‘Well, my friend, what do you think of slavery now?’

’About the same that I thought yesterday.  I see nothing to change my views.’

‘Why, are not these people happy?  Is not this perfect enjoyment?’

’Yes; just the same enjoyment that aunty’s pigs are having; don’t you hear them singing to the music?  I’ll wager they are the happier of the two.’

’No; you are wrong.  The higher faculties of the darkies are being brought out here.’

‘I don’t know that,’ I replied.  ’Within the sound of their voices, two of their fellows—­victims to the inhumanity of slavery—­are lying dead, and yet they make Sunday ‘hideous’ with wild jollity, while they do not know but Sam’s fate may be theirs to-morrow.’

Spite of his genuine courtesy and high breeding, a shade of displeasure passed over the Colonel’s face as I made this remark.  Rising to go, he said, a little impatiently, ’Ah, I see how it is; that d——­ Garrison’s sentiments have impregnated even you.  How can the North and the South hold together when even moderate men like you and me are so far apart?’

‘But you,’ I rejoined, good-humoredly, ’are not a moderate man.  You and Garrison are of the same stripe, both extremists.  You have mounted one hobby, he another; that is all the difference.’

‘I should be sorry,’ he replied, recovering his good-nature, ’to think myself like Garrison.  I consider him the ——­ scoundrel unhung.’

’No; I think he means well.  But you are both fanatics, both ‘bricks’ of the same material; we conservatives, like mortar, will hold you together and yet keep you apart.’

’I, for one, won’t be held.  If I can’t get out of this cursed Union in any other way, I’ll emigrate to Cuba.’

I laughed, and just then, looking up, caught a glimpse of Jim, who stood, hat in hand, waiting to speak to the Colonel, but not daring to interrupt a white conversation.

‘Hallo, Jim,’ I said; ‘have you got back?’

‘Yas, sar,’ replied Jim, grinning all over as if he had some agreeable thing to communicate.

‘Where is Moye?’ asked the Colonel.

‘Kotched, massa; I’se got de padlocks on him.’

‘Kotched,’ echoed half a dozen darkies, who stood near enough to hear; ‘Ole Moye is kotched,’ ran through the crowd, till the music ceased, and a shout went up from two hundred black throats that made the old trees tremble.

‘Now gib him de lashes, Massa Davy,’ cried the old nurse.  ’Gib him what he gabe pore Sam; but mine dat you keeps widin de law.’

‘Never fear, Aunty,’ said the Colonel; ‘I’ll give him ——.’

How the Colonel kept his word will be told in another number.

* * * * *

ACTIVE SERVICE; OR, CAMPAIGNING IN WESTERN VIRGINIA.

I have been to the war; I have seen armed secessionists, and I have seen them run; but, more than that, I have seen Active Service.  It was active, and no mistake.