as they arrive,
and the money transmitted to me; for when they once begin to run away,
the disease is apt to become chronic."

"Have you seen them, sir," inquired Gerald.

"No," replied the merchant. "That would have been unpleasant, without
being of any use. When a disagreeable duty is to be done, the quicker
it is done the better. Captain Kane took 'em down to Castle Island
last night; but it won't do for them to stay there. The Abolitionists
will ferret 'em out, and be down there with their devilish _habeas
corpus_. I want you to go on board 'The King Cotton,' take the captain
aside, and tell him, from me, to remove them forthwith from Castle
Island, keep them under strong guard, and skulk round with them in the
best hiding-places he can find, until a ship passes that will take
them to New Orleans. Of course, I need not caution you to be silent
about this affair, especially concerning the slaves being mortgaged to
me. If that is whispered abroad, it will soon get into the
Abolition papers that I am a man-stealer, as those rascals call the
slaveholders."

The young man obeyed his instructions to the letter; and having had
some difficulty in finding Captain Kane, he was unable to dress for
quite so early a call at the Revere House as he had intended. "How
much trouble these niggers give us!" thought he, as he adjusted his
embroidered cravat, and took his fresh kid gloves from the box.

* * * * *

When Mr. Blumenthal went home to dine that day, the ladies of the
household noticed that he was unusually serious. As he sat after
dinner, absently playing a silent tune on the table-cloth, his wife
touched his hand with her napkin, and said, "_What_ was it so long
ago, Florimond?"

He turned and smiled upon her, as he answered: "So my fingers were
moving to the tune of 'Long, long ago,' were they? I was not conscious
of it, but my thoughts were with the long ago. Yesterday afternoon, as
I was passing across State Street, I heard a cry of 'Stop thief!' and
I saw them seize a young man, who looked like an Italian. I gave no
further thought to the matter, and pursued the business I had in hand.
But to-day I have learned that he was a slave, who escaped in 'The
King Cotton' from New Orleans. I seem to see the poor fellow's
terrified look now; and it brings vividly to mind something dreadful
that came very near happening, long ago, to a person whose complexion
is similar to his. I was thinkin