to his father, very shrewdly set about some kind of business, and is now largely engaged in the preserve and pickle business.  Lee’s celebrated pickle and preserve establishment, New York.  The father is now in this city, making a living for his family at something or other.  He has made several efforts to sell out his little property, but there’s some trouble about the title; and if he leaves it to go and see his son, he knows what the consequences will be; and to leave it for settlement would be to abandon it, to the same fate that swallowed up Jones’s.  Thus the son cannot come to visit his father, nor the father go to visit the son.  This, in my opinion, is carrying a prohibition to an extreme point; and although I believe the law should be maintained, I cannot believe that any good arises from it upon such people as the Jones’s and Lee’s, from the very fact that they never associated with niggers.  Hence, where there is no grounds for fear there can be no cause for action,” continued the Colonel.

“Just what I wanted to know,” said the Captain.  “As I informed you, I am driven into your port in distress.  Charleston, as you are aware, is in an advantageous latitude for vessels to refit that have met with those disasters which, are frequent in the gulf and among the Bahamas.  Thus I expected to find good facilities here, without any unkind feeling on the part of the people”—­

“Oh! bless me, Captain, you will find us the most hospitable people in the world,” said the Colonel.

“But your pilot told me I would have trouble with my steward, and that the law would make no distinction between his being cast upon your shores in distress and subject to your sympathy, and his coming in voluntarily.”

“What!” said little George.  “Is he a nigger, Captain?  Old Grimshaw’s just as sure to nab him as you’re a white man.  He’ll buy and sell a saint for the fees, and gives such an extended construction to the terms of the act that you need expect no special favor at his hands.  The law’s no fiction with him.  I’m sorry, Captain:  you may judge his conduct as an index of that of our people, and I know him so well that I fear the consequences.”

“No!” said the Captain.  “My steward is a Portuguese, a sort of mestino, and one of the best men that ever stepped foot aboard a vessel.  He is willing, intelligent, always ready to do his duty, and is a great favorite with his shipmates, and saves his wages like a good man-but he is olive complexion, like a Spaniard.  He has sailed under the British flag for a great many years, has been ’most all over the world, and is as much attached to the service as if he was a Londoner, and has got a register ticket.  Nothing would pain my feelings more than to see him in a prison, for I think he has as proud a notion of honesty as any man I’ve seen, and I know he wouldn’t commit a crime that would subject him to imprisonment for the world.  The boys have been pestering the poor fellow, and telling him about some old fellow they heard the pilot speak about, called Norman Gadsden; they tell him if he catches him they’ll sell him for a slave.”