been carried; nay, more, he left the excited little world (reporting his destination to be New York) fully resolved to rescue them at the hazard of his life, and for ever leave the country.  Scarcely necessary then, will it be for us to inform the reader, that, having sought out the Rosebrooks, he has counselled their advice, and joined them in devising means of relief.  Blowers had declared, on his sacred honour, he would not sell the captives for their weight in gold.

Rosebrook had no sooner received Annette’s letter from the hand of Pompe than he repaired to Blowers’ plantation-as well to sound that gentleman’s disposition to sell his captives, as a necessary precaution against the dangers he had incurred through his participation in the fair girl’s escape; for albeit the disclosure might be extorted from her by cruelty.  But Blowers was too much of a gentleman to condescend to sell his captive; nor would he listen to arguments in her behalf.  Nevertheless, we will not underrate Blowers’ character, that the reader may suppose him devoid of compassion; for-be it recorded to his fame-he did, on the morning following that on which the punishment we have described in the foregoing chapter took place, send the child, whose long and piercing cries he could no longer endure, to the arms of its poor disconsolate mother, whom he hoped would take good care of it.

Now, let not the reader restrain his fancy, but imagine, if he can, Pringle Blowers’ disappointment and state of perturbation, when, three days after the punishment, he presented himself at Broadman’s establishment, and was informed by that functionary that the fair mother was non est.  With honest face did Broadman assert his ignorance of wrong.  That he had not betrayed his duty he would satisfy the enraged man, by producing the very order on which he delivered them to Joe!  “Yes, Joe was his name!” continues the honest man; “and he asserted his ownership, and told a straightforward story, and didn’t look roguish.”  He passes the order over to Blowers, who, having examined it very cautiously, says:  “Forgery, forgery!-’tis, by the Eternal!” Turning his fat sides, he approaches the window, and by the light reads each successive word.  It is written in a scrawl precisely like his own; but, forsooth, it cannot be his.  However, deeming it little becoming a man of his standing to parley with Broadman, he quickly makes his exit, and, like a locomotive at half speed, exhausting his perturbation the while, does he seek his way into the city, where he discovers his loss to the police.  We have in another part of our history described Blowers as something of a wag; indeed, waggery was not the least trait in his curious character, nor was he at all cautious in the exercise of it; and, upon the principle that those who give must take, did he render himself a fit object for those who indulge in that sort of pastime to level their wit upon.  On this occasion, Blowers had not spent many hours in the city ere he