Fortunate was it for the stranger that he despatched the schooner without the prize he intended to carry off, for no sooner had she got under way and begun to move down the harbour, than she was boarded by four men, who, producing their authority, searched her from stem to stern.  Such were their suspicions, that they would not be satisfied until they had opened a few boxes and bales that were stowed away in the hold.  This done, the schooner was permitted to continue her voyage, and the stranger, unmolested, continues his walks about the city.  A few days pass and the excitement has calmed down.  Pringle Blowers, although chagrined at the loss of his valuable piece of woman property, resolves to wait the issue with patience and forbearance.  If she, fool like, has made away with herself, he cannot bring her to life; if she be carried off by villainous kidnappers, they must eventually suffer the consequences.  Her beauty will expose their plots.  He will absorb his usual requirement of spirit, keep the nerve up, and never despond of regaining her while his reward of three hundred dollars stands before a money-loving public.  He would rather have lost two dozen common niggers than this one he set so much by, intended to make so much of, and upon whom he had set his very heart, soul, and burning passions.  But there is no profit in grief, no use in giving way to disappointment.  Philosophers bear disappointments with fortitude; he must 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 male attire, with frock coat and trousers setting so neatly, dress boots, white vest, and brightly arranged shirt-bosom, she is the type of perfection of a youthful southron.  Franconia has expended her skill in completing the fair girl’s toilet, when Mrs. Rosebrook places a pair 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 the mirror.  Her neat setting suit, Panama hat, and green spectacles, give a peculiar air to her lithe figure.  And though her emotions are well nigh ready to give forth tears, she cannot suppress a smile at the 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, enters the 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 be safe-you’ll be in Wilmington to-morrow morning” he continues:  then, turning to Franconia, who will accompany her to that place, he awaits her pleasure.  “I am ready!” returns that generous woman, as, arrayed in her travelling dress, she takes Annette by the hand, and is about to proceed to the gate where the carriage waits.  Mrs. Rosebrook must take