shake her head and move from him; when he threatened, she would plead her abject position; when he resorted to force, she would struggle with him, making the issue her virtue or death.  Once she paid the penalty of her struggles with a broken wrist, which she shows us more in sorrow than anger.  Annette is beautiful but delicate; has soft eyes beaming with the fulness of a great soul; but they were sold, once,—­now, sympathy for her is dead.  The law gives her no protection for her virtue; the ruffian may violate it, and Heaven only can shelter it with forgiveness.  As for Blackett, he has no forgiveness in his temperament,—­passion soars highest with him; he would slay with violent hands the minion who dared oppose its triumph.

About this time, Mr. Blackett, much to his surprise, finds a storm of mischief brewing about his domestic domain.  The Miss Blacketts, dashing beauties, have had it come to their ears over and over again that all the young men about the city say Annette Mazatlin (as she is 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 the south nothing can spread the war of jealousy and vanity with such undying rage as comparing slave beauty with that of the more favoured of the sexes.  A firman of the strongest kind is now issued from the portfolio of the Miss Blacketts, forbidding the wretched girl entering the house; and storms of abuse are plentifully and very cheaply lavished on her head, ere she puts it outside the cabin.  She was a nasty, impudent hussy; the very worst of all kind of creatures to have about a respectable mansion,—­enough to shock respectable people!  The worst of it was, that the miserable white nigger thought she was handsome, and a lot of young, silly-headed men flattered her vanity by telling the fool she was prettier than the Blacketts themselves,—­so said the very accomplished Miss Blacketts.  And if ever domicile was becoming too warm for man to live in, in consequence of female indignation, that one was Mr. Blackmore Blackett’s.  It was not so much that the father had purchased this beautiful creature to serve fiendish purposes.  Oh no!-that was a thing of every-day occurrence,—­something excusable in any respectable man’s family.  It was beauty rivalling, fierce and jealous of its compliments.  Again, the wretch-found incorrigible, and useless for the purpose purchased-is sold.  Poor, luckless maiden! she might add, as she passed through the hands of so many purchasers.  This time, however, she is less valuable from having fractured her left wrist, deformity being always taken into account when such property is up at the flesh shambles.  But Mr. Blackmore Blackett has a delicacy about putting her up under the hammer just now, inasmuch as he could not say she was sold for no fault; while the disfigured wrist might lead to suspicious remarks concerning his treatment of her.  Another extremely unfortunate circumstance was its getting all about the city that