in Scotland-wasn't his name Sharp? He was a-tryin' to make de Scotch somethin' else dan Presbyterians. A few of 'em caught him at a bridge, and dragged him out of his carriage and murdered him. So de first Beall run away to de Potomac; he was one of de red Macgregors, dat is called in Merrylin Macgruders. Ever sence dar's been on deir faces a white look, an' a borrowin' of trouble, an' excitement about blood."

Ashby was bestowed in an out-house by a colored domestic girl, and, before Lloyd could call out the family, Beall and Booth drove up with Luther Bosler. The latter went to feed his horses, and Quantrell and the other two went into the house to partake of some liquor.

"Here is some of grandfather's port wine," Beall said; “he was the grandson of a baronet; I was his favorite among his daughter's children, and he gave me his name, John Yates. To-day I feel troubled and excited, and I will try a glass with you, friends." "You have behaved like a knight," Booth cried. together to some toast with a great purpose in it. be?"

"Let us drink

What shall it

"Virginia hospitality," Quantrell said. "Against his principles, Mr. Beall helped me in my personal desire to save my negro's life, because he had saved my own. I shall never forget it."

"I accuse myself," said Beall, "of incivility in granting you so grudgingly what my natural impulses would have freely given. You were right to reward this disobedient servant for your life.Gentlemen, I have taken a real affection for you both; but the occurrence of this abolition invasion has strangely aroused me. Do you know that with all the hate I hold for this man, Brown, I have an admiration for him I can not control?"

"I admit it, too," Booth cried, unsteadily, for he had been drinking too much. Monster as he is, I am fascinated by his dramatic

crime."

"It was what we Scotch-we Bealls-call 'the bloody or deadly foray.' When one of these is made against us, we try in vain not to revenge it. My blood tingles now to take life for life.”

He spoke with suppressed tones, jerkingly, and not a ray of cheerfulness was in his soul.

“Poor, insulted Virginia!" Booth exclaimed. "Lloyd, don't you feel for John here? It has bitterly humiliated him. Let us drink to this sentiment and swear to it, also-we three young men, nearly

of the same age, devoted, determined, brave: 'The South, if trouble ever comes upon her, to revenge her; Virginia, if occasion ever offers, to invade her invaders!'"

They raised their glasses-those three, the two Marylanders and the Virginian. Said Quantrell, “My father has written to me, 'Walk promptly to your place, and do not be of an uncertain mind.''

"Drink and swear!" spoke Booth; "Sic semper tyrannis!’— Virginia shall be avenged!"

As they drank with strong feeling, Luther Bosler appeared in the door.

“Resolutions taken in wine," he slowly remarked, "had best pe carefully considered. Lloyd, I will carry you to the cars at Berlin." All present judged it prudent for Quantrell to go, while he could get the negro off and be himself unsuspected.

As he disappeared in Luther's wagon, Mr. Beall said:

"I think Quantrell is a man of principle. I have seen how brave he is. Can he mean to marry that pretty Dutch child?"

"If he loves her, it is his own pleasure to consult."

"But she is quite ignorant; and that brother of hers is a huckstering Hessian."

"I have known Lloyd Quantrell since his childhood," Booth added; “my father, the tragedian, and my grandfather, who was an Englishman, like yours, were both present when Abel Quantrell came over from Pennsylvania to be admitted to the bar of my native county. They sat up all night at Belair to play cards. Years afterward, the father, who is a great man, but a voluptuous one, with remarkable power over women, became the idol of a lady of both fortune and descent, of one of the best families we have in older Maryland, and originally Quakers. Lloyd's father was a Yankee, with some Irish stock in him, making him poet and intriguer as well as Puritan; and that Quaker sweetness often breaks out in Lloyd's rough nature. It is said that Abel Quantrell never loved either his wife or his son, up to their warmth of affection for him. If the old man crosses Lloyd's love-affair, Lloyd may let the girl go, for he reveres his father."

"And break her heart?" asked Beall.

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"That won't be right."

Why, John, you are very innocent of things of gallantry. Men's hearts sometimes break in love; women have little willful hearts, and adapt themselves to situations."

"We do not believe that of our mothers," said Beall ; as far as we can see, love is the whole of life to them."

Booth hesitated.

"You are right, John. But we do not see women-at least not in my way of livelihood-like our mothers.".

..

Next day Lloyd Quantrell entered his father's house in Baltimore. It stood in Old Town, as that part of the city to the northeast was called, across the tumbling Jones's Falls, and as he approached it he passed the residence of the Booth family in the same part of the city-a broad, brick dwelling with marble base.

Quiet and comfort were the expression of this semi-neglected part of Baltimore, once the seat of fashion. The dwelling of Abel Quantrell had been the town-house of his wife's old colonial family, whose frequent relations with politics and finance brought them to Baltimore from across the bay, to live a portion of the year, and here, dazzled with the eloquence and independent nature of Lloyd's father, the heiress naturalized him into Maryland by a marriage, but found him half an alien to her heart.

The same longing with which she died, to have the full and absolute love of her husband, her athletic son had inherited; and now he came hungry to his father's door for a father's love, after all the mighty experiences of Harper's Ferry.

After he had bestowed the slave, Quantrell approached his father's library, and heard men's voices within. The first voice thrilled him well; it was that of the new Western senator, Edgar Pittson, saying:

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Depend upon it, they will force their convention early, and continue the excitement at Charlestown, Virginia, until the Southern heart comes all fired with passion to that convention, and they will hold it at Charleston in South Carolina. They will there demand a Southern presidential candidate as security for slavery, and break up the convention rather than take a Western man; and after having left everything in suspense, they will convene again in Baltimore, to capture this State by the alternative threat of breaking up the Union. Can Maryland be relied upon, Mr. Davis?"

"Yes," said a musical yet nervous voice, like a bass-violin's; "although the Native-American cause is gone, it will answer still in Maryland to compel the Democracy here to profess a Union spirit. This night we show our power in Monument Square. Come, and you will see how soiled is the outer fringe of slavery's garment. I

must use the rowdy to save Baltimore to the Union; for Baltimore is Maryland."

“Anything, Davis,” said the voice of Abel Quantrell. “Sho! use anything to keep the deluge back. The cube of the cut-throat may be the military genius, though I doubt it. The square of a riot may be a battle for the Union, though I fear not. But you are all there is of Maryland until the north star moves over Baltimore, and then you may throw off your dark-lantern mask and show the Knownothing to be the Emancipator!"

"I am consuming for the hour," said Mr. Davis, in low, deep tones; I saw no way to keep back the Loco-foco power in Baltimore but by catering to this Native-American prejudice. The naturalized foreigners always joined the Democracy, and for that I hated them. The devil shall have Maryland and me, before we shall be Democratic prey!"

"I sympathize with you, Mr. Davis," spoke Edgar Pittson; "your virtues are too great to classify you as the Artevelde of all these rough guilds and clubs; but the time is a shifting one, and we need all the ground we can get to stand on. We shall nominate early, also—not later than next May-and our candidate, I think, will be Lincoln."

"Oh, no-Seward!"

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Sho!" said Abel Quantrell; "put not your new wine in old bottles; Seward has been too long in honors and office, Henry; he lives too far East. Go to the West, where John Brown lived and thought so long and undauntedly, until his old teeth fell out and grew up armed boys. The cube of old political success is compromise. We have had one Fillmore. I wish we could run Henry Winter Davis-or John Brown.”

"Or Abel Quantrell," added Mr. Davis. "Old friend, you have been a great comfort to me in my lonely battle here, made under my semi-false position. Your son has been my devoted follower."

"My son," spoke Abel Quantrell; "what pride I take in my son! How brave he is-how indifferent to the world; how well he honors his father and his mother! Surely his days shall be long in the land which the Lord, the God of Freedom, will yet give to him. Oh, let me hear the sounding of his voice, like Isaac waiting for his Esau's tones!"

“Father, I am safe: God bless you, sir!" Lloyd Quantrell cried,

his eyes all blind with tears as he threw himself at his father's feet.

Abel Quantrell, moved somewhat by the sudden onset, put his hands upon Lloyd's head, mechanically and coldly.

'The hair is the hair of Esau," he said, "but the voice is the voice of Jacob."

CHAPTER XXVII.

KNOW-NOTHINGS.

"FATHER, don't treat me so. I have been in great troubles, and the hope of seeing you, sir, made me want hard to live. I do want to lead a better life, and I have found a pure young woman who has promised to be my wife; and both of us require a father's blessing. Give me your heart, father!"

'Sho, sho!" the old man said, looking a little moved at his son; the square of love is marriage; and the cube of love and marriage is incompatibility. Cube it-cube it! tion, son! You love: well enough! You live long together: the cube is stone."

Look into the third producYou marry: desperate step! not one flesh, but wood or

"I am your son; there can be no doubt of that," Lloyd spoke, looking around at the other witnesses, in wounded pride and challenge.

None, Lloyd," spoke the kind tones of Senator Edgar Pittson; "your father called you his Jacob, the father of all true Israel's race. He did not mean to accuse you."

"If he had called me Esau," faltered the young man, “his words would not have seemed so cold. Some way, I can not get father to love me, gentlemen. I know I have taken to sad companions—”

'Have I ever rebuked you, my son? Sho!"

"No, sir. Why have you not? It was a father's privilege; and, had you done so, it would have been a proof of your affection for I wandered away because you never restrained me.

me.

too plain that you had no interest in me, father."

It was

"Come, Lloyd!" spoke Congressman Davis, a little exasperated at the son's accusations. Your father is as just as Heaven's viceroy here; and you know it."