“Verri-ly, truly! ah, indeed:  you have been giving us a monkey-show with your nigger, I suppose.  I thought I’d lost nothing; you should remember, Marston, there’s a future,” said the Elder, winking and blinking sardonically.

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

The Elder is extremely sensitive on this particular point-anything but speak disparagingly of that sermon.  It has been his stock in trade for numerous years.  He begs they will listen to him for a minute, excuse this little trifling variation, charge it to the susceptibility of his constitution.  He is willing to admit there is capital 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 he gives a vacant look at his friends, gets up, resting his hands on the table, endeavours to keep a perpendicular, but declares himself so debilitated by his sleep that he must wait a little longer.  Sinking back upon the settee, he exclaims, “You had better send that nigger to his cabin.”  This was carrying the amusement a little beyond Marston’s own “gauge,” and it being declared time to adjourn, preparations were made to take care of the Elder, who was soon placed horizontally in a waggon and driven away for his home.  “The Elder is gone beyond himself, beyond everything,” said Marston, as they carried him out of the door.  “You can go, Harry, I like your preaching; bring it down to the right system for my property, and I’ll make a dollar or two out of it yet,” he whispers, shaking his head, as Harry, bowing submissively, leaves the door.

Just as they were making preparations to retire, a carriage drove to the gate, and in the next minute a dashing young fellow came rushing into the house, apparently in great anxiety.  He was followed by a well-dressed man, whose countenance and sharp features, full of sternness, indicated much mechanical study.  He hesitated as the young man advanced, took Marston by the hand, nervously, led him aside, whispered something in his ear.  Taking a few steps towards a window, the intruder, for such he seemed, stood almost motionless, with his eyes firmly and watchfully fixed upon them, a paper in his right hand.  “It is too often, Lorenzo; these things may prove fatal,” said Marston, giving an inquiring glance at the man, still standing at the window.

“I pledge you my honour, uncle, it shall be the last time,” said the young stranger.  “Uncle, I have not forgotten your advice.”  Marston, much excited, exhibited changes of countenance peculiar to a man labouring under the effect of sudden disappointment.  Apologising to his guests, he dismissed them-with the exception of Maxwell-ordered pen and ink, drew a chair to the table, and without asking the stranger to be seated, signed his name to a paper.  While this was being done, the man