e Legree; of the
sufferings of a runaway negro Zimmermadchen with a child three shades
lighter than herself; and of a painted canvas "man-hunt," where
apparently four well known German composers on horseback, with flowing
hair, top boots, and a Cor de chasse, were pursuing, with the aid of a
pack of fox hounds, "the much too deeply abused and yet spiritually
elevated Onkeel Tome." Paul did not wait for the final apotheosis of
"der Kleine Eva," but, in the silence of a hushed audience, made his
way into the corridor and down the staircase. He was passing an open
door marked "Direction," when his attention was sharply attracted by a
small gathering around it and the sounds of indignant declamation. It
was the voice of a countryman--more than that, it was a familiar voice,
that he had not heard for three years--the voice of Colonel Harry
Pendleton!

"Tell him," said Pendleton, in scathing tones, to some invisible
interpreter,--"tell, him, sir, that a more infamous caricature of the
blankest caricature that ever maligned a free people, sir, I never
before had the honor of witnessing. Tell him that I, sir--I, Harry
Pendleton, of Kentucky, a Southerner, sir--an old slaveholder, sir,
declare it to be a tissue of falsehoods unworthy the credence of a
Christian civilization like this--unworthy the attention of the
distinguished ladies and gentlemen that are gathered here to-night.
Tell him, sir, he has been imposed upon. Tell him I am
responsible--give him my card and address--personally responsible for
what I say. If he wants proofs--blank it all!--tell him you yourself
have been a slave--MY slave, sir! Take off your hat, sir! Ask him to
look at you--ask him if he thinks you ever looked or could look like
that lop-eared, psalm-singing, white-headed hypocrite on the stage!
Ask him, sir, if he thinks that blank ringmaster they call St. Clair
looks like ME!"

At this astounding exordium Paul eagerly pressed forward and entered
the bureau. There certainly was Colonel Pendleton, in spotless evening
dress; erect, flashing, and indignant; his aquiline nose lifted like a
hawk's beak over his quarry, his iron-gray moustache, now white and
waxed, parted like a swallow's tail over his handsome mouth, and
between him and the astounded "Direction" stood the apparition of the
Allee--George! There was no mistaking him now. What Paul had thought
was a curled wig or powder was the old negro's own white knotted wool,
and the astoundi