Two years have rolled into the past, since Montague led the fair Sylvia to the altar.  Pringle Blowers has pocketed the loss of his beauty, the happy couple have lost all thought of slavery, and a little responsibility coming in due time adds to make their happiness complete.  Now the house to which Montague was connected in New York had an agent in New Orleans; which agent was his brother.  In the course of time, then, and as the avenues of business expanded, was it deemed necessary to establish a branch house at Memphis, the affairs of which it was agreed should be conducted by Montague.  To this new scene of life my reader will please suppose our happy couple, having journeyed by railroad to Cincinnatti, and with hearts gladdened of hope for the future, now gliding down that river of gorgeous banks, on board the good steamer bearing its name.  As our young mother again enters the atmosphere of slavery, misgivings force themselves irresistibly upon her feelings.  The very face of nature wears a sluggish air; the fresh, bright offspring of northern energy, so forcibly illustrated in the many cheerful looking villages here and there dotting its free soil, is nowhere to be seen,—­society again puts forth its blighting distinctions:  there is the man-owner’s iron deportment contrasting with the abjectness of his slave:  forcibly does the change recall scenes of the past.  But, with the certain satisfaction that no one will recognize the slave in her, do those misgivings give way to the happier contemplation of her new home affording the means of extending a succouring hand to some poor mortal, suffering in that condition of life through which she herself has passed.

After a pleasant passage, then, do we find them comfortably settled in Memphis, that city of notorious character, where the venerable Lynch presides judge over all state cases, and administers summary justice according to the most independent of bar rules.  Montague pursues the ordinary routine of a flourishing business, and moves among the very best society of the little fashionable world; with which his Sylvia, being the fair belle of the place, is not only a great favourite, but much sought after and caressed.  Gentle as a slave, so was she an affectionate mother and dutiful wife.  Some twelve months passed pleasantly at their new home, when there came to the city a Jew of the name of Salamons Finch.  This Finch, who was “runner” to a commercial firm in the city of Charleston (he was lank of person, with sallow, craven features), knew Annette when but a child.  Indeed, he was a clerk of Graspum when that gentleman sold the fair slave to Gurdoin Choicewest; in addition to which he had apartments at Lady Tuttlewell’s most fashionable house, where the little doll-like thing used to be so sprightly in waiting at table.  The quick eye of this harpy, as may readily be supposed, was not long in detecting the person of Annette the slave in our fair mother; which grand discovery he