets the jug down, and passes thegourd back, saying: "What a saucy hussy ye are!" slapping thewoman's black shoulder playfully. "Give him some-won't ye', boys?"he concludes. 

Mr. M'Fadden (the cars are not yet ready to start, but the dep“t isthronging with travellers, and the engine is puffing and snorting, as the driver holds his hand on the throttle, and the stoker cramswith pitch pine knots the iron steed of fiery swiftness) will stepout and take the comfort of his cigar. He pats his preacher on theshoulder, takes off his shackles, rubs his head with his hand, tellsthe boys to keep an eye on him. "Yes, mas'r, " they answer, in tonesof happy ignorance. The preacher must be jolly, keep on a brightface, never mind the old gal and her young 'uns, and remember what achance he will have to get another. He can have two or more, if hepleases; so says his very generous owner. 

Mr. M'Fadden shakes hands with his friends on the platform, smokeshis cigar leisurely, mingles with the crowd importantly, thinkingthe while what an unalloyed paragon of amiability he is. Presentlythe time-bell strikes its warning; the crowd of passengers rush forthe cars; the whistle shrieks; the exhaust gives forth its gruffsnorts, the connections clank, a jerk is felt, and onwardbounds-mighty in power, but controlled by a finger's slightesttouch-the iron steed, dragging its curious train of livingmerchandise. 

M'Fadden again finds his way to the negroes' car, where, sittingdown in front of his property, he will take a bird's-eye view of it. It is very fascinating to a man who loves the quality of sucharticles as preachers. He will draw his seat somewhat closer to theminister; his heart bounds with joy at the prime appearance of hispurchase. Reaching out his hand, he takes the cap from Harry's head, throws it into the woman's lap; again rubs his hair into a friz. Thus relieved of his pleasing emotions, he will pass into one of thefashionable cars, and take his place among the aristocrats. 

"Boss mighty funny when 'e come t' town, and git just so 'e don'tsee straight: wish 'e so good wen 'e out da'h on de plantationyander, " ejaculates one of the negroes, who answers to the name-Joe!Joe seems to have charge of the rest; but he watches M'Fadden'sdeparture with a look of sullen hatred. 

"Hard old Boss on time-an't he, boys?" enquires Harry, as anintroduction to the conversation. 

"Won't take ye long t' find 'um out, I reckon! Git nigger on deplantation 'e don't spa' him, nohow, " rejoins another. 

"Lor', man, if ye ain't tough ye'll git used up in no time, widhim!" the woman speaks up, sharply. Then, pulling her ragged skirtsaround her, she casts a sympathising look at Harry, and, raising herhand in a threatening attitude, and shaking it spitefully in thedirection M'Fadden has gone, says:--"If only had dat man, old Boss, where 'um could revenge 'um, how a' would make 'um suffer! He don'treat 'e nigger like 'e do 'e dog. If 'twarn't fo'h Buckra I'd cut'e troat, sartin. " This ominous expression, delivered with suchemphasis, satisfies Harry that he has got into the hands of a mastervery unlike the kind and careless Marston. 

Onward the cars speed, with clanking music making din as they go. One of the negroes will add something to change the monotony. Fumbling beneath the seats for some minutes, he draws forth a littlebag, carefully unties it, and presents his favourite violin. Itsappearance gladdens the hearts of his comrades, who welcome it withsmiling faces and loud applause. The instrument is of the mostantique and original description. It has only two strings; but Simonthinks wonders of it, and would not swap it for a world of modernfiddles, what don't touch the heart with their music. He can bringout tremendous wailings with these two strings; such as will set thewhole plantation dancing. He puts it through the process of tuning, adding all the scientific motions and twists of an Italianfirst-fiddling artiste. Simon will moisten its ears by spitting onthem, which he does, turning and twisting himself into the attitudesof a pompous maestro. But now he has got it in what he considers thevery nick of tune; it makes his face glow with satisfaction. "Jest-lef'-'um cum, Simon;--big and strong!" says Joe, beginning tokeep time by slapping his hands on his knees. And such a sawing, such a scraping, as he inflicts, never machine of its kind, ancientor modern, got before. Simon and his companions are in ecstasies;but such cross-grained, such painful jingling of sounds! Its charmis irresistible with the negro; he mustn't lose a note of the tune;every creak is exhausted in a break-down dance, which the motion ofthe "Jim Crow" car makes more grotesque by every now and thenjolting them into a huddle in one corner. 

Mr. M'Fadden has been told that his property are having a livelytime, and thinks he will leave his aristocratic friends, and go tosee it; here he is followed by several young gentlemen, anxious toenjoy the hilarity of the scene. 

"All my property, --right prime, isn't it?" says M'Fadden, exultingly, nudging one of the young men on the shoulder, as he, returning, enters the car. The gentleman nods assent, sits down, and coollylights his cigar. "Good thing to have a fiddler on a plantation! I'drather have it than a preacher; keeps the boys together, and makes'um a deal better contented, " he adds, beginning to exhale the fumesfrom his weed. 

"Yes!-and ye sees, fellers, how I'ze bought a parson, too. Can dothe thing up brown now, boys, I reckon, " remarks the happypolitician, slapping his professional gentleman on the knee, andlaughing right heartily. 

Turning to Harry with a firm look, he informs the gentlemen that"this critter's kind o got the sulks, a'cos Romescos-he hatesRomescos-has bought his wench and young 'uns. Take that out on him, at my place, " he adds. 

The dancing continues right merrily. One of the young gentlemenwould like to have the fiddler strike up "Down in Old Tennessee. "The tune is sounded forth with all that warmth of feeling the negroonly can add to the comical action of his body. 

"Clar' the way; let the boys have a good time, " says Mr. LawrenceM'Fadden, taking Harry by the arm and giving him a violent shake. Hecommands him to join in, and have a jolly good tune with the rest on'em. 

"Have no call for that, master. Let me act but the part of servantto you. "

"Do you mean to come nigger sulks over this child?" interruptsM'Fadden, impatiently, scowling his heavy eyebrows, and casting aferocious look at Harry. After ordering him to stow himself in acorner, he gets the others upon the floor, and compels them toshuffle what he calls a plantation "rip-her-up. " The effect of this, added to the singular positions into which they are frequentlythrown by the motion of the cars, affords infinite amusement. 

"You see, gentlemen, there's nothing like putting the springs oflife into property. Makes it worth fifty per cent. More; and thenye'll get the hard knocks out to a better profit. Old southernersspoil niggers, makin' so much on 'em; and soft-soapin' on 'em. Thatbit o' property's bin spiled just so-he points to Harry, crouched inthe corner-And the critter thinks he can preach! Take that out onhim with a round turn, when I git to my place, " he continues. 

Harry cares very little for M'Fadden's conversation; he sits asquietly and peaceably as if it had been addressed to some othernegro. M'Fadden, that he may not be found wanting in his efforts toamuse the young gentlemen, reaches out his hand to one of them, takes his cigar from a case, lights it, and proceeds to keep time bybeating his hands on his knees. 

The train is approaching the crossing where Mr. M'Fadden willdischarge his property, --his human merchandise, and proceed with itsome eleven miles on the high road. The noise created by theexuberance of feeling on the part of Mr. M'Fadden has attracted anumerous assemblage of passengers to the "Jim Crow" car. Theconductor views this as violating the rules of the corporation; hedemands it shall be stopped. All is quiet for a time; they reach the"crossing" about five o'clock P. M. , where, to Mr. LawrenceM'Fadden's great delight, he finds himself surrounded by apromiscuous assembly of sovereign citizens, met to partake of thehospitalities offered by the candidate for the Assembly, who, havingoffered himself, expects the distinguished honour of being elected. The assembled citizens will hear what the learned man's going totalk about when he gets into the Assembly. 

As Mr. M'Fadden is a great politician, and a greater democrat-wespeak according to the southern acceptation-his presence is welcomedwith an enthusiastic burst of applause. Shout after shout makes thevery welkin ring, as his numerous friends gather round him, smilesolicitously, shake him warmly by the hand, honour him as thepeasantry honour the Lord of the Manor. 

The crossing-one of those points so well known in the south-is aflat, wooded lawn, interspersed here and there with clumps of tallpine-trees. It is generally dignified with a grocery, a justice'soffice, and a tavern, where entertainment for man and beast mayalways be had. An immense deal of judicial and political business"is put through a process" at these strange places. The squire'slaw-book is the oracle; all settlements must be made by it; allimportant sayings drawn from it. The squire himself is scarcely lessan individual of mysterious importance; he draws settled facts fromhis copious volume, and thus saves himself the trouble of analysingthem. Open it where he will, the whys and wherefores for every caseare never wanting. 

Our present crossing is a place of much importance, being where thepolitical effervescence of the state often concentrates. It will notdo, however, to analyse that concentration, lest the fungi that giveit life and power may seem to conflict with the safety of law andorder. On other occasions it might be taken for a place of ruralquiet, instead of those indescribable gatherings of the rottenmembranes of a bad political power. 

Here the justice's office is attached to the grocery, a little shopin which all men may drink very deleterious liquor; and, in additionto the tavern, which is the chief building-a quadrangular structureraised a few feet from the ground on piles of the palmettotree-there is a small church, shingled and clapboarded, and having abelfry with lattice-work sides. An upper and lower veranda surroundthe tavern, affording gentlemen an opportunity to enjoy the shade. 

Several of Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden's friends meet him at the station, and, as he receives his property, assist him in securing it withirons preparatory to lodging it in a place of safe keeping. 

"Goin' t' make this chap a deacon on my place; can preach likesixty. It'll save the trouble sendin' north for such trash as theysend us. Can make this feller truer on southern principles, " saysM'Fadden, exultingly, addressing himself to his companions, lookingHarry smilingly in the face, and patting him on the shoulder. Thegentlemen view Harry with particular admiration, and remark upon hisfine points with the usual satisfaction of connoisseurs. Mr. M'Fadden will secure his preacher, in iron fellowship, to the lefthand of the woman slave. 

"All right!" he says, as the irons are locked, and he marches hisproperty up to the tavern, where he meets mine host-a short, fatman, with a very red and good-natured face, who always dresses inbrown clothes, smiles, and has an extra laugh for 'lection days-whostands his consequential proportions in the entrance to the lowerveranda, and is receiving his customers with the blandest smiles. "Ithinks a right smart heap on ye, or I would'nt a' 'gin ye that galfor a mate, " continues M'Fadden, walking along, looking at Harryearnestly, and, with an air of self-congratulation, ejecting aquantity of tobacco-juice from his capacious mouth. "Mr. M'Fadden isvery, very welcome;" so says mine host, who would have him take asocial glass with his own dear self. 

Mr. M'Fadden must be excused until he has seen the place in which todeposit his preacher and other property. 

"Ah, ha!"-mine host cants his ear, enquiringly;--"want grits for 'em, I s'pose?" he returns, and his round fat face glows withsatisfaction. "Can suit you to a shavin'. "

"That's right, Colonel; I know'd ye could, " ejaculates the other. Mine host is much elated at hearing his title appended. ColonelFrank Jones-such is mine host's name--never fought but one duel, andthat was the time when, being a delegate to the southern blowing-upconvention, lately holden in the secession city of Charleston, heentered his name on the register of the Charleston Hotel--"ColonelFrank Jones, Esq. , of the South Carolina Dragoons;" beneath which animpertinent wag scrawled-"Corporal James Henry Williamson M'DonalCudgo, Esq. Of the same regiment. " Colonel Frank Jones, Esq. Tookthis very gross insult in the highest kind of dudgeon, and forthwithchallenged the impertinent wag to settle the matter as becamegentlemen. The duel, however, ended quite as harmlessly as theblowing-up convention of which Mr. Colonel Frank Jones was adelegate, the seconds-thoughtless wretches-having forgot to putbullets in the weapons. 

Our readers must excuse us for digressing a little. Mine host rubshis hands, draws his mouth into a dozen different puckers, and thencries out at the top of his voice, "Ho, boys, ho!"

Three or four half-clad negroes come scampering into the room, readyto answer the summons. "Take charge o' this property o' my friend'shere. Get 'em a good tuck out o' grits. "

"Can grind 'em themselves, " interrupts M'Fadden, quickly. "About theprice, Colonel?"

"That's all straight, " spreading his hands with an accompanying nodof satisfaction: "'commodate ye with a first-rate lock-up and thegrits at seven-pence a day. "

"No objection. " Mr. M'Fadden is entirely satisfied. The waiters takethe gentleman's property in charge, and conduct it to a smallbuilding, an appropriate habitation of hens and pigs. It was oflogs, rough hewn, without chinking; without floor to keep Mr. M'Fadden's property from the ground, damp and cold. Unsuited as itis to the reception of human beings, many planters of great opulencehave none better for their plantation people. It is about ten feethigh, seven broad, and eleven long. 

"Have a dandy time on't in here to-night, " says Mr. M'Fadden, addressing himself to Harry, as one of the waiters unlocks the doorand ushers the human property into its dreary abode. Mr. M'Faddenwill step inside, to take a bird's-eye view of the security of theplace. He entertains some doubts about the faith of his preacher, however, and has half an inclination to turn round as he is aboutmaking his exit. He will. Approaches Harry a second time; he feelshis pockets carefully, and suggests that he has some mischievousweapon of liberty stowed away somewhere. He presses and presses hishands to his skirts and bosom. And now he knew he was not mistaken, for he feels something solid in the bosom of his shirt, which is nothis heart, although that thing makes a deuce of a fluttering. Mr. M'Fadden's anxiety increases as he squeezes his hands over itsshapes, and watches the changes of Harry's countenance. "Book, ha'h!" he exclaims, drawing the osnaburg tight over the square withhis left hand, while, with his right, he suddenly grasps Harryfirmly by the hair of the head, as if he has discovered an infernalmachine. "Book, ha'h!"

"Pull it out, old buck. That's the worst o' learned niggers; putsthe very seven devils in their black heads, and makes 'em carrytheir conceit right into nigger stubbornness, so ye have t' bring itout by lashin' and botherin'. Can't stand such nigger nonsensenohow. "

Harry has borne all very peaceably; but there is a time when eventhe worm will turn. He draws forth the book, --it is the Bible, hishope and comforter; he has treasured it near his heart-that heartthat beats loudly against the rocks of oppression. "What man can hebe who feareth the word of God, and says he is of his chosen?Master, that's my Bible: can it do evil against righteousness? It isthe light my burdened spirit loves, my guide--"

"Your spirit?" inquires M'Fadden, sullenly, interrupting Harry. "Ablack spirit, ye' mean, ye' nigger of a preacher. I didn't buy that, nor don't want it. 'Taint worth seven coppers in picking time. But Itell ye, cuff, wouldn't mind lettin' on ye preach, if a feller canmake a spec good profit on't. " The gentleman concludes, contractinghis eyebrows, and scowling at his property forbiddingly. 

"You'll let me have it again when I gets on the plantation, won'tye, master?" inquires Harry, calmly. 

"Let you have it on the plantation?"-Mr. M'Fadden gives his preachera piercingly fierce look-"that's just where ye won't have 't. Haveany kind o' song-book ye' wants; only larn 'em to other niggers, sothey can put in the chorus once in a while. Now, old buck (I'm a mano' genius, ye know), when niggers get larnin' the Bible out o' ther'own heads, 't makes 'em sassy'r than ther's any calculatin' on. Itjust puts the very d-l into property. Why, deacon, " he addresseshimself to Harry with more complacency, "my old father-he was asgood a father as ever came from Dublin-said it was just the spilin'on his children to larn 'em to read. See me, now! what larnin' I'zegot; got it all don't know how: cum as nat'ral as daylight. I've gotthe allfired'st sense ye ever did see; and it's common sense whatmakes money. Yer don't think a feller what's got sense like me wouldbother his head with larnin' in this ar' down south?" Mr. M'Faddenexhibits great confidence in himself, and seems quite playful withhis preacher, whom he pats on the shoulder and shakes by the hand. "I never read three chapters in that ar' book in my wholelife-wouldn't neither. Really, deacon, two-thirds of the people ofour State can't read a word out o' that book. As for larnin', I justput me mind on the thing, and got the meanin' out on't sudden. "

Mr. M'Fadden's soothing consolation, that, as he has become such awonderful specimen of mankind without learning, Harry must be a verydangerous implement of progress if allowed to go about theplantation with a Bible in his pocket, seems strange in this ourChristian land. "Can fiddle just as much as yer mind t', " concludesMr. Lawrence M'Fadden, as he again shakes the hand of his preacher, and proceeds to mingle with the political gathering, the Bible inhis pocket. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

HOW WE MANUFACTURE POLITICAL FAITH. 

MR. M'FADDEN enters the tavern, which presents one of thosegrotesque scenes so peculiarly southern, almost impossible for thereader to imagine, and scarcely less for pen to describe. In andaround the verandas are numerous armchairs, occupied by thefashionable portion of the political material, who, dressed inextreme profuseness, are displaying their extraordinary distinctionsin jewellery of heavy seals and long dangling chains. Some are youngmen who have enjoyed the advantage of a liberal education, whichthey now turn into the more genial duty of ornamenting themselves. They have spent much time and many valuable cosmetics on theirheads, all of which is very satisfactorily repaid by the smoothnessof their hair. Their pleasure never penetrated beyond this; they askno more. 

They ask but little of the world, and are discussing theall-important question, whether Colonel Mophany or General Vandartwill get the more votes at the polls. So they smoke and harangue, and drink and swear, and with inimitable provincialisms fill up theclattering music. There is a fascinating piquancy in the strangeslang and conversational intermixture. It is a great day at thecrossing; the political sediment has reduced all men to one grade, one harmonious whole, niggers excepted. Spirits that cannot flow oneway must flow another. 

In an adjoining room sit the two candidates-gentlemen of highdistinction-for the votes of the sovereign people. Through thosesovereign rights they will satisfy their yearning desire to reachthe very high position of member of the general assembly. Anxiety ispictured on their very countenances; it is the fruit of care whenmen travel the road to distinction without finding it. They are welldressed, and would be modest, if modesty were worth its having insuch an atmosphere. Indeed, they might have been taken for men withother motives than those of gaining office by wallowing in apolitical quagmire reeking with democratic filth. Courteous to eachother, they sit at a large table containing long slips of paper, each candidate's sentiments printed thereon. As each voter--goodfellow that he is--enters the room, one or the other candidatereaches out his hand to welcome him, and, as a sequel, hands him hisslip, making the politest bow. Much is said about the prospects ofthe South, and much more that is very acceptable to those about todo the drinking part of the scene. 

Both candidates are very ambitious men; both profess to be thepeople's champion-the sovereign people-the dear people-thenoble-hearted people-the iron-handed, unbribable, unterrifieddemocracy-the people from whom all power springs. Thenever-flinching, unterrified, irresistible democracy are smotheredwith encomiums of praise, sounding from all parts of the room. Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden is ushered into the room to the great joy of hisfriends: being a very great man among the loyal voters, hisappearance produces great excitement. 

Several friends of the candidates, working for their favourites, aremaking themselves very humble in their behalf. Although there islittle care for maintaining any fundamental principle of governmentthat does not serve his own pocket, Mr. M'Fadden can and willcontrol a large number of votes, do a deal of knocking down at thepolls, and bring up first-rate fighting men to do the keeping awaythe opposite's constituents. Thus our man, who has lately beenbought as preacher, is most useful in this our little democraticworld. 

Some two or three hundred persons have collected near a clump oftrees on the lawn, and are divided into knots intermixed withruffian-looking desperadoes, dressed most coarsely andfantastically. They are pitting their men, after the fashion of goodhorses; then they boldly draw forth and expose the minordelinquencies of opposing candidates. Among them are the "Saw-piters, " who affect an air of dignity, and scout the planter's offerof work so long as a herring runs the river; the "piny woods-man, "of great independence while rabbits are found in the woods, and hecan wander over the barren unrestrained; and the "Wire-Grass-Men;"and the Crackers, Singular species of gypsies, found throughout the State. Who liveanywhere and everywhere, and whom the government delights to keepin ignorance, while declaring it much better they were enslaved. TheState possesses many thousands of these people; but few of them canread, while never having written a stroke in their lives is a boast. Continually armed with double-barrel guns, to hunt the panting buckis one of their sports; to torture a runaway negro is another; tomake free with a planter's corn field is the very best. The readermay imagine this picture of lean, craven faces-unshaven and madefiercely repulsive by their small, treacherous eyes, if he can. Itcan only be seen in these our happy slave states of our happy Union. 

The time draws near when the candidates will come forward, addressthe sovereign constituency, and declare their free and openprinciples-their love of liberal governments, and their undyingaffection for the great truths of democracy. The scene, as the timeapproaches, becomes more and more animated. All are armed to theteeth, with the symbol of honour--something so called--beneath theircoarse doublets, or in the waistbands of their pantaloons. The groupevinces so much excitement that belligerents are well nigh coming toblows; in fact, peace is only preserved by the timely appearance ofthe landlord, who proclaims that unless order be preserved untilafter the candidates have addressed them, the next barrel of whiskeywill positively "not be tapped. " He could not use a more effectualargument. Mr. M'Fadden, who exercises great authority over theminions under him, at this announcement mounts the top of an emptywhiskey barrel, and declares he will whip the "whole crowd, " if theydo not cease to wage their political arguments. 

While the above cursory remarks and party sparrings are going on, some forty negroes are seen busily employed preparing theindispensable adjuncts of the occasion-the meats. Here, beneath theclump of trees, a few yards from the grocery and justices' office, the candidates' tables are being spread with cold meats, crackers, bread and cheese, cigars, &c. , &c. As soon as the gentlemencandidates have delivered themselves of their sentiments, twobarrels of real "straight-back" whiskey will be added. 

"This is the way we puts our candidate through, down south, ye see, fellers, voters: it's we what's the bone and siners o' the rights o'the south. It's we what's got t' take the slow-coach politics out o'the hands o' them ar' old harristocrats what don't think them ar'northern abolitionists han't goin to do nothin. It's we, fellowcitizens, what puts southern-rights principles clean through; it'swe what puts them ar' old Union haristocrats, what spiles all thenigger property, into the straight up way o' doing things! Now, feller voters, free and independent citizens-freemen who have foughtfor freedom, --you, whose old, grey-headed fathers died for freedom!it takes you t' know what sort a thing freedom is; and how to enjoyit so niggers can't take it away from you! I'ze lived north way, know how it is! Yer jist the chaps to put niggers straight, --to votefor my man, Colonel Mohpany, " Mr. M'Fadden cries out at the very topof his voice, as he comes rushing out of the tavern, edging his waythrough the crowd, followed by the two candidates. The gentlemenlook anxiously good-natured; they walk together to the rostrum, followed by a crowd, measuring their way to the assembly through thedarling affections of our free and independent voters. Gossamercitizenship, this!

As they reach the rostrum, a carriage is seen in the distance, approaching in great haste. All attention being directed to it, thefirst candidate, Colonel Mohpany, mounts the stump, places his righthand in his bosom, and pauses as if to learn who it brings. To thehappy consolation of Mr. M'Fadden and his friends, it bears Mr. Scranton the philosopher. Poor Mr. Scranton looks quite worn outwith anxiety; he has come all the way from the city, prepared withthe very best kind of a southern-rights speech, to relieve hisfriend, General Vardant, who is not accustomed to publicdeclamation. The General is a cunning fellow, fears the stumpaccomplishments of his antagonist, and has secured the valuableservices of philosopher Scranton. Mr. S. Will tell the constituency, in very logical phraseology, --making the language suit the sentimentsof his friends, --what principles must be maintained; how the Generaldepends upon the soundness of their judgment to sustain him; howthey are the bone and sinews of the great political power of theSouth; how their hard, uncontrastable appearance, and their garmentsof similar primitiveness, are emblematic of the iron firmness oftheir democracy. Mr. Scranton will further assure them that theirdemocracy is founded on that very accommodating sort of freedomwhich will be sure to keep all persons of doubtful colour inslavery. 

Mr. Scranton arrives, receives the congratulations of his friends, gets the negroes to brush him down, --for it is difficult todistinguish him from a pillar of dust, save that we have his modesteyes for assurances-takes a few glasses of moderate mixture, andcoolly collects his ideas. The mixture will bring out Mr. Scranton'sphilosophical facts: and, now that he has got his face and beardcleanly washed, he will proceed to the stand. Here he is receivedwith loud cheering; the gentleman is a great man, all the way fromthe city. Sitting on a chair he is sorry was made at the north, heexhibits a deal of method in taking from his pocket a long cedarpencil, with which he will make notes of all Colonel Mohpany's loosepoints. 

The reader, we feel assured, will excuse us for not followingColonel Mohpany through his speech, so laudatory of the patriotismof his friends, so much interrupted by applause. The warm manner inwhich his conclusion is received assures him that he now is the mostpopular man in the State. Mr. Scranton, armed with his usuallymelancholy countenance, rises to the stump, makes his modestlypolitical bow, offers many impressive apologies for the unpreparedstate in which he finds himself, informs his hearers that he appearsbefore them only as a substitute for his very intimate andparticular friend, General Vardant. He, too, has a wonderfulprolixity of compliments to bestow upon the free, the patriotic, theindependent voters of the very independent district. He tries to befacetious; but his temperament will not admit of anyinconsistencies, not even in a political contest. No! he must beserious; because the election of a candidate to so high an office isa serious affair. So he will tell the "Saw-pit men" a great dealabout their noble sires; how they lived and died for liberty; howthe tombstones of immortality are emblazoned with the fame of theirglorious deeds. And he will tell these glorious squatters whatinalienable rights they possess; how they must be maintained; andhow they have always been first to maintain the principle of keeping"niggers" in their places, and resisting those mischievouspropagators of northern villainy-abolitionists. He will tell thedeep-thinking saw-pit voters how it has been charged against themthat they were only independent once a year, and that was whenherrings run up the Santee river. Such a gross slander Mr. Scrantondeclares to be the most impious. They were always independent; and, if they were poor, and preferred to habit themselves in primitivegarbs, it was only because they preferred to be honest! This, Mr. Scranton, the northern philosopher, asserts with great emphasis. Yes! they are honest; and honest patriots are always better thanrich traitors. From the san-pit men, Mr. Scranton, his facedistended with eloquence, turns to his cracker and "wire-grass"friends, upon whom he bestows most piercing compliments. Their leanmules-the speaker laughs at his own wit-and pioneer waggons alwaysremind him of the good old times, when he was a boy, and everybodywas so honest it was unnecessary even to have such useless finery aspeople put on at the present day. A word or two, very derogatory ofthe anti-slavery people, is received with deafening applause. Of thedescendants of the Huguenots he says but little; they are few, rich, and very unpopular in this part of the little sovereign state. Andhe quite forgot to tell this unlettered mass of a sovereignconstituency the true cause of their poverty and degradation. Mr. Scranton, however, in one particular point, which is a vital one tothe slave-ocracy, differs with the ungovernable Romescos, --he wouldnot burn all common schools, nor scout all such trash asschoolmasters. 

In another part of Mr. Scranton's speech he enjoins them to bestaunch supporters of men known to be firm to the south, and whowould blow up every yankee who came south, and refused to declarehis sentiments to be for concession. "You!"-he points round him tothe grotesque crowd-"were first to take a stand and keep niggersdown; to keep them where they can't turn round and enslave you!Great Britain, fell ercitizens, "-Mr. Scranton begins to wax warm; headjusts his coat sleeves, and draws himself into a tragic attitudeas he takes his tobacco from his mouth, seemingly unconscious of hisown enthusiasm-I say Great Britain-" A sudden interruption iscaused. Mr. Scranton's muddled quid, thrown with such violence, hasbedaubed the cheek of an admiring saw-pitter, whose mind wascompletely absorbed in his eloquence. He was listening withbreathless suspense, and only saved its admission in his capaciousmouth by closing it a few seconds before. 

"Sarved him just right; keep on, Colonel!" exclaims Mr. M'Fadden. Hetakes the man by the arm, pushes him aside, and makes a slight bowto Mr. Scranton. He would have him go on. 

"Great Britain-feller citizens, I say-was first to commence thewarfare against nigger slavery; and now she is joining the north toseek its permanent overthrow. She is a monster tyrant wherever shesets her foot-I say! (Three cheers for that. ) She contributed tofasten the curse upon us; and now she wants to destroy us by takingit away according to the measures of the northernabolitionists-fanaticism! Whatever the old school southernerneglects to do for the preservation of the peculiar institution, wemust do for him! And we, who have lived at the north, can, with yourindependent support, put the whole thing through a course ofpolitical crooks. " Again Mr. Scranton pauses; surveys his assemblyof free and independent citizens. 

"That we can: I knows what fanatics down east be!" rejoins Mr. M'Fadden, shaking his head very knowingly. He laughs with an air ofgreat satisfaction, as much as to say that, with such northernphilosophers to do the championism of slavery in the south, all thecommercial relations for which northern merchants are under so manyobligations to slave-labour, will be perfectly safe. But Mr. Scranton has drawn out his speech to such an uncommon length, thatthe loquacious M'Fadden is becoming decidedly wearied. His eyesbegin to glow languid, and the lids to close, --and now he nods assentto all Mr. Scranton's sayings, which singularly attracts theattention of that orator's hearers. The orator becomes very muchannoyed at this, suddenly stops-begs Mr. M'Fadden will postpone hisrepose. This, from so great a man as Mr. Scranton, is accepted asprovokingly witty. Mr. M'Fadden laughs; and they all laugh. Thegentleman will continue his speech. 

"The South must come out; must establish free trade, directtrade, --trade that will free her from her disreputable associationwith the North. She can do it!" Mr. Scranton wipes his forehead withhis white pocket-handkerchief. 

"Ain't we deeply indebted to the North?" a voice in the crowd criesout. 

"Well! what if we are? Can't we offset the debts on the principlesof war? Let it go against the injury of abolition excitements!" Mr. Scranton makes a theatrical flourish with his right hand, and runsthe fingers of his left through his crispy hair, setting it on endlike quills on a porcupine's back. Three long and loud cheersfollow, and the gentleman is involuntarily compelled to laugh at hisown singular sayings. "The South must hold conventions; she mustenforce constitutional guarantees; she must plant herself in thefederal capital, and plead her cause at the bar of the world. Shewill get a hearing there! And she must supplant that dangerousengine of abolition, now waging war against our property, ourrights, our social system. " Thus concluding, Mr. Scranton sits down, very much fatigued from his mental effervescence, yet much lighterfrom having relieved himself of his speech, amidst a storm ofapplause. Such a throwing up of hats and slouches, such jostling, abetting, and haranguing upon the merits of the candidates, theirspeeches and their sentiments, never was heard or seen before. 

Mine host now mounts the stand to make the welcome announcement, that, the speeches being over, the eating entertainments are ready. He hopes the friends of the candidates will repair to the tables, and help themselves without stint or restraint. As they are on thepoint of rushing upon the tables, Colonel Mohpany suddenly jumps up, and arrests the progress of the group by intimating that he has oneword more to say. That word is, his desire to inform the bone andsinew of the constituency that his opponent belongs to a party whichonce declared in the Assembly that they-the very men who standbefore him now-were a dangerous class unless reduced to slavery! TheColonel has scarcely delivered himself of this very clever charge, when the tables, a few yards distant, are surrounded by promiscuousfriends and foes, who help themselves after the fashion mostadvantageous. All rules of etiquette are unceremoniously dispensedwith, --he who can secure most is the best diplomatist. Many findtheir mouths so inadequate to the temptation of the feast, that theyimprove on Mr. Scranton's philosophy by making good use of theirample pockets. Believe us, reader, the entertainment is theessential part of the candidate's political virtue, which must bemeasured according to the extent of his cold meats and very badwhiskey. 

To carry out the strength of General Vardant's principles, severalof his opponent's friends are busily employed in circulating areport that his barrel of whiskey has been "brought on" only halffull. A grosser slander could not have been invented. But the reportgains circulation so fast, that his meats and drinks aremischievously absorbed, and the demonstration of his unpopularposition begins to be manifest. The candidates, unflinching in theirefforts, mix with the medley, have the benefit of the full exerciseof free thought and action, hear various opinions upon "the Squire'schances, " and listen to the chiming of high-sounding compliments. While this clanging of merry jargon is at its highest, as if by somemagic influence Romescos makes his appearance, and immediatelycommences to pit sides with Mr. M'Fadden. With all Romescos'outlawry, he is tenacious of his southern origin; and he will assertits rights against Mr. M'Fadden, whom he declares to be no betterthan a northern humbug, taking advantage of southern institutions. To him all northerners are great vagabonds, having neitherprinciples nor humanity in their composition; he makes the assertionemphatically, without fear or trembling; and he calls upon hisfriends to sustain him, that he may maintain the rights of theSouth. Those rights Romescos asserts, and re-asserts, can only bepreserved by southern men-not by sneaking northerners, who, withtheir trade, pocket their souls. Northerners are great men forwhitewashing their faces with pretence! Romescos is received withconsiderable ‚clat. He declares, independently, that Mr. Scrantontoo is no less a sheer humbug of the same stripe, and whosehumbugging propensities make him the humble servant of the south solong as he can make a dollar by the bemeaning operation. His fulland unmeasured appreciation of all this northern-southernindependence is here given to the world for the world's good. And hewants the world to particularly understand, that the old southerneris the only independent man, the only true protector of humanity!

Romescos' sudden appearance, and the bold stand he takes against Mr. M'Fadden and his candidate, produce the utmost confusion; he beingunpopular with the saw-pit men, with whom he once exhibitedconsiderable dexterity in carrying off one of their number andputting the seal of slavery on him, they take sides against him. Itis the Saw-pitters against Romescos and the Crackers. The spiritshave flowed, and now the gods of our political power sway to and frounder most violent shocks. Many, being unable to keep aperpendicular, are accusing each other of all sorts of misdeeds-ofthe misdeeds of their ancestors-of the specific crimes theycommitted-the punishments they suffered. From personalities of theirown time they descend forth into jeering each other on matters offamily frailty, setting what their just deserts would have entitledthem to receive. They continue in this strain of jargon for sometime, until at length it becomes evident the storm of war is fastapproaching a crisis. Mr. M'Fadden is mentally unprepared to meetthis crisis, which Romescos will make to suit himself; and to thisend the comical and somewhat tragical finale seems pretty wellunderstood by the candidates and a few of the "swell-ocracy, " whohave assembled more to see the grand representation of physicalpower on the part of these free and enlightened citizens, than topartake of the feast or listen to the rhetoric of the speeches. Inorder to get a good view of the scene they have ascended trees, where, perched among their branches like so many jackals, they cheerand urge on the sport, as the nobility of Spain applaud a favouritechampion of the ring. At length the opposing parties doff their hatsand coats, draw knives, make threatening grimaces, and twirl theirsteel in the air: their desperation is earnest; they make an onset, charging with the bravado of men determined to sacrifice life. Thevery air resounds with their shouts of blasphemy; blood flows fromdeep incisions of bowie-knives, garments are rent into shreds; andmen seem to have betaken themselves to personating the demons. 

Would that they were rational beings! would that they were mencapable of constituting a power to protect the liberty of principleand the justice of law! Shout after shout goes up; tumult istriumphant. Two fatal rencontres are announced, and Mr. LawrenceM'Fadden is dangerously wounded; he has a cut in the abdomen. Thepoor victims attract but little attention; such little triflingaffairs are very common, scarcely worth a word of commiseration. Onegentleman insinuates that the affair has been a desperately amusingone; another very coolly adds, that this political feed has had muchmore interest in it than any preceding one. 

The victims are rolled in blankets, and laid away in the corn-shed;they will await the arrival of the coroner, who, the landlord says, it will be no more than right to send for. They are only two deadCrackers, however, and nobody doubts what the verdict will be. Intruth-and it must be told once in a while, even in ouratmosphere-the only loss is the two votes, which the candidate hadalready secured with his meat and drink, and which have now, heregrets, been returned to the box of death instead of his ballot. Poor voters, now only fit to serve the vilest purpose! how degradedin the scale of human nature is the being, only worth a suffrance atelections, where votes cast from impulse control the balance ofpower. Such beings are worth just nothing; they would not sell inthe market. The negro waiters say, "It don't make a bit of matterhow much white rubbish like this is killed, it won't fetch a bid inthe market; and when you sell it, it won't stay sold. "

"Lose I dat way, Cato, might jist as well take tousand dollarstraight out o' mas'r's pocket; but dese critters b'nt notin'nohow, " says old Daniel, one of the servants, who knows the value ofhis own body quite well. Daniel exults as he looks upon the deadbodies he is assisting to deposit in the corn-shed. 

Mr. M'Fadden is carefully borne into the tavern, where, after muchdifficulty, he is got up stairs and laid on a very nice bed, spreadwith snowy white linen. A physician is called, and his wound dressedwith all possible skill and attention. He is in great pain, however;begs his friends to bestow all care upon him, and save no expense. 

Thus ends our political day. The process of making power to shapethe social and political weal of our State, closes. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

MR. M'FADDEN SEES SHADOWS IN THE FUTURE. 

NIGHT has quickly drawn its curtain over the scene. Mr. M'Faddenlies on his bed, writhing under the pain of the poisoned wound. Heleft his preacher locked up for the night in a cold hovel, and hehas secured the dangerous Bible, lest it lessen his value. Mr. M'Fadden, however, feels that now his earthly career is fast closinghe must seek redemption. Hie has called in the aid of a physician, who tells him there is great danger, and little hope unless his casetakes a favourable turn about midnight. The professional gentlemanmerely suggests this, but the suggestion conveys an awful warning. All the misdeeds of the past cloud before his eyes; they summon himto make his peace with his Maker. He remembers what has been toldhim about the quality of mercy, --the duration of hope inredemption, --which he may secure by rendering justice to those he haswronged. But now conscience wars with him; he sees the fierceelements of retribution gathering their poisoned shafts about him;he quails lest their points pierce his heart; and he sees the God ofright arraigning him at the bar of justice. There, that Dispenser ofall Good sits in his glory and omnipotence, listening while theoppressed recites his sufferings: the oppressed there meets him faceto face, robed in that same garb of submission which he hasinflicted upon him on earth. His fevered brain gives out strangewarnings, --warnings in which he sees the angel of light unfolding thelong list of his injustice to his fellow man, and an angry Godpassing the awful sentence. Writhing, turning, and contorting hisface, his very soul burns with the agony of despair. He grasps thehand of his physician, who leans over his wounded body, and witheyes distorted and glassy, stares wildly and frantically round theroom. Again, as if suffering inward torture, he springs from hispillow, utters fierce imprecations against the visions that surroundhim, grasps at them with his out-stretched fingers, motions hishand backward and forward, and breaks out into violent paroxysms ofpassion, as if struggling in the unyielding grasp of death. 

That physical power which has so long borne him up in his dailypursuits yields to the wanderings of his haunted mind. He lays hishand upon the physician's shoulder as his struggles now subside, looks mournfully in his face, and rather mutters than speaks:"Bring-bring-bring him here: I'll see him, --I must see him! I-I-Itook away the book; there's what makes the sting worse! And when Iclose my eyes I see it burning fiercely-"

"Who shall I bring?" interrupts the physician, mildly, endeavouringto soothe his feelings by assuring him there is no danger, if hewill but remain calm. 

"Heaven is casting its thick vengeance round me; heaven is consumingme with the fire of my own heart! How can I be calm, and my pastlife vaulted with a glow of fire? The finger of Almighty God pointsto that deed I did today. I deprived a wretch of his only hope: thatwretch can forgive me before heaven. Y-e-s, he can, --can speak forme, --can intercede for me; he can sign my repentance, and save mefrom the just vengeance of heaven. His-his-his-"

"What?" the physician whispers, putting his ear to his mouth. "Becalm. "

"Calm!" he mutters in return. 

"Neither fear death nor be frightened at its shadows-"

"It's life, life, life I fear--not death!" he gurgles out. "Bring himto me; there is the Bible. Oh! how could I have robbed him of it!'Twas our folly--all folly--my folly!" Mr. M'Fadden had forgotten thatthe bustle of current life was no excuse for his folly; that itwould be summed up against him in the day of trouble. He never foronce thought that the Bible and its teachings were as dear to slaveas master, and that its truths were equally consoling in the hour ofdeath. In life it strengthens man's hopes; could it have been thuswith M'Fadden before death placed its troubled sea before his eyes, how happy he would have died in the Lord!

The emphatic language, uttered in such supplicating tones, and so atvariance with his habits of life, naturally excited the feelings ofhis physician, whose only solicitude had been evinced in his effortsto save life, --to heal the wound. Never had he watched at a patient'sbed-side who had exhibited such convulsions of passion, --such fearsof death. 

Now struggling against a storm of convulsions, then subsiding intosluggish writhings, accompanied with low moans, indicating moremental disquietude than bodily pain. Again he is quiet; points tohis coat. 

The physician brings it forward and lays it upon the bed, where Mr. M'Fadden can put his hand upon it. "It is there--in there!" he says, turning on his left side, and with a solicitous look pointing to thepockets of his coat. The professional gentleman does not understandhim. 

He half raises himself on his pillow, but sinks back fatigued, andfaintly whispers, "Oh, take it to him--to him! Give him thecomforter: bring him, poor fellow, to me, that his spirit may be mycomforter!"

The physician understands, puts his hand into the pocket; drawsforth the little boon companion. It is the Bible, book of books; itsgreat truths have borne Harry through many trials, --he hopes it willbe his shield and buckler to carry him through many more. Itsassociations are as dear to him as its teachings are consoling inthe days of tribulation. It is dear to him, because the promptingsof a noble-hearted woman secretly entrusted it to his care, inviolation of slavery's statutes. Its well-worn pages bear testimonyof the good service it has done. It was Franconia's gift-Franconia, whose tender emotions made her the friend of the slave-made in thekindness of woman's generous nature. The good example, whencontrasted with the fierce tenor of slavery's fears, is worthy manyfollowers. 

But men seldom profit by small examples, especially when great fearsare paramount. 

The physician, holding the good book in his hand, enquires if Mr. M'Fadden would have him read from it? He has no answer to make, turns his feverish face from it, closes his eyes, and compressinghis forehead with his hands, mutely shakes his head. A minute or twopasses in silence; he has re-considered the point, --answers, no! Hewants Harry brought to him, that he may acknowledge his crimes; thathe may quench the fire of unhappiness burning within him. "Howseldom we think of death while in life, --and how painful to see deathwhile gathering together the dross of this worldly chaos! Great, great, great is the reward of the good, and mighty is the hand ofOmnipotence that, holding the record of our sins, warns us toprepare. " As Mr. M'Fadden utters these words, a coloured womanenters the room to enquire if the patient wants nourishment. Shewill wait at the door. 

The physician looks at the patient; the patient shakes his head andwhispers, "Only the boy. The boy I bought to-day. " The Bible lays athis side on the sheet. He points to it, again whispering, "The boy Itook it from!"

The boy, the preacher, Mr. M'Fadden's purchase, can read; she willknow him by that; she must bring him from the shed, from his coldbed of earth. That crime of slavery man wastes his energies to makeright, is wrong in the sight of heaven; our patient reads theglaring testimony as the demons of his morbid fancy haunt him withtheir damning terrors, their ghastly visages. 

"Go, woman, bring him!" he whispers again. 

Almost motionless the woman stands. She has seen the little book-sheknows it, and her eyes wander over the inscription on the cover. Adeep blush shadows her countenance; she fixes her piercing blackeyes upon it until they seem melting into sadness; with a delicacyand reserve at variance with her menial condition, she approachesthe bed, lays her hand upon the book, and, while the physician'sattention is attracted in another direction, closes its pages, andis about to depart. 

"Can you tell which one he wants, girl?" enquires the physician, ina stern voice. 

"His name, I think, is Harry; and they say the poor thing canpreach; forgive me what I have done to him, oh Lord! It is theweakness of man grasping the things of this world, to leave behindfor the world's nothingness, " says Mr. M'Fadden, as the woman leavesthe room giving an affirmative reply. 

The presence of the Bible surprised the woman; she knew it as theone much used by Harry, on Marston's plantation. It was Franconia'sgift! The associations of the name touched the chord upon which hungthe happiest incidents of her life. Retracing her steps down thestairs, she seeks mine host of the tavern, makes known the demand, and receives the keys of this man-pen of our land of liberty. Lantern in hand, she soon reaches the door, unlocks it gently, as ifshe expects the approach of some strange object, and fears a suddensurprise. 

There the poor dejected wretches lay; nothing but earth's surfacefor a bed, --no blanket to cover them. They have eaten their measureof corn, and are sleeping; they sleep while chivalry revels! Harryhas drawn his hat partly over his face, and made a pillow of thelittle bundle he carried under his arm. 

Passing from one to the other, the woman approaches him, as if tosee if she can recognise any familiar feature. She stoops over him, passes the light along his body, from head to foot, and from foot tohead. "Can it be our Harry?" she mutters. "It can't be; masterwouldn't sell him. " Her eyes glare with anxiety as they wander upand down his sleeping figure. 

"Harry, --Harry, --Harry! which is Harry?" she demands. 

Scarcely has she lisped the words, when the sleeper starts to hisfeet, and sets his eyes on the woman with a stare of wonderment. Hismind wanders-bewildered; is he back on the old plantation? Thatcannot be; they would not thus provide for him there. "Back at theold home! Oh, how glad I am: yes, my home is there, with good oldmaster. My poor old woman; I've nothing for her, nothing, " he says, extending his hand to the woman, and again, as his mind regainsitself, their glances become mutual; the sympathy of two oldassociates gushes forth from the purest of fountains, --the oppressedheart. 

"Harry-oh, Harry! is it you?"

"Ellen! my good Ellen, my friend, and old master's friend!" is thesimultaneous salutation. 

"Sold you, too?" enquires Harry, embracing her with all the fervourof a father who has regained his long-lost child. She throws herarms about his neck, and clings to him, as he kisses, and kisses, and kisses her olive brow. 

"My sale, Harry, was of little consequence; but why did they sellyou? (Her emotions have swollen into tears). You must tell me all, to-night! You must tell me of my child, my Nicholas, --if mastercares for him, and how he looks, grows, and acts. Oh, how my heartbeats to have him at my side;--when, when will that day come! I wouldhave him with me, even if sold for the purpose. " Tears gush down hercheeks, as Harry, encircling her with his arm, whispers words ofconsolation in her ear. 

"If we were always for this world, Ellen, our lot could not beborne. But heaven has a recompense, which awaits us in the world tocome. Ellen!"-he holds her from him and looks intently in herface-"masters are not to blame for our sufferings, --the law is thesinner! Hope not, seek not for common justice, rights, privileges, or anything else while we are merchandise among men who, to pleasethemselves, gamble with our souls and bodies. Take away thatinjustice, Ellen, and men who now plead our unprofitableness wouldhide their heads with shame. Make us men, and we will plead our owncause; we will show to the world that we are men; black men, who canbe made men when they are not made merchandise. " Ellen must tell himwhat has brought her here, first! He notices sad changes in hercountenance, and feels anxious to listen to the recital of hertroubles. 

She cannot tell him now, and begs that he will not ask her, as therecollection of them fills her heart with sorrow. She discloses theobject of her mission, will guide him to his new master, who, theysay, is going to die, and feels very bad about it. He was adesperate man on his plantation, and has become the more contrite atdeath's call. "I hope God will forgive him!"

"He will!-He will! He is forgiving, " interrupts Harry, hurriedly. 

Ellen reconnoitres the wearied bodies of the others as they liearound. "Poor wretches! what can I do for them?" she says, holdingthe lamp over them. She can do but little for them, poor girl. Thewill is good, but the wherewith she hath not. Necessity is a hardmaster; none know it better than the slave woman. She will takeHarry by the hand, and, retracing her steps, usher him into thepresence of the wounded man. Pressing his hand as she opens thedoor, she bids him good night, and retires to her cabin. "PoorHarry!" she says, with a sigh. 

The kind woman is Ellen Juvarna. She has passed another eventfulstage of her eventful life. Mine host, good fellow, bought her ofMr. O'Brodereque, that's all!

CHAPTER XXV. 

HOW THEY STOLE THE PREACHER. 

THE scenes we have described in the foregoing chapter have not yetbeen brought to a close. In and about the tavern may be seen groupsof men, in the last stage of muddled mellowness, the rank fumes ofbad liquor making the very air morbid. Conclaves of grotesquefigures are seated in the veranda and drinking-room, breaking themidnight stillness with their stifled songs, their frenziedcongratulations, their political jargon; nothing of fatalconsequence would seem to have happened. 

"Did master send for me? You've risen from a rag shop, my man!"interrupts the physician. 

"Master there-sorry to see him sick-owns me. " Harry cast a subduedlook on the bed where lay his late purchaser. 

Harry's appearance is not the most prepossessing, --he might have beentaken for anything else but a minister of the gospel; though thequick eye of the southerner readily detected those frank and manlyfeatures which belong to a class of very dark men who exhibituncommon natural genius. 

At the sound of Harry's voice, M'Fadden makes an effort to raisehimself on his elbow. The loss of blood has so reduced his physicalpower that his effort is unsuccessful. He sinks back, prostrate, --requests the physician to assist him in turning over. Hewill face his preacher. Putting out his hand, he embraces himcordially, --motions him to be seated. 

The black preacher, that article of men merchandise, takes a seat atthe bed-side, while the man of medicine withdraws to the table. Thesummons is as acceptable to Harry as it is strange to the physician, who has never before witnessed so strange a scene of familiaritybetween slave and master. All is silent for several minutes. Harrylooks at his master, as if questioning the motive for which he issummoned into his presence; and still he can read the deep anxietyplaying upon M'Fadden's distorted countenance. At length, Harry, feeling that his presence may be intrusive, breaks the silence byenquiring if there is anything he can do for master. Mr. M'Faddenwhispers something, lays his trembling hand on Harry's, casts ameaning glance at the physician, and seems to swoon. Returning tohis bed-side, the physician lays his hand upon the sick man's brow;he will ascertain the state of his system. 

"Give-him-his-Bible, " mutters the wounded man, pointing languidly tothe table. "Give it to him that he may ask God's blessing for me-forme-for me, --"

The doctor obeys his commands, and the wretch, heart bounding withjoy, receives back his inspiring companion. It is dear to him, andwith a smile of gratitude invading his countenance he returnsthanks. There is pleasure in that little book. "And now, Harry, myboy, " says M'Fadden, raising his hand to Harry's shoulder, andlooking imploringly in his face as he regains strength; "forgivewhat I have done. I took from you that which was most dear to yourfeelings; I took it from you when the wounds of your heart weregushing with grief-" He makes an effort to say more, but his voicefails; he will wait a few moments. 

The kind words touch Harry's feelings; tears glistening in his eyestell how he struggles to suppress the emotions of his heart. "Didyou mean my wife and children, master?" he enquires. 

M'Fadden, somewhat regaining strength, replies in the affirmative. He acknowledges to have seen that the thing "warn't just right. " Hisimagination has been wandering through the regions of heaven, where, he is fully satisfied, there is no objection to a black face. Godhas made a great opening in his eyes and heart just now. He sees andbelieves such things as he neither saw nor believed before; theypass like clouds before his eyes, never, never to be erased from hismemory. Never before has he thought much about repentance; but nowthat he sees heaven on one side and hell on the other, all that onceseemed right in bartering and selling the bodies and souls of men, vanishes. There, high above all, is the vengeance of heaven writtenin letters of blood, execrating such acts, and pointing to theretribution. It is a burning consciousness of all the suffering hehas inflicted upon his negroes. Death, awful monitor! stares him inthe face; it holds the stern realities of truth and justice beforehim; it tells him of the wrong, --points him to the right. Theunbending mandates of slave law, giving to man power to debasehimself with crimes the judicious dare not punish, are beingconsumed before Omnipotence, the warning voice of which is callinghim to his last account. 

And now the wounded man is all condescension, hoping forgiveness!His spirit has yielded to Almighty power; he no longer craves forproperty in man; no, his coarse voice is subdued into softestaccents. He whispers "coloured man, " as if the merchandise changedas his thoughts are brought in contact with revelations of thefuture. 

"Take the Bible, my good boy-take it, read it to me, before I die. Read it, that it may convert my soul. If I have neglected myself onearth, forgive me; receive my repentance, and let me be saved frometernal misery. Read, my dear good boy, "-M'Fadden grasps his handtighter and tighter-"and let your voice be a warning to those whonever look beyond earth and earth's enjoyments. " The physicianthinks his patient will get along until morning, and givingdirections to the attendants, leaves him. 

Harry has recovered from the surprise which so sudden a change ofcircumstances produced, and has drawn from the patient the cause ofhis suffering. He opens the restored Bible, and reads from it, toMr. M'Fadden's satisfaction. He reads from Job; the words producinga deep effect upon the patient's mind. 

The wretched preacher, whose white soul is concealed beneath blackskin, has finished his reading. He will now address himself to hismaster, in the following simple manner. 

"Master, it is one thing to die, and another to die happy. It is onething to be prepared to die, another to forget that we have to die, to leave the world and its nothingness behind us. But you are notgoing to die, not now. Master, the Lord will forgive you if you, make your repentance durable. 'Tis only the fear of death that hasproduced the change on your mind. Do, master! learn the Lord; bejust to we poor creatures, for the Lord now tells you it is notright to buy and sell us. "

"Buy and sell you!" interrupts the frightened man, making an effortto rise from his pillow; "that I never will, man nor woman. If Godspares my life, my people shall be liberated; I feel different onthat subject, now! The difference between the commerce of this worldand the glory of heaven brightens before me. I was an ignorant manon all religious matters; I only wanted to be set right in the wayof the Lord, --that's all. " Again he draws his face under the sheet, writhing with the pain of his wound. 

"I wish everybody could see us as master does, about this time; forsurely God can touch the heart of the most hardened. But masterain't going to die so soon as he thinks, " mutters Harry, wiping thesweat from his face, as he lays his left hand softly upon master'sarm. "God guide us in all coming time, and make us forget theretribution that awaits our sins!" he concludes, with a smileglowing on his countenance. 

The half spoken words catch upon the patient's ear. He startssuddenly from his pillow, as if eager to receive some favourableintelligence. "Don't you think my case dangerous, my boy? Do youknow how deep is the wound?" he enquires, his glassy eyes staringintently at Harry. 

"It is all the same, master!" is the reply. 

"Give me your hand again"-M'Fadden grasps his hand and seems torevive-"pray for me now; your prayers will be received into heaven, they will serve me there!"

"Ah, master, " says Harry, kindly, interrupting him at this juncture, "I feel more than ever like a christian. It does my heart good tohear you talk so true, so kind. How different from yesterday! then Iwas a poor slave, forced from my children, with nobody to speak akind word for me; everybody to reckon me as a good piece of propertyonly. I forgive you, master-I forgive you; God is a loving God, andwill forgive you also. " The sick man is consoled; and, while hispreacher kneels at his bed-side, offering up a prayer imploringforgiveness, he listens to the words as they fall like cooling dropson his burning soul. The earnestness--the fervency and pathos of thewords, as they gush forth from the lips of a wretch, produce a stilldeeper effect upon the wounded man. Nay, there is even a chordloosened in his heart; he sobs audibly. "Live on earth so as to beprepared for heaven; that when death knocks at the door you mayreceive him as a welcome guest. But, master! you cannot meet ourFather in heaven while the sin of selling men clings to yourgarments. Let your hair grow grey with justice, and God will rewardyou, " he concludes. 

"True, Harry; true!"--he lays his hand on the black man's shoulder, isabout to rise--"it is the truth plainly told, and nothing more. " Hewill have a glass of water to quench his thirst; Harry must bring itto him, for there is consolation in his touch. Seized with anotherpain, he grasps with his left hand the arm of his consoler, workshis fingers through his matted hair, breathes violently, contortshis face haggardly, as if suffering acutely. Harry waits till thespasm has subsided, then calls an attendant to watch the patientwhile he goes to the well. This done he proceeds into the kitchen toenquire for a vessel. Having entered that department as the clockstrikes two, he finds Ellen busily engaged preparing food for Mr. M'Fadden's property, which is yet fast secured in the pen. Feelinghimself a little more at liberty to move about unrestrained, heprocures a vessel, fills it at the well, carries it to his master'sbed-side, sees him comfortably cared for, and returns to thekitchen, where he will assist Ellen in her mission of goodness. 

The little pen is situated a few yards from the tavern, on the edgeof a clump of tall pines. 

Ellen has got ready the corn and bacon, and with Harry she proceedsto the pen, where the property are still enjoying that inestimableboon, --a deep sleep. 

"Always sleeping, " he says, waking them one by one at theannouncement of corn and bacon. "Start up and get something good mygirl has prepared for you. " He shakes them, while Ellen holds thelantern. There is something piercing in the summons-meats are strongarguments with the slave-they start from their slumbers, seize uponthe food, and swallow it with great relish. Harry and Ellen standsmiling over the gusto with which they swallow their coarse meal. 

"You must be good boys to-night. Old master's sick; flat down on e'back, and 'spects he's going to die, he does. " Harry shakes his headas he tells it to the astonished merchandise. "Had a great time atthe crossing to-day; killed two or three certain, and almost putmaster on the plank. "

"'Twarn't no matter, nohow: nobody lose nofin if old Boss do die:nigger on e' plantation don' put e' hat in mournin', " mutters thenegro woman, with an air of hatred. She has eaten her share of themeal, shrugs her shoulders, and again stretches her valuable body onthe ground. 

"Uncle Sparton know'd old Boss warn't gwine t' be whar de debilcouldn't cotch 'em, so long as 'e tink. If dat old mas'r debil, whatwhite man talk 'bout so much, don' gib 'em big roasting win 'e git'e dah, better hab no place wid fireins fo' such folks, " speaks upold Uncle Sparton, one of the negroes, whose face shines like ablack-balled boot. 

"Neber mind dat, Uncle Sparton; 'taint what ye say 'bout he. Venmas'r debil cotch old Boss 'e don't cotch no fool. Mas'r debil downyander find old Boss too tuf fo' he business; he jus' like old hosswhat neber die, " rejoins another. 

In a word, M'Fadden had told his negroes what a great democrat hewas-how he loved freedom and a free country-until their ideas offreedom became strangely mystified; and they ventured to assert thathe would not find so free a country when the devil became hiskeeper. "Mas'r tink 'e carry 'e plantation t' t'oder world wid him, reckon, " Uncle Sparton grumblingly concludes, joining the motleyconclave of property about to resume its repose. 

Ellen returns to the house. Harry will remain, and have a few wordsmore with the boys. A few minutes pass, and Ellen returns with anarmful of blankets, with which she covers the people carefully andkindly. How full of goodness-how touching is the act! She has doneher part, and she returns to the house in advance of Harry, whostops to take a parting good-night, and whisper a word ofconsolation in their ears. He looks upon them as dear brothers indistress, objects for whom he has a fellow sympathy. He leaves themfor the night; closes the door after him; locks it. He will returnto Ellen, and enjoy a mutual exchange of feeling. 

Scarcely has he left the door, when three persons, disguised, rushupon him, muffle his head with a blanket, bind his hands and feet, throw him bodily into a waggon, and drive away at a rapid speed. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

COMPETITION IN HUMAN THINGS. 

IT is enough to inform the reader that Romescos and Mr. M'Faddenwere not only rival bidders for this very desirable piece ofpreaching property, but, being near neighbours, had becomeinveterate enemies and fierce political opponents. The former, areckless trader in men, women, and children, was a daring, unprincipled, and revengeful man, whose occupation seldom called himto his plantation; while the latter was notorious as a hard masterand a cruel tyrant, who exacted a larger amount of labour from hisnegroes than his fellow planters, and gave them less to eat. Hisopinion was, that a peck of corn a week was quite enough for anegro; and this was his systematic allowance;--but he otherwisetempted the appetites of his property, by driving them, famished, tothe utmost verge of necessity. Thus driven to predatory acts inorder to sustain life, the advantages offered by Romescos'swamp-generally well sprinkled with swine-were readily appropriatedto a very good use. 

Under covert of Romescos' absence, Mr. M'Fadden had no veryscrupulous objection to his negroes foraging the amply providedswamp, --provided, however, they did the thing on the sly, werecareful whose porker they dispatched, and said nothing to him aboutthe eating. In fact, it was simply a matter of economy with Mr. M'Fadden; and as Romescos had a great number of the obstinatebrutes, it saved the trouble of raising such undignified stock. Finding, however, that neighbour M'Fadden, or his predatorynegroes-such they were called-were laying claim to more than agenerous share of their porkships, Romescos thought it high time toput the thing down by a summary process. But what particularly"riled" Romescos in this affair of the hogs was, that M'Fadden'snegroes were not content with catching them in an honourable way, but would do it through the agency of nasty cur-dogs, which healways had despised, and held as unfit even to hunt niggers with. Several times had he expressed his willingness to permit a smallnumber of his grunters to be captured for the benefit of hisneighbour's half-starved negroes, provided, always, they were huntedwith honourable hound-dogs. He held such animals in high esteem, while curs he looked upon with utter contempt; he likened the one tothe chivalrous old rice-planter, the other to a pettifoggingschoolmaster fit for nothing but to be despised and shot. With thesefeelings he (Romescos) declared his intention to kill the very firstnegro he caught in his swamp with cur-dogs; and he kept his word. Lying in ambush, he would await their approach, and, when mostengaged in appropriating the porkers, rush from his hiding-place, shoot the dogs, and then take a turn at the more exhilaratingbusiness of shooting the negroes. He would, with all possiblecalmness, command the frightened property to approach and partake ofhis peculiar mixture, administered from his double-barrel gun. 

That the reader may better understand Romescos' process of curingthis malady of his neighbour's negroes, we will give it as relatedby himself. It is a curious mode of dispatching negro property; thereader, however, cannot fail to comprehend it. "Plantin' didn't suitmy notions o' gittin' rich, ye see, so I spec'lates in niggerproperty, and makes a better thing on't. But there's philosophyabout the thing, and a body's got t' know the hang on't afore he cantwist it out profitably; so I keeps a sort of a plantation just tomake a swell; cos ye got to make a splash to be anybody down south. Can't be a gentleman, ye see, 'cept ye plants cotton and rice; andthen a feller what's got a plantation in this kind of a way can be agentleman, and do so many other bits of trade to advantage. Thething works like the handle of a pump; and then it makes a rightgood place for raising young niggers, and gettin' old uns trimmedup. With me, the worst thing is that old screwdriver, M'Fadden, whatdon't care no more for the wear and tear of a nigger than nothin', and drives 'em like as many steam-engines he thinks he can keepgoing by feeding on saw-dust. He han't no conception o' niggerconstitution, and is just the worst sort of a chap that ever cumsouth to get a fortune. Why, look right at his niggers: they looklike crows after corn-shuckin. Don't give 'em no meat, and thecritters must steal somethin' t' keep out o' the bone-yard. Well, Iargers the case with Mack, tells him how t'll be atween he and me onthis thing, and warns him that if he don't chunk more corn andgrease into his niggers, there 'll be a ruptous fuss. But he don'tstand on honour, as I does, especially when his property makes ahaul on my swamp of shoats. I an't home often; so the hogs suffer;and Mack's niggers get the pork. This 'ere kind o'business"--Romescos maintains the serious dignity of himself thewhile--"don't go down nohow with me; so Mack and me just has a bitof a good-natured quarrel; and from that we gets at daggers' points, and I swears how I'll kill the first nigger o' his'n what stealshogs o' mine. Wouldn't a cared a sous, mark ye, but it cum crosswayson a feller's feelins to think how the 'tarnal niggers had no moresense than t' hunt hogs o' mine with cur-dogs: bin hounds, honourable dogs, or respectable dogs what 'll do to hunt niggerswith, wouldn't a cared a toss about it; but-when-I-hears-a cur-dogyelp, oh! hang me if it don't set my sensations all on pins, just assomethin' was crucifyin' a feller. I warns and talks, and thenpleads like a lawyer what's got a bad case; but all to no end o'reformin' Mack's morals, --feller han't got no sense o' reform in him. So I sets my niggers on the scent-it gives 'em some fun-and swearsI'll kill a nigger for every hog he steals. This I concludes on; andI never backs out when once I fixes a conclusion. 

"Hears the infernal cur-dog's yelp, yelp, yelp, down in the swamp;then I creeps through the jungle so sly, lays low till the fellerscum up, all jumpin'-pig ahead, then dogs, niggers follerin', puffin'and blowin', eyes poppin' out, 'most out o' breath, just as if theytasted the sparerib afore they'd got the critter. 

"Well, ye see, I know'd all the ins and outs of the law, --keepsmighty shy about all the judicial quibbles on't, --never takes nobodywith me whose swearin' would stand muster in a court of law. Allright on that score (Romescos exults in his law proficiency). Imakes sure o' the dogs fust, ollers keepin' the double-barrel on theright eye for the best nigger in the lot. It would make thelongest-faced deacon in the district laugh to see the fire flash outo' the nigger's big black eyes, when he sees the cur drop, knowin'how he'll get the next plugs souced into him. It's only natural, cosit would frighten a feller what warn't used to it just to see what athunder-cloud of agitation the nigger screws his black face into. And then he starts to run, and puts it like streaks o' cannon-ballschased by express lightnin'. 

"'Stand still, ye thievin' varmint! hold up, --bring to a mooring:take the mixture according to Gunter!' I shouts. The way the niggerpulls up, begs, pleads, and says things what'll touch a feller'stender feelins, aint no small kind of an institution. 'Twould justmake a man what had stretchy conscience think there was somethin'crooked somewhere. 'Well, boys, ' says I, feeling a little soft aboutthe stomach, 'seeing how it's yer Boss what don't feed ye, I'll bekind o' good, and give ye a dose of the mixture in an honourableway. ' Then I loads t'other barrel, the feller's eyes flashin'streaks of blue lightnin' all the time, lookin' at how I rams itdown, chunk! 'Now, boys, ' says I, when the plugsshot is all ready, 'there's system 'bout this ere thing a'mine--t'aint killin' ye I wants, --don't care a copper about that(there an't no music in that), but must make it bring the financesout a' yer master's pocket. That's the place where he keeps all hismorals. Now, run twenty paces and I'll gin ye a fair chance! Thenigger understands me, ye see, and moves off, as if he expected athunderbolt at his heel, lookin' back and whining like a puppywhat's lost his mother. Just when he gets to an honourabledistance, --say twenty paces, according to fighting rule, --I draws up, takes aim, and plumps the plugs into him. The way the critter jumpsreminds me of a circus rider vaultin' and turnin' sumersets. You'dthink he was inginrubber 'lectrified. A'ter all, I finds theseplayin' doses don't do; they don't settle things on the square. So Itries a little stronger mixture, which ends in killin' three o'Mack's niggers right up smooth. But the best on't is that Mack findshe han't no proof, goes right into it and kills three o' my primefat niggers: that makes us bad friends on every score. But he got anigger ahead o' me a'ter awhile, and I ware detarmined to straightenaccounts, if it was by stealin' the odds. Them ar's my principles, and that's just the way I settles accounts with folks what don't dothe square thing in the way o' nigger property. "

Thus the two gentlemen lived in the terror of internal war; andRomescos, seeing such a fine piece of property pass into the handsof his antagonist, resolved on squaring accounts by stealing thepreacher, --an act Mr. M'Fadden least expected. 

The candidates' festival offered every facility for carrying thissingular coup-d'‚tat into effect. Hence, with the skilful assistanceof Nath. Nimrod, and Dan Bengal, Harry was very precipitately anddexterously passed over to the chances of a new phase of slave life. 

Ellen waited patiently for Harry's return until it became evidentsome ill-luck had befallen him. Lantern in hand, she proceeds to thepen in search. No Harry is to be found there; Mr. M'Fadden's commonnegroes only are there, and they sleep sweetly and soundly. What canhave befallen him? She conjectures many things, none of which arethe right. The lock is upon the door; all is still outside; notraces of kidnapping can be found. She knows his faithfulness, --knows he would not desert his master unless some foul means had beenused to decoy him into trouble. She returns to the house andacquaints her master. 

Straggling members, who had met to enjoy the generous politicalbanquet, and who still remain to see the night "through" withappropriate honour, are apprised of the sudden disappearance of thisvery valuable piece of property. They are ready for any turn ofexcitement, --anything for "topping off" with a little amusement; andto this end they immediately gather round mine host in a party ofpursuit. Romescos-he must make his innocence more imposing-has beenconspicuous during the night, at times expressing sympathy for Mr. M'Fadden, and again assuring the company that he has known fiftyworse cases cured. In order to make this better understood, he willpay the doctor's bill if M'Fadden dies. Mine host has no soonergiven the alarm than Romescos expresses superlative surprise. He wasstanding in the centre of a conclave of men, whom he harangues onthe particular political points necessary for the candidates tosupport in order to maintain the honour of the State; now he listensto mine host as he recounts the strange absence of the preacher, pauses and combs his long red beard with his fingers, looksdistrustfully, and then says, with a quaintness that disarmedsuspicion, "Nigger-like!-preacher or angel, nigger will be nigger!The idea o' makin' the black rascals preachers, thinkin' they won'trun away! Now, fellers, that ar' chap's skulkin' about, not far off, out among the pines; and here's my two dogs"-he points to his dogs, stretched on the floor-"what'll scent him and bring him out aforeten minutes! Don't say a word to Mack about it; don't let it 'scapeyer fly-trap, cos they say he's got a notion o' dying, and suddenlychanged his feelins 'bout nigger tradin'. There's no tellin' how itwould affect the old democrat if he felt he warnt goin' to slip hisbreeze. This child"-Romescos refers to himself-"felt just as Mackdoes more nor a dozen times, when Davy Jones looked as if he wasmaking slight advances: a feller soon gets straight again, nevertheless. It's only the difference atween one's feelings aboutmakin' money when he's well, and thinkin' how he made it when he'sabout to bid his friends good morning and leave town for awhile. Anyhow, there aint no dodging now, fellers! We got to hunt up thenigger afore daylight, so let us take a drop more and be moving. " Heorders the landlord to set on the decanters, --they join in a socialglass, touch glasses to the recovery of the nigger, and then rushout to the pursuit. Romescos heads the party. With dogs, horses, guns, and all sorts of negro-hunting apparatus, they scour thepinegrove, the swamp, and the heather. They make the pursuit of manfull of interest to those who are fond of the chase; they allowtheir enthusiasm to bound in unison with the sharp baying of thedogs. 

For more than two hours is this exhilarating sport kept up. It issweet music to their ears; they have been trained (educated) to thefascination of a man-hunt, and dogs and men become wearied with theuseless search. 

Romescos declares the nigger is near at hand: he sees the dogs curldown their noses; he must be somewhere in a hole or jungle of theswamp, and, with more daylight and another dog or two, hisapprehension is certain. He makes a halt on the brow of a hill, andaddresses his fellow-hunters from the saddle. In his wisdom onnigger nature he will advise a return to the tavern-for it is nowdaylight-where they will spend another hour merrily, and then returnbrightened to the pursuit. Acting on this advice, friends andfoes-both join as good fellows in the chase for a nigger-followedhis retreat as they had his advance. 

"No nigger preacher just about this circle, Major!" exclaimsRomescos, addressing mine host, as he puts his head into thebar-room, on his return. "Feller's burrowed somewhere, like a coon:catch him on the broad end of morning, or I'll hang up my olddouble-barrel, " he concludes, shaking his head, and ordering drinkfor the party at his expense. 

The morning advanced, however, and nothing was to be seen ofRomescos: he vanished as suddenly from among them as Harry had fromthe pen. Some little surprise is expressed by the knowing ones; theywhisper among themselves, while mine host reaches over the counter, cants his head solicitously, and says:--"What's that, gentlemen?"

In this dilemma they cannot inform mine host; they must continue theuseless chase without Romescos' valuable services. And here we mustleave mine host preparing further necessaries for capturing the lostproperty, that he may restore it to its owner so soon as he shallbecome convalescent, and turn to Harry. 

Like a well-stowed bale of merchandise, to be delivered at a statedplace within a specified time, he was rolled in bagging, and notpermitted to see the direction in which he was being driven. Whenthe pursuing party started from the crossing, Romescos took the leadin order to draw it in an opposite direction, and keep the dogs fromthe trail. This would allow the stolen clergyman to get beyond theirreach. When daylight broke upon the capturers they were nearlytwenty miles beyond the reach of the pursuers, approaching an inn bythe road side. The waggon suddenly stopped, and Harry found himselfbeing unrolled from his winding sheet by the hands of two strangers. Lifting him to his feet, they took him from the waggon, loosed thechains from his legs, led him into the house, and placed him in adark back room. Here, his head being uncovered, he looks upon hiscaptors with an air of confusion and distrust. "Ye know me too, Ireckon, old feller, don't ye?" enquires one of the men, with asardonic grin, as he lifts his hat with his left hand, and scratcheshis head with his right. 

"Yes, mas'r; there's no mistakin on ye!" returns Harry, shaking hishead, as they release the chains from his hands. He at lengthrecognises the familiar faces of Dan Bengal and Nath. Nimrod. Bothhave figured about Marston's plantation, in the purchase and sale ofnegroes. 

"Ye had a jolly good ride, old feller, had'nt ye?" says Bengal, exultingly, looking Harry in the face, shrugging his shoulders, andputting out his hand to make his friendship. 

Harry has no reply to make; but rubs his face as if he is not quitesatisfied with his new apartment, and wants to know a little more ofthe motive of the expedition. "Mas'r! I don't seem to know myself, nor nothin'. Please tell me where I am going to, and who is to be mymaster? It will relieve my double troubles, " he says, casting anenquiring look at Nimrod. 

"Shook up yer parson-thinkin' some, I reckon, did'nt it, old chap?"returns Nimrod, laughing heartily, but making no further reply. Hethinks it was very much like riding in a railroad backwards. 

"Did my sick mas'r sell me to you?" again he enquires. 

"No business o' yourn, that ain't; yer nigger-knowin ought to tellyou how ye'd got into safe hands. We'll push along down south assoon as ye gets some feed. Put on a straight face, and face themusic like a clever deacon, and we'll do the square in selling ye toa Boss what 'll let ye preach now and then. (Nimrod becomes veryaffectionate). Do the thing up righteous, and when yer sold there'll be a five-dollar shiner for yerself. (He pats him on the head, and puts his arm over his shoulder. ) Best t' have a little shot in abody's own pocket; now, shut up yer black bread-trap, and don't gomakin a fuss about where yer goin' to: that's my business!"

Harry pauses as if in contemplation; he is struggling against hisindignation excited by such remarks. He knew his old master'sweaknesses, enjoyed his indulgences; but he had never been made tofeel so acutely how degraded he could be as a mere article of trade. It would have been some consolation to know which way he wasproceeding, and why he had been so suddenly snatched from his newowner. Fate had not ordained this for him; oh no! He must resignhimself without making any further enquiries; he must be nothingmore than a nigger--happy nigger happily subdued! Seating himselfupon the floor, in a recumbent position, he drops his face on hisknees, --is humbled among the humblest. He is left alone for sometime, while his captors, retiring into an adjoining room, hold aconsultation. 

Breakfast is being prepared, and much conversation is kept up in aninaudible tone of voice. Harry has an instinctive knowledge that itis about him, for he hears the words, "Peter! Peter!" his name mustbe transmogrified into "Peter!" In another minute he hears dishesrattling on the table, and Bengal distinctly complimenting theadjuncts, as he orders some for the nigger preacher. This exciteshis anxiety; he feels like placing his ear at the keyhole, --doing alittle evesdropping. He is happily disappointed, however, for thedoor opens, and a black boy bearing a dish of homony enters, and, placing it before him, begs that he will help himself. Harry takesthe plate and sets it beside him, as the strange boy watches himwith an air of commiseration that enlists his confidence. "Ain'tda'h somefin mo' dat I can bring ye?" enquires the boy, pausing foran answer. 

"Nothing, --nothing more!"

Harry will venture to make some enquiries about the locality. "Doyou belong to master what live here?" He puts out his hand, takesthe other by the arm. 

"Hard tellin who I belongs to. Buckra man own 'em to-day; ain'tsartin if he own 'em to-morrow, dough. What country-born nigger isyou?"

"Down country! My poor old master's gone, and now I'm goin'; but Godonly knows where to. White man sell all old Boss's folks in astring, --my old woman and children among the rest. My heart is withthem, God bless them!"

"Reckon how ya' had a right good old Boss what larn ye somethin. "The boy listens to Harry with surprise. "Don't talk like dat downdis a way; no country-born nigger put in larn'd wods so, nohow, "returns the boy, with a look of curious admiration. 

"But you harn't told me what place this is?"

"Dis 'ouse! e' ant nowhare when Buckra bring nigger what he want tosell, and don' want nobody to know whar e' bring him from. Dat manwhat bring ye here be great Buckra. De 'h way he lash nigger whin e'don do jist so!" The boy shakes his head with a warning air. 

"How did you get here? There must be roads leading in somedirections?"

"Roads runnin' every which way, yand'r; and trou de woods anyway, but mighty hard tellin whar he going to, he is. Mas'r Boss don lef'e nigger know how 'e bring'um, nor how he takes 'um way. Guess da'h gwine to run ye down country, so God bless you, " says the boy, shaking him by the hand, and taking leave. 

"Well! if I only knew which way I was going I should feel happy;because I could then write to my old master, somewhere or somehow. And I know my good friend Missus Rosebrook will buy me for herplantation, --I know she will. She knows my feelings, and in her heartwouldn't see me abused, she wouldn't! I wish I knew who my masteris, where I am, and to whom I'm going to be sold next. I think newmaster has stolen me, thinking old master was going to die, " Harrymutters to himself, commencing his breakfast, but still applying hislistening faculties to the conversation in the next room. At length, after a long pause, they seem to have finished breakfast and takenup the further consideration of his sale. 

"I don't fear anything of the kind! Romescos is just the keenestfellow that can be scared up this side of Baltimore. He never takesa thing o' this stamp in hand but what he puts it through, " saysBengal, in a whispering tone. 

"True! the trouble's in his infernal preaching; that's the devil ofniggers having intelligence. Can do anything in our way with commonniggers what don't know nothin'; but when the critters can doclergy, and preach, they'll be sending notes to somebody they knowas acquaintances. An intelligent nigger's a bad article when ye wantto play off in this way, " replies the other, curtly. 

"Never mind, " returns Bengal, "can't ollers transpose a nigger, aseasy as turnin' over a sixpence, specially when he don't have hisideas brightened. Can't steer clar on't. Larnin's mighty dangerousto our business, Nath. -better knock him on the head at once; betterend him and save a sight of trouble. It'll put a stopper on hispreaching, this pesks exercisin' his ideas. "

A third interrupts. "Thinks such a set of chicken-hearted fellowswon't do when it comes to cases of 'mergency like this. He will justmake clergyman Peter Somebody the deacon; and with this honorarytitle he'll put him through to Major Wiley's plantation, when he'llbe all right down in old Mississippi. The Colonel and he, understanding the thing, can settle it just as smooth as sunrise. The curate is what we call a right clever fellow, would make thetallest kind of a preacher, and pay first-rate per centage onhimself. " Bengal refers to Harry. His remarks are, indeed, quiteapplicable. "I've got the dockerment, ye see, all prepared; andwe'll put him through without a wink, " he concludes, in a measuredtone of voice. 

The door of Harry's room opens, and the three enter together. "Had agood breakfast, old feller, hain't ye?" says Nimrod, approachingwith hand extended, and patting him on the head with a child'splayfulness. "I kind o' likes the looks on ye" (a congratulatorysmile curls over his countenance), "old feller; and means to do thesquare thing in the way o' gettin' on ye a good Boss. Put on theLazarus, and no nigger tricks on the road. I'm sorry to leave ye onthe excursion, but here's the gentleman what'll see ye through, --willput ye through to old Mississip just as safe as if ye were a nuggetof gold. " Nimrod introduces Harry to a short gentleman with a baldhead, and very smooth, red face. His dress is of brown homespun, agarb which would seem peculiar to those who do the villainy of thepeculiar institution. The gentleman has a pair of handcuffs in hisleft hand, with which he will make his pious merchandise safe. Stepping forward, he places the forefinger of his right hand on thepreacher's forehead, and reads him a lesson which he must get firminto his thinking shell. It is this. "Now, at this very time, yerany kind of a nigger; but a'ter this ar' ye got to be a Tennesseenigger, raised in a pious Tennessee family. And yer name isPeter-Peter-Peter!-don't forget the Peter: yer a parson, and oughtt' keep the old apostle what preached in the marketplace in yernoddle. Peter, ye see, is a pious name, and Harry isn't; so ye mustthink Peter and sink Harry. "

"What do I want to change my name for? Old master give me that namelong time ago!"

"None o' yer business; niggers ain't t' know the philosophy of suchthings. No nigger tricks, now!" interrupts Bengal, quickly, drawinghis face into savage contortions. At this the gentleman in whosecharge he will proceed steps forward and places the manacles onHarry's hands with the coolness and indifference of one executingthe commonest branch of his profession. Thus packed and baled forexport, he is hurried from the house into a two-horse waggon, anddriven off at full speed. Bengal watches the waggon as it rolls downthe highway and is lost in the distance. He laughs heartily, thinkshow safe he has got the preacher, and how much hard cash he willbring. God speed the slave on his journey downward, we might add. 

It will be needless for us to trace them through the many incidentsof their journey; our purpose will be served when we state that hisnew guardian landed him safely at the plantation of Major Wiley, onthe Tallahatchee River, Mississippi, on the evening of the fourthday after their departure, having made a portion of their passage onthe steamer Ohio. By some process unknown to Harry he finds himselfduly ingratiated among the major's field hands, as nothing more thanplain Peter. He is far from the high-road, far from his friends, without any prospect of communicating with his old master. Themajor, in his way, seems a well-disposed sort of man, inclined to"do right" by his negroes, and willing to afford them an opportunityof employing their time after task, for their own benefit. And yetit is evident that he must in some way be connected with Graspum andhis party, for there is a continual interchange of negroes to andfrom his plantation. This, however, we must not analyse too closely, but leave to the reader's own conjectures, inasmuch as Major Wileyis a very distinguished gentleman, and confidently expects a veryprominent diplomatic appointment under the next administration. 

Harry, in a very quiet way, sets himself about gaining a knowledgeof his master's opinions on religion, as well as obtaining hisconfidence by strict fidelity to his interests. So far does hesucceed, that in a short time he finds himself holding therespectable and confidential office of master of stores. Then hesucceeds in inducing his master to hear him preach a sermon to hisnegroes. The major is perfectly willing to allow him the fullexercise of his talents, and is moved to admiration at his fervency, his aptitude, his knowledge of the Bible, and the worth there mustbe in such a piece of clergy property. Master Wiley makes his manthe offer of purchasing his time, which Harry, under the alias ofPeter, accepts, and commences his mission of preaching on theneighbouring plantations. 

Ardently and devoutedly does he pursue his mission of Christianityamong his fellow-bondmen; but he has reaped little of the harvestto himself, his master having so increased the demand for his timethat he can scarcely save money enough to purchase clothes. At firsthe was only required to pay six dollars a week; now, nothing lessthan ten is received. It is a happy premium on profitable humannature; and through it swings the strongest hinge of that cursedinstitution which blasts alike master and slave. Major Wiley is verychivalrous, very hospitable, and very eminent for his manydistinguished qualifications; but his very pious piece of propertymust pay forty-seven per cent. Annual tribute for the veryhospitable privilege of administering the Word of God to his brotherbondmen. Speak not of robed bishops robbing Christianity in aforeign land, ye men who deal in men, and would rob nature of itstombstone! Ye would rob the angels did their garments give forthgold. 

The poor fellow's income, depending, in some measure, upon smallpresents bestowed by the negroes to whom he preached, was scarcelyenough to bring him out at the end of the week, and to be thusdeprived of it seemed more than his spirits could bear. Again andagain had he appealed to his master for justice; but there was nojustice for him, --his appeals proved as fruitless as the wind, on hismaster's callous sensibilities. Instead of exciting compassion, heonly drew upon him his master's prejudices; he was threatened withbeing sold, if he resisted for a day the payment of wages for hisown body. Hence he saw but one alternative left-one hope, one smilefrom a good woman, who might, and he felt would, deliver him; thatwas in writing to his good friend, Mrs. Rosebrook, whose generousheart he might touch through his appeals for mercy. And yet therewas another obstacle; the post-office might be ten miles off, andhis master having compelled him to take the name of Peter Wiley, howwas he to get a letter to her without the knowledge of his master?Should his letter be intercepted, his master, a strictdisciplinarian, would not only sell him farther south, but inflictthe severest punishment. Nevertheless, there was one consolationleft; his exertions on behalf of the slaves, and his earnestness inpromoting the interests of their masters, had not passed unnoticedwith the daughter of a neighbouring planter (this lady has sincedistinguished herself for sympathy with the slave), who became muchinterested in his welfare. She had listened to his exhortations withadmiration; she had listened to his advice on religion, and becomehis friend and confidant. She would invite him to her father'shouse, sit for hours at his side, and listen with breathlessattention to his pathos, his display of natural genius. To her heunfolded his deep and painful troubles; to her he looked forconsolation; she was the angel of light guiding him on his wearyway, cheering his drooping soul on its journey to heaven. To her hedisclosed how he had been called to the bedside of his dying master;how, previously, he had been sold from his good old master, Marston, his wife, his children; how he was mysteriously carried off and leftin the charge of his present master, who exacts all he can earn. 

The simple recital of his story excites the genial feelings of theyoung lady; she knows some foul transaction is associated with histransition, and at once tenders her services to release him. But shemust move cautiously, for even Harry's preaching is in directviolation of the statutes; and were she found aiding in that whichwould unfavourably affect the interests of his master she would besubjected to serious consequences-perhaps be invited to spend ashort season at the sheriff's hotel, commonly called the countygaol. However, there was virtue in the object to be served, andfeeling that whatever else she could do to relieve him would beconferring a lasting benefit on a suffering mortal, she will bravethe attempt. 

"Tell me he is not a man, but a slave! tell me a being with suchfaculties should be thus sunken beneath the amenities of freedom!that man may barter almighty gifts for gold! trample his religioninto dust, and turn it into dollars and cents! What a mockery isthis against the justice of heaven! When this is done in this ourhappy land of happy freedom, scoffers may make it their foot-ball, and kings in their tyranny may point the finger of scorn at us, andask us for our honest men, our cherished freedom!

"Woman can do something, if she will; let me see what I can do torelieve this poor oppressed, " she exclaims one day, after he hasconsulted her on the best means of relief. "I will try. "

Woman knows the beatings of the heart; she can respond more quicklyto its pains and sorrows. Our youthful missionary will sit down andwrite a letter to Mrs. Rosebrook-she will do something, theatmosphere of slavery will hear of her yet-it will!

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE PRETTY CHILDREN ARE TO BE SOLD. 

HOW varied are the sources of human nature-how changing its tintsand glows-how immeasurable its uncertainties, and how obdurate thewill that can turn its tenderest threads into profitabledegradation! But what democrat can know himself a freeman when thewhitest blood makes good merchandise in the market? When the onlylineal stain on a mother's name for ever binds the chains, let noman boast of liberty. The very voice re-echoes, oh, man, why be ahypocrite! cans't thou not see the scorner looking from above? Butthe oligarchy asks in tones so modest, so full of chivalrousfascination, what hast thou to do with that? be no longer a fanatic. So we will bear the warning-pass from it for the present. 

More than two years have passed; writs of error have been filed andargued; the children have dragged out time in a prison-house. Is itin freedom's land a prison was made for the innocent to waste in? Soit is, and may Heaven one day change the tenour! Excuse, reader, this digression, and let us proceed with our narrative. 

The morning is clear and bright; Mrs. Rosebrook sits at the windowof her cheerful villa, watching the approach of the post-rider seenin the distance, near a cluster of oaks that surround the entranceof the arbour, at the north side of the garden. The scene spread outbefore her is full of rural beauty, softened by the dew-deckedfoliage, clothing the landscape with its clumps. As if some fairyhand had spread a crystal mist about the calm of morning, and angelswere bedecking it with the richest tints of a rising sun at morn, the picture sparkles with silvery life. There she sits, her softglowing eyes scanning the reposing scene, as her graceful form seemsinfusing spirit into its silent loveliness. And then she speaks, asif whispering a secret to the wafting air: "our happy union!" Itfalls upon the ear like some angel voice speaking of things toopure, too holy for the caprices of earth. She would be a type ofthat calmness pervading the scene-that sweetness and repose whichseem mingling to work out some holy purpose; and yet there is atouching sadness depicted in her face. 

"Two years have passed; how changed!" she exclaims, as if rousingfrom a reverie: "I would not be surprised if he brought badtidings. "

The postman has reached the gate and delivered a letter, which theservant quickly bears to her hand. She grasps it anxiously, as ifrecognising the superscription; opens it nervously; reads thecontents. It is from Franconia, interceding with her in behalf ofher uncle and the two children, in the following manner:--"Mydearest Friend, "Can I appeal to one whose feelings are more ready to be enlisted ina good cause? I think not. I wish now to enlist your feelings insomething that concerns myself. It is to save two interestingchildren-who, though our eyes may at times be blinded to facts, Icannot forget are nearly allied to me by birth and association-fromthe grasp of slavery. Misfortune never comes alone; nor, in thisinstance, need I recount ours to you. Of my own I will say butlittle; the least is best. Into wedlock I have been sold to one itwere impossible for me to love; he cannot cherish the respect due tomy feelings. His associations are of the coarsest, and his heartlesstreatment beyond my endurance. He subjects me to the meanestgrievances; makes my position more degraded than that of the slaveupon whom he gratifies his lusts. Had my parents saved me from sucha monster-I cannot call him less-they would have saved me many apainful reflection. As for his riches-I know not whether they reallyexist-they are destined only to serve his lowest passions. With himmisfortune is a crime; and I am made to suffer under his tauntsabout the disappearance of my brother, the poverty of my parents. 

"You are well aware of the verdict of the jury, and the affirmationof the Court of Appeal, upon those dear children. The decree ordersthem to be sold in the market, for the benefit of my uncle'screditors: this is the day, the fatal day, the sale takes place. Letme beseech of you, as you have it in your power, to induce thedeacon to purchase them. O, save them from the fate that awaitsthem! You know my uncle's errors; you know also his goodness ofheart; you can sympathise with him in his sudden downfall. Then theaffection he has for Annette is unbounded. No father could be moredotingly fond of his legitimate child. But you know what our lawsare-what they force us to do against our better inclinations. Annette's mother, poor wretch, has fled, and M'Carstrow charges mewith being accessory to her escape: I cannot, nor will I, deny it, while my most ardent prayer invokes her future happiness. That shehas saved herself from a life of shame I cannot doubt; and if I havefailed to carry out a promise I made her before her departure-thatof rescuing her child-the satisfaction of knowing that she at leastis enjoying the reward of freedom partially repays my feelings. Letme entreat you to repair to the city, and, at least, rescue Annettefrom that life of shame and disgrace now pending over her-a shameand disgrace no less black in the sight of heaven because societytolerates it as among the common things of social life. 

"I am now almost heart-broken, and fear it will soon be my lot to bedriven from under the roof of Colonel M'Carstrow, which is no longera home, but a mere place of durance to me. It would be needless forme here to recount his conduct. Were I differently constituted Imight tolerate his abuse, and accept a ruffian's recompense inconsideration of his wealth. 

"Go, my dear friend, save that child, "Is the prayer of your affectionate

"FRANCONIA. "

Mrs. Rosebrook reads and re-reads the letter; then heaves a sigh asshe lays it upon the table at her side. As if discussing the matterin her mind, her face resumes a contemplative seriousness. 

"And those children are to be sold in the market! Who won't theysell, and sanctify the act? How can I relieve them? how can I betheir friend, for Franconia's sake? My husband is away on theplantation, and I cannot brave the coarse slang of a slave mart; Icannot mingle with those who there congregate. 

"And, too, there are so many such cases-bearing on their front thefallacy of this our democracy-that however much one may have claimsover another, it were impossible to take one into considerationwithout inciting a hundred to press their demands. In this sense, then, the whole accursed system would have to be uprooted before theremedy could be applied effectually. Notwithstanding, I will go; Iwill go: I'll see what can be done in the city, " says Mrs. Rosebrook, bristling with animation. "Our ladies must have somethingto arouse their energies; they all have a deep interest to serve, and can do much:" she will summon resolution and brave all. Risingfrom her seat, she paces the room several times, and then orders aservant to command Uncle Bradshaw to get the carriage ready, and beprepared for a drive into the city. 

Soon Bradshaw has got the carriage ready, and our good lady is onthe road, rolling away toward the city. As they approach a curvaturethat winds round a wooded hill, Bradshaw intimates to "missus" thathe sees signs of a camp a short distance ahead. He sees smokecurling upwards among the trees, and very soon the notes of along-metre tune fall softly on the ear, like the tinkling of distantbells in the desert. Louder and louder, as they approach, the soundsbecome more and more distinct. Then our good lady recognises thefamiliar voice of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy. This worthychristian of the Southern Church is straining his musical organ toits utmost capacity, in the hope there will be no doubt left on theminds of those congregated around him as to his very sound piety. The carriage rounds the curvature, and there, encamped in a grove ofpines by the road side, is our pious Elder, administeringconsolation to his infirm property. Such people! they present one ofthe most grotesque and indiscriminate spectacles ever eyes beheld. The cholera has subsided; the Elder's greatest harvest time is gone;few victims are to be found for the Elder's present purposes. Now heis constrained to resort to the refuse of human property (thoseafflicted with what are called ordinary diseases), to keep alive theChristian motive of his unctuous business. To speak plainly, he mustcontent himself with the purchase of such infirmity as can be pickedup here and there about the country. 

A fire of pine knots blazes in the centre of a mound, and over ithangs an iron kettle, on a straddle, filled with corn-grits. Aroundthis, and anxiously watching its boiling, are the lean figures ofnegroes, with haggard and sickly faces, telling but too forcibly thetale of their troubles. They watch and watch, mutter in grumblingaccents, stir the homony, and sit down again. Two large mule cartsstand in the shade of a pine tree, a few yards from the fire. A fewpaces further on are the mules tethered, quietly grazing; while, seated on a whiskey-keg, is the Elder, book in hand, giving out thehymn to some ten or a dozen infirm negroes seated round him on theground. They have enjoyed much consolation by listening withwondrous astonishment to the Elder's exhortations, and are now readyto join their musical jargon to the words of a Watts's hymn. 

On arriving opposite the spot, our good lady requests Bradshaw tostop; which done, the Elder recognises her, and suddenly adjourninghis spiritual exercises, advances to meet her, his emotionsexpanding with enthusiastic joy. In his eagerness, with outstretchedhand, he comes sailing along, trips his toe in a vine, and plungeshead foremost into a broad ditch that separates the road from therising ground. 

The accident is very unfortunate at this moment; the Elder'senthusiasm is somewhat cooled, nevertheless; but, as there is seldoma large loss without a small gain, he finds himself strangelybespattered from head to foot with the ingredients of a quagmire. 

"U'h! u'h! u'h! my dear madam, pardon me, I pray;--strange moment tomeet with a misfortune of this kind. But I was so glad to see you!"he ejaculates, sensitively, making the best of his way out, brushinghis sleeves, and wiping his face with his never-failing Indiahandkerchief. He approaches the carriage, apologising for hisappearance. 

He hopes our lady will excuse him, having so far lost himself in hisenthusiasm, which, together with the fervency and devotion of thespiritual exercises he was enjoying with his poor, helplessproperty, made him quite careless of himself. Begging a thousandpardons for presenting himself in such a predicament (his gallantryis proverbially southern), he forgets that his hat and spectacleshave been dislodged by his precipitation into the ditch. 

The good lady reaches out her hand, as a smile curls over her face;but Bradshaw must grin; and grin he does, in right good earnest. 

"Bless me, my dear Elder! what trade are you now engaged in?" sheenquires. 

"A little devotional exercises, my dear madam! We were enjoying themwith so much christian feeling that I was quite carried away, indeedI was!" He rubs his fingers through his bristly hair, and thendownwards to his nasal organ, feeling for his devoted glasses. He issurprised at their absence-makes another apology. He affirms, addinghis sacred honour, as all real southerners do, that he had begun tofeel justified in the belief that there never was a religion likethat preached by the good apostles, when such rural spots as this(he points to his encampment) were chosen for its administration. Everything round him made him feel so good, so much like the purestchristian of the olden time. He tells her, with great seriousness, that we must serve God, and not forget poor human nature, never! Tothe world he would seem labouring under the influence of those inertconvictions by which we strive to conceal our natural inclinations, while drawing the flimsy curtain of "to do good" over the realobject. 

He winks and blinks, rubs his eyes, works his face into all theangles and contortions it is capable of, and commences searching forhis hat and spectacles. Both are necessary adjuncts to his piousappearance; without them there is that in the expression of hiscountenance from which none can fail to draw an unfavourable opinionof his real character. The haggard, care-worn face, browned to thedarkest tropical tints; the ceaseless leer of that small, piercingeye, anxiety and agitation pervading the tout ensemble of the man, will not be dissembled. Nay; those acute promontories of the face, narrow and sharp, and that low, reclining forehead, and head coveredwith bristly iron-grey hair, standing erect in rugged tufts, are toostrong an index of character for all the disguises Elder PembertonPraiseworthy can invent. 

"One minute, my dear madam, " he exclaims, in his eagerness for thelost ornaments of his face. 

"Never mind them, Elder; never mind them! In my eyes you are just aswell without them, " she rejoins, an ironical smile invading hercountenance, and a curl of contempt on her lip. "But, --tell me whatare you doing here?"

"Here! my dear madam? Doing good for mankind and the truth ofreligion. I claim merit of the parish, for my pursuit is laudable, and saves the parish much trouble, " says the Elder, beginning to waxwarm in the goodness of his pursuit, before anyone has undertaken todispute him, or question the purity of his purpose. 

"Still speculating in infirmity; making a resurrection man ofyourself! You are death's strongest opponent; you fight the greatslayer for small dollars and cents. "

"Well, now, " interrupts the Elder, with a serious smile, "I'd ratherface a Mexican army than a woman's insinuating questions, --in mattersof this kind! But it's business, ye see! according to law; and yecan't get over that. There's no getting over the law; and he thatserveth the Lord, no matter how, deserveth recompense; my recompenseis in the amount of life I saves for the nigger. "

"That is not what I asked; you evade my questions, Elder! betteracknowledge honestly, for the sake of the country, where did youpick up these poor wretches?"

"I goes round the district, madam, and picks up a cripple here, anda cancer case there, and a dropsy doubtful yonder; and then, some onem's got diseases what don't get out until one comes to applymedical skill. Shan't make much on these sort o' cases, --"

The lady interrupts him, by bidding him good morning, and advisinghim, whenever he affects to serve the Lord, to serve him honestly, without a selfish motive. She leaves the Elder to his ownreflections, to carry his victim property to his charnel-house, where, if he save life for the enjoyment of liberty, he may servethe Lord to a good purpose. She leaves him to the care of thechristian church of the South, --the church of christian slavery, therules of which he so strictly follows. 

As our good lady moves quickly away toward the city, the Elder looksup, imploringly, as if invoking the praise of heaven on his gooddeeds. He is, indeed, astonished, that his dear friend, the lady, should have made such a declaration so closely applied, soinsinuating. That such should have escaped her lips when she mustknow that his very soul and intention are purity! "I never felt likemaking a wish before now; and now I wishes I was, or that my fatherhad made me, a lawyer. I would defend my position in a legal sensethen! I don't like lawyers generally, I confess; the profession'snot as honourable as ours, and its members are a set of sharpers, who would upset gospel and everything else for a small fee, theywould!" He concludes, as his eyes regrettingly wander after thecarriage. The words have moved him; there is something he wishes tosay, but can't just get the point he would arrive at. He turns away, sad at heart, to his sadder scenes. "I know that my Redeemerliveth, " he sings. 

In the city a different piece is in progress of performance. Papers, and all necessary preparations for procuring the smooth transfer ofthe youthful property, are completed; customers have begun to gatherround the mart. Some are searching among the negroes sent to thewarehouse; others are inquiring where this property, advertised inthe morning journals, and so strongly commented upon, may be found. They have been incited to examine, in consequence of the manyattractions set forth in the conditions of sale. 

There the two children sit, on a little seat near the vender'stribune. Old Aunt Dina, at the prison, has dressed Annette soneatly! Her white pinafore shines so brightly, is so neatlyarranged, and her silky auburn locks curl so prettily, in tinyringlets, over her shoulders; and then her round fair face looks sosweetly, glows with such innocent curiosity, as her soft blue eyes, deep with sparkling vivacity, wander over the strange scene. Sheinstinctively feels that she is the special object of some importantevent. Laying her little hand gently upon the arm of an old slavethat sits by her side, she casts shy glances at those admirers whostand round her and view her as a marketable article only. 

"Auntie, where are they going to take me?" the child inquires, witha solicitous look, as she straightens the folds of her dress withher little hands. 

"Gwine t' sell 'um, " mumbles the old slave. "Lor', child, a'h wishesye wa'h mine; reckon da'h wouldn't sell ye. T'ant much to sellnigger like I, nohow; but e' hurt my feelins just so 'twarnt rightt' sell de likes o' ye. " The old slave, in return, lays her handupon Annette's head, and smooths her hair, as if solicitous of herfate. "Sell ye, child-sell ye?" she concludes, shaking her head. 

"And what will they do with me and Nicholas when they get us sold?"continues the child, turning to Nicholas and taking him by the arm. 

"Don' kno': perhaps save ye fo'h sinnin' agin de Lor', " is the oldslave's quick reply. She shakes her head doubtingly, and bursts intotears, as she takes Annette in her arms, presses her to her bosom, kisses and kisses her pure cheek. How heavenly is the affection ofthat old slave--how it rebukes our Christian mockery!

"Will they sell us where we can't see mother, auntie? I do want tosee mother so, " says the child, looking up in the old slave's face. There seemed something too pure, too holy, in the child'ssimplicity, as it prattled about its mother, for such purposes as itis about to be consigned to. "They do not sell white folks, auntie, do they? My face is as white as anybody's; and Nicholas's aintblack. I do want to see mother so! when will she come back and takecare of me, auntie?"

"Lor', child, " interrupts the old negro, suppressing her emotions, "no use to ax dem questions ven ye gwine t' market. Buckra rightsmart at makin' nigger what bring cash. "

The child expresses a wish that auntie would take her back to theold plantation, where master, as mother used to call him, wouldn'tlet them sell her away off. And she shakes her head with an air ofunconscious pertness; tells the old negro not to cry for her. 

The cryer's bell sounds forth its muddling peals to summon thecustomers; a grotesque mixture of men close round the stand. The oldslave, as if from instinct, again takes Annette in her arms, pressesand presses her to her bosom, looks compassionately in her face, andsmiles while a tear glistens in her eyes. She is inspired by thebeauty of the child; her heart bounds with affection for her tenderyears; she loves her because she is lovely; and she smiles upon heras a beautiful image of God's creation. But the old slave grievesover her fate; her grief flows from the purity of the heart; sheknows not the rules of the slave church. 

Annette is born a child of sorrow in this our land of love andliberty; she is a democrat's daughter, cursed by the inconsistenciesof that ever-praised democratic goodness. A child! nothing more thanan item of common trade. It is even so; but let not happy democracyblush, for the child, being merchandise, has no claims to that lawof the soul which looks above the frigidity of slave statutes. Whatgenerosity is there in this generous land? what impulses of naturenot quenched by force of public opinion, when the associations of achild like this (we are picturing a true story), her birth andblood, her clear complexion, the bright carnatic of her cheek, willnot save her from the mercenary grasp of dollars and cents? It wasthe law; the law had made men demons, craving the bodies and soulsof their fellow men. It was the white man's charge to protect thelaw and the constitution; and any manifestation of sympathy for thischild would be in violation of a system which cannot be amelioratedwithout endangering the whole structure: hence the comments escapingfrom purchasers are only such as might have been expressed by thesporting man in his admiration of a finely proportioned animal. 

"What a sweet child!" says one, as they close round. 

"Make a woman when she grows up!" rejoins another, twirling hiscane, and giving his hat an extra set on the side of his head. 

"Take too long to keep it afore its valuable is developed; but it'sa picture of beauty. Face would do to take drawings from, it's sofull of delicate outlines, " interposes a third. 

An old gentleman, with something of the ministerial in hiscountenance, and who has been very earnestly watching them for sometime, thinks a great deal about the subject of slavery, and thestrange laws by which it is governed just at this moment. He says, "One is inspired with a sort of admiration that unlocks the heart, while gazing at such delicacy and child-like sweetness as isexpressed in the face of that child. " He points his cane coldly atAnnette. "It causes a sort of reaction in one's sense of right, socially and politically, when we see it mixed up with niggers andblack ruffians to be sold. "

"Must abide the laws, though, " says a gentleman in black, on hisleft. 

"Yes, " returns our friend, quickly, "if such property could be savedthe hands of speculators"--

"Speculators! speculators!" rejoins the gentleman in black, knittinghis brows. 

"Yes; it's always the case in our society. The beauty of suchproperty makes it dangerous about a well-ordained man's house. Ourladies, generally, have no sympathy with, and rather dislike itsill-gotten tendencies. The piety of the south amounts to but littlein its influence on the slave population. The slave populationgenerates its own piety. There is black piety and white piety; butthe white piety effects little when it can dispose of poor blackpiety just as it pleases; and there's no use in clipping thebranches off the tree while the root is diseased, " concludes ourministerial-looking gentleman, who might have been persuaded himselfto advance a bid, were he not so well versed in the tenour ofsociety that surrounded him. 

During the above ad interim at the shambles, our good lady, Mrs. Rosebrook, is straining every nerve to induce a gentleman of heracquaintance to repair to the mart, and purchase the children on heraccount. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

NATURE SHAMES ITSELF. 

MRS. ROSEBROOK sits in Mrs. Pringle's parlour. Mrs. Pringle isthought well of in the city of Charleston, where she resides, andhas done something towards establishing a church union for theprotection of orphan females. They must, however, be purely white, and without slave or base blood in their veins, to entitle them toadmittance into its charitable precincts. This is upon the principlethat slave blood is not acceptable in the sight of Heaven; and thatallowing its admittance into this charitable earthly union wouldonly be a sad waste of time and Christian love. Mrs. Pringle, however, feels a little softened to the good cause, and does hopeMrs. Rosebrook may succeed at least in rescuing the little girl. Shehas counselled Mr. Seabrook, commonly called Colonel Seabrook, avery distinguished gentleman, who has a very distinguished opinionof himself, having studied law to distinguish himself, and now andthen merely practises it for his own amusement. Mr. Seabrook nevergives an opinion, nor acts for his friends, unless every thing hedoes be considered distinguished, and gratuitously rendered. 

"What will you do with such property, madam?" inquires thegentleman, having listened profoundly to her request. 

"To save them from being sold into the hands of such men as Graspumand Romescos; it's the only motive I have" she speaks, gently: "Ilove the child; and her mother still loves her: I am a mother. "

"Remember, my dear lady, they are adjudged property by law; and allthat you can do for them won't save them, nor change the odour ofnegro with which it has stamped them. "

"Of that I am already too well aware, Mr. Seabrook; and I know, too, when once enslaved, how hard it is to unslave. Public sentiment isthe worst slave we have; unslave that, and the righteousness ofheaven will give us hearts to save ourselves from theunrighteousness of our laws. 

"Go, Mr. Seabrook, purchase the children for me, and you will soonsee what ornaments of society I will make them!"

"Ornaments to our society!" interrupts Mr. Seabrook, pausing for amoment, as he places the fore-finger of his right hand upon hisupper lip. "That would be a pretty consummation-at the south! Makeornaments of our society!" Mr. Seabrook turns the matter over andover and over in his mind. "Of such things as have been pronouncedproperty by law! A pretty fix it would get our society into!" herejoins, with emphasis. Mr. Seabrook shakes his head doubtingly, andthen, taking three or four strides across the room, his hands welldown in his nether pockets, relieves himself of his positiveopinion. "Ah! ah! hem! my dear madam, " he says, "if you undertakethe purchase of all that delicate kind of property-I mean the amounttotal, as it is mixed up-your head'll grow grey afore you get allthe bills of sale paid up, --my word for it! That's my undisguisedopinion, backed up by all the pale-faced property about the city. "

"We will omit the opinion, Mr. Seabrook; such have kept our societywhere it now is. I am resolved to have those children. If youhesitate to act for me, I'll brave-"

"Don't say that, my dear lady. Let me remind you that it ill becomesa lady of the south to be seen at a slave-mart; more especially whensuch delicate property is for sale. Persons might be present who didnot understand your motive, and would not only make rude advances, but question the propriety of your proceedings. You would losecaste, most surely. "

Mrs. Rosebrook cares little for Mr. Seabrook's very learned opinion, knowing that learned opinions are not always the most sensible ones, and is seen arranging her bonnet hastily in a manner betokening herintention to make a bold front of it at the slave-mart. This israther too much for Mr. Seabrook, who sets great value on hischivalrous virtues, and fearing they may suffer in the esteem of thesofter sex, suddenly proffers his kind interposition, becomesextremely courteous, begs she will remain quiet, assuring her thatno stone that can further her wishes shall be left unturned. Mr. Seabrook (frequently called the gallant colonel) makes one of hisvery best bows, adjusts his hat with exquisite grace, and leaves toexercise the wisest judgment and strictest faith at the man-market. 

"Such matters are exceedingly annoying to gentlemen of my standing, "says Mr. Seabrook, as deliberately he proceeds to the fulfilment ofhis promise. He is a methodical gentleman, and having weighed thematter well over in his legal mind, is deeply indebted to it for theconclusion that Mrs. Rosebrook has got a very unsystematisedcrotchet into her brain. "The exhibition of sympathy for'niggers'-they're nothing else" says Mr. Seabrook-"much adds to thatpopular prejudice which is already placing her in an extremelydelicate position. " He will call to his aid some very nice legaltact, and by that never-failing unction satisfy the good lady. 

When Mr. Seabrook enters the mart (our readers will remember that wehave already described it) he finds the children undergoing a veryminute examination at the hands of several slave-dealers. As Mr. Forshou, the very polite man-seller, is despatching the rougherquality of human merchandise, our hero advances to the children, about whose father he asks them unanswerable questions. Howinteresting the children look!-how like a picture of beautyAnnette's cherub face glows forth! Being seriously concerned aboutthe child, his countenance wears an air of deep thought. "Colonel, what's your legal opinion of such pretty property?" enquiresRomescos, who advances to Mr. Seabrook, and, after a minute'shesitation, takes the little girl in his arms, rudely kissing her asshe presses his face from her with her left hand, and poutinglywipes her mouth with her right. 

"Pretty as a picture"-Romescos has set the child down-"but Iwouldn't give seven coppers for both; for, by my faith, suchproperty never does well. " The gentleman shakes his head in return. "It's a pity they're made it out nigger, though, --it's so handsome. Sweet little creature, that child, I declare: her beauty would beworth a fortune on the stage, when she grows up. "

Romescos touches Mr. Seabrook on the arm; remarks that such thingsare only good for certain purposes; although one can make them payif they know how to trade in them. But it wants a man with a capableconscience to do the business up profitably. "No chance o' yourbiddin' on 'um, is there, colonel?" he enquires, with a significantleer, folding his arms with the indifference of a field-marshal. After a few minutes' pause, during which Mr. Seabrook seemsmanufacturing an answer, he shrugs his shoulders, and takes a fewpleasing steps, as if moved to a waltzing humour. "Don't scare upthe like o' that gal-nigger every day, " he adds. Again, as if movedby some sudden idea, he approaches Annette, and placing his hand onher head, continues: "If this ain't tumbling down a man's affairs bythe run! Why, colonel, 'taint more nor three years since old HughMarston war looked on as the tallest planter on the Ashley; and hethought just as much o' these young 'uns as if their mother hadbelonged to one of the first families. Now-I pity the poorfellow!-because he tried to save 'em from being sold as slaves, they-his creditors-think he has got more property stowed awaysomewhere. They're going to cell him, just to try his talent atputting away things. "

The "prime fellows" and wenches of the darker and coarser qualityhave all been disposed of; and the vender (the same gentlemanly manwe have described selling Marston's undisputed property) now ordersthe children to be brought forward. Romescos, eagerly seizing themby the arms, brings them forward through the crowd, places them uponthe stand, before the eager gaze of those assembled. Strangelyplaced upon the strange block, the spectators close in again, anxious to gain the best position for inspection: but littlechildren cannot stand the gaze of such an assemblage: no; Annetteturns toward Nicholas, and with a childish embrace throws her tinyarms about his neck, buries her face on his bosom. The child ofmisfortune seeks shelter from that shame of her condition, theevidence of which is strengthened by the eager glances of those whostand round the shambles, ready to purchase her fate. Even thevender, --distinguished gentleman that he is, and very respectablyallied by marriage to one of the "first families, "-is moved with astrange sense of wrong at finding himself in a position somewhatrepugnant to his feelings. He cannot suppress a blush that indicatesan innate sense of shame. 

"Here they are, gentlemen! let no man say I have not done my duty. You have, surely, all seen the pedigree of these children set forthin the morning papers; and, now that you have them before you, theliving specimen of their beauty will fully authenticate anythingtherein set forth, " the vender exclaims, affecting an appearance inkeeping with his trade. Notwithstanding this, there is a falteringnervousness in his manner, betraying all his efforts atdissimulation. He reads the invoice of human property to thelistening crowd, dilates on its specific qualities with powers ofelucidation that would do credit to any member of the learnedprofession. This opinion is confirmed by Romescos, the associationsof whose trade have gained for him a very intimate acquaintance withnumerous gentlemen of that very honourable profession. 

"Now, gentlemen, " continues the vender, "the honourable high sheriffis anxious, and so am I-and it's no more than a feelin' of deservinghumanity, which every southern gentleman is proud to exercise-thatthese children be sold to good, kind, and respectable owners; andthat they do not fall into the hands, as is generally the case, ofmen who raise them up for infamous purposes. Gentlemen, I amdecidedly opposed to making licentiousness a means of profit. "

"That neither means you nor me, " mutters Romescos, touching Mr. Seabrook on the arm, shaking his head knowingly, and stepping asideto Graspum, in whose ear he whispers a word. The very distinguishedMr. Graspum has been intently listening to the outpouring of thevender's simplicity. What sublime nonsense it seems to him! Hesuggests that it would be much more effectual if it came from thepulpit, --the southern pulpit!

"Better sell 'um to some deacon's family, " mutters a voice in thecrowd. 

"That's precisely what we should like, gentlemen; any bidder of thatdescription would get them on more favourable terms than a trader, he would, " he returns, quickly. The man of feeling, now wealthy fromthe sale of human beings, hopes gentlemen will pardon hisnervousness on this occasion. He never felt the delicacy of hisprofession so forcibly-never, until now! His countenance changeswith the emotions of his heart; he blushes as he looks upon thehuman invoice, glances slily over the corner at the children, andagain at his customers. The culminating point of his profession hasarrived; its unholy character is making war upon his betterfeelings. "I am not speaking ironically, gentlemen: any bidder ofthe description I have named will get these children at asatisfactory figure. Remember that, and that I am only acting in myoffice for the honourable sheriff and the creditors, " he concludes. 

"If that be the case, " Mr. Seabrook thinks to himself, "it's quiteas well. Our good lady friend will be fully satisfied. She onlywants to see them in good hands: deacons are just the fellows. " Hevery politely steps aside, lights his choice habanero, and sendsforth its curling fumes as the bidding goes on. 

A person having the appearance of a country gentleman, who has beensome time watching the proceedings, is seen to approach Graspum:this dignitary whispers something in his ear, and he leaves themart. 

"I say, squire!" exclaims Romescos, addressing himself to theauctioneer, "do you assume the responsibility of making specialpurchasers? perhaps you had better keep an eye to the law and thecreditors, you had!" (Romescos's little red face fires withexcitement. ) "No objection t' yer sellin' the gal to deacons andelders, --even to old Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, who's alwayssinging, 'I know that my Redeemer cometh!' But the statutes give mejust as good a right to buy her, as any first-class deacon. I knowslaw, and got lots o' lawyer friends. "

"The issue is painful enough, without any interposition from you, myfriend, " rejoins the vender, interrupting Romescos in hisconversation. After a few minutes pause, during which time he hasbeen watching the faces of his customers, he adds: "Perhaps, seeinghow well mated they are, gentlemen will not let them be separated. They have been raised together. "

"Certainly!" again interrupts Romescos, "it would be a pity toseparate them, 'cos it might touch somebody's heart. "

"Ah, that comes from Romescos; we may judge of its motive as weplease, " rejoins the man of feeling, taking Annette by the arm andleading her to the extreme edge of the stand. "Make us a bid, gentlemen, for the pair. I can see in the looks of my customers thatnobody will be so hard-hearted as to separate them. What do youoffer? say it! Start them; don't be bashful, gentlemen!"

"Rather cool for a hard-faced nigger-seller! Well, squire, say fourhundred dollars and the treats, --that is, sposin' ye don't double mybid cos I isn't a deacon. Wants the boy t' make a general on when hegrows up; don't want the gal at all. Let the deacon here (he pointsto the man who was seen whispering to Graspum) have her, if hewants. " The deacon, as Romescos calls him, edges his way through thecrowd up to the stand, and looks first at the vender and then at thechildren. Turning his head aside, as if it may catch the ears ofseveral bystanders, Romescos whispers, "That's deacon Staggers, fromPineville. "

"Like your bid; but I'm frank enough to say I don't want you to havethem, Romescos, " interposes the auctioneer, with a smile. 

"Four hundred and fifty dollars!" is sounded by a second bidder. Thevender enquires, "For the two?"

"Yes! the pair on 'em, " is the quick reply. 

"Four hundred and fifty dollars!" re-echoes the man of feeling. "What good democrats you are! Why, gentlemen, it's not half thevalue of them. You must look upon this property in a social light;then you will see its immense value. It's intelligent, civil, andpromisingly handsome; sold for no fault, and here you are hesitatingon a small bid. 

"Only four hundred and fifty dollars for such property, in thisenlightened nineteenth century!"

"Trade will out, like murder. Squire wouldn't sell 'em to nobody buta deacon a few minutes ago!" is heard coming from a voice in thecrowd. The vender again pauses, blushes, and contorts his face: hecannot suppress the zest of his profession; it is uppermost in hisfeelings. 

Romescos says it is one of the squire's unconscious mistakes. Thereis no use of humbugging; why not let them run off to the highestbidder?

"The deacon has bid upon them; why not continue his advance?" saysMr. Seabrook, who has been smoking his cigar the while. 

"Oh, well! seein' how it's the deacon, I won't stand agin his bid. It's Deacon Staggers of Pineville; nobody doubts his generosity, "ejaculates Romescos, in a growling tone. The bids quicken, --soonreach six hundred dollars. 

"Getting up pretty well, gentlemen! You must not estimate thisproperty upon their age: it's the likeliness and the promise. "

"Six hundred and twenty-five!" mutters the strange gentleman theycall Deacon Staggers from Pineville. 

"All right, " rejoins Romescos; "just the man what ought to have 'em. I motion every other bidder withdraw in deference to the deacon'sclaim, " rejoins Romescos, laughing. 

The clever vender gets down from the stand, views the young propertyfrom every advantageous angle, dwells upon the bid, makes furthercomments on its choiceness, and after considerable bantering, knocksthem down to-"What name, sir?" he enquires, staring at the strangervacantly. 

"Deacon Staggers, " replies the man, with a broad grin. Romescosmotions him aside, --slips a piece of gold into his hand; it is theprice of his pretensions. 

The clerk enters his name in the sales book: "Deacon Staggers, ofPineville, bought May 18th, 18-. 

"Two children, very likely: boy, prime child, darkish hair, roundfigure, intelligent face, not downcast, and well outlined in limb. Girl, very pretty, bluish eyes, flaxen hair, very fair and verydelicate. Price 625 dollars. Property of Hugh Marston, and sold perorder of the sheriff of the county, to satisfy two fi fas issuedfrom the Court of Common Pleas, &c. &c. &c. "

An attendant now steps forward, takes the children into his charge, and leads them away. To where? The reader may surmise to the gaol. No, reader, not to the gaol; to Marco Graspum's slave-pen, --to thatpent-up hell where the living are tortured unto death, and whereyearning souls are sold to sink!

Thus are the beauties of this our democratic system illustrated intwo innocent children being consigned to the miseries of slave lifebecause a mother is supposed a slave: a father has acknowledgedthem, and yet they are sold before his eyes. It is the majesty ofslave law, before which good men prostrate their love ofindependence. Democracy says the majesty of that law must be carriedout; creditors must be satisfied, even though all that is generousand noble in man should be crushed out, and the rights of free menconsigned to oblivion. A stout arm may yet rise up in a good cause;democrats may stand ashamed of the inhuman traffic, and seek tocover its poisoning head with artifices and pretences; but theywrite only an obituary for the curse. 

"A quaint-faced, good-looking country deacon has bought them. Verygood; I can now go home, and relieve Mrs. Rosebrook's very generousfeelings, " says the very distinguished Mr. Seabrook, shrugging hisshoulders, lighting a fresh cigar, and turning toward home with adeliberate step, full of good tidings. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE VISION OF DEATH HAS PAST. 

MR. SEABROOK returns to the mansion, and consoles the anxious ladyby assuring her the children have been saved from the hands ofobnoxious traders-sold to a good, country deacon. He was sodelighted with their appearance that he could not keep from admiringthem, and does not wonder the good lady took so great an interest intheir welfare. He knows the ministerial-looking gentleman who boughtthem is a kind master; he has an acute knowledge of human nature, and judges from his looks. And he will further assure the good ladythat the auctioneer proved himself a gentleman-every inch of him! Hewouldn't take a single bid from a trader, not even from old Graspum(he dreads to come in contact with such a brute as he is, when hegets his eye on a good piece o' nigger property), with all hismoney. As soon as he heard the name of a deacon among the bidders, something in his heart forbade his bidding against him. 

"You were not as good as your word, Mr. Seabrook, " says the goodlady, still holding Mr. Seabrook by the hand. "But, are you surethere was no disguise about the sale?"

"Not the least, madam!" interrupts Mr. Seabrook, emphatically. "Bless me, madam, our people are too sensitive not to detectanything of that kind; and too generous to allow it if they diddiscover it. The children-my heart feels for them-are in the verybest hands; will be brought up just as pious and morally. Can't goastray in the hands of a deacon-that's certain!" Mr. Seabrook rubshis hands, twists his fingers in various ways, and gives utteranceto words of consolation, most blandly. The anxious lady seemsdisappointed, but is forced to accept the assurance. 

We need scarcely tell the reader how intentionally Mr. Seabrookcontented himself with the deception practised at the mart, nor withwhat freedom he made use of that blandest essence of southernassurance, --extreme politeness, to deceive the lady. She, however, had long been laudably engaged in behalf of a down-trodden race; andher knowledge of the secret workings of an institution which couldonly cover its monstrosity with sophistry and fraud impressed herwith the idea of some deception having been practised. She well knewthat Mr. Seabrook was one of those very contented gentlemen who havestrong faith in the present, and are willing to sacrifice thefuture, if peace and plenty be secured to their hands. He had manytimes been known to listen to the advice of his confidential slaves, and even to yield to their caprices. And, too, he had been known todecry the ill-treatment of slaves by brutal and inconsideratemasters; but he never thinks it worth while to go beyond expressinga sort of rain-water sympathy for the maltreated. With those traitsmost prominent in his character, Annette and Nicholas were to himmere merchandise; and whatever claims to freedom they might have, through the acknowledgments of a father, he could give them noconsideration, inasmuch as the law was paramount, and the greatconservator of the south. 

Our worthy benefactress felt the force of the above, in hisreluctance to execute her commands, and the manner in which hefaltered when questioned about the purchase. Returning to her home, weighing the circumstances, she resolves to devise some method ofascertaining the true position of the children. "Women are not to beoutdone, " she says to herself. 

We must again beg the reader's indulgence while accompanying us in aretrograde necessary to the connection of our narrative. When weleft Mr. M'Fadden at the crossing, more than two years ago, he waslabouring under the excitement of a wound he greatly feared wouldclose the account of his mortal speculations. 

On the morning following that great political gathering, and duringthe night Harry had so singularly disappeared, the tavern was rifewith conjectures. On the piazza and about the "bar-room" were a fewstupefied and half-insensible figures stretched upon benches, orreclining in chairs, their coarse garments rent into tatters, andtheir besotted faces resembling as many florid masks groupedtogether to represent some demoniacal scene among the infernals;others were sleeping soundly beside the tables, or on the lawn. Withfilthy limbs bared, they snored with painful discord, in superlativecontempt of everything around. Another party, reeking with the fumesof that poisonous drug upon which candidates for a people's favourshad built their high expectations, were leaning carelessly againstthe rude counter of the "bar-room, " casting wistful glances at thefascinating bottles so securely locked within the lattice-work inthe corner. Oaths of touching horror are mingling with loud callsfor slave attendants, whose presence they wait to quench theirburning thirst. Reader! digest the moral. In this human menagerie-inthis sink of besotted degradation-lay the nucleus of a power bywhich the greatest interests of state are controlled. 

A bedusted party of mounted men have returned from a secondineffectual attempt to recover the lost preacher: the appearance ofresponsibility haunts mine host. He assured Mr. Lawrence M'Faddenthat his property would be perfectly secure under the lock of thecorn-shed. And now his anxiety exhibits itself in the readinesswith which he supplies dogs, horses, guns, and such implements asare necessary to hunt down an unfortunate minister of the gospel. What makes the whole thing worse, was the report of M'Fadden havinghad a good sleep and awaking much more comfortable; that there waslittle chance of the fortunate issue of his death. In this, minehost saw the liability increasing two-fold. 

He stands his important person, (hat off, face red with expectancy, and hands thrust well down into his breeches pocket), on the topstep of the stairs leading to the veranda, and hears theunfavourable report with sad discomfiture. "That's what comes ofmaking a preacher of a slave! Well! I've done all I can. It puts allkinds of deviltry about runnin' away into their heads, " he venturesto assert, as he turns away, re-enters the "bar-room, " and invitesall his friends to drink at his expense. 

"Mark what I say, now, Squire Jones. The quickest way to catch thatar' nigger 's just to lay low and keep whist. He's a pious nigger;and a nigger can't keep his pious a'tween his teeth, no more nor ablackbird can his chattering. The feller 'll feel as if he wants toredeem somebody; and seeing how 'tis so, if ye just watch close someSunday ye'll nab the fellow with his own pious bait. Can catch apious runaway nigger 'most any time; the brute never knows enough tokeep it to himself, " says a flashily dressed gentleman, as he leanedagainst the counter, squinted his eye with an air of ponderoussatisfaction, and twirled his tumbler round and round on thecounter. "'Pears to me, " he continues, quizzically, "Squire, you'vegot a lot o' mixed cracker material here, what it'll be hard tomanufactor to make dependable voters on, 'lection day:" he casts alook at the medley of sleepers. 

"I wish the whole pack on 'em was sold into slavery, I do! They formsix-tenths of the voters in our state, and are more ignorant, and agreat deal worse citizens, than our slaves. Bl-'em, there is'nt onein fifty can read or write, and they're impudenter than theGovernor. "

"Hush! hush! squire. 'Twon't do to talk so. There ain't men nowherestand on dignity like them fellers; they are the verybone-and-siners of the unwashed, hard-fisted democracy. The waythey'd pull this old tavern down, if they heard reflections on theirhonour, would be a caution to storms. But how's old iron-sidedM'Fadden this morning? Begins to think of his niggers, I reckon, "interrupts the gentleman; to which mine host shakes his head, despondingly. Mine host wishes M'Fadden, nigger, candidates and all, a very long distance from his place. 

"I s'pose he thinks old Death, with his grim visage, ain't going tocall for him just now. That's ollers the way with northerners, wholives atween the hope of something above, and the love of makin'money below: they never feel bad about the conscience, until oldDavy Jones, Esq. , the gentleman with the horns and tail, takes themby the nose, and says-'come!'"

"I have struck an idea, " says our worthy host, suddenly striking hishand on the counter. "I will put up a poster. I will offer a bigreward. T'other property's all safe; there's only the preachermissing. "

"Just the strike! Give us yer hand, squire!" The gentleman reacheshis hand across the counter, and smiles, while cordially embracingmine host. "Make the reward about two hundred, so I can make a goodweek's work for the dogs and me. Got the best pack in the parish;one on 'em knows as much as most clergymen, he does!" he verydeliberately concludes, displaying a wonderful opinion of his ownnigger-catching philosophy. 

And Mr. Jones, such is mine host's name, immediately commencedexercising his skill in composition on a large, poster, which with agood hour's labour he completes, and posts upon the ceiling of the"bar-room, " just below an enormously illustrated Circus bill. 

"There! now's a chance of some enterprise and some sense. There's adeuced nice sum to be made at that!" says Mr. Jones, emphatically, as he stands a few steps back, and reads aloud the following sublimeoutline of his genius:--

"GREAT INDUCEMENT FOR SPORTSMEN. Two Hundred Dollars Reward. 

"The above reward will be given anybody for the apprehension of thenigger-boy, Harry, the property of Mr. M'Fadden. Said Harrysuddenly disappeared from these premises last night, while hismaster was supposed to be dying. The boy's a well-developed nigger, 'ant sassy, got fine bold head and round face, and intelligent eye, and 's about five feet eleven inches high, and equally proportionateelsewhere. He's much giv'n to preachin', and most likely is secretedin some of the surrounding swamps, where he will remain untiltempted to make his appearance on some plantation for the purpose ofexortin his feller niggers. He is well disposed, and is said to havea good disposition, so that no person need fear to approach him forcapture. The above reward will be paid upon his delivery at any gaolin the State, and a hundred and fifty dollars if delivered at anygaol out of the State. 

"JETHRO JONES. "

"Just the instrument to bring him, Jethro!" intimates ourfashionable gent, quizzically, as he stands a few feet behind Mr. Jones, making grimaces. Then, gazing intently at the bill for someminutes, he runs his hands deep into his pockets, affects an air ofgreatest satisfaction, and commences whistling a tune to aid insuppressing a smile that is invading his countenance. "Wouldn't bein that nigger's skin for a thousand or more dollars, I wouldn't!"he continues, screeching in the loudest manner, and then shaking, kicking, and rousing the half-animate occupants of the floor andbenches. "Come! get up here! Prize money ahead! Fine fun for a week. Prize money ahead! wake up, ye jolly sleepers, loyal citizens, independent voters-wake up, I say. Here's fun and frolic, plenty ofwhiskey, and two hundred dollars reward for every mother's son of yewhat wants to hunt a nigger; and he's a preachin nigger at that!Come; whose in for the frolic, ye hard-faced democracy that love tovote for your country's good and a good cause?" After exertinghimself for some time, they begin to scramble up like so manybewildered spectres of blackness, troubled to get light through themeans of their blurred faculties. 

"Who's dragging the life out o' me?" exclaims one, straining hismottled eyes, extending his wearied limbs, gasping as if for breath;then staggering to the counter. Finally, after much struggling, staggering, expressing consternation, obscene jeering, blasphemousoaths and filthy slang, they stand upright, and huddle around thenotice. The picture presented by their ragged garments, theirwoebegone faces, and their drenched faculties, would, indeed, bedifficult to transfer to canvas. 

"Now, stare! stare! with all yer fire-stained eyes, ye clan ofmotley vagrants-ye sovereign citizens of a sovereign state. Twohundred dollars! aye, two hundred dollars for ye. Make plenty o'work for yer dogs; knowin brutes they are. And ye'll get whiskeyenough to last the whole district more nor a year, " says our worthyJones, standing before them, and pointing his finger at the notice. They, as if doubting their own perceptibilities, draw nearer andnearer, straining their eyes, while their bodies oscillate againsteach other. 

Mine host tells them to consider the matter, and be prepared foraction, while he will proceed to M'Fadden's chamber and learn thestate of his health. 

He opens the sick man's chamber, and there, to his surprise, is theinvalid gentleman, deliberately taking his tea and toast. Mine hostcongratulates him upon his appearance, extends his hand, takes aseat by his bed-side. "I had fearful apprehensions about you, myfriend, " he says. 

"So had I about myself. I thought I was going to slip it in rightearnest. My thoughts and feelins-how they wandered!" M'Fadden raiseshis hand to his forehead, and slowly shakes his head. "I would'nt a'given much for the chances, at one time; but the wound isn't so bad, after all. My nigger property gets along all straight, I suppose?"he enquires, coolly, rolling his eyes upwards with a look of seriousreflection. "Boy preacher never returned last night. It's all right, though, I suppose?" again he enquired, looking mine host right inthe eye, as if he discovered some misgiving. His seriousness soonbegins to give place to anxiety. 

"That boy was a bad nigger, " says mine host, in a half-whisper; "butyou must not let your property worry you, my friend. "

"Bad nigger!" interrupts the invalid. Mine host pauses for a moment, while M'Fadden sets his eyes upon him with a piercing stare. 

"Not been cutting up nigger tricks?" he ejaculates, enquiringly, about to spring from his couch with his usual nimbleness. Mine hostplaces his left hand upon his shoulder, and assures him there is nocause of alarm. 

"Tell me if any thing's wrong about my property. Now do, --be candid:"his eyes roll, anxiously. 

"All right-except the preacher; he's run away, " mine host answers, suggesting how much better it will be to take the matter cool, as heis sure to be captured. 

"What! who-how? you don't say! My very choicest piece of property. Well-well! who will believe in religion, after that? He came to mysick chamber, the black vagabond did, and prayed as piously as awhite man. And it went right to my heart; and I felt that if I diedit would a' been the means o' savin my soul from all sorts of thingsinfernal, " says the recovering M'Fadden. He, the black preacher, isonly a nigger after all; and his owner will have him back, or he'llhave his black hide-that he will! The sick man makes another effortto rise, but is calmed into resignation through mine host's furtherassurance that the property will be "all right" by the time he getswell. 

"How cunning it was in the black vagrant! I shouldn't be a bitsurprised if he cleared straight for Massachusetts-Massachusettshates our State. Her abolitionists will ruin us yet, sure as theworld. We men of the South must do something on a grand scale toprotect our rights and our property. The merchants of the North willhelp us; they are all interested in slave labour. Cotton is king;and cotton can rule, if it will. Cotton can make friendship strong, and political power great. 

"There's my cousin John, ye see; he lives north, but is married to awoman south. He got her with seventeen mules and twenty-threeniggers. And there's brother Jake's daughter was married to aplanter out south what owns lots o' niggers. And there's good olduncle Richard; he traded a long time with down south folks, madeheaps a money tradin niggers in a sly way, and never heard a wordsaid about slavery not being right, that he did'nt get into a deuceof a fuss, and feel like fightin? Two of Simon Wattler's gals weremarried down south, and all the family connections became down-southin principle. And here's Judge Brooks out here, the very bestdown-south Judge on the bench; he come from cousin Ephraim'sneighbourhood, down east. It's just this way things is snarled upa'tween us and them ar' fellers down New England way. It keeps upthe strength of our peculiar institution, though. And southernEditors! just look at them; why, Lord love yer soul! two thirds on'em are imported from down-north way; and they make the very bestsouthern-principled men. I thought of that last night, when Mr. Jones with the horns looked as if he would go with him. But, I'llhave that preachin vagrant, I'll have him!" says Mr. M'Fadden, emphatically, seeming much more at rest about his departing affairs. As the shadows of death fade from his sight into their properdistance, worldly figures and property justice resume their wontedpossession of his thoughts. 

Again, as if suddenly seized with pain, he contorts his face, andenquires in a half-whisper--"What if this wound should mortify?would death follow quickly? I'm dubious yet!"

Mine host approaches nearer his bed-side, takes his hand. M'Fadden, with much apparent meekness, would know what he thought of his case?

He is assured by the kind gentleman that he is entirely out ofdanger-worth a whole parish of dead men. At the same time, mine hostinsinuates that he will never do to fight duels until he learns todie fashionably. 

M'Fadden smiles, --remembers how many men have been nearly killed andyet escaped the undertaker, --seems to have regained strength, andcalls for a glass of whiskey and water. Not too strong! but, reminding mine host of the excellent quality of his bitters, hesuggests that a little may better his case. 

"I didn't mean the wound, " resuming his anxiety for the lostpreacher: "I meant the case of the runaway?"

"Oh! oh! bless me! he will forget he is a runaway piece of propertyin his anxiousness to put forth his spiritual inclinations. That'swhat'll betray the scamp;--nigger will be nigger, you know! Theycan't play the lawyer, nohow, " mine host replies, with an assuranceof his ability to judge negro character. This is a new idea, cominglike the dew-drops of heaven to relieve his anxiety. The consolingintelligence makes him feel more comfortable. 

The whiskey-and-bitters-most unpoetic drink-is brought to hisbed-side. He tremblingly carries it to his lips, sips and sips;then, with one gulp, empties the glass. At this moment the pedanticphysician makes his appearance, scents the whiskey, gives afavourable opinion of its application as a remedy in certain cases. The prescription is not a bad one. Climate, and such a rustyconstitution as Mr. M'Fadden is blest with, renders a littlestimulant very necessary to keep up the one thing needful-courage!The patient complains bitterly to the man of pills and powders;tells a great many things about pains and fears. What a dreadfulthing if the consequence had proved fatal! He further thinks that itwas by the merest act of Providence, in such a desperate affray, hehad not been killed outright. A great many bad visions have hauntedhim in his dreams, and he is very desirous of knowing what the manof salts and senna thinks about the true interpretation of such. About the time he was dreaming such dreams he was extremely anxiousto know how the spiritual character of slave-holders stood on therecords of heaven, and whether the fact of slave-owning would causethe insertion of an item in the mortal warrant forming the exceptionto a peaceful conclusion with the Father's forgiveness. He felt asif he would surely die during the night past, and his mind became soabstracted about what he had done in his life, --what was to come, hownegro property had been treated, how it should be treated, --that, although he had opinions now and then widely-different, it had lefta problem which would take him all his life-time to solve, --if heshould live ever so long. And, too, there were these poor wretchesaccidentally shot down at his side; his feelings couldn't withstandthe ghostly appearance of their corpses as he was carried past them, perhaps to be buried n the same forlorn grave, the very next day. All these things reflected their results through the morbidity ofMr. M'Fadden's mind; but his last observation, showing how slenderis the cord between life and death, proved what was uppermost in hismind. "You'll allow I'm an honest man? I have great faith in youropinion, Doctor! And if I have been rather go-ahead with my niggers, my virtue in business matters can't be sprung, " he mutters. Thephysician endeavours to calm his anxiety, by telling him he is aperfect model of goodness, --a just, honest, fearless, andenterprising planter; and that these attributes of our better natureconstitute such a balance in the scale as will give any gentlemanslaveholder very large claims to that spiritual proficiencynecessary for the world to come. 

Mr. M'Fadden acquiesces in the correctness of this remark, butdesires to inform the practitioner what a sad loss he has met with. He is sure the gentleman will scarcely believe his word when hetells him what it is. "I saw how ye felt downright affected whenthat nigger o' mine prayed with so much that seemed like honesty andchristianity, last night, " he says. 

"Yes, " interrupts the man of medicine, "he was a wonderful niggerthat. I never heard such natural eloquence nor such pathos; he is awonder among niggers, he is! Extraordinary fellow for one raised upon a plantation. Pity, almost, that such a clergyman should be aslave. "

"You don't say so, Doctor, do you? Well! I've lost him just when Iwanted him most. "

"He is not dead?" enquires the physician, suddenly interrupting. Hehad seen Mr. M'Fadden's courage fail at the approach of death, andagain recover quickly when the distance widened between that monitorand himself, and could not suppress the smile stealing over hiscountenance. 

"Dead! no indeed. Worse-he has run away!" Mr. M'Fadden quicklyretorted, clenching his right hand, and scowling. In another minutehe turns back the sheets, and, with returned strength, makes asuccessful attempt to sit up in bed. "I don't know whether I'mbetter or worse; but I think it would be all right if I warn'tworried so much about the loss of that preacher. I paid a tremendoussum for him. And the worst of it is, my cousin deacon Stoner, of adown-east church, holds a mortgage on my nigger stock, and he mayfeel streaked when he hears of the loss;" Mr. M'Fadden concludes, holding his side to the physician, who commences examining thewound, which the enfeebled man says is very sore and must be dressedcautiously, so that he may be enabled to get out and see to hisproperty. 

To the great surprise of all, the wound turns out to be merely aslight cut, with no appearance of inflammation, and every prospectof being cured through a further application of a very small bit ofdressing plaster. 

The physician smiled, mine host smiled; it was impossible tosuppress the risible faculties. The poor invalid is overpowered withdisappointment. His imagination had betrayed him into one of thosedesperate, fearful, and indubitable brinks of death, upon which itseems the first law of nature reminds us what is necessary to dieby. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, till Mr. M'Faddensuddenly changed countenance, and said it was no laughingaffair, --such things were not to be trifled with; men should bethinking of more important matters. And he looked at the wound, runhis fingers over it gently, and rubbed it as if doubting the depth. 

"A little more whiskey would'nt hurt me, Doctor?" he enquires, complacently, looking round the room distrustfully at those who wereenjoying the joke, more at his expense than he held to be inaccordance with strict rules of etiquette. 

"I'll admit, my worthy citizen, your case seemed to baffle my skill, last night, " the physician replies, jocosely. "Had I taken yourpolitical enthusiasm into consideration, --and your readiness toinstruct an assemblage in the holy democracy of our south, --and yourhopes of making strong draughts do strong political work, I mighthave saved my opiate, and administered to your case more inaccordance with the skilfully administered prescriptions of ourpoliticians. Notwithstanding, I am glad you are all right, and trustthat whenever you get your enthusiasm fired with bad brandy, or thecandidates' bad whiskey, you will not tax other people's feelingswith your own dying affairs; nor send for a 'nigger' preacher toredeem your soul, who will run away when he thinks the jobcompleted. "

Mr. M'Fadden seemed not to comprehend the nature of his physician'slanguage, and after a few minutes pause he must needs enquire aboutthe weather? if a coroner's inquest has been held over the dead men?what was its decision? was there any decision at all? and have theybeen buried? Satisfied on all these points, he gets up, himselfagain, complaining only of a little muddled giddiness about thehead, and a hip so sore that he scarcely could reconcile his mind toplace confidence in it. 

"Good by! good by!" says the physician, shaking him by the hand. "Measure the stimulant carefully; and take good care of dumplindep“t No. 1, and you'll be all right very soon. You're a gooddemocrat, and you'll make as good a stump orator as ever took thefield. "

The man of medicine, laughing heartily within himself, descends thestairs and reaches the bar-room, where are concentrated sundry ofthe party we have before described. They make anxious enquiriesabout Mr. M'Fadden, --how he seemed to "take it;" did he evince wantof pluck? had he courage enough to fight a duel? and could his votebe taken afore he died? These, and many other questions of a likenature, were put to the physician so fast, and with so manyinvitations to drink "somethin', " that he gave a sweeping answer bysaying Mac had been more frightened than hurt; that the fear ofdeath having passed from before his eyes his mind had now centeredon the loss of his nigger preacher-a valuable piece of property thathad cost him no less than fifteen hundred dollars. And the worst ofit was, that the nigger had aggravatingly prayed for him when hethought he was going to sink out into the arms of father death. 

So pressing were the invitations to drink, that our man of medicineadvanced to the counter, like a true gentleman of the south, andwith his glass filled with an aristocratic mixture, made one of hispolitest bows, toasted the health of all free citizens, adding hishope for the success of the favourite candidate. 

"Drink it with three cheers, standin'!" shouted a formidablymustached figure, leaning against the counter with his left hand, while his right was grasping the jug from which he was attempting invain to water his whiskey. To this the physic gentleman bows assent;and they are given to the very echo. Taking his departure for thecity, as the sounds of cheering die away, he emerged from the frontdoor, as Mr. M'Fadden, unexpectedly as a ghost rising from the tomb, made his entrance from the old staircase in the back. Thecitizens-for of such is our assembly composed-are astonished andperplexed. "Such a set of scapegoats as you are!" grumbles out thedebutant, as he stands before them like a disentombed spectre. Withopen arms they approach him, congratulate him on his recovery, andshower upon him many good wishes, and long and strong drinks. 

A few drinks more, and our hero is quite satisfied with his welcome. His desire being intimated, mine host conducts himself to thecorn-shed, where he satisfies himself that his faithful property(the preacher excepted) is all snugly safe. Happy property in thehands of a prodigious democrat! happy republicanism that makesfreedom but a privilege! that makes a mockery of itself, andenslaves the noblest blood of noble freemen! They were happy, thevictims of ignorance, contented with the freedom their country hadgiven them, bowing beneath the enslaving yoke of justice-boastingdemocracy, and ready to be sold and shipped, with an invoice offreight, at the beckon of an owner. 

Mr. M'Fadden questions the people concerning Harry's departure; butthey are as ignorant of his whereabouts as himself. They onlyremember that he came to the shed at midnight, whispered some wordsof consolation, and of his plain fare gave them to eat;--nothingmore. 

"Poor recompense for my goodness!" says Mr. M'Fadden, muttering someindistinct words as he returns to the tavern, followed by a humorousnegro, making grimaces in satisfaction of "mas'r's" disappointment. Now friends are gathered together, chuckling in great glee over thelarge reward offered for the lost parson, for the capture of whichabsconding article they have numerous horses, dogs, confidentialnegroes, and a large supply of whiskey, with which very necessaryliquid they will themselves become dogs of one kine. The game to beplayed is purely a democratic one; hence the clansmen are ready toloosen their souls' love for the service. M'Fadden never beforewitnessed such satisfactory proofs of his popularity; his tenderestemotions are excited; he cannot express the fullness of his heart;he bows, puts his hand to his heart, orders the balance of hisinvoice sent to his plantation, mounts his horse, and rides off atfull gallop, followed by his friends. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A FRIEND IS WOMAN. 

THE reader will again accompany us to the time when we find Annetteand Nicholas in the hands of Graspum, who will nurture them fortheir increasing value. 

Merciless creditors have driven Marston from that home of so manyhappy and hospitable associations, to seek shelter in the obscureand humble chamber of a wretched building in the outskirts of thecity. Fortune can afford him but a small cot, two or three brokenchairs, an ordinary deal table, a large chest, which stands near thefire-place, and a dressing-stand, for furniture. Here, obscured fromthe society he had so long mingled with, he spends most of his time, seldom venturing in public lest he may encounter those indomitablegentlemen who would seem to love the following misfortune into itslast stage of distress. His worst enemy, however, is that source ofhis misfortunes he cannot disclose; over it hangs the mystery hemust not solve! It enshrines him with guilt before public opinion;by it his integrity lies dead; it is that which gives to motherrumour the weapons with which to wield her keenest slanders. 

Having seized Marston's real estate, Graspum had no scruples aboutswearing to the equity of his claim; nor were any of the creditorswilling to challenge an investigation; and thus, through fear ofsuch a formidable abettor, Marston laboured under the strongest, andperhaps the most unjust imputations. But there was no limit toGraspum's mercenary proceedings; for beyond involving Marstonthrough Lorenzo, he had secretly purchased many claims of thecreditors, and secured his money by a dexterous movement, with whichhe reduced the innocent children to slavery. 

Reports have spread among the professedly knowing that Marston cannever have made away with all his property in so few years. And themanner being so invisible, the charge becomes stronger. Thus, labouring between the pain of misfortune and the want of means toresent suspicion, his cheerless chamber is all he can now call hishome. But he has two good friends left-Franconia, and the old negroBob. Franconia has procured a municipal badge for Daddy; and, through it (disguised) he seeks and obtains work at stowing cottonon the wharfs. His earnings are small, but his soul is large, andembued with attachment for his old master, with whom he will sharethem. Day by day the old slave seems to share the feelings of hismaster, --to exhibit a solicitous concern for his comfort. Earning hisdollars and twenty-five cents a day, he will return when the weekhas ended, full of exultation, spread out his earnings withchildlike simplicity, take thirty cents a day for himself, and slipthe remainder into Marston's pocket. How happy he seems, as hewatches the changes of Marston's countenance, and restrains thegushing forth of his feelings!

It was on one of those nights upon which Daddy had received hisearnings, that Marston sat in his cheerless chamber, crouched overthe faint blaze of a few pieces of wood burning on the bricks of hisnarrow fire-place, contemplating the eventful scenes of the fewyears just passed. The more he contemplated the more it seemed likea dream; his very head wearied with the interminable maze of hisdifficulties. Further and further, as he contemplated, did it opento his thoughts the strange social and political mystery of thatmore strange institution for reducing mankind to the level ofbrutes. And yet, democracy, apparently honest, held such inviolableand just to its creed; which creed it would defend with a cordon ofsteel. The dejected gentleman sighs, rests his head on his lefthand, and his elbow on the little table at his side. Without, theweather is cold and damp; an incessant rain had pattered upon theroof throughout the day, wild and murky clouds hang their drearyfestoons along the heavens, and swift scudding fleeces, driven byfierce, murmuring winds, bespread the prospect with gloom that findsits way into the recesses of the heart. 

"Who is worse than a slave!" sighs the rejected man, getting up andlooking out of his window into the dreary recesses of the narrowlane. "If it be not a ruined planter I mistake the policy by whichwe govern our institution! As the slave is born a subject being, sois the planter a dependent being. We planters live indisappointment, in fear, in unhappy uncertainty; and yet we make nopreparations for the result. Nay, we even content ourselves withpleasantly contemplating what may come through the eventful issue ofpolitical discord; and when it comes in earnest, we find ourselvesthe most hapless of unfortunates. For myself, bereft of all I hadonce, --even friends, I am but a forlorn object in the scale of weakmankind! No man will trust me with his confidence, --scarce one knowsme but to harass me; I can give them no more, and yet I am suspectedof having more. It is so, and ever will be so. Such are the phasesof man's downfall, that few follow them to the facts, while rumourrules supreme over misfortune. There may be a fountain of human painconcealed beneath it; but few extend the hand to stay itsquickening. Nay, when all is gone, mammon cries, more! until bodyand soul are crushed beneath the "more" of relentless self. 

"Few know the intricacies of our system; perhaps 'twere well, lestour souls should not be safe within us. But, ah! my consciencechides me here. And betwixt those feelings which once saw all thingsright, but now through necessity beholds their grossest wrongs, comes the pain of self-condemnation. It is a condemnation hauntingme unto death. Had I been ignorant of Clotilda's history, thefiendish deed of those who wronged her in her childhood had not nowhung like a loathsome pestilence around my very garments. That whichthe heart rebukes cannot be concealed; but we must be obedient tothe will that directs all things;--and if it be that we remain blindin despotism until misfortune opens our eyes, let the cause of thecalamity be charged to those it belongs to, " he concludes; and then, after a few minutes' silence, he lights his taper, and sets it uponthe table. His care-worn countenance pales with melancholy; his hairhas whitened with tribulation; his demeanour denotes a man of tendersensibility fast sinking into a physical wreck. A well-soiled booklies on the table, beside which he takes his seat; he turns itspages over and over carelessly, as if it were an indifferentamusement to wile away the time. "They cannot enslave affection, norcan they confine it within prison walls, " he mutters. He has proofin the faithfulness of Daddy, his old slave. And as he contemplates, the words "she will be more than welcome to-night, " escape his lips. Simultaneously a gentle tapping is heard at the door. Slowly itopens, and the figure of an old negro, bearing a basket on his arm, enters. He is followed by the slender and graceful form ofFranconia, who approaches her uncle, hand extended, salutes him witha kiss, seats herself at his side, says he must not be sad. Then shesilently gazes upon him for a few moments, as if touched by histroubles, while the negro, having spread the contents of the basketupon the chest, makes a humble bow, wishes mas'r and missus goodnight, and withdraws. "There, uncle, " she says, laying her handgently on his arm, "I didn't forget you, did I?" She couples theword with a smile-a smile so sweet, so expressive of her soul'sgoodness. "You are dear to me, uncle; yes, as dear as a father. Howcould I forget that you have been a father to me? I have broughtthese little things to make you comfortable, "-she points to theedibles on the chest-"and I wish I were not tied to a slave, uncle, for then I could do more. Twice, since my marriage to M'Carstrow, have I had to protect myself from his ruffianism. "

"From his ruffianism!" interrupts Marston, quickly: "Can it be, mychild, that even a ruffian would dare exhibit his vileness towardyou?"

"Even toward me, uncle. With reluctance I married him, and my onlyregret is, that a slave's fate had not been mine ere the fruits ofthat day fell upon me. Women like me make a feeble defence in theworld; and bad husbands are the shame of their sex, " she returns, her eyes brightening with animation, as she endeavours to calm theexcitement her remarks have given rise to: "Don't, pray don't mindit, uncle, " she concludes. 

"Such news had been anticipated; but I was cautious not to"--

"Never mind, " she interrupts, suddenly coiling her delicate armround his neck, and impressing a kiss on his care-worn cheek. "Letus forget these things; they are but the fruits of weak nature. Itwere better to bear up under trouble than yield to trouble'sburdens: better far. Who knows but that it is all for the best?" Sherises, and, with seeming cheerfulness, proceeds to spread the littletable with the refreshing tokens of her friendship. Yielding tonecessity, the table is spread, and they sit down, with anappearance of domestic quietness touchingly humble. 

"There is some pleasure, after all, in having a quiet spot where wecan sit down and forget our cares. Perhaps (all said and done) a manmay call himself prince of his own garret, when he can forget allbeyond it, " says Marston affected to tears by Franconia's womanlyresignation. 

"Yes, " returns Franconia, joyously, "it's a consolation to know thatwe have people among us much worse off than we are. I confess, though, I feel uneasy about our old slaves. Slavery's wrong, uncle;and it's when one's reduced to such extremes as are presented inthis uninviting garret that we realise it the more forcibly. Itgives the poor wretches no chance of bettering their condition; andif one exhibits ever so much talent over the other, there is nochance left him to improve it. It is no recompense to the slave thathis talent only increases the price of the article to be sold. Lookwhat Harry would have been had he enjoyed freedom. Uncle, we forgetour best interests while pondering over the security of a badsystem. Would it not be better to cultivate the slave's affections, rather than oppress his feelings?" Franconia has their cause atheart-forgets her own. She is far removed from the cold speculationsof the south; she is free from mercenary motives; unstained by thatprinciple of logic which recognises only the man merchandise. Nowill hath she to contrive ingenious apologies for the wrongsinflicted upon a fallen race. Her words spring from the purestsentiment of the soul; they contain a smarting rebuke of Marston'sformer misdoings: but he cannot resent it, nor can he turn the tideof his troubles against her noble generosity. 

They had eaten their humble supper of meats and bread, and coffee, when Franconia hears a rap at the lower entrance, leading into thestreet. Bearing the taper in her hand, she descends the stairsquickly, and, opening the door, recognises the smiling face of DaddyBob. Daddy greets her as if he were surcharged with the very bestnews for old mas'r and missus. He laughs in the exuberance of hissimplicity, and, with an air of fondness that would better become achild, says, "Lor', young missus, how glad old Bob is to see ye!Seems like long time since old man see'd Miss Frankone look so spry. Got dat badge. " The old man shows her his badge, exultingly. "Missus, nobody know whose nigger I'm's, and old Bob arns a rightsmart heap o' money to make mas'r comfortable. " The old slave neverfor once thinks of his own infirmities; no, his attachment formaster soars above every thing else; he thinks only in what way hecan relieve his necessities. Honest, faithful, and affectionate, theassociations of the past are uppermost in his mind; he forgets hisslavery in his love for master and the old plantation. Readily wouldhe lay down his life, could he, by so doing, lighten the troubles heinstinctively sees in the changes of master's position. The oldplantation and its people have been sold; and he, being among theseparated from earth's chosen, must save his infirm body lest someman sell him for the worth thereof. Bob's face is white with beard, and his coarse garments are much worn and ragged; but there issomething pleasing in the familiarity with which Franconia acceptshis brawny hand. How free from that cold advance, that measuredwelcome, and that religious indifference, with which the would-befriend of the slave, at the north, too often accepts the black man'shand! There is something in the fervency with which she shakes hiswrinkled hand that speaks of the goodness of the heart; somethingthat touches the old slave's childlike nature. He smiles bashfully, and says, "Glad t' see ye, missus; dat I is: 'spishilly ven ye takescare on old mas'r. " After receiving her salutation he follows her tothe chamber, across which he hastens to receive a welcome from oldmas'r. Marston warmly receives his hand, and motions him to beseated on the chest near the fire-place. Bob takes his seat, keepinghis eye on mas'r the while. "Neber mind, mas'r, " he says, "Big Mas'rabove be better dan Buckra. Da'h is somefin' what Buckra no sellfrom ye, dat's a good heart. If old mas'r on'y keeps up he spirit, de Lor' 'll carry un throu' 'e triblation, " he continues; and, afterwatching his master a few minutes, returns to Franconia, and resumeshis jargon. 

Franconia is the same fair creature Bob watched over when shevisited the plantation: her countenance wears the same air offreshness and frankness; her words are of the same gentleness; sheseems as solicitous of his comfort as before. And yet a shadow ofsadness shrouds that vivacity which had made her the welcome guestof the old slaves. He cannot resist those expressions which are everready to lisp forth from the negro when his feelings are excited. "Lor, missus, how old Bob's heart feels! Hah, ah! yah, yah! Looks sogood, and reminds old Bob how e' look down on dah Astley, yander. But, dah somefin in dat ar face what make old nigger like I knowmissus don't feel just right, " he exclaims. 

The kind woman reads his thoughts in the glowing simplicity of hiswrinkled face. "It has been said that a dog was our last friend, Bob: I now think a slave should have been added. Don't you think so, uncle?" she enquires, looking at Marston, and, again taking the oldslave by the hand, awaits the reply. 

"We rarely appreciate their friendship until it be too late toreward it, " he replies, with an attempt to smile. 

"True, true! but the world is full of ingratitude, --very amiableingratitude. Never mind, Daddy; you must now tell me all about youraffairs, and what has happened since the night you surprised me atour house; and you must tell me how you escaped M'Carstrow on themorning of the disturbance, " she enjoins. And while Bob relates hisstory Franconia prepares his supper. Some cold ham, bread, andcoffee, are soon spread out before him. He will remove them to thechest, near the fire-place. "Why, Missus Frankone, " he says, "yesees how I'se so old now dat nobody tink I'se werf ownin; and sonobody axes old Bob whose nigger he is. An't prime nigger, now; butden a' good fo' work some, and get cash, so t' help old mas'r yander(Bob points to old master). Likes t' make old master feel not sobad. "

"Yes, " rejoins Marston, "Bob's good to me. He makes his sleepingapartments, when he comes, at the foot of my bed, and shares hisearnings with me every Saturday night. He's like an old clock thatcan keep time as well as a new one, only wind it up with care. "

"Dat I is!" says Daddy, with an exulting nod of the head, as he, tohis own surprise, lets fall his cup. It was only the negro'sforgetfulness in the moment of excitement. Giving a wistful look atFranconia, he commences picking up the pieces, and drawing hisweek's earnings from a side pocket of his jacket. 

"Eat your supper, Daddy; never mind your money now" says Franconia, laughing heartily: at which Bob regains confidence and resumes hissupper, keeping a watchful eye upon his old master the while. Everynow and then he will pause, cant his ear, and shake his head, as ifdrinking in the tenour of the conversation between Franconia and heruncle. Having concluded, he pulls out his money and spreads it uponthe chest. "Old Bob work hard fo' dat!" he says, with emphasis, spreading a five-dollar bill and two dollars and fifty cents insilver into divisions. "Dah!" he ejaculates, "dat old mas'r share, and dis is dis child's. " The old man looks proudly upon the coin, and feels he is not so worthless, after all. "Now! who say old Bobaint werf nofin?" he concludes, getting up, putting his share intohis pocket, and then, as if unobserved, slipping the balance intoMarston's. This done, he goes to the window, affects to be lookingout, and then resuming his seat upon the chest, commences humming afamiliar plantation tune, as if his pious feelings had beensuperseded by the recollection of past scenes. 

"What, Daddy, --singing songs?" interrupts Franconia, looking at himenquiringly. He stops as suddenly as he commenced, exchanges anexpressive look, and fain would question her sincerity. 

"Didn't mean 'um, missus, " he returns, after a moment's hesitation, "didn't mean 'um. Was thinkin 'bout somefin back'ards; down oldplantation times. "

"You had better forget them times, Bob. "

"Buckra won't sell dis old nigger, --will he, Miss Frankone?" heenquires, resuming his wonted simplicity. 

"Sell you, Bob? You're a funny old man. Don't think your oldhalf-worn-out bones are going to save you. Money's the word: they'llsell anything that will produce it, --dried up of age are noexceptions. Keep out of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy's way: wheneveryou hear him singing, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that heshall come, ' as he always does, --run! He lives on the sale ofinfirmity, and your old age would be a capital thing for theexercise of his genius. He will put you through a course ofregeneration, take the wrinkles smooth out of your face, dye thoseold grey whiskers, and get a profit for his magic power oftransposing the age of negro property, " she replied, gravely, whileBob stares at her as if doubting his own security. 

"Why, missus!" he interposes, his face glowing with astonishment;"Buckra don't be so smart dat he make old nigger young, be he?"

"Traders can do anything with niggers that have got money in them, as they say. Our distinguished people are sensitive of the crime, but excuse themselves with apologies they cannot make cover theshame. "

"Franke!" interrupts Marston, "spare the negro's feelings, --it mayhave a bad effect. " He touches her on the arm, and knits his browsin caution. 

"How strange, to think that bad influence could come of such aninoffensive old man! Truth, I know and feel, is powerfully painfulwhen brought home to the doors of our best people, --it cuts deep whentold in broad letters; but they make the matter worse by attemptingto enshrine the stains with their chivalry. We are a wondrouspeople, uncle, and the world is just finding it out, to our shame. We may find it out ourselves, by and by; perhaps pay the penaltywith sorrow. We look upon negroes as if they were dropped down fromsome unaccountable origin, --intended to raise the world's cotton, rice, and sugar, but never to get above the menial sphere we haveconditioned for them. Uncle, there is a mistake somewhere, --a mistakesadly at variance with our democratic professions. Democracy needsto reclaim its all-claiming principles of right and justice for thedown-trodden. And yet, while the negro generously submits to serveus, we look upon him as an auspicious innovator, who never couldhave been born to enjoy manhood, and was subjected to bear a blackface because God had marked him for servitude. Did God found anaristocracy of colour, or make men to be governed by theirdistinctive qualifications of colour relationship?" says Franconia, her face resuming a flush of agitation. Touching Marston on the armwith the fore-finger of her right hand, and giving a glance at Bob, who listens attentively to the theme of conversation, she continues:"Say no more of bad influence coming of slaves, when the corruptestexamples are set by those who hold them as such, --who crash theirhopes, blot out their mental faculties, and turn their bodies intolicentious merchandise that they may profit by its degradation! Showme the humblest slave on your plantation, and, in comparison withthe slave-dealer, I will prove him a nobleman of God's kind, --ofGod's image: his simple nature will be his clean passport intoheaven. The Father of Mercy will receive him there; he will forgivethe crimes enforced upon him by man; and that dark body on earthwill be recompensed in a world of light, --it will shine with thebrighter spirits of that realm of justice and love. Earth may bringthe slavetrader bounties; but heaven will reject the foul offering. "The good woman unfolds the tender emotions of her heart, as onlywoman can. 

Bob listens, as if taking a deep interest in the force andearnestness of young missus's language. He is swayed by her pathos, and at length interposes his word. 

"Nigger ain't so good as white man" (he shakes his head, philosophically). "White man sharp; puzzle nigger to find out what'e don, know ven 'e mind t'. " Thus saying, he takes a small hymn-book from his pocket, and, Franconia setting the light beside him, commences reading to himself by its dim glare. 

"Well! now, uncle, it's getting late, and I've a good way to go, andthe night's stormy; so I must prepare for home. " Franconia gets up, and evinces signs of withdrawing. She walks across the littlechamber three or four times, looks out of the window, strains hersight into the gloomy prospect, and then, as if reluctant to leaveher uncle, again takes a seat by his side. Gently laying her lefthand upon his shoulder, she makes an effort at pleasantry, tells himto keep up his resolution-to be of good cheer. 

"Remember, uncle, " she says, calmly, "they tell us it is no disgraceto be poor, --no shame to work to live; and yet poor people aretreated as criminals. For my own part, I would rather be poor andhappy than rich with a base husband; I have lived in New England, know how to appreciate its domestic happiness. It was therePuritanism founded true American liberty. --Puritanism yet lives, andmay be driven to action; but we must resign ourselves to the will ofan all-wise Providence. " Thus concluding, she makes another attemptto withdraw. 

"You must not leave me yet!" says Marston, grasping her hand firmlyin his. "Franke, I cannot part with you until I have disclosed whatI have been summoning resolution to suppress. I know yourattachment, Franconia; you have been more than dear to me. You haveknown my feelings, --what they have already had to undergo. " Hepauses. 

"Speak it, uncle, speak it! Keep nothing from me, nor make secretsin fear of my feelings. Speak out, --I may relieve you!" sheinterrupts, nervously: and again encircling her arm round his neck, waits his reply, in breathless suspense. 

He falters for a moment, and then endeavours to regain his usualcoolness. "To-morrow, Franconia, " he half mutters out, "to-morrow, you may find me not so well situated, " (here tears are seentrickling down his cheeks) "and in a place where it will not becomeyour delicate nature to visit me. "

"Nay, uncle!" she stops him there; "I will visit you wherever youmay be-in a castle or a prison. "

The word prison has touched the tender chord upon which all histroubles are strung. He sobs audibly; but they are only sobs ofregret, for which there is no recompense in this late hour. "Andwould you follow me to a prison, Franconia?" he enquires, throwinghis arms about her neck, kissing her pure cheek with the fondness ofa father. 

"Yea, and share your sorrows within its cold walls. Do not yield tomelancholy, uncle, --you have friends left: if not, heaven willprepare a place of rest for you; heaven shields the unfortunate atlast, " rejoins the good woman, the pearly tears brightening inmutual sympathy. 

"To-morrow, my child, you will find me the unhappy tenant of thosewalls where man's discomfiture is complete. "

"Nay, uncle, nay! you are only allowing your melancholy forebodingsto get the better of you. Such men as Graspum-men who have strippedfamilies of their all-might take away your property, and leave youas they have left my poor parents; but no one would be so heartlessas to drive you to the extreme of imprisonment. It is a foolishresult at best. " Franconia's voice falters; she looks more and moreintently in her uncle's face, struggles to suppress her risingemotions. She knows his frankness, she feels the pain of hisposition; but, though the dreadful extreme seems scarcely possible, there is that in his face conveying strong evidence of the truth ofhis remark. 

"Do not weep, Franconia; spare your tears for a more worthy object:such trials have been borne by better men than I. I am but themerchandise of my creditors. There is, however, one thing whichhaunts me to grief; could I have saved my children, the pain of myposition had been slight indeed. "

"Speak not of them, uncle, " Franconia interrupts, "you cannot feelthe bitterness of their lot more than myself. I have saved a mother, but have failed to execute my plan of saving them; and my heartthrobs with pain when I think that now it is beyond my power. Let menot attempt to again excite in your bosom feelings which must everbe harassing, for the evil only can work its destruction. To clipthe poisoning branches and not uproot the succouring trunk, is likecasting pearls into the waste of time. My heart will ever be withthe destinies of those children, my feelings bound in unison withtheirs; our hopes are the same, and if fortune should smile on me intimes to come I will keep my word-I will snatch them from thedevouring element of slavery. "

"Stop, my child!" speaks Marston, earnestly: "Remember you can dolittle against the strong arm of the law, and still stronger arm ofpublic opinion. Lay aside your hopes of rescuing those children, Franconia, and remember that while I am in prison I am the propertyof my creditors, subject to their falsely conceived notions of myaffairs, " he continues. "I cannot now make amends to the law ofnature, " he adds, burying his face in his hand, weeping a child'stears. 

Franconia looks solicitously upon her uncle, as he sorrows. Shewould dry her tears to save his throbbing heart. Her noblegenerosity and disinterestedness have carried her through manytrials since her marriage, but it fails to nerve her longer. Her'sis a single-hearted sincerity, dispensing its goodness for thebenefit of the needy; she suppresses her own troubles that she mayadminister consolation to others. "The affection that refuses tofollow misfortune to its lowest step is weak indeed. If you go toprison, Franconia will follow you there, " she says, with touchingpathos, her musical voice adding strength to the resolution. Blendedwith that soft angelic expression her eyes give forth, her calmdignity and inspiring nobleness show how firm is that principle ofher nature never to abandon her old friend. 

The old negro, who had seemed absorbed in his sympatheticreflections, gazes steadfastly at his old master, until his emotionsspring forth in kindest solicitude. Resistance is beyond his power. "Neber mind, old mas'r, " (he speaks in a devoted tone) "dar's betterdays comin, bof fo' old Bob and mas'r. Tink 'um sees de day when deold plantation jus so 't was wid mas'r and da' old folks. "Concluding in a subdued voice, he approaches Franconia, and seatshimself, book in hand, on the floor at her feet. Moved by hisearnestness, she lays her hand playfully upon his head, saying:"Here is our truest friend, uncle!"

"My own heart lubs Miss Frankone more den eber, " he whispers inreturn. How pure, how holy, is the simple recompense! It is nature'sonly offering, all the slave can give; and he gives it in the bountyof his soul. 

Marston's grief having subsided, he attempts to soothe Franconia'sfeelings, by affecting an air of indifference. "What need I care, after all? my resolution should be above it, " he says, thrusting hisright hand into his breast pocket, and drawing out a folded paper, which he throws upon the little table, and says, "There, Franconia, my child! that contains the climax of my unlamented misfortunes;read it: it will show you where my next abode will be-I may be atpeace there; and there is consolation at being at peace, even in acell. " He passes the paper into her hand. 

With an expression of surprise she opens it, and glances over itscontents; then reads it word by word. "Do they expect to getsomething from nothing?" she says, sarcastically. "It is one ofthose soothsayers so valuable to men whose feelings are only withmoney-to men who forget they cannot carry money to the graves; andthat no tribute is demanded on either road leading to the last abodeof man. "

"Stop there, my child! stop!" interrupts Marston. "I have given themall, 'tis true; but suspicion is my persecutor-suspicion, and tryingto be a father to my own children!"

"It is, indeed, a misfortune to be a father under suchcircumstances, in such an atmosphere!" the good woman exclaims, clasping her hands and looking upward, as if imploring theforgiveness of Heaven. Tremblingly she held the paper in her hand, until it fell upon the floor, as she, overcome, swooned in heruncle's arms. 

She swooned! yes, she swooned. That friend upon whom her affectionshad been concentrated was a prisoner. The paper was a bail writ, demanding the body of the accused. The officer serving had been kindenough to allow Marston his parole of honour until the next morning. He granted this in accordance with Marston's request, that by thelenity he might see Daddy Bob and Franconia once more. 

Lifting Franconia in his arms, her hair falling loosely down, Marston lays her gently on the cot, and commences bathing hertemples. He has nothing but water to bathe them with, --nothing butpoverty's liquid. The old negro, frightened at the sudden changethat has come over his young missus, falls to rubbing and kissingher hands, --he has no other aid to lend. Marston has drawn his chairbeside her, sits down upon it, unbuttons her stomacher, andcontinues bathing and chafing her temples. How gently heaves thatbosom so full of fondness, how marble-like those features, howpallid but touchingly beautiful that face! Love, affection, andtenderness, there repose so calmly! All that once gave out so muchhope, so much joy, now withers before the blighting sting ofmisfortune. "Poor child, how fondly she loves me!" says Marston, placing his right arm under her head, and raising it gently. Themotion quickens her senses-she speaks; he kisses her pallidcheek-kisses and kisses it. "Is it you uncle?" she whispers. She hasopened her eyes, stares at Marston, then wildly along the ceiling. "Yes, I'm in uncle's arms; how good!" she continues, as if fatigued. Reclining back on the pillow, she again rests her head upon his arm. "I am at the mansion-how pleasant; let me rest, uncle; let me rest. Send aunt Rachel to me. " She raises her right hand and lays her armsabout Marston's neck, as anxiously he leans over her. How dear arethe associations of that old mansion! how sweet the thought of home!how uppermost in her wandering mind the remembrance of those happydays!

CHAPTER XXXII. 

MARSTON IN PRISON. 

WHILE Franconia revives, let us beg the reader's indulgence for notrecounting the details thereof. The night continues dark and stormy, but she must return to her own home, --she must soothe the excitedfeelings of a dissolute and disregarding husband, who, no doubt, isenjoying his night orgies, while she is administering consolation tothe downcast. "Ah! uncle, " she says, about to take leave of him forthe night, "how with spirit the force of hope fortifies us; and yethow seldom are our expectations realised through what we lookforward to! You now see the value of virtue; but when seen throughnecessity, how vain the repentance. Nevertheless, let us profit bythe lesson before us; let us hope the issue may yet be favourable!"Bob will see his young missus safe home-he will be her guide andprotector. So, preparing his cap, he buttons his jacket, laughs andgrins with joy, goes to the door, then to the fire-place, and to thedoor again, where, keeping his left hand on the latch, and his rightholding the casement, he bows and scrapes, for "Missus comin. "Franconia arranges her dress as best she can, adjusts her bonnet, embraces Marston, imprints a fond kiss on his cheek, reluctantlyrelinquishes his hand, whispers a last word of consolation, and bidshim good night, --a gentle good night-in sorrow. 

She has gone, and the old slave is her guide, her human watch-dog. Slowly Marston paces the silent chamber alone, giving vent to hispent-up emotions. What may to-morrow bring forth? runs through hiswearied mind. It is but the sudden downfall of life, so inseparablefrom the planter who rests his hopes on the abundance of his humanproperty. But the slave returns, and relieves him of his musings. Hehas seen his young missus safe to her door; he has received her kindword, and her good, good night! Entering the chamber with a smile, he sets about clearing away the little things, and, when done, drawshis seat close to Marston, at the fire-place. As if quite at homebeside his old master, he eyes Marston intently for some time, --seemsstudying his thoughts and fears. At length the old slave commencesdisclosing his feelings. His well-worn bones are not worth a largesum; nor are the merits of his worthy age saleable;--no! there isnothing left but his feelings, those genuine virtues so happilyillustrated. Daddy Bob will stand by mas'r, as he expresses it, inpower or in prison. Kindness has excited all that vanity in Bob sopeculiar to the negro, and by which he prides himself in the primevalue of his person. There he sits-Marston's faithful friend, contemplating his silence with a steady gaze, and then, giving hisjet-black face a double degree of seriousness, shrugs his shoulders, significantly nods his head, and intimates that it will soon be timeto retire, by commencing to unboot master. 

"You seem in a hurry to get rid of me, Daddy! Want to get your owncranium into a pine-knot sleep, eh?" says Marston, with anencouraging smile, pulling the old slave's whiskers in a playfulmanner. 

"No, Boss; 'tant dat, " returns Bob, keeping on tugging at Marston'sboots until he has got them from his feet, and safely stowed away ina corner. A gentle hint that he is all ready to relieve Marston ofhis upper garments brings him to his feet, when Bob commences uponhim in right good earnest, and soon has him stowed away between thesheets. "Bob neber likes to hurry old Boss, but den 'e kno' what'son old Mas'r's feelins, an 'e kno' dat sleep make 'um forget 'um!"rejoins Bob, in a half whisper that caught Marston's ear, as hepatted and fussed about his pillow, in order to make him ascomfortable as circumstances would admit. After this he extinguishesthe light, and, accustomed to a slave's bed, lumbers himself down onthe floor beside his master's cot. Thus, watchfully, he spends thenight. 

When morning dawned, Bob was in the full enjoyment of what the negroso pertinently calls a long and strong sleep. He cannot resist itssoothing powers, nor will master disturb him in its enjoyment. Before breakfast-time arrives, however, he arouses with a loudguffaw, looks round the room vacantly, as if he were doubting thepresence of things about him. Rising to his knees, he rubs his eyeslanguidly, yawns, and stretches his arms, scratches his head, andsuddenly gets a glimpse of old master, who is already dressed, andsits by the window, his attention intently set upon some objectwithout. The old slave recognises the same chamber from which heguided Franconia on the night before, and, after saluting mas'r, sets about arranging the domestic affairs of the apartment, andpreparing the breakfast table, the breakfast being cooked at AuntBeckie's cabin, in the yard. Aunt Beckie had the distinguishedsatisfaction of knowing Marston in his better days, and now esteemsit an honour to serve him, even in his poverty. Always happy toinform her friends that she was brought up a first-rate pastry-cook, she now adds, with great satisfaction, that she pays her owner, thevery Reverend Mr. Thomas Tippletony, the ever-pious rector of St. Michael's, no end of money for her time, and makes a good profit ather business beside. Notwithstanding she has a large family ofbright children to maintain in a respectable way, she hopes for acontinuance of their patronage, and will give the best terms herlimited means admit. She knows how very necessary it is for asouthern gentleman who would be anybody to keep up appearances, and, with little means, to make a great display: hence she is very easyin matters of payment. In Marston's case, she is extremely proud torender him service, --to "do for him" as far as she can, and wait achange for the better concerning any balance outstanding. 

Bob fetches the breakfast of coffee, fritters, homony, and bacon, --avery good breakfast it is, considering the circumstances, --andspreads the little rustic board with an air of comfort and neatnesscomplimentary to the old slave's taste. And, withal, the old mancannot forego the inherent vanity of his nature, for he is, unconsciously, performing all the ceremonies of attendance he hasseen Dandy and his satellites go through at the plantation mansion. He fusses and grins, and praises and laughs, as he sets the dishesdown one by one, keeping a watchful eye on mas'r, as if to detect anapproval in his countenance. "Reckon 'ow dis old nigger can fix oldBoss up aristocratic breakfast like Dandy. Now, Boss-da'h he is!" hesays, whisking round the table, setting the cups just so, andspreading himself with exultation. "Want to see master smile-laughsome-like 'e used down on da'h old plantation!" he ejaculates, emphatically, placing a chair at Marston's plate. This done, heaccompanies his best bow with a scrape of his right foot, spreadshis hands, --the gesture being the signal of readiness. Marston takeshis chair, as Bob affects the compound dignity of the very besttrained nigger, doing the distinguished in waiting. 

"A little less ceremony, my old faithful! the small follies ofetiquette ill become such a place as this. We must succumb tocircumstances: come, sit down, Bob; draw your bench to the chest, and there eat your share, while I wait on myself, " says Marston, touching Bob on the arm. The words were no sooner uttered, thanBob's countenance changed from the playful to the serious; he couldsee nothing but dignity in master, no matter in what sphere he mightbe placed. His simple nature recoils at the idea of dispensing withthe attention due from slave to master. Master's fallen fortunes, and the cheerless character of the chamber, are nothing to Daddy-master must keep up his dignity. 

"You need'nt look so serious, Daddy; it only gives an extra shade toyour face, already black enough for any immediate purpose!" saysMarston, turning round and smiling at the old slave's discomfiture. To make amends, master takes a plate from the table, and gives Bob ashare of his homony and bacon. This is very pleasing to the oldslave, who regains his wonted earnestness, takes the plate politelyfrom his master's hand, retires with it to the chest, and keeps up aregular fire of chit-chat while dispensing its contents. In thishumble apartment, master and slave-the former once opulent, and thelatter still warm with attachment for his friend-are happilycompanioned. They finish their breakfast, --a long pause intervenes. "I would I were beyond the bounds of this our south, " says Marston, breaking the silence, as he draws his chair and seats himself by thewindow, where he can look out upon the dingy little houses in thelane. 

The unhappy man feels the burden of a misspent life; he cannotrecall the past, nor make amends for its errors. But, withal, it issome relief that he can disclose his feelings to the old man, hisslave. 

"Mas'r, " interrupts the old slave, looking complacently in his face, "Bob 'll fowler ye, and be de same old friend. I will walk behindMiss Frankone. " His simple nature seems warming into fervency. 

"Ah! old man, " returns Marston, "if there be a wish (you may gobefore me, though) I have on earth, it is that when I die our gravesmay be side by side, with an epitaph to denote master, friend, andfaithful servant lie here. " He takes the old man by the hand again, as the tears drop from his cheeks. "A prison is but a grave to theman of honourable feelings, " he concludes. Thus disclosing hisfeelings, a rap at the door announces a messenger. It is nineo'clock, and immediately the sheriff, a gentlemanly-looking man, wearing the insignia of office on his hat, walks in, and politelyintimates that, painful as may be the duty, he must request hiscompany to the county gaol, that place so accommodatingly preparedfor the reception of unfortunates. 

"Sorry for your misfortunes, sir! but we'll try to make you ascomfortable as we can in our place. " The servitor of the law seemsto have some sympathy in him. "I have my duty to perform, you know, sir; nevertheless, I have my opinion about imprisoning honest menfor debt: it's a poor satisfaction, sir. I'm only an officer, yousee, sir, not a law-maker-never want to be, sir. I very much disliketo execute these kind of writs, " says the man of the law, as, withan expression of commiseration, he glances round the room, and thenat Daddy, who has made preparations for a sudden dodge, should suchan expedient be found necessary. 

"Nay, sheriff, think nothing of it; it's but a thing of commonlife, --it may befall us all. I can be no exception to the rule, andmay console myself with the knowledge of companionship, " repliesMarston, as coolly as if he were preparing for a journey ofpleasure. 

How true it is, that, concealed beneath the smallest things, thereis a consolation which necessity may bring out: how Providence hassuited it to our misfortunes!

"There are a few things here-a very few-I should like to take to mycell; perhaps I can send for them, " he remarks, looking at theofficer, enquiringly. 

"My name is Martin-Captain Martin, they call me, "-returns thatfunctionary, politely. "If you accept my word of honour, I pledge itthey are taken care of, and sent to your apartments. "

"You mean my new lodging-house, or my new grave, I suppose, "interrupted Marston, jocosely, pointing out to Daddy the fewarticles of bedding, chairs, and a window-curtain he desiredremoved. Daddy has been pensively standing by the fire-place thewhile, contemplating the scene. 

Marston soon announces his readiness to proceed; and, followed bythe old slave, the officer leads the way down the ricketty oldstairs to the street. "I's gwine t'see whar dey takes old mas'r, anyhow, reckon I is, " says the old slave, giving his head a significantturn. 

"Now, sir, " interrupts the officer, as they arrive at the bottom ofthe stairs, "perhaps you have a delicacy about going through thestreet with a sheriff; many men have: therefore I shall confide inyour honour, sir, and shall give you the privilege of proceeding tothe gaol as best suits your feelings. I never allow myself to followthe will of creditors; if I did, my duties would be turned into asystem of tyranny, to gratify their feelings only. Now, you may takea carriage, or walk; only meet me at the prison gate. "

"Thanks, thanks!" returns Marston, grateful for the officer'skindness, "my crime is generosity; you need not fear me. My oldfaithful here will guide me along. " The officer bows assent, andwith a respectful wave of the hand they separate to pursue differentroutes. 

Marston walks slowly along, Bob keeping pace close behind. He passesmany of his old acquaintances, who, in better times, would haverecognised him with a cordial embrace; at present they have scarcelya nod to spare. Marston, however, is firm in his resolution, looksnot on one side nor the other, and reaches the prison-gate in goodtime. The officer has reached it in advance, and waits him there. They pause a few moments as Marston scans the frowning wall thatencloses the gloomy-looking old prison. "I am ready to go in, " saysMarston; and just as they are about to enter the arched gate, theold slave touches him on the arm, and says, "Mas'r, dat's no placefo'h Bob. Can't stand seein' on ye locked up wid sich folks as indah!" Solicitously he looks in his master's face. The man of troublegrasps firmly the old slave's hand, holds it in silence for someminutes-the officer, moved by the touching scene, turns his headaway-as tears course down his cheeks. He has no words to speak theemotions of his heart; he shakes the old man's hand affectionately, attempts to whisper a word in his ear, but is too deeply affected. 

"Good by, mas'r: may God bless 'um! Ther's a place fo'h old mas'ryet. I'll com t' see mas'r every night, " says the old man, his wordsflowing from the bounty of his heart. He turns away reluctantly, draws his hand from Marston's, heaves a sigh, and repairs to hislabour. How precious was that labour of love, wherein the old slavetoils that he may share the proceeds with his master!

As Marston and the sheriff disappear through the gate, and are aboutto ascend the large stone steps leading to the portal in which issituated the inner iron gate opening into the debtors' ward, thesheriff made a halt, and, placing his arm in a friendly mannerthrough Marston's, enquires, "Anything I can do for you? If thereis, just name it. Pardon my remark, sir, but you will, in allprobability, take the benefit of the act; and, as no person seemswilling to sign your bail, I may do something to relieve your wants, in my humble way. " Marston shakes his head; the kindness impedes anexpression of his feelings. "A word of advice from me, however, maynot be without its effect, and I will give it you; it is this:--Yourearnestness to save those two children, and the singular manner inwhich those slave drudges of Graspum produced the documentarytestimony showing them property, has created wondrous suspicionabout your affairs. I will here say, Graspum's no friend of yours;in fact, he's a friend to nobody but himself; and even now, whenquestioned on the manner of possessing all your real estate, hegives out insinuations, which, instead of exonerating you, create astill worse impression against you. His conversation on the matterleaves the inference with your creditors that you have still moreproperty secreted. Hence, mark me! it behoves you to keep closelips. Don't let your right hand know what your left does, " continuesthe officer, in a tone of friendliness. They ascend to the irongate, look through the grating. The officer, giving a whistle, ringsthe bell by touching a spring in the right-hand wall. "My lot atlast!" exclaims Marston. "How many poor unfortunates have passedthis threshold-how many times the emotions of the heart have burstforth on this spot-how many have here found a gloomy rest from theirimportuners-how many have here whiled away precious time in a gloomycell, provided for the punishment of poverty!" The disowned man, forsuch he is, struggles to retain his resolution; fain would he, knowing the price of that resolution, repress those sensationsthreatening to overwhelm him. 

The brusque gaoler appears at the iron gate; stands his burly figurein the portal; nods recognition to the officer; swings back the ironframe, as a number of motley prisoners gather into a semicircle inthe passage. "Go back, prisoners; don't stare so at every newcomer, " says the gaoler, clearing the way with his hands extended. 

One or two of the locked-up recognise Marston. They lisp strangeremarks, drawn forth by his appearance in charge of an officer. "Bigas well as little fish bring up here, " ejaculates one. 

"Where are his worshippers and his hospitable friends?" whispersanother. 

"There's not much hospitality for poverty, " rejoins a third, mutteringly. "Southern hospitality is unsound, shallow, and flimsy;a little dazzling of observances to cover very bad facts. You aresure to find a people who maintain the grossest errors in theirpolitical system laying the greatest claims to benevolence andprinciple-things to which they never had a right. The phantom ofhospitality draws the curtain over many a vice-it is a well-toldnothingness ornamenting the beggared system of your slavery; that'smy honest opinion, " says a third, in a gruff voice, which indicatesthat he has no very choice opinion of such generosity. "If they wanta specimen of true hospitality, they must go to New England; therethe poor man's offering stocks the garden of liberty, happiness, andjustice; and from them spring the living good of all, " he concludes;and folding his arms with an air of independence, walks up the longpassage running at right angles with the entrance portal, anddisappears in a cell on the left. 

"I knew him when he was great on the turf. He was very distinguishedthen. " "He'll be extinguished here, " insinuates another, as heprotrudes his eager face over the shoulders of those who are againcrowding round the office-door, Marston and the officer havingentered following the gaoler. 

The sheriff passes the committimus to the man of keys; thatfunctionary takes his seat at a small desk, while Marston stands byits side, watching the process of his prison reception, in silence. The gaoler reads the commitment, draws a book deliberately from offa side window, spreads it open on his desk, and commences humming anair. "Pootty smart sums, eh!" he says, looking up at the sheriff, ashe holds a quill in his left hand, and feels with the fingers of hisright for a knife, which, he observes, he always keeps in his rightvest pocket. "We have a poor debtor's calendar for registering thesethings. I do these things different from other gaolers, and it losesme nothin'. I goes on the true principle, that 'tant right to putcriminals and debtors together; and if the state hasn't madeprovision for keeping them in different cells, I makes a differenceon the books, and that's somethin'. Helps the feelins over thesmarting point, " says the benevolent keeper of all such troublesomepersons as won't pay their debts;--as if the monstrous concentrationof his amiability, in keeping separate books for the criminal andpoverty-stricken gentlemen of his establishment, must be dulyappreciated. Marston, particularly, is requested to take theinitiative, he being the most aristocratic fish the gaoler hascaught in a long time. But the man has made his pen, and now heregisters Marston's name among the state's forlorn gentlemen, commonly called poor debtors. They always confess themselves independent circumstances. Endorsing the commitment, he returns it tothe sheriff, who will keep the original carefully filed away in hisown well-stocked department. The sheriff will bid his prisoner goodmorning! having reminded the gaoler what good care it was desirableto take of his guest; and, extending his hand and shaking that ofMarston warmly, takes his departure, whilst our gaoler leads Marstoninto an almost empty cell, where he hopes he will find thingscomfortable, and leaves him to contemplate upon the fallen fruit ofpoverty. "Come to this, at last!" said Marston, entering thecavern-like place. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

VENDERS OF HUMAN PROPERTY ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ITS MENTAL

CAPRICES. 

READER! be patient with us, for our task is complex and tedious. Wehave but one great object in view-that of showing a large number ofpersons in the south, now held as slaves, who are by the laws of theland, as well as the laws of nature, entitled to their freedom. These people, for whom, in the name of justice and every offspringof human right, we plead, were consigned to the bondage they nowendure through the unrighteous act of one whose name (instead ofbeing execrated by a nation jealous of its honour), a singularspecies of southern historian has attempted to enshrine with fame. Posterity, ignorant of his character, will find his name clothedwith a paragon's armour, while respecting the writer who so cleverlywith a pen obliterated his crimes. We have only feelings of pity forthe historian who discards truth thus to pollute paper with hiskindness; such debts due to friendship are badly paid at the shrineof falsehood. No such debts do we owe; we shall perform our dutyfearlessly, avoiding dramatic effect, or aught else that may tend toimproperly excite the feelings of the benevolent. No one betterknows the defects of our social system-no one feels more forciblythat much to be lamented fact of there being no human law extant notliable to be evaded or weakened by the intrigues of designingmen;--we know of no power reposed in man the administration of whichis not susceptible of abuse, or being turned to means of oppression:how much more exposed, then, must all these functions be whereslavery in its popular sway rides triumphant over the common law ofthe land. Divine laws are with impunity disregarded and abused byanointed teachers of divinity. Peculation, in sumptuous garb, andwith modern appliances, finds itself modestly-perhapsunconsciously-gathering dross at the sacred altar. How saint-like insemblance, and how unconscious of wrong, are ye bishops (holy ones, scarce of earth, in holy lawn) in that land of freedom where theslave's chains fall ere his foot pads its soil! how calmly resignedthe freemen who yield to the necessity of making strong the altarwith the sword of state! How, in the fulness of an expansive soul, these little ones, in lawn so white, spurn the unsanctifiedspoiler-themselves neck-deep in the very coffers of covetousness thewhile! How to their christian spirit it seems ordained they shouldsee a people's ekeings serve their rolling in wealth and luxury!and, yet, let no man question their walking in the ways of a meekand lowly Saviour-that Redeemer of mankind whose seamless garb noman purchaseth with the rights of his fellow. Complacently innocentof themselves, they would have us join their flock and followthem, --their pious eyes seeing only heavenly objects to be gained, and their pure hearts beating in heavy throbs for the wicked turmoilof our common world. Pardon us, brother of the flesh, say they, insaintly whispers, --it is all for the Church and Christ. Boldlyfortified with sanctimony, they hurl back the shafts of reform, andask to live on sumptuously, as the only sought recompense for theirchristian love. Pious infallibility! how blind, to see not thecrime!

Reader! excuse the diversion, and accompany us while we retrace oursteps to where we left the loquacious Mr. M'Fadden, recovered fromthe fear of death, which had been produced by whiskey in draughtstoo strong. In company with a numerous party, he is just returningfrom an unsuccessful search for his lost preacher. They have scouredthe lawns, delved the morasses, penetrated thick jungles of brakes, driven the cypress swamps, and sent the hounds through placesseemingly impossible for human being to seclude himself, and whereonly the veteran rattlesnake would seek to lay his viperous head. Nopreacher have they found. They utter vile imprecations on his head, pit him "a common nigger, " declare he has just learned enough, inhis own crooked way, to be dubious property-good, if a man can keephim at minister business. 

Mine host of the Inn feels assured, if he be hiding among the swampjungle, the snakes and alligators will certainly drive him out: anindisputable fact this, inasmuch as alligators and snakes hateniggers. M'Fadden affirms solemnly, that the day he bought thatclergyman was one of the unlucky days of his life; and he positivelyregrets ever having been a politician, or troubling his head aboutthe southern-rights question. The party gather round the frontstoop, and are what is termed in southern parlance "tuckered out. "They are equally well satisfied of having done their duty to thestate and a good cause. Dogs, their tails drooping, sneak to theirkennels, horses reek with foam, the human dogs will "liquor" longand strong. 

"Tisn't such prime stock, after all!" says M'Fadden, entering theveranda, reeking with mud and perspiration: "after a third attemptwe had as well give it up. " He shakes his head, and then strikes hiswhip on the floor. "I'll stand shy about buying a preacher, anothertime, " he continues; like a man, much against his will, forced togive up a prize. 

The crackers and wire-grass men (rude sons of the sand hills), takethe matter more philosophically, --probably under the impression thatto keep quiet will be to "bring the nigger out" where he may becaught and the reward secured. Two hundred dollars is a sum forwhich they would not scruple to sacrifice life; but they have threegods-whiskey, ignorance, and idleness, any one of which can easilygain a mastery over their faculties. 

Mr. M'Fadden requests that his friends will all come into thebar-room-all jolly fellows; which, when done, he orders mine host tosupply as much "good strong stuff" as will warm up their spirits. He, however, will first take a glass himself, that he may drink alltheir very good healths. This compliment paid, he finds himselfpacing up and down, and across the room, now and then castingsuspicious glances at the notice of reward, as if questioning thepolicy of offering so large an amount. But sundown is close uponthem, and as the bar-room begins to fill up again, each new-comeranxiously enquires the result of the last search, --which only servesto increase the disappointed gentleman's excitement. The affair hasbeen unnecessarily expensive, for, in addition to the loss of hispreacher, the price of whom is no very inconsiderable sum, he findsa vexatious bill running up against him at the bar. The friendshipof those who have sympathised with him, and have joined him in theexhilarating sport of man-hunting, must be repaid with swimmingdrinks. Somewhat celebrated for economy, his friends are surprisedto find him, on this occasion, rather inclined to extend thelatitude of his liberality. His keen eye, however, soon detects, tohis sudden surprise, that the hunters are not alone enjoying hisliberality, but that every new comer, finding the drinks provided atM'Fadden's expense, has no objection to join in drinking his health;to which he would have no sort of an objection, but for the cost. Like all men suffering from the effect of sudden loss, he begins toconsider the means of economising by which he may repay the loss ofthe preacher. "I say, Squire!" he ejaculates, suddenly stoppingshort in one of his walks, and beckoning mine host aside, "Thatwon't do, it won't! It's a coming too tough, I tell you!" he says, shaking his head, and touching mine host significantly on the arm. "A fellow what's lost his property in this shape don't feel likedrinkin everybody on whiskey what costs as much as your 'brighteye. ' You see, every feller what's comin in's 'takin' at my expense, and claiming friendship on the strength on't. It don't pay, Squire!just stop it, won't ye?"

Mine host immediately directs the bar-keeper, with a sign and awhisper:--"No more drinks at M'Fadden's score, 'cept to two or threeo' the most harristocratic. " He must not announce the discontinuanceopenly; it will insult the feelings of the friendly people, many ofwhom anticipate a feast of drinks commensurate with their servicesand Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden's distinguished position in politicallife. Were they, the magnanimous people, informed of this suddenshutting off of their supplies, the man who had just enjoyed theirflattering encomiums would suddenly find himself plentifullyshowered with epithets a tyrant slave-dealer could scarcely endure. 

Calling mine host into a little room opening from the bar, he takeshim by the arm, --intimates his desire to have a consultation on thestate of his affairs, and the probable whereabouts of hisdivine:--"You see, this is all the thanks I get for my kindness (hespreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders. ) A northern man may dowhat he pleases for southern rights, and it's just the same; henever gets any thanks for it. These sort o' fellers isn't to besneered at when a body wants to carry a political end, " he adds, touching mine host modestly on the shoulder, and giving him aquizzing look, "but ye can't make 'um behave mannerly towardsrespectable people, such as you and me is. But 'twould'nt do to give'um edukation, for they'd just spile society-they would! Ain't myideas logical, now, squire?" Mr. M'Fadden's mind seems soaring awayamong the generalities of state. 

"Well!" returns mine host, prefacing the importance of his opinionwith an imprecation, "I'm fixed a'tween two fires; so I can't saywhat would be square policy in affairs of state. One has feelinsdifferent on these things: I depends a deal on what our big folkssay in the way of setting examples. And, too, what can you expectwhen this sort a ruff-scuff forms the means of raising theirpolitical positions; but, they are customers of mine, --have made mysuccess in tavern-keeping!" he concludes, in an earnest whisper. 

"Now, squire!" M'Fadden places his hand in mine host's arm, andlooks at him seriously: "What 'bout that ar nigger preacher gittinoff so? No way t' find it out, eh squire?" M'Fadden enquires, withgreat seriousness. 

"Can't tell how on earth the critter did the thing; looked likepeaceable property when he went to be locked up, did!"

"I think somebody's responsible for him, squire?" interruptsM'Fadden, watching the changes of the other's countenance: "seemshow I heard ye say ye'd take the risk-"

"No, --no, --no!" rejoins the other, quickly; "that never will do. Inever receipt for nigger property, never hold myself responsible tothe customers, and never run any risks about their niggers. Youforget, my friend, that whatever shadow of a claim you had on me bylaw was invalidated by your own act. "

"My own act?" interrupts the disappointed man. "How by my own act?explain yourself!" suddenly allowing his feelings to become excited. 

"Sending for him to come to your bedside and pray for you. It waswhen you thought Mr. Jones, the gentleman with the horns, stood overyou with a warrant in his hand, " mine host whispers in his ear, shrugging his shoulders, and giving his face a quizzical expression. "You appreciated the mental of the property then; but now you viewit as a decided defect. "

The disappointed gentleman remains silent for a few moments. He isdeeply impressed with the anomaly of his case, but has not theslightest objection to fasten the responsibility on somebody, neverfor a moment supposing the law would interpose against the exerciseof his very best inclinations. He hopes God will bless him, says itis always his luck; yet he cannot relinquish the idea of somebodybeing responsible. He will know more about the preaching rascal'sdeparture. Turning to mine host of the inn: "But, you must have aclue to him, somewhere?" he says, enquiringly. 

"There's my woman; can see if she knows anything about the nigger!"returns mine host, complacently. Ellen Juvarna is brought into thepresence of the injured man, who interrogates her with great care;but all her disclosures only tend to throw a greater degree ofmystery over the whole affair. At this, Mr. M'Fadden declares thatthe policy he has always maintained with reference to education isproved true with the preacher's running away. Nigger property shouldnever be perverted by learning; though, if you could separate thenigger from the preaching part of the property, it might do somegood, for preaching was at times a good article to distribute amongcertain slaves "what had keen instincts. " At times, nevertheless, itwould make them run away. Ellen knew Harry as a good slave, a goodman, a good Christian, sound in his probity, not at all inclined tobe roguish, --as most niggers are--a little given to drink, but neverbad-tempered. Her honest opinion is that such a pattern of worthynature and moral firmness would not disgrace itself by running away, unless induced by white "Buckra. " She thinks she heard a lumberingand shuffling somewhere about the pen, shortly after midnight. Itmight have been wolves, however. To all this Mr. M'Fadden listenswith marked attention. Now and then he interposes a word, to gratifysome new idea swelling his brain. There is nothing satisfactory yet:he turns the matter over and over in his mind, looks Ellensteadfastly in the face, and watches the movement of every muscle. "Ah!" he sighs, "nothing new developing. " He dismissed the wench, and turns to mine host of the inn. "Now, squire, (one minute minehost is squire, and the next Mr. Jones) tell ye what 'tis; thar'sroguery goin on somewhere among them ar' fellers--them sharpers inthe city, I means! (he shakes his head knowingly, and buttons hislight sack-coat round him). That's a good gal, isn't she?" heenquires, drawing his chair somewhat closer, his hard face assuminggreat seriousness. 

Mine host gives an affirmative nod, and says, "Nothin shorter! Cantake her word on a turn of life or death. Tip top gal, that! Paid aprice for her what u'd make ye wink, I reckon. "

"That's just what I wanted to know, " he interrupts, suddenlygrasping the hand of his friend. "Ye see how I'se a little of aphilosopher, a tall politician, and a major in the brigade down ourdistrict, --I didn't get my law akermin for nothin; and now I jistdiscovers how somebody-I mean some white somebody-has had a hand inhelpin that ar' nig' preacher to run off. Cus'd critters! never knownothing till some white nigger fills their heads with roguery. "

"Say, my worthy M'Fadden, " interrupts the publican, rising suddenlyfrom his seat, as if some new discovery had just broke forth in hismind, "war'nt that boy sold under a warrant?"

"Warranted-warranted-warranted sound in every particular? That hewas. Just think of this, squire; you're a knowin one. It takes you!I never thought on't afore, and have had all my nervousness fornothin. Warranted sound in every particular, means-"

"A moment!" mine host interposes, suddenly: "there's a keen point oflaw there; but it might be twisted to some account, if a body onlyhad the right sort of a lawyer to twist it. "

The perplexed man rejoins by hoping he may not be interrupted justat this moment. He is just getting the point of it straight in hismind. "You see, " he says, "the thing begun to dissolve itself in myphilosophy, and by that I discovered the pint the whole thing standson. Its entirely metaphysical, though, " he says, with a significantshake of the head. He laughs at his discovery; his father, longsince, told him he was exceedingly clever. Quite a match for thepublican in all matters requiring a comprehensive mind, he declaresthere are few lawyers his equal at penetrating into points. "Hewarranted him in every particular, " he mutters, as mine host, watching his seriousness, endeavours to suppress a smile. M'Faddenmakes a most learned motion of the fore finger of the right hand, which he presses firmly into the palm of his left, while contractinghis brows. He will soon essay forth the point of logic he wishes toenforce. The property being a certain man endowed with preachingpropensities, soundness means the qualities of the man, mental aswell as physical; and running away being an unsound quality, theauctioneer is responsible for all such contingencies. "I have himthere, --I have!" he holds up his hands exultingly, as he exclaims thewords; his face brightens with animation. Thrusting his hands intohis trowsers pockets he paces the room for several minutes, at arapid pace, as if his mind had been relieved of some deep study. "Iwill go directly into the city, and there see what I can do with thechap I bought that feller of. I think when I put the law points tohim, he'll shell out. "

Making some preliminary arrangements with Jones of the tavern, heorders a horse to the door immediately, and in a few minutes more ishastening on his way to the city. 

Arriving about noon-day, he makes his way through its busythoroughfares, and is soon in the presence of the auctioneer. There, in wondrous dignity, sits the seller of bodies and souls, hiscushioned arm-chair presenting an air of opulence. How coolly thatpomp of his profession sits on the hard mask of his iron features, beneath which lurks a contempt of shame! He is an important item inthe political hemisphere of the state, has an honourable position insociety (for he is high above the minion traders), joined theEpiscopal church not many months ago, and cautions Mr. M'Faddenagainst the immorality of using profane language, which thataggrieved individual allows to escape his lips ere he enters thedoor. 

The office of our man of fame and fortune is thirty feet long bytwenty wide, and sixteen high. Its walls are brilliantly papered, and painted with landscape designs; and from the centre of theceiling hangs a large chandelier, with ground-glass globes, on whicheagles of liberty are inscribed. Fine black-walnut desks, in chastecarving, stand along its sides, at which genteelly-dressed clerksare exhibiting great attention to business. An oil-cloth, with largeflowers painted on its surface, spreads the floor, while an air ofneatness reigns throughout the establishment singularly at variancewith the outer mart, where Mr. Forshou sells his men, women, andlittle children. But its walls are hung with badly-executedengravings, in frames of gilt. Of the distinguished vender's taste acorrect estimation may be drawn when we inform the reader that manyof these engravings represented nude females and celebratedracehorses. 

"Excuse me, sir! I didn't mean it, " Mr. M'Fadden says, in reply tothe gentleman's caution, approaching him as he sits in his elegantchair, a few feet from the street door, luxuriantly enjoying achoice regalia. "It's the little point of a very nasty habit thathangs upon me yet. I does let out the swear once in a while, ye see;but it's only when I gets a crook in my mind what won't comestraight. " Thus M'Fadden introduces himself, surprised to find thefew very consistent oaths he has made use of not compatible with theman-seller's pious business habits. He will be cautious the nexttime; he will not permit such foul breath to escape and wound thegentleman's very tender feelings. 

Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden addresses him as squire, and with studiouswords informs him of the nigger preacher property he sold him havingactually run away! "Ye warranted him, ye know, squire!" he says, discovering the object of his visit, then drawing a chair, andseating himself in close proximity. 

"Can't help that-quality we never warrant!" coolly returns theother, turning politely in his arm-chair, which works in a socket, and directing a clerk at one of the desks to add six months'interest to the item of three wenches sold at ten o'clock. 

"Don't talk that ar way, squire! I trades a deal in your line, and aheap o' times, with you. Now we'll talk over the legal points. "

"Make them short, if you please!"

"Well! ye warranted the nigger in every particular. There's theadvertisement; and there's no getting over that! Ye must do theclean thing-no possumin-squire, or there 'll be a long lawsuit whattakes the tin. Honour's the word in our trade. " He watches thechanges that are fast coming over the vender's countenance, foldshis arms, places his right foot over his left knee, and awaits areply. Interrupting the vender just as he is about to give hisopinion he draws from his pocket a copy of the paper containingthe advertisement, and places it in his hand: "If ye'll be goodenough to squint at it, ye'll see the hang o' my ideas, " he says. 

"My friend, " returns the vender, curtly, having glanced over thepaper, "save me and yourself any further annoyance. I could havetold you how far the property was warranted, before I read thepaper; and I remember making some very particular remarks whenselling that item in the invoice. A nigger's intelligence is often amere item of consideration in the amount he brings under the hammer;but we never warrant the exercise or extension of it. Po'h, man! wemight just as well attempt to warrant a nigger's stealing, lying, cunning, and all such 'cheating master' propensities. Some of themare considered qualities of much value-especially by poor planters. Warrant nigger property not to run away, eh! Oh! nothing could beworse in our business. "

"A minute, squire!" interrupts the appealing Mr. M'Fadden, just asthe other is about to add a suspending clause to his remarks. "Ifwarrantin nigger proper sound in all partiklers is'nt warrantin itnot to run away, I'm no deacon! When a nigger's got run-away in himhe ain't sound property, no way ye can fix it. Ye may turn all thelaw and philosophy yer mind to over in yer head, but it won't cumcommon sense to me, that ye warrant a nigger's body part, and letthe head part go unwarranted. When ye sells a critter like that, yesells all his deviltry; and when ye warrants one ye warrantst'other; that's the square rule o' my law and philosophy!"

The vender puffs his weed very coolly the while; and then, calling anegro servant, orders a chair upon which to comfortably place hisfeet. "Are you through, my friend?" he enquires, laconically; andbeing answered in the affirmative, proceeds-"I fear your philosophyis common philosophy-not the philosophy upon which nigger law isfounded. You don't comprehend, my valued friend, that when we insertthat negro property will be warranted, we don't include the thinkingpart; and, of course, running away belongs to that!" he would informall those curious on such matters. Having given this opinion for thebenefit of M'Fadden, and the rest of mankind interested in slavery, he rises from his seat, elongates himself into a consequential posi-tion, and stands biting his lips, and dangling his watch chain withthe fingers of his left hand. 

"Take ye up, there, " the other suddenly interrupts, as if he hasdrawn the point from his antagonist, and is prepared to sustain theprinciple, having brought to his aid new ideas from the deepestrecesses of his logical mind. Grasping the vender firmly by the arm, he looks him in the face, and reminds him that the runaway part ofniggers belongs to the heels, and not to the head. 

The vender exhibits some discomfiture, and, at the same time, adecided unwillingness to become a disciple of such philosophy. Noris he pleased with the familiarity of his importuning customer, whose arm he rejects with a repulsive air. 

There has evidently become a very nice and serious question, ofwhich Mr. M'Fadden is inclined to take a commonsense view. Hisopponent, however, will not deviate from the strictest usages ofbusiness. Business mentioned the mental qualities of the property, but warranted only the physical, --hence the curious perplexity. 

While the point stands thus nicely poised between their logic, Romescos rushes into the office, and, as if to surprise M'Fadden, extends his hand, smiling and looking in his face gratefully, as ifthe very soul of friendship incited him. "Mighty glad to see ye, oldBuck!" he ejaculates, "feared ye war going to kick out. "

The appalled man stands for a few seconds as unmoved as a statue;and then, turning with a half-subdued smile, takes the hand of theother, coldly. 

"Friends again! ain't we, old boy?" breaks forth from Romescos, whocontinues shaking his hand, at the same time turning his head andgiving a significant wink to a clerk at one of the desks. "Politicsmakes bad friends now and then, but I always thought well of you, Mack! Now, neighbour, I'll make a bargain with you; we'll live asgood folks ought to after this, " Romescos continues, laconically. His advance is so strange that the other is at a loss to comprehendits purport. He casts doubting glances at his wily antagonist, seemsconsidering how to appreciate the quality of such an unexpectedexpression of friendship, and is half inclined to demand an earnestof its sincerity. At the same time, and as the matter now stands, hewould fain give his considerate friend wide space, and remain withina proper range of etiquette until his eyes behold the substantial. He draws aside from Romescos, who says tremblingly: "Losing thatpreacher, neighbour, was a hard case-warn't it? You wouldn't a'catched this individual buyin' preachers-know too much about 'em, Ireckon! It's no use frettin, though; the two hundred dollars 'llbring him. This child wouldn't want a profitabler day's work for hishound dogs. " Romescos winks at the vender, and makes grimaces overM'Fadden's shoulder, as that gentleman turns and grumbles out, --"Hewarranted him in every partikler; and running away is one of anigger's partiklers?"

"My pertinacious friend!" exclaims the vender, turning suddenlytowards his dissatisfied customer, "seeing you are not disposed tocomprehend the necessities of my business, nor to respect myposition, I will have nothing further to say to you upon thesubject-not another word, now!" The dignified gentleman expresseshimself in peremptory tones. It is only the obtuseness of his innatecharacter becoming unnecessarily excited. 

Romescos interposes a word or two, by way of keeping up the zest;for so he calls it. Things are getting crooked, according to hisnotion of the dispute, but fightin' won't bring back the lost. "'Spose ye leaves the settlin on't to me? There's nothing likefriendship in trade; and seeing how I am up in such matters, p'rapsI can smooth it down. "

"There's not much friendship about a loss of this kind; and he waswarranted sound in every particular!" returns the invincible man, shaking his head, and affecting great seriousness of countenance. 

"Stop that harpin, I say!" the vender demands, drawing himself intoa pugnacious attitude; "your insinuations against my honouraggravate me more and more. "

"Well! just as you say about it, " is the cool rejoinder. "But you'll have to settle the case afore lawyer Sprouts, you will!"Stupidly inclined to dog his opinions, the sensitive gentleman, claiming to be much better versed in the mode of selling humanthings, becomes fearfully enraged. M'Fadden contends purely uponcontingencies which may arise in the mental and physicalcomplications of property in man; and this the gentleman man-sellercannot bear the reiteration of. 

"Romescos thinks it is at best but a perplexin snarl, requiringgentlemen to keep very cool. To him they are both honourable men, who should not quarrel over the very small item of one preacher. "This warrantin' niggers' heads never amounts to anything, --it's justlike warrantin' their heels; and when one gets bad, isn't t'othersure to be movin? Them's my sentiments, gratis!" Stepping a few feetbehind M'Fadden, Romescos rubs his hands in great anxiety, makescurious signs to the clerks at the desk, and charges his mouth witha fresh cut of tobacco. 

"Nobody bespoke your opinion, " says the disconsolate M'Fadden, turning quickly, in consequence of a sign he detected one of theclerks making, and catching Romescos bestowing a grimace of no verycomplimentary character, "Your presence and your opinion are, in myestimation, things that may easily be dispensed with. "

"I say!" interrupts Romescos, his right hand in a threateningattitude, "not quite so fast"-he drawls his words-"a gentleman don'tstand an insult o' that sort. Just draw them ar' words back, like ayard of tape, or this individual 'll do a small amount of bruisingon that ar' profile, (he draws his hand backward and forward acrossM'Fadden's face). 'Twon't do to go to church on Sundays with abroken phiz?" His face reddens with anger, as he works his head intoa daring attitude, grates his teeth, again draws his fist acrossM'Fadden's face; and at length rubs his nasal organ. 

"I understand you too well!" replies M'Fadden, with a curt twist ofhis head. "A man of your cloth can't insult a gentleman like me;you're lawless!" He moves towards the door, stepping sideways, watching Romescos over his left shoulder. 

"I say!-Romescos takes his man by the arm-Come back here, and make agentleman's apology!" He lets go M'Fadden's arm and seizes him bythe collar violently, his face in a blaze of excitement. 

"Nigger killer!" ejaculates M'Fadden, "let go there!" He gives hisangry antagonist a determined look, as he, for a moment, looses hishold. He pauses, as if contemplating his next move. 

The very amiable and gentlemanly man-vender thinks it time heinterposed for the purpose of reconciling matters. "Gentlemen!gentlemen! respect me, if you do not respect yourselves. My officeis no place for such disgraceful broils as these; you must goelsewhere. " The modest gentleman, whose very distinguished familyconnexions have done much to promote his interests, would have itparticularly understood that his office is an important place, usedonly for the very distinguished business of selling men, women, andlittle children. But Romescos is not so easily satisfied. He pushesthe amiable gentleman aside, calls Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden a tyrantwhat kills niggers by the detestably mean process of starving themto death. "A pretty feller he is to talk about nigger killin! Andjust think what our state has come to when such fellers as him canmake votes for the next election!" says Romescos, addressing himselfto the vender. "The Irish influence is fast destroying the politicalmorality of the country. "

Turning to Mr. M'Fadden, who seems preparing for a display of hiscombativeness, he adds, "Ye see, Mack, ye will lie, and lie crookedtoo! and ye will steal, and steal dishonourably; and I can lick adozen on ye quicker nor chain lightnin? I can send the hol batch onye-rubbish as it is-to take supper t'other side of sundown. " To beequal with his adversary, Romescos is evidently preparing himselffor the reception of something more than words. Twice or thrice heis seen to pass his right hand into the left breast pocket of hissack, where commonly his shining steel is secreted. In anothermoment he turns suddenly towards the vender, pushes him aside withhis left hand, and brings his right in close proximity with Mr. M'Fadden's left listener. That individual exhibits signs of renewedcourage, to which he adds the significant warning: "Not quite soclose, if you please!"

"As close as I sees fit!" returns the other, with a sardonic grin. "Why don't you resent it?-a gentleman would!"

Following the word, Mr. M'Fadden makes a pass at his antagonist, which, he says, is only with the intention of keeping him at arespectful distance. Scarcely has his arm passed when Romescos criesout, "There! he has struck me! He has struck me again!" and dealsM'Fadden a blow with his clenched fist that fells him lumbering tothe floor. Simultaneously Romescos falls upon his prostrate victim, and a desperate struggle ensues. 

The vender, whose sacred premises are thus disgraced, runs out tocall the police, while the clerks make an ineffectual attempt toseparate the combatants. Not a policeman is to be found. At nightthey may be seen swarming the city, guarding the fears of a whitepopulace ever sensitive of black rebellion. 

Like an infuriated tiger, Romescos, nimble as a catamount, is fastdestroying every vestige of outline in his antagonist's face, drenching it with blood, and adding ghastliness by the strangulationhe is endeavouring to effect. 

"Try-try-trying to-kill-me-eh? You-you mad brute!" gutters out thestruggling man, his eyes starting from the sockets like balls offire, while gore and saliva foam from his mouth and nostrils as ifhis struggles are in death. 

"Kill ye-kill ye?" Romescos rejoins, the shaggy red hair falling intufts about his face, now burning with desperation: "it would bekillin' only a wretch whose death society calls for. "

At this, the struggling man, like one borne to energy by the lastthroes of despair, gives a desperate spring, succeeds in turning hisantagonist, grasps him by the throat with his left hand, and fromhis pocket fires a pistol with his right. The report alarms; theshrill whistle calls to the rescue; but the ball has only takeneffect in the flesh of Romescos's right arm. Quick to the moment, his arm dripping with gore from the wound, he draws his glitteringdirk, and plunges it, with unerring aim, into the breast of hisantagonist. The wounded man starts convulsively, as the other coollydraws back the weapon, the blood gushing forth in a livid stream. "Is not that in self-defence?" exclaims the bloody votary, turninghis haggard and enraged face to receive the approval of thebystanders. The dying man, writhing under the grasp of his murderer, utters a piercing shriek. "Murdered! I'm dying! Oh, heaven! is thismy last-last-last? Forgive me, Lord, --forgive me!" he gurgles; andmaking another convulsive effort, wrings his body from under theperpetrator of the foul deed. How tenacious of life is the dyingman! He grasps the leg of a desk, raises himself to his feet, and, as if goaded with the thoughts of hell, in his last strugglesstaggers to the door, --discharges a second shot, vaults, as it were, into the street, and falls prostrate upon the pavement, surroundedby a crowd of eager lookers-on. He is dead! The career of Mr. M'Fadden is ended; his spirit is summoned for trial before a justGod. 

The murderer (perhaps we abuse the word, and should apply the moresouthern, term of renconterist), sits in a chair, calling for water, as a few among the crowd prepare to carry the dead body intoGraspum's slave-pen, a few squares below. 

Southern sensibility may call these scenes by whatever name it will;we have no desire to change the appropriateness, nor to lessen themoral tenor of southern society. It nurtures a frail democracy, andfrom its bastard offspring we have a tyrant dying by the hand of atyrant, and the spoils of tyranny serving the good growth of theChristian church. Money constructs opinions, pious as well aspolitical, and even changes the feelings of good men, who invokeheaven's aid against the bondage of the souls of men. 

Romescos will not flee to escape the terrible award of earthlyjustice. Nay, that, in our atmosphere of probity, would bedishonourable; nor would it aid the purpose he seeks to gain. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A COMMON INCIDENT SHORTLY TOLD. 

THE dead body of Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden, whose heart was strong withlove of southern democracy, lies upon two pine-boards, ghastly andunshrouded, in a wretched slave-pen. Romescos, surrounded byadmiring friends, has found his way to the gaol, where, as is thecustom, he has delivered himself up to its keeper. He has spent agood night in that ancient establishment, and on the followingmorning finds his friends vastly increased. They have viewed him asrather desperate now and then; but, knowing he is brave withal, have"come to the rescue" on the present occasion. These frequent visitshe receives with wonderful coolness and deference, their meats anddrinks (so amply furnished to make his stay comfortable) being agreat Godsend to the gaoler, who, while they last, will spread aprincely table. 

Brien Moon, Esq. -better known as the good-natured coroner-has placeda negro watchman over the body of the deceased, on which he proposesto hold one of those curious ceremonies called inquests. Brien Moon, Esq. Is particularly fond of the ludicrous, is ever ready toappreciate a good joke, and well known for his happy mode ofdisposing of dead dogs and cats, which, with anonymous letters, arein great numbers entrusted to his care by certain waggish gentlemen, who desire he will "hold an inquest over the deceased, and notforget the fees. " It is said-the aristocracy, however, look upon thecharge with contempt-that Brien Moon, Esq. Makes a small per centageby selling those canine remains to the governor of the workhouse, which very humane gentleman pays from his own pocket the means oftransferring them into giblet-pies for the inmates. It may be allscandal about Mr. Moon making so large an amount from his office;but it is nevertheless true that sad disclosures have of late beenmade concerning the internal affairs of the workhouse. 

The hour of twelve has arrived; and since eight in the morning Mr. Moon's time has been consumed in preliminaries necessary to theorganisation of a coroner's jury. The reader we know will excuse ournot entering into the minuti‘ of the organisation. Eleven jurorshave answered the summons, but a twelfth seems difficult to procure. John, the good Coroner's negro servant, has provided a sufficiencyof brandy and cigars, which, since the hour of eleven, have beendiscussed without stint. The only objection our worthy disposer ofthe dead has to this is, that some of his jurors, becoming verymellow, may turn the inquest into a farce, with himself playing thelow-comedy part. The dead body, which lies covered with a sheet, isfast becoming enveloped in smoke, while no one seems to have apassing thought for it. Colonel Tom Edon, --who, they say, is notcolonel of any regiment, but has merely received the title from theknown fact of his being a hogdriver, which honourable profession isdistinguished by its colonels proceeding to market mounted, whilethe captains walk, --merely wonders how much bad whiskey the dead 'unconsumed while he lived. 

"This won't do!" exclaims Brien Moon, Esq. , and proceeds to the doorin the hope of catching something to make his mournful numbercomplete. He happens upon Mr. Jonas Academy, an honest cracker, fromChrist's parish, who visits the city on a little business. Jonas isa person of great originality, is enclosed in loosely-settinghomespun, has a woe-begone countenance, and wears a large-brimmedfelt hat. He is just the person to make the number complete, and isled in, unconscious of the object for which he finds himself acaptive. Mr. Brien Moon now becomes wondrous grave, mounts a barrelat the head of the corpse, orders the negro to uncover the body, andhopes gentlemen will take seats on the benches he has provided forthem, while he proceeds to administer the oath. Three or four yetretain their cigars: he hopes gentlemen will suspend their smokingduring the inquest. Suddenly it is found that seven out of thetwelve can neither read nor write; and Mr. Jonas Academy makes knownthe sad fact that he does not comprehend the nature of an oath, never having taken such an article in his life. Five of thegentlemen, who can read and write, are from New England; while Mr. Jonas Academy declares poor folks in Christ's parish are not fools, troubled with reading and writing knowledge. He has been told theyhave a thing called a college at Columbia; but only haristocrats getany good of it. In answer to a question from Mr. Moon, he is happyto state that their parish is not pestered with a schoolmaster. "Yes, they killed the one we had more nor two years ago, thank Good!Han't bin trubl'd with one o' the critters since" he adds, withunmoved nerves. The Coroner suggests that in a matter of expediencylike the present it may be well to explain the nature of an oath;and, seeing that a man may not read and write, and yet comprehendits sacredness, perhaps it would be as well to forego the letter ofthe law. "Six used to do for this sort of a jury, but now law musthave twelve, " says Mr. Moon. Numerous voices assent to this, and Mr. Moon commences what he calls "an halucidation of the nature of anoath. " The jurors receive this with great satisfaction, take theoath according to his directions, and after listening to thestatement of two competent witnesses, who know but very little aboutthe affair, are ready to render a verdict, --"that M'Fadden, thedeceased, came to his death by a stab in the left breast, inflictedby a sharp instrument in the hand or hands of Anthony Romescos, during an affray commonly called a rencontre, regarding which thereare many extenuating circumstances. " To this verdict Mr. Moonforthwith bows assent, directs the removal of the body, and invitesthe gentlemen jurors to join him in another drink, which he does incompliment to their distinguished services. The dead body will beremoved to the receiving vault, and Mr. Moon dismisses his jurorswith many bows and thanks; and nothing more. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE CHILDREN ARE IMPROVING. 

THREE years have rolled round, and wrought great changes in theaspect of affairs. M'Fadden was buried on his plantation, Romescoswas bailed by Graspum, and took his trial at the sessions formanslaughter. It was scarcely worth while to trouble a respectablejury with the paltry case-and then, they were so frequent! We needscarcely tell the reader that he was honourably acquitted, and bornefrom the court amid great rejoicing. His crime was only that ofmurder in self-defence; and, as two tyrants had met, the successfulhad the advantage of public opinion, which in the slave world soarshigh above law. Romescos being again on the world, making hiscleverness known, we must beg the reader's indulgence, and requesthim to accompany us while we return to the children. 

Annette and Nicholas are, and have been since the sale, the propertyof Graspum. They develope in size and beauty-two qualities veryessential in the man-market of our democratic world, the South. Those beautiful features, intelligence, and reserve, are muchadmired as merchandise; for southern souls are not lifted above thisgrade of estimating coloured worth. Annette's cherub face, soft blueeyes, clear complexion, and light auburn hair, add to the sweetnessof a countenance that education and care might make brilliant; andyet, though reared on Marston's plantation, with unrestrictedindulgence, her childish heart seems an outpouring of nativegoodness. She speaks of her mother with the affection of one ofmaturer years; she grieves for her return, wonders why she is leftalone, remembers how kind that mother spoke to her when she saidgood by, at the cell door. How sweet is the remembrance of a mother!how it lingers, sparkling as a dewdrop, in a child's memory. Annettefeels the affliction, but is too young to divine the cause thereof. She recalls the many happy plantation scenes; they are bright to heryet! She prattles about Daddy Bob, Harry, Aunt Rachel, and old Sue, now and then adding a solicitous question about Marston. But shedoes not realise that he is her father; no, it was not her lot tobestow a daughter's affection upon him, and she is yet too young tocomprehend the poison of slave power. Her childlike simplicityaffords a touching contrast to that melancholy injustice by which afair creature with hopes and virtues after God's moulding, pure andholy, is made mere merchandise for the slave-market. 

Annette has learned to look upon Nicholas as a brother; but, likeherself, he is kept from those of his own colour by some, to him, unintelligible agency. Strange reflections flit through her youthfulimagination, as she embraces him with a sister's fondness. How oftshe lays her little head upon his shoulder, encircles his neck withher fair arm, and braids his raven hair with her tiny fingers! Shelittle thinks how fatal are those charms she bears bloomingly intowomanhood. 

But, if they alike increase in beauty as they increase in age, theirdispositions are as unlike as two opposites can be moulded. Nicholashas inherited that petulant will, unbending determination, andlurking love of avenging wrong, so peculiar to the Indian race. Torestlessness he adds distrust of those around him; and whendispleased, is not easily reconciled. He is, however, tractable, andearly evinced an aptitude for mechanical pursuits that would havedone credit to maturer years. Both have been at service, and duringthe period have created no small degree of admiration-Annette forher promising personal appearance, Nicholas for his precociousdisplay of talent. Both have earned their living; and now Nicholasis arrived at an age when his genius attracts purchasers. 

Conspicuous among those who have been keeping an eye on the littlefellow, is Mr. Jonathan Grabguy, a master-builder, largely engagedin rearing dwellings. His father was a builder, and his mother usedto help the workmen to make Venetian blinds. Fortune showered hersmiles upon their energies, and brought them negro property in greatabundance. Of this property they made much; the father of thepresent Mr. Grabguy (who became a distinguished mayor of the city)viewing it peculiarly profitable to use up his niggers in fiveyears. To this end he forced them to incessant toil, belabouringthem with a weapon of raw hide, to which he gave the singularcognomen of "hell-fire. " When extra punishment was-according to hispolicy-necessary to bring out the "digs, " he would lock them up inhis cage (a sort of grated sentry-box, large enough to retain thebody in an upright position), and when the duration of thispunishment was satisfactory to his feelings, he would administer acounter quantity of stings with his "hell-fire" wattle. Indeed, theelder Mr. Grabguy, who afterwards became "His Worship the Mayor, "was a wonderful disciplinarian, which very valuable traits ofcharacter his son retains in all their purity. His acts deserve morespecific notice than we are at present able to give them, inasmuchas by them the safety of a state is frequently endangered, as weshall show in the climax. 

Our present Mr. Grabguy is a small man, somewhat slender of person, about five feet seven inches high, who usually dresses in thehabiliments of a working man, and is remarkable for his quickness. His features are dark and undefinable, marked with thatthoughtfulness which applies only to the getting of wordly goods. His face is narrow and careworn, with piercing brown eyes, highcheek bones, projecting nose and chin, low forehead, and greyishhair, which he parts in the centre. These form the strongest indexto his stubborn character; nevertheless he hopes, ere long, to reachthe same distinguished position held by his venerable father, who, peace to his ashes! is dead. 

"Now, good neighbour Graspum, " says our Mr. Grabguy, as he stands inGraspum's warehouse examining a few prime fellows, "I've got a smallamount to invest in stock, but I wants somethin' choice-say two orthree prime uns, handy at tools. I wants somethin' what 'll makemechanics. Then I wants to buy, " he continues, deliberately, "a fewsmart young uns, what have heads with somethin' in 'um, that ye canbring up to larn things. White mechanics, you see, are soindependent now-a-days, that you can't keep 'um under as you canniggers. 

"I've bin thinkin' 'bout tryin' an experiment with nigger prentices;and, if it goes, we can dispense with white mechanics entirely. Myword for it, they're only a great nuisance at best. When you put 'umto work with niggers they don't feel right, and they have notionsthat our society don't respect 'um because they must mix with theblack rascals in following their trades; and this works its way intotheir feelings so, that the best on 'um from the north soon givethemselves up to the worst dissipation. Ah! our white mechanics arepoor wretches; there isn't twenty in the city you can depend on tokeep sober two days. "

"Well, sir, " interrupts Graspum, with an air of great importance, as, with serious countenance, he stands watching every change in Mr. Grabguy's face, at intervals taking a cursory survey of hismerchandise, "can suit you to most anything in the line. Youunderstand my mode of trade, perfectly?" He touches Mr. Grabguy onthe arm, significantly, and waits the reply, which that gentlemanmakes with a bow. "Well, if you do, " he continues, "you know themeans and markets I have at my command. Can sell you young uns ofany age, prime uns of various qualities-from field hands down towatch-makers, clergymen!" He always keeps a good supply on hand, andhas the very best means of supply. So Mr. Grabguy makes a purchaseof three prime men, whom he intends to transform into first-ratemechanics. He declares he will not be troubled hereafter with thosevery miserable white workmen he is constrained to import from thenorth. They are foolish enough to think they are just as good as anybody, and can be gentlemen in their profession. They, poor fools!mistake the south in their love of happy New England and itssociety, as they call it. 

Having completed his bargain, he hesitates, as if there is somethingmore he would like to have. "Graspum!" he says, "What for trade? canwe strike for that imp o' yours at Mrs. Tuttlewill's?" Withoutwaiting for Graspum's reply, he adds-"That chap 's goin to make atall bit of property one of these days!"

"Ought to, " rejoins Graspum, stoically; "he's got right good stockin him. " The man of business gives his head a knowing shake, andtakes a fresh quid of tobacco. "Give that 'sprout' a chance in theworld, and he'll show his hand!" he adds. 

"That's what I wants, " intimates our tradesman. He has had his eyeon the fellow, and knows he's got a head what 'll make the very bestkind of a workman. But it will be necessary to take the stubborn outwithout injuring the "larning" part. Mr. Grabguy, with greatunconcern, merely suggests these trifling matters for the betterregulating of Mr. Graspum's price. 

"Can do that easy enough, if you only study the difference between anigger's hide and head. Can put welts on pretty strong, if youunderstand the difference a'tween the too, " intimates our man ofbusiness, as he places his thumbs in his vest, and commences humminga tune. Then he stops suddenly, and working his face into a verylearned contortion, continues-"Ye see, Grabguy, a man has to studythe human natur of a nigger just the same as he would a mule or amachine. In truth, Grabguy, niggers are more like mules nor anythingelse, 'cause the brute 'll do everything but what ye wants him todo, afore he's subdued. You must break them when they are young. About ten or a dozen welts, sir, well laid on when ye first begin, and every time he don't toe the mark, will, in the course of a year, make him as submissive as a spaniel-it will! The virtue ofsubmission is in the lash, it supples like seeds. "

"About the stock, Graspum: I don't quite agree with you aboutthat, --I never believed in blood, ye know. As far as this imp goes, Ihave my doubts about the blood doin on him much good; seein' how itkind o' comes across my mind that there's some Ingin in him. Now, ifmy philosophy serves me right, Ingin blood makes slave property wantto run away (the speaker spreads himself with great nonchalance), the very worst fault. "

"Poh! poh!-isn't a bit o' that about him. That imp 's from Marston'sestate, can't scare up nothin so promisin' in the way of likelycolour, " Graspum interposes, with great assurance of manner. "Youdidn't see the gal-did you?" he concludes. 

"I reckon I've taken a squint at both on 'em! Pretty fine andlikely. From the same bankrupt concern, I s'pose?" Mr. Grabguy looksquite serious, and waits for a reply. 

"Yes-nothing less, " Graspum replies, measuredly. "But won't it makeyour eye water, neighbour Grabguy, one of these days! Bring a tallprice among some of our young bucks, eh!" He gives neighbour Grabguya significant touch on the arm, and that gentleman turns his headand smiles. How quaintly modest!

"By the by, talking of Marston, what has become of him? His affairsseem to have died out in the general levity which the number of suchcases occasion. But I tell you what it is, Graspum, " (he whispers, accompanying the word with an insinuating look), "report implicatesyou in that affair. "

"Me?-Me?-Me, Sir? God bless you! why, you really startle me. Myhonour is above the world's scandal. Ah! if you only knew what I'vedone for that man, Marston;--that cussed nephew of his came within afeather of effecting my ruin. And there he lies, stubborn as a door-plate, sweating out his obstinacy in gaol. Lord bless your soul, I'mnot to blame, you know!-I have done a world of things for him; buthe won't be advised. "

"His creditors think he has more money, and money being the upshotof all his troubles, interposes the point of difficulty in thepresent instance. I tell them he has no more money, but--I know notwhy--they doubt the fact the more, and refuse to release him, on theground of my purchasing their claims at some ulterior period, as Idid those two fi fas when the right of freedom was being contestedin the children. But, you see, Grabguy, I'm a man of standing; andno money would tempt me to have anything to do with another suchcase. It was by a mere quirk of law, and the friendship of so manyeminent lawyers, that I secured that fifteen hundred dollars fromM'Carstrow for the gal what disappeared so mysteriously. "

"Graspum!" interrupts Mr. Grabguy, suddenly, accompanying his remarkwith a laugh, "you're a good bit of a lawyer when it comes to thecross-grained. You tell it all on one side, as lawyers do. I knowthe risk you run in buying the fi fas on which those children wereattached!" Mr. Grabguy smiles, doubtingly, and shakes his head. 

"There are liabilities in everything, " Graspum drawls out, measuredly. "Pardon me, my friend, you never should found opinion onsuspicion. More than a dozen times have I solicited Marston to filehis schedule, and take the benefit of the act. However, with all myadvice and kindness to him, he will not move a finger towards hisown release. Like all our high-minded Southerners, he is ready tomaintain a sort of compound between dignity and distress, with whichhe will gratify his feelings. It's all pride, sir-pride!-you maydepend upon it. " (Graspum lays his hands together, and affectswondrous charity). "I pity such men from the very bottom of myheart, because it always makes me feel bad when I think what theyhave been. Creditors, sir, are very unrelenting; and seldom thinkthat an honourable man would suffer the miseries of a prison ratherthan undergo the pain of being arraigned before an open court, forthe exposition of his poverty. Sensitiveness often founds the chargeof wrong. The thing is much misunderstood; I know it, sir! Yes, sir!My own feelings make me the best judge, " continues Graspum, with amost serious countenance. He feels he is a man of wonderful parts, much abused by public opinion, and, though always trying to promotepublic good, never credited for his many kind acts. 

Turning his head aside to relieve himself of a smile, Mr. Grabguyadmits that he is quite an abused man; and, setting aside smallmatters, thinks it well to be guided by the good motto:--'retirefrom business with plenty of money. ' It may not subdue tongues, butit will soften whispers. "Money, " Mr. Grabguy intimates, "upon thestrength of his venerable father's experience, is a curious mediumof overcoming the ditchwork of society. In fact, " he assures Graspum, "that with plenty of shiners you may be just such a man as youplease; everybody will forget that you ever bought or sold a nigger, and ten chances to one if you do not find yourself sloped off intoCongress, before you have had time to study the process of gettingthere. But, enough of this, Graspum;--let us turn to trade matters. What's the lowest shot ye'll take for that mellow mixture of Inginand aristocracy. Send up and bring him down: let us hear the lowestdodge you'll let him slide at. "

Mr. Grabguy evinces an off-handedness in trade that is quite equalto Graspum's keen tact. But Graspum has the faculty of preserving adisinterested appearance singularly at variance with his object. 

A messenger is despatched, receipt in hand, for the boy Nicholas. Mrs. Tuttlewell, a brusque body of some sixty years, and withthirteen in a family, having had three husbands (all gentlemen ofthe highest standing, and connected with first families), keeps astylish boarding-house, exclusively for the aristocracy, commonpeople not being competent to her style of living; and as nobodycould ever say one word against the Tuttlewell family, the presenthead of the Tuttlewell house has become very fashionablydistinguished. The messenger's arrival is made known to Mrs. Tuttlewell, who must duly consider the nature of the immediatedemand. She had reason to expect the services of the children wouldhave been at her command for some years to come. However, she mustmake the very best of it; they are Graspum's property, and he can dowhat he pleases with them. She suggests, with great politeness, thatthe messenger take a seat in the lower veranda. Her house is locatedin a most fashionable street, and none knew better than good ladyTuttlewell herself the value of living up to a fashionable nicety;for, where slavery exists, it is a trade to live. 

Both children have been "waiting on table, " and, on hearing thesummons, repair to their cabin in the yard. Mrs. Tuttlewell, reconsidering her former decision, thinks the messenger betterfollow them, seeing that he is a nigger with kindly looks. "Uncle!"says Annette, looking up at the old Negro, as he joins them: "Don'tyou want me too?"

"No, " returns the man, coolly shaking his head. 

"I think they must be going to take us back to the old plantation, where Daddy Bob used to sing so. Then I shall see mother-how I dowant to see her!" she exclaims, her little heart bounding withecstasy. Three years or more have passed since she prattled on hermother's knee. 

The negro recognizes the child's simplicity. "I on'e wants datchild; but da'h an't gwine t' lef ye out on da plantation, nohow!"he says. 

"Not going to take us home!" she says, with a sigh. Nicholas moodilysubmits himself to be prepared, as Annette, more vivacious, keepsinterposing with various enquiries. She would like to know wherethey are going to take little Nicholas; and when they will let hergo and see Daddy Bob and mother? "Now, you can take me; I know youcan!" she says, looking up at the messenger, and taking his handpertly. 

"No-can't, little 'un! Mus' lef' 'um fo'h nuder time. You isn'tbroder and sister-is ye?"

"No!" quickly replies the little girl, swinging his hand playfully;"but I want to go where he goes; I want to see mother when he does. "

"Well, den, little 'un (the negro sees he cannot overcome thechild's simplicity by any other means), dis child will come fo'h 'umto-morrow-dat I will!"

"And you'll bring Nicholas back-won't you?" she enquires, graspingthe messenger more firmly by the hand. 

"Sartin! no mistake 'bout dat, little 'uman. " At this she takesNicholas by the hand, and retires to their little room in the cabin. Here, like one of older years, she washes him, and dresses him, andfusses over him. 

He is merely a child for sale; so she combs his little locks, putson his new osnaburgs, arranges his nice white collar about his neck, and makes him look so prim. And then she ties a piece of blackribbon about his neck, giving him the bright appearance of aschool-boy on examination-day. The little girl's feelings seem asmuch elated as would be a mother's at the prospect of her childgaining a medal of distinction. 

"Now, Nicholas!" she whispers, with touching simplicity, as sheviews him from head to foot with a smile of exultation on her face, "your mother never dressed you so neat. But I like you more andmore, Nicholas, because both our mothers are gone; and maybe weshall never see 'um again. " And she kisses him fondly, --tells him notto stay long, --to tell her all he has seen and heard about mother, when he returns. 

"I don't know, 'Nette, but 'pears to me we ain't like otherchildren-they don't have to be sold so often; and I don't seem tohave any father. "

"Neither do I; but Mrs. Tuttlewell says I mustn't mind that, becausethere's thousands just like us. And then she says we ain't the samekind o' white folks that she is; she says we are white, but niggersfor all that. I don't know how it is! I'm not like black folks, because I'm just as white as any white folks, " she rejoins, placingher little arms round his neck and smoothing his hair with her lefthand. 

"I'll grow up, one o' these days. "

"And so will I, " she speaks, boldly. 

"And I'm goin' to know where my mother's gone, and why I ain't asgood as other folks' white children, " he rejoins sullenly, shakinghis head, and muttering away to himself. It is quite evident thatthe many singular stages through which he is passing, serve only toincrease the stubborness of his nature. The only blackdistinguishable in his features are his eyes and hair; and, as helooks in the glass to confirm what he has said, Annette takes him bythe hand, tells him he must not mind, now; that if he is good heshall see Franconia, --and mother, too, one of these days. He must notbe pettish, she remarks, holding him by the hand like a sister whoseheart glows with hope for a brother's welfare. She gives him incharge of the messenger, saying, "Good by!" as she imprints a kisson his cheek, its olive hues changing into deep crimson. 

The negro answers her adieu with "Good by, little dear! God bless'um!" Nay, the native goodness of his heart will not permit him toleave her thus. He turns round, takes her in his arms, kisses andkisses her fair cheek. It is the truth of an honest soul, expressedwith tears glistening in his eyes. Again taking Nicholas by thehand, he hastens through the passage of Mrs. Tuttlewell's housewhere, on emerging into the street, he is accosted by that veryfashionable lady, who desires to know if he has got the boy "allright!" Being answered in the affirmative, she gives a verydignified-"Glad of it, " and desires her compliments to Mr. Graspum, who she hopes will extend the same special regards to his family, and retires to the quietude of her richly-furnished parlour. 

The gentleman dealer and his customer are waiting in the manshambles, while the negro messenger with his boy article of tradeplod their way along through the busy streets. The negro looks onhis charge with a smile of congratulation. "Mas'r 'll laugh all over'e clothes when he sees ye-dat he will!" he says, with an air ofexultation. 

"I'd like to know where I'm goin' to afore I go much further, "returns the boy, curtly, as he walks along, every few minutes askingunanswerable questions of the negro. 

"Lor, child!" returns the negro, with a significant smile, "take yedown to old massa what own 'um! Fo'h true!"

"Own me!" mutters the child, surlily. "How can they own me withoutowning my mother?--and I've no father. "

"White man great 'losipher; he know so much, dat nigger don't knownofin, " is the singularly significant answer. 

"But God didn't make me for a nigger, --did he?"

"Don' know how dat is, child. 'Pears like old mas'r tink da' ain'tno God; and what he sees in yander good book lef 'um do just as 'emind to wid nigger. Sometimes Buckra sell nigger by de pound, justlike 'e sell pig; and den 'e say 't was wid de Lord's will. "

"If mas'r Lord be what Buckra say he be, dis child don' want t'be'quainted wid 'um, " he coolly dilates, as if he foresees themournful result of the child's bright endowments. 

The negro tries to quiet the child's apprehensions by telling him hethinks "Buckra, what's waiting down in da'h office, gwine t' buy 'umof old mas'r. Know dat Buckra he sharp feller. Get e' eye on ye, andmake up 'e mind what 'e gwine to give fo'h 'um, quicker!" says thenegro. 

Graspum has invited his customer, Mr. Grabguy, into his morecomfortable counting-room, where, as Nicholas is led in, they may befound discussing the rights of the south, as guaranteed by thefederal constitution. The south claim rights independent of thenorth; and those rights are to secede from the wrongs of the northwhenever she takes into her head the very simple notion of carryingthem out. Graspum, a man of great experience, whose keen sense ofjustice is made keener by his sense of practical injustice, --thinksthe democracy of the south was never fully understood, and that themost sure way of developing its great principles is by hanging everynortherner, whose abolition mania is fast absorbing the liberties ofthe country at large. 

"That's the feller!" says Mr. Grabguy, as the negro leads Nicholasinto his presence, and orders him to keep his hands down while thegentleman looks at him. "Stubborn sticks out some, though, Ireckon, " Mr. Grabguy adds, rather enthusiastically. "Absalom! Isaac!Joe! eh? what's your name?"

"He's a trump!" interposes Graspum, rubbing his hands together, andgiving his head a significant shake. 

"Nicholas, they call me, master, " answers the boy, pettishly. 

Mr. Grabguy takes him by the arms, feels his muscle with great careand caution, tries the elasticity of his body by lifting him fromthe floor by his two ears. This is too much, which the childannounces with loud screams. "Stuff! out and out, " says Mr. Grabguy, patting him on the back, in a kind sort of way. At the same time hegives a look of satisfaction at Graspum. 

"Everything a man wants, in that yaller skin, " returns thatmethodical tradesman, with a gracious nod. 

"Black lightnin' eyes-long wiry black hair, a skin full of Ingindevil, and a face full of stubborn, " Mr. Grabguy discourses, as hecontemplates the article before him. 

"Well, now, about the lowest figure for him?" he continues, againlooking at Graspum, and waiting his reply. That gentleman, drawinghis right hand across his mouth, relieves it of the virtuelessdeposit, and supplies it with a fresh quid. 

"Sit down, neighbour Grabguy, " he says, placing a chair beside him. They both sit down; the negro attendant stands a few feet behindthem: the boy may walk a line backward and forward. "Say the word!You know I'll have a deal o' trouble afore breaking the feller in, "Grabguy exclaims, impatiently. 

Graspum is invoking his philosophy. He will gauge the point of valueaccording to the coming prospect and Mr. Grabguy's wants. "Well, now, seeing it's you, and taking the large amount of negro propertyI have sold to your distinguished father into consideration-I hopeto sell forty thousand niggers yet, before I die-he should bring sixhundred. " Graspum lays his left hand modestly on Mr. Grabguy's rightarm, as that gentleman rather starts with surprise. "Take theextraordinary qualities into consideration, my friend; he's got ahead what's worth two hundred dollars more nor a common nigger, --thatis, if you be going to turn it into knowledge profit. But thatwasn't just what I was going to say" (Graspum becomes profound, ashe spreads himself back in his chair). "I was going to say, I'd letyou-you mustn't whisper it, though-have him for five hundred andtwenty; and he's as cheap at that as bull-dogs at five dollars. "

Grabguy shakes his head: he thinks the price rather beyond his mark. He, however, has no objection to chalking on the figure; and as bothare good democrats, they will split the difference. 

Graspum, smiling, touches his customer significantly with his elbow. "I never do business after that model, " he says. "Speaking ofbull-dogs, why, Lord bless your soul, Sam Beals and me tradedt'other day: I gin him a young five-year old nigger for his hound, and two hundred dollars to boot. Can't go five hundred and twentyfor that imp, nohow! Could o' got a prime nigger for that, two yearsago. "

"Wouldn't lower a fraction! He's extraordinary prime, and'llincrease fifty dollars a year every year for ten years or more. "

Mr. Grabguy can't help that: he is merely in search of an articlecapable of being turned into a mechanic, or professionalman, --anything to suit the exigencies of a free country, in whichsuch things are sold. And as it will require much time to get thearticle to a point where it'll be sure to turn the pennies back, perhaps he'd as well let it alone: so he turns the matter over inhis head. And yet, there is a certain something about the "youngimp" that really fascinates him; his keen eye, and deep sense ofnigger natur' value, detect the wonderful promise the article holdsforth. 

"Not one cent lower would I take for that chap. In fact, I almostfeel like recanting now, " says Graspum, by way of breaking themonotony. 

"Well, I'll bid you good day, " says the other, in return, affectingpreparation to leave. He puts out his hand to Graspum, and with aserious look desires to know if that be the lowest figure. 

"Fact! Don't care 'bout selling at that. Couldn't have a betterinvestment than to keep him!"

Mr. Grabguy considers and reconsiders the matter over in his mind;paces up and down the floor several times, commences humming a tune, steps to the door, looks up and down the street, and says, "Well, I'll be moving homeward, I will. "

"Like yer custom, that I do; but then, knowing what I can do withthe fellow, I feels stiff about letting him go, " interposes Graspum, with great indifference, following to the door, with hands extended. 

This is rather too insinuating for Mr. Grabguy. Never did piece ofproperty loom up so brightly, so physically and intellectuallyvaluable. He will return to the table. Taking his seat again, hedraws forth a piece of paper, and with his pencil commences figuringupon it. He wants to get at the cost of free and slave labour, andthe relative advantages of the one over the other. After a deal ofmultiplying and subtracting, he gives it up in despair. The fineproportions of the youth before him distract his very brain withcontemplation. He won't bother another minute; figures are onlyconfusions: so far as using them to compute the relative value offree and slave labour, they are enough to make one's head ache. "Would ye like to go with me, boy? Give ye enough to eat, but makeye toe the mark!" He looks at Nicholas, and waits a reply. 

"Don't matter!" is the boy's answer. "Seems as if nobody cared forme; and so I don't care for nobody. "

"That's enough, " he interrupts, turning to Graspum: "there's ashowing of grit in that, eh?"

"Soon take it out, " rejoins that methodical gentleman. "Anyhow, I'vea mind to try the fellow, Graspum. I feel the risk I run; but Idon't mind-it's neck or nothin here in the south! Ye'll take a longnote, s'pose? Good, ye know!"

Graspum motions his head and works his lips, half affirmatively. 

"Good as old gold, ye knows that, " insinuates Mr. Grabguy. 

"Yes, but notes aint cash; and our banks are shut down as tight assteel traps. At all events make it bankable, and add the interestfor six months. It's against my rules of business, though, " returnsGraspum, with great financial emphasis. 

After considerably more very nice exhibitions of business tact, itis agreed that Mr. Grabguy takes the "imp" at five hundred andtwenty dollars, for which Graspum accepts his note at six months, with interest. Mr. Grabguy's paper is good, and Graspum considers itequal to cash, less the interest. The "imp" is now left in charge ofthe negro, while the two gentlemen retire to the privatecounting-room, where they will settle the preliminaries. 

A grave-looking gentleman at a large desk is ordered to make theentry of sale; as the initiate of which he takes a ponderous ledgerfrom the case, and, with great coolness, opens its large leaves. "Nicholas, I think his name is?" he ejaculates, turning to Graspum, who, unconcernedly, has resumed his seat in the great arm-chair. 

"Yes; but I suppose it must be Nicholas Grabguy, now, " returnsGraspum, bowing to his book-keeper, and then turning to Mr. Grabguy. 

"One minute, if you please!" rejoins that gentlemen, as the sedatebook-keeper turns to his page of N's in the index. Mr. Grabguy willconsider that very important point for a few seconds. 

"Better drop the Marston, as things are. A good many high feelingconnections of that family remain; and to continue the name might beto give pain. " This, Graspum says, he only puts out as a suggestion. 

"Enter him as you say, gentlemen, " interposes the clerk, who willmend his pen while waiting their pleasure. 

Mr. Grabguy runs his right hand several times across his forehead, and after a breathless pause, thinks it as well not to connect hisdistinguished name with that of the nigger, --not just at this moment!Being his property, and associating with his business and people, that will naturally follow. "Just enter him, and make out the billof sale describing him as the boy Nicholas, " he adds. 

"Boy Nicholas!" reiterates the book-keeper, and straight-way entershis name, amount fetched, to whom sold, and general description, onhis files. In a few minutes more-Graspum, in his chair of state, isregretting having sold so quick, --Mr. Grabguy is handed his bill ofsale, duly made out. At the same time, that sedate official placesthe note for the amount into Graspum's hands. Graspum examines itminutely, while Mr. Grabguy surveys the bill of sale. "Mr. Benson, my clerk here, does these things up according to legal tenour; he, let me inform you, was brought up at the law business, and wasrather celebrated once; but the profession won't pay a man of hisability, " remarks Graspum, with an "all right!" as he lays the noteof hand down for Mr. Grabguy's signature. 

Mr. Benson smiles in reply, and adjusts the very stiffly starchedcorners of his ponderous shirt collar, which he desires to keep wellclosed around his chin. "An honourable man, that's true, sir, can'tlive honestly by the law, now-a-days, " he concludes, with measuredsedateness. He will now get his bill-book, in which to make a recordof the piece of paper taken in exchange for the human 'imp. '

"Clap your name across the face!" demands Graspum; and Grabguyseizes a pen, and quickly consummates the bargain by inscribing hisname, passing it to Mr. Benson, and, in return, receiving the billof sale, which he places in his breast pocket. He will not troubleMr. Benson any further; but, if he will supply a small piece ofpaper, Mr. Grabguy will very kindly give the imp an order, and sendhim to his workshop. 

"Will the gentleman be kind enough to help himself, " says Mr. Benson, passing a quire upon the table at which Mr. Grabguy sits. 

"I'll trim that chap into a first-rate mechanic, " says Mr. Grabguy, as he writes, --"I have bought the bearer, Nicholas, a promising chap, as you will see. Take him into the shop and set him at something, ifit is only turning the grindstone; as I hav'nt made up my mindexactly about what branch to set him at. He's got temper-you'll seethat in a minute, and will want some breakin in, if I don't calklate'rong. " This Mr. Grabguy envelopes, and directs to his mastermechanic. When all things are arranged to his satisfaction, Nicholasis again brought into his presence, receives an admonition, is toldwhat he may expect if he displays his bad temper, is presented withthe note, and despatched, with sundry directions, to seek his wayalone, to his late purchaser's workshop. 

"Come, boy! ain't you going to say 'good-by' to me 'afore you go? Ihav'nt been a bad master to you, " says Graspum, putting out hishand. 

"Yes, master, " mutters the child, turning about ere he reaches thedoor. He advances towards Graspum, puts out his little hand; and insaying "good by, master, " there is so much childish simplicity inhis manner that it touches the tender chord embalmed within thatiron frame. "Be a good little fellow!" he says, his emotions rising. How strong are the workings of nature when brought in contact withunnatural laws! The monster who has made the child wretched--who hasfor ever blasted its hopes, shakes it by the hand, and says--"goodby, little 'un!" as it leaves the door to seek the home of a newpurchaser. How strange the thoughts invading that child's mind, as, a slave for life, it plods its way through the busy thoroughfares!Forcibly the happy incidents of the past are recalled; they aretouching reclections-sweets in the dark void of a slave's life; butto him no way-marks, to measure the happy home embalmed therein, areleft. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

WORKINGS OF THE SLAVE SYSTEM. 

DEMOCRACY! thy trumpet voice for liberty is ever ringing in ourears; but thy strange workings defame thee. Thou art rampant in loveof the "popular cause, " crushing of that which secures liberty toall; and, whilst thou art great at demolishing structures, buildingfirm foundations seems beyond thee, for thereto thou forgetteth tolay the cornerstone well on the solid rock of principle. And, too, we love thee when thou art moved and governed by justice; we hatethee when thou showest thyself a sycophant to make a mad mob serve apestilential ambition. Like a young giant thou graspest power; but, when in thy hands, it becomes a means of serving the baser ends offactious demagogues. Hypocrite! With breath of poison thou hast sungthy songs to liberty while making it a stepping-stone to injustice;nor hast thou ever ceased to wage a tyrant's war against the rightsof man. Thou wearest false robes; thou blasphemest against heaven, that thy strength in wrong may be secure-yea, we fear thy end isfast coming badly, for thou art the bastard offspring ofRepublicanism so purely planted in our land. Clamour and the lashare thy sceptres, and, like a viper seeking its prey, thou charmestwith one and goadeth men's souls with the other. Having worked thyway through our simple narrative, show us what thou hast done. Afather hast thou driven within the humid wall of a prison, becausehe would repent and acknowledge his child. Bolts and bars, in suchcases, are democracy's safeguards; but thou hast bound with heavychains the being who would rise in the world, and go forth healingthe sick and preaching God's word. Even hast thou turned the heartsof men into stone, and made them weep at the wrong thou gavest thempower to inflict. That bond which God gave to man, and charged himto keep sacred, thou hast sundered for the sake of gold, --therebylevelling man with the brutes of the field. Thou hast sent twobeautiful children to linger in the wickedness of slavery, --to diestained with its infamy! Thou hast robbed many a fair one of hervirtue, stolen many a charm; but thy foulest crime is, that thoudrivest mothers and fathers from the land of their birth to seekshelter on foreign soil. Would to God thou could'st see thyself asthou art, --make thy teachings known in truth and justice, --cease tomock thyself in the eyes of foreign tyrants, nor longer servedespots who would make thee the shield of their ill-gotten power!

Within those malarious prison walls, where fast decays a father whosought to save from slavery's death the offspring he loved, will befound a poor, dejected negro, sitting at the bedside of theoppressed man, administering to his wants. His friendship is trueunto death, --the oppressed man is his angel, he will serve him atthe sacrifice of life and liberty. He is your true republican, thefriend of the oppressed! Your lessons of democracy, so swelling, soboastfully arrayed for a world's good, have no place in hissoul, --goodness alone directs his examples of republicanism. But wemust not be over venturous in calling democracy to account, lest weoffend the gods of power and progress. We will, to save ourselves, return to our narrative. 

Marston, yet in gaol, stubbornly refuses to take the benefit of theact, --commonly called the poor debtor's act. He has a faithful friendin Daddy Bob, who has kept his ownership concealed, and, with theassistance of Franconia, still relieves his necessities. Rumour, however, strongly whispers that Colonel M'Carstrow is fast gamblingaway his property, keeping the worst of company, and leading thelife of a debauchee, --which sorely grieves his noble-hearted wife. Infact, Mrs. Templeton, who is chief gossip-monger of the city, declares that he is more than ruined, and that his once beautifulwife must seek support at something. 

An honest jury of twelve free and enlightened citizens, before thehonourable court of Sessions, have declared Romescos honourablyacquitted of the charge of murder, the fatal blow being given incommendable self-defence. 

The reader will remember that in a former chapter we left the stolenclergyman (no thanks to his white face and whiter necked brethren ofthe profession), on the banks of the Mississippi, where, havingpurchased his time of his owner, he is not only a very profitableinvestment to that gentleman, but of great service on theneighbouring plantations. Earnest in doing good for his fellowbondmen, his efforts have enlisted for him the sympathy of agenerous-hearted young lady, the daughter of a neighbouring planter. Many times had he recounted Mrs. Rosebrook's friendship for him toher, and by its influence succeeded in opening the desiredcommunication. Mrs. Rosebrook had received and promptly answered allhis fair friend's letters: the answers contained good news forHarry; she knew him well, and would at once set about inducing herhusband to purchase him. But here again his profession interposed adifficulty, inasmuch as its enhancing the value of the property toso great an extent would make his master reluctant to part with him. However, as nothing could be more expressive of domestic attachmentthan the manner in which the Rosebrooks studied each other'sfeelings for the purpose of giving a more complete happiness, ourgood lady had but to make known her wish, and the deacon stood readyto execute it. In the present case he was but too glad of theopportunity of gratifying her feelings, having had the purchase of aclergyman in contemplation for some months back. He sought Harryout, and, after bartering (the planter setting forth what a deal ofmoney he had made by his clergyman) succeeded in purchasing him forfourteen hundred dollars, the gentleman producing legalised papersof his purchase, and giving the same. As for his running away, thereis no evidence to prove that; nor will Harry's pious word be takenin law to disclose the kidnapping. M'Fadden is dead, --his estate haslong since been administered upon; Romescos murdered the proof, andswept away the dangerous contingency. 

Here, then, we find Harry-we must pass over the incidents of hisreturn back in the old district-about to administer the Gospel tothe negroes on the Rosebrook estates. He is the same good, generous-hearted black man he was years ago. But he has worked hard, paid his master a deal of money for his time, and laid up but littlefor himself. His clothes, too, are somewhat shabby, which, in theestimation of the Rosebrook negroes-who are notoriously aristocraticin their notions-is some detriment to his ministerial character. Atthe same time, they are not quite sure that Harry Marston, as hemust now be called, will preach to please their peculiar mode ofthinking. Master and missus have given them an interest in theirlabour; and, having laid by a little money in missus's savings bank, they are all looking forward to the time when they will have gainedtheir freedom, according to the promises held out. With theseincitements of renewed energy they work cheerfully, take a deepinterest in the amount of crop produced, and have a worthy regardfor their own moral condition. And as they will now pay tribute forthe support of a minister of the Gospel, his respectability is aparticular object of their watchfulness. Thus, Harry's firstappearance on the plantation, shabbily dressed, is viewed withdistrust. Uncle Bradshaw, and old Bill, the coachman, and AuntSophy, and Sophy's two gals, and their husbands, are heard inserious conclave to say that "It won't do!" A clergy gentleman, withno better clothes than that newcomer wears, can't preach good andstrong, nohow! Dad Daniel is heard to say. Bradshaw shakes his whitehead, and says he's goin' to have a short talk with master about it. Something must be done to reconcile the matter. 

Franconia and good Mrs. Rosebrook are not so exacting: the latterhas received him with a warm welcome, while the former, her heartbounding with joy on hearing of his return, hastened into hispresence, and with the affection of a child shook, and shook, andshook his hand, as he fell on his knees and kissed hers. "PoorHarry!" she says, "how I have longed to see you, and your poor wifeand children!"

"Ah, Franconia, my young missus, it is for them my soul fears. "

"But we have found out where they are, " she interrupts. 

"Where they are!" he reiterates. 

"Indeed we have!" Franconia makes a significant motion with herhead. 

"It's true, Harry; and we'll see what can be done to get them back, one of these days, " adds Mrs. Rosebrook, her soul-glowing eyesaffirming the truth of her assertion. They have come out to spendthe day at the plantation, and a happy day it is for those whosehearts they gladden with their kind words. How happy would be oursouth-how desolate the mania for abolition--if such a comity of goodfeeling between master and slaves existed on every plantation! Andthere is nothing to hinder such happy results of kindness. 

"When that day comes, missus, --that day my good old woman and me willbe together again, --how happy I shall be! Seems as if the regainingthat one object would complete my earthly desires. And mychildren, --how much I have felt for them, and how little I havesaid!" returns Harry, as, seated in the veranda of the plantationmansion, the two ladies near him are watching his rising emotions. 

"Never mind, Harry, " rejoins Franconia; "it will all be well, one ofthese days. You, as well as uncle, must bear with trouble. It is aworld of trouble and trial. " She draws her chair nearer him, andlistens to his narrative of being carried off, --his endeavours toplease his strange master down in Mississippi, --the curious manner inwhich his name was changed, --the sum he was compelled to pay for histime, and the good he effected while pursuing the object of hismission on the neighbouring plantations. Hope carried him throughevery trial, --hope prepared his heart for the time of hisdelivery, --hope filled his soul with gratitude to his Maker, andhope, which ever held its light of freedom before him, inspired himwith that prayer he so thankfully bestowed on the head of hisbenefactor, whose presence was as the light of love borne to him onangels' wings. 

Moved to tears by his recital of past struggles, and the expressionof natural goodness exhibited in the resignation with which he borethem, ever praying and trusting to Him who guides our course inlife, Franconia in turn commenced relating the misfortunes that hadbefallen her uncle. She tells him how her uncle has been reduced topoverty through Lorenzo's folly, and Graspum, the negro dealer'sundiscoverable mode of ensnaring the unwary. He has been importuned, harassed, subjected to every degradation and shame, scouted bysociety for attempting to save those beautiful children, Annette andNicholas, from the snares of slavery. And he now welters in adebtor's prison, with few save his old faithful Daddy Bob forfriends. 

"Master, and my old companion, Daddy Bob!" exclaims Harry, interrupting her at the moment. 

"Yes: Daddy takes care of him in his prison cell. "

"How often old Bob's expressive face has looked upon me in mydreams! how often he has occupied my thoughts by day!"

"Goodness belongs to him by nature. "

"And master is in prison; but Daddy is still his friend andfaithful! Well, my heart sorrows for master: I know his proud heartbleeds under the burden, " he says, shaking his head sorrowfully. There is more sympathy concealed beneath that black exterior thanwords can express. He will go and see master; he will comfort himwithin his prison walls; he will rejoin Daddy Bob, and be master'sfriend once more. Mrs. Rosebrook, he is sure, will grant him anyprivilege in her power. That good lady is forthwith solicited, andgrants Harry permission to go into the city any day it suits hisconvenience-except Sunday, when his services are required for thegood of the people on the plantation. Harry is delighted with thistoken of her goodness, and appoints a day when he will meet MissFranconia, --as he yet calls her, --and go see old master and Daddy. Howglowing is that honest heart, as it warms with ecstasy at thethought of seeing "old master, " even though he be degraded withinprison walls!

While this conversation is going on in the veranda, sundry agedmembers of negro families--aunties and mammies--are passing backwardsand forwards in front of the house, casting curious glances at theaffection exhibited for the new preacher by "Miss Franconia. " Theeffect is a sort of reconciliation of the highly aristocraticobjections they at first interposed against his reception. "Mus' besomebody bigger dan common nigger preacher; wudn't cotch MissFrankone spoken wid 'um if 'um warn't, " says Dad Timothy's Jane, whois Uncle Absalom's wife, and, in addition to having six coal-blackchildren, as fat and sleek as beavers, is the wise woman of thecabins, around whom all the old veteran mammies gather forexplanations upon most important subjects. In this instance she issurrounded by six or seven grave worthies, whose comical faces addgreat piquancy to the conclave. Grandmumma Dorothy, who declaresthat she is grandmother to she don't know how much little growing-upproperty, will venture every grey hair in her head-which is as whiteas the snows of Nova Scotia-that he knows a deal o' things about thegospel, or he wouldn't have missus for such a close acquaintance. "But his shirt ain't just da'h fashon fo'h a 'spectable minister obde gospel, " she concludes, with profound wisdom evinced in hermeasured nod. 

Aunt Betsy, than whose face none is blacker, or more comicallymoulded, will say her word; but she is very profound withal. "Reckonhow tain't de clo' what make e' de preacher tink good" (Aunty's liphangs seriously low the while). "Lef missus send some calico fumtown, and dis old woman son fix 'um into shirt fo'h him, " she says, with great assurance of her sincerity. 

Harry-Mister Harry, as he is to be called by the people-findshimself comfortably at home; the only drawback, if such it may becalled, existing in the unwillingness exhibited on the part of oneof the overseers to his being provided with apartments in thebasement of the house instead of one of the cabins. This, however, is, by a few conciliatory words from Mrs. Rosebrook, settled to thesatisfaction of all. Harry has supper provided for him in one of thelittle rooms downstairs, which he is to make his Study, and intowhich he retires for the night. 

When daylight has departed, and the very air seems hanging instillness over the plantation, a great whispering is heard in DadDaniel's cabin-the head quarters, where grave matters of state, orquestions affecting the moral or physical interests of theplantation, are discussed, and Dad Daniel's opinion held as mostlearned-the importance of which over the other cabins is denoted bythree windows, one just above the door being usually filled withmoss or an old black hat. Singular enough, on approaching the cabinit is discovered that Daniel has convoked a senate of his sablebrethren, to whom he is proposing a measure of great importance. "Da'h new precher, gemen! is one ob yer own colur-no more Buckrawhat on'e gib dat one sarmon, --tank God fo'h dat!-and dat colourgeman, my children, ye must look up to fo'h de word from de goodbook. Now, my bredren, 'tis posin' on ye dat ye make dat geman'spectable. I poses den, dat we, bredren, puts in a mite apiece, andgib dat ar' geman new suit ob fus' bes'clof', so 'e preach fresh andclean, " Dad Daniel is heard to say. And this proposition is carriedout on the following morning, when Daddy Daniel-his white wool socleanly washed, and his face glowing with greatgood-nature-accompanied by a conclave of his sable companions, presents himself in the front veranda, and demands to see "missus. "That all-conciliating personage is ever ready to receivedeputations, and on making her appearance, and receiving the usualsalutations from her people, receives from the hand of thatvenerable prime minister, Daddy Daniel, a purse containing twelvedollars and fifty cents. It is the amount of a voluntarycontribution-a gift for the new preacher. "Missus" is requested, after adding her portion, to expend it in a suit of best black forthe newcomer, whom they would like to see, and say "how de, to. "

Missus receives this noble expression of their gratitude with thanksand kind words. Harry is summoned to the veranda, where, on makinghis appearance, he is introduced to Dad Daniel, who, in return, escorts him down on the plazza where numbers of the people haveassembled to receive him. Here, with wondrous ceremony, Dad Danieldoing the polite rather strong, he is introduced to all theimportant people of the plantation. And such a shaking of hands, earnest congratulations, happy "how des, " bows, and joyous laughs, as follow, place the scene so expressive of happiness beyond thepower of pen to describe. Then he is led away, followed by a trainof curious faces, to see Dad Daniel's neatly-arranged cabin; afterwhich he will see plantation church, and successively the people'scabins. To-morrow evening, at early dusk, it is said, according toinvitation and arrangement, he will sup on the green with his sablebrethren, old and young, and spice up the evening's entertainmentwith an exhortation; Dad Daniel, as is his custom, performing theduties of deacon. 

Let us pass over this scene, and-Harry having ingratiated himselfwith the plantation people, who are ready to give him theirdistinguished consideration-ask the reader to follow us through thedescription of another, which took place a few days after. 

Our clergyman has delivered to his sable flock his first sermon, which Dad Daniel and his compatriots pronounce great and good, --justwhat a sermon should be. Such pathos they never heard before; theenthusiasm and fervency with which it was delivered inspiresdelight; they want no more earnestness of soul than the fervencywith which his gesticulations accompanied the words; and now he hasobtained a furlough that he may go into the city and console his oldmaster. A thrill of commiseration seizes him as he contemplates hisonce joyous master now in prison; but, misgivings being useless, onward he goes. And he will see old Bob, recall the happy incidentsof the past, when time went smoothly on. 

He reaches the city, having tarried a while at missus's villa, andseeks M'Carstrow's residence, at the door of which he is met byFranconia, who receives him gratefully, and orders a servant to showhim into the recess of the hall, where he will wait until such timeas she is ready to accompany him to the county prison. M'Carstrowhas recently removed into plainer tenements: some whisper thatnecessity compelled it, and that the "large shot" gamblers haveshorn him down to the lowest imaginable scale of living. Be this asit may, certain it is that he has not looked within the doors of hisown house for more than a week: report says he is enjoying himselfin a fashionable house, to the inmates of which he is familiarlyknown. He certainly leads his beautiful wife anything but a pleasantor happy life. Soon Franconia is ready, and onward wending her wayfor the gaol, closely followed by Harry. She would have no objectionto his walking by her side, but custom (intolerant interposer) willnot permit it. They pass through busy thoroughfares and narrowstreets into the suburbs, and have reached the prison outer gate, onthe right hand of which, and just above a brass knob, are thesignificant words, "Ring the bell. "

"What a place to put master in!" says Harry, in a half whisper, turning to Franconia, as he pulls the brass handle and listens forthe dull tinkling of the bell within. He starts at the muffledsummons, and sighs as he hears the heavy tread of the officer, advancing through the corridor to challenge his presence. The manadvances, and has reached the inner iron gate, situated in a narrow, vaulted arch in the main building. A clanking and clicking sound isheard, and the iron door swings back: a thick-set man, with featuresof iron, advances to the stoop, down the steps, and to the gate. "What's here now?" he growls, rather than speaks, looking sternly atthe coloured man, as he thrusts his left hand deep into his sidepocket, while holding the key of the inner door in his right. 

"Visitor, " returns Franconia, modestly. 

"Who does the nigger want to see?" he enquires, with pertinacity inkeeping with his profession. 

"His old master!" is the quick reply. 

"You both? I guess I know what it is, --you want to see Marston: heused to be a rice-planter, but's now in the debtor's ward for aswimming lot of debts. Well, s'pose I must let you in: got a lot o'things, I s'pose?" he says, looking wickedly through the bars as hesprings the bolts, and swings back the gate. "I beg yer pardon adozen times! but I didn't recognise ye on the outer side, " continuesthe official, becoming suddenly servile. He makes a low bow as herecognises Franconia-motions his hand for them to walk ahead. Theyreach the steps leading to the inner gate, and ascending, soon arein the vaulted passage. 

If they will allow him, the polite official will unlock the grateddoor. Stepping before Franconia, who, as the clanking of the locksgrate on her ear, is seized with sensations she cannot describe, heinserts the heavy key. She turns to Harry, her face pallid asmarble, and lays her tremulous hand on his arm, as if to relieve thenervousness with which she is seized. Click! click! sounds forth:again the door creaks on its hinges, and they are in the confines ofthe prison. A narrow vaulted arch, its stone walls moistened withpestilential malaria, leads into a small vestibule, on the righthand of which stretched a narrow aisle lined on both sides withcells. Damp and pestiferous, a hollow gloominess seems to pervadethe place, as if it were a pest-house for torturing the living. Even the air breathes of disease, --a stench, as of dead men buried inits vaults, darts its poison deep into the system. It is this, coupled with the mind's discontent, that commits its ravages uponthe poor prisoner, --that sends him pale and haggard to a soon-forgotten grave. 

"Last door on the right, --you know, mum, " says the official: "boywill follow, lightly: whist! whist!"

"I know, to my sorrow, " is her reply, delivered in a whisper. Ah!her emotions are too tender for prison walls; they are yieldingtears from the fountain of her very soul. 

"He's sick: walk softly, and don't think of the prisoners. Knock atthe door afore enterin', " says a staid-looking warden, emergingfrom a small door on the left hand of the vestibule. 

"Zist! zist!" returns the other, pointing with the forefinger of hisright hand down the aisle, and, placing his left, gently, onFranconia's shoulder, motioning her to move on. 

Slowly, her handkerchief to her face, she obeys the sign, and ismoving down the corridor, now encountering anxious eyes peeringthrough the narrow grating of huge black doors. And then a faint, dolorous sound strikes on their listening ears. They pause for amoment, --listen again! It becomes clearer and clearer; and theyadvance with anxious curiosity. "It's Daddy Bob's voice, " whispersHarry; "but how distant it sounds!

"Even that murmurs in his confinement, " returns Franconia. 

"How, like a thing of life, it recalls the past-the past ofhappiness!" says Harry, as they reach the cell door, and, tremulously, hesitate for a few moments. 

"Listen again!" continues Harry. The sound having ceased a moment ortwo, again commences, and the word "There's a place for old mas'ryet, And de Lord will see him dar, " are distinctly audible. "How theold man battles for his good master!" returns Harry, as Franconiataps gently on the door. The wooden trap over the grating is closed;bolts hang carelessly from their staples; and yet, though the dooris secured with a hook on the inside, disease and death breathetheir morbid fumes through the scarce perceptible crevices. Awhispering-"Come in!" is heard in reply to the tap upon the door, which slowly opens, and the face of old Bob, bathed in grief, protrudes round the frame. "Oh, missus-missus-missus-God give goodmissus spirit!" he exclaims, seizing Franconia fervently by thehand, and looking in her face imploringly. A fotid stench pervadedthe atmosphere of the gloomy cell; it is death spreading its humidmalaria. "Good old master is g-g-g-gone!" mutters the negro, inhalf-choked accents. 

With a wild shriek, the noble woman rushes to the side of his prisoncot, seizes his blanched hand that hangs carelessly over the ironframe, grasps his head frantically, and draws it to her bosom, asthe last gurgle of life bids adieu to the prostrate body. He isdead!

The old slave has watched over him, shared his sorrows and hiscrust, has sung a last song to his departing spirit. How truthfulwas that picture of the dying master and his slave! The old man, struggling against the infirmities of age, had escaped the hands ofthe man-seller, served his master with but one object-his soul'slove-and relieved his necessities, until death, ending his troubles, left no more to relieve. Now, distracted between joy at meetingHarry, and sorrow for the death of master, the poor old man is lostin the confusion of his feelings. After saluting Franconia, heturned to Harry, threw his arms around his neck, buried his head inhis bosom, and wept like a child. "Home-home again, --my Harry! buttoo late to see mas'r, " he says, as the fountains of his soul giveout their streams. 

"We must all go where master has gone, " returns Harry, as he, morecalm, fondles the old man, and endeavours to reconcile his feelings. "Sit there, my old friend-sit there; and remember that God calledmaster away. I must go to his bed-side, " whispers Harry, seating theold man on a block of wood near the foot of the cot, where he poursforth the earnest of his grief. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

AN ITEM IN THE COMMON CALENDAR. 

THUS painfully has Marston paid his debtors. Around his lifelessbody may spring to life those sympathies which were dead while helived; but deplorings fall useless on dead men. There is oneconsideration, however, which must always be taken into account; itis, that while sympathy for the living may cost something, sympathyfor the dead is cheap indeed, and always to be had. How simply plainis the dead man's cell! In this humid space, ten by sixteen feet, and arched over-head, is a bucket of water, with a tin cup at theside, a prison tub in one corner, two wooden chairs, a little dealstand, (off which the prisoner ate his meals), and his trunk ofclothing. The sheriff, insisting that it was his rule to make nodistinction of persons, allowed prison cot and prison matress towhich, by the kind permission of the warden, Franconia added sheetsand a coverlit. Upon this, in a corner at the right, and opposite aspacious fire-place, in which are two bricks supporting a small ironkettle, lies the once opulent planter, --now with eyes glassy anddiscoloured, a ghastly corpse. His house once was famous for itsprincely hospitality, --the prison cot is not now his bequest: but itis all the world has left him on which to yield up his life. "Oh, uncle! uncle! uncle!" exclaims Franconia, who has been bathing hiscontorted face with her tears, "would that God had taken metoo-buried our troubles in one grave! There is no trouble in thatworld to which he has gone: joy, virtue, and peace, reign triumphantthere, " she speaks, sighing, as she raises her bosom from off thedead man. Harry has touched her on the shoulder with his left hand, and is holding the dead man's with his right: he seems in deepcontemplation. His mind is absorbed in the melancholy scene; but, though his affection is deep, he has no tears to shed at thismoment. No; he will draw a chair for Franconia, and seat her nearthe head of the cot, for the fountains of her grief have overflown. Discoloured and contorted, what a ghastly picture the dead man'sface presents! Glassy, and with vacant glare, those eyes, strange indeath, seem wildly staring upward from earth. How unnatural thosesunken cheeks--those lips wet with the excrement of black vomit--thatthroat reddened with the pestilential poison! "Call a warden, Daddy!" says Harry; "he has died of black vomit, I think. " And helays the dead body square upon the cot, turns the sheets from offthe shoulders, unbuttons the collar of its shirt. "How changed! Inever would have known master; but I can see something of him leftyet. " Harry remains some minutes looking upon the face of thedeparted, as if tracing some long lost feature. And then he takeshis hands-it's master's hand, he says-and places them gently to hissides, closes his glassy eyes, wipes his mouth and nostrils, putshis ear to the dead man's mouth, as if doubting the all-slayer'spossession of the body, and with his right hand parts the mattedhair from off the cold brow. What a step between the cares of theworld and the peace of death! Harry smooths, and smooths, andsmooths his forehead with his hand; until at length his feelings getthe better of his resolution; he will wipe the dewy tears from hiseyes. "Don't weep, Miss Franconia, --don't weep! master is happy withJesus, --happier than all the plantations and slaves of the worldcould make him" he says, turning to her as she sits weeping, herelbow resting on the cot, and her face buried in her handkerchief. 

"Bad job this here!" exclaims the warden, as he comes lumbering intothe cell, his face flushed with anxiety. "This yaller-fever beatseverything: but he hasn't been well for some time, " he continues, advancing to the bed-side, looking on the deceased for a fewminutes, and then, as if it were a part of his profession to look ondead men, says: "How strange to die out so soon!"

"He was a good master, " rejoins Harry. 

"He wasn't your master-Was he?" enquires the gaoler, in gruffaccents. 

"Once he was. "

"But, did you see him die, boy?"

"Thank God, I did not. "

"And this stupid old nigger hadn't sense to call me!" (he turnsthreateningly to Bob): "Well, --must 'a drop'd off like the snuff ofa tallow candle!"

Daddy knew master was a poor man now;--calling would have availednothing; gaolers are bad friends of poverty. 

"Could you not have sent for me, good man?" enquires Franconia, herweeping eyes turning upon the warden, who says, by way of answeringher question, "We must have him out o' here. "

"I said mas'r was sicker den ye s'posed, yesterday; nor ye didn'tnotice 'um!" interposes Bob, giving a significant look at thewarden, and again at Franconia. 

"What a shame, in this our land of boasted hospitality! He diedneglected in a prison cell!"

"Truth is, ma'am, " interrupts the warden, who, suddenly becomingconscious that it is polite to be courteous to ladies wherever theymay be met, uncovers, and holds his hat in his hand, --"we are sorelytried with black-vomit cases; no provision is made for them, andthey die on our hands afore we know it, just like sheep with therot. It gives us a great deal of trouble;--you may depend it does, ma'am; and not a cent extra pay do we get for it. For my own part, I've become quite at home to dead men and prisoners. My name is-youhave no doubt heard of me before-John Lafayette Flewellen: mysituation was once, madam, that of a distinguished road contractor;and then they run me for the democratic senator from our district, and I lost all my money without getting the office-and here I amnow, pestered with sick men and dead prisoners. And the very worstis that ye can't please nobody; but if anything is wanted, ma'am, just call for me: John Lafayette Flewellen's my name, ma'am. " Theman of nerve, with curious indifference, is about to turn away, --toleave the mourning party to themselves, merely remarking, as hetakes his hand from that of the corpse, that his limbs are becomingfridgid, fast. 

"Stay-a-moment, --warden, " says Franconia, sobbing: "When was heseized with the fever?"

"Day afore yesterday, ma'am; but he didn't complain until yesterday. That he was in a dangerous way I'm sure I'd no idea. " The wardenshrugs his shoulders, and spreads his hands. "My eyes, ma'am, but hedrank strongly of late! Perhaps that, combined with the fever, helped slide him off?"

"Ah! yes, --it was something else-it was grief! His troubles were hisdestroyer. " She wipes her eyes, and, with a look of commiseration, turns from the man whose business it is to look coldly uponunfortunate dead men. 

"There was the things you sent him, ma'am; and he got his gaolallowance, and some gruel. The law wouldn't allow us to do more forhim, --no, it wouldn't!" He shakes his head in confirmation. 

"I wanted old mas'r to let 'um bring doctor; but he said no! hewould meet de doctor what cured all diseases in another world, "interrupts old Bob, as he draws his seat close to the foot of thecot, and, with his shining face of grief, gazes on the pale featuresof his beloved master. 

"Let him lie as he is, till the coroner comes, " says the warden, retiring slowly, and drawing the heavy door after him. 

The humble picture was no less an expression of goodness, than proofof the cruel severity of the law. The news of death soon broughtcurious debtors into the long aisle, while sorrow and sympathy mightbe read on every face. But he was gone, and with him his wants andgrievances. A physician was called in, but he could not recall life, and, after making a few very learned and unintelligible remarks onthe appearance of the body, took his departure, saying that theymust not grieve-that it was the way all flesh would go. "He, nodoubt, died of the black vomit, hastened by the want of care, " heconcluded, as he left the cell. 

"Want of care!" rejoins Franconia, again giving vent to herfeelings. How deeply did the arrow dart into the recesses of heralready wounded heart!

Mr. Moon, the methodical coroner, was not long repairing to thespot. He felt, and felt, and felt the dead man's limbs, asked a fewquestions, bared the cold breast, ordered the body to bestraightened a little, viewed it from several angles, and said aninquest was unnecessary. It would reveal no new facts, and, as somany were dying of the same disease, could give no more relief tohis friends. Concerning his death, no one could doubt the causebeing black vomit. With a frigid attempt at consolation forFranconia, he will withdraw. He has not been long gone, when thewarden, a sheet over his left arm, again makes his appearance; hepasses the sheet to Harry, with a request that he will wind the deaddebtor up in it. 

Franconia, sobbing, rises from her seat, opens a window at the headof the cot (the dead will not escape through the iron grating), andpaces the floor, while Harry and Daddy sponge the body, lay itcarefully down, and fold it in the winding-sheet. "Poor master, --Godhas taken him; but how I shall miss him! I've spent happy days wid'im in dis place, I have!" says Bob, as they lay his head on thehard pillow. He gazes upon him with affection, --and says "Mas'r 'llwant no more clothes. "

And now night is fast drawing its dark mantle over the scene, --therefulgent shadows of the setting sun play through the grated windowinto the gloomy cell: how like a spirit of goodness sent from onhigh to lighten the sorrows of the downcast, seems the light. Afaint ray plays its soft tints on that face now pallid in death; howit inspires our thoughts of heaven! Franconia watches, and watches, as fainter and fainter it fades away, like an angel sent for thespirit taking its departure. "Farewell!" she whispers, as darknessshuts out the last mellow glimmer: "Come sombre night, and spreadthy stillness!"

The warden, moved by the spark of generosity his soul possesses, hasbrought some cologne, and silently places it in Franconia's hands. She advances to the cot, seats herself near the head of her deardeparted, encircles his head with her left arm, and with her white'kerchief bathes his face with the liquid, Harry holding the vesselin his hand, at her request. A candle sheds its sickly light uponthe humid walls; faintly it discloses the face of Daddy Bob, immersed in tears, watching intently over the foot of the cot. "Missus Frankone is alw's kind to mas'r!"

"I loved uncle because his heart was good, " returns Franconia. 

"'Tis dat, missus. How kindly old mas'r, long time ago, used to say, 'Good mornin', Bob! Daddy, mas'r lubs you!"

How firmly the happy recollection of these kind words is sealed inthe old man's memory. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

IN WHICH REGRETS ARE SHOWN OF LITTLE WORTH. 

THE reader may remember, that we, in the early part of ournarrative, made some slight mention of the Rovero family, of whichFranconia and Lorenzo were the only surviving children. They, too, had been distinguished as belonging to a class of opulent planters;but, having been reduced to poverty by the same nefarious processthrough which we have traced Marston's decline, and which we shallmore fully disclose in the sequel, had gathered together theremnants of a once extensive property, and with the proceedsmigrated to a western province of Mexico, where, for many years, though not with much success, Rovero pursued a mining speculation. They lived in a humble manner; Mrs. Rovero, Marston's sister-and ofwhom we have a type in the character of her daughter, Franconia-discarded all unnecessary appurtenances of living, andlooked forward to the time when they would be enabled to retrievetheir fortunes and return to their native district to spend thefuture of their days on the old homestead. More than four years, however, had passed since any tidings had been received of them byFranconia; and it was strongly surmised that they had fallen victimsto the savage incursions of marauding parties, who were at that timedevastating the country, and scattering its defenceless inhabitantshomeless over the western shores of central America. So strong hadthis impression found place in Franconia's mind that she had givenup all hopes of again meeting them. As for M'Carstrow's friends, they had never taken any interest in her welfare, viewing hermarriage with the distinguished colonel as a mere catch on the partof her parents, whose only motive was to secure themselves theprotection of a name, and, perhaps, the means of sustainingthemselves above the rank disclosure of their real poverty. To keep"above board" is everything in the south; and the family notdistinguished soon finds itself well nigh extinguished. Hence thatever tenacious clinging to pretensions, sounding of important names, and maintenance of absurd fallacies, --all having for their end thedrawing a curtain over that real state of poverty there existing. Indeed, it was no secret that even the M'Carstrow family (countingitself among the very few really distinguished families of thestate, and notorious for the contempt in which they affected to holdall common people), had mortgaged their plantation and all itsnegroes for much more than their worth in ordinary times. As fortradesmen's bills, there were any quantity outstanding, without theshadow of a prospect of their being paid, notwithstandingimportuners had frequently intimated that a place called the gaolwas not far distant, and that the squire's office was within astone's throw of "the corner. " Colonel M'Carstrow, reports say, hadsome years ago got a deal of money by an unexplainable hocus pocus, but it was well nigh gone in gambling, and now he was keepingbrothel society and rioting away his life faster than therace-horses he had formerly kept on the course could run. 

Hospitality hides itself when friends are needy; and it will be seenhere that Franconia had few friends-we mean friends in need. TheRosebrook family formed an exception. The good deacon, and his evergenerous lady, had remained Franconia's firmest friends; but solarge and complicated were the demands against Marston, and so grossthe charges of dishonour--suspicion said he fraudulently made overhis property to Graspum-that they dared not interpose for hisrelief; nor would Marston himself have permitted it. The questionnow was, what was to be done with the dead body?

We left Franconia bathing its face, and smoothing the hair acrossits temples with her hand. She cannot bury the body from her ownhome:--no! M'Carstow will not permit that. She cannot consign it tothe commissioners for the better regulation of the "poor house, "-herfeelings repulse the thought. One thought lightens her cares; shewill straightway proceed to Mrs. Rosebrook's villa, --she will herselfbe the bearer of the mournful intelligence; while Harry will watchover the remains of the departed, until Daddy, who must be her guidethrough the city, shall return. "I will go to prepare the nextresting-place for uncle, " says Franconia, as if nerving herself tocarry out the resolution. 

"With your permission, missus, " returns Harry, touching her on thearm, and pointing through the grated window into the gloomy yard. "Years since-before I passed through a tribulation worse thandeath-when we were going to be sold in the market, I called mybrothers and sisters of the plantation together, and in that yardinvoked heaven to be merciful to its fallen. I was sold on that day;but heaven has been merciful to me; heaven has guided me throughmany weary pilgrimages, and brought me here to-night; and itsprotecting hand will yet restore me my wife and little ones. Let uspray to-night; let us be grateful to Him who seeth the fallen in histribulation, but prepareth a place for him in a better world. Let uspray and hope, " he continued: and they knelt at the side of thehumble cot on which lay the departed, while he devoutly andfervently invoked the Giver of all Good to forgive the oppressor, toguide the oppressed, to make man feel there is a world beyond this, to strengthen the resolution of that fair one who is thus sorelyafflicted, to give the old man who weeps at the feet of the departednew hope for the world to come, --and to receive that warm spiritwhich has just left the cold body into his realms of bliss. 

What of roughness there was in his manner is softened by simplicityand truthfulness. The roughest lips may breathe the purest prayer. At the conclusion, Franconia and Daddy leave for Mrs. Rosebrook'svilla, while Harry, remaining to watch over the remains, draws hischair to the stand, and reads by the murky light. 

"I won't be long; take care of old mas'r, " says Daddy, as he leavesthe cell, solicitously looking back into the cavern-like place. 

It is past ten when they reach the house of Mrs. Rosebrook, theinmates of which have retired, and are sleeping. Everything is quietin and about the enclosure; the luxuriant foliage bespreading a lawnextending far away to the westward, seems refreshing itself with dewthat sparkles beneath the starlight heavens, now arched like acrystal mist hung with diamond lights. The distant watchdog's barkre-echoes faintly over the broad lagoon, to the east; a cricket'schirrup sounds beneath the woodbine arbour; a moody guardsman, mounted on his lean steed, and armed for danger, paces his slow wayalong: he it is that breaks the stillness while guarding the fearsof a watchful community, who know liberty, but crush with steel thelove thereof. 

A rap soon brings to the door the trim figure of a mulatto servant. He conveys the name of the visitor to his "missus, " who, surprisedat the untimely hour Franconia seeks her, loses no time in reachingthe ante-room, into which she has been conducted. 

Daddy has taken his seat in the hall, and recognises "missus" as sheapproaches; but as she puts out her hand to salute him, sherecognises trouble seated on his countenance. "Young missus inda'h, " he says, pointing to the ante-room while rubbing his eyes. 

"But you must tell me what trouble has befallen you, " she returns, as quickly, in her dishabille, she drops his hand and starts back. 

"Missus know 'um all, --missus da'h. " Again he points, and she hastensinto the ante-room, when, grasping Franconia by the hand, she staresat her with breathless anxiety expressed in her face. A pause ensuesin which both seem bewildered. At length Franconia breaks thesilence. "Uncle is gone!" she exclaims, following the words with aflow of tears. 

"Gone!" reiterates the generous-hearted woman, encirclingFranconia's neck with her left arm, and drawing her fondly to herbosom. 

"Yes, --dead!" she continues, sobbing audibly. There is somethingtouching in the words, --something which recalls the dearestassociations of the past, and touches the fountains of the heart. Itis the soft tone in which they are uttered, --it gives new life to oldimages. So forcibly are they called up, that the good woman has nopower to resist her violent emotions: gently she guides Franconia tothe sofa, seats her upon its soft cushion, and attempts to consoleher wrecked spirit. 

The men-servants are called up, --told to be prepared for orders. Oneof them recognises Daddy, and, inviting him into the pantry, wouldgive him food, Trouble has wasted the old man's appetite; he thinksof master, but has no will to eat. No; he will see missus, andproceed back to the prison, there join Harry, and watch over allthat is mortal of master. He thanks Abraham for what he gave him, declines the coat he would kindly lend him to keep out the chill, seeks the presence of his mistress (she has become more reconciled), says, "God bless 'um!" bids her good night, and sallies forth. 

Mrs. Rosebrook listens to the recital of the melancholy scene withastonishment and awe. "How death grapples for us!" she exclaims, hersoft, soul-beaming eyes glaring with surprise. "How it cuts its waywith edge unseen. Be calm, be calm, Franconia; you have nobly doneyour part, --nobly! Whatever the pecuniary misfortunes, --whatever thesecret cause of his downfall, you have played the woman to the veryend. You have illustrated the purest of true affection; would it hadrepaid you better. Before daylight-negroes are, in consequence oftheir superstition, unwilling to remove the dead at midnight-I willhave the body removed here, --buried from my house. " The good womandid not disclose to Franconia that her husband was from home, makingan effort to purchase Harry's wife and children from their presentowner. But she will do all she can, --the best can do no more. 

At the gaol a different scene is presented. Harry, alone with thedead man, waits Daddy's return. Each tap of the bell awakes a newhope, soon to be disappointed. The clock strikes eleven: no Daddyreturns. The gates are shut: Harry must wile away the night, in thistomb-like abode, with the dead. What stillness pervades the cell;how mournfully calm in death sleeps the departed! The watcher hasread himself to sleep; his taper, like life on its way, has nearlyshed out its pale light; the hot breath of summer breathes balmythrough the lattice bars; mosquitoes sing their torturous tuneswhile seeking for the dead man's blood; lizards, with diamond eyes, crawl upon the wall, waiting their ration: but death, lessinexorable than creditors, sits pale king over all. The palace andthe cell are alike to him; the sharp edge of his unseen sword sparesneither the king in his purple robe, nor the starving beggar whoseeks a crust at his palace gate, --of all places the worst. 

As morning dawns, and soft fleeting clouds tinge the heavens withlight, four negroes may be seen sitting at the prison gate, a litterby their side, now and then casting silent glances upward, as ifcontemplating the sombre wall that frowns above their heads, enclosing the prison. The guard, armed to the teeth, have passed andrepassed them, challenged and received their answer, and as oftenexamined their passes. They-the negroes-have come for a dead man. Guardmen get no fees of dead men, --the law has no more demands toserve: they wish the boys much joy with their booty, and pass on. 

Six o'clock arrives; the first bell rings; locks, bolts, and barsclank in ungrateful medley; rumbling voices are heard within thehollow-sounding aisles; whispers from above chime ominously with thedull shuffle rumbling from below. "Seven more cases, --how it rages!"grumbles a monotonous voice, and the gate opens at the warden'stouch. "Who's here?" he demands, with stern countenance unchanged, as he shrugs his formidable shoulders. "I see, (he continues, quickly), you have come for the dead debtor. Glad of it, my goodfellow; this is the place to make dead men of debtors. Brought anorder, I s'pose?" Saying "follow me, " he turns about, hastens to thevestibule, receives the order from the hand of Duncan, the chiefnegro, reads it with grave attention, supposes it is all straight, and is about to show him the cell where the body lays, and which heis only too glad to release. "Hold a moment!" Mr. Winterflint--suchis his name--says. Heaven knows he wants to get rid of the deaddebtor; but the laws are so curious, creditors are so obdurate, andsheriffs have such a crooked way of doing straight things, that heis in the very bad position of not knowing what to do. Some documentfrom the sheriff may be necessary; perhaps the creditors must agreeto the compromise. He forgets that inexorable Death, as he isvulgarly styled, has forced a compromise: creditors must now credit"by decease. " Upon this point, however, he must be satisfied by hissuperior. He now wishes Mr. Brien Moon would evince more exactnessin holding inquests, and less anxiety for the fees. Mr. Winterflintdepends not on his own decisions, where the laws relating to debtorsare so absurdly mystical. "Rest here, boy, " he says; "I won't be aminute or two, --must do the thing straight. " He seeks the presence ofthat extremely high functionary, the gaoler (high indeed whereverslavery rules), who, having weighed the points with great legalimpartiality, gives it as his most distinguished opinion that noorder of release from the high sheriff is requisite to satisfy thecreditors of his death: take care of the order sent, and make a noteof the niggers who take him away, concludes that highly importantgentleman, as comfortably his head reclines on soft pillow. To thisend was Mr. Moon's certificate essential. 

Mr. Winterflint returns; enquires who owns the boys. 

"Mas'r Rosebrook's niggers, " Duncan replies, firmly; "but Missussend da order. "

"Sure of that, now? Good niggers them of Rosebrook's: wouldn't a'gin it to nobody else's niggers. Follow me-zist, zist!" he says, crooking his finger at the other three, and scowling, as Duncanrelieves their timidity by advancing. They move slowly andnoiselessly up the aisle, the humid atmosphere of which, pregnantwith death, sickens as it steals into the very blood. "Inthere-zist! make no noise; the dead debtor lies there, " whispers thewarden, laying his left hand upon Duncan's shoulder, and, theforefinger of his right extended, pointing toward the last cell onthe left. "Door's open; not locked, I meant. Left it unsecured lastnight. Rap afore ye go in, though. " At the methodical warden'sbidding Duncan proceeds, his foot falling lightly on the floor. Reaching the door, he places his right hand on the swinging bolt, and for a few seconds seems listening. He hears the muffled sound ofa footfall pacing the floor, and then a muttering as of voices insecret communion, or dying echoes from the tomb. He has not mistakenthe cell; its crevices give forth odours pergnant of proof. Twosuccessive raps bring Harry to the door: they are admitted to thepresence of the dead. One by one Harry receives them by the hand, but he must needs be told why Daddy is not with them. They know not. He ate a morsel, and left late last night, says one of the negroes. Harry is astonished at this singular intelligence: Daddy Bob neverbefore was known to commit an act of unfaithfulness; he was true toMarston in life, --strange that he should desert him in death. "Mas'r's death-bed wasn't much at last, " says Duncan, as they gatherround the cot, and, with curious faces, mingle their more curiousremarks. Harry draws back the white handkerchief which Franconia hadspread over the face of the corpse, as the negroes start backaffrighted. As of nervous contortion, the ghastly face presents anawful picture. Swollen, discoloured, and contracted, no one outlineof that once cheerful countenance can be traced. "Don't look muchlike Mas'r Marston used to look; times must a' changed mightilysince he used to look so happy at home, " mutters Duncan, shaking hishead, and telling the others not to be "fear'd; dead men can't hurtnobody. "

"Died penniless;--but e' war good on e' own plantation, " rejoinsanother. "One ting be sartin 'bout nigger-he know how he die wen 'etime cum; Mas'r don know how 'e gwine to die!"

Having seen enough of the melancholy finale, they spread the litterin the aisle, as the warden enters the cell to facilitate the deaddebtor's exit. Harry again covers the face, and prepares to roll thebody in a coverlit brought by Duncan. "I kind of liked him-he was sogentlemanly-has been with us so long, and did'nt seem like aprisoner. He was very quiet, and always civil when spoken to, "interposes the warden, as, assisting the second shrouding, hepresses the hand of the corpse in his own. 

Now he is ready; they place his cold body on the litter; a fewlistless prisoners stand their sickly figures along the passage, watch him slowly borne to the iron gate in the arched vault. Death-less inexorable than creditors-has signed his release, thrownback prison bolts and bars, wrested him from the grasp of humanlaws, and now mocks at creditors, annuls fi fas, bids the deaddebtor make his exit. Death pays no gaol fees; it makes that bequestto creditors; but it reserves the keys of heaven for anotherpurpose. "One ration less, " says the warden, who, closing the grateddoor, casts a lingering look after the humble procession, bearingaway the remains of our departed. 

With Harry as the only follower, they proceed along, throughsuburban streets, and soon reach the house of that generous woman. Aminister of the gospel awaits his coming; the good man's words areconsoling, but he cannot remodel the past for the advantage of thedead. Soon the body is placed in a "ready-made coffin, " and the goodman offers up the last funeral rites; he can do no more than invokethe great protector to receive the departed into his bosom. 

"How the troubles of this world rise up before me! Oh! uncle! uncle!how I could part with the world and bury my troubles in the samegrave!" exclaims Franconia, as, the ceremony having ended, they bearthe body away to its last resting-place; and, in a paroxysm ofgrief, she shrieks and falls swooning to the floor. 

In a neatly inclosed plat, a short distance from the RosebrookVilla, and near the bank of a meandering rivulet, overhung withmourning willows and clustering vines, they lay him to rest. Theworld gave the fallen man nothing but a prison-cell wherein tostretch his dying body; a woman gives him a sequestered grave, andnature spreads it with her loveliest offering. It is the lastresting-place of the Rosebrook family, which their negroes, partaking of that contentment so characteristic of the family, haveplanted with flowers they nurture with tenderest care. There issomething touching in the calm beauty of the spot; somethingbreathing of rural contentment. It is something to be buried in apretty grave-to be mourned by a slave-to be loved by the untutored. How abject the slave, and yet how true his affection! how dear hisrequiem over a departed friend! "God bless master-receive hisspirit!" is heard mingling with the music of the gentle breeze, asHarry, sitting at the head of the grave, looks upward to heaven, while earth covers from sight the mortal relics of a once kindmaster. 

It has been a day of sadness at the villa-a day of mourning andtribulation. How different the scene in the city! There, men whisperstrange regrets. Sympathy is let loose, and is expanding itself toan unusual degree. Who was there that did not know Marston'sgenerous, gushing soul! Who was there that would not have stretchedforth the helping hand, had they known his truly abject condition!Who that was not, and had not been twenty times, on the very brinkof wresting him from the useless tyranny of his obdurate creditors!Who that had not waited from day to day, with purse-strings open, ready to pour forth the unmistakeable tokens of friendship! How manywere only restrained from doing good-from giving vent to thefountains of their hospitality-through fear of being contaminatedwith that scandal rumour had thrown around his decline! Over hisdeath hath sprung to life that curious fabric of living generosity, so ready to bespread a grave with unneeded bounties, --so emblematicof how many false mourners hath the dead. But Graspum would have allsuch expressions shrink beneath his glowing goodness. With honiedwords he tells the tale of his own honesty: his business intercoursewith the deceased was in character most generous. Many a good turndid Marston receive at his hands; long had he been his faithful andunwearied friend. Fierce are the words with which he would execratethe tyrant creditors; yea, he would heap condign punishment on theirobdurate heads. Time after time did he tell them the fallen man waspenniless; how strange, then, that they tortured him to death withinprison walls. He would sweep away such vengeance, bury it with hiscurses, and make obsolete such laws as give one man power to gratifyhis passion on another. His burning, surging anger can find norelief; nor can he tolerate such antiquated debtor laws: to him theyare the very essence of barbarism, tainting that enlightenedcivilisation so long implanted by the State, so well maintained bythe people. It is on those ennobling virtues of state, he says, thecherished doctrines of our democracy are founded. Graspum is, indeed, a well-developed type of our modern democracy, the flimsyfabric of which is well represented in the gasconade of the aboveoutpouring philanthropy. 

And now, as again the crimson clouds of evening soften into goldenhues-as the sun, like a fiery chariot, sinks beneath the westernlandscape, and still night spreads her shadowy mantle down thedistant hills, and over the broad lagoon to the north-two sablefigures may be seen patting, sodding, and bespreading withfresh-plucked flowers the new grave. As the rippling brook gives outits silvery music, and earth seems drinking of the misty dew, that, like a bridal veil, spreads over its verdant hillocks, they whispertheir requiem of regret, and mould the grave so carefully. "It'smas'r's last, " says one, smoothing the cone with his hands. 

"We will plant the tree now, " returns the other, bringing forward ayoung clustering pine, which he places at the head of the grave, andon which he cuts the significant epitaph-"Good master lies here!"

Duncan and Harry have paid their last tribute. "He is at peace withthis world, " says the latter, as, at the gate, he turns to take alast look over the paling. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

HOW WE SHOULD ALL BE FORGIVING. 

LET us forget the scenes of the foregoing chapters, and turn tosomething of pleasanter hue. In the meantime, let us freelyacknowledge that we live in a land-our democratic south, wemean-where sumptuous living and abject misery present their boldestoutlines, --where the ignorance of the many is excused by the polishededucation of a very few, --where autocracy sways its lash withbitterest absolutism, --where menial life lies prostrate at the feetof injustice, and despairingly appeals to heaven for succour, --wherefeasts and funerals rival each other, --and when pestilence, like aglutton, sends its victims to the graveyard most, the ball-roomglitters brightest with its galaxy. Even here, where clamour criesaloud for popular government, men's souls are most crushed-not withlegal right, but by popular will! And yet, from out all thisincongruous substance, there seems a genial spirit working itselfupon the surface, and making good its influence; and it is to thatinfluence we should award the credit due. That genial spirit is thegood master's protection; we would it were wider exercised for thegood of all. But we must return to our narrative. 

The Rosebrook Villa has assumed its usual cheerfulness; but whilepestilence makes sad havoc among the inhabitants of the city, gaietyis equally rampant. In a word, even the many funeral trains whichpass along every day begin to wear a sort of cheerfulness, inconsequence of which, it is rumoured, the aristocracy-we mean thosewho have money to spend-have made up their minds not to depart forthe springs yet awhile. As for Franconia, finding she could nolonger endure M'Carstrow's dissolute habits, and having been told bythat very distinguished gentleman, but unamiable husband, that hedespised the whole tribe of her poor relations, she has retired toprivate boarding, where, with the five dollars a week, he, in theoutpouring of his southern generosity, allows her, she subsistsplainly but comfortably. It is, indeed, a paltry pittance, which theM'Carstrow family will excuse to the public with the greatness oftheir name. 

Harry has returned to the plantation, where the people havesmothered him in a new suit of black. Already has he preached threesermons in it, which said sermons are declared wonderful proofs ofhis biblical knowledge. Even Daddy Daniel, who expended fourteenpicayunes in a new pair of spectacles, with which to hear the newparson more distinctly, pronounces the preaching prodigious. He isvehement in his exultation, lavishes his praise without stint; andas his black face glows with happiness, thanks missus for her greatgoodness in thus providing for their spiritual welfare. TheRosebrook "niggers" were always extremely respectable and wellordered in their moral condition; but now they seem invested with anew impulse for working out their own good; and by the advice ofmissus, whom every sable son and daughter loves most dearly, DaddyDaniel has arranged a system of evening prayer meetings, which willbe held in the little church, twice a week. And, too, there prevailsa strong desire for an evening gathering now and then, at which theyoung shiners may be instructed how to grow. A curiously democraticlaw, however, offers a fierce impediment to this; and Daddy Danielshakes his head, and aunt Peggy makes a belligerent muttering whentold such gatherings cannot take place without endangering thestate's rights. It is, nevertheless, decided that Kate, and Nan, andDorothy, and Webster, and Clay, and such like young folks, may go to"settings up" and funerals, but strictly abstain from allfandangoes. Dad Daniel and his brother deacons cannot countenancesuch fiddling and dancing, such break-downs, and shoutings, andwhirlings, and flouncing and frilling, and gay ribboning, asgenerally make up the evening's merriment at these fandangoes, soprevalent on neighbouring plantations about Christmas time. "Da don'mount to no good!" Daniel says, with a broad guffaw. "Nigger whatspect t' git hi' way up in da world bes lef dem tings. " And so oneor two more screws are to be worked up for the better regulation ofthe machinery of the plantation. As for Master Rosebrook-why, hewouldn't sell a nigger for a world of money; and he doesn't care howmuch they learn; the more the better, provided they learn on thesly. They are all to be freed at a certain time, and althoughfreedom is sweet, without learning they might make bad use of it. But master has had a noble object in view for some days past, andwhich, after encountering many difficulties, he has succeeded incarrying out to the great joy of all parties concerned. 

One day, as the people were all busily engaged on the plantation, Bradshaw's familiar figure presents itself at the house, and demandsto see Harry. He has great good news, but don't want to tell him"nofin" till he arrives at the Villa. "Ah, good man" (Bradshaw'sface beams good tidings, as he approaches Harry, and delivers anote) "mas'r specs ye down da' wid no time loss. " Bradshaw rubs hishands, and grins, and bows, his face seeming two shades blacker thanever, but no less cheerful. 

"Master wants me to preach somewhere, next Sunday, --I know he does, "says Harry, reading the note, which requests him to come immediatelyinto the city. He will prepare to obey the summons, Dan and Spratmeanwhile taking good care of the horse and carriage, while Bradshawmakes a friendly visit to a few of the more distinguished cabins, and says "how de" to venerable aunties, who spread their best farebefore him, and, with grave ceremony, invite him in to refreshbefore taking his return journey into the city; and Maum Betsy packsup six of her real smart made sweet cakes for the parson andBradshaw to eat along the road. Betsy is in a strange state ofbewilderment to know why master wants to take the new parson awayjust now, when he's so happy, and is only satisfied when assuredthat he will be safely returned to-morrow. A signal is made for DadDaniel, who hastens to the cabin in time to see everything properlyarranged for the parson's departure, and say: "God bless 'um, --goodby!"

"Now, what can master want with me?" enquires Harry, as, on theroad, they roll away towards the city. 

Bradshaw cracks his whip, and with a significant smile looks Harryin the face, and returns: "Don' ax dis child no mo' sich question. Old mas'r and me neber break secret. Tell ye dis, do'h! Old mas'r dogood ting, sartin. "

"You know, but won't tell me, eh?" rejoins Harry, his manly facewearing a solicitous look. Bradshaw shakes his head, and adds acunning wink in reply. 

It is three o'clock when they arrive at the Villa, where, withoutreserve, missus extends her hand, and gives him a cordialwelcome, --tells him Franconia has been waiting to see him with greatpatience, and has got a present for him. Franconia comes rushinginto the hall, and is so glad to see him; but her countenance wearsan air of sadness, which does not escape his notice-she is not thebeautiful creature she was years ago, care has sadly worn upon thoserounded features. But master is there, and he looks happy andcheerful; and there is something about the house servants, as theygather round him to have their say, which looks of suspiciously goodomen. He cannot divine what it is; his first suspicions beingaroused by missus saying Franconia had been waiting to see him. 

"We must not call him Harry any longer-it doesn't become hisprofession: now that he is Elder of my plantation flock, he must, from this time, be called Elder!" says Rosebrook, touching him onthe arm with the right hand. And the two ladies joined in, that itmust be so. "Go into the parlour, ladies; I must say a word or twoto the Elder, " continued Rosebrook, taking Harry by the arm, andpacing through the hall into the conservatory at the back of thehouse. Here, after ordering Harry to be seated, he recounts his planof emancipation, which, so far, has worked admirably, and, at thetime proposed, will, without doubt or danger, produce the hoped-forresult. "You, my good man, " he says, "can be a useful instrument infurthering my ends; I want you to be that instrument!" His negroeshave all an interest in their labour, which interest is preservedfor them in missus's savings-bank; and at a given time they are tohave their freedom, but to remain on the plantation if they choose, at a stipulated rate of wages. Indeed, so strongly impressed withthe good results of his proposed system is Rosebrook, that he longsince scouted that contemptible fallacy, which must have had itsorigin in the very dregs of selfishness, that the two races can onlylive in proximity by one enslaving the other. Justice to each other, he holds, will solve the problem of their living together; but, between the oppressor and the oppressed, a volcano that may at anyday send forth its devouring flame, smoulders. Rosebrook knowsgoodness always deserves its reward; and Harry assures him he neverwill violate the trust. Having said thus much, he rises from hischair, takes Harry by the arm, and leading him to the door of theconservatory, points him to a passage leading to the right, andsays: "In there!-proceed into that passage, enter a door, first dooron the left, and then you will find something you may consider yourown. "

Harry hesitated for a moment, watched master's countenancedoubtingly, as if questioning the singular command. 

"Fear not! nobody will hurt you, " continues Rosebrook. 

"Master never had a bad intention, " thinks Harry; "I know he wouldnot harm me; and then missus is so good. " Slowly and nervously heproceeds, and on reaching the door hears a familiar "come in"answering his nervous rap. The door opened into a neat little room, with carpet and chairs, a mahogany bureau and prints, all so neatlyarranged, and wearing such an air of cleanliness. No sooner has headvanced beyond the threshold than the emaciated figure of a blacksister vaults into his arms, crying, "Oh Harry! Harry! Harry!-mydear husband!" She throws her arms about his neck, and kisses, andkisses him, and buries her tears of joy in his bosom. How she poursout her soul's love!-how, in rapturous embraces, her black impulsesgive out the purest affection!

"And you!-you!-you!-my own dear Jane! Is it you? Has God commandedus to meet once more, to be happy once more, to live as heaven hathordained us to live?" he returns, as fervently and affectionately heholds her in his arms, and returns her token of love. "Never! never!I forget you, never! By night and by day I have prayed theprotecting hand of Providence to guide you through life's trials. How my heart has yearned to meet you in heaven! happy am I we havemet once more on earth; yea, my soul leaps with joy. Forgive them, Father, forgive them who separate us on earth, for heaven makes theanointed!" And while they embrace thus fondly, their tears minglingwith joy, children, recognising a returned father as he entered thedoor, are clinging at his feet beseechingly. He is their father;--howlike children they love! "Sam, Sue, and Beckie, too!" he says, asone by one he takes them in his arms and kisses them. But there aretwo more, sombre and strange. He had caught the fourth in his arms, unconsciously. "Ah, Jane!" he exclaims, turning toward her, his facefilled with grief and chagrin, "they are not of me, Jane!" He stillholds the little innocent by the hand, as nervously he waits herreply. It is not guilt, but shame, with which she returns an answer. 

"It was not my sin, Harry! It was him that forced me to live withanother, --that lashed me when I refused, and, bleeding, made me obeythe will, " she returns, looking at him imploringly. Virtue is weakerthan the lash; none feel it more than the slave. She loved Harry, she followed him with her thoughts; but it was the Christian thatreduced her to the level of the brute. Laying her coloured hand uponhis shoulder, she besought his forgiveness, as God was forgiving. 

"Why should I not forgive thee, Jane? I would not chide thee, for nosin is on thy garments. Injustice gave master the right to sellthee, to make of thee what he pleased. Heaven made thy soulpurest, --man thy body an outcast for the unrighteous to feast upon. How could I withhold forgiveness, Jane? I will be a father to them, a husband to thee; for what thou hast been compelled to do is right, in the land we live in. " So saying, he again embraces her, wipes thetears from her eyes, and comforts her. How sweet is forgiveness! Itfreshens like the dew of morning on the drooping plant; itstrengthens the weary spirit, it steals into the desponding soul, and wakes to life new hopes of bliss, --to the slave it is sweetindeed!

"I will kiss them, too, " he ejaculates, taking them in his arms withthe embrace of a fond father, --which simple expression of love theyreturn with prattling. They know not the trials of their parents;how blessed to know them not!

And now they gather the children around them, and seat themselves ona little settee near the window, where Harry, overjoyed at meetinghis dear ones once more, fondles them and listens to Jane, as withher left arm round his neck she discloses the sad tale of hertribulation. Let us beg the reader to excuse the recital; there isnothing fascinating in it, nor would we call forth the modestblushes of our generous south. A few words of the woman's story, however, we cannot omit; and we trust the forgiving will pardontheir insertion. She tells Harry she was not separated from herchildren; but that Romescos, having well considered her worth, soldher with her "young uns" to the Rev. Peter--, who had a smallplantation down in Christ's Parish. The reverend gentleman, beingborn and educated to the degrading socialities of democratic states, always says he is not to blame for "using" the rights the law giveshim; nor does he forget to express sundry regrets that he cannot seeas preachers at the north see. As for money, he thinks preachershave just as good a right to get it as gentlemen of any otherhonourable profession. Now and then he preaches to niggers; and fortelling them how they must live in the fear of the Lord, be obedientto their master, and pay for redemption by the sweat of their brows, he adds to his pile of coin. But he is strongly of the opinion thatniggers are inferior "brutes" of the human species, and infurtherance of this opinion (so popular in the whole south) heexpects them to live a week on a peck of corn. As for Jane-we mustexcuse the reverend gentleman, because of his faith in southernprinciples-he compelled her to live with the man Absalom ere she hadbeen two days on his plantation, and by the same Absalom she had twochildren, which materially increased the cash value of the ReverendPeter--'s slave property. Indeed, so well is the reverend gentlemanknown for his foul play, that it has been thrown up to him in opencourt-by wicked planters who never had the fear of God before theireyes-that he more than half starved his niggers, and charged themtoll for grinding their corn in his mill. Though the Reverend Peter--never failed to assure his friends and acquaintances of hisgenerosity (a noble quality which had long been worthily maintainedby the ancient family to which he belonged), the light of onegenerous act had never found its way to the public. In truth, soelastically did his reverend conscientiousness expand when helearned the strange motive which prompted Rosebrook to purchase Janeand her little ones, that he sorely regretted he had not put twohundred dollars more on the price of the lot. Fortunately Jane wasmuch worn down by grief and toil, and was viewed by the reverendgentleman as a piece of property he would rather like to dispose ofto the best advantage, lest she should suddenly make a void in hisdollars and cents by sliding into some out of the way grave-yard. But Rosebrook, duly appreciating the unchristian qualities of ourworthy one's generosity, kept his motive a profound secret until thenegociation was completed. Now that it had become known that theReverend Peter--(who dresses in blackest black, mostsanctimoniously cut, whitest neckcloth wedded to his holy neck, andface so simply serious) assures Rosebrook he has got goodpeople, --they are valuably promising-he will pray for them, that thefuture may prosper their wayfaring. He cannot, however, part withthe good man without admonishing him how dangerous it is to giveunto "niggers" the advantage of a superior position. 

Reader, let us hope the clergy of the south will take heed lest bypermitting their brethren to be sold and stolen in this manner theybring the profession into contempt. Let us hope the southern churchwill not much longer continue to bring pure Christianity intodisgrace by serving ends so vile that heaven and earth frowns uponthem; for false is the voice raised in sanctimony to heaven forpower to make a footstool of a fallen race!

CHAPTER XL. 

CONTAINING VARIOUS MATTERS. 

GREAT regularity prevails on the Rosebrook plantation, and cheeringare the prospects held out to those who toil thereon. Mrs. Rosebrookhas dressed Jane (Harry's wife) in a nice new calico, which, withher feet encased in shining calf-skin shoes, and her head done up ina bandana, with spots of great brightness, shows her lean figure togood advantage. Like a good wife, happy with her own dear husband, she pours forth the emotions of a grateful heart, and feels that theworld-not so bad after all-has something good in store for her. Andthen Harry looks even better than he did on Master Marston'splantation; and, with their little ones-sable types of theirparents-dressed so neatly, they must be happy. And now that they areduly installed at the plantation, where Harry pursues his duties asfather of the flock, and Jane lends her cheering voice and helpinghand to make comfort in the various cabins complete-and with DadDaniel's assurance that the people won't go astray-we must leavethem for a time, and beg the reader's indulgence while following usthrough another phase of the children's history. 

A slave is but a slave--an article subject to all the fluctuations oftrade--a mere item in the scale of traffic, and reduced to servingthe ends of avarice or licentiousness. This is a consequenceinseparable from his sale. It matters not whether the blood of thenoblest patriot course in his veins, his hair be of flaxenbrightness, his eyes of azure blue, his skin of Norman whiteness, and his features classic, --he can be no more than a slave, and assuch must yield to the debasing influences of an institution thatcrushes and curses wherever it exists. In proof of this, we find thebright eyes of our little Annette, glowing with kindliest love, failing to thaw the frozen souls of man-dealers. Nay, bright eyesonly lend their aid to the law that debases her life. She has becomevaluable only as a finely and delicately developed woman, whoseappearance in the market will produce sharp bidding, and a deal ofdollars and cents. Graspum never lost an opportunity of trimming upthese nice pieces of female property, making the money invested inthem turn the largest premium, and satisfying his customers that, sofar as dealing in the brightest kind of fancy stock was concerned, he is not a jot behind the most careful selecter in the Charlestonmarket. Major John Bowling--who is very distinguished, havingdescended from the very ancient family of that name, and is highlythought of by the aristocracy--has made the selection of suchmerchandise his particular branch of study for more than fourteenyears. In consequence of the major's supposed taste, his pen washitherto most frequented by gentlemen and connoisseur; but nowGraspum assures all respectable people, gentlemen of acknowledgedtaste, and young men who are cultivating their way up in the world, that his selections are second to none; of this he will producesufficient proof, provided customers will make him a call and lookinto the area of his fold. The fold itself is most uninviting (itis, he assures us, owing to his determination to carry out the faithof his plain democracy); nevertheless, it contains the white, beautiful, and voluptuous, --all for sale. In fact--the truth must betold--Mr. Graspum assures the world that he firmly believes there isa sort of human nature extant--he is troubled sometimes to know justwhere the line breaks off--which never by any possibility could havebeen intended for any thing but the other to traffic in-to turn intothe most dollars and cents. In proof of this principle he keptAnnette until she had well nigh merged into womanhood, or until suchtime as she became a choice marketable article, with eyes worth somuch; nose, mouth, so much; pretty auburn hair, worth so much; andfine rounded figure--with all its fascinating appurtenances--worth somuch;--the whole amounting to so much; to be sold for so much, thenice little profit being chalked down on the credit side of hisformidable ledger, in which stands recorded against his little soul(he knows will get to heaven) the sale of ten thousand black souls, which will shine in brightness when his is refused admittance to theportal above. 

Having arrived at the point most marketable, he sells her to Mr. Gurdoin Choicewest, who pays no less a sum than sixteen hundreddollars in hard cash for the unyielding beauty-money advanced to himby his dear papa, who had no objection to his having a prettycoloured girl, provided Madam Choicewest-most indulgent mother shewas, too-gave her consent; and she said she was willing, provided-;and now, notwithstanding she was his own, insisted on thepreservation of her virtue, or death. Awful dilemma, this! To lashher will be useless; and the few kicks she has already received havenot yet begun to thaw her frozen determination. Such an unyieldingthing is quite useless for the purpose for which young Choicewestpurchased her. What must be done with her? The older Choicewest isconsulted, and gives it as his decided opinion that there is one oftwo things the younger Choicewest must do with this dear piece ofproperty he has so unfortunately got on his hands, --he must sell her, or tie her up every day and pump her with cold water, say fifteenminutes at a time. Pumping niggers, the elder Mr. Choicewestremarks, with the coolness of an Austrian diplomatist, has awondrous effect upon them; "it makes 'em give in when nothing elsewill. " He once had four prime fellows, who, in stubbornness, seemeda match for Mr. Beelzebub himself. He lashed them, and he burnedthem, and he clipped their ears; and then he stretched them onplanks, thinking they would cry "give in" afore the sockets of theirjoints were drawn out; but it was all to no purpose, they were asunyielding as granite. 

About that time there was a celebrated manager of negroes keepingthe prison. This clever functionary had a peculiar way of bringingthe stubbornness out of them; so he consigned the four unbendingrascals to his skill. And this very valuable and very skilfulgaol-keeper had a large window in his establishment, with iron barsrunning perpendicular; to the inside of which he would strap thefour stubborn rascals, with their faces scientifically arrangedbetween the bars, to prevent the moving of a muscle. Thus caged, their black heads bound to the grating, the scientific gaoler, whowas something of a humourist withal, would enjoy a nice bit of funat seeing the more favoured prisoners (with his kind permission)exercise their dexterity in throwing peas at the faces of thebounden. How he would laugh-how the pea-punishing prisoners wouldenjoy it-how the fast bound niggers, foaming with rage and maddenedto desperation, would bellow, as their very eyeballs darted fire andblood! What grand fun it was! bull-baiting sank into a mere shadowbeside it. The former was measuredly passive, because the bull onlyroared, and pitched, and tossed; whereas here the sport was mademore exhilarating by expressions of vengeance or implorings. Andthen, as a change of pastime, the skilful gaoler would demand acessation of the pea hostilities, and enjoin the commencement of thewater war; which said war was carried out by supplying about a dozenprisoners with as many buckets, which they would fill with greatalacrity, and, in succession, throw the contents with great forceover the unyielding, from the outside. The effect of this on nakedmen, bound with chains to iron bars, may be imagined; but the olderChoicewest declares it was a cure. It brought steel out of the"rascals, " and made them as submissive as shoe-strings. Sometimesthe jolly prisoners would make the bath so strong, that the niggerswould seem completely drowned when released; but then they'd sooncome to with a jolly good rolling, a little hartshorn applied totheir nostrils, and the like of that. About a dozen times puttingthrough the pea and water process cured them. 

So says the very respectable Mr. Choicewest, with great dignity ofmanners, as he seriously advises the younger Choicewest to try alittle quantity of the same sort on his now useless female purchase. Lady Choicewest must, however, be consulted on this point, as she isvery particular about the mode in which all females about herestablishment are chastised. Indeed, Lady Choicewest is muchconcerned about the only male, heir of the family, to whom she looksforward for very distinguished results to the family name. Thefamily (Lady Choicewest always assures those whom she graciouslycondescends to admit into the fashionable precincts of her small butvery select circle), descended from the very ancient and chivalrichouse of that name, whose celebrated estate was in Warwickshire, England; and, in proof of this, my Lady Choicewest invariably pointsto a sad daub, illustrative of some incomprehensible object, suspended over the antique mantelpiece. With methodical grace, anddignity which frowns with superlative contempt upon every thing veryvulgar--for she says "she sublimely detests them very low creatureswhat are never brought up to manners at the north, and are worsethan haystacks to larn civility"--my lady solicits a near inspectionof this wonderful hieroglyphic, which she tells us is the familyarms, --an ancient and choice bit of art she would not part with forthe world. If her friends evince any want of perception in tracingthe many deeds of valour it heralds, on behalf of the noble familyof which she is an undisputed descendant, my lady will at once enterupon the task of instruction; and with the beautiful fore-finger ofher right hand, always jewelled with great brilliancy, will shesatisfactorily enlighten the stupid on the fame of the ancientChoicewest family, thereon inscribed. With no ordinary design on thecredulity of her friends, Lady Choicewest has several times stronglyintimated that she was not quite sure that one or two of herancestors in the male line of the family were not reigning dukes asfar down as the noble reign of the ignoble Oliver Cromwell! Thequestion, nevertheless, is whether the honour of the ancientChoicewest family descended from Mr. Or Mrs. Choicewest. The vulgarmass have been known to say (smilingly) that Lady Choicewest's namewas Brown, the father of which very ancient family sold herrings andsmall pigs at a little stand in the market: this, however, was avery long time ago, and, as my lady is known to be troubled with anexceedingly crooked memory, persons better acquainted with her aremore ready to accept the oblivious excuse. 

Taking all these things into consideration, my Lady Choicewest isexceedingly cautious lest young Gourdoin Choicewest should do aughtto dishonour the family name; and on this strange perplexity inwhich her much indulged son is placed being referred to her, shegives it as her most decided opinion that the wench, if as obstinateas described, had better be sold to the highest bidder-the soonerthe better. My lady lays great emphasis on "the sooner the better. "That something will be lost she has not the slightest doubt; butthen it were better to lose a little in the price of the stubbornwretch, than to have her always creating disturbance about thegenteel premises. In furtherance of this-my lady's mandate-Annetteis sold to Mr. Blackmore Blackett for the nice round sum of fifteenhundred dollars. Gourdoin Choicewest hates to part with the beauty, grieves and regrets, --she is so charmingly fascinating. "Must let herslide, though; critter won't do at all as I wants her to, " he lisps, regretting the serious loss of the dollars. His friend BlackmoreBlackett, however, is a gentleman, and therefore he would notdeceive him in the wench: hence he makes the reduction, because hefinds her decidedly faulty. Had Blackmore Blackett been a regularflesh trader, he would not have scrupled to take him in. As it is, gentlemen must always be gentlemen among themselves. Blackett, agentleman of fortune, who lives at his ease in the city, and has thevery finest taste for female beauty, was left, most unfortunately, awidower with four lovely daughters, any one of which may beconsidered a belle not to be rung by gentlemen of ordinary rank orvulgar pretension. In fact, the Blackett girls are considered veryfine specimens of beauty, are much admired in society, and expectere long, on the clear merit of polish, to rank equal with the firstaristocracy of the place. 

Mr. Blackmore Blackett esteems himself an extremely lucky fellow inhaving so advantageously procured such a nice piece of property, --sosuited to his taste. Her price, when compared with her singularlyvaluable charms, is a mere nothing; and, too, all his fashionablefriends will congratulate him upon his good fortune. But asdisappointments will come, so Mr. Blackmore Blackett finds he hasgot something not quite so valuable as anticipated; however, beingsomething of a philosopher, he will improve upon the course pursuedby the younger Choicewest: he makes his first advances with greatcaution; whispers words of tenderness in her ear; tells her hishappy jewel for life she must be. Remembering her mother, she turnsa deaf ear to Mr. Blackett's pleadings. The very cabin which he hasprovided for her in the yard reminds her of that familiar domicileon Marston's plantation. Neither by soft pleadings, nor threateningsof sale to plantation life, nor terrors of the lash, can he softenthe creature's sympathies, so that the flesh may succumb. When hewhispered soft words and made fascinating promises, she would shakeher head and move from him; when he threatened, she would plead herabject position; when he resorted to force, she would struggle withhim, making the issue her virtue or death. Once she paid the penaltyof her struggles with a broken wrist, which she shows us more insorrow than anger. Annette is beautiful but delicate; has soft eyesbeaming with the fulness of a great soul; but they were sold, once, --now, sympathy for her is dead. The law gives her no protectionfor her virtue; the ruffian may violate it, and Heaven only canshelter it with forgiveness. As for Blackett, he has no forgivenessin his temperament, --passion soars highest with him; he would slaywith violent hands the minion who dared oppose its triumph. 

About this time, Mr. Blackett, much to his surprise, finds a stormof mischief brewing about his domestic domain. The Miss Blacketts, dashing beauties, have had it come to their ears over and over againthat all the young men about the city say Annette Mazatlin (as sheis now called) is far more beautiful than any one of the Blacketts. This is quite enough to kindle the elements of a female war. In thesouth nothing can spread the war of jealousy and vanity with suchundying rage as comparing slave beauty with that of the morefavoured of the sexes. A firman of the strongest kind is now issuedfrom the portfolio of the Miss Blacketts, forbidding the wretchedgirl entering the house; and storms of abuse are plentifully andvery cheaply lavished on her head, ere she puts it outside thecabin. She was a nasty, impudent hussy; the very worst of all kindof creatures to have about a respectable mansion, --enough to shockrespectable people! The worst of it was, that the miserable whitenigger thought she was handsome, and a lot of young, silly-headedmen flattered her vanity by telling the fool she was prettier thanthe Blacketts themselves, --so said the very accomplished MissBlacketts. And if ever domicile was becoming too warm for man tolive in, in consequence of female indignation, that one was Mr. Blackmore Blackett's. It was not so much that the father hadpurchased this beautiful creature to serve fiendish purposes. Ohno!-that was a thing of every-day occurrence, --something excusable inany respectable man's family. It was beauty rivalling, fierce andjealous of its compliments. Again, the wretch-found incorrigible, and useless for the purpose purchased-is sold. Poor, lucklessmaiden! she might add, as she passed through the hands of so manypurchasers. This time, however, she is less valuable from havingfractured her left wrist, deformity being always taken into accountwhen such property is up at the flesh shambles. But Mr. BlackmoreBlackett has a delicacy about putting her up under the hammer justnow, inasmuch as he could not say she was sold for no fault; whilethe disfigured wrist might lead to suspicious remarks concerning histreatment of her. Another extremely unfortunate circumstance was itsgetting all about the city that she was a cold, soulless thing, whodeclared that sooner than yield to be the abject wretch men soughtto make her, she would die that only death. She had but one life, and it were better to yield that up virtuously than die degraded. Graspum, then, is the only safe channel in which to dispose of thelike. That functionary assures Mr. Blackmore Blackett that the girlis beautiful, delicate, and an exceedingly sweet creature yet! butthat during the four months she has depreciated more than fifty percent in value. His remarks may be considered out of place, but theyare none the less true, for it is ascertained, on privateexamination, that sundry stripes have been laid about her bareloins. Gurdoin Choicewest declared to his mother that he never foronce had laid violent hands on the obstinate wench; Mr. BlackmoreBlackett stood ready to lay his hand on the Bible, and lift his eyesto heaven for proof of his innocence; but a record of theinfliction, indelible of blood, remained there to tell its sadtale, --to shame, if shame had aught in slavery whereon to make itselfknown. Notwithstanding this bold denial, it is found that Mr. Blackmore Blackett did on two occasions strip her and secure herhands and feet to the bed-post, where he put on "about six at atime, " remarkably "gently. " He admired her symmetrical form, herfine, white, soft, smooth skin-her voluptuous limbs, so beautifullyand delicately developed; and then there was so much gushingsweetness, mingled with grief, in her face, as she cast her softglances upon him, and implored him to end her existence, or save hersuch shame! Such, he says, laconically, completely disarmed him, andhe only switched her a few times. 

"She's not worth a dot more than a thousand dollars. I couldn't giveit for her, because I couldn't make it out on her. The fact is, she'll get a bad name by passing through so many hands-a deuced badname!" says Graspum, whose commercial language is politically cold. "And then there's her broken wrist-doubtful! doubtful! doubtful!what I can do with her. For a plantation she isn't worth sevencoppers, and sempstresses and housemaids of her kind are looked onsuspiciously. It's only with great nicety of skill ye can work suchproperty to advantage, " he continues, viewing her in one of Mr. Blackmore Blackett's ante-rooms. 

The upshot of the matter is, that Mr. Blackmore Blackett accepts theoffer, and Graspum, having again taken the damaged property underhis charge, sends it back to his pen. As an offset for the brokenwrist, she has three new dresses, two of which were presented by theyounger Choicewest, and one by the generous Blackmore Blackett. 

Poor Annette! she leaves for her home in the slave-pen, sad atheart, and in tears. "My mother! Oh, that I had a mother to love me, to say Annette so kindly, --to share with me my heart's bitteranguish. How I could love Nicholas, now that there is no mother tolove me!" she mutters as she sobs, wending her way to that place ofearthly torment. How different are the feelings of the oppressor. Hedrinks a social glass of wine with his friend Blackett, lights hiscigar most fashionably, bids him a polite good morning, andintimates that a cheque for the amount of the purchase will be readyany time he may be pleased to call. And now he wends his wayhomeward, little imagining what good fortune awaits him at the pento which he has despatched his purchase. 

Annette has reached the pen, in which she sits, pensively, holdingher bonnet by the strings, the heavy folds of her light auburn hairhanging dishevelled over her shoulders. Melancholy indeed she is, for she has passed an ordeal of unholy brutality. Near her sits onePringle Blowers, a man of coarse habits, who resides on hisrice-plantation, a few miles from the city, into which he frequentlycomes, much to the annoyance of quietly disposed citizens andguardsmen, who are not unfrequently called upon to preserve thepeace he threatens to disturb. Dearly does he love his legitimatebrandy, and dearly does it make him pay for the insane frolics itincites him to perpetrate, to the profit of certain saloons, anddanger of persons. Madman under the influence of his favouritedrink, a strange pride besets his faculties, which is only appeasedwith the demolition of glass and men's faces. For this strangeamusement he has become famous and feared; and as the light of hisown besotted countenance makes its appearance, citizens generallyare not inclined to interpose any obstacle to the exercise of hisbelligerent propensities. 

Here he sits, viewing Annette with excited scrutiny. Never beforehas he seen anything so pretty, so bright, so fascinating-allclothed with a halo of modesty-for sale in the market. The nigger iscompletely absorbed in the beauty, he mutters to himself: and yetshe must be a nigger or she would not be here. That she is anarticle of sale, then, there can be no doubt. "Van, yer the nicestgal I've seen! Reckon how Grasp. Paid a tall shot for ye, eh?" hesays, in the exuberance of his fascinated soul. He will draw nearerto her, toss her undulating hair, playfully, and with seemingunconsciousness draw his brawny hand across her bosom. "Didn't meanit!" he exclaims, contorting his broad red face, as she puts out herhand, presses him from her, and disdains his second attempt. "Pluck, I reckon! needn't put on mouths, though, when a feller's onlyquizzin. " He shrugs his great round shoulders, and rolls his wickedeyes. 

"I am not for you, man!" she interrupts: "I would scorn you, were Inot enslaved, " she continues, a curl of contempt on her lip, as hervery soul kindles with grief. Rising quickly from his side shewalked across the pen, and seated herself on the opposite side. Hereshe casts a frowning look upon him, as if loathing his verypresence. This, Mr. Pringle Blowers don't altogether like: slaveshave no right to look loathingly on white people. His flushed faceglows red with excitement; he runs his brawny fingers through thetufted mats of short curly hair that stand almost erect on his head, draws his capacious jaws into a singular angle, and makes a hideousgrimace. 

The terrified girl has no answer to make; she is a forlorn outcastof democracy's rule. He takes the black ribbon from round his neck, bares his bosom more broadly than before, throws the plaid sack inwhich he is dressed from off him, and leaping as it were across theroom, seizes her in his arms. "Kisses are cheap, I reckon, and afeller what don't have enough on 'em 's a fool, " he ejaculates, aswith a desperate struggle she bounds from his grasp, seizes theknife from a negro's hand as she passes him, and is about to plungethe shining steel into her breast. "Oh, mother, mother!-what have Idone?-is not God my Saviour?-has he forsaken me?-left me a prey tothose who seek my life?"

"I settle those things, " said a voice in the rear, and immediately ahand grasped her arm, and the knife fell carelessly upon the floor. It was Graspum; the sudden surprise overcame her; she sank back inhis arms, and swooned. "She swoons, --how limber, how lifeless sheseems!" says Graspum, as with great coolness he calls a negroattendant, orders him to remove her to the grass plat, and bathe herwell with cold water. "A good dowsing of water is the cure forfainting niggers, " he concludes. 

The black man takes her in his arms, and with great kindness, laysher on the plat, bathes her temples, loosens her dress, and with hisrough hand manipulates her arms. How soft and silky they seem to histouch! "Him hard to slave ye, miss, " he says, laying his hand uponher temples, gently, as with commiseration he looks intently on herpallid features. 

"Now, Blowers, " says Graspum, as soon as they are by themselves, "what in the name of the Gentiles have you been up to?"

"Wal-can't say its nothin, a'cos that wouldn't do. But, ye see, thecritter made my mouth water so; there was no standin on't! And Iwanted to be civil, and she wouldn't, --and I went t' fumlin with herhair what looked so inviting, as there was no resistin on't, and shelooked just as sassy as sixty; and to stun the whole, when I onlywanted to kiss them ar' temptin lips, the fool was going to killherself. It wasn't how I cared two buttons about it; but then thefeelin just came over me at the time, " he answers, shaking his hugesides, giving Graspum a significant wink, and laughing heartily. 

"Never at a loss, I see!" returns the other, nodding his head, pertinently: "If I didn't know ye, Blowers, that might go downwithout sticking. "

"Ye don't tell where ye raised that critter, eh?" he interrupts, inquisitively, pointing his thumb over his right shoulder, andcrooking his finger, comically. 

"Raised her with shiners-lots on 'em!" he rejoins, pushing Mr. Pringle Blowers in the stomach, playfully, with his forefinger. 

"Graspum! yer a wicked 'un. "

"Suit ye, kind 'a-eh, Blowers?" he rejoins, enquiringly, maintaininggreat gravity of manner as he watches each change of Blowers'countenance. 

Blowers laughs in reply. His laugh has something sardonic in it, seeming more vicious as he opens his great wicked mouth, anddisplays an ugly row of coloured teeth. 

"Sit down, Blowers, sit down!" says Graspum, motioning his hand, with a studied politeness. The two gentlemen take seats side byside, on a wooden bench, stretched across the centre of the pen, fornegroes to sit upon. "As I live, Blowers, thar ain't anotherindividual like you in the county. You can whip a file of commonguardsmen, put the Mayor's court through a course of affronts, frighten all the females out of the fashionable houses, treat aregiment of volunteers, drink a bar-room dry-"

"Compliments thick, long and strong, " interposes Blowers, winkingand wiping his mouth. "Can elect half the members of the assembly!"he concludes. 

"True! nevertheless, " rejoins Graspum, "a great man cannot beflattered-compliments are his by merit! And the city knows you're aman of exquisite taste. "

Blowers interrupts with a loud laugh, as he suggests the proprietyof seeing the "gal get round again. "

"Not so fast, Blowers; not so fast!" Graspum ejaculates, as Blowersis about to rise from his seat and follow Annette. 

"Well, now!" returns Blowers, remaining seated, "Might just as wellcome square to the mark, --ye want to sell me that wench?"

"Truth's truth!" he replies. "Blowers is the man who's got the goldto do it. "

"Name yer price; and no rounding the corners!" exclaims Blowers, hiscountenance quickening with animation. He takes Graspum by the armwith his left hand, turns him half round, and waits for a reply. 

Seeing it's Blowers, (the keen business man replies, in an off-handmanner), who's a trump in his way, and don't care for a few dollars, he'll take seventeen hundred for her, tin down; not a fraction less!He will have no bantering, inasmuch as his friends all know that hehas but one price for niggers, from which it is no use to seek adiscount. Mr. Blowers, generally a good judge of such articles, would like one more view at it before fully making up his mind. Graspum calls "Oh, boy!" and the negro making his appearance, says:"Dat gal 'um all right agin; went mos asleep, but am right asparched pen now. "

"Have her coming, " he returns, facing Blowers. "Nothing the matterwith that gal, " he exclaims, touching his elbow. "It is merely one ofher flimsy fits; she hasn't quite come to maturity. "

Slowly the negro leads her, weeping (Graspum says they will cry-it'snatural!) into the presence of the far-famed and much-feared Mr. Pringle Blowers. Her hair hangs carelessly about her neck andshoulders, the open incision of her dress discloses a neatly workedstomacher; how sweetly glows the melancholy that broods over hercountenance! "I'll take her-I'll take her!" exclaims Blowers, inspasmodic ecstasy. 

"I know'd you would; I'll suit you to a charm, " rejoins the man oftrade, laconically, as the negro steps a few feet backward, andwatches the process. "Considers it a trade, " is the reply ofBlowers, as he orders his waggon to be brought to the door. 

"Oh! master, master! save me-save me! and let me die in peace. Don't, good master, don't sell me again!" Thus saying she falls onher knees at Graspum's feet, and with hands uplifted beseeches himto save her from the hands of a man whose very sight she loathes. She reads the man's character in his face; she knows too well thehellish purpose for which he buys her. Bitter, bitter, are the tearsof anguish she sheds at his feet, deep and piercing are herbemoanings. Again her soft, sorrowing eyes wander in prayer toheaven: as Graspum is a husband, a brother, and a father, --whosechildren are yet in the world's travel of uncertainty, she beseecheshim to save her from that man. 

"Don't be mad, girl, " he says, pushing her hand from him. 

"Frightened, eh? Make ye love me, yet! Why, gal, ye never had such amaster in the world as I'll be to ye. I lay I makes a lady on ye, and lets ye have it all yer own way, afore a fortnight, " he rejoins, spreading his brawny arms over her, as she, in an attitude offright, vaults from beneath them, and, uttering a faint cry, glidescrouching into a corner of the pen. There is no protection for hernow; her weepings and implorings fall harmless on the slavedealer'sears; heaven will protect her when earth knows her no more!

"There's two can play a game like that, gal!" exclaims Blowers. "Rough play like that don't do with this ere citizen. Can just takethe vixen out on a dozen on ye as what don't know what's good for'em. " Blowers is evidently allowing his temper to get the better ofhim. He stands a few feet from her, makes grim his florid face, gesticulates his hands, and daringly advances toward her as thenegro announces the arrival of his waggon. 

"You must go with him, girl; stop working yourself into a fever;stop it, I say, " interposes Graspum, peremptorily. "The waggon! thewaggon! the waggon! to carry me away, away;--never, never to returnand see my mother?" she exclaims, as well nigh in convulsions sheshrieks, when Blowers grasps her in his arms (Graspum saying, begentle, Blowers), drags her to the door, and by force thrusts herinto the waggon, stifling her cries as on the road they drivequickly away. As the last faint wail dies away, and the vehiclebearing its victim disappears in the distance, we think how sweet isliberty, how prone to injustice is man, how crushing of right aredemocracy's base practices. 

"Does seem kind of hard; but it's a righteous good sale. Shouldn'twonder if she played the same game on him she did with t'other twofools. Get her back then, and sell her over again. Well! come now;there's no great loss without-some-small-gain!" says Graspum, as, standing his prominent figure in the door of his man pen, he watchesthe woman pass out of sight, thrusts his hands deep into hisbreeches pockets, and commences humming an air for his own specialamusement. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

NICHOLAS'S SIMPLE STORY. 

THE reader will remember that we left Nicholas seeking his way toMr. Grabguy's workshop, situated in the outskirts of the city. Andwe must here inform him that considerable change in the socialposition of the younger Grabguy family has taken place since we leftthem, which is some years ago. The elder Grabguy, who, it will beremembered, was very distinguished as his Worship the Mayor of theCity (that also was some years ago), has departed this life, leavingthe present principal of the Grabguy family a large portion of hisestate, which, being mostly of "nigger property, " requires somelittle transforming before it can be made to suit his more extendedbusiness arrangements. This material addition to the already well-reputed estate of Mr. Grabguy warrants his admittance into veryrespectable, and, some say, rather distinguished society. Indeed, itis more than whispered, that when the question of admitting Mr. AndMrs. Grabguy to the membership of a very select circle, the saintlycognomen of which is as indefinable as its system of selectingmembers, or the angles presented by the nasal organs of a few ladieswhen anything short of the very first families are proposed, therewere seven very fashionable ladies for, and only three against. Thegreatest antagonist the Grabguys have to getting into the embrace ofthis very select circle is Mrs. Chief Justice Pimpkins, a matronlybody of some fifty summers, who declares there can be no judge inthe world so clever as her own dear Pimpkins, and that society wasbecoming so vulgar and coarse, and so many low people-whose Englishwas as hopefully bad as could be, and who never spoke when theydidn't impugn her risible nerves-were intruding themselves upon itspolished sanctity, that she felt more and more every day thenecessity of withdrawing entirely from it, and enjoying her ownexclusively distinguished self. In the case of Grabguy's admittanceto the St. Cecilia, my Lady Pimpkins-she is commonly called LadyChief Justice Pimpkins-had two most formidable black balls; thefirst because Mrs. Grabguy's father was a bread-baker, and thesecond that the present Grabguy could not be considered a gentlemanwhile he continued in mechanical business. Another serious objectionMrs. Pimpkins would merely suggest as a preventive;--such peoplewere ill suited to mix with titled and other distinguished society!But, Grabguy, to make up for the vexatious rejection, has got to bean alderman, which is a step upward in the scale of his father'sattained distinction. There is nothing more natural, then, than thatGrabguy should seek his way up in the world, with the best means athis hands; it is a worthy trait of human nature, and is as naturalto the slave. In this instance-when master and slave are bothincited to a noble purpose-Grabguy is a wealthy alderman, andNicholas-the whiter of the two-his abject slave. The master, a manof meagre mind, and exceedingly avaricious, would make himselfdistinguished in society; the slave, a mercurial being ofimpassioned temper, whose mind is quickened by a sense of theinjustice that robs him of his rights, seeks only freedom and whatmay follow in its order. 

Let us again introduce the reader to Nicholas, as his manly figure, marked with impressive features, stands before us, in Grabguy'sworkshop. Tall, and finely formed, he has grown to manhood, retaining all the quick fiery impulses of his race. Those black eyeswandering irresistibly, that curl of contempt that sits upon hislip, that stare of revenge that scowls beneath those heavy eyebrows, and that hate of wrong that ever and anon pervades the whole, tellhow burns in his heart the elements of a will that would brave deathfor its rights-that would bear unmoved the oppressor's lash-thatwould embrace death rather than yield to perfidy. He tells us-"Icame here, sold-so they said-by God's will. Well. I thought tomyself, isn't this strange, that a curious God-they tell me he loveseverybody-should sell me? It all seemed like a misty waste to me. Iremembered home-I learned to read, myself-I remembered mother, Iloved her, but she left me, and I have never seen her since. I lovedher, dear mother! I did love her; but they said she was gone faraway, and I musn't mind if I never see'd her again. It seemed hardand strange, but I had to put up with it, for they said I never hada father, and my mother had no right to me" (his piercing black eyesglare, as fervently he says, mother!). "I thought, at last, it wastrue, for everybody had a right to call me nigger, --a blasted whitenigger, a nigger as wouldn't be worth nothing. And then they used tokick me, and cuff me, and lash me; and if nigger was nigger I wasworse than a nigger, because every black nigger was laughing at me, and telling me what a fool of a white nigger I was;--that whiteniggers was nobody, could be nobody, and was never intended fornobody, as nobody knew where white niggers come from. But I didn'tbelieve all this; it warn't sensible. Something said-Nicholas!you're just as good as anybody: learn to read, write, and cypher, and you'll be something yet. And this something-I couldn't tell whatit was, nor could I describe it-seemed irresistible in its power tocarry me to be that somebody it prompted in my feelings. I waswhite, and when I looked at myself I knew I wasn't a nigger; andfeeling that everybody could be somebody, I began to look forward tothe time when I should rise above the burden of misfortune thatseemed bearing me down into the earth. And then, Franconia, like asister, used to come to me, and say so many kind things to me that Ifelt relieved, and resolved to go forward. Then I lost sight ofFranconia, and saw nobody I knew but Annette; and she seemed sopretty, and loved me so affectionately. How long it seems since Ihave seen her! She dressed me so nicely, and parted my hair, andkissed me so kindly; and said good-by, when I left her, so inregret, I never can forget it. And it was then they said I was sold. Mr. Graspum said he owned me, and owning me was equal to doing whathe pleased with me. Then I went home to Mr. Grabguy's; and they saidMr. Grabguy owned me just as he owned his great big dog they calleda democratic bull-dog, the foreman said he paid a democraticten-dollar gold piece for. They used to say the only differencebetween me and the dog was, that the dog could go where he pleasedwithout being lashed, and I couldn't. And the dog always got enoughto eat, and seemed a great favourite with everybody, whereas I gotonly more kicks than cucumbers, didn't seem liked by anybody, and ifI got enough to eat I had nobody to thank but good old Margery, thecook, who was kind to me now and then, and used to say-"I like you, Nicholas!" And that used to make me feel so happy! Old Margery wascoal-black; but I didn't care for that, --the knowledge of somebodyloving you is enough to light up the happy of life, and make theheart feel contented. In this manner my thoughts went here and thereand everywhere; and the truth is, I had so many thoughts, that I gotcompletely bewildered in thinking how I was to better myself, and belike other folks. Mr. Grabguy seemed kind to me at first, --said hewould make a great mechanic of me, and give me a chance to buymyself. I didn't know what this "buy myself" meant, at first. But Isoon found out-he tells us he must speak with caution-that I mustpay so many hundred dollars afore I could be like other folks. Thekindness Mr. Grabguy at first exhibited for me didn't last long; hesoon began to kick me, and cuff me, and swear at me. And it 'pear'dto me as if I never could please anybody, and so my feelings got soembittered I didn't know what to do. I was put into the shop amongthe men, and one said Nigger, here! and another said, Nigger, getthere!-and they all seemed not to be inclined to help me along. Andthen I would get in a passion: but that never made things better. The foreman now and then said a kind word to me; and whenever hedid, it made my heart feel so good that I seemed a new being withbrighter hopes. Well, Mr. Grabguy put me to turning the grindstone, first; and from turning the grindstone-the men used to throw waterin my face when they ground their chisels, and their plane irons, and axes and adzes-I was learned to saw, and to plain boards, andthen to mortice and frame, and make mouldings, and window-sashes, and door-frames. When I could do all these, master used to say I wasbound to make a great workman, and, laughingly, would say I was themost valuable property he ever owned. About this time I began tofind out how it was that the other white folks owned themselves andmaster owned me; but then, if I said anything about it, master mighttie me up and lash me as he used to do; and so I remained quiet, butkept up a thinking. By and by I got perfect at the carpenter'strade, and I learned engineering; and when I had got engineeringperfect, I took a fancy for making stucco work and images. Andpeople said I learned wondrously fast, and was the best workman faror near. Seeing these things, people used to be coming to me, andtalking to me about my value, and then end by wanting me to makethem specimens of stucco. I seemed liked by everybody who came tosee me, and good people had a kind word for me; but Mr. Grabguy wasvery strict, and wouldn't allow me to do anything without hispermission. People said my work was perfect, and master said I was aperfect piece of property; and it used to pain deep into my heartwhen master spoke so. Well! I got to be a man, and when the foremangot drunk master used to put me in his place. And after a while Igot to be foreman altogether: but I was a slave, they said, and menwouldn't follow my directions when master was away; they allacknowledged that I was a good workman, but said a nigger nevershould be allowed to direct and order white people. That made myvery blood boil, as I grew older, because I was whiter than many ofthem. However, submit was the word; and I bore up and trusted toheaven for deliverance, hoping the day would come soon when its willwould be carried out. With my knowledge of mechanics increased alove of learning, which almost amounted to a passion. They said itwas against the law for a nigger to read; but I was raised so farabove black niggers that I didn't mind what the law said: so I got'Pilgrim's Progress, ' and the Bible, and 'Young's Night Thoughts, 'and from them I learned great truths: they gave me new hopes, refreshed my weary soul, and made me like a new-clothed being readyto soar above the injustice of this life. Oh, how I read them atnight, and re-read them in the morning, and every time foundsomething new in them, something that suited my case! Through thesentiments imbibed from them I saw freedom hanging out its light oflove, fascinating me, and inciting me to make a death struggle togain it. 

"One day, as I was thinking of my hard fate, and how I did all thework and master got all the money for it-and how I had to live andhow he lived, master came in-looking good-natured. He approachedme, shook hands with me, said I was worth my weight in gold; andthen asked me how I would like to be free. I told him I would jumpfor joy, would sing praises, and be glad all the day long. 

"'Aint you contented where you are, Nicholas?' he enquired. I toldhim I didn't dislike him; but freedom was sweetest. 'Give me achance of my freedom, master, and yet you may know me as a man, 'says I, feeling that to be free was to be among the living; to be aslave was to be among the moving dead. To this he said, he alwayshad liked me, was proud of me, had unbounded confidence in mydirections over the men, and always felt safe when he went from homeleaving things in my charge. 'In this view of the case, Nicholas, 'he says, 'I have come to the conclusion, --and it's Mrs. Grabguy'sconclusion, too, --to let you work evenings, on overtime, foryourself. You can earn a deal of money that way, if you please; justsave it up, and let me keep it for you, and in consideration of yourfaithfulness I will set you free whenever you get a thousand dollarsto put into my hands. Now that's generous-I want to do the straightthing, and so Mrs. Grabguy wants to do the straight thing; and whatmoney you save you can put in Mrs. Grabguy's hands for safe keeping. She's a noble-minded woman, and 'll take good care of it. ' This wasto me like entering upon a new life of hope and joy. How my heartyearned for the coming day, when I should be free like other folks!I worked and struggled by night and day; and good Mr. Simonsbefriended me, and procured me many little orders, which I executed, and for which I got good pay. All my own earnings I put into Mrs. Grabguy's hands; and she told me she would keep it for me, safe, till I got enough to buy my freedom. My confidence in theseassurances was undivided. I looked upon Mrs. Grabguy as a friend andmother; and good Mr. Simons, who was poor but honest, did many kindthings to help me out. When I got one hundred dollars in missus'hands I jumped for joy; with it I seemed to have got over the firstdifficult step in the great mountain. Then missus said I must takeJerushe for my wife. I didn't like Jerushe at first--she was almostblack; but missus said we were both slaves; hence, that could be noobjection. As missus's order was equally as positive as master's, there was no alternative but to obey it, and Jerushe became my wife. We were lawfully married, and missus made a nice little party forus, and Jerushe loved me, and was kind to me, and her solicitude formy welfare soon made me repay her love. I pitied her condition, andshe seemed to pity mine; and I soon forgot that she was black, andwe lived happily together, and had two children, which missus saidwere hers. It was hard to reconcile this, and yet it was so, by lawas well as social right. But then missus was kind to Jerushe, andlet her buy her time at four dollars a week, which, having learnedto make dresses, she could pay and have a small surplus to lay byevery week. Jerushe knew I was struggling for freedom, and she wouldhelp me to buy that freedom, knowing that, if I was free, I wouldreturn her kindness, and struggle to make her free, and our childrenfree. 

"Years rolled on, --we had placed nearly five hundred dollars inmissus's hands: but how vain were the hopes that had borne usthrough so many privations for the accumulation of this portion ofour price of freedom! Master has sold my children, --yes, sold them!He will not tell me where nor to whom. Missus will neither see norhear me; and master threatens to sell me to New Orleans if I resenthis act. To what tribunal can I appeal for justice? Shut from thelaws of my native land, what justice is there for the slave whereinjustice makes its law oppression? Master may sell me, but hecannot vanquish the spirit God has given me; never, never, will Iyield to his nefarious designs. I have but one life to yield up asacrifice for right-I care not to live for wrong!" Thus he speaks, as his frenzied soul burns with indignation. His soul's love wasfreedom; he asked but justice to achieve it. Sick at heart he hasthrown up that zeal for his master's welfare which bore him onward, summoned his determination to resist to the last-to die rather thanagain confront the dreary waste of a slave's life. Grabguy hasforfeited the amount deposited by Nicholas as part of the price ofhis freedom, --betrayed his confidence. 

He tells us his simple story, as the workmen, with fear on theircountenances, move heedlessly about the room. As he concludes, Grabguy, with sullen countenance, enters the great door at the endof the building; he is followed by three men in official garbs, twoof whom bear manacles in their hands. Nicholas's dark eye flashesupon them, and with an instinctive knowledge of their errand, heseizes a broad axe, salutes them, and, defiantly, cautions theiradvance. Grabguy heeds not; and as the aggrieved man slowly retreatsbackward to protect himself with the wall, still keeping his eye seton Grabguy, two negroes make a sudden spring upon him from behind, fetter his arms as the officers rush forward, bind him hand andfoot, and drag him to the door, regardless of his cries for mercy:they bind him to a dray, and drive through the streets to the slavepen of Graspum. We hear his pleading voice, as his ruffian captors, their prey secure, disappear among the busy crowd. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

HE WOULD DELIVER HER FROM BONDAGE. 

ABOUT twelve o'clock of a hazy night, in the month of November, andwhile Annette, in the hands of Mr. Pringle Blowers, with death-liketenacity refuses to yield to his vile purposes, a littletaunt-rigged schooner may be seen stealing her way through the greymist into Charleston inner harbour. Like a mysterious messenger, sheadvances noiselessly, gibes her half-dimmed sails, rounds to a shortdistance from an old fort that stands on a ridge of flats extendinginto the sea, drops her anchor, and furls her sails. We hear therumble of the chain, and "aye, aye!" sound on the still air, likethe murmur of voices in the clouds. A pause is followed by the sharpsound of voices echoing through the hollow mist; then she rides likea thing of life reposing on the polished water, her masts halfobscured in mist, looming high above, like a spectre in gauzeshroud. The sound dies away, and dimly we see the figure of a manpacing the deck from fore-shroud to taffrail. Now and then he stopsat the wheel, casts sundry glances about the horizon, as if to catcha recognition of some point of land near by, and walks again. Now heplaces his body against the spokes, leans forward, and compares the"lay" of the land with points of compass. He will reach his handinto the binnacle, to note the compass with his finger, and wait itstraversing motion. Apparently satisfied, he moves his slow way alongagain; now folding his arms, as if in deep study, then locking hishands behind him, and drooping his head. He paces and paces for anhour, retires below, and all is still. 

Early on the following morning, a man of middle stature, genteellydressed, may be seen leaving the craft in a boat, which, rowed bytwo seamen, soon reaches a wharf, upon the landing slip of which hedisembarks. He looks pale, and his countenance wears a placidnessindicating a mind absorbed in reflection. With a carpet-bag in hisright hand does he ascend the steps to the crown of the wharf, asthe boat returns to the mysterious-looking craft. Standing on thecapsill for a few minutes, his blue eyes wander over the scene, asif to detect some familiar object. The warehouses along the wharfswear a dingy, neglected air; immense piles of cotton bales standunder slender sheds erected here and there along the line ofbuildings which form a curvature declining to the east and west. Again, open spaces are strewn with bales of cotton waiting its turnthrough the press (a large building near by, from which steam isissuing in successive puffings and roarings); from which compressedbales emerge out of the lower story, followed by a dozen half-nakednegroes, who, half-bent, trundle it onward into piles, or on boardships. Far above these is spread out a semicircle of dwellings, having a gloomy and irregular appearance, devoid of that freshnessand brightness which so distinguish every New England city. Thebustle of the day is just commencing, and the half-mantled ships, lying unmoved at the wharfs, give out signs of activity. The newcomer is about to move on up the wharf, when suddenly he is accostedby a negro, who, in ragged garb, touches his hat politely, and says, with a smile, "Yer sarvant, mas'r!"

"Your name, my boy?" returns the man, in a kind tone of voice. Thenegro, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his old sackcoat, seems contemplating an answer. He has had several names, bothsurname and Christian; names are but of little value to a slave. "Pompe they once called me, but da' calls me Bill now, " he answers, eyeing the stranger, suspiciously. "Pompe, Pompe! I've heard thatname: how familiar it sounds!" the stranger says to himself. 

"One mas'r call me Turtle Tom, " rejoins the negro, scratching hishead the while. 

"Turtle Tom!" reiterates the stranger. "Had you no other namecoupled with Pompe, when that was the name by which you wererecognised?"

The negro will not wait his finishing the sentence. He says he hadgood old mas'r's name; but good old mas'r-"so dey tells"-dead andgone long time ago. "His name was Marston; and dat war dis child'sname den, God bless 'um!" he answers the stranger. 

"Marston, who lived on the banks of the Ashley?" again he enquires, as his face crimsons with excitement. 

"Dat war my mas'r; and dem war good old times when I lived dar, "returns the negro, significantly nodding his head. 

"Then you are the first man I have met, the first I want to see, "exclaimed the stranger, grasping the negro by the hand, and, much tohis surprise, shaking it heartily. 

"'Taint Lorenzo, " returns the negro, contemplating the stranger withastonishment. 

The stranger is not Lorenzo, but he has heard much of him. Whathappy recollections its familiar sound recalls: how it strengthenshis hopes of success in his mission. The negro tells him he is alabourer on the wharf, and cannot leave to conduct him to an hotel;he will, however, direct the stranger to a comfortable abode inChurch Street. It is quiet and unostentatious, but will serve hispurpose. Placing a piece of money in the negro's hand, he assureshim that he is his friend-has much need of his services-will pay himwell for their employment. He has equally aroused the negro'scuriosity; and, were it nothing more than satisfying that, he wouldbe faithful to his promise to call the same night at seven o'clock. Precisely at that hour the negro will fulfil his engagement. Thestranger wends his way to Church Street, and up a narrow alley, onthe left hand side, finds comfortable apartments, as directed. Herehe makes his toilet, and sallies out to reconnoitre the city. Meanwhile the little craft is entered at the custom-house as afruiter, bound from New Providence to New York, and put in for aharbour. There is something suspicious about a fruiter putting infor a harbour at this season, and many curious glances are cast uponthe little captain as he bows to the truth of his entry before thedeputy collector. 

The stranger has spent the day in viewing the city, and atnightfall, the negro, true to his engagement, presents his sablefigure at his lodgings. A servant having shown him up stairs, he isushered into his presence, where, seeming bewildered, he looks aboutinquiringly, as if doubting the object for which he has beensummoned. Abjectly he holds his tattered cap in his hand, andtremblingly inquires what master wants with him. 

"Have confidence, my good fellow, " the stranger speaks, with asmile; "my mission is love and peace. " He places a chair beside asmall table in the centre of the room; bids the negro sit down, which he does with some hesitation. The room is small; it contains atable, bureau, washstand, bed, and four chairs, which, together witha few small prints hanging from the dingy walls, and a square pieceof carpet in the centre of the room, constitute its furniture. "Youknow Marston's plantation-know it as it was when Marston residedthereon, do you?" enquires the stranger, seating himself beside thenegro, who evidently is not used to this sort of familiarity. 

"Know 'um well, dat I does, " answers the negro, quickly, as if thequestion had recalled scenes of the past. 

"And you know the people, too, I suppose?"

"Da'h people!" ejaculates the negro, with a rhapsody of enthusiasm;"reckon I does. "

"Will you recount them. "

The negro, commencing with old master, recounts the names of MissFranconia, Clotilda, Ellen, Aunt Rachel, old Daddy Bob, and Harry. 

"It is enough, " says the stranger, "they are all familiar names. "

"Did you know my good old master?" interrupts the negro, suddenly, as if detecting some familiar feature in the stranger's countenance. 

"No, " he replies, measuredly; "but his name has sounded in my ears athousand times. Tell me where are the children, Annette andNicholas? and where may I find Franconia?"

The negro shakes his head, and remains silent for a few minutes. Atlength he raises his hand, and in a half-whisper says, "Gone, gone, gone; sold and scattered, good mas'r. Habn't see dem child dis manya day: reckon da'h done gone down south. " He hesitates suddenly, asif calling something to memory; and then, placing his left hand onthe stranger's right arm, as he rubs his left across his forehead, stammers out-"Mas'r, mas'r, I reckon dis child do know somefin 'boutMiss Frankone. Anyhow, mas'r (ye knows I'se nigger do'h, and don'tkeep up 'quaintance a'ter mas'r sell um), can put ye straight 'boutMissus Rosebrook's house, and reckon how dat lady can put yestraight on Miss Frankone's where'bout. " It is what the strangerwants. He has heard of Mrs. Rosebrook before; she will give him theinformation he seeks; so, turning again to the negro, he tells himthat, for a few days at least, he shall require his presence at thesame hour in the evening: tonight he must conduct him to Mrs. Rosebrook's sequestered villa. 

The watch-tower bell of the guard-house sounds forth nine o'clock. The soldier-like sentinel, pacing with loaded musket, and armed withsharpest steel, cries out in hoarse accents, "All's well!" The bellis summoning all negroes to their habitations: our guide, Bill, informs the stranger that he must have a "pass" from a white manbefore he can venture into the street. "Mas'r may write 'um, " hesays, knowing that it matters but little from whom it comes, so longas the writer be a white man. The pass is written; the negropartakes of refreshment that has been prepared for him at thestranger's request, and they are wending their way through the city. They pass between rows of massive buildings, many of which have anantique appearance, and bear strong signs of neglect; but theirunique style of architecture denotes the taste of the time in whichthey were erected. Some are distinguished by heavy stone colonnades, others by verandas of fret-work, with large gothic windows standingin bold outline. Gloomy-looking guard-houses, from which numerousarmed men are issuing forth for the night's duty, --patrolling figureswith white cross belts, and armed with batons, standing at cornersof streets, or moving along with heavy tread on the unevenside-walk, --give the city an air of military importance. The love offreedom is dangerous in this democratic world; liberty is simply aprivilege. Again the stranger and his guide (the negro) emerge intonarrow lanes, and pass along between rows of small dwellingsinhabited by negroes; but at every turn they encounter mountedsoldiery, riding two abreast, heavily armed. "Democracy, boast notof thy privileges! tell no man thou governest with equal justice!"said the stranger to himself, as the gas-light shed its flickersupon this military array formed to suppress liberty. 

They have reached the outskirts of the city, and are approaching apretty villa, which the negro, who has been explaining the natureand duties of this formidable display of citizen soldiery, pointsto, as the peaceful home of the Rosebrook family. Brighter andbrighter, as they approach, glares the bright light of a window inthe north front. "I wish Mas'r Rosebrook owned me, " says the negro, stopping at the garden gate, and viewing the pretty enclosure ere heopens it. "If ebery mas'r and missus war as kind as da'h is, darwouldn't be no need o' dem guard-houses and dem guardmen wid darsavage steel, " he continues, opening the gate gently, and motioningthe stranger to walk in. Noiselessly he advances up the brick walkto the hall entrance, and rings the bell. A well-dressed negro mansoon makes his appearance, receives him politely, as the guideretires, and ushers him into a sumptuously furnished parlour. TheRosebrook negroes quickly recognise a gentleman, and detecting it inthe bearing of the stranger they treat him as such. Mrs. Rosebrook, followed by her husband, soon makes her appearance, saluting thestranger with her usual suavity. "I have come, madam, " he says, "ona strange mission. With you I make no secret of it; should I besuccessful it will remove the grief and anxiety of one who has foryears mourned the fate of her on whom all her affections seem tohave centred. If you will but read this it will save the furtherrecital of my mission. " Thus saying, he drew a letter from hispocket, presented it, and watched her countenance as line by lineshe read it, and, with tears glistening in her eyes, passed it toher husband. 

"I am, good sir, heartily glad your mission is thus laudable. Be athome, and while you are in the city let our home be yours. Franconiais here with us to-night; the child you search after is also withus, and it was but to-day we learned the cruelties to which she hasbeen subjected during the last few years. Indeed, her fate had beenkept concealed from us until a few weeks ago, and to-day, havingescaped the brutal designs of a ruffian, she fled to us forprotection, and is now concealed under our roof-"

"Yes, poor wretch-it is too true!" rejoins Rosebrook. "But somethingmust be done as quickly as possible, for if Pringle Blowers regainsher she will be subjected to tortures her frame is too delicate tobear up under. There must be no time lost, not a day!" he says, asMrs. Rosebrook quickly leaves the room to convey the news toFranconia, who, with Annette, is in an adjoining apartment. 

Like a hunted deer, Annette's fears were excited on hearing thestranger enter; Franconia is endeavoring to quiet them. The poorslave fears the ruffian's pursuit, trembles at each foot-fall uponthe door-sill, and piteously turns to her old friend for protection. Blowers, maddened with disappointment, would rather sacrifice her toinfamy than sell her for money to a good master. The price of apretty slave is no object with this boasting democrat, --thegratification of his carnal desires soars supreme. Rosebrook knowsthis, as the abject woman does to her sorrow. 

As Rosebrook and the stranger sit conversing upon the object of hismission, and the best way to effect it, this good woman returnsleading by the arm a delicately-formed girl, whose blondecountenance is shadowed with an air of melancholy which rather addsto her charms than detracts from her beauty. The stranger's eyerests upon her, --quickly he recognises Clotilda's features, Clotilda's form, and gentleness; but she is fairer than Clotilda, has blue eyes, and almost golden hair. She hesitates as her eyesmeet the stranger's. "Do not fear, my child, " speaks Franconia, whose slender figure follows her into the room. Assured that thestranger is her friend, she is introduced to him, and modestly takesher seat on a chair by the window. The stranger's name is Maxwell, and on hearing it announced Franconia anticipated the pleasure ofmeeting with her old friend, through whose agency she effectedClotilda's escape. Advancing towards him with extended hand, shelooks enquiringly in his face, saying, "Am I mistaken?" She shakesher head, doubtingly. "No! it is not my friend Maxwell, " shecontinues. 

"No!" rejoins the stranger; "he is my cousin: by his directions Ihave come here. I have brought a letter from his wife Clotilda, whose dear deliverer you were; and whose thoughts now daily recur toyou, to your love and kindness to her, with undying brightness. ""Ah!" interrupts Franconia, welcoming him with a fervent heart, "Iknew Clotilda would never forget Annette; I knew she would rememberme; I knew her ardent soul would give forth its measure ofgratitude. Happy am I that you have come-though years have rolled bysince I gave up all hopes of the joyous consummation-to relieve thissorrowing child, " she says, running to Annette, and with tears ofjoy in her eyes, exclaiming, "My child! my child! you 'll yet besaved. The ruffian who tortured you to-day will torture you nomore-no more!" And she kisses the sorrowing girl's cheek, as tearsof sympathy gush into her eyes. 

Rosebrook handed Franconia the letter, which she read as her facebrightened with joy. "Good Clotilda! how happy she must be! Howgenerous, how kind, how true dear Maxwell was to her; and they areliving together so comfortably, and have such a nice family growingup; but she wants her slave child! A slave mother never forgets herslave offspring!" she exclaims, with enthusiastic delight, as shereads and re-reads the letter. Back she paces to Annette, lays herright arm gently over her shoulder, and pats her cheek with her lefthand: "Annette will see her mother, yet. There is an all-protectinghand guiding us through every ill of life. Be of good cheer, mychild; never despond while there is a hope left; bury the horrors ofthe past in the brighter prospect of the future. " And leading her tothe table she seats her by her side and reads the letter aloud, aswith joy the forlorn girl's feelings bound forth. We need scarcelytell the reader that Clotilda's letter was read in listeningsilence, and ran thus:--"Nassau, New Providence, "October 24, 18-. "My Dear Franconia, "My thoughts have never ceased to recur to you, nor to my dearAnnette. You were a mother and a deliverer to me; I know-though Ihave not received a word in reply to any of my letters-you have beena mother to my child. As you know, I dare not write as much as Iwould, lest this letter fall into the hands of those whose interestit is to perpetuate our enslavement. I hope you are happy with agood husband, as I am. Years have rolled by since we parted, andmany have been the scenes and changes through which I have passed, but they were all pleasant changes, each for brighter and happierprospects. I was married to him who, with you, effected my escape, afew weeks after landing at Harbour Island. Since then we haveresided in Nassau, where my husband, who loves me dearly, pursues anextensive and lucrative business, and we both move in the bestsociety of the place. We have a pretty family of three children, theoldest nine years old, and the youngest five. How my heart wouldleap with joy if I thought you would accept an invitation to comeand see me, to spend a few weeks with me, and see yourself howcomfortable and happy a slave may be! Perhaps I should not sayhappy, for I never can be truly happy without my Annette. Somethinghaunts my mind whenever I recur to her, --which is every day. And thenI have written so many letters to which no answers have beenreturned; but, a whispering angel, as if to console me, says, Franconia will be her mother, and you will yet see her. 

"The gentleman who bears this letter is my husband's cousin. He hasall my husband's generosity of character, and will seek you for thepurpose of finding Annette, and bearing her safely to me. He hasproffered his services, and sworn to carry out his object; and beingon his way to New York for the purpose of entering into businesswith his uncle now in that city, will touch at Charleston, for theobject herein stated. Further his object, my dear Franconia, andthat heaven will reward the hand that in mercy helps the enslaved, "Is the prayer of your grateful "CLOTILDA MAXWELL. "

"I knew mother would never forget me; I knew she would come back tome, would be kind to me, as she used to be, and save me from suchcruelty as I have suffered. Several times have I resolved on puttingan end to my unhappy existence, but as often did something say tome, 'live hoping-there is a better day coming. ' God guides, governs, and raises up the weary soul, " says Annette, in touching accents, asFranconia finished reading the letter. 

While this conversation is progressing, and the plan of gettingAnnette out of the city being devised, a nice supper, at Mrs. Rosebrook's request, is being prepared in the adjoining room. Tothis the stranger is invited, and all sit down in a happy circle. Franconia seems invested with new life; Annette forgets for the timeher troubles; Mrs. Rosebrook, who does the honours of the table, wishes every ill-used slave could find means of escaping intofreedom; and Deacon Rosebrook says he will join heart and hand ingetting the forlorn girl free from her base purchaser. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

OTHER PHASES OF THE SUBJECT. 

WE must leave to the reader's imagination much that transpired atthe Rosebrook Villa during the night above mentioned, and ask him toaccompany us on the following morning, when curious placards may beseen posted here and there at corners of streets and otherconspicuous places about the city. Mr. Pringle Blowers has lost abeautiful female slave, whose fair hair, beautiful complexion, deepblue eyes, delicate features, and charming promise, is in large typeand blackest printer's ink set forth most glowingly. Had Mr. PringleBlowers been a poet instead of a chivalric rice-planter, he mighthave emblazoned his loss in sentimental rhyme. But Pringle Blowerssays poets always make fools of themselves; and, although the southis a sweet and sunny land, he is happy indeed that it is troubledwith none of the miscreants. He owned niggers innumerable; but theywere only common stock, all of whom he could have lost withoutfeeling any more than ordinary disappointment at the loss of theirworth in money. For this one, however, he had a kind of undefinedlove, which moved his heart most indescribably. Disappointed in thegratification of his desires, he is mortified and maddened todesperation. Why should a slave he had invested so much money in, and felt so like making a lady of, and never would have thought ofsetting at field labour, run away? He only wanted her for the mostaristocratic purpose the south can provide for a beautiful slave. Hence Mr. Pringle Blowers, through the medium of his knowledge ofletters, puts forward his placard-a copy of which he inserts in allthe most respectable morning journals-in which the fair outlines ofhis lost woman are simply set forth. He will give three hundreddollars for her apprehension, fifty dollars more for proof toconvict any person of harbouring her, and an additional sum forlodging her in any gaol in the country. This large reward Mr. Pringle Blowers will pay in hard cash; and he has no doubt theoffering will be quite enough to excite the hunting propensities offashionable young gentlemen, as well as inveterate negro hunters. Beside this, negro hunting being rather a democratic sport thanotherwise, Mr. Pringle Blowers reconciles his feelings with the factof these sports being uncommonly successful. 

The reader will naturally conclude that the offer of this largereward produced some sensation in and about the city. People stoppedalong the streets, read the curious hand-bill, smiled, and madevarious remarks. Ladies, always curious to know what is prominentamong the current events of the day, sent servants to ascertain whatso attractive the posters contained. It was, indeed, a regular bitof self-enjoyed fun for them; for the ladies had all heard ofPringle Blowers, and that a female slave for whose capture he wouldgive three hundred dollars had run away from him they were heartilyglad to learn. 

The day-police were equally happy to hear of the loss, and anxiousto make the capture. In this position it was doubly necessary to becautious in proceeding to effect the escape of the fair girl. Ifdiscovered in the act the stranger might be subjected to a series ofinprisonments that would sacrifice his life. Again, he might beassassinated by some disguised hand; or, if an infuriated mob werelet loose upon him, no police interference could save his life. Assuspicion is ever on the point of giving out its dangerous capriceswhere a community live fearing one another, so the stranger becamesensible of the shafts of suspicion that might at any moment bedarted at him. Despatching his schooner on her voyage, he continuedfor several days walking about the city, as if indifferent to whatwas passing. He read the curious poster in which was offered thegoodly reward for the apprehension of a lost slave, affected greatcoolness, and even ignorance of the mode by which such articles wererecovered. 

Fortunate was it for the stranger that he despatched the schoonerwithout the prize he intended to carry off, for no sooner had shegot under way and begun to move down the harbour, than she wasboarded by four men, who, producing their authority, searched herfrom stem to stern. Such were their suspicions, that they would notbe satisfied until they had opened a few boxes and bales that werestowed away in the hold. This done, the schooner was permitted tocontinue her voyage, and the stranger, unmolested, continues hiswalks about the city. A few days pass and the excitement has calmeddown. Pringle Blowers, although chagrined at the loss of hisvaluable piece of woman property, resolves to wait the issue withpatience and forbearance. If she, fool like, has made away withherself, he cannot bring her to life; if she be carried off byvillainous kidnappers, they must eventually suffer the consequences. Her beauty will expose their plots. He will absorb his usualrequirement of spirit, keep the nerve up, and never despond ofregaining her while his reward of three hundred dollars standsbefore a money-loving public. He would rather have lost two dozencommon niggers than this one he set so much by, intended to make somuch of, and upon whom he had set his very heart, soul, and burningpassions. But there is no profit in grief, no use in giving way todisappointment. Philosophers bear disappointments with fortitude; hemust be a philosopher, keep a sharp look out and not despair. 

How different is the scene presented at Rosebrook's Villa! There, Annette is seen, prepared to take her departure. Dressed in maleattire, with frock coat and trousers setting so neatly, dress boots, white vest, and brightly arranged shirt-bosom, she is the type ofperfection of a youthful southron. Franconia has expended her skillin completing the fair girl's toilet, when Mrs. Rosebrook places apair of green spectacles over her eyes, bids her look in the glass, and tells her she will pass for a planter's son among a million. 

"Nobody will know me, now, " she answers, viewing herself in themirror. Her neat setting suit, Panama hat, and green spectacles, give a peculiar air to her lithe figure. And though her emotions arewell nigh ready to give forth tears, she cannot suppress a smile atthe singular transformation of her person. 

"It'll take sharper eyes than policemen's to discover the disguise, "says Rosebrook, who, having ordered a carriage to the door, entersthe room and takes her kindly by the hand. "Keep up a good heart;don't despond, my child, and the chances are that you'll besafe-you'll be in Wilmington to-morrow morning" he continues: then, turning to Franconia, who will accompany her to that place, heawaits her pleasure. "I am ready!" returns that generous woman, as, arrayed in her travelling dress, she takes Annette by the hand, andis about to proceed to the gate where the carriage waits. Mrs. Rosebrook must take one more fond parting. Laying her right arm overher shoulder, and pressing her to her bosom, she kisses and kissesher fair cheek, bids her remember that God alone is her protector, her guide to a happy future. In freedom may she live to freedom'sGod; in slavery, hope ever, and trust in his mercy! With thisadmonition, the excited girl, trembling, leaves the Villa, leaningon Franconia's arm. Bradshaw has the carriage at the door, piledwith sundry boxes and portmanteaus, giving it the appearance of agentleman's travelling equipage. He has orders to drive to thesteam-boat landing, where the young invalid planter will embark forNew York via Wilmington and the land route. Soon they have takentheir seats, and with Rosebrook's good-natured face shining besideBradshaw, on the front seat, they say their happy adieu! and boundover the road for the steamer. 

It is now within fifteen minutes of the starting time. The wharfpresents a bustling scene: carriages and coaches are arriving witheager-looking passengers, who, fearing they are a little behindtime, stare about as if bewildered, scold heedless drivers, pointout heir baggage to awkward porters who run to and fro with trunksand boxes on their heads, and then nervously seek the ticket-office, where they procure the piece of paper that insures them through toNew York. Albeit, finding they have quite time enough on theirhands, they escort their female voyagers on board, and loiter aboutin the way of every one else, enjoying that excitement in otherswhich they have fortunately passed through. Here and there about thewharf, leaning their head carelessly over black piles, aresly-looking policemen, who scan every voyager with a searching eye. They are incog. , but the initiated recognise them at a glance. Therestless leer of that lynx eye discovers their object; anything, from a runaway nigger to a houseless debtor, is to them acceptableprey. Atween decks of the steamer, secured at the end of the wharf, another scene of bustle and confusion presents itself. A passengeris not quite sure his baggage is all on board, and must needs wastehis breath in oaths at the dumb porter, who works at his utmoststrength, under the direction of Mr. Mate, whose important figure ispoised on the wharf. Another wants to "lay over" at Richmond, and isusing most abusive language to a mulatto waiter, who has put histrunk on one side of the boat and carpet bag on the other. A third, a fussy old lady with two rosy-faced daughters she is, against hersouthern principles, taking to the north to be educated, is making apiteous lamentation over the remains of two bonnets-just from thehands of the milliner-hopelessly smashed in her bandbox. Thecareless porter set it on a pile of baggage, from where it tottledover under the feet of an astonished gentleman, who endeavours tosoothe the good lady's feelings with courteous apologies. On theupper deck, heeding no one, but now and then affecting to read anewspaper, as passengers pace to and fro, is the stranger, seated onone of the side seats. The engineer moves his valve now and then, the cross-head ascends, the steam hisses below, the condenserrumbles, the steam from the funnel roars furiously forth, spreadingits scalding vapour through the air. Again, the man, almostimperceptibly touches the iron rod with his finger, the magicmonster again moves its piston downward, the wheels make a turn, themassive vessel surges upon her lines, as if eager to press forwardon her course. Another gentle touch, and, obeying the summons, themotive power is still; the man subjects the monster with his littlefinger. He has stopped her near the centre, where, with a slighttouch, he can turn back or forward. Again, he lifts a small key, andthe steam, with a deafening roar, issues from the escape: he isventing his chest. Simultaneously the second bell sounds forth itsclanking medley: two minutes more, and the snake-like craft will bebuffeting the waves, on her daily errand. As passengers begin tomuster on board, their friends clustering round the capsill of thewharf, obstructing the way, the sturdy figure of Mr. Pringle Blowersmay be seen behind a spile near the capsill, his sharp, peering eyesscanning the ship from fore to aft. He is not sure she will get offby this route; common sense tells him that, but there exists aprompting something underneath common sense telling him it's moneysaved to keep a sharp look-out. And this he does merely to gratifythat inert something, knowing at the same time that, having nomoney, no person will supply her, and she must be concealed in theswamps, where only "niggers" will relieve her necessities. At thismoment Rosebrook's carriage may be seen driving to the ticket officeat the head of the wharf, where Rosebrook, with great coolness, getsout, steps within the railing, and procures the tickets in his ownname. Again taking his seat, the mate, who stands on the capsill ofthe wharf, now and then casting a glance up, cries out, "Anothercarriage coming!" Bradshaw cracks his whip, and the horses dash downthe wharf, scatter the people who have gathered to see the boat off, as a dozen black porters, at the mate's command, rush round thecarriage, seize the baggage, and hurry it on board. Rosebrook, fearing his friends will lose their passage, begs people to clearthe gangway, and almost runs on board, his fugitive charge clingingto his arms. The captain stands at the gangway, and recognising thelate comer, makes one of his blandest bows: he will send a stewardto show them a good state-room. "Keep close till the boat leaves, and remember there is a world before you, " Rosebrook says, shakingAnnette by the hand, as she returns, "God bless good master!" Theyare safe in the state-room: he kisses Franconia's cheek, shuts thedoor, and, hurrying back, regains the wharf just as the last bellstrikes, and the gangway is being carried on board. 

"Not going along with us, eh?" ejaculates the captain, as, from thecapsill, Rosebrook looks round to bid him good-by. 

"Not to-day" (he returns, laconically). "Take good care of myfriends; the young invalid from Lousiana in particular. " Just thenhe catches the stranger's eye, and, with a significant motion of hisfingers, says, "All safe!" With a nod of recognition the strangermakes his adieu; the fastenings are cast away, the faint tinkle of abell is heard amid the roar of steam; the man at the valves touchesthe throttle bar; up mounts the piston rod-down it surges again; therevolving wheels rustle the water; the huge craft moves backwardeasy, and then ahead; a clanking noise denotes the connections are"hooked on, " and onward she bounds over the sea. How leaps with joythat heart yearning for freedom, as the words "She's away!" gladdenAnnette's very soul! Her enraptured feelings gush forth in prayer toher deliverers; it is as a new spring of life, infusing itsrefreshing waters into desert sands. She seems a new being, withhope, joy, and happiness brightening the future for her. But, alas!how vain are hopes, --how uncertain the future!

Rosebrook watched the steaming craft as she crosses the bar, anddwindles out of sight. "Thou art safe, poor slave, " he says tohimself, as she passes from view behind the distant peak. 

Something touches him on the shoulder as he returns to his carriage. "Ah! this you, Pringle Blowers?" he exclaims, turning roundsuddenly, as the full face of that important personage presenteditself. "Been seeing some friends off to--?"

"No, " replies Blowers, with seeming indifference. He is just shyinground, --keeping an eye out for a smart kind of "a gal, " lost lastweek. 

"Quite a misfortune, that, Blowers! God bless me, I'm sorry, "returns Rosebrook, dryly. Rosebrook invites him to get in and ride ashort distance. Blowers has not the slightest objection; seats hissquare frame on the left side of the carriage. "Those were cleverposters you put out for the apprehension of that girl, Blowers!"

"Took some genius, I reckon, " interrupts Blowers, with broad laugh. 

"They say she was very handsome, and, if it be true, I hope you mayget her, Blowers, " continues Rosebrook, naively. 

The disappointed man shakes his head, touches the other on the arm, and says, "Nothing is more sure!"

CHAPTER XLIV. 

HOW DADDY BOB DEPARTED. 

LET us again beg the indulgence of the reader, while we go back tothe night when Marston was found dead in his cell, and when that oldnegro, whose eventful history we shall here close, sat by hisbed-side, unconscious that the spirit of master had winged its wayto another world. Bob, faithful unto death, remained his lonewatcher. Disguising his ownership, he has toiled from day to daythat the fruits thereof might relieve master's necessities; and hehad shared them with the flowing goodness of a simple heart. In amalarious cell, how happy was he to make his bed on the cold plankbeside his master's cot, where he might watch over his decliningspirit. Kindness was his by nature, --no cruel law could rob his heartof its treasure: he would follow master to the grave, and lavish itupon the soil that covered him. 

Having accompanied Franconia to the Rosebrook Villa, he will returnto the prison and join Harry, alone watching over the dead. The cityclock strikes the hour of eleven as he leaves the outer gate, andturns into the broad road leading to the city. The scene before himis vamped in still darkness; a murky light now and then sheds itsglimmers across the broad road; and as he hurries onward, contemplating the sad spectacle presented in the prison, happyincidents of old plantation life mingle their associations with histhoughts. He muses to himself, and then, as if bewildered, commenceshumming his favourite tune-"There's a place for old mas'r yet, whenall 'um dead and gone!" His soul is free from suspicion: he fearsnot the savage guardsman's coming; the pure kindliness of his heartis his shield. How often has he scanned this same scene, --paced thissame road on his master's errands! How death has changed thecircumstances of this his nightly errand! Far away to the east, onhis left, the broad landscape seems black and ominous; before him, the sleeping city spreads its panorama, broken and sombre, beneathheavy clouds; the fretted towers on the massive prison frown dimlythrough the mist to the right, from which a low marshy expansedwindles into the dark horizon. And ever and anon the forkedlightning courses its way through the heavens, now tinging thesombre scene with mellow light, then closing it in deeper darkness. 

Onward the old man wends his way. If he be shut out from the prison, he will find shelter at Jane's cabin near by, from whence he mayreach the cell early next morning. Presently the dull tramp ofhorses breaks upon his ear, --the sound sharpening as they advance. Through the dimming haze he sees two mounted guardsmen advancing:the murmuring sound of their conversation floats onward through theair, --their side arms rattle ominously. Now their white cross beltsare disclosed; their stalwart figures loom out. Nearer and nearerthey approach: as the old man, trembling with fear, remembers he iswithout a pass, a gruff voice cries out, "Stop there!"

"A prowling nigger!" rejoins another, in a voice scarcely lesshoarse. The old man halts in the light of a lamp, as the right-handguard rides up, and demands his pass. 

"Whose nigger are you?" again demands the first voice. "Your pass, or come with us!"

The old man has no pass; he will go to his master, dead in thecounty prison!

Guardsmen will hear neither falsehoods nor pleading. He doesn't know"whose nigger he is! he is a runaway without home or master, " saysthe left-hand guardsman, as he draws his baton from beneath hiscoat, and with savage grimace makes a threatening gesture. Again hepoises it over the old man's head, as he, with hand uplifted, supplicates mercy. "Nobody's nigger, and without a pass!" hegrumbles out, still motioning his baton. 

"He says his master is in gaol; that's enough! Stop, now, no moresuch nonsense!" rejoins the other, as the old man is about toexplain. "Not another word. " He is good prey, made and provided bythe sovereign law of the state. Placing him between their horses, they conduct him in silence forward to the guard-house. He is aharmless captive, in a world where democracy with babbling tongueboasts of equal justice. "A prowler!" exclaims one of the guards-men, as, dismounting in front of the massive building, with frowningfacade of stone, they disappear, leading the old man within itsgreat doors, as the glaring gas-light reflects upon his witheredfeatures. 

"Found prowling on the neck, sir!" says the right-hand guardsman, addressing himself to the captain, a portly-looking man in amilitary suit, who, with affected importance, casts a look ofsuspicion at the old man. "Have seen you before, I think?" heenquires. 

"Reckon so, mas'r; but neber in dis place, " replies Bob, inhalf-subdued accents. 

You are nobody's nigger, give a false account of yourself, and haveno home, I hear, " interrupts the captain, at the same time orderinga clerkly-looking individual who sits at a desk near an iron railingenclosing a tribune, to make the entry in his book. 

"Your name?" demands the clerk. 

"Bob!"

"Without owner, or home?"

"My master's cell was my home. "

"That won't do, my man!" interrupts the portly-looking captain. "Mr. Clerk" (directing himself to that functionary) "you must enterhim-nobody's nigger, without home or master. " And as such he isentered upon that high record of a sovereign state-the guard-housecalendar. If this record were carried before the just tribunal ofheaven, how foul of crime, injustice, and wrong, would its pages befound! The faithful old man has laboured under an assumed ownership. His badge, procured for him through the intercession of Franconia, shows him as the property of Mr. Henry Frazer. That gentleman ismany hundred miles away: the old man, ignorant of the barbarousintricacy of the law, feels it to his sorrow. The production of thebadge, and the statement, though asserting that Miss Franconia ishis friend, show a discrepancy. His statement has no truth forguardsmen; his poor frame is yet worth something, but his oath hasno value in law: hence he must march into a cold cell, and thereremain till morning. 

Before that high functionary, the mayor-whose judgments the RussianCzar might blush to acknowledge or affirm, --he is arraigned at teno'clock on the following morning. He has plenty of accusers, --no oneto plead the justice of his case. A plain story he would tell, didthe law and his honour grant the boon. The fatal badge shows him theproperty of Mr. Henry Frazer: Mr. Henry Frazer is nowhere to befound, and the statement that master was in prison tends to increasethe suspicions against him. Against this increasing force of proof, the old man begs his honour will send to the prison, where masterwill be found, --dead! In his love of clemency that functionary yieldsto the request. There looks something harmless about the old negro, something that warms his honour's legal coldness. An officer isdespatched, and soon returns with a description that correspondswith the old man's. "He waited on Marston, made Marston's cell hishome; but, your honour-and I have the assurance of the gaoler-he wasnot Marston's nigger; all that man's niggers were sold for thebenefit of his creditors. " So says the official, returning to hisaugust master with cringing servility. His honour, in the fulness ofhis wisdom, and with every regard for legal straightforwardness (hishonour searched into the profoundest depths of the "nigger statutes"while learning the tailoring trade, which he now pursues with greatsuccess), is now doubly satisfied that the negro before him is avagabond-perhaps, and he is more than half inclined to believe heis, the very marauder who has been committing so many depredationsabout the city. With a profound admonition, wisdom glowing from hisvery countenance the while, he orders him twenty-nine paddles on hisbare posteriors, --is sorry the law does not give him power to extendthe number. And with compliments for the lucky fellows who have thustimely relieved the public of such a dangerous outlaw, his honourorders him to be taken away to that prison-house where even-handeddemocracy has erected a place for torturing the souls of men wholove liberty. 

He will get the stripes-large, democratic stripes, --generously laidon. How much more he will get remains for a proud state, in itssovereign littleness, to provide. His honour, feeling his dutiestoward the state discharged, and his precautionary measures for theprotection of the people fully exemplified in this awful judgment, orders one of the officers to summon Mr. Ford Fosdick, adistinguished gentleman of the state's own, who, he is quite sure, will not neglect her more important interests. Bob has no interestsin this world, nor doth he murmur that he hath not eaten bread forfourteen hours. Kindliness yet lingers in his withered face as hegoes forth, yields submission to a state's lnjustice, and bares hisback before he eats. 

"Return him after administering the dressing, " says his honour, directing his remarks to the official about to lead his victim away. That functionary, half turning, replies with a polite bow. 

The reader, we feel assured, will excuse a description of thisunsavoury dressing, beautifully administered on behalf of arepublican state that makes it a means of crushing out the love ofliberty. Bob has received his dressing and returned; but he has notears to shed for democrats who thus degrade him. 

Mr. Ford Fosdick, a gentleman of the learned profession, verystraight of person, and most bland of manners, is what may be calledescheator in ordinary to the state. Keeping a sharp eye on herinterests, he has anticipated the commands of his august master, presents his polite person very unexpectedly in his honour'scourt-room. Fosdick, in addition to an excellent reputation forbeing the very best gentleman "nigger grabber" the state ever had, is well thought of in fashionable circles, having fought two duelsof the most desperate character. He is of middle stature, with aface finely oval, and to which are added features of much softness, altogether giving him more the appearance of a well-ordained divine, than the medium of those high functions by which the state's"grab-all" of homeless negroes distinguishes himself. If the statetolerated an ignominy, Ford Fosdick--between whom there exists amutual partnership--found in it an apology for the part he played;for--let no man blush when we tell it--the sum total for whichfriendless, homeless, and ownerless negroes sold for in the marketwas equally divided between them. Generous as was thiscopartnership, there were few well-disposed persons independentenough to sanction it; while here and there an outspoken voice saidit was paying a premium for edging Fosdick's already sharp appetitefor apprehending the wretched, who--God save the state'shonour!--having no means of protecting themselves, would be sold forthe sovereign interests of his own pocket, instead of the peace ofthe dear people, of which the state was ever jealous. Mr. Fosdick ispresent, --thanks his honour the mayor: he thinks he has seen thenegro before; that he is a prowler not a doubt can exist. Quiteindifferent as to his own interests, he says the city is literallybeset with such vermin: in his own mind, however, he has not a doubtbut that something handsome will be realised from the sale of theold fellow. There is now a most fearful case in the city, --a negrobelonging to Mr. Grabguy has become mad with disobedience: they havechained him to the floor, but he sets everything at defiance, threatens the lives of all who come near him, --says he will die or befree. Against this there is little hope for old Bob; his crookedstory will not suit the high considerations of these amiableworthies of state: he must be siezed and dragged to the workhouse, there to await the result. It is a profitable morning's work for Mr. Ford Fosdick, who makes a large note in his ledger, and will sooncarry out a very acceptable item on behalf of his dear self. So, while Bob eats his corn-grits in a cell, and his heart beats highwith purity, Mr. Ford Fosdick revels in luxury he thinks notill-gotten. 

Due notice, in accordance with the statutes, is given to all personswhomsoever may claim a piece of property answering the descriptionof Daddy Bob, as herein set forth. Weeks pass, but no one comes toclaim Bob. In the eyes of an ignoble law he is a cast out, homelessupon the world; and as such must be sold. He is put up at theman-shambles, and, by order of Mr. Ford Fosdick, sold to Mr. CordesKemp for the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars, one half of whichsum is the state's own, the other Mr. Ford Fosdick's. Mr. CordesKemp had seen Bob working about the wharf, and learned that the oldman was of more value than his outward appearance indicated, inasmuch as he was a good carpenter; which we have not beforeinformed the reader. But Bob had never been accustomed to a cruelmaster: such Cordes Kemp was to the fullest extent of the term. Afew months passed, and Bob became heartily sick of his new master, who gave him little to eat, and had nearly ended his life withlabour and the lash. Finding he could no longer stand suchtreatment, he fled to the swamp; and for two years did he make hishome among the morasses and hillocks, now making his bed by thetrunk of a fallen tree, then seeking shelter in a temporary campbuilt with the axe he carried away with him. At times he was forcedto make food of roots, nuts, and such wild fruit as the woodsafforded; and as the ravens found food, so the outcast man did notsuffer while an all-wise Providence watched over him. And then hefound a kind friend in old Jerushe-Aunt Jerushe, as she was commonlycalled, who lived on a plantation a few miles from his hiding-place, and met him at night, and shared her coarse meal with him. Jerushe'sheart was full of kindness; she would have given him more, but forthe want thereof. Full two years did even-handed democracy drive theold man homeless to seek a shelter among the poisonous reptiles ofthe morass. Mr. Cordes Kemp must regain his property, and to thatgenerous end he puts forth the following extremely southernproclamation, which may be found in all respectable morningjournals, on posters hung at the "Rough and Ready, " at "Your House, "and at "Our House":--

"SEVENTY-FIVE (75) DOLLARS REWARD is offered for the delivery of myold negro carpenter man named BOB, in gaol in Charleston, within amonth from this date. The said BOB is a complete carpenter, aboutsixty-five years of age, has a fine, full, good-natured face, knock-kneed, bald-headed, and ran away about two years ago: he isthought to be harboured in Charleston or James' Island. He wasbought of Mr. Ford Fosdick, on behalf of the state. June 28, --CORDES KEMP. "

Mr. Cordes Kemp, sorely grieved at the loss of so venerable andvaluable a piece of property, --and which he bought of the state, forthe rights of which he is a great champion, --will give the above sumin hard cash to the clever fellow who will secure it within aprison, so he may get it. If this cannot be done, he will declarehim an outlaw, offer a premium for the old man's head, and, with thebleeding trophy, demand the premium paid by the state. However, seventy-five dollars is no mean offer for so old a negro, and as thesaid negro cannot be a fast runner, the difficulty of catching himwill not be very great, while the sport will be much more exciting. Romescos and Dan Bengal keep a sharp look-out for all such littlechances of making money; and as their dogs are considered the verybest and savagest in the country, they feel certain they will beable to deliver the article over to Mr. Kemp in a very few days. 

A few days after the appearance of Mr. Cordes Kemp's proclamation, these two worthies may be seen riding along the Camden Road, a sandylevel, with little to indicate its tortuous course save a beaten andirregular path through a forest of stately pines. Theirreddish-coloured home-spun clothes, set loosely, and their large, felt hats, slouching over their bearded faces, give their figures abrigand-like appearance which excites apprehension. They are heavilyarmed with rifles, revolvers, and bowie-knives; and as their horsesmove along at a quick walk, the riders may be heard keeping up ananimated discussion on matters of state policy. The state and itspolicy is a matter of deep interest to slave-dealer andslave-hunter; none discuss them with more pertinacity. And as everygreat measure is supposed to have some bearing, directly orindirectly, on the right of one class to enslave the other, anever-ceasing political jar is kept up by these worthies, and toooften finds its way into the public acts of men who should be farremoved above their selfishness. 

The horse on which Romescos rides, a sprightly dark-bay, seeming tohave an instinctive knowledge of his master's pursuit, pricks hisears erect, and keeps his head turning from one side to the other, as if watching the approach of some object in the forest. A fewpaces ahead are seven fierce hounds, now scenting about the ground, then scampering through the trees, and again, quickly obeying thecall, return to the horses. Not a bark is heard, not a growl escapesthem! Nothing could be under more explicit subjection-not even thosenorthern dogs who pollute their own free soil by making it a forest, where the souls of men are humbled, and where, willing allies of thesport, they desecrate that holy sentence, "Our Pilgrim Fathers!"

Presently the lean figure of a man is seen advancing from a thicketin the distance. Rifle in hand he advances a few paces, leansagainst the trunk of a pine tree, relieves his shoulders of awell-filled haversack, and supports his arms on the stock of hisweapon, the muzzle of which he sets in the ground. He will wait thehorsemen's coming. With lightning quickness the hounds startsuddenly, prick up their ears, make a bound forward. "Hold there!"exclaims Romescos, at the same time directing Bengal's attention tothe figure far away to the right. His horse shies, an imprecationquickly follows; the dogs as suddenly obey the word, and crouch backto await another signal. 

"Nothing, I reckon!" returns Bengal, coolly, as the figure in thedistance is seen with smoking fusee lighting a cigar. 

Romescos thinks he is a gentleman returning from hunting in the bigswamp, to the north. He has a kind of presentiment, nevertheless, that some lucky prize will turn up before sunset. 

"Well, strangers, what luck to day?" enquires the hunter, as theyrun up their horses. At the same time he gracefully raises adelicate hand, relieves his mouth of the cigar, twists a well-trimmed mustache, and lifts his hunting-cap from off his head, disclosing a finely-chiselled face. 

"Not a shy!" replies Romescos, taking a cigar from his side pocket, and motioning his hand: the hunter politely extends his habanna, with which he communicates a light to his own. It is well nighnoon-day, and at the hunter's invitation do they dismount, seatthemselves at the foot of the tree, and regale with bread, cheese, and brandy, he draws from his haversack. 

"Thought ye'd got game in that, " remarks Bengal, measuredly. Ho hasscoured the woods, but found little game of the kind he hunts. "Ourgame is of a different species: you, I take it, hunt niggers, I'm insearch of birds. "

"Would have no objection to a stray deer or two!" is the reply, ashe passes his horn and flask to Romescos, who helps himself to adose of the liquid, which, he says, smacking his lips, is not bad totake. 

"Especially when yer on a hunting excursion!" rejoins Bengal. 

"Now, " says the gentleman hunter, quietly resuming his cigar, "asyou do not hunt my game, nor I yours, I think I can give you a scentthat may prove profitable. "

"Where away?" interrupts Bengal. Romescos respects the stranger-hehas dignity concealed beneath his hunting garb, which the quick eyerecognised as it flashed upon him. He gives Bengal a significantwink, the meaning of which he instinctively understands-"Don't berude, --he belongs to one of the first families!"

The stranger lays his left hand on Romescos' arm, and with the forefinger of his right hand pointing to the south-west, says, "Myplantation is nine miles in that direction. I left it this morning, early. In crossing an inlet of the Pedee, I discovered white smoke, far ahead, curling upward through the trees, and expanding itself inthe clear blue atmosphere. Feeling sure it indicated the haunt ofrunaways, I approached it stealthily, and had almost unconsciouslycome upon a negro, who, suddenly springing from his hiding-place, ran to the water's edge, plunged in, and swam to a little island afew yards in the stream. It did not become me to pursue him, so Ipassed on heedlessly, lest he might have companions, who would setupon me, and make me an easy prey to their revengeful feelings. " Aseach word fell from the stranger's lips, Romescos and his companionbecame irresistibly excited. 

Again repeating the directions, which the stranger did with greatprecision, they drank a parting social glass: the mounted huntsmenthanked the pedestrian for his valuable information, gave him a warmshake of the hand, and, as he arranged his haversack, rode off atfull gallop in the direction indicated. The dogs, cunning brutes, trained to the state's brutality, mutely kept in advance. "In luckyet!" exclaims Bengal, as they rode onward, in high glee, anticipating the valuable game about to fall into their hands. 

"Ho! dogs-and back!" shrieked Romescos, at the top of his shrillvoice, his sandy hair hanging in tufts over his little reddenedface, now glowing with excitement. Instantly the dogs started offthrough the thicket, and after making a circle of about a mile, returned with heads up, and eyes fiercely flashing. Trailing in asemicircle ahead they seemed eager for another command. 

"Better keep them back, " mutters Bengal; and as Romescos gives theword, --"Come back!" they form a trail behind. 

Now white fleecy clouds begin to obscure the sun; then it disappearsin a murky haze, and is no longer their guide. After two hours'riding they find a wrong turn has led them far away from theircourse, and to avoid retracing their steps they make a short cutthrough the thicket. In another hour they have reached the bank ofthe stream they sought. Dogs, horses, and men, together drink of itslimpid waters, and proceed onward. They have yet several miles oftravel before reaching the spot designated by the strange hunter;and seeking their way along the bank is a slow and tedious process. The prize-that human outcast, who has no home where democracyrules, --is the all-absorbing object of their pursuit; money is thegod of their hellish purpose. 

It is near night-fall, when they, somewhat wearied of the day'sride, halt on a little slope that extends into the river, and fromwhich a long view of its course above opens out. It seems a quiet, inviting spot, and so sequestered that Bengal suggests it be made aresting-place for the night. 

"Not a whisper, " says Romescos, who, having dismounted, is nervouslywatching some object in the distance. It is a pretty spot, clothedin softest verdure. How suddenly the quick eye of Romescosdiscovered the white smoke curling above the green foliage! "See!see!" he whispers again, motioning his hand behind, as Bengalstretches his neck, and looks eagerly in the same direction. "Closedogs-close!" he demands, and the dogs crouch back, and coil theirsleek bodies at the horses' feet. There, little more than a mileahead, the treacherous smoke curls lazily upward, spreading a whitehaze in the blue atmosphere. Daddy Bob has a rude camp there. A fewbranches serve for a covering, the bare moss is his bed; the firesof his heart would warm it, were nothing more at hand! Near by isthe island on which he seeks refuge when the enemy approaches; andfrom this lone spot-his home for more than two years-has he sentforth many a fervent prayer, beseeching Almighty God to be hisshield and his deliverer. It was but yesterday he saw Jerushe, whoshared with him her corn-cakes, which, when she does not meet him athis accustomed spot, she places at the foot of a marked tree. Bobhad added a few chips to his night fire, (his defence againsttormenting mosquitoes), and made his moss bed. Having tamed an owland a squirrel, they now make his rude camp their home, and sharehis crumbs. The squirrel nestles above his head, as the owl, mopingabout the camp entrance, suddenly hoots a warning and flutters itsway into the thicket. Starting to his feet with surprise-thesquirrel chirping at the sudden commotion-the tramp of horses breaksfearfully upon the old man's ear; bewildered he bounds from thecamp. Two water oaks stand a few feet from its entrance, and throughthem he descries his pursuers bearing down upon him at full speed, the dogs making the very forest echo with their savage yelps. Theyare close upon him; the island is his only refuge! Suddenly he leapsto the bank, plunges into the stream, and with death-like strugglesgains the opposite shore, where he climbs a cedar, as the dogs, eager with savage pursuit, follow in his wake, and are well nighseizing his extremities ere they cleared their vicious spring. Thetwo horsemen vault to the spot from whence the old man plunged intothe water; and while the dogs make hideous ravings beneath the tree, they sit upon their horses, consulting, as the old man, from thetree top, looks piteously over the scene. Life has few charms forhim; death would not be unwelcome. 

The tedious journey, and disappointment at seeing the old man'sresolution, has excited Romescos' ire. "He's an old rack-not worthmuch, but he doesn't seem like Kemp's old saw-horse, " Romescosremarks to Bengal, as his hawk eye scans the old man perched amongthe cedar branches. They are not more than forty yards apart, andwithin speaking distance. Bengal, less excited, thinks it better tosecure the old "coon" without letting the dogs taste of him. 

"They'll only hold him with a firm grip, when he dismounts, and swimhim safe back, " grumblingly returns Romescos. "Now! oldnig"-Romescos shouts at the top of his voice, directing himself tothe old man-"just trot back here-come along!"

The old man shakes his head, and raises his hands, as if pleadingfor mercy. 

"You won't, eh?" returns the angry man, raising his rifle in anattitude of preparation. Bengal reminds Romescos that his horse isnot accustomed to firing from the saddle. 

"I will larn him, then, " is the reply. 

"Mas'r, " says Bob, putting out his hand and uncovering his baldhead, "I can harm no white man. Let me live where 'um is, and diewhere 'um is. "

"None o' that ar kind o' nigger talk;--just put it back here, orye'll get a plug or two out o' this long Bill. " (He points to hisrifle. ) "Ye'll come down out of that-by heavens you will!"

"Wing him; don't shoot the fool!" suggests Bengal, as the old man, pleading with his pursuers, winds his body half round the tree. Tick! tick! went the cock of Romescos' rifle; he levelled it to hiseye, --a sharp whistling report rung through the air, and the body ofthe old man, shot through the heart, lumbered to the earth, as adeadly shriek sounds high above the echoes over the distantlandscape-"M'as'r in heaven take 'um and have mercy on 'um!" gurgleson the air: his body writhes convulsively-the devouring dogs springsavagely upon the ration-all is over with the old slave!

Instantly with the report of the rifle, Romescos' horse darts, vaults toward the oaks, halts suddenly, and, ere he has time tograsp the reins, throws him headlong against one of their trunks. Anoath escapes his lips as from the saddle he lifted; not a word moredid he lisp, but sank on the ground a corpse. His boon companion, forgetting the dogs in their banquet of flesh, quickly dismounts, seizes the body in his arms, the head hanging carelessly from theshoulders: a few quivering shrugs, and all is over. "Neck broken, and dead!" ejaculates the affrighted companion, resting the deadhunter's back against his left knee, and with his right hand acrossthe breast, moving the head to and fro as if to make sure life hasleft. 

"Poor Anthony, --it's a bad end; but the state should bury him withhonours; he ware the best 'un at this kind o' business the stateever had, " mutters Bengal, glancing revengefully toward the island, where his democratic dogs are busy in the work of destruction. Thenhe stretches the lifeless body on the ground, crosses those handsfull of blood and treachery, draws a handkerchief from his pocket, spreads it over the ghastly face fast discolouring, as the riderlesshorse, as if by instinct, bounds back to the spot and suddenly haltsover his dead master, where he frets the ground with his hoof, and, with nostrils extended, scents along the body. Having done this, asif in sorrow, he will rest on the ground beside him; slowly helumbers his body down, his head and neck circled toward that of thelifeless ruffian on the ground. 

The disconsolate hunter here leaves his useless companion, swims thestream, recalls the gory-mouthed dogs, looks with satisfaction onthe body of the torn slave. "You're settled for, " says Bengal, aswith his right foot he kicks together the distended and torn limbs. "Not all loss, yet!" he adds, a glow of satisfaction infusing hisface. With the ghastly head for proof, he will apply for, andperhaps obtain, the state's reward for the despatch of outlaws; andwith the gory trophy he returns across the limpid stream to hishapless companion, who, having watched over during the night, hewill convey into the city to-morrow morning. Over his body the veryhumorous Mr. Brien Moon will hold one of those ceremonies calledinquests, for which, fourteen dollars and forty cents being paidinto his own pocket, he will order the valueless flesh under thesod, handsomely treating with cigars and drinks those who honour himwith their presence. 

In the old man's camp, a hatchet, a few bits of corn-bread, (oldJerushe's gift), and two fresh caught fish, are found; theyconstituted his earthly store. But he was happy, for his heart'simpulses beat high above the conflict of a State's wrongs. Thatspirit so pure has winged its way to another and better world, where, with that of the monster who wronged nature while makingcruelty his pastime, it will appear before a just God, who sits inglory and judgeth justly. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

HOW SLAVEHOLDERS FEAR EACH OTHER. 

THE reader will please remember that we left Nicholas, maddened todistraction at the perfidy of which Grabguy makes him the victim, chained to an iron ring in the centre of Graspum's slave pen. Inaddition to this very popular mode of subduing souls that loveliberty, his wife and children are sold from him, the ekings of histoil, so carefully laid up as the boon of his freedom, areconfiscated, and the wrong-doer now seeks to cover his character byproclaiming to a public without sympathy that no such conventionexisted, no such object entertained. Grabguy is a man of position, and lady Grabguy moves well in society no way vulgar; but the slave(the more honourable of the two) hath no voice-he is nothing in thedemocratic world. Of his origin he knows not; and yet the stingpierces deeper into his burning heart, as he feels that, wouldjustice but listen to his tale, freedom had not been a stranger. Novoice in law, no common right of commoners, no power to appeal tothe judiciary of his own country, hath he. Overpowered, chained, hisvery soul tortured with the lash, he still proclaims hisresolution-"death or justice!" He will no longer work for him whohas stripped away his rights, and while affecting honesty, wouldcrush him bleeding into the earth. 

Grabguy will counsel an expedient wherewith further to conceal hisperfidy; and to that end, with seeming honesty lady Grabguy wouldhave her fashionable neighbours believe sincere, he will ship theoppressed man to New Orleans, there to be sold. -"Notwithstanding, heis an extremely valuable nigger, " he says, affecting superlativeindifference. 

"I'd rather sell him for a song than he should disturb the peace ofthe city thus. " To New Orleans Mr. Grabguy sends his unsubduedproperty; but that the threatened sale is only a feint to moreeffectually dissolve the contract and forfeit the money paid as partof his freedom, he soon becomes fully sensible. Doubly incensed atsuch conduct the fire of his determination burns more fiercely; ifno justice for him be made manifest on earth his spirit is consoledwith the knowledge of a reward in heaven. Having tortured for monthsthe unyielding man, Grabguy, with blandest professions of kindness, commands that the lacerated servant be brought back to his domicile. Here, with offers of kindness, and sundry pretexts of his sincerity, the master will pledge his honour to keep faith with his slave. Thedefrauded wretch knows but too well how little confidence he canplace in such promises; to such promises does he turn a deaf ear. Grabguy, if serious, must give him back his wife, his children, andhis hard earnings, in which the joyous hope of gaining freedom wascentred: that hope had carried him through many trials. Sad is thedilemma in which Mr. Grabguy finds himself placed; simple justice tothe man would have long since settled the question. 

And now Nicholas is a second time sent to Graspum's pen, whereliving men are chained to rings of fierce iron for loving freedomand their country. For twenty-two days and nights is he chained tothat floor where his soul had before been tortured. Threats of beingreturned to New Orleans again ring their leaden music in his ears;but they have no terrors for him; his indignant spirit has battledwith torture and vanquished its smart--he will defend himself untodeath rather than be made the object of a sham sale. A vessel forNew Orleans waits in the harbour a fair wind for sailing. On boardof her Mr. Grabguy will carry out his resolve; and to which end thereader will please accompany us to a small cell in Graspum's pen, about fourteen by sixteen feet, and seven in height--in the centreof which is chained to a ring that man, once so manly of figure, whose features are now worn down by sorrow or distorted bytorture, --as three policemen enter to carry out the order ofshipment. The heavy chain and shackle with which his left foot issecured yield to him a circuit of some four feet. As the officialsadvance his face brightens up with animation; his spirit resumes itsfiery action, and with a flashing knife, no one knows by whomprovided, he bids them advance no further. 

"You must go to the whipping-post, my good fellow! I know it's kindof hard; but obey orders we must. Ye see, I've gin ye good advice, time and agin; but ye won't take it, and so ye must abide theconsequences, " says one of the officials, who advances before theothers, and addresses himself to the chained man. 

"I'll go to a whipping-post no more!" exclaims Nicholas, his angryspirit flashing in his face, as in an attitude of defence he presseshis right hand into his bosom, and frowns defiantly upon theintruders. 

"My name is Monsel, an officer! Not a word of disobedience, " returnsthe officer, in a peremptory voice. 

Another suggests that he had better be throated at once. But thechained victim of democracy's rule warns them against advancinganother step. "Either must die if you advance. I have counselleddeath, and will lay my prostrate body on the cold floor rather thanbe taken from this cell to the whipping-post. It is far better todie defending my right, than to yield my life under the lash! Iappeal to you, officers of the state, protectors of the peace, menwho love their right as life's boons!" The men hesitate, whisperamong themselves, seem at a loss as to what course to pursue. "Youare setting the laws of the state at defiance, my good fellow!"rejoins Monsel. 

"I care not for the law of the state! Its laws for me are founded inwrong, exercised with injustice!" Turning towards the door, Mr. Monsel despatches his fellow-officers for a reinforcement. Thatthere will be a desperate struggle he has no doubt. The man'sgestures show him fully armed; and he is stark mad. During theinterim, Mr. Monsel will hold a parley with the boy. He finds, however, that a few smooth words will not subdue him. One of theofficials has a rope in his hand, with which he would make a lasso, and, throwing it over his head, secure him an easy captive. Mr. Monsel will not hear of such a cowardly process. He is a wiry man, with stunted features, and has become enured to the perils of negrocatching. Hand to hand he has had many an encounter with the brutes, and always came off victor; never did he fail to serve the interestsof the state, nor to protect the property of his client. With a sortof bravado he makes another advance. The city esteems him for thevaluable services he has rendered its safety; why should he shrinkin this emergency?

Our southern readers, in a certain state, will readily recognise thescene we here describe. The chained man, drawing his shining steelfrom his bosom, says, "You take me not from here, alive. " Mr. Monsel's face becomes pale, while Nicholas's flashes angry scowls;an irresistible nervousness seizes him, --for a moment he hesitates, turns half round to see if his companions stand firm. They are closebehind, ready for the spring, like sharp-eyed catamounts; whilearound the door anxious visitors crowd their curious faces. Theofficers second in command file off to the right and left, drawtheir revolvers, and present them in the attitude of firing. "Usethat knife, and you fall!" exclaims one, with a fearful imprecation. At the next moment he fires, as Monsel rushes upon the chained man, followed by half a dozen officials. An agonising shriek is heard, and Monsel, in guttural accents, mutters, "I am a murdered man-hehas murdered me! Oh, my God, --he has murdered me!" Nicholas hasplunged the knife into the fleshy part of Monsel's right arm; andwhile the bloody weapon, wrested from his hand, lies on the floor, an official drags the wounded man from his grasp. As some rise, others fall upon him like infuriated animals, and but for the timelypresence of Grabguy and Graspum would have despatched him like abullock chained to a stake. The presence of these importantpersonages produces a cessation of hostilities; but the victim, disarmed, lies prostrate on the ground, a writhing and distortedbody, tortured beyond his strength of endurance. A circle where thestruggle ensued is wet with blood, in which Nicholas bathes his poorwrithing body until it becomes one crimson mass. 

All attention is now directed to the wounded man, who, it is found, although he has bled freely of good red blood, is neither fatallynor seriously wounded. It is merely a flesh wound in the arm, suchas young gentlemen of the south frequently inflict upon each otherfor the purpose of sustaining their character for bravery. But theoppressed slave has raised his hand against a white man, --he must paythe penalty with his life; he no longer can live to keep peacefulcitizens in fear and trembling. Prostrate on the floor, the victorsgather round him again, as Graspum stoops down and unlocks theshackle from his leg. "It's the Ingin, you see: the very devilwouldn't subdue it, and when once its revenge breaks out you mightjust as well try to govern a sweeping tornado, " Graspum remarks, coolly, as he calls a negro attendant, and orders the body to bedrawn from out the puddle of disfiguring gore. Languidly that poorbosom heaves, his eyes half close, and his motionless lips pale asdeath. 

"Had I know'd it when I bargained for him, he would never havepested me in this way, never! But he looked so likely, and had sucha quick insight of things, --Ingin's Ingin, though!" says Grabguy. 

"The very look might have told you that, my dear fellow; I sold himto you with your eyes open, and, of course, expected you to be thejudge, " interrupts Graspum, his countenance assuming greatcommercial seriousness. 

Mr. Grabguy politely says, he meant no insinuations. "Come, Nicholas! I told you this would be the end on't, " he continues, stooping down and taking him by the shoulders, with an air ofcommiseration. 

The bruised body, as if suddenly inspired with new life, raisesitself half up, and with eyes opening, gazes vacantly at thosearound, at its own hands besmeared with gore; then, with a curl ofcontempt on his lip, at the shackle just released from his limb-"Ah, well, it's ended here; this is the last of me, no doubt, " hemurmurs, and makes another attempt to rise. 

"Don't move from where you are!" commands an official, setting hishand firmly against his right shoulder, and pressing him back. Hehas got the infective crimson on his hands, chafes them one againstthe other, perpendicularly, as Nicholas looks at him doubtingly. "It's all over--I'll not harm you; take me to a slaughter-house ifyou will, --I care not, " he says, still keeping his eye on theofficial. 

Grabguy, somewhat moved at the sight, would confirm hisharmlessness. "You'll give up now, won't you?" he enquires, andbefore Nicholas has time to answer, turns to the official, saying, "Yes, I know'd he would!"

The official bows his head significantly, but begs to inform Mr. Grabguy, that the negro, having violated the most sacred law of thestate, is no longer under his care. He is a prisoner, and must, asthe law directs, answer for the heinous crime just committed. Mr. Grabguy, if he please, may forward his demand to the statedepartment, and by yielding all claim to his criminal property, receive its award-two hundred round dollars, or thereabouts. 

"Stand back, gentlemen-stand back, I say!" commands the officer, asthe crowd from the outside come pressing in, the news of thestruggle having circulated through the city with lightning speed. Rumour, ever ready to spread its fears in a slave state, reported aninsurrection, and many were they who armed themselves to the veryteeth. 

The officer, in answer to a question why he does not take the manaway, says he has sent for means to secure him. He had scarcelygiven out the acceptable information, when an official, followed bya negro man, bearing cords over his right arm, makes his appearance. The oppressed man seems subdued, and as they make the first knotwith the cord they wind about his neck, he says, sarcastically, "'Twouldn't be much to hang a slave! Now round my hands. Now, with ahalf hitch, take my legs!" thus mocking, as it were, while theytwist the cords about his yielding limbs. Now they draw his head tohis knees, and his hands to his feet, forming a curve of hisdisabled body. "How I bend to your strong ropes, your strong laws, and your still stronger wills! You make good slip-nooses, and betterbows of human bodies, " he says, mildly, shaking his headcontemptuously. The official, with a brutal kick, reminds him thatthere will be no joking when he swings by the neck, which hecertainly will, to the great delight of many. 

"I welcome the reality, --by heaven I do, for only in heaven is therejustice for me!" With these words falling from his lips, four negromen seize the body, bear it to the door: an excited crowd havingassembled, place it upon a common dray, amid shouts and furiousimprecations of "D--him, kill him at once!" Soon the dray rollsspeedily away for the county prison, followed by the crowd, whoutter a medley of yells and groans, as it disappears within thegreat gates, bearing its captive to a cell of torture. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

SOUTHERN ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE. 

IT is just a week since Nicholas committed the heinous offence ofwounding officer Monsel in the arm. That distinguished personage, having been well cared for, is-to use a common phrase-about again, as fresh as ever. With Nicholas the case is very different. Hisbruised and lacerated body, confined in an unhealthy cell, hasreceived little care. Suspicion of treachery has been raised againsthim; his name has become a terror throughout the city; and all hisbad qualities have been magnified five-fold, while not a person canbe found to say a word in praise of his good. That he always hadsome secret villainy in view no one for a moment doubts; that heintended to raise an insurrection among the blacks every one isquite sure; and that confession of all his forelaid evil designs maybe extorted from him, the cruellest means have been resorted to. 

The day upon which the trial is to take place has arrived. On thesouth side of Broad Street there stands a small wooden building, theboarding discoloured and decayed, looking as if it had beenaccidentally dropped between the walls of two brick buildingsstanding at its sides. In addition, it has the appearance of oneside having been set at a higher elevation than the other for somepurpose of convenience known only to its occupants. About fifteenfeet high, its front possesses a plain door, painted green, twosmall windows much covered with dust, and a round port-hole over thedoor. A sheet of tin, tacked above the door, contains, in broadyellow letters, the significant names of "Fetter and Felsh, Attorneys at Law. " Again, on a board about the size of a shingle, hanging from a nail at the right side of the door, is "Jabez Fetter, Magistrate. " By these unmistakeable signs we feel assured of itsbeing the department where the legal firm of Fetter and Felsh dotheir customers-that is, where they dispose of an immense amount oflegal filth for which the state pays very acceptable fees. SquireFetter, as he is usually called, is extremely tall and well-formed, and, though straight of person, very crooked in morals. With an ovaland ruddy face, nicely trimmed whiskers, soft blue eyes, tolerablygood teeth, he is considered rather a handsome man. But (to use avulgar phrase) he is death on night orgies and nigger trials. He maybe seen any day of the week, about twelve o'clock, standing his longfigure in the door of his legal domicile, his hat touching the sill, looking up and then down the street, as if waiting the arrival of avictim upon whom to pronounce one of his awful judgments. Felsh is adifferent species of person, being a short, stunted man, with aflat, inexpressive face. He has very much the appearance of a manwho had been clumsily thrown together for any purpose futurecircumstances might require. Between these worthies and one Hanz VonVickeinsteighner there has long existed a business connection, whichis now being transferred into a fraternity of good fellowship. HanzVon Vickeinsteighner keeps a small grocery, a few doors below: thatis, Von, in a place scarcely large enough to turn his fat sideswithout coming in contact with the counter, sells onions, lager-beer, and whiskey; the last-named article is sure to be verybad, inasmuch as his customers are principally negroes. Von isconsidered a very clever fellow, never a very bad citizen, andalways on terms of politeness with a great many squires, and othermembers of the legal profession. A perfect picture of thegood-natured Dutchman is Von, as seen standing his square sides inhis doorway, stripped to his sleeves, his red cap tipped aside, acrooked grin on his broad fat face, and his hands thrust beneath awhite apron into his nether pockets. Von has a great relish forsquires and police officers, esteems them the salt of all good, norever charges them a cent for his best-brewed lager-beer. There is, however, a small matter of business in the way, which Von, beingrather a sharp logician, thinks it quite as well to reconcile withbeer. The picture is complete, when of a morning, some excitingnegro case being about to be brought forward, Fetter and Von may beseen, as before described, standing importantly easy in theirrespective doors; while Felsh paces up and down the side-walk, seemingly in deep study. On these occasions it is generally said Vonmakes the criminal "niggers, " Felsh orders them caught and broughtbefore Fletter, and Fetter passes awful judgment upon them. Now andthen, Felsh will prosecute on behalf of the state, for which thatgenerous embodiment of bad law is debtor the fees. 

The city clock has struck twelve; Fetter stands in his doorway, hiscountenance wearing an air of great seriousness. Felsh saunters atthe outside, now and then making some legal remark on a point of thenegro statutes, and at every turn casting his bleared eye up thestreet. Presently, Nicholas is seen, his hands pinioned, and a heavychain about his neck, approaching between two officials. A crowdfollows; among it are several patriotic persons who evince aninclination to wrest him from the officials, that they may, according to Judge Lynch's much-used privileges, wreak theirvengeance in a summary manner. "The boy Nicholas is to be tried to-day!" has rung through the city: curious lookers-on begin toassemble round the squire's office, and Hanz Von Vickeinsteighner isin great good humour at the prospect of a profitable day at hiscounter. 

"Bring the criminal in!" says Squire Fetter, turning into his officeas Nicholas is led in, --still bearing the marks of rough usage. Rowsof board seats stretch across the little nook, which is aboutsixteen feet wide by twenty long, the floor seeming on the verge ofgiving way under its professional burden. The plaster hangs inbroken flakes from the walls, which are exceedingly dingy, anddecorated with festoons of melancholy cobwebs. At the farther end isan antique book-case of pine slats, on which are promiscuouslythrown sundry venerable-looking works on law, papers, writs, specimens of minerals, branches of coral, aligators' teeth, severalship's blocks, and a bit of damaged fishing-tackle. This is Felsh'srepository of antique collections; what many of them have to do withhis rough pursuit of the learned profession we leave to the reader'sdiscrimination. It has been intimated by several waggishly-inclinedgentlemen, that a valuable record of all the disobedient "niggers"Fetter had condemned to be hung might be found among this confusedcollection of antiquities. A deal table, covered with a varnishedcloth, standing on the right side of the room, and beside which aponderous arm-chair is raised a few inches, forms Fetter's tribune. Hanging from the wall, close behind this, is a powder-horn andflask, several old swords, a military hat somewhat broken, andsundry other indescribable things, enough to make one's head ache tocontemplate. 

The office is become crowded to excess, the prisoner (his handsunpinioned, but the heavy chain still about his neck!) is placed ina wooden box fronting the squire's table, as a constable is orderedto close the court. It is quite evident that Fetter has been takinga little too much on the previous night; but, being a "first-ratedrinker, " his friends find an apology in the arduousness of hislegal duties. In answer to a question from Felsh, who has beenlooking at the prisoner somewhat compassionately, the servingconstable says two of the jury of "freeholders" he has summoned havenot yet made their appearance. Fetter, who was about to take hisseat in the great chair, and open court, politely draws forth hiswatch, and after addressing a few words to the persons present, onthe necessity of keeping order in a court with such high functions, whispers a few words in Felsh's ear, holding his hand to his mouththe while. 

"Maintain order in court!" says Fetter, nodding his head to theofficial; "we will return in five minutes. " Soon they are seenpassing into Von's crooked establishment, where, joined by a numberof very fashionable friends, they "take" of the "hardware" he keepsin a sly place under the counter, in a special bottle for hisspecial customers. Having taken several special glasses, Fetter ismuch annoyed at sundry remarks made by his friends, who press roundhim, seeming anxious to instruct him on intricate points of the"nigger statutes. " One hopes he will not let the nigger off withouta jolly good hanging; another will bet his life Felsh takes care ofthat small item, for then his claim on the state treasury will bedoubled. And now, Fetter finding that Felsh, having imbibed ratherfreely of the liquid, hath somewhat diminished his brilliantfaculties, will take him by the arm and return into court. With allthe innate dignity of great jurists they enter their sanctum ofjustice, as the usher exclaims, "Court! Court!-hats off and cigarsout!"

"Jury are present?" enquires Fetter, with great gravity, bowing toone side and then to the other, as he resumes his seat on thetribune. 

"Present, yer 'oner;" the officer answers in a deep, gruff voice, ashe steps forward and places a volume of the revised statutes beforethat high jurist. Fetter moves the book to his left, where Felsh hastaken his seat. With placid countenance and softest accents, Fetterorders the prisoner at the bar to stand up while our constable callsthe names of the jurymen. 

Our victim of democracy's even-handed justice obeys the summons, rising as his dark eyes flash angrily, and that hatred wrong whichlurks in his bosom seems kindling anew. "James M'Neilty! TerranceM'Quade! Harry Johanna! Baldwin Dobson! Patrick Henessy! Be dad andI have um all now, yer 'oner, " ejaculates the official, exultingly, as one by one the "nigger jurymen" respond to the call and taketheir seats on a wooden slab at the right of his Honour, squireFetter. "You are, I may be sure, gentlemen, freeholders?" enquireshis honour, with a mechanical bow. They answer simultaneously in theaffirmative, and then, forming in a half circle, lay their hands ona volume of Byron, which Fetter makes do for a Bible, and subscribeto the sacred oath Felsh administers. By the Giver of all Good willthey return a verdict according to the evidence and the facts. "Gentlemen will take their seats" (the officer must preserve orderin the court!) "the prisoner may also sit down, " says Felsh, thewords falling from his lips with great gravity, as, opening therevised statutes, he rises to address the jury. 

"Gentlemen of the Jury!"-suddenly hesitates for a moment-"the solemnduties which you are now called upon to perform" (at this momentTerrance M'Quade draws a small bottle from his pocket, and afterhelping himself to a portion of its contents passes it to hisfellows, much to the surprise of the learned Felsh, who hopes suchindecorum will cease) "and they are duties which you owe to thesafety of the state as well as to the protection of your ownfamilies, are much enhanced by the superior mental condition of thecriminal before you. " Here Mr. Felsh calls for a volume of Prince'sDigest, from which he instructs the jury upon several importantpoints of the law made and provided for making the striking a whiteperson by a slave or person of colour a capital offence. "Yourhonour, too, will see the case to which I refer-'State andPrudence!'" The learned gentleman extends the book, that his augusteyes may have a near view. 

"Your word is quite sufficient, Mr. Felsh, " returns Fetter, his eyeshalf closed, as he waves his hand, adding that he is perfectlyposted on the case cited. "Page 499, I think you said?" hecontinues, placing his thumbs in his waistcoat armlets, with an airof indifference. 

"Yes, your honour, " rejoins Felsh, with a polite bow. His honour, ordering a glass of water mixed with a little brandy, Mr. Felshcontinues:--"The case, gentlemen, before you, is that of the 'Statev. Nicholas. ' This case, gentlemen, and the committal of the heinouscrime for which he stands arraigned before you, has excited no smallamount of interest in the city. It is one of those peculiar caseswhere intelligence creeps into the property interest of our nobleinstitution-the institution of slavery-makes the property restless, disobedient to the will and commands of the master, disaffected tothe slave population, and dangerous to the peace and the progress ofthe community. Now, gentlemen" (his honour has dropped into amoderate nap-Mr. Felsh pauses for a moment, and touches him gentlyon the shoulder, as he suddenly resumes his wonted attention, muchto the amusement of those assembled) "you will be told by thewitnesses we shall here produce, that the culprit is an exceedinglyintelligent and valuable piece of property, and as such might, evennow, be made extremely valuable to his master"--Mr. Grabguy is incourt, watching his interests!-"who paid a large sum for him, andwas more than anxious to place him at the head of his manufacturingestablishment, which office he was fully capable of filling. Now, gentlemen-his honour will please observe this point-much as I mayconsider the heavy loss the master will suffer by the conviction ofthe prisoner, and which will doubtless be felt severely by him, Icannot help impressing upon you the necessity of overlooking theindividual loss to the master, maintaining the law, and preservingthe peace of the community and stability of our noble institution. That the state will only allow the master two hundred dollars forhis valuable slave you have nothing to do with-you must sink thatfrom your minds, listen to the testimony, and form your verdict inaccordance with that and the law. That he is a dangerous slave, haslong maintained a disobedience towards his owner, set theauthorities at defiance, attempted to create an insurrection, andmade a dangerous assault on a white man-which constitutes a capitaloffence-we shall now call witnesses to prove. " The learned gentlemanhaving finished his opening for the prosecution, sits down. After amoment's pause, he orders an attendant to bring something "totake"-"Similar to the squire's!" he ejaculates, hoarsely. 

"Gentlemen!" says his honour, as if seized with the recollection ofsome important appointment, the time for which was close at hand, drawing out his watch, "Call witnesses as fast as possible! Theevidence in this case, I reckon, is so direct and positive, that thecase can be very summarily despatched. "

"I think so, too! yer 'oner, " interrupts Terrance M'Quade, startingfrom his seat among the five jurors. Terrance has had what in vulgarparlance is termed a "tough time" with several of his own stubbornnegroes; and having already heard a deal about this very bad case, is prepared to proclaim him fit only to be hanged. His honourreminds Terrance that such remarks from a juror are neither strictlylegal nor in place. 

The first witness called is Toby, a slave of Terrance M'Quade, whohas worked in the same shop with Nicholas. Toby heard him say he gothis larnin' when he was young, --that his heart burned for hisfreedom-that he knew he was no slave by right-that some day wouldsee him a great man; that if all those poor wretches now in slaveryknew as much as he did, they would rise up, have their liberties, and proclaim justice without appealing to heaven for it!-"

"I said all that, and more!" interrupted the criminal bondman, rising quickly to his feet, and surveying those around him with afrown of contempt. 

"Silence! sit down!" resounds from the officer. 

He will sit down, but they cannot quench the fires of his soul; theymay deny him the commonest right of his manhood, but they cannottake from him the knowledge that God gave him those rights; they maymock with derision the firm mien with which he disputes the power ofhis oppressors, and their unjust laws, but they cannot make him lessthan a man in his own feelings!

His honour, squire Fetter, reminds him that it were better he saidnothing, sit down, --or be punished instanter. Turning to Felsh, whois sipping his quencher, he enquires what that gentleman means toprove by the witness Toby?

"His intention to raise an insurrection, yer honour!" Felsh, settinghis glass aside, quickly responds, wiping his lips as he adds, "Itis essentially necessary, yer honour!"

His honour, leaning forward, places the fore-finger of his righthand to his lip, and making a very learned gesture, says, "Toby hassaid enough to establish that point. "

The next witness is Mr. Brien Calligan, a criminal in the prison, who for his good behaviour has been promoted to the honourable postof under-warden. Mr. Brien Calligan testifies that the prisoner, while in prison, confined in a cell under his supervision, admittedthat he intended to kill Mr. Monsel when he inflicted the wound. Hemust qualify this statement, however, by saying that the prisoneradded he was altogether beside himself with rage. 

Grabguy, who has been intently watching the proceedings, suddenlysprings to his feet. He would like to know if that admission was notextorted from the culprit by cruelty!

Mr. Brien Calligan pauses a moment, looks innocently at the court, as one of the jurors suggests that quite enough evidence has alreadybeen put in to warrant a conviction. It's a pity to hang suchvaluable property; but, being bent on disturbing the peace of thecommunity, what else can be done?

His honour listens with great concern to the juror's remarks, butsuggests that Mr. Grabguy had better not interrupt the court withquestions. That he has an indirect interest in the issue of thesuit, not a doubt exists, but if he be not satisfied with thewitness's statement, he has his remedy in the court of appeals, where, upon the ground of testimony having been elicited by coercionor cruelty, a new trial will probably be granted. 

Mr. Grabguy would merely suggest to his honour that althoughsentencing a negro to be hung may be a matter of small consequenceto him, yet his position in society gives him a right to be heardwith proper respect. Aware that he does not move in that exclusivelyaristocratic sphere of society awarded to lawyers in general, he isno less entitled to respect, and being a man of honour, and analderman as well, he shall always insist on that respect. 

"Order, order!" demand a dozen voices. His honour's face flashingwith indignation, he seizes the statutes, and rising to his feet, isabout to throw them with unerring aim at the unhandsome head of themunicipal functionary. A commotion here ensues. Felsh is esteemednot a bad fighting man; and rising almost simultaneously, his facelike a full moon peeping through a rain cloud, attempts to pacifyhis colleague, Fetter. The court is foaming with excitement; Mr. Felsh is excited, the jury are excited to take a little more drink, the constables are excited, the audience are excited to amusement;Messrs. Fetter and Felsh's court rocks with excitement: the onlyunexcited person present is the criminal, who looks calmly on, as ifcontemplating with horror the debased condition of those in whosehands an unjust law has placed his life. 

As the uproar and confusion die away, and the court resumes itsdignity, Mr. Grabguy, again asserting his position of a gentleman, says he is not ashamed to declare his conviction to be, that hishonour is not in a fit state to try a "nigger" of his: in fact, thetruth must be told, he would not have him sit in judgment upon hisspaniel. 

At this most unwarranted declaration Fetter rises from his judicialchair, his feelings burning with rage, and bounds over the table atGrabguy, prostrating his brother Felsh, tables, benches, chairs, andeverything else in his way, --making the confusion complete. Severalgentlemen interpose between Fetter; but before he can reach Grabguy, who is no small man in physical strength--which he has developed byfighting his way "through many a crowd" on election days-thatmunicipal dignitary is ejected, sans ceremonie, into the street. 

"Justice to me! My honest rights, for which I laboured when he gaveme no bread, would have saved him his compunction of conscience: Iwanted nothing more, " says Nicholas, raising the side of his coarsejacket, and wiping the sweat from his brow. 

"Silence there!" demands an official, pointing his tipstaff, andpunching him on the shoulder. 

Grabguy goes to his home, considering and reconsidering his owncourse. His heart repeats the admonition, "Thou art the wrong-doer, Grabguy!" It haunts his very soul; it lays bare the sources fromwhence the slave's troubles flow; places the seal of aggression onthe state. It is a question with him, whether the state, through itslaws, or Messrs. Fetter and Felsh, through the justice meted out attheir court, play the baser part. 

A crowd of anxious persons have gathered about the door, making thevery air resound with their shouts of derision. Hans VonVickeinsteighner, his fat good-natured face shining like a pumpkinon a puncheon, and his red cap dangling above the motley faces ofthe crowd, moves glibly about, and says they are having a rightjolly good time at the law business within. 

Fetter, again taking his seat, apologises to the jury, to thepersons present, and to his learned brother, Felsh. He is very sorryfor this ebullition of passion; but they may be assured it wascalled forth by the gross insult offered to all present. "Continuethe witnesses as fast as possible, " he concludes, with a methodicalbow. 

Mr. Monsel steps forward: he relates the fierce attempt made uponhis life; has no doubt the prisoner meant to kill him, and raise aninsurrection. "It is quite enough; Mr. Monsel may stand down, "interposes Felsh, with an air of dignity. 

Paul Vampton, an intelligent negro, next bears testimony. Thecriminal at the bar (Paul does not believe he has a drop of negroblood in his veins) more than once told him his wife and childrenwere sold from him, his rights stripped from him, the hopes ofgaining his freedom for ever gone. Having nothing to live for, hecoveted death, because it was more honourable to die in defence ofjustice, than live the crawling slave of a tyrant's rule. 

"I feel constrained to stop the case, gentlemen of the jury, "interposes his honour, rising from his seat. "The evidence alreadyadduced is more than sufficient to establish the conviction. "

A juror at Terrance M'Quade's right, touches that gentleman on theshoulder: he had just cooled away into a nice sleep: "I think so, too, yer 'oner, " rejoins Terrance, in half bewilderment, startingnervously and rubbing his eyes. 

A few mumbled words from his honour serve as a charge to the jury. They know the law, and have the evidence before them. "I see not, gentlemen, how you can render a verdict other than guilty; but that, let me here say, I shall leave to your more mature deliberation. "With these concluding remarks his honour sips his mixture, and sitsdown. 

Gentlemen of the jury rise from their seats, and form into a circle;Mr. Felsh coolly turns over the leaves of the statutes; the audiencemutter to themselves; the prisoner stares vacantly over the scene, as if heedless of the issue. 

"Guilty! it's that we've made it; and the divil a thing else wecould make out of it, " exclaims Terrance M'Quade, as they, after themature length of two minutes' consultation, turn and face hishonour. They pause for a reply. 

"Stand up, prisoner!"

"Hats off during the sentence!" rejoins a constable. 

"Guilty. " His honour rises to his feet with ponderous dignity topronounce the awful sentence. "Gentlemen, I must needs complimentyour verdict; you could have come to no other. " His honour bowsgracefully to the jury, reminds gentlemen present of the solemnoccasion, and will hear what the prisoner has to say for himself. 

An angry frown pervades the prisoner's face. He has nothing to say. Burning tears course down his cheeks; but they are not tears ofcontrition, --Oh, no! he has no such tears to shed. Firmly andresolutely he says, "Guilty! guilty! yes, I am guilty-guilty by theguilty laws of a guilty land. You are powerful-I am weak; you havemight-I have right. Mine is not a chosen part. Guilty on earth, mysoul will be innocent in heaven; and before a just judge will mycause be proclaimed, before a holy tribunal my verdict received, andby angels my soul be enrolled among the righteous. Your earthly lawseals my lips; your black judgment-enough to make heaven frown andearth tremble, fearing justice-crushes the man; but you cannot judgethe spirit. In fear and trembling your wrongs will travel brokenpaths-give no man rest. I am guilty with you; I am innocent inheaven. He who judgeth all things right, receives the innocent soulinto his bosom; and He will offer repentance to him who takes theinnocent life. " He pauses, as his eye, with intense stare, restsupon his honour. 

"You are through?" enquires his honour, raising his eyebrows. 

"In this court of justice, " firmly replies the prisoner. 

"Order in the court!" is echoed from several voices. 

"Nicholas-Nicholas Grabguy! the offence for which you standconvicted is one for which I might, according to the laws of theland, pronounce a more awful sentence than the one now resolvedupon. But the advanced and enlightened spirit of the age calls for amore humane manner of taking life and inflicting punishments. Neverbefore has it been my lot to pass sentence-although I havepronounced the awful benediction on very many-on so valuable andintelligent a slave. I regret your master's loss as much as Isympathise with your condition; and yet I deplore the hardened anddefiant spirit you yet evince. And permit me here to say, that whileyou manifest such an unyielding spirit there is no hope of pardon. Nicholas! you have been tried before a tribunal of the land, by thelaws of your state, and found guilty by a tribunal of competent men. Nothing is now left for me but to pass sentence upon you inaccordance with the law. The sentence of the court is, that you betaken hence to the prison from whence you came, and on this dayweek, at twelve o'clock, from thence to the gallows erected in theyard thereof, and there and then be hanged by the neck until you aredead; and may the Lord have mercy on your soul!"

His honour, concluding nervously, orders the jury to be dismissed, and the court adjourned. 

How burns the inward hate of the oppressed culprit, as mutely, hishands pinioned, and the heavy chain about his neck, he is led awayto his prison-house, followed by a deriding crowd. "Come that happyday, when men will cease to make their wrong fire my very blood!" hesays, firmly marching to the place of death. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

PROSPERITY THE RESULT OF JUSTICE. 

TEN years have rolled into the past since the Rosebrook family-movedby a sense of right to enquire into the errors of a bad system oflabour-resolved to try the working of a new scheme. There was to beno cutting, nor lashing, nor abusing with overburdening tasks. Education was to regulate the feelings, kindness to expand thesympathies, and justice to bind the affections and stimulateadvancement. There were only some fifty negroes on the Rosebrookplantation, but its fame for raising great crops had resounded farand wide. Some planters said it "astonished everything, " consideringhow much the Rosebrooks indulged their slaves. With a third less innumber of hands, did they raise more and better cotton than theirneighbours; and then everything was so neat and bright about theplantation, and everybody looked so cheerful and sprightly. WhenRosebrook's cotton was sent into the market, factors said it wascharacteristic of his systemised negroes; and when his negroesrolled into the city, as they did on holidays, all brightened upwith new clothes, everybody said-There were Rosebrook's dandy, fat, and saucy "niggers. " And then the wise prophets, who had all alongpredicted that Rosebrook's project would never amount to much, saidit was all owing to his lady, who was worth her weight in gold atmanaging negroes. And she did conceive the project, too; and herhelping hand was felt like a quickening spring, giving new life tothe physical being. That the influence might not be lost upon othersof her sex in the same sphere of life, she was ever reasoning uponthe result of female sympathy. She felt that, were it exercisedproperly, it could raise up the menial slave, awaken his inertenergies, give him those moral guides which elevate his passivenature, and regenerate that manhood which provides for its own good. 

They had promised their people that all children born at and after agiven date should be free; that all those over sixty should benominally free, the only restriction being the conditions imposed bythe state law; that slaves under fifteen years of age, and able todo plantation work, should, during the ten years prescribed, beallowed for their extra labour at a given rate, and expected to havethe sum of two hundred and fifty dollars set to their credit; thatall prime people should be required to work a given number of hours, as per task, for master, beyond which they would be allotted a"patch" for cultivation, the products of which were entrusted toRosebrook for sale, and the proceeds placed in missus' savings bankto their credit. The people had all fulfilled the requiredconditions ere the ten years expired; and a good round sum for extraearnings was found in the bank. The Rosebrooks kept faith with theirslaves; and the happy result is, that Rosebrook, in addition to themoral security he has founded for the good of his people-and whichsecurity is a boon of protection between master and slave-has beendoubly repaid by the difference in amount of product, the result ofencouragement incited by his enlightened system. The family werebound in affection to their slaves; and the compact has given forthits peaceful products for a good end. Each slave being paid for hisor her labour, there is no decline of energy, no disaffection, noclashing of interests, no petulant disobedience. Rosebrook finds hissystem the much better of the two. It has relieved him of a deal ofcare; he gets more work for less money; he laughs at his neighbours, who fail to raise as much cotton with double the number of negroes;and he knows that his negroes love instead of fear him. And yet, notwithstanding the proof he has produced, the whole district ofplanters look upon him with suspicion, consider him rather adangerous innovator, and say, that while his foolish system cannotbe other than precarious to the welfare of the state, time willprove it a monster fallacy. 

A happy moment was it when the time rolled round, and the morning ofthe day upon which Rosebrook would proclaim the freedom of hispeople broke serenely forth. The cabins looked bright and airy, weresanded and whitewashed, and, surrounded by their neatly attiredinhabitants, presented a picturesque appearance. It was to be agreat gala-day, and the bright morning atmosphere seemed propitiousof the event. Daddy Daniel had got a new set of shiny brass buttonsput on his long blue coat, and an extremely broad white cravat forhis neck. Daniel was a sort of lawgiver for the plantation, and satin judgment over all cases brought before him, with great gravity ofmanner. As to his judgments, they were always pronounced withwondrous solemnity, and in accordance with what he conceived to bethe most direct process of administering even-handed justice. Daddywas neither a democrat nor an unjust judge. Believing that it werebetter to forgive than inflict undue punishments, he would rathershame the transgressor, dismiss him with a firm admonition to dobetter, and bid him go, transgress no more!

Harry had prepared a new sermon for the eventful day; and with it hewas to make his happy flock remember the duty which they wouldhenceforth owe to those who had been their kind protectors, as wellas the promoters of that system which would result in happier days. How vivid of happiness was that scene presented in the plantationchurch, where master and missus, surrounded by their faithful oldslaves, who, with a patriarchal attachment, seemed to view them withreverence, sat listening to the fervent discourse of that oncewretched slave, now, by kindness, made a man! Deep, soul-stirring, and affecting to tears, were the words of prayer with which thatdevout negro invoked the all-protecting hand of Almighty God, thathe would guide master and slave through the troubles of this earthlystage, and receive them into his bosom. How in contrast with thatwaging of passion, and every element of evil that has its source ininjustice, so rife of plantation life, was the picture herepresented!

The service ended, Rosebrook addresses a few remarks to his people;after which they gather around him and pour forth their gratitude ingenial sentiments. Old and young have a "Heaven save master!" forRosebrook, and a "God bless missus!" for his noble-hearted lady, towhom they cling, shaking her hand with warmest affection. 

How enviable to her sex is the position of that woman who laboursfor the fallen, and whose heart yields its kindred sympathy for theoppressed!

After congratulations and tokens of affection had been exchanged, master, missus, and the people-for such they now were-repaired tothe green in front of the plantation mansion, where a sumptuouscollation was spread out, to which all sat down in one harmoniouscircle. Then the festivities of the day-a 4th of July inminiature-ended with a gathering at Dad Daniel's cabin, where heprofoundly laid down a system of rules for the future observance ofthe people. 

Six months have passed under the new r‚gime; and Rosebrook, feelingthat to require labour of his people for a sum much beneath itsvalue must in time become a source from which evil results wouldflow, awarded them a just and adequate remuneration, and finds itwork well. Harry had not been included among those who were enrolledas candidates for the enjoyment offered by the new system; butmissus as well as master had confidentially promised him he shouldbe free before many years, and with his family, if he desired, sentto Liberia, to work for the enlightenment of his fellow Africans. Harry was not altogether satisfied that the greater amount of labourto be done by him for the unfortunate of his race was beyond thesouthern democratic states of America; and, with this doubtinstinctively before him, he was not restless for the consummation. 

Some three months after the introduction of the new state ofaffairs, Dad Daniel was observed to have something weighing heavilyon his mind. At times he was seen consulting seriously with Harry;but of the purport of these consultations no one, except themselves, was made acquainted. That very many venerable uncles and aunts werecurious to know Daddy's secret contemplations was equally evident. At length Daniel called a meeting of his more aged and sagaciousbrethren, and with sage face made known his cherished project. Absalom and Uncle Cato listened with breathless suspense as the sagesayings fell from his lips. His brethren had all felt the sweetpleasures of justice, right, freedom, and kindness. "Well, den, broderin, is't 'um right in de sight ob de Lord, dat ye forgets datbroder what done so much fo'h ye body and ye soul too?"

"No, No! dat tisn't!" interrupted a dozen voices. 

"Well, den!-I know'd, broderin, ye hab got da' bright spirit in ye, and wouldn't say 'twas!" Daniel continues, making a gesture with hisleft hand, as he raises the spectacles from his eyes with his right, and in his fervency lets them speed across the room. Daniel is onlymade conscious of his ecstasy when his broken eyes are returned tohim. Turning to his brethren, he makes one of his very bestapologies, and continues-"Dis ar poposition I'se gwine to put! Anddat is, dat all ye broderin ere present put up somefin ob he arnin, and wid dat somefin, and what mas'r gib, too, we sarve dat gemanwhat preach the gospel dat do 'em good wid 'e freedom for sef andfamily. Tain't right in de sight ob de Lor, nohow, to have preacherslave and congration free: I tell ye dat, my broderin, tain't!" Withthese sage remarks, Daddy Daniel concluded his proposition, leanedhis body forward, spread his hands, and, his wrinkled face filledwith comicality, waited the unanimous response which sounded forthin rapturous medley. Each one was to put in his mite, the preacherwas to have a fund made up for him, which was to be placed in thehands of missus, and when sufficiently large (master will add hismite) be handed over for the freedom of the clergyman and hisfamily. But missus, ever generous and watchful of their interests, had learned their intentions, and forestalled their kindness byherself setting them free, and leaving it to their own discretion togo where they will. There were many good men at the south-men whosecare of their slaves constituted a bond of good faith; but theyfailed to carry out means for protecting the slave against themendacity of the tyrant. None more than Harry had felt howimplicated was the state for giving great power to tyrantdemocracy-that democracy giving him no common right under the lawsof the land, unless, indeed, he could change his skin. Ardently ashe was attached to the plantation and its people-much as he lovedgood master and missus, he would prefer a home in happy New England, a peaceful life among its liberty-loving people. To this end theRosebrooks provided him with money, sent him to the land he hadlonged to live in. In Connecticut he has a neat and comfortablehome, far from the cares of slave life; no bloodhounds seek himthere, no cruel slave-dealer haunts his dreams. An intelligentfamily have grown up around him; their smiles make him happy; theywelcome him as a father who will no more be torn from them and soldin a democratic slave mart. And, too, Harry is a hearty worker inthe cause of freedom, preaches the gospel, and is the inventor of asystem of education by which he hopes to elevate the fallen of hisrace. He has visited foreign lands, been listened to by dukes andnobles, and enlisted the sympathies of the lofty in the cause of thelowly. And while his appeals on behalf of his race are fervent andfiery, his expositions of the wrongs of slavery are equally fierce;but he is not ungrateful to the good master, whom he would elevatehigh above the cruel laws he is born and educated to observe. Withgratitude and affection does he recur to the generous Rosebrooks; hewould hold them forth as an example to the slave world, and emblazontheir works on the pages of history, as proof of what can be done. Bright in his eventful life, was the day, when, about to take hisdeparture from the slave world, he bid the Rosebrooks a long, longgood by. He vividly remembers how hope seemed lighting up theprospect before him-how good missus shook his hand so motherly-howkindly she spoke to Jane, and how fondly she patted his little oneson the head. "The Rosebrooks, " says our restored clergyman, "havenothing to fear save the laws of the state, which may one day maketyrranny crumble beneath its own burden. "

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

IN WHICH THE FATE OF FRANCONIA IS SEEN. 

THE reader may remember that in a former chapter we left Annette andFranconia, in company of the stranger, on board the steamer forWilmington, swiftly gliding on her course. Four bells struck as thesurging craft cleared the headlands and shaped her course. Theslender invalid, so neat of figure, and whose dress exhibited somuch good taste, has been suddenly transformed into a delicate girlof some seventeen summers. As night spreads its shadows over thebriny scene, and the steaming craft surges onward over rollingswells, this delicate girl may be seen emerging from her cabinconfines, leaning on Franconia's arm as she approaches the promenadedeck. Her fawn-coloured dress, setting as neatly as it ischastefully cut, displays a rounded form nicely compact; and, together with a drawn bonnet of green silk, simply arranged, andadding to her fair oval face an air of peculiar delicacy, presenther with personal attractions of no ordinary character. And then hersoft blue eyes, and her almost golden hair, hanging in thick wavyfolds over her carnatic cheeks, add to the symmetry of her featuresthat sweetness which makes modesty more fascinating. And though shehas been but a slave, there is a glow of gentleness pervading hercountenance, over which a playful smile now sheds a glow ofvivacity, as if awakening within her bosom new hopes of the future. 

The suddenness with which they embarked served to confuse and dispelall traces of recognition; and even the stranger, as they advancedtoward him, hesitated ere he greeted Annette and extended his hand. But they soon joined in conversation, promenaded and mingled withthe passengers. Cautious not to enter the main cabin, they remained, supperless, on the upper deck, until near midnight. That socialprejudice which acts like a crushing weight upon the slave's mindwas no longer to deaden her faculties; no, she seemed like a newbeing, as, with childish simplicity, her soul bounded forth inrhapsody of praise and thankfulness. Holding Franconia by the hand, she would kiss her, fondle her head on her bosom, and continue torecount the pleasure she anticipated when meeting her long-lostmother. "They'll sell me no more, Franconia, will they?" she wouldexclaim, looking enquiringly in her face. 

"No, my poor child; you won't be worth selling in a land offreedom!" Franconia would answer, jocosely. After charging Maxwellto be a father and a brother to the fugitive girl, --to remember thata double duty was to be performed in his guardianship over the beingwho had just escaped from slavery, they retired below, and on thefollowing morning found themselves safely landed at Wilmington, where, after remaining about six hours, Franconia bid Annette andMaxwell adieu! saw them on their way to New York, and returned toCharleston by the same steamer. 

On reaching her home, she was overjoyed at finding a letter from herparents, who, as set forth, had many years resided on the west coastof Mexico, and had amassed a considerable fortune through aconnection with some mining operations. Lorenzo, on the firstdiscovery of gold in California, having joined a marauding party whowere traversing that country, was amongst the earliest who enrichedthemselves from its bountiful yield. They gave up their wildpursuits, and with energy and prudence stored-up their diggings, andresolved to lead a new life. With the result of one year's digging, Lorenzo repaired to San Francisco, entered upon a lucrativebusiness, increased his fortune, and soon became a leading man ofthe place. The hope that at some day he would have means wherewithto return home, wipe away the stain which blotted his character, andrelieve his parents from the troubles into which his follies hadbrought them, seemed like a guiding star ever before him. And thenthere was his generous-hearted uncle in the hands of Graspum, --thatman who never lost an opportunity of enriching himself whiledistressing others. And now, by one of those singularities offortune which give persons long separated a key to each other'swayfaring, Lorenzo had found out the residence of his parents on thewest coast of Mexico. Yes; he was with them, enjoying the comfortsof their domicile, at the date of their letter. How happy they wouldbe to see their Franconia, to have her with them, and once moreenjoy their social re-unions so pleasantly given on brotherMarston's plantation! Numberless were the letters they had writtenher, but not an answer to one had been received. This had been tothem a source of great misgiving; and as a last resource they hadsent this letter enclosed to a friend, through whose kindness itreached her. 

The happy intelligence brought by this letter so overjoyed Franconiathat she could with difficulty restrain her feelings. Tears ofgladness coursed down her cheeks, as she rested her head on Mrs. Rosebrook's bosom, saying, "Oh, how happy I am! Sweet is theforgiveness which awaits us, --strong is the hope that throughdarkness carries us into brighter prospects of the future. " Herparents were yet alive-happy and prosperous; her brother, again anhonourable man, and regretting that error which cost him many atear, was with them. How inscrutable was the will of an all-wiseProvidence: but how just! To be ever sanguine, and hope for thebest, is a passion none should be ashamed of, she thought. Thuselated in spirits she could not resist the temptation of seekingthem out, and enjoying the comforts of their parental roof. 

But we must here inform the reader that M'Carstrow no longer actedthe part of a husband towards Franconia. His conduct as a debaucheehad driven her to seek shelter under the roof of Rosebrook'scottage, while he, a degraded libertine, having wasted his livingamong cast-out gamblers, mingled only with their despicable society. Stripped of all arts and disguises, and presented in its best form, the result of Franconia's marriage with Colonel M'Carstrow was butone of those very many unhappy connections so characteristic ofsouthern life. 

Provided with funds which the generous Rosebrooks kindly furnishedher, a fortnight after the receipt of her father's letter found herembarked on board a steamer bound for the Isthmus, from whence shewould seek her parents overland. With earnest resolution she hadtaken a fond leave of the Rosebrooks, and bid adieu to that home andits associations so dear to her childhood; and with God and happyassociations her guide and her protector, was bounding over the sea. For three days the gallant ship sped swiftly onward, and thepassengers, among whom she made many friends, seemed to enjoythemselves with one accord, mingling together for variousamusements, spreading their social influence for the good of all, and, with elated spirits at the bright prospect, anticipating aspeedy voyage. All was bright, calm, and cheering-the monstermachines working smoothly, pressing the leviathan forward withcurling brine at her bows, until the afternoon of the fourth day, when the wind in sharp gusts from the south-west, and the suddenfalling of the barometer, admonished the mariner of the approachingheavy weather. At sunset a heavy bank in the west hung itsforeboding festoons along the horizon, while light, fleecy cloudsgathered over the heavens, and scudded swiftly into the east. Steadily the wind increased, the sea became restless, and the sharpchops thundering at the weather bow, veering the ship from hercourse, rendering it necessary to keep her head a point nearer thewestward, betokened a gale. To leeward were the Bahamas, theirdangerous banks spreading awe among the passengers, and exciting thefears of the more timid. On the starboard bow was Key West, with itsthreatening and deceptive reefs, but far enough ahead to be out ofdanger. At midnight, the wind, which had increased to a gale, howledin threatening fierceness. Overhead, the leaden clouds hung lowtheir massive folds, and thick spray buried the decks and rigging;beneath, the angry ocean spread out in resistless waves ofphosphorous light, and the gallant craft surged to and fro like athing of life on a plain of rolling fire. Now she yields to themonster wave threatening her bow, over another she rides proudly, and to a third her engines slowly rumble round, as with half-burieddeck she careens to its force. The man at the wheel, whose head wesee near a glimmering light at the stern, watches anxiously for theword of command, and when received, executes it with quickness. Anintruding sea has driven the look-out from the knight-heads to apost at the funnel, where, near the foremast, he clings withtenacious grip. Near him is the first officer, a veteran seaman, whohas seen some twenty years' service, receiving orders from thecaptain, who stands at the weather quarter. Noiselessly the menproceed to execute their duties. There is not that bustle nordisplay of seamanship, in preparing a steamer for encountering agale, so necessary in a sailing-ship; and all, save the angryelements, move cautiously on. The engineer, in obedience to thecaptain's orders, has slowed his engines. The ship can make butlittle headway against the fierce sea; but still, obedient to hercommand, it is thought better to maintain power just sufficient tokeep her head to the sea. The captain says it is necessary, as wellto ease her working as not to strain her machinery. He is supposedthe better judge, and to his counsel all give ear. Now and then amore resolute passenger shoots from no one knows where, holdsstruggling by the jerking shroud, and, wrapt in his storm cloak, hisamazed eyes, watching the scudding elements overhead, peer out uponthe raging sea: then he mutters, "What an awful sight! how madlygrand with briny light!" How sublimely terrific are the elementshere combined to wage war against the craft he thought safe fromtheir thunders! She is but a pigmy in their devouring sweep, afeeble prey at their mercy. The starboard wheel rumbles as it turnsfar out of water; the larboard is buried in a deep sea the shipcareens into. Through the fierce drear he sees the black funnelvomiting its fiery vapour high aloft; he hears the chain bracesstrain and creak in its support; he is jerked from his grasp, becomes alarmed for his safety, and suddenly disappears. In thecabin he tells his fellow voyagers how the storm rages fearfully:but it needed not his word to confirm the fact: the sudden lurching, creaking of panel-work, swinging to and fro of lamps, sliding fromlarboard to starboard of furniture, the thumping of the sea againstthe ship's sides, prostrate passengers made helpless by seasickness, uncouched and distributed about the floor, moaningfemales, making those not ill sick with their wailings, timidpassengers in piteous accents making their lamentations in staterooms, the half frightened waiter struggling timidly along, and thewind's mournful music as it plays through the shrouds, tell the talebut too forcibly. Hope, fear, and prayer, mingle in curious discordon board this seemingly forlorn ship on an angry sea. Franconia liesprostrate in her narrow berth, now bracing against the panels, thenstartled by an angry sea striking at her pillow, like death with hiswarning mallet announcing, "but sixteen inches separate us!"

Daylight dawns forth, much to the relief of mariners and passengers;but neither the wind nor the sea have lessened their fierceness. Slowly and steadily the engines work on; the good ship looksdefiantly at each threatening sea, as it sweeps along irresistibly;the yards have been sent down, the topmasts are struck and housed;everything that can render her easy in a sea has been stowed to thesnuggest compass; but the broad ocean is spread out a sheet ofraging foam. The drenched captain, his whiskers matted with saline, and his face glowing and flushed (he has stood the deck all night), may be seen in the main cabin, cheering and dispelling the fears ofhis passengers. The storm cannot last-the wind will soon lull-thesea at meridian will be as calm as any mill-pond-he has seen athousand worse gales; so says the mariner, who will pledge hisprophecy on his twenty years' experience. But in this one instancehis prophecy failed, for at noon the gale had increased to ahurricane, the ship laboured fearfully, the engines strained andworked unsteadily, while the sea at intervals made a breach of thedeck. At two o'clock a more gloomy spectacle presented itself; anddespondency seemed to have seized all on board, as a sharp, cone-like sea boarded the ship abaft, carried away the quarter-boatsfrom the starboard davys, and started several stancheons. Scarcelywas the work of destruction complete, when the condenser of thelarboard engine gave out, rendering the machine useless, andspreading dismay among the passengers. Thus, dragging the wheel inso fearful a sea strained the ship more and more, and rendered heralmost unmanageable. Again a heavy, clanking noise was heard, thesteam rumbled from the funnel, thick vapour escaped from thehatchways, the starboard engine stopped, and consternation reignedtriumphant, as a man in oily fustian approached the captain andannounced both engines disabled. The unmanageable monster now rolledand surged at the sweep of each succeeding sea, which threatened toengulph her in its sway. A piece of canvas is set in the mainrigging, and her helm put hard down, in the hope of keeping her headto the wind. But she obeys not its direction. Suddenly she yaws offinto the trough of the sea, lurches broad on, and ere she regainsher way, a fierce sea sweeps the house from the decks, carryingthose within it into a watery grave. Shrieks and moans, for amoment, mingle their painful discord with the murmuring wind, andall is buried in the roar of the elements. By bracing the fore-yardhard-a-starboard the unwieldy wreck is got before the wind; but thesmoke-funnel has followed the house, and so complete is the work ofdemolition that it is with difficulty she can be kept afloat. Thosewho were in the main, or lower cabin, startled at the sudden crashwhich had removed the house above, and leaving the passages open, exposing them to the rushing water that invaded their state-rooms, seek the deck, where a more dismal sight is presented in thefragments of wreck spread from knight-head to taffrail. The anxiouscaptain, having descended from the upper deck a few minutes beforethe dire calamity, is saved to his passengers, with whom and his menhe labours to make safe what remains of his noble ship. Now more atease in the sea, with canvas brought from the store-rooms, are thehatches and companions battened down, the splintered stancheonscleared away, and extra pumps prepared for clearing the water fastgaining in the lower hold. Lumbering moves the heavy mass over themounting surge; but a serious leak having sprung in the bow, consternation and alarm seem on the point of adding to the sourcesof danger. "Coolness is our safeguard, " says the captain. Indeed, the exercise of that all-important virtue when destruction threatenswould have saved thousands from watery graves. 

His admonition was heeded, --all worked cheerfully, and for some timethe water was kept within bounds of subjection. As night approachedthe sea became calmer, a bright streak gleamed along the westernhorizon; hearts that had sorrowed gladdened with joy, as the murkyclouds overhead chased quickly into the east and dissolved, and theblue arch of heaven-hung with pearly stars of hope-shed its peacefulglows over the murmuring sea. 

Again the night was passed in incessant labour of pumping andclearing up the dismantled hull; but when daylight appeared, thewind having veered and increased, the sea ran in short swells, rocking the unwieldly hull, and fearfully straining every timber inits frame. The leak now increased rapidly, as also did the water inthe hold, now beyond their exertions to clear. At ten o'clock allhopes of keeping the wreck afloat had disappeared; and the lastalternative of a watery grave, or launching upon the broad ocean, presented its stern terms for their acceptance. A council decided toadopt the latter, when, as the hulk began to settle in the sea, andwith no little danger of swamping, boats were launched, suppliedwith such stores as were at hand, the passengers and crew embarked, and the frail barks sent away with their hapless freight to seek ahaven of safety. The leviathan hulk soon disappeared from sight. Franconia, with twenty-five fellow unfortunates, five of whom werefemales, had embarked in the mate's boat, which now shaped hercourse for Nassau, the wind having veered into the north-west, andthat seeming the nearest and most available point. The clothing theystood in was all they saved; but with that readiness to protect thefemale, so characteristic and noble of the sailor, the mate and hismen lightened the sufferings of the women by giving them a portionof their own: incasing them with their jackets and fearnoughts, theywould shield them from the night chill. For five days weresufferings endured without a murmur that can only be appreciated bythose who have passed through shipwreck, or, tossed upon the oceanin an open boat, been left to stare in the face grim hunger anddeath. At noonday they sighted land ahead; and as each eager eyestrained for the welcome sight, it seemed rising from the ocean in adim line of haze. Slowly, as they neared, did it come bolder andbolder to view, until it shone out a long belt of white panoramicbanks. Low, and to the unpractised eye deceptive of distance, themate pronounced it not many miles off, and, the wind fresheningfair, kept the little bark steadily on her course, hoping thereby togain it before night came on: but the sun sank in a heavy cloud whenyet some four miles intervened. Distinctly they saw a cluster ofhouses on a projecting point nearly ahead; but not a sail was offshore, to which the increasing wind was driving them with greatviolence. 

And now that object which had been sighted with so much welcome inthe morning-that had cheered many a drooping heart, and seemed ahaven of safety, threatened their destruction. The water shoaled;the sea broke and surged in sharp cones; the little craft tippledand yawed confusedly; the counter eddies twirled and whirled infoaming concaves; and leaden clouds again hung their threateningfestoons over the awful sea. To lay her head to the sea wasimpracticable-an attempt to "lay-to" under the little sail would bemadness; onward she rode, hurrying to an inevitable fate. Away sheswept through the white crests, as the wind murmured and the searoared, and the anxious countenance of the mate, still guiding thecraft with a steady hand, seemed masked in watchfulness. His handremained firm to the helm, his eyes peered into the black prospectahead: but not a word did he utter. 

It was near ten o'clock, when a noise as of thunder rolling in thedistance, and re-echoing in booming accents, broke fearfully upontheir ears. The sea, every moment threatening to engulph the littlecraft, to sweep its freight of human beings into eternity, and toseal for ever all traces of their fate, was now the lesser enemy. Not a word had escaped the lips of a being on board for severalminutes; all seemed resigned to whatever fate Providence awarded. 

"The beach roars, Mr. Slade-"

The mate interrupted before the seaman in the sheets had time tofinish his sentence: "I have not been deaf to the breakers; butthere is no hope for us but upon the beach; and may heaven save usthere! Passengers, be calm! let me enjoin you to remain firm to yourplaces, and, if it be God's will that we strike, the curling surfmay be our deliverer. If it carry you to the sand in its sweep, press quickly and resolutely forward, lest it drag you back in itsgrasp, and bury you beneath its angry surge. Be firm, and hope forthe best!" he said, with great firmness. The man who first spoke satnear Franconia, and during the five days they had been in the boatexhibited great sympathy and kindness of heart. He had served herwith food, and, though a common sailor, displayed those traits oftenderness for the suffering which it were well if those in higherspheres of life did but imitate. As the mate ceased speaking, theman took his pilot coat from his shoulder and placed it aboutFranconia's, saying, "I will save this lady, or die with her in thevery same sea. "

"That's well done, Mr. Higgins!" (for such was the man's name). "Letthe hardiest not forget the females who have shown so much fortitudeunder trying circumstances; let the strong not forget the weak, butall save who can, " returned the mate, as he scanned through thestormy elements ahead, in the hope of catching a glimpse of thepoint. 

Drenched with the briny spray that swept over the little bark, neverdid woman exhibit fortitude more resolute. Franconia thanked the manfor his solicitude, laid her hand nervously upon his arm, and, through the dark, watched his countenance as if her fate was in itschanges. 

The din and murmur of the surf now rose high above the wail of thesea. Fearful and gloomy, a fretted shore stood out before them, extending from a bold jut on the starboard hand away into thedarkness on the left. Beneath it the angry surf beat and lashedagainst the beach in a sheet of white foam, roaring in dismalcadences. 

"Hadn't you better put her broad on, Mr. Slade?" enquired the youngseaman, peering along the line of surf that bordered the shore withits deluging bank. 

"Ask no questions!" returned the mate, in a firm voice: "Act to themoment, when she strikes-I will act until then. " At the moment aterrific rumbling broke forth; the din of elements seemed in battleconflict; the little bark, as if by some unforeseen force, sweptthrough the lashing surge, over a high curling wave, and with afearful crash lay buried in the boiling sand. Agonising shriekssounded amid the rage of elements; and then fainter and fainter theydied away on the wind's murmurs. Another moment, and the youngsailor might have been seen, Franconia's slender form in his arms, struggling against the devouring surf; but how vain against thefierce monster were his noble efforts! The receding surge swept themfar from the shore, and buried them in its folds, --a watery gravereceived the fair form of one whose life of love had been spotless, just, and holy. The white wave was her winding-sheet, --the wind sanga requiem over her watery grave, --and a just God received her spirit, and enthroned it high among the angels. 

Of the twenty-seven who embarked in the little craft, but two gainedthe beach, where they stood drenched and forlorn, as ifcontemplating the raging surf that had but a minute before swallowedup their fellow voyagers. The boat had driven on a flat sandy beachsome two miles from the point on which stood the cluster ofdwellings before described; and from which two bright lightsglimmered, like beacons to guide the forlorn mariner. For them, theescaped men-one a passenger, the other a seaman-shaped their course, wet, and sad at heart. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

IN WHICH IS A SAD RECOGNITION. 

THE mate did not mistake his position, for the jut of land wedescribed in the last chapter is but a few hours' ride from Nassau, and the houses are inhabited by wreckers. With desponding hearts didour unfortunates approach one of the rude cabins, from the window ofwhich a faint light glimmered, and hesitate at the door, as ifdoubting the reception they were about to receive. The roaring ofthe beach, and the sharp whistling of the wind, as in clouds itscattered the sand through the air, drowned what sound mightotherwise be heard from within. "This cabin seems deserted, " saysone, as he taps on the door a second time. "No, that cannot be!"returns the other, peering through a small window into thebarrack-like room. It was from this window the light shone, and, being a bleak November night, a wood fire blazed on the greathearth, shedding its lurid glows over everything around. It is thepale, saline light of wreckwood. A large binnacle lamp, of copper, hung from the centre of the ceiling, its murky light mingling incurious contrast to the pale shadows of the wreckwood fire. Rudechains, and chests, and boxes, and ropes, and canvas, and brokenbolts of copper, and pieces of valuable wood, and various nauticalrelics-all indicating the trade of shipwreck, lie or standpromiscuously about the room; while in the centre is a tablesurrounded by chairs, some of which are turned aside, as if theoccupants had just left. Again, there may be seen hanging from theunplastered walls numerous teeth of fish, bones and jaws of sharks, fins and flukes of curious species, heads of the Floridianmamalukes, and preserved dolphins-all is interspersed here and therewith coloured prints, illustrative of Jack's leaving or returning tohis favourite Mary, with a lingering farewell or fond embrace. 

Louder and louder, assured of some living being within they knock atthe door, until a hoarse voice rather roars than speaks-"Aye, aye!hold hard a bit! I'se bearin' a hand!" The sound came as if from theclouds, for not a living being was visible. A pause followed; thensuddenly a pair of dingy legs and feet descended from a smallopening above the window, which, until that moment, had escapedtheir notice. The sight was, indeed, not the most encouraging toweak nerves. Clumsily lowered the legs, the feet making a ladder ofcleets of wood nailed to the window, until the burly figure of thewrecker, encased with red shirt and blue trousers, stood out full toview. Over his head stood bristly hair in jagged tufts; and as hedrew his brawny hand over the broad disc of his sun-scorched face, winking and twisting his eyes in the glare, there stood boldlyoutlined on his features the index of his profession. He shruggedhis shoulders, gathered his nether garments quickly about him, paused as if half confused and half overjoyed, then ran to thefire-place, threw into a heap the charred wood with a long woodenpoker, and sought the door, saying--"Avast heavin a bit, Tom!" Havingremoved a wooden bar, he stands in the opening, braving out thestorm. "A screachin nor'easter this, Tom--what'r ye sighted away, eh!" he concludes. He is--to use a vulgar term--aghast with surprise. It was Tom Dasher's watch to-night; but no Tom stands before him. "Hallo!--From whence came you?" he enquires of the stranger, with anair of anxious surprise. He bids them come in, for the wind carriesthe sand rushing into his domicile. 

"We are shipwrecked men in distress, " says the passenger--thewrecker, with an air of kindness, motioning them to sit down: "Ourparty have been swallowed up in the surf a short distance below, andwe are the only survivors here seeking shelter. "

"Zounds you say--God be merciful!" interrupts the hardy wrecker, erethe stranger had time to finish his sentence. "It was Tom's look-outto-night. Its ollers the way wi' him--he gits turned in, and sleepsas niver a body see'd, and when time comes to unbunk himself, onedisn't know whether 'ts wind or Tom's snoarin cracks hardest. Well, well, --God help us! Think ye now, if wife and I, didn't, in a halfsort of dream, fancy folks murmuring and crying on the beach abouttwelve, say. But the wind and the surf kept up such a piping, andTom said ther war nought a sight at sundown. " With a warm expressionof good intention did our hardy host set about the preparingsomething to cheer their drooping spirits. "Be at home there wi'me, " says he; "and if things b'nt as fine as they might be, rememberwe're poor folks, and have many a hard knock on the reefs for whatwe drag out. Excuse the bits o' things ye may see about; and wife'll be down in a fip and do the vary best she can fo'h ye. " He had awarm heart concealed beneath that rough exterior; he had longfollowed the daring profession, seen much suffering, lightened manya sorrowing heart. Bustling about among old boxes and bags, he soondrew forth a lot of blankets and quilts, which he spread upon thebroad brick hearth, at the same time keeping up a series ofquestions they found difficult to answer, so rapidly were they put. They had indeed fallen into the hands of a good Samaritan, who woulddress their wounds with his best balms. 

"An' now I tak it ye must be famished; so my old woman must get upan' help mak ye comfortable, " says he, bringing forth a blacktea-kettle, and filling it from a pail that stood on a shelf nearthe fire-frame. He will hang it on the fire. He had no need ofcalling the good dame; for as suddenly as mysteriously does thechubby figure of a motherly-looking female of some forty years shootfrom the before described opening, and greeting the strangers with ahearty welcome, set about preparing something to relieve theirexhaustion. A gentle smile pervades her little red face, so simplyexpressive; her peaked cap shines so brightly in contrast with theblack ribbon with which she secures it under her mole-bedecked chin;and her short homespun frock sets so comely, showing her thick knitstockings, and her feet well protected in calfskin laces, with heelsa trooper might not despise; and then, she spreads her little tablewith a heartiness that adds its value to simple goodness, --herinvitingly clean cups and saucers, and knives and forks, as shespreads them, look so cheerful. The kettle begins to sing, and thesteam fumes from the spout, and the hardy wrecker brings his bottleof old Jamaica, and his sugar; and such a bowl of hot punch wasnever made before. "Come now, " he says, "ye're in my little place;the wrecker as don't make the distressed comfortable aneath his ruf's a disgrace to the craft. " And now he hands each a mug of steamingpunch, which they welcomely receive, a glow of satisfactionbespreading his face, telling with what sincerity he gives it. Erethey commenced sipping, the good dame brought pilot bread and set itbefore them; and while she returned to preparing her supper thewrecker draws his wooden seat by their side, and with ears attentivelistens to the passenger as he recites the disaster. 

"Only two out of twenty-seven saved-a sorry place that gulf!" heexclaims; "you bear away, wife. Ah, many a good body's bones, too, have whitened the beach beside us; many 's the bold fellow has beendashed upon it to die unknown, " he continues, with serious face. "And war ner onny wemen amang ye, good man?" interposes the gooddame. 

"Seven; they have all passed into eternity!" rejoins the seaman, who, till then, had been a mute looker-on. 

"Poor souls! how they mun' 'ave suffered!" she sighs, shaking herhead, and leaning against the great fire frame, as her eyes fillwith tears. The wrecker must needs acquaint Tom Dasher, bring him tohis aid, and, though the storm yet rages, go search the beating surfwhere roll the unfortunates. Nay, the good dame will herself executethe errand of mercy, while he supplies the strangers with dryclothes; she will bring Tom hither. She fears not the tempest whileher soul warms to do good; she will comfort the distressed who seekshelter under her roof. With the best his rough wardrobe affordsdoes the wrecker clothe them, while his good wife, getting Tom up, relates her story, and hastens back with him to her domicile. Tom isan intrepid seafarer, has spent some seven years wrecking, savedmany a life from the grasp of the grand Bahama, and laid up a goodbit of money lest some stormy day may overtake him and make the wifea widow. 

"This is a hard case, Stores!" says Tom, addressing himself to ourwrecker, as with sharp, hairy face, and keen black eyes, hiscountenance assumes great seriousness. Giving his sou'-wester acant back on his head, running his left hand deep into the pocket ofhis pea-jacket, and supplying his mouth with tobacco from his right, he stands his tall figure carelessly before the fire, and in acontemplative mood remains silent for a few minutes. 

"Aye, but somethin' mun' be done, Tom, " says the first wrecker, breaking silence. 

"Yes; as my name is Tom Dasher, there must. We must go to the beach, and see what it's turned up, --what there is to be seen, an' the likeo' that. " Then, turning to the strangers, he continued, "Pity yerskipper hadn't a headed her two points further suthard, rounded thepoint just above here a bit, and made a lee under the bend. Ourcraft lies there now, --as snug as Tompkins' wife in her chamber!"

"Yes, but, Tom! ye dinna think as the poor folks could know allthings, " speaks up the woman, as Tom was about to add a few itemsmore, merely to give the strangers some evidence of his skill. 

"Aye, aye, --all right; I didn't get the balance on't just then, "returned Tom, nodding his head with an air of satisfaction. 

A nice supper of broiled fish, and toast, and tea, and hot rumpunch-of which Tom helped himself without stint-was set out, thestrangers invited to draw up, and all partook of the plain butcheering fare. As daylight was fast approaching, the two wreckersdispatched their meal before the others, and sought the spot on thebeach described as where the fatal wreck took place, while the gooddame put the shipwrecked to sleep in the attic, and covered themwith her warmest rugs and blankets. 

Not a vestige of the wreck was to be seen-not a fragment to mark thespot where but a few hours before twenty-five souls were hurriedinto eternity. They stood and stood, scanning over the angry oceaninto the gloom: nothing save the wail of the wind and the sea's roargreeted their ears. Tom Dasher thinks either they have been borneout into the fathomless caves, or the men are knaves with falsestories in their mouths. 

Stores, --for such is our good man's name-turning from the spot, saysdaylight will disclose a different scene; with the wind as it is thebodies will be drawn into the eddy on the point, and thrown ashoreby the under-current, for burial. "Poor creatures! there's no helpfor them now;" he adds, sighing, as they wend their way back to thecabin, where the good dame waits their coming. Their search was invain; having no news to bring her, she must be contented untilmorning. If the bodies wash ashore, the good woman of the HumaneSociety will come down from the town, and see them decently buried. Stores has several times spoken of this good woman; were she aministering angel he could not speak of her name with morereverence. For years, he tells us, has she been a harbinger of good, ever relieving the sick and needy, cheering the downcast, protectingthe unfortunate. Her name has become a symbol of compassion; shemingles with the richest and the poorest, and none know her but tolove and esteem her. "And she, too, is an American lady!" Storessays, exultingly. And to judge from his praise, we should say, ifher many noble deeds were recorded on fair marble, it would not addone jot to that impression of her goodness made on the hearts of thepeople among whom she lives. 

"Ah, man! she's a good woman, and everybody loves and looks up toher. And she's worth loving, too, because she's so kind, " adds thegood dame, significantly canting her head. 

Daylight was now breaking in the east, and as there seemed no chanceof making a search on the bank that day, such was the fierceness ofthe wind, the two men drank again of the punch, spread theirblankets before the fire, lay their hardy figures down, and weresoon in a profound sleep. The woman, more watchful, coiled herselfin a corner of the room on some sail-cloth, but did not sleep. 

At ten o'clock they were aroused by the neighbours, who, in greatanxiety, had come to inform them of an event they were alreadyconscious of, --adding, however, as an evidence of what had takenplace, that sixteen male and three female bodies, borne to the ripsat the point, had been thrown upon the shore. The denizens of thepoint were indeed in a state of excitement; a messenger had beensent into the town for the coroner, which said functionary soonspread the news about, creating no little commotion among theinhabitants, many of whom repaired to the scene of the disaster. 

When it became known that two witnesses to the dire misfortune hadbeen spared to tell the tale, and were now at Stores' house, theexcitement calmed into sympathy. The wrecker's little villageresounded with curious enquiries, and few were they who would besatisfied without a recital of the sad tale by the rescued men. 

Carefully they brought the dead bodies from the shore, and laid themin an untenanted house, to await the coroner's order. Among them wasthe slender form of Franconia, the dark dress in which she was cladbut little torn, and the rings yet remaining on her fingers. "Howwith fortitude she bore the suffering!" said the rescued passenger, gazing on her blanched features as they laid her on the floor: thewrecker's wife covered her with a white sheet, and spread a pillowcarefully beneath her head. 

"Yes!" returns the unfortunate seaman, who stood by his side, "sheseemed of great goodness and gentleness. She said nothing, boreeverything without a murmur; she was Higgins' pet; and I'll lay hedied trying to save her, for never a braver fellow than Jack Higginsstood trick at a wheel. "

The coroner arrives as the last corpse is brought from the sand: heholds his brief inquest, orders them buried, and retires. Soon, three ladies-Stores' wife tells us they are of the HumaneSociety-make their appearance in search of the deceased. They enterStores' house, greet his good dame familiarly, and remain seatedwhile she relates what has happened. One of the three is tall andstately of figure, and dressed with that quiet taste so becoming alady. And while to the less observing eye no visible superiorityover the others is discernible, it is evident they view her in sucha light, always yielding to her counsels. Beneath a silk bonnettrimmed with great neatness, is disclosed a finely oval face, glowing with features of much regularity, large dark eyes of greatsoftness, and silky hair, laid in heavy wavy folds across abeautifully arched brow-to which is added a sweet smile that everand anon plays over her slightly olive countenance. There, boldlyoutlined, is the unmistakeable guide to a frank and gentle nature. For several minutes does she listen to the honest woman's recital ofthe sad event, which is suspended by the passenger making hisappearance. The wrecker's wife introduces him by motioning her hand, and saying, "This is the kind lady of whose goodness I spoke so lastnight. " Anxiously does she gather from the stranger each and everyincident of the voyage: this done, she will go to the house wherelay the dead, our good Dame Stores leading the way, talking from thevery honesty of her heart the while. In a small dilapidated dwellingon the bleak sands, the dead lay. Children and old men linger aboutthe door, --now they make strange mutterings, and walk away, as if infear. Our messengers of mercy have entered the abode of the dead. The wrecker's wife says, "They are to be buried to-morrow, ma'am;"while the lady, with singular firmness, glances her eye along therow of male bodies, counting them one by one. She has broughtshrouds, in which to bury them like Christians. 

"Them three females is here, ma'am, " says Dame Stores, touching thelady on the elbow, as she proceeds to uncover the bodies. Thepassenger did, indeed, tell our Lady of Mercy there was one handsomelady from Carolina. One by one she views their blanched and besandedfeatures. 

"A bonny figure that, mum; I lay she's bin a handsome in her day, "with honest simplicity remarks Dame Stores, as, bent over thelifeless body of Franconia, she turns back the sheet, carefully. "Yes, " is the quick reply: the philanthropic woman's keen eye scansalong the body from head to foot. Dame Stores will part the silkenhair from off that cold brow, and smooth it with her hand. Suddenlyour lady's eyes dart forth anxiety; she recognises some familiarfeature, and trembles. The rescued seaman had been quietly viewingthe bodies, as if to distinguish their different persons, when awrecker, who had assisted in removing the bodies, entered the roomand approached him, "Ah!" exclaims the seaman, suddenly, "yonder'spoor Jack Higgins. " He points to a besanded body at the right, thearms torn and bent partly over the breast, adding, "Jack had a goodheart, he had. " Turning half round, the wrecker replies, "That 'unhad this 'un fast grappled in his arms; it was a time afore we got'um apart. "

"Was it this body?" enquires the lady, looking at the lifeless formbefore her. He says, "That same, ma'am; an' it looked as if he hadtried to save the slender woman. " He points to the body which DameStores has just uncovered. The good lady kneels over the body: herface suddenly becomes pale; her lips purple and quiver; she seemssinking with nervous excitement, as tremulously she seizes theblanched hand in her own. Cold and frigid, it will not yield to hertouch "That face-those brows, those pearly teeth, those lips sodelicate, --those hands, --those deathless emblems! how like Franconiathey seem, " she ejaculates frantically, the bystanders looking onwith surprise. "And are they not my Franconia's-my deardeliverer's?" she continues. She smooths the cold hands, and chafesthem in her own. The rings thereon were a present from Marston. "Those features like unto chiselled marble are hers; I am notdeceived: no! oh no! it cannot be a dream" (in sorrow she shakes herhead as the tears begin to moisten her cheeks), "she received myletter, and was on her way seeking me. " Again she smooths andsmooths her left hand over those pallid cheeks, her right stillpressing the cold hand of the corpse, as her emotions burst forth inagonising sobs. 

The wrecker's wife loosens the dress from about deceased'sneck-bares that bosom once so fair and beautiful. A small locket, attached to a plain black necklace, lies upon it, like a moat on asnowy surface. Nervously does the good woman grasp it, and openingit behold a miniature of Marston, a facsimile of which is in her ownpossession. "Somethin' more 'ere, mum, " says Dame Stores, drawingfrom beneath a lace stomacher the lap of her chemise, on which iswritten in indelible ink-"Franconia M'Carstrow. " The doubt no longerlent its aid to hope; the lady's sorrowing heart can no longerwithstand the shock. Weeping tears of anguish, she says, "May theGod of all goodness preserve her pure spirit, for it is myFranconia! she who was my saviour; she it was who snatched me fromdeath, and put my feet on the dry land of freedom, and gave me-ah, me!" she shrieked, --and fell swooning over the lifeless body, ereDame Stores had time to clasp her in her arms. 

My reader can scarcely have failed to recognise in this messenger ofmercy, --this good woman who had so ennobled herself by seeking thesufferer and relieving his wants, and who makes light the cares ofthe lowly, the person of that slave-mother, Clotilda. Having drankof the bitterness of slavery, she the more earnestly cheers thedesponding. That lifeless form, once so bright of beauty, so buoyantof heart and joyous of spirit, is Franconia; she it was whodelivered the slave-mother from the yoke of bondage, set her feet onfreedom's heights, and on her head invoked its genial blessings. Hersoul had yearned for the slave's good; she had been a mother toAnnette, and dared snatch her from him who made the slave awretch, --democracy his boast! It was Franconia who placed theminiature of Marston about Clotilda's neck on the night she effectedher escape, --bid her God speed into freedom. All that once soabounded in goodness now lies cold in death. Eternity has closed herlips with its strong seal, --no longer shall her soul be harassed withthe wrongs of a slave world: no! her pure spirit has ascended amongthe angels. 

We will not longer pain the reader's feelings with details of thissad recognition, but inform him that the body was removed toClotilda's peaceful habitation, from whence, with becoming ceremony, it was buried on the following day. A small marble tablet, standingin a sequestered churchyard near the outskirts of Nassau, and onwhich the traveller may read these simple words:--"Franconia, myfriend, lies here!" over which, in a circle, is chiseled the figureof an angel descending, and beneath, "How happy in Heaven are theGood!" marks the spot where her ashes rest in peace. 

CHAPTER L. 

IN WHICH A DANGEROUS PRINCIPLE IS ILLUSTRATED. 

SHOULD the sagacious reader be disappointed in our hero Nicholas, who, instead of being represented as a model of disinterestedness, perilling his life to save others, sacrificing his own interests forthe cause of liberty, and wasting on hardened mankind all thoseamiable qualities which belong only to angels, but with which heroesare generally invested for the happy purpose of pleasing the loverof romance, has evinced little else than an unbending will, he willfind a palliation in that condition of life to which his oppressorshave forced him to submit. Had Nicholas enjoyed his liberty, manyincidents of a purely disinterested character might have beenrecorded to his fame, for indeed he had noble traits. That we havenot put fiery words into his mouth, with which to execrate thetyrant, while invoking the vengeance of heaven-and, too, that we areguilty of the crime of thus suddenly transferring him from boyhoodto manhood, nor have hanged him to please the envious andvicious, --will find excuse with the indulgent reader, who will bekind enough to consider that it is our business to relate facts asthey are, to the performance of which-unthankful though it may be-wehave drawn from the abundance of material placed in our hand by thesouthern world. We may misname characters and transpose scenes, butsouthern manners and customs we have transcribed from nature, towhich stern book we have religiously adhered. And, too (if thereader will pardon the digression), though we never have agreed withour very best admirers of the gallows, some of whom hold it a meansof correcting morals-nor, are yet ready to yield assent to theopinions of the many, so popularly laid down in favour of what weconsider a medium of very unwholesome influence, we readily admitthe existence of many persons who have well merited a very goodhanging. But, were the same rules of evidence admissible in a courtof law when a thief is on trial, applied against the practice of"publicly hanging, " there would be little difficulty in convictingit of inciting to crime. Not only does the problem of complexphilosophy-the reader may make the philosophy to suit histaste-presented in the contrariety of scenes on and about thegallows offer something irreconcileable to ordinary minds, but givesto the humorous large means with which to feast their love of theludicrous. On the scaffold of destruction, our good brothers of theclergy would, pointing to the "awful example, " assure the motleyassembly gathered beneath, that he hath purified that soul, whichwill surely be accepted in heaven; but, he can in no wise condescendto let it, still directing the flesh, live on the less pure platformof earth. With eager eyes, the mass beneath him, their morbidappetites curiously distended, heed not the good admonition; nay, the curious wait in breathless suspense the launching a human beinginto eternity; the vicious are busy in crime the while; the heedlessmake gay the holiday. Sum up the invention and perpetration of crimebeneath the gallows on one of those singular gala-days, and theculprit expiating his guilt at the rope's end, as an "awfulwarning, " will indeed have disclosed a shallow mockery. Taking thisview of the hanging question, though we would deprive no man of hisenjoyment, we deem it highly improper that our hero should die byany other means than that which the chivalrous sons of the southdeclared "actually necessary. "

But before proceeding further with Nicholas, it may be proper hereto state that Annette and the stranger, in whose hands we left her, have arrived safe at New York. Maxwell-for such is his name-is withhis uncle engaged in a lucrative commercial business; while Annette, for reasons we shall hereafter explain, instead of forthwith seekingthe arms of an affectionate mother, is being educated at a femaleseminary in a village situated on the left bank of the Hudson River. 

In returning to Nicholas, the reader will remember that Grabguy wassomething of a philosopher, the all-important functions of whichmedium he invoked on the occasion of his ejectment from Fetter'scourt, for an interference which might at that moment have beentaken as evidence of repentance. The truth, however, was, thatGrabguy, in the exercise of his philosophy, found the cash value ofhis slave about to be obliterated by the carrying out of Fetter'sawful sentence. Here there rose that strange complexity which thephysical action and mental force of slave property, acting incontrariety, so often produce. The physical of the slave was veryvaluable, and could be made to yield; but the mental being allpowerful to oppose, completely annulled the monetary worth. But byallowing the lacerations to heal, sending him to New Orleans, andmaking a positive sale, some thousand or twelve hundred dollarsmight be saved; whereas, did Fetter's judgment take effect, Mr. Grabguy must content himself with the state's more humble award oftwo hundred dollars, less the trouble of getting. In this democraticperplexity did our economical alderman find himself placed, when, again invoking his philosophy-not in virtue of any sympatheticadmonition, for sympathy was not of Grabguy-he soon found means ofprotecting his interests. To this end he sought and obtained anorder from the Court of Appeals, which grave judiciary, after dulyconsidering the evidence on which the criminal was convicted beforeFetter's tribunal, was of opinion that evidence had been improperlyextorted by cruelty; and, in accordance with that opinion, ordered anew trial, which said trial would be dististinguished above that atFetter's court by being presided over by a judicial magistrate. Thisdistinguished functionary, the judicial magistrate, who generallyhears the appeals from Fetter's court, is a man of the name ofFairweather Fuddle, a clever wag, whose great good-nature is onlyequalled by the rotundity of his person, which is not a badportraiture of our much-abused Sir John Falstaff, as represented bythe heavy men of our country theatres. Now, to enter upon ananalysis of the vast difference between Fetter's court in ordinary, and Fuddle's court in judiciary, would require the aid of morephilosophy than we are capable of summoning; nor would the sagaciousreader be enlightened thereby, inasmuch as the learned of our ownatmosphere have spent much study on the question without arriving atany favourable result. Very low people, and intelligent negroes--whose simple mode of solving difficult problems frequently producesresults nearest the truth--do say without fear or trembling that thedistinction between these great courts exists in the fact of JusticeFuddle drinking the more perfect brandy. Now, whether the quality ofbrandy has anything to do with the purity of ideas, the character ofthe judiciary, or the tempering of the sentences, we will leave tothe reader's discrimination; but true it is, that, while Fetter'sjudgments are always for the state, Fuddle leans to mercy and themaster's interests. Again, were Fuddle to evince that partiality forthe gallows which has become a trait of character with his legalbrother, it would avail him nothing, inasmuch as by confirmingFetter's judgments the fees would alike remain that gentleman's. If, then, the reader reason on the philosophy of self-interest, he mayfind the fees, which are in no wise small, founding the greatdistinction between the courts of Messrs. Fuddle and Fetter; for byreversing Fetter's judgments fees accrue to Fuddle's own court, andbelong to his own well-lined pocket; whereas, did he confirm them, not one cent of fees could he claim. The state should without delayremedy this great wrong, and give its judicial gentlemen a fairchance of proving their judgments well founded in contrariety. Weshould not, forsooth, forget to mention that Fuddle, in his love ofdecorum--though he scarce ever sat in judgment without absorbing hispunch the while--never permitted in his forum the use of thoseknock-down arguments which were always a prelude to Fetter'sjudgments. 

Before Fuddle's court, then, Grabguy has succeeded in getting ahearing for his convicted property, still mentally obstinate. Notthe least doubt has he of procuring a judgment tempered by mercy;for, having well drunk Fuddle on the previous night, and improvedthe opportunity for completely winning his distinguishedconsideration, he has not the slightest apprehension of being manymonths deprived of his property merely to satisfy injured justice. And, too, the evidence upon which Nicholas was convicted in Fetter'scourt, of an attempt to create an insurrection--the most fatalcharge against him--was so imperfect that the means of overthrowingit can be purchased of any of the attendant constables for a meretrifle, --oaths with such fellows being worth about sixty-two and ahalf cents each. 

If the reader will be pleased to fancy the trial before Fetter'stribunal--before described--with the knock-down arguments omitted, hewill have a pretty clear idea of that now proceeding beforeFuddle's; and having such will excuse our entering into details. Having heard the case with most, learned patience, the virtue ofwhich has been well sustained by goodly potions of Paul and Brown'sperfect "London Dock, " Fuddle, with grave deportment, receives fromthe hands of the clerical-looking clerk-a broken-down gentleman ofgreat legal ability-the charge he is about to make the jury. "Gentlemen, " he says, "I might, without any detriment to perfectimpunity, place the very highest encomiums on the capabilitiesdisplayed in the seriousness you have given to this all-importantcase, in which the state has such deep and constitutional interests;but that I need not do here. The state having placed in mypossession such responsible functions, no one more than me can feelthe importance of the position; and which position has always beenmade the judicial medium of equity and mercy. I hold moderation tobe the essential part of the judiciary, gentlemen! And here I wouldsay" (Fuddle directs himself to his gentlemanly five) "and yourintelligence will bear me out in the statement, that the trial belowseems to have been in error from beginning to end. I saythis-understand, gentlemen!--with all deference to my learnedbrother, Fetter, whose judgments, in the exercise of the powers inme invested, and with that respect for legal equity by which thiscourt is distinguished, it has become me so often to reverse. On thecharge of creating an insurrection--rather an absurdity, by theway--you must discharge the prisoner, there being no valid proof;whereas the charge of maiming or raising his hand to a white man, though clearly proved, and according to the statutes a capitaloffence, could not in the spirit of mercy which now prevails in ourjudiciary--and, here, let me say, which is emulated by that highstate of civilisation for which the people of this state aredistinguished--be carried rigidly into effect. There is only this onepoint, then, of maiming a white gentleman, with intention--Ah! yes (apause) the intention the court thinks it as well not to mind! opento you for a conviction. Upon this point you will render yourverdict, guilty; only adding a recommendation to the mercy of thecourt. " With this admonition, our august Mr. Fuddle, his faceglowing in importance, sits down to his mixture of Paul and Brown'sbest. A few moments' pause--during which Fetter enters looking veryanxious--and the jury have made up their verdict, which they submiton a slip of paper to the clerk, who in turn presents it to Fuddle. That functionary being busily engaged with his punch, is madeconscious of the document waiting his pleasure by the audiencebursting into a roar of laughter at the comical picture presented inthe earnestness with which he regards his punch-some of which isstreaming into his bosom-and disregards the paper held for someminutes in the clerk's hand, which is in close proximity with hisnasal organ. Starting suddenly, he lets the goblet fall to thefloor, his face flushing like a broad moon in harvest-time, takesthe paper in his fingers with a bow, making three of the same natureto his audience, as Fetter looks over the circular railing in frontof the dock, his face wearing a facetious smile. "Nigger boy willclear away the break, --prisoner at the bar will stand up for thesentence, and the attending constable will reduce order!" speaksFuddle, relieving his pocket of a red kerchief with which he willwipe his capacious mouth. These requests being complied with, hecontinues-having adjusted his glasses most learnedly-making agesture with his right hand--"I hold in my hand the solemn verdict ofan intelligent jury, who, after worthy and most mature deliberation, find the prisoner at the bar, Nicholas Grabguy, guilty of theheinous offence of raising his hand to a white man, whom he severelymaimed with a sharp-edged tool; and the jury in their wisdom, recognising the fact of their verdict involving capital punishment, have, in the exercise of that enlightened spirit which isinseparable from our age, recommended him to the mercy of thiscourt, and, in the discretion of that power in me invested, I shallnow pronounce sentence. Prepare, then, ye lovers of civilisation, ye friends of humanity, ye who would temper the laws of our land offreedom to the circumstance of offences--prepare, I say, to have yourears and hearts made glad over the swelling sound of this mostenlightened sentence of a court, where judgments are tempered withmercy. " Our hero, a chain hanging loosely from his left arm, standsforward in the dock, his manly deportment evincing a sternresolution to meet his fate unsubdued. Fuddle continues:--"There isno appeal from this court!" (he forgot the court of a brighterworld) "and a reversing the decision of the court below, I sentencethe prisoner to four years' imprisonment with hard labour, twomonths' solitary confinement in each year, and thirty blows with thepaddle, on the first day of each month until the expiration of thesentence. " Such, reader, was Fuddle's merciful sentence upon onewhose only crime was a love of freedom and justice. Nicholas bowedto the sentence; Mr. Grabguy expressed surprise, but no furtherappeal on earth was open to him; Squire Fetter laughed immeasurably;and the officer led his victim away to the place of durance vile. 

To this prison, then, must we go with our hero. In this magnificentestablishment, its princely exterior seeming like a modern fort withfrowning bastions, are some four hundred souls for sale andpunishment. Among them Nicholas is initiated, having, for the timebeing, received his first installment of blows, and takes his firstlesson in the act of breaking stone, which profession is exclusivelyreserved for criminals of his class. Among the notable charactersconnected with this establishment is Philip Fladge, the wilysuperintendent, whose power over the criminals is next to absolute. Nicholas has been under Philip's guardianship but a few months, whenit is found that he may be turned into an investment which willrequire only the outlay of kindness and amelioration on his part tobecome extremely profitable. Forthwith a convention is entered into, the high contracting parties being Nicholas and himself. Mr. Fladgestipulates on his part that the said Nicholas, condemned byFairweather Fuddle's court to such punishments as are set forth inthe calendar, shall be exempt from all such punishments, have thefree use of the yard, comfortable apartments to live in, and beinvested with a sort of foremanship over his fellow criminals; inconsideration of which it is stipulated on the part of Nicholas thathe do work at the more desirable profession of stucco-making, together with the execution of orders for sculpture, the proceeds ofwhich were to be considered the property of Fladge, he allowing thegenerous stipend of one shilling a week to the artist. Here, then, Mr. Fladge becomes sensible of the fact that some good always comeof great evils, for indeed his criminal was so far roving a mine ofwealth that he only hoped it might be his fortune to receive manymore such enemies of the state: he cared not whether they came fromFetter or Fuddle's court. With sense enough to keep hisheart-burnings well stored away in his own bosom, Nicholas soonbecame a sort of privileged character. But if he said little, hefelt much; nor did he fail to occupy every leisure moment ininciting his brother bondmen to a love of freedom. So far had hegained complete control over their feelings, that scarce two monthsof his sentence had expired ere they would have followed his lead todeath or freedom. 

Among those human souls stored for sale was one Sal Stiles, an olivewench of great beauty, and daughter of one of the very firstfamilies. This Sal Stiles, who was indeed one of the most charmingcreatures to look upon, had cousins whom the little world ofCharleston viewed as great belles; but these said belles were neverknown to ring out a word in favour of poor Sal, who was, forsooth, only what-in our vulgar parlance-is called a well-conditioned andvery marketable woman. Considering, then, that Nicholas had beenseparated by Grabguy from his wife and children, the indulgentreader, we feel assured, will excuse our hero for fallingpassionately in love with this woman. That it was stipulated in theconvention between himself and Fladge, he should take her untohimself, we are not justified in asserting; nevertheless, that thatfunctionary encouraged the passion rather than prevented theirmeetings is a fact our little world will not pretend to deny. 

CHAPTER LI. 

A CONTINUATION OF THE LAST CHAPTER. 

A YEAR and two months have rolled by, since Nicholas, a convict, took up his abode within the frowning walls of a prison: thus muchof Fuddle's merciful sentence has he served out. In the dreary hoursof night, fast secured in his granite cell, has he cherished, andeven in his dreams contemplated, the means of escaping into thatfreedom for which his soul yearns. But, dearly does he love SalStiles, to whose keeping he confides the secret of his ambition;several times might he, having secured the confidence of Fladge, have effected his own escape; but the admonitions of a faithfulheart bid him not leave her behind in slavery. To that admonition ofhis bosom did he yield, and resolve never to leave her until hesecured her freedom. A few days after he had disclosed to her hisresolution, the tall figure of Guy Grantham, a broker of slaves byprofession, appeared in the prison yard, for the purpose of carryingaway the woman, whom he had sold for the Washington market, whereher charms would indeed be of much value during the session, whencongress-men most do riot. Already were the inseparable chains abouther hands, and the miserable woman, about to be led away, bathed ingrief. Nicholas, in his studies, had just finished a piece ofscroll-work for Mrs. Fladge, as a companion approached him in greathaste, and whispered the word of trouble-"they're taking heraway"-in his ear. Quick as lightning did the anger of his very soulbreak forth like a tempest: he rushed from his place of labour, vaulted as it were to the guard gate, seized the woman as shestepped on the threshold in her exit, drew her back with greatforce, and in a defiant attitude, drawing a long stiletto from hisbelt, placed himself between her and her destroyer. "Foes of theinnocent, your chains were not made for this woman; never shall youbear her from this; not, at least, while I have arm to defend her, and a soul that cares not for your vengeance!" spake he, withcurling contempt on his lip, as his adversaries stood aghast withfear and trembling. "Nay!-do not advance one step, or by the God ofjustice I make ye feel the length of this steel!" he continued, asGrantham nervously motioned an attempt to advance. Holding the womanwith his left hand pressed backward, he brandished his stiletto inthe faces of his opponents with his right. This was rebellion in itsmost legal acceptation, and would have justified the summary processGrantham was about adopting for the disposal of the instigator, atwhose head he levelled his revolver, and, without effect, snappedtwo caps, as Nicholas bared his bosom with the taunt--"Coward, shoot!" Mr. Fladge, who was now made sensible of the error hisindulgence had committed, could not permit Grantham the happydisplay of his bravery; no, he has called to his aid some tensubguardsmen, and addressing the resolute Grantham, bids him layaside his weapon. Albeit he confesses his surprise at such strangeinsolence and interference; but, being responsible for the life, thinks it well to hold a parley before taking it. Forsooth his wordsfall useless on the ears of Nicholas, as defiantly he encircles thewoman's waist with his left arm, bears her away to the block, dashesthe chains from her hands, and, spurning the honied words of Fladge, hurls them in the air, crying: "You have murdered the flesh;--wouldyou chain the soul?" As he spoke, the guard, having ascended thewatch tower, rings out the first alarm peal. "Dogs of savage might!ring your alarms; I care not, " he continued, casting a sardonicglance at the tower as the sound died away on his ear. His pursuersnow made a rush upon him, but ere they had secured him he seized aheavy bludgeon, and repelling their attack, found some hundred ofhis companions, armed with stone hammers, rallying in his defence. Seeing this formidable force thus suddenly come to his rescue, Mr. Fladge and his force were compelled to fall back before the advance. Gallantly did Nicholas lead on his sable band, as the woman soughtrefuge in one of the cells, Mr. Fladge and his posse retreating intothe guard-house. Nicholas, now in full possession of the citadel, and with consternation and confusion triumphant within the walls, found it somewhat difficult to restrain his forces from takingpossession of the guardhouse, and putting to death those who hadsought shelter therein. Calmly but firmly did he appeal to them, andbeseech them not to commit an outrage against life. As he had placedhimself between the woman and her pursuers, so did he place himselfbefore a file of his sable companions, who, with battle hammersextended, rushed for the great gates, as the second alarm rung outits solemn peal. Counselling his compatriots to stand firm, hegathered them together in the centre of the square, and addressedthem in a fervent tone, the purport of which was, that having thussuddenly and unexpectedly become plunged into what would be viewedby the laws of the land as insurrection, they must stand on thedefensive, and remember it were better to die in defence of rightthan live under the ignorance and sorrow of slavery. 

While our hero-whose singular exploit we have divested of thatdramatic effect presented in the original-addressed his forlorn bandin the area of the prison, strange indeed was the scene of confusionpresenting along the streets of the city. The alarm peals had notdied ineffectual on the air, for as a messenger was despatched towarn the civil authorities of the sad dilemma at the prison, thegreat bell of St. Michael's church answered the warning peal withtwo loud rings; and simultaneously the city re-echoed the report ofa bloody insurrection. On the long line of wharfs half circling thecity, stood men aghast with fright; to the west all was quiet aboutthe battery; to the south, the long rampart of dark moving pinesthat bordered on that side the calm surface of a harbour ofunsurpassed beauty, seemed sleeping in its wonted peacefulness; tothe east, as if rising from the sea to mar the beauty of the scene, stood fort Sumpter's sombre bastions, still and quiet like a monsterreposing; while retracing along the north side of the harbour, nosign of trouble flutters from Fort Moultrie or Castle Pinkney-no, their savage embrasures are closed, and peace hangs in mists overtheir dark walls. The feud is in the city of democrats, whereinthere are few who know not the nature of the warning peal; nor, indeed, act on such occasions like a world in fear, waiting but thetap of the watchman's baton ere it rushes to bloodshed. 

In the busy portion of the city have men gathered at the corners ofthe street to hold confused controversy; with anxious countenancesand most earnest gesticulations do they discuss the most certainmeans of safety. Ladies, in fright, speedily seek their homes, nowasking questions of a passerby, whose intense excitement has carriedoff his power of speech, then shunning every luckless negro whochances in their way. The rumour of an insurrection, however falselyfounded, turns every negro (of skin there is no distinction) into anenemy; whilst the second sound of the alarm peal makes him a bloodyvotary, who it needs but the booming of the cannon ere he be put tothe sword. Guardsmen, with side-arms and cross-belts, are eager andconfused, moving to and fro with heavy tread; merchants and men ofmore easy professions hasten from their labours, seek their homes, prepare weapons for the conflict, and endeavour to soothe the fearsof their excited families, beseeching protection. That a deadlystruggle is near at hand no one doubts, for men have gathered on thehouse-tops to watch the moving mass, bearing on its face theunmistakeable evidence of fear and anxiety, as it sweeps along thestreets. Now the grotesque group is bespotted with forms halfdressed in military garb; then a dark platoon of savage faces andragged figures brings up the rear; and quickly catching the sound"To the Workhouse!" onward it presses to the scene of tumult. Firemen in curious habiliment, and half-accoutred artillerymen, atthe alarm peal's call are rallying to their stations, as if somedevouring element, about to break over the city, demanded theirstrongest arm; while eager and confused heads, protruded from green, masking shutters, and in terror, would know whither lies the sceneof the outbreak. Alarm has beset the little world, which now moves amedley of fear and trembling. 

The clock in St. Michael's tall spire has just struck two, as, inthe arena of the prison, Nicholas is seen, halted in front of hislittle band, calmly awaiting the advance of his adversaries, who, fearing to open the great gates, have scaled the long line of wallon the north side. Suddenly the sound of an imploring voice breaksupon his ear, and his left hand is firmly grasped, as starting withsurprise he turns and beholds the slave woman, her hair hangingloosely over her shoulders, and her face bathed in tears. Withsimple but earnest words does she admonish him against his fatalresolution. Fast, and in the bitter anguish of her soul, fall herimplorings; she would have him yield and save his life, that she maylove him still. Her words would melt his resolution, had he nottaken the rash step. "In my soul do I love thee, woman!" he says, raising her gently to her feet, and imprinting a kiss upon her olivebrow; "but rather would I die a hero than live a crawling slave:nay, I will love thee in heaven!" The woman has drawn his attentionfrom his adversaries, when, in that which seems a propitious moment, they rush down from the walls, and ere a cry from his band warn himof the danger, have well nigh surprised and secured him. With twoshots of a revolver pierced through the fleshy part of his left arm, does he bound from the grasp of his pursuers, rally his men, andcharge upon the miscreants with undaunted courage. Short but deadlyis the struggle that here ensues; far, indeed, shrieks and horridgroans rend the very air; but the miscreants are driven back fromwhence they came, leaving on the ground five dead bodies to atonefor treble the number dead of our hero's band. In the savageconflict did the woman receive a fatal bullet, and now lies writhingin the agonies of death (a victim of oppression in a land ofliberty) at our hero's feet. Not a moment is there to spare, that hemay soothe her dying agonies, for a thundering at the great gates isheard, the bristling of fire-arms falls upon his ear, and the drumsof the military without beat to the charge. Simultaneously the greatgates swing back, a solid body of citizen soldiery, ready to rushin, is disclosed, and our hero, as if by instinct moved to rashness, cries aloud to his forces, who, following his lead, dash recklesslyinto the soldiery, scatter it in amazement, and sweep triumphantlyinto the street. The first line of soldiery did not yield to theimpetuous charge without effect, for seven dead bodies, strewnbetween the portals of the gate, account for the sharp report oftheir rifles. Wild with rage, and not knowing whither to go, or forwhat object they have rushed from the bounds of their prison house, our forlorn band, still flourishing their battle hammers, havescarcely reached the second line of military, stationed, in warorder, a few squares from the prison, when our hero and nine of hisforlorn band fall pierced through the hearts with rifle bullets. OurNicholas has a sudden end; he dies, muttering, "My cause was onlyjustice!" as twenty democratic bayonets cut into shreds hisquivering body. Oh, Grabguy! thou wilt one day be made to atone forthis thy guilt. Justice to thy slave had saved the city itsforeboding of horror, and us the recital of a bloody tragedy wewould spare the feelings of our readers by ending here. 

Having informed the reader that Ellen Juvarna was mother ofNicholas, whom she bore unto Marston, we will now draw aside theveil, that he may know her real origin and be the better prepared toappreciate the fate of her child. This name, then, was a fictitiousone, which she had been compelled to take by Romescos, who stole herfrom her father, Neamathla, a Creek Indian. In 1820, this bravewarrior ruled chief of the Mickasookees, a tribe of brave Indianssettled on the borders of the lake of that name, in Florida. Old indeeds of valour, Neamathla sank into the grave in the happy beliefthat his daughter, the long-lost Nasarge, had been carried intocaptivity by chiefs of a hostile tribe, in whose chivalrous spiritshe would find protection, and religious respect for her caste. Could that proud spirit have condescended to suppose her languishingin the hands of mercenary slave-dealers, his tomahawk had been firstdipped in the blood of the miscreant, to avenge the foul deed. FromRomescos, Nasarge, who had scarce seen her twelve summers, passedinto the hands of one Silenus, who sold her to Marston, for thatpurpose a fair slave seems born to in our democratic world. 

And now again must we beg the indulgence of the reader, while weturn to the counter-scene of this chapter. The influence of thatconsternation which had spread throughout the city, was not long infinding its way to the citadel, a massive fort commanding the cityfrom the east. On the plat in front are three brass field-pieces, which a few artillery-men have wheeled out, loaded, and made readyto belch forth that awful signal, which the initiated translatethus:--"Proceed to the massacre! Dip deep your knives in the heartof every negro!"

Certain alarm bells are rung in case of an insurrection of thenegroes, which, if accompanied by the firing of three guns at thecitadel, is the signal for an onslaught of the whites. The author, on asking a gentleman why he exhibited so much fear, or why hedeemed it necessary to put to the sword his faithful servants, answered, --"Slaves, no matter of what colour, sympathise with eachother in their general condition of slavery. I could not, then, leave my family to the caprice of their feelings, while I sought thescene of action to aid in suppressing the outbreak. " At thealarm-bell's first tap were the guns made ready-at the second pealwere matchlocks lighted-and nervous men waited in breathlesssuspense the third and last signal peal from the Guard Tower. But, in a moment that had nearly proved fatal to thousands, and as thecrash of musketry echoed in the air, a confused gunner applied thematch: two vivid flashes issued from the cannon, their peals boomingsuccessively over the city. It was at that moment, citizens who hadsought in their domiciles the better protection of their familiesmight be seen in the tragic attitude of holding savage pistols andglistening daggers at the breasts of their terrified but faithfulservants, --those, perhaps, whose only crime was sincerity, and anearnest attachment to master's interests. The booming of a thirdcannon, and they had fallen, victims of fear, at the feet of theirdeluded victors. Happily, an act of heroism (which we would recordto the fame of the hero) saved the city that bloody climax we sickenwhile contemplating. Ere the third gun belched its order of death, amounted officer, sensible of the result that gun would produce, dashed before its angry mouth, and at the top of his voice criedout-"In Heaven's name, lay your matchlock down: save the city!" Thengalloping to the trail, the gunner standing motionless at theintrepid sight, he snatched the fiery torch from his hand, anddismounting, quenched it on the ground. Thus did he save the citythat awful massacre the misdirected laws of a democratic state wouldhave been accountable for to civilisation and the world. 

CHAPTER LII. 

IN WHICH ARE PLEASURES AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

IN a former chapter of this narrative, have we described our fairfugitive, Annette, as possessing charms of no ordinary kind; indeed, she was fair and beautiful, and even in the slave world was by manycalled the lovely blonde. In a word, to have been deeply enamouredof her would have reflected the highest credit on the taste andsentiment of any gallant gentleman. Seeming strange would it be, then, if the stranger to whose care we confided her (and hereafterto be called Montague, that being his Christian name) should renderhimself liable to the charge of stupidity did these attractions notmake a deep impression on his heart. And here we would not have thereader lay so grave a charge at his door; for, be it known, ye whoare not insensible to love's electric force, that scarce had theyreached New York, ere Montague began to look upon Annette with thatspecies of compassion which so often, in the workings of nature'smystery, turns the sympathies of the heart into purest love. Themisery or happiness of this poor girl he viewed as dependent onhimself: this, forsooth, was strengthened by the sad recital of herstruggles, which caused his sympathies to flow in mutual fellowshipwith her sorrows. As he esteemed her gentleness, so was he enamouredof her charms; but her sorrows carried the captive arrow into hisbosom, where she fastened it with holding forth that wrist broken indefence of her virtue: nay, more, he could not refrain a caress, asin the simplicity of her heart she looked in his face smilingly, andsaid she would he were the father of her future in this life. But, when did not slavery interpose its barbarous obstacles?-when did itnot claim for itself the interests of federal power, and thenation's indulgence?-when did it not regard with coldestindifference the good or ill of all beyond its own limits? The slaveworld loves itself; but, though self-love may now and then give outa degree of virtue, slavery has none to lead those beyond its ownatmosphere. To avoid, then, the terrors to which, even on the freesoil of the north, a fugitive slave is constantly liable, as alsothat serpent-like prejudice--for into the puritanic regions of NewEngland, forsooth, does slavery spread its more refined objectionsto colour--which makes the manners of one class cold and icy, whileacting like a dagger in the hearts of the other, was it necessary tochange her name. How many of my fair readers, then, will recur toand recognise in the lovely Sylvia De Lacy--whose vivacity made themjoyous in their school days, and whose charms all envied-the personof Annette Mazatlin. Nothing could be more true than that the prettyblonde, Sylvia De Lacy, who passed at school as the daughter of arich Bahamian, was but the humble slave of our worthy wag, Mr. Pringle Blowers. But we beg the reader to remember that, as SylviaDe Lacy, with her many gallant admirers, she is a far differentperson from Annette the slave. 

Clotilda is made acquainted with the steps Montague has taken inbehalf of his charge, as also of a further intention he will carryout at the expiration of two years; which said intention is neithermore nor less than the making Sylvia De Lacy his bride ere herschool days have ended. In the earnestness of a heart teeming ofjoy, does Clotilda respond to the disclosures she is pleased to termglad tidings. Oft and fervently has she invoked the All-protectinghand to save her child from the licentious snares of slavery; andnow that she is rescued, her soul can rest satisfied. How her heartrejoices to learn that her slave child will hereafter be happy inthis life! ever will she pray that peace and prosperity reward theirvirtues. Her own prospects brighten with the thought that she may, ere long, see them under her own comfortable roof, and bestow amother's love on the head of her long-lost child. 

And now my reader will please to suppose these two years ofschool-days passed-that nuptial ceremony in which so many mingledtheir congratulations, and showered blandest smiles upon the fairbride, celebrated in a princely mansion not far from thearistocratic Union Square of New York-and our happy couple launchedupon that path of matrimony some facetious old gentlemen have beenpleased to describe as so crooked that others fear to journey uponit. They were indeed a happy couple, with each future prospectgolden of fortune's sunshine. Did we describe in detail the reign ofhappiness portended on the bright day of that nuptial ceremony, howmany would recognise the gay figures of those who enlivened thescene-how deceptive would seem the fair face of events-how obscuredwould be presented the life of a slave in this our world offreedom-how false that democracy so boastful of its even-handedrule!

Two years have rolled into the past, since Montague led the fairSylvia to the altar. Pringle Blowers has pocketed the loss of hisbeauty, the happy couple have lost all thought of slavery, and alittle responsibility coming in due time adds to make theirhappiness complete. Now the house to which Montague was connected inNew York had an agent in New Orleans; which agent was his brother. In the course of time, then, and as the avenues of businessexpanded, was it deemed necessary to establish a branch house atMemphis, the affairs of which it was agreed should be conducted byMontague. To this new scene of life my reader will please supposeour happy couple, having journeyed by railroad to Cincinnatti, andwith hearts gladdened of hope for the future, now gliding down thatriver of gorgeous banks, on board the good steamer bearing its name. As our young mother again enters the atmosphere of slavery, misgivings force themselves irresistibly upon her feelings. The veryface of nature wears a sluggish air; the fresh, bright offspring ofnorthern energy, so forcibly illustrated in the many cheerfullooking villages here and there dotting its free soil, is nowhere tobe seen, --society again puts forth its blighting distinctions: thereis the man-owner's iron deportment contrasting with the abjectnessof his slave: forcibly does the change recall scenes of the past. But, with the certain satisfaction that no one will recognize theslave in her, do those misgivings give way to the happiercontemplation of her new home affording the means of extending asuccouring hand to some poor mortal, suffering in that condition oflife through which she herself has passed. 

After a pleasant passage, then, do we find them comfortably settledin Memphis, that city of notorious character, where the venerableLynch presides judge over all state cases, and administers summaryjustice according to the most independent of bar rules. Montaguepursues the ordinary routine of a flourishing business, and movesamong the very best society of the little fashionable world; withwhich his Sylvia, being the fair belle of the place, is not only agreat favourite, but much sought after and caressed. Gentle as aslave, so was she an affectionate mother and dutiful wife. Sometwelve months passed pleasantly at their new home, when there cameto the city a Jew of the name of Salamons Finch. This Finch, who was"runner" to a commercial firm in the city of Charleston (he was lankof person, with sallow, craven features), knew Annette when but achild. Indeed, he was a clerk of Graspum when that gentleman soldthe fair slave to Gurdoin Choicewest; in addition to which he hadapartments at Lady Tuttlewell's most fashionable house, where thelittle doll-like thing used to be so sprightly in waiting at table. The quick eye of this harpy, as may readily be supposed, was notlong in detecting the person of Annette the slave in our fairmother; which grand discovery he as soon communicated to Montague, pluming himself a generous fellow for being first to disclose whathe supposed a valuable secret. Indeed, such was the force ofassociation on this fellow, that he could not bring his mind tobelieve such a match possible, unless the fair fugitive (of thecircumstances of whose escape he was well posted) had, by theexercise of strategy, imposed herself on the gentleman. The readermay easily picture to himself the contempt in which Montague heldthe fellow's generous expos‚; but he as readily became sensible ofthe nature of the recognition, and of its placing him in a dangerousposition. At first he thought of sending his wife and childimmediately to her mother, in Nassau; but having intimations fromthe fellow that the matter might be reconciled with golden eagles, he chose rather to adopt that plan of procuring peace and quietness. With a goodly number of these gold eagles, then, did he from time totime purchase the knave's secrecy; but, with that singularpropensity so characteristic of the race, was he soon found makingimproper advances to the wife of the man whose money he received forkeeping secret her early history. This so exasperated Montague, thatin addition to sealing the fellow's lips with the gold coin, hethreatened his back with stripes of the raw hide, in payment of hisinsolence. Albeit, nothing but the fear of exposure, theconsequences of which must prove fatal, caused him to bear with painthe insult while withholding payment of this well-merited debt. Withkeen instincts, and a somewhat cultivated taste for the beautiful, Finch might with becoming modesty have pleaded them in extenuationof his conduct; but the truth was, he almost unconsciously foundhimself deeply enamoured of the fair woman, without being able tolook upon her as a being elevated above that menial sphere hisvulgar mind conditioned for her when in slavery. Here, then, thereader will more readily conceive than we can describe the grievousannoyances our otherwise happy couple were subjected to; nor, if afreeman's blood course in his veins, can he fail to picture thepunishment it so dearly merited. However, it came to pass that inthe course of a few months this fellow disappeared suddenly, andnearly at the same time was Montague summoned to New Orleans todirect some complicated affairs of his brother, who lay a victim tothat fearful scourge which so often devastates that city of balmybreezes. After due preparations for an absence of some two months, Montague set out on his journey; but had not been forty-eight hoursgone, when Finch again made his appearance, and taking advantage ofa husband's absence, pressed his advances with grossest insult, threatening at the same time to convey information of the discoveryto Pringle Blowers. Successively did these importunities fail toeffect Mr. Finch's purpose; but he was of an indomitable temper, andhad strong faith in that maxim of his race, which may be transcribedthus:--"If one effort fail you, try another. " To carry out thisprinciple, then, did Finch draw from the cunning inventive of hisbrain a plan which he could not doubt for a moment would besuccessful. The reader may blush while we record the fact, of Finch, deeming a partner necessary to the gaining his purpose, finding awilling accomplice in one of Montague's clerks, to whom he disclosedthe secret of the fair woman being nothing more than a fugitiveslave, whose shame they would share if the plan proved successful. This ingenious plan, so old that none but a fellow of this stampwould have adopted it, was nothing more than the intercepting by theaid of the clerk all Montague's letters to his wife. By this theycame in possession of the nature of his family affairs; and afterpermitting the receipt of two letters by Sylvia, possessedthemselves of her answers that they might be the better able tocarry out the evil of their scheme. After sufficient time hadpassed, did Sylvia receive a letter, duly posted at New Orleans, purporting to have been written by a clerk in the employ of thefirm, and informing her, having acknowledged becomingly the receiptof her letter, that Montague had been seized with the epidemic, andnow lay in a precarious state. Much concerned was she at the painfulintelligence; but she almost as soon found consolation in theassurances of the clerk who brought her the letter, and, tostrengthen his own cause, told her he had seen a captain justarrived up, who had met her husband a day after the date of theletter, quite well. Indeed, this was necessary to that functionary'snext move, for he was the conspirator of Finch, and the author ofthe letter which had caused so much sadness to the woman who nowsought his advice. In suspense did the anxious woman wait the comingtidings of her affectionate husband: alas! in a few days was the sadnews of his death by the fatal scourge brought to her in an envelopewith broad black border and appropriate seal. Overwhelmed withgrief, the good woman read the letter, describing her Montague tohave died happy, as the conspirator looked on with indifference. Theconfidential clerk of the firm had again performed a painful andunexpected duty. The good man died, said he, invoking a blessing onthe head of his child, and asking heaven to protect his wife; towhich he would add, that the affairs of the house were in the worstpossible condition, there not being assets to pay a fraction of thedebts. And here we would beg the reader to use his imagination, andsave us the description of much that followed. Not all their threatsnor persuasions, however, could induce her to yield to theirdesigns; defiantly did she repulse the advances of the crawlingFinch; nobly did she spurn his persuasions; firmly did she, heedlessof his threat to acquaint Pringle Blowers of her whereabouts, bidhim be gone from her door. The fellow did go, grievouslydisappointed; and, whether from malice or mercenary motives we willnot charge, sought and obtained from Pringle Blowers, in exchangefor his valuable discovery, a promise of the original reward. Shudder not, reader, while we tell it! It was not many days ere thenotorious Blowers set out for Memphis, recovered his lost property, who, like a lamb panting in the grasp of a pursuing wolf, was, withher young child, dragged back, a wretch, into the melancholy wasteof slavery. Long and loudly was the grand discovery resoundedthrough the little world of Memphis; not in sympathy for the slave, for many hearts were made glad with joy over what the fashionablewere pleased to term a fortunate disclosure and a happy removal. Many very grave gentlemen said the miscreant who dared impose aslave on society, well merited punishment at the hands of thevenerable Lynch, --a judge of that city whose celebrity is almostworld wide. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

A FAMILIAR SCENE, IN WHICH PRINGLE BLOWERS HAS BUSINESS. 

OF a bright morning, not many days after Pringle Blowers returnedwith his fair slave to Charleston (which said slave he would notsell for gold), there sat on a little bench at the entrance gate ofthe "upper workhouse, " the brusque figure of a man, whose coarse andfirmly knit frame, to which were added hard and weather-stainedfeatures, indicated his having seen some fifty summers. But, if hewas brusque of figure and coarse of deportment, he had a good softheart in the right place; nor did he fail to exercise its virtueswhile pursuing the duties of a repulsive profession; albeit, he waskeeper of the establishment, and superintended all punishments. Leisurely he smoked of a black pipe; and with shirt sleeves rolledup, a grey felt hat almost covering his dark, flashing eyes, and hisarms easily folded, did he seem contemplating the calm loveliness ofmorning. Now he exhaled the curling fume, then scanned away over thebright landscape to the east, and again cast curious glances up anddown the broad road stretching in front of his prison to the northand south. It was not long before a carriage and pair appeared onthe hill to the south, advancing at a slow pace towards the city. The keeper's keen eye rested upon it intently, as it neared, bearingin a back seat what seemed to be a lady fine of figure anddeportment; while on the front drove a figure of great rotundity, the broad, full face shining out like a ripe pumpkin in a sunshower. "It's Pringle Blowers, I do believe in my soul! but it'sseeming strange how he's got a lady to ride with him, " mused theman, who, still watching the approach, had quite forgotten theescape of the fair slave. The man was not mistaken, for as hetouched his hat, on the carriage arriving opposite the gate, ithalted, and there, sure enough, was our valiant democrat, who, placing his whip in the socket, crooked his finger and beckoned thekeeper. "Broadman!" said he, (for that was the man's name) "I'ze abit of something in your way of business this morning. " The honestfunctionary, with seeming surprise, again touching his hat as heapproached the vehicle, replied: "Your servant, sir!" Blowersmotioned his hand to the woman, whose tears were now, to Broadman'ssurprise, seen coursing down her pale cheeks. To use a vulgarphrase, Broadman was entirely "taken aback" by the singularity ofBlowers' manner; for the woman, whose dress and deportment thehonest man conceived to be nothing less than that of a lady of oneof the "first families, " obeying the motion, began to descend fromthe carriage. "Now, Broadman, " continued Blowers, arranging hisreins, and with clumsy air making his descent over the fore wheels, "take that 'ar wench o' mine, and, by the State's custom, give herthe extent of the law, well laid on. "

The author here writes the incident as given by the prison-keeper. The man hesitated, as if doubting his senses; rather would he havebeen courteous to what he still viewed as a lady, than extend hisrude hand to lead her away. 

"Pardon me, Sir! but you cannot mean what you say, " nervously spokethe man, as in doubt he exchanged glances first with the fair womanand then with Blowers. "I means just what I says, " returned thatgentleman, peremptorily; "you'ze hearn o' that 'un afore. She's anigger o' mine, what runned away more nor six years ago; come, dothe job for her, and no fussing over't. " "Nigger!" interrupted theman, in surprise. "Yes!" rejoined Blowers, emphasising his assurancewith oaths, of which he had a never-failing supply, "that's thecussed white nigger what's gin me all the bother. The whiter niggersis, the more devil's in em; and that ar' one's got devil enough fora whole plantation; 'tisn't the licks I cares about, but it's thehumblin' on her feelings by being punished in the workhouse!" Theman of duty was now brought to his senses, when, seeing Blowers wasinclined to relieve his anger on what he was pleased to consider thestupidity of a keeper, he took the weeping but resolute woman by thearm, and called a negro attendant, into whose charge he handed her, with an order to "put her in the slings. " Soon she disappearedwithin the gate, following the mulatto man. And here we will againspare the reader's feelings, by omitting much that followed. Blowersand Broadman follow the hapless woman, as she proceeds through anarrow passage leading to the punishment room, and when about halfway to that place of torture, a small, square door opens on theright, into a dingy office, the keeper says is where he keeps hisaccounts with the State, which derives a large revenue from thepunishments. Into this does the worthy man invite his patron, whomhe would have be seated while the criminal is got "all right" in theslings. Fain would Blowers go and attend the business himself; butBroadman saying "that cannot be, " he draws from his pocket a smallflask, and, seemingly contented, invites him to join in "somethin"he says is the very choicest. Broadman has no objection toencouraging this evidence of good feeling, which he will takeadvantage of to introduce the dialogue that follows. "Good sir, "says he, "you will pardon what I am about to say, for indeed I feelthe weakness of my position when addressing you, fortune having madea wide distinction between us; but judge me not because I am coarseof flesh, nor have polished manners, for I have a heart that feelsfor the unfortunate. " Here Blowers interrupted the keeper by sayinghe would hear no chicken-hearted interpositions. "Remember, keeper, "he added, "you must not presume on the small familiarity I havecondescended to admit in drinking with you. I hold no controversieswith prison-keepers (again he gulps his brandy) or their subs; beinga servant of the state, I order you to give that wench the extent ofthe law. She shall disclose the secret of her escape, or I'll haveher life; I'm a man what won't stand no nonsense, I am!" The keeper, rejoining, hopes he will pardon the seeming presumption; but, forsooth, notwithstanding necessity has driven him to seek alivelihood in his repulsive occupation, there is a duty of the hearthe cannot betray, though the bread of his maintenance be taken fromhim. Blowers again assumes his dignity, rises from his seat, scowlssignificantly at the keeper, and says he will go put through thebusiness with his own hands. "Good friend, " says Broadman, arrestingBlowers' progress, "by the state's ruling you are my patron;nevertheless, within these walls I am master, and whatever you maybring here for punishment shall have the benefit of my discretion. Iloathe the law that forces me to, in such cases, overrule the admo-nitions of my heart. I, sir, am low of this world, --good! but, inregret do I say it, I have by a slave mother two fair daughters, whoin the very core of my heart I love; nor would I, imitating thebaser examples of our aristocracy, sell them hapless outcasts forlife. " Here Blowers again interrupted by allowing his passion tomanifest itself in a few very fashionable oaths; to which he added, that he (pacing the room several times) would no longer give ear tosuch nonsense from a man of Broadman's position, --which was neithersocially nor politically grand. "No doubt, good sir, my humble andsomewhat repulsive calling does not meet your distinguishedconsideration; but I am, nevertheless, a man. And what I was aboutto say-I hope you will grant me a hearing-was, that having these twodaughters-poverty only prevents my purchasing them-has made mesensible of these slaves having delicate textures. The unhappypossession of these daughters has caused me to reflect-to studyconstitutions, and their capacity to endure punishments. The womanit has pleased you to bring here for chastisement, I take it, is notcoarse of flesh; but is one of those unfortunates whom kindnessmight reform, while the lash never fails to destroy. Why, then, notconsider her in the light of a friendless wretch, whom it werebetter to save, than sink in shame? One word more and I am done"(Blowers was about to cut short the conversation); "the extent ofthe law being nothing less than twenty blows of the paddle, is mostsevere punishment for a woman of fine flesh to withstand on hernaked loins. Nor, let me say-and here I speak from twelve years'experience-can the lady-I beg pardon, the slave you bring me!-bearthese blows: no, my lips never spoke truer when I say she'll quiverand sink in spasms ere the second blow is laid on. " Here-some twentyminutes having passed since the fair slave was led into thepunishment room-Blowers cut short the conversation which had failedto thaw his resolution, by saying Broadman had bored his ears inspinning out his long song, and if he were unwilling to fulfil theduties of his office, such should be reported to the authorities, who would not permit workhouse-keepers so to modify their ordnancesthat black and white niggers have different punishments. "Nay, sir!"says the honest man, with an air of earnestness, as he rises fromhis seat; "follow me, and with the reality will I prove the truth ofmy words. " Here he proceeds to that place of torments, thepunishment-room, followed by Blowers; who says, with singularindifference-"Can do the job in five minutes; then I'll leave herwith you for two, three, or four days or so. Then if she's civillyhumbled down, I'll send my nigger fellow, Joe, with an order forher. Joe'll be the fellow's name; now, mind that: but you know myJoe, I reckon?" The keeper led the way, but made no reply; forindeed he knew nothing of his Joe, there being innumerable niggersof that name. As the men left the little office, and were saunteringup the passage, our worthy friend Rosebrook might be seen enteringin search of Broadman; when, discovering Blowers in his company, andhearing the significant words, he shot into a niche, unobserved bythem, and calling a negro attendant, learned the nature of hisvisit. And here it becomes necessary that we discover to the readerthe fact of Rosebrook having been apprised of the forlorn woman'sreturn, and her perilous position in the hands of Pringle Blowers;and, further, that the communication was effected by the negro manPompe, who we have before described in connection with Montague atthe time of his landing from the witch-like schooner. This Pompe wassold to Blowers but a few months before Annette's recovery, andacting upon the force of that sympathy which exists among fellowslaves of a plantation, soon renewed old acquaintance, gained herconfidence, and, cunningly eluding the owner's watchfulness, conveyed for her a letter to the Rosebrooks. In truth, Pompe had aninveterate hatred of Blowers, and under the incitement would nothave hesitated to stake his life in defence of the fair woman. Now, the exacting reader may question Rosebrook's intrepidity in notproceeding at once to the rescue of the victim; but when we say thathe was ignorant of the positive order given the keeper, and onlycaught distinctly the words-"I'll send my nigger fellow, Joe, withan order for her!" they may discover an excuse for his hastilywithdrawing from the establishment. Indeed, that my reader maywithhold his censure, it may be well to add that he did this inorder to devise more strategical means of effecting her escape. 

And now, ye who have nerves-let them not be shaken; let not youremotions rise, ye who have souls, and love the blessings of liberty;let not mothers nor fathers weep over democracy's wrongs; nor letman charge us with picturing the horrors of a black romance when weintroduce the spectacle in the room of punishments: such, be itknown, is not our business, nor would we trifle unjustly with theerrors of society; but, if chivalry have blushes, we do not objectto their being used here. The keeper, followed by Blowers, enters asmall room at the further end of the passage. It is some sixteenfeet long by twelve wide, and proportionately high of ceiling. Thepale light of a tallow candle, suspended from the ceiling by a wire, and from which large flakes of the melted grease lay cone-like onthe pine floor, discloses the gloom, and discovers hanging from thewalls, grim with smoke, sundry curious caps, cords, leathern cats, and the more improved paddles of wood, with flat blades. The verygloom of the place might excite the timid; but the reflection of howmany tortures it has been the scene, and the mysterious stillnesspervading its singularly decorated walls, add still more to increaseapprehension. A plank, some two feet wide, and raised a few inches, stretches across the floor, and is secured at each end with cleets. About midway of this are ropes securing the victim's feet; andthrough the dim light is disclosed the half nude body of our fairgirl, suspended by the wrists, which are clasped in bands of cord, that, being further secured to a pulley block, is hauled taut by atackle. Suddenly the wretched woman gives vent to her feelings, andin paroxysms of grief sways her poor body to and fro, imploringmercy! "Nay, master! think that I am a woman-that I have a heart tofeel and bleed; that I am a mother and a wife, though a slave. Letyour deeds be done quickly, or end me and save me this shame!" shesupplicates, as the bitter, burning anguish of her goaded soul givesout its flood of sorrow. Chivalry, forsooth, lies cold andunmoved-Blowers has no relish for such inconsistency;--such whinings, he says, will not serve southern principles. The mulatto attendanthas secured the fall, and stands a few feet behind Blowers and thekeeper, as that functionary says, laying his coarse hands on thewoman's loins, "How silky!" The mulatto man shakes his head, revengefully, making a grimace, as Broadman, having selected thesmallest paddle (reminding us of the curious sympathy now buddingbetween the autocratic knout and democratic lash) again addressesBlowers. "I doubt, sir, " he says, "if the woman stand a blow. Necessity 's a hard master, sir; and in this very act is the testmore trying than I have ever known it. I dissemble myself when I seea wretch of fine flesh-a woman with tender senses, in distress, andI am made the instrument of adding to her suffering. Indeed, sir, when I contemplate the cause of such wretchedness, and the povertyforcing me to remain in this situation, no imagination can representthe horror of my feelings. "

"We have no demand on your feelings, my man! we want your duty-whatthe state put you here to perform, " interrupted Blowers, placing histhumbs in his vest, and making a step backward. Another second, andthe attendant lighted a hand-lamp, --a sharp, slapping blow was heard, a death-like shriek followed; the flesh quivered and contracted intoa discoloured and inflamed pustule; the body writhed a few secondsin convulsive spasms; a low moaning followed, and that fair formhung swooning in the slings, as the keeper, in fright, cried out, atthe top of his voice, to the attendant--"Lower away the fall!" As ifthe fiend had not yet gratified his passion, no sooner was theseemingly lifeless body lowered clumsily to the floor, than hegrasped the weapon from Broadman's hand, and like a tiger seekingits banquet of flesh, was about to administer a second blow. ButBroadman had a good heart, the admonitions of which soared highabove the state's mandate: seizing Blowers in his arms, he ejectedhim from the door, ran back to the prostrate woman, released herbruised limbs from the fastenings, gathered her to his arms; andwith nervous hands and anxious face did he draw from his pocket thewell-timed hartshorn, by the application of which he sought torestore her, as the mulatto man stood by, bathing her temples withcold water. "Ah! shame on the thing called a man who could abuse asweet creature of fine flesh, like thee! it's not many has such apretty sweet face, " says Broadman, with an air of compassion, resting her shoulder against his bended knee as he encircles it withhis left arm, and looks upon the pale features, tears glistening inhis honest eyes. We might say with Broadman--"It's not the finest, nor the polished of flesh, that hath the softest hearts. " But, reader, having performed our duty, let us drop the curtain over thissad but true scene; and when you have conjectured the third andfourth acts of the drama, join with us in hoping the chivalry of ourState may yet awake to a sense of its position, that, when we againraise it, a pleasanter prospect may be presented. 

CHAPTER LIV. 

IN WHICH ARE DISCOVERIES AND PLEASANT SCENES. 

ST. PATRICK'S night closed the day on which the scenes of theforegoing chapter were enacted; and that patron saint being ofaristocratic descent, which caused him to be held in high esteem byour "very first families, " than among whom better admirers couldnowhere be found, his anniversary was sure to be celebrated withmuch feasting and drinking. But while this homage to the good saintmade glad the hearts of thousands-while the city seemed radiant ofjoy, and reeling men from Hibernia's gorgeous hall found in him anexcuse for their revelries--there sat in the box of a caf‚, situatedon the west side of Meeting Street, two men who seemed to have adeeper interest at heart than that of the Saint's joy on his road toparadise. The one was a shortish man, coarse of figure, and whosebrowned features and figured hands bespoke him a sailor; the otherwas delicate of figure, with pale, careworn countenance and nervousdemeanour. Upon the marble slab, on which they rested their elbows, sat a bottle of old Madeira, from which they sipped leisurely, nowand then modulating their conversation into whispers. Then the manof brown features spoke out more at ease, as if they had concludedthe preliminaries of some important business. 

"Well, well, --now isn't that strange?" said he, sighing as he spreadhis brawny hands upon the white marble. "Natur's a curious mystery, though" (he looked intently at the other): "why, more nor twentyyears have rolled over since I did that bit of a good turn, and hereI is the very same old Jack Hardweather, skipper of the Maggy Bell. But for all that--and I'd have folks know it!--the Maggy's as trim alittle craft as ever lay to on a sou'-easter; and she can show asclean a pair of heels as any other--barring her old top timberscomplain now and then--to the best cutter as ever shook Uncle Sam'srags. " His hard features softened, as in the earnest of his heart hespoke. He extended his hand across the table, grasping firmly thatof his nervous friend, and continued--"And it was no other witchthan the taunt Maggy Bell that landed that good woman safe on thefree sands of old Bahama!" The Maggy, he tells the other, is now atthe wharf, where the good wife, Molly Hardweather, keeps ship whilethe boys take a turn ashore. 

"There's always a wise provision to relieve one's feelings whensorrow comes unexpectedly, " returns the nervous man, his handtrembling as he draws forth the money to pay the waiter who answeredhis call. 

"Yes!" quickly rejoined the other, "but keep up a good heart, like asailor hard upon a lee shore, and all 'll be bright and sunny in aday or two. And now we'll just make a tack down the bay-street-andsight the Maggy. There's a small drop of somethin' in the locker, that'll help to keep up yer spirits, I reckon--a body's spirits hasto be tautened now and then, as ye do a bobstay, --and the wife (she'sa good sort of a body, though I say it) will do the best she can inher hard way to make ye less troubled at heart. Molly Hardweatherhas had some hard ups and downs in life, knows well the cares of amother, and has had twins twice; yes"-adds the hardy seafarer-"wearn't polished folks, nor high of blood, but we've got hearts, andas every true heart hates slavery, so do we, though we are forced todissemble our real feelings for the sake of peace in the trade. "Here the delicate man took the sailor's arm, and sallied out to seekthe little Maggy Bell, the former saying the meeting was as strangeas grateful to his very soul. Down Market Street, shaded indarkness, they wended their way, and after reaching the wharf, passed along between long lines of cotton bales, piled eight and tenfeet high, to the end, where lay motionless the pretty Maggy Bell, as clipper-like a craft as ever spread canvas. The light from thecabin shed its faint gleams over the quarter-deck, as Hardweatherhalted on the capsill, and with a sailor's pride run his quick blackeye along her pirate-like hull, then aloft along the rigging. Exultingly, he says, "She is the sauciest witch that ever faced seaor showed a clean pair of heels. The Maggy Bell!"-he pats his friendon the shoulder-"why, sir, she has-just between ourselves now-slidedmany a poor slave off into freedom; but folks here don't think it ofme. Now, if I reckon right"-he bites his tobacco, and extends it tothe stranger-"and I believe I do, it's twenty years since the Maggy, of one dark night, skimmed it by that point, with Fort Pinkney onit, yonder, that good creature on board. " He points to the murkymass, scarce visible in the distance, to the east. "And now she'sone of the noblest women that ever broke bread to the poor; andshe's right comfortable off, now, --alwa's has a smile, and a kindword, and something good for old Jack Hardweather whenever she seeshim. Lord bless yer soul!"-here he shakes his head earnestly, andsays he never was a lubber-"Jack Hardweather didn't care about thesoft shot for his locker; it was my heart that felt the kindness. Indeed, it always jumps and jerks like a bobstay in a head sea, whenI meets her. And then, when I thinks how 'twas me done the goodturn, and no thanks to nobody! You hearn of me 'afore, eh" (he turnsto his companion, who measuredly answers in the affirmative). "Well, then, my name's Skipper Jack Hardweather, known all along the coast;but, seeing how the world and navigation's got shortened down, theycall me old Jack Splitwater. I suppose it's by the way ofconvenience, and so neither wife nor me have a bit of objection. "Here the conversation was interrupted by the good wife's round, cheery face shooting suddenly from out the companion-way, andenjoining our friend Jack to come away aboard, her high peaked capshining like snow on a dark surface. The truth was, that Splitwater, as he was styled, had become so much absorbed in excitement as toforget the length of his yarn. "Come away, now!" says the good wife, "everybody's left the Maggy to-night; and ther's na knowin' what 'da' become 'un her if a'h hadn't looked right sharp, for ther' wer' amuckle ship a'mast run her dune; an' if she just had, the Maggy wadna mar bene seen!" The good wife shakes her head; her rich Scotchtongue sounding on the still air, as with apprehension her chubbyface shines in the light of the candle she holds before it with herright hand. Skipper Splitwater will see his friend on board, hesays, as they follow her down the companion-ladder. "Wife thinks asmuch of the Maggy-and would, I believe in my soul, cry her life outif anything happened till her: wife's a good body aboard a ship, andcan take a trick at the wheel just as well as Harry Span the mate. "Skipper Splitwater leads the way into a little dingy cabin, apartition running athwart ships dividing it into two apartments; theformer being where Skipper Hardweather "sleeps his crew" and cookshis mess, the sternmost where he receives his friends. This latterplace, into which he conducts the nervous man, is lumbered withboxes, chests, charts, camp-seats, log lines, and rusty quadrants, and sundry marine relics which only the inveterate coaster couldconceive a use for. But the good wife Molly, whose canny face bearsthe wrinkles of some forty summers, and whose round, short figure isso simply set off with bright plaid frock and apron of ginghamcheck, in taste well adapted to her humble position, is as clean andtidy as ever was picture of mine Vrow Vardenstein. Nevertheless, --weknow the reader will join us in the sentiment-that which gave theair of domestic happiness a completeness hitherto unnoticed, was awee responsibility, as seen sprawling and kicking goodnaturedly onthe white pillow of the starboard berth, where its two peering eyesshone forth as bright as new-polished pearls. The little darling isjust a year old, Dame Hardweather tells us; it's a twin, --the otherdied, and, she knows full well, has gone to heaven. Here she takesthe little cherub in her lap, and having made her best courtesy asHardweather introduces her to his nervous friend, seats herself onthe locker, and commences suckling it, while he points to the veryplace on the larboard side where Clotilda-"Ah! I just caught thename, " he says, --used to sit and sorrow for her child. "And then, "he continues, "on the quarter-deck she'd go and give such longinglooks back, like as if she wanted to see it; and when she couldn't, she'd turn away and sigh so. And this, Molly, " he continues, "is theself-same child my friend here, who I am as happy to meet as a bodycan be, wants me to carry off from these wolves of slavery; and if Idon't, then my name's not Jack Splitwater!" So saying, he bustlesabout, tells the nervous man he must excuse the want of finery, thathe has been a hard coaster for God knows how many years, and thelittle place is all he can afford; for indeed he is poor, butexpects a better place one of these days. Then he draws forth from alittle nook in the stern locker a bottle, which he says containspure stuff, and of which he invites his visitor to partake, that hemay keep up a good heart, still hoping for the best. The nervous mandeclines his kind invitation, --he has too much at heart, and thesight of the child so reminds him of his own now blighted inslavery. The good woman now becoming deeply concerned, Hardweathermust needs recount the story, and explain the strange man'stroubles, which he does in simple language; but, as the yarn issomewhat long, the reader must excuse our not transcribing it here. With anxious face and listening ears did the woman absorb everyword; and when the earnest skipper concluded with grasping firmlythe man's hand, and saying-"Just you scheme the strategy, and if Idon't carry it out my name aint Jack Hardweather!" would she fainhave had him go on. "Lack a day, good man!" she rejoined, fondlingcloser to her bosom the little suckling; "get ye the wee bairn andbring it hither, and I'll mak it t'uther twin-na body'll kno't! andda ye ken hoo ye may mak the bonny wife sik a body that nane butfoxes wad ken her. Just mak her a brae young sailor, and the MaggyBell 'll do the rest on't. " Hardweather here interrupted Molly'ssuggestion which was, indeed, most fortunate, and albeit suppliedthe initiative to the strategy afterwards adopted-for slavery openswide the field of strategy-by reminding the stranger that she had along Scotch head. The night had now well advanced; the strangershook the woman's hand firmly, and bade her good night, as a teargushed into his eyes. The scene was indeed simple, but touching. Thehard mariner will accompany his friend to the wharf; and then as heagain turns on the capsill, he cannot bid him good night withoutadding a few words more in praise of the little Maggy Bell, whosename is inscribed in gilt letters upon the flash-board of her stern. Holding his hand, he says: "Now, keep the heart up right! and in aday or two we'll have all aboard, and be in the stream waiting for afair breeze-then the Maggy 'll play her part. Bless yer soul! thelittle craft and me's coasted down the coast nobody knows how manyyears; and she knows every nook, creek, reef, and point, just aswell as I does. Just give her a double-reefed mainsail, and the lugof a standing jib, and in my soul I believe she'd make the passagewithout compass, chart, or a hand aboard. By the word of an oldsailor, such a craft is the Maggy Bell. And when the Spanish andEnglish and French all got mixed up about who owned Florida, theMaggy and me's coasted along them keys when, blowing a screecher, them Ingins' balls flew so, a body had to hold the hair on his head;but never a bit did the Maggy mind it. " The stranger's heart was toofull of cares to respond to the generous man's simplicity; shakinghis hand fervently, he bid him good night, and disappeared up thewharf. 

We apprehend little difficulty to the reader in discovering theperson of Montague in our nervous man, who, in the absence ofintelligence from his wife, was led to suspect some foul play. Norwere his suspicions unfounded; for, on returning to Memphis, whichhe did in great haste, he found his home desolate, his wife andchild borne back into slavery, and himself threatened with Lynchlaw. The grief which threatened to overwhelm him at finding those heso dearly loved hurled back into bondage, was not enough to appeasea community tenacious of its colour. No! he must leave his business, until the arrival of some one from New York, to the clerk who soperfidiously betrayed him. With sickened heart, then, does he-onlytoo glad to escape the fury of an unreasoning mob-seek that place ofbondage into which the captives have been carried; nay, more, heleft the excited little world (reporting his destination to be NewYork) fully resolved to rescue them at the hazard of his life, andfor ever leave the country. Scarcely necessary then, will it be forus to inform the reader, that, having sought out the Rosebrooks, hehas counselled their advice, and joined them in devising means ofrelief. Blowers had declared, on his sacred honour, he would notsell the captives for their weight in gold. 

Rosebrook had no sooner received Annette's letter from the hand ofPompe than he repaired to Blowers' plantation-as well to sound thatgentleman's disposition to sell his captives, as a necessaryprecaution against the dangers he had incurred through hisparticipation in the fair girl's escape; for albeit the disclosuremight be extorted from her by cruelty. But Blowers was too much of agentleman to condescend to sell his captive; nor would he listen toarguments in her behalf. Nevertheless, we will not underrateBlowers' character, that the reader may suppose him devoid ofcompassion; for-be it recorded to his fame-he did, on the morningfollowing that on which the punishment we have described in theforegoing chapter took place, send the child, whose long andpiercing cries he could no longer endure, to the arms of its poordisconsolate mother, whom he hoped would take good care of it. 

Now, let not the reader restrain his fancy, but imagine, if he can, Pringle Blowers' disappointment and state of perturbation, when, three days after the punishment, he presented himself at Broadman'sestablishment, and was informed by that functionary that the fairmother was non est. With honest face did Broadman assert hisignorance of wrong. That he had not betrayed his duty he wouldsatisfy the enraged man, by producing the very order on which hedelivered them to Joe! "Yes, Joe was his name!" continues the honestman; "and he asserted his ownership, and told a straightforwardstory, and didn't look roguish. " He passes the order over toBlowers, who, having examined it very cautiously, says: "Forgery, forgery!-'tis, by the Eternal!" Turning his fat sides, he approachesthe window, and by the light reads each successive word. It iswritten in a scrawl precisely like his own; but, forsooth, it cannotbe his. However, deeming it little becoming a man of his standing toparley with Broadman, he quickly makes his exit, and, like alocomotive at half speed, exhausting his perturbation the while, does he seek his way into the city, where he discovers his loss tothe police. We have in another part of our history described Blowersas something of a wag; indeed, waggery was not the least trait inhis curious character, nor was he at all cautious in the exercise ofit; and, upon the principle that those who give must take, did herender himself a fit object for those who indulge in that sort ofpastime to level their wit upon. On this occasion, Blowers had notspent many hours in the city ere he had all its convenient cornersvery fantastically decorated with large blue placards, whereon wasinscribed the loss of his valuable woman, and the offer of theincreased sum of four hundred dollars for her apprehension. Theplacards were wonderful curiosities, and very characteristic ofBlowers, who in this instance excited no small amount of merrimentamong the city wags, each of whom cracked a joke at his expense. Nowit was not that those waggish spirits said of his placard thingsexceedingly annoying to his sensitive feelings, but that every prigmade him the butt of his borrowed wit. One quizzed him with want ofgallantry, --another told him what the ladies said of his oss, --a thirdpitied him, but hoped he might get back his property; and then, TomSpan, the dandy lawyer, laconically told him that to love a fairslave was a business he must learn over again; and Sprout, thecotton-broker, said there was a law against ornamenting the citywith blue placards and type of such uncommon size. In thisinterminable perplexity, and to avoid the last-named difficulty, didhe invoke the genius of the "bill-sticker, " who obliterated the blueplacards by covering them over with brown ones, the performance ofwhich, Blowers himself superintended. This made the matter stillworse, for with jocose smile did every wag say he had hung the cityin mourning for his loss; which singular proceeding the ladies hadone and all solemnly protested against. Now, Blowers regard for theladies was proverbial; nor will it disparage his character to saythat no one was more sensitive of their opinions concerning himself. In this unhappy position, then, which he might have avoided had heexercised more calmly his philosophy, did his perturbation get thebetter of him;--an object of ridicule for every wag, and inill-favour with the very first ladies, never was perplexed man'stemper so near the exploding point of high pressure. And here, forsooth, disgusted within the whole city, nor at all pleased withthe result of his inventive genius, he sought relief in strongdrinks and a week of dissipation; in which sad condition we mustleave him to the reader's sympathy. 

As some of our fair readers may be a little prudish, or exacting ofcharacter, and as we are peculiarly sensitive of the reputation someof the characters embodied in this history should bear to the veryend, we deem it prudent here not to disclose the nature of thelittle forgery which was perpetrated at Blowers' expense, nor themeans by which it was so cleverly carried out, to the release of thefair captives, who must now be got out of the city. Should we, inthe performance of this very desirable duty, fail to please thereader's taste for hair-breadth escapes, unnatural heroism, andsublime disinterestedness, an excuse may be found in our lack ofsoul to appreciate those virtues of romance. We have no taste forbreathless suspenses, no love of terror: we deal not in tragedy, nortraffic in dramatic effects. But as the simplest strategy is oftenthe most successful of results, so did it prove in this particularcase; for, be it known, that on the morning of the twenty-fourth ofMarch, --, was Molly Hardweather's suggestion adopted andeffectually carried out, to the gratification of sundry interestedpersons. Calm and bright was that morning; Charleston harbour andits pretty banks seemed radiant of loveliness: the phantom-likeMaggy Bell, with mainsail and jib spread motionless in the air, swung gently at anchor midway the stream; and Dame Hardweather satin the dingy cabin, her little chubby face beaming contentment asshe nursed the "t'other twin. " The brusque figure of old Jack, immersed in watchfulness, paced to and fro the Maggy's deck; and inthe city as trim a young sailor as ever served signal halliards onboard man-o'-war, might be seen, his canvas bag slung over hisshoulder, carelessly plodding along through the busy street, for thelanding at the market slip. Soon the Maggy's flying jib was run up, then the foresail followed and hung loose by the throat. Near thewheel, as if in contemplation, sat Montague, while Hardweathercontinued his pacing, now glancing aloft, then to seaward, as ifinvoking Boreas' all-welcome aid, and again watching intently in thedirection of the slip. A few minutes more and a boat glided from thewharf, and rowed away for the little craft, which it soon reached, and on board of which the young sailor flung his bag, clambered overthe rail, and seemed happy, as old Jack put out his brawny hand, saying: "Come youngster, bear a hand now, and set about brighteningup the coppers!" We need not here discover the hearts that leapedwith joy just then; we need not describe the anxiety that foundrelief when the young sailor set foot on the Maggy's deck; nor needwe describe those eyes on shore that in tears watched the slenderform as it disappeared from sight. Just then a breeze wafted fromthe north, the anchor was hove up, the sails trimmed home, andslowly seaward moved the little bark. As she drifted rather thansailed past Fort Pinkney, two burly officials, as is the custom, boarded to search for hapless fugitives; but, having greatconfidence in the honesty of Skipper Splitwater, who never failed togive them of his best cheer, they drank a pleasant passage to him, made a cursory search, a note of the names of all on board (Jacksaying Tom Bolt was the young sailor's), and left quite satisfied. Indeed, there was nothing to excite their suspicions, for the gooddame sat nursing the "twa twins, " nor left aught to discover thediscrepancy between their ages, if we except a pair of little redfeet that dangled out from beneath the fringe of a plaid shawl. Andthe young sailor, who it is hardly necessary to inform the reader isAnnette, was busy with his cooking. And now the little craft, freeupon the wave, increased her speed as her topsails spread out, andglided swiftly seaward, heaven tempering the winds to her well-wornsails. God speed the Maggy Bell as she vaults over the sea; and mayshe never want water under keel, slaves to carry into freedom, or agood Dame Hardweather to make cheerful the little cabin! say we. 

And now, reader, join us in taking a fond farewell of theRosebrooks, who have so nobly played their part, to the shame ofthose who stubbornly refuse to profit by their example. They playedno inactive part in the final escape; but discretion forbids ourdisclosing its minuti‘. They sought to give unto others that liquidof life to which they owed their own prosperity and happiness; nordid selfish motive incite them to action. No; they sought peace andprosperity for the state; they would bind in lasting fellowship thatunion so mighty of states, which the world with mingled admirationand distrust watches; which in kindred compact must be mightier, which divided must fall! And while taking leave of them, hopingtheir future may be brightened with joys-and, too, though it may notcomport with the interests of our southern friends, that theirinventive genius may never want objects upon which to illustrateitself so happily-let us not forget to shake old Jack Hardweatherwarmly by the hand, invoking for him many fair winds and profitablevoyages. A big heart enamelled of "coarse flesh" is his; but withhis warm functions he has done much good; may he be rich in heaven'srewards, for he is poor in earth's!

CHAPTER LV. 

IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, SOME CURIOUS FACTS DEVELOPED, ANDCLOTILDA'S HISTORY DISCLOSED. 

IT was seven days after the sailing of the Maggy Bell, as describedin the foregoing chapter, that Montague was seen sitting in thecomfortably furnished parlour of a neat cottage in the suburbs ofNassau. The coal fire burned brightly in a polished grate; thecarpets and rugs, and lolling mats, indicated of care and comfort;the tabbied furniture and chastely worked ottomans, and sofas, andchairs, and inlaid workstands, seem bright of regularity and taste;and the window curtains of lace and damask, and the scroll cornicesfrom which they flowingly hung, and the little landscape paintingsthat hung upon the satin-papered walls, and the soft light thatissued from two girandoles on the mantel-piece of figured marble, all lent their cheering aid to make complete the radiant picture ofa happy home. But Montague sat nervous with anxiety. "Mother won'tbe a minute!" said a pert little fellow of some seven summers, whoplayed with his hands as he sat on the sofa, and asked questions hisemotions forbid answering. On an ottoman near the cheerful fire, sat, with happy faces, the prettily dressed figures of a boy andgirl, older in age than the first; while by the side of Montague satMaxwell, whose manly countenance we transcribed in the early part ofour narrative, and to whom Montague had in part related the sadevents of the four months past, as he heaved a sigh, saying, "Howhappy must he die who careth for the slave!" Ere the words hadescaped his lips, the door opened, and the graceful form of abeautiful woman entered, her finely oval but pensive face made moreexpressive by the olive that shaded it, and those deep soul-likeeyes that now sparkled in gentleness, and again flashed withapprehension. Nervously she paused and set her eyes with intensestare on Montague; then vaulted into his arms and embraced him, crying, "Is not my Annette here?" as a tear stole down her cheeks. Her quick eye detected trouble in his deportment; she grasped hisleft hand firmly in her right, and with quivering frame besought himto keep her no longer in the agony of suspense. "Why thus suddenlyhave you come? ah!-you disclose a deep-rooted trouble in notforewarning me! tell me all and relieve my feelings!" sheejaculated, in broken accents. "I was driven from that countrybecause I loved nature and obeyed its laws. My very soul loved itsgreatness, and would have done battle for its glories-yea, I lovedit for the many blessings it hath for the favoured; but one darkstain on its bright escutcheon so betrayed justice, that no home wasthere for me-none for the wife I had married in lawful wedlock. "Here the woman, in agonising throbs, interrupted him by enquiringwhy he said there was no home for the wife he had married in lawfulwedlock-was not the land of the puritans free? "Nay!" he answered, in a measured tone, shaking his head, "it is bestained not withtheir crimes-for dearly do they love justice and regard the rightsof man-but with the dark deeds of the man-seller, who, heedless oftheir feelings, and despising their moral rectitude, would makesolitary those happy homes that brighten in greatness over itssoil. " Again, frantic of anxiety, did the woman interrupt him:"Heavens!-she is not dragged back into slavery?" she enquired, heremotions rising beyond her power of restraint, as she drew bitterpangs from painful truths. With countenance bathed in trouble didMontague return her solicitous glance, and speak. "Into slavery" hemuttered, in half choked accents "was she hurled back. " He had notfinished the sentence ere anxiety burst its bounds, and the anxiouswoman shrieked, and fell swooning in his arms. Even yet her oliveface was beautefully pale. The cheerful parlour now rung withconfusion, servants bustled about in fright, the youthful familyshrieked in fear, the father sought to restore the fond mother, asMontague chafed her right hand in his. Let us leave to the reader'sconjecture a scene his fancy may depict better than we can describe, and pass to one more pleasant of results. Some half an hour hadtranspired, when, as if in strange bewilderment, Clotilda opened hereyes and seemed conscious of her position. A deep crimson shaded herolive cheeks, as in luxurious ease she lay upon the couch, herflushed face and her thick wavy hair, so prettily parted over herclassic brow, curiously contrasting with the snow-white pillow onwhich it rested. A pale and emaciated girl sat beside her, smoothingher brow with her left hand, laying the right gently on the almostmotionless bosom, kissing the crimsoning cheek, and lisping ratherthan speaking, "Mother, mother, oh mother!-it's only me. " And thenthe wet courses on her cheeks told how the fountain of her soul hadoverflown. Calmly and vacantly the woman gazed on the fair girl, with whom she had been left alone. Then she raised her left hand toher brow, sighed, and seemed sinking into a tranquil sleep. "Mother!mother! I am once more with my mother!" again ejaculates the fairgirl, sobbing audibly; "do you not know me, mother?" Clotildastarted as if suddenly surprised. "Do I dream?" she muttered, raising herself on her elbow, as her great soft eyes wandered aboutthe room. She would know who called her mother. "'Tis me, " said thefair girl, returning her glances, "do you not know your Annette-yourslave child?" Indeed the fair girl was not of that brightcountenance she had anticipated meeting, for though the punishmenthad little soiled her flesh the dagger of disgrace had cut deep intoher heart, and spread its poison over her soul. "This my Annette!"exclaimed Clotilda, throwing her arms about the fair girl's neck, drawing her frantically to her bosom, and bathing her cheeks withher tears of joy. "Yes, yes, 'tis my long-lost child; 'tis she forwhom my soul has longed-God has been merciful, rescued her from theyawning death of slavery, and given her back to her mother! Oh, no, I do not dream-it is my child, --my Annette!" she continued. Long andaffectionately did they mingle their tears and kisses. And now afond mother's joy seemed complete, a child's sorrow ended, and ahappy family were made happier. Again the family gathered into theroom, where, as of one accord, they poured out their affectionatecongratulations. One after another were the children enjoined togreet Annette, kiss her, and call her sister. To them the meetingwas as strange as to the parents it was radiant of joy. "Mother!"said the little boy, as he took Annette by the hand and called hersister, and kissed her as she kissed him, "was you married beforeyou was married to father?" The affectionate mother had no answer tomake; she might have found one in the ignominy of the slave world. And now, when the measure of joy seemed full-when the bitterness ofthe past dwindled away like a dream, and when the future like abeacon hung out its light of promise, --Clotilda drew from a smallworkstand a discoloured paper written over in Greek characters, scarce intelligible. "Annette!" said she, "my mother gave me thiswhen last I saw her. The chains were then about her hands, and shewas about to be led away to the far south slave market: by it did Idiscover my history. " Here she unfolded its defaced pages, liftedher eyes upwards invokingly, and continued--"To speak the crimes ofgreat men is to hazard an oblivion for yourself, to bring upon youthe indifference of the multitude; but great men are often greatestin crime-for so it proved with those who completed my mother'sdestruction. Give ear, then, ye grave senators, and if ye havehearts of fathers, lend them! listen, ye queen mothers of mycountry, whose sons and daughters are yet travelling the world'suncertainties! listen, ye fathers, who have souls above Mammon'sgolden grasp, and sons in whom ye put your trust! listen, yebrothers, whose pride brightens in a sister's virtue! listen, yesisters, who enjoy paternal affections, and feel that one day youmay grace a country's social life! listen, ye philanthropists, yemen of the world, who love your country, and whose hearts yearn forits liberties-ye men sensitive of our great Republic's honour, norseek to traffic in the small gains of power when larger ones awaityou; and, above all, lend your hearts, ye brothers of the clergy inthe slave church, and give ear while I tell who I am, and pray ye, as ye love the soul of woman, to seek out those who, like unto whatI was, now wither in slavery. My grandfather's name was IznardMaldonard, a Minorcan, who in the year 1767 (some four years afterFlorida was by the king of Spain ceded to Great Britain) emigratedwith one Dr. Turnbull-whose name has since shone on the pages ofhistory-to that land of sunshine and promise; for, indeed, Floridais the Italy of America. In that year did numerous of the Englisharistocracy conceive plans as various as inconsistent for thepopulation and improvement of the colony. With a worthy motive didLord Rolle draw from the purlieus of London [Footnote: See Williams'History of Florida, page 188. ] State Papers, three hundred wretchedfemales, whose condition he would better by reforming and making aidin founding settlements. This his lordship found no easy task; butthe climate relieved him of the perplexity he had brought uponhimself, for to it did they all fall victims in a very short time. But Turnbull, with motive less commendable, obtained a grant of hisgovernment, and, for the sum of four hundred pounds, (being then inthe Peleponnesus) was the governor of Modon bribed into a permissionto convey sundry Greek families to Florida, for colonization. Returning from Modon with a number of families, he touched at theislands of Corsica and Minorca, added another vessel to his fleet, and increased the number of his settlers to fifteen hundred. Withexciting promises did he decoy them to his land of Egypt, whichproved a bondage to his shame. He would give them lands, freepassages, good provisions and clothing; but none of these promisesdid he keep. A long passage of four months found many victims to itshardships, and those who arrived safe were emaciated by sickness. Into the interior were these taken; and there they founded asettlement called New Smyrna, the land for which-some sixty thousandacres-was granted by the governor of Florida. Faithfully andearnestly did they labour for the promised reward, and in less thanfive years had more than three thousand acres of land in the higheststate of cultivation; but, as Turnbull's prosperity increased, sodid the demon avarice; and men, women, and children, were reduced tothe most abject slavery. Tasks greater than they could perform wereassigned them, and a few Italians and negroes made overseers anddrivers. For food the labourers were allotted seven quarts of cornper week. Many who had lived in affluence in their own country werecompelled to wear osnaburgs, and go bare-foot through the year. Morethan nine years were those valuable settlers kept in this state ofslavery, the cruelties inflicted upon them surpassing in enormitythose which so stigmatised the savage Spaniards of St. Domingo. Drivers were compelled to beat and lacerate those who had notperformed their tasks; many were left naked, tied all night totrees, that mosquitoes might suck their blood, and the sufferingwretches become swollen from torture. Some, to end their troubles, wandered off, and died of starvation in the forest, and, includingthe natural increase, less than six hundred souls were left at theend of nine years. But, be it known to those whose hearts and ears Ihave before invoked, that many children of these unfortunate parentswere fair and beautiful, which valuable charms singularly excitedthe cupidity of the tyrant, who betook himself to selling them forpurposes most infamous. A child overhearing the conversation ofthree English gentlemen who made an excursion to the settlement, andbeing quick of ear, conveyed the purport of it to his mother, who, in the night, summoned a council of her confidants to concoct themeans of gaining more intelligence. The boy heard the visitors, whostood in the great mansion, which was of stone, say, "Did thewretches know their rights they had not suffered such enormities ofslavery. " It was resolved that three ask for long tasks, under thepretext of gaining time to catch turtle on the coast; but havinggained the desired time, they set off for St. Augustine, which theyreached, after swimming rivers and delving almost impenetrablemorasses. They sought the attorney-general of the province, Mr. Younge, --I speak his name with reverence-and with an earnest zealdid he espouse the cause of this betrayed people. At that time, Governor Grant-since strongly suspected of being concerned withTurnbull in the slavery of the Greeks and Minorcans-had just beensuperseded by Tonyn, who now had it in his power to rebuke a tyrant, and render justice to a long-injured people. Again, on the return ofthe envoys, who bore good tidings, did they meet in secret, andchoose one Pallicier, a Greek, their leader. This man had beenmaster mechanic of the mansion. With wooden spears were the menarmed and formed into two lines, the women, children, and old men inthe centre; and thus did they set off from the place of bondage toseek freedom. In vain did the tyrant-whose name democracy hasenshrined with its glories-pursue them, and exhaust persuasion toprocure their return. For three days did they wander the woods, delve morasses, and swim rivers, ere they reached the haven of St. Augustine, where, being provided with provisions, their case wastried, and, albeit, though Turnbull interposed all the perfidywealth could purchase, their fredeom established. But alas! not sowell was it with those fair daughters whom the tyrant sold slaves toa life of infamy, and for whose offspring, now in the bitterness ofbondage, do we plead. Scores of these female children were sold bythe tyrant; but either the people were drunk of joy over their ownliberty, and forgot to demand the return of their children, or thegood Younge felt forcibly his weakness to bring to justice the richand great-for the law is weak where slavery makes men great-so as tomake him disgorge the ill-gotten treasure he might have concealed, but the proof of which nothing was easier than to obliterate. 

"Maldonard, then, was my grandfather; and, with my grandmother andthree children, was of those who suffered the cruelties I havedetailed. Two of his children were girls, fair and beautiful, whomthe tyrant, under the pretext of bettering their condition inanother colony, sold away into slavery. One was my dear mother. "Here tears coursed down the woman's cheeks. "And she, though I blushto tell it, was sold to Rovero, who was indeed my father as well asFranconia's. But I was years older than Franconia-I visit her graveby day, and dream of her by night;--nor was it strange that sheshould trace the cause of similarity in our features. Forsooth, itwas that singular discovery-of which I was long ignorant-coupledwith the virtues of a great soul, that incited her to effect myescape. Rovero, ere he married Franconia's mother, sold SylviaMaldonard, who was my mother; and may angels bring glad tidings ofher spirit! Yes, true is it that my poor mother was sold to oneSilenus, of whom Marston bought my body while heaven guarded thesoul: but here would I drop the curtain over the scene, forMaldonard is dead; and in the grave of his Italian wife, ere hegained his freedom, was he buried. " Here again the fond mother, asshe concluded, lifted her eyes invokingly, fondled her long-lostchild to her bosom, --smiled upon her, kissed her, and was happy. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

IN WHICH A PLOT IS DISCLOSED, AND THE MAN-SELLER MADE TO PAY THEPENALTY OF HIS CRIMES. 

WHILE the scenes which we have detailed in the foregoing chapterwere being enacted at Nassau, there stood in the portico of amassive dwelling, fronting what in Charleston is called the "BatteryPromenade, " the tall and stately figure of a man, wrapped in acostly black cloak, the folds of which lay carelessly about his neckand shoulders. For some minutes did he stand, hesitating, andwatching up and down the broad walk in front. The gas-light overheadshed its glare upon the freestone walls-for the night was dark-and, as he turned, discovered the fine features of a frank and opencountenance, to which the flashing of two great intelligent eyes, along silvery beard, and a flowing moustache, all shaded by the broadbrim of a black felt hat, lent their aid to make impressive. Closerhe muffled his face in the folds of his cloak, and spoke. "Time!"said he, in a voice musical and clear, "hath worn little on hisgreat mansion; like his heart, it is of good stone. " The mansion, indeed, was of princely front, with chiselled fa‡ade and great doricwindows of deep fluted mouldings, grand in outline. Now a small handstole from beneath his cloak, rapped gently upon the carved door ofblack walnut, and rang the bell. Soon the door swung open, and anegro in a black coat, white vest, and handkerchief of greatstiffness, and nether garments of flashy stripes, politely bowed himinto a hall of great splendour. Rows of statuary stood in alcovesalong its sides; the walls dazzled with bright coloured paintings inmassive gilt frames; highly coloured and badly blended mythologicaldesigns spread along the ceiling: the figure of a female, withpearly tears gushing from her eyes, as on bended knee she besoughtmercy of the winged angel perched above her, stood beside the broadstairway at the further end of the hall-strangely emblematical ofthe many thousand souls the man-seller had made weep in thebitterness of slavery; the softest rugs and costly Turkey carpets, with which its floor was spread, yielded lightly to the footfall, asthe jetting lights of a great chandelier shed refulgence over thewhole: indeed, what there lacked of taste was made up with air ofopulence. The negro exhibited some surprise at the stranger's dressand manner, for he affected ease and indifference. "Is your masterat leisure?" said he. "Business, or a friend?" inquired the negro, making one of his best bows, and drawing back his left foot. "Both, "was the quick reply. "I, boy, am a gentleman!" "I sees dat, mas'r, "rejoined the boy, accompanying his answer with another bow, andrequesting the stranger's name, as he motioned him into a spaciousdrawing-room on the right, still more gorgeously furnished. 

"My name is Major Blank: your master knows my name: I would see himquickly!" again spoke the stranger, as the boy promptly disappearedto make the announcement. The heavy satin-damask curtains, of finesttexture, that adorned the windows; the fresco-paintings of thewalls; the elaborate gilding that here and there in bad tasterelieved the cornices; the massive pictures that hung ingauze-covered frames upon the walls; the chastely designed carpets, and lolls, and rugs, with which the floor gave out its brilliancy;the costly tapestry of the curiously carved furniture that stoodhere and there about the room; and the soft light of a curiouslyconstructed chandelier, suspended from the left hand of an angel inbronze, the said angel having its wings pinioned to the ceiling, itsbody in the attitude of descending, and its right hand gracefullyraised above the globe, spreading its prismatic glows over thewhole, did indeed make the scene resplendent of luxury. The mancarelessly seated himself at a table that stood in the centre of theroom, threw the hat he had declined yielding to the negro on thefloor beside him, rested the elbow of his left arm on the table, andhis head in his hand, as with the fingers of his right hand did hefret the long silvery beard that bedecked his chin, and contemplatewith eager gaze the scene around him. "Yea, the man-seller hath, with his spoils of greed, gotten him a gorgeous mansion; even heliveth like a prince, his head resteth more in peace, and because hehath great wealth of crime men seek to honour him. The rich criminalhath few to fear; but hard is the fate of him who hath not thewherewith to be aught but a poor one!" he muttered to himself, asthe door opened, and the well-rounded figure of Graspum whisked intothe room. The negro bowed politely, and closed the door after him, as the stranger's eye flashed upon his old acquaintance, who, bedecked somewhat extravagantly, and with a forced smile on hissubtle countenance, advanced rubbing his hands one over the other, making several methodical bows, to which the stranger rose, as hesaid, "Most happy am I to see you, Major! Major Blake, I believe, Ihave the pleasure of receiving?" Here the stranger interpolated bysaying his name was not Blake, but Blank: the other apologised, saidhe was just entertaining a small but very select circle of friends;nevertheless, always chose to follow the maxim of "business beforepleasure. " Again he bustled about, worked his fingers with amechanical air, frisked them through his hair, with which he coveredthe bald surface of his head, kept his little keen eyes leeringapprehensively on what he deemed a ripe customer, whom he bid keephis seat. To an invitation to lay off his cloak the stranger repliedthat it was of no consequence. "A planter just locating, if I may bepermitted to suggest?" enquired Graspum, taking his seat on theopposite side of the table. "No!" returned the other, emphatically;"but I have some special business in your line. " The man ofbusiness, his face reddening of anxiety, rose quickly from his seat, advanced to what seemed a rosewood cabinet elaborately carved, butwhich was in reality an iron safe encased with ornamental wood, andfrom it drew forth a tin case, saying, as he returned and set itupon the table, "Lots from one to five were sold yesterday at almostfabulous prices-never was the demand for prime people better; but wehave Lots (here he began to disgorge invoices) six, seven, eight, and nine left; all containing the primest of people! Yes, sir, letme assure you, the very choicest of the market. " He would have thecustomer examine the invoices himself, and in the morning the livestock may be seen at his yard. "You cherish no evil in your breast, in opposition to the command of Him who reproved the wrong ofmalice; but you still cling to the sale of men, which you conceiveno harm, eh, Graspum?" returned the stranger, knitting his brows, asa curl of fierce hatred set upon his lip. With an air of surprisedid Graspum hesitate for a moment, and then, with a measured smile, said, "Why, Lord bless you! it would be a dishonour for a man of mycelebrity in business to let a day escape without a sale; within thelast ten days I have sold a thousand people, or more, --provided youthrow in the old ones!" Here he again frisked his fingers, andleaned back in his chair, as his face resumed an air ofsatisfaction. The stranger interrupted as the man-seller was aboutto enquire the number and texture of the people he desired. "Graspum, " said he, with significant firmness, setting his eyes uponhim with intense stare, --"I want neither your men, nor your women, nor your little children; but, have you a record of souls you havesunk in the bitterness of slavery in that box"-here the strangerpaused, and pointed at the box on the table-"keep it until you knockfor admittance at the gates of eternity. " It was not until thismoment that he could bring his mind, which had been absorbed in themysteries of man-selling, to regard the stranger in any other lightthan that of a customer. "Pardon me, sir!" said he, somewhatnervously, "but you speak with great familiarity. " The strangerwould not be considered intrusive. "Then you have forgotten me, Graspum?" exclaimed the man, with an ominous laugh. As if deeplyoffended at such familiarity, the man-seller shook his headrebukingly, and replied by saying he had an advantage of him notcomprehensible. "Then have you sent my dearest relatives to anuntimely grave, driven me from the home of my childhood, and made ahundred wretches swim a sea of sorrow; and yet you do not know me?"Indeed, the charges here recounted would have least served to aidthe recognition, for they belonged only to one case among manyscores that might have been enumerated. He shook his head in reply. For a minute did they, --the stranger scowling sarcastically upon hisadversary (for such he now was), --gaze upon each other, untilGraspum's eyes drooped and his face turned pale. "I have seen you;but at this moment cannot place you, " he replied, drawing back hischair a pace. "It were well had you never known me!" was thestranger's rejoinder, spoken in significant accents, as hedeliberately drew from beneath his cloak a revolver, which he laidon the table, warning his adversary that it were well he movecautiously. Graspum affects not to comprehend such importunedemeanor, or conjecture what has brought him hither. Trembling infright, and immersed in the sweat of his cowardice, he wouldproclaim aloud his apprehension; to which medium of salvation hemakes an attempt to reach the door. But the stranger is too quickfor him: "Calm your fears, Graspum, " he says; "act not the child, but meet the consequences like a hero: strange is it, that you, whohave sold twenty thousand souls, should shrink at the yielding up ofone life!" concludes he, placing his back firmly against the door, and commanding Graspum to resume his seat. Having locked the doorand placed the key in his pocket, he paced twice or thrice up anddown the floor, seemingly in deep contemplation, and heaved a sigh. "Graspum!" he ejaculated, suddenly turning towards that terrifiedgentleman; "in that same iron chest have you another box, the samecontaining papers which are to me of more value than all yourinvoices of souls. Go! bring it hither!" Tremblingly did theman-seller obey the command, drew from the chest an antiquated box, and placed it hesitatingly upon the table. "I will get the key, ifyou will kindly permit me, " he said, bowing, as the sweat fell fromhis chin upon the carpet. The stranger says it wants no key; hebreaks it open with his hands. "You have long stored it with goodlypapers; let us see of what they are made, " said he. Here Graspumcommenced drawing forth package after package of papers, theinscriptions on which were eagerly observed by the stranger's keeneye. At length there came out a package of letters, superscribed inthe stranger's own hand, and directed to Hugh Marston. "How came youby these?" enquired the stranger, grasping them quickly: "Ah, Graspum, I have heard all! Never mind, --continue!" he resumed. Presently there came forth a package addressed to "FranconiaM'Carstrow, " some of which the stranger recognised as superscribedby his mother, others by Clotilda, for she could write when a slave. Graspum would put this last aside; but in an angry tone did thestranger demand it, as his passion had well nigh got the better ofhis resolution. "How the deep and damning infamy discovers itself!Ah, Graspum, for the dross of this world hast thou betrayed theinnocent. Through thine emissaries has thus intercepted theseletters, and felt safe in thy guilt. And still you know not who Iam?" Indeed, the man-seller was too much beside himself with terrorto have recognised even a near friend. "My name is Lorenzo, --he whomore than twenty years ago you beguiled into crime. There isconcealed beneath those papers a bond that bears on its face thesecret of the many sorrows brought upon my family. " "Lorenzo!"interrupted Graspum, as he let fall a package of papers, and sataghast and trembling. "Yes, " replied the other, "you cannot mistakeme, though time hath laid a heavy hand upon my brow. Now is yourinfamy complete!" Here the stranger drew forth the identical bond wehave described in the early part of our history, as being signed byMarston, at his mansion, on the night previous to Lorenzo'sdeparture. Bidding the man-seller move not an inch, he spread thedocument before him, and commanded him to read the contents. This hehad not resolution to do. "Graspum!" spoke Lorenzo, his countenanceflushed in passion; "you can see, if you cannot read; look ye uponthe words of that paper (here he traced the lines with theforefinger of his right hand as he stood over the wretchedmiscreant) and tell me if it be honourable to spare the life of onewho would commit so foul a deed. On the night you consummated myshame, forced me to relieve you by procuring my uncle's signature toa document not then filled up, or made complete, how little did Iconjecture the germs of villainy so deep in your heart as to betraythe confidence I reposed in you. You, in your avarice, changed thetenor of that instrument, made the amount more than double thatwhich I had injudiciously become indebted to you, and transcribed itin the instrument, in legal phraseology, which you made adeath-warrant to my nearest and dearest relatives. Read it, miscreant! read it! Read on it sixty-two thousand dollars, the causeof your anxiety to hurry me out of the city into a foreign land. Ireturned to seek a sister, to relieve my uncle, to live anhonourable man on that home so dear in my boyhood, so bright of thatwhich was pleasant in the past, to make glad the hearts of my agedparents, and to receive the sweet forgiveness of those who honouredme when fortune smiled; but you have left me none of theseboons-nay, you would have me again wander an outcast upon theworld!" And now, as the miscreant fell tremblingly on his knees, andbeseeching that mercy which he had denied so many, Lorenzo's frenzysurmounted all his resolution. With agitated hand he seized hisrevolver, saying, "I will go hence stained with a miscreant'sblood. " Another moment, and the loud shriek of the man-seller echoedforth, the sharp report of a pistol rung ominously through themansion; and quivering to the ground fell dead a wretch who hadtortured ten thousand souls, as Lorenzo disappeared and was seen nomore.