scheme the strategy, and if I don’t carry it out my name aint Jack Hardweather!” would she fain have had him go on.  “Lack a day, good man!” she rejoined, fondling closer to her bosom the little suckling; “get ye the wee bairn and bring it hither, and I’ll mak it t’uther twin-na body’ll kno’t! and da ye ken hoo ye may mak the bonny wife sik a body that nane but foxes wad ken her.  Just mak her a brae young sailor, and the Maggy Bell ’ll do the rest on’t.”  Hardweather here interrupted Molly’s suggestion which was, indeed, most fortunate, and albeit supplied the initiative to the strategy afterwards adopted-for slavery opens wide the field of strategy-by reminding the stranger that she had a long Scotch head.  The night had now well advanced; the stranger shook the woman’s hand firmly, and bade her good night, as a tear gushed into his eyes.  The scene was indeed simple, but touching.  The hard mariner will accompany his friend to the wharf; and then as he again turns on the capsill, he cannot bid him good night without adding a few words more in praise of the little Maggy Bell, whose name is inscribed in gilt letters upon the flash-board of her stern.  Holding his hand, he says:  “Now, keep the heart up right! and in a day or two we’ll have all aboard, and be in the stream waiting for a fair breeze-then the Maggy ’ll play her part.  Bless yer soul! the little craft and me’s coasted down the coast nobody knows how many years; and she knows every nook, creek, reef, and point, just as well as I does.  Just give her a double-reefed mainsail, and the lug of a standing jib, and in my soul I believe she’d make the passage without compass, chart, or a hand aboard.  By the word of an old sailor, such a craft is the Maggy Bell.  And when the Spanish and English and French all got mixed up about who owned Florida, the Maggy and me’s coasted along them keys when, blowing a screecher, them Ingins’ balls flew so, a body had to hold the hair on his head; but never a bit did the Maggy mind it.”  The stranger’s heart was too full of cares to respond to the generous man’s simplicity; shaking his hand fervently, he bid him good night, and disappeared up the wharf.

We apprehend little difficulty to the reader in discovering the person of Montague in our nervous man, who, in the absence of intelligence from his wife, was led to suspect some foul play.  Nor were his suspicions unfounded; for, on returning to Memphis, which he did in great haste, he found his home desolate, his wife and child borne back into slavery, and himself threatened with Lynch law.  The grief which threatened to overwhelm him at finding those he so dearly loved hurled back into bondage, was not enough to appease a community tenacious of its colour.  No! he must leave his business, until the arrival of some one from New York, to the clerk who so perfidiously betrayed him.  With sickened heart, then, does he-only too glad to escape the fury of an unreasoning mob-seek that place of bondage into which the captives have