is a low, ignorant trifler and buffoon, unfit to be other than a slave or an outcast. Thus, by your injurious estimate, you lend yourselves to the support and justification of slavery."

"Would you admit the black to a social equality?"

"I would admit him,” replied Vance, " to all the civil rights of the white. There are many men whom I am willing to acknowledge my equals, whose society I may not covet. That does not at all affect the question of their rights. Let us give the black man a fair field. Let us not begin by declaring his inferiority in capacity, and then anxiously strive to prevent his finding a chance to prove our declaration untrue."

"But would you favor the amalgamation of the races ?" "That is a question for physiologists; or, perhaps, for individual instincts. Probably if all the slaves were emancipated in all the Cotton States, amalgamation would be much less than it is now. The French Quadroons are handsome and healthy, and are believed to be more vigorous than either of the parent races from which they are descended.”

Many of the most strenuous opponents of emancipation base their objections on their fears of amalgamation."

"To which,” replied Vance, "I will reply in these words of one of your Northern divines, 'What a strange reason for oppressing a race of fellow-beings, that if we restore them to their rights we shall marry them!' Many of these men who cry out the loudest against amalgamation keep colored mistresses, and practically confute their own protests. To marriage, but not to concubinage, they object."

"I see no way for emancipation," said Berwick, "except through the consent of the Slave States."

"God will find a way," returned Vance. "He infatuates before he destroys; and the infatuation which foreruns destruction has seized upon the leading men of the South. Plagiarizing from Satan, they have said to slavery, 'Evil, be thou our good! They are bent on having a Southern Confederacy with power to extend slavery through Mexico into Central America. That can never be attempted without civil war, and civil war will be the end of slavery."

"Would you not," asked Berwick, "compensate those masters who are willing to emancipate their slaves ?”

in man.

"I deny," said Vance, "that property in slaves can morally exist. No decision of the State can absolve me from the moral law. It is a sham and a lie to say that man can hold property The right to make the black man a slave implies the right to make you or me a slave. No legislation can make such a claim valid. No vote of a majority can make an act of tyranny right, can convert an innocent man into a chattel. All the world may cry out it is right, but they cannot make it so. The slaveholder, in emancipating his slave, merely surrenders what is not his own. I would be as liberal to him in the way of encouragement as the public means would justify. But the loss of the planter from emancipation is greatly over estimated. His land would soon double in value by the act; and the colored freedmen would be on the soil, candidates for wages, and with incentives to labor they never had before." The bell for dinner broke in upon the conversation. It was not till evening that the parties met again on the upper deck.

"I have been talking with Peek," said Berwick, "and to my dismay I find he was betrayed by the husband of my step-mother. You must help me cancel this infernal wrong.

"I have laid my plans for taking all these negroes ashore at midnight at our next stopping-place," replied Vance. "I am to personate their owner. The keepers of the boat, who have seen me so much with Hyde, will offer no opposition. He is already so drunk that we have had to put him to bed. He begged me to look after his niggers. Whiskey had made him sentimental. He wept maudlin tears, and wanted to kiss me." "Here's a check," said Berwick, "for twenty-five hundred dollars. Give it to Peek the moment he is free."

Vance placed it in a small water-proof wallet.
What's the matter?

A rush and a commotion on the deck! Captain Crane left the wheel-house, and jumped over the railing down to the lower deck forward, his mouth bubbling and foaming with oaths.

There had been a slackening of the fires, and the Champion was all at once found to be fast gaining on the Pontiac.

"Fire up!" yelled the Captain. "Pile on the turpentine splinters. Bring up the rosin. Blast yer all for a set of cowardly cusses! I'm bound to land yer either in Helena or hell, ahead of the Champion."

IN

CHAPTER XIV.

WAITING FOR THE SUMMONER.

"So every spirit, as it is more pure,

And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer body doth procure,

To habit in, and it more fairly dight
With cheerful grace and amiable sight.
For of the soul the body form doth take,

For soul is form, and doth the body make."
Edmund Spenser.

N the best chamber of the house of Pierre Toussaint in Franklin Street, looking out on blossoming grape-vines and a nectarine-tree in the area, sat Mrs. Charlton in an arm-chair, and propped by pillows. Her wasted features showed that disease had made rapid progress since the glance we had of her in the mirror.

A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Toussaint.

"Well, Toussaint, what's the news to-day?" asked the invalid.

Toussaint replied in French: "I do not find much of new in the morning papers, madame. Is madame ready for her breakfast?"

Yes, any time now. I see my little Lulu is washing himself."

Lulu was the canary-bird. Toussaint quitted the room and returned in a few minutes, bringing in a tray, spread with the whitest of napkins, and holding a silver urn of boiling water, a pitcher of cream, and two little shining pots, one filled with coffee, the other with tea. The viands were a small roll, with butter, an omelette, and a piece of fresh-broiled salmon.

"Sit down and talk with me, Toussaint, while I eat," said the invalid. "Have you seen my husband lately?” "Not, madame, since he called to recover the box." “Has he sent to make inquiry in regard to my health?

୨୨

"Not once, to my knowledge."

"I cannot reconcile my husband's indifference with his fondness for money. He must know that my death will deprive him of twelve hundred a year. How do you account for it, Toussaint?"

"Pardon me, madame, but I would rather not say."

"And why not?”

"My surmise may be uncharitable, or it might give you pain." "Do not fear that, Toussaint. I have surrendered what they say is the last thing a woman surrenders, all personal vanity. So speak freely."

"Mr. Charlton is young and good-looking, madame, and he is probably well aware that, in the event of his being left a widower, it would not be difficult for him to form a marriage connection that would bring him a much larger income than that you supply."

"Nothing more likely, Toussaint. How strange that I can talk of these things so calmly,— eating my breakfast, thus! They say that a woman who has once truly loved must always love. What do you think, Toussaint?”

"This, madame, that if we love a thing because we think it good, and then find, on trial, that it is not good, but very bad, our love cannot continue the same."

"But do we not, in marriage, promise to love, honor, and obey?"

"Not by the Catholic form, madame. Try to force love, you kill it. It is like trying to force an appetite. You make yourself sick at the stomach in the attempt."

Here there was a ring at the door-bell, and Toussaint left the room. On his return he said: "The husband of madame is below. He wishes to speak with madame."

Surprised and disturbed, Mrs. Charlton said, "Take away the breakfast things."

"But madame has not touched the salmon nor the omelette, and only a poor little bit of the crust of this roll," murmured Toussaint.

“I have had enough, my good Toussaint. Take them away, and let Mr. Charlton come in."

Then, as if by way of contradicting what she had said a

moment before, she began smoothing her hair and arranging her shawl. The inconsistency between her practice and her profession seemed to suggest itself to her suddenly, for she smiled sadly, and murmured, "After all, I have not quite outlived my folly!"

Charlton entered unaccompanied.

His manner was that of

a man who has a big scheme in his head, which he is trying to disguise and undervalue. Moved by an unwonted excitement, he strove to appear calm and indifferent, but, like a bad actor, he overdid his part.

"I have come, Emily," said he, "to ask your pardon for the past."

"Indeed!

you?"

Then you want something. What can I do for

"You misapprehend me, my dear. Affairs have gone wrong with me of late; but my prospects are brightening now, and my wish is that you should have the benefit of the change.”

"My time for this world's benefits is likely to be short,” said the invalid.

"Not so, my dear! You are looking ten per cent better than when I saw you last.”

"My glass tells me

you do not speak truly in that. Come, deal frankly with me. What do you want?"

"As I was saying, my love," resumed Charlton, “ my business is improving; but I need a somewhat more extended credit, and you can help me to it."

"I thought there was something wanted," returned the invalid, with a scornful smile; "but you overrate my ability. How can I help your credit? The annuity allowed by Mr. Berwick ends with my life. I have no property, real or personal, - except my canary-bird, and what few clothes you can find in yonder wardrobe."

"But, my dear," urged Charlton, "many persons imagine that you have property; and if I could only show them an authenticated instrument under which you bequeath, in the event of your death, all your estate, real and personal, to your husband, it would aid me materially in raising money."

“That, sir, would be raising money under false pretences. I shall lend myself to no such attempt. Why not tell the ***