but I karn't leave yere. I've got a wife an' chil'ren, an' the' wouldn't live 'mong ye abolitionists, nohow."

"You have a wife and children?"

"Yas; a wife, an' two as likely young 'uns as ye ever seed-boy 'bout seven, an' gal 'bout twelve."

"Well, Larkin, suppose your little girl was upon that auction block; suppose some villain had hired me to aid in debauching her; suppose you, her father, should come to me and plead with me not to do it; suppose I should tell you what you have told me, and then-should go out and buy your child; what would you do? Would you not curse me with your very last breath?".

He seated himself, and hung down his head, but made no reply.

"Answer me, like the honest man you are."

"Wall, I reckon I shud."

"Selma is to marry my adopted son.

She is as dear to me

as your child is to you. Can you do to her, what you would curse me for doing to your child? Look me in the face. Don't flinch-answer me!"

I rose, and stood before him. In a few moments he also rose, and, looking me squarely in the eye-there was a tear in his-he brought his hand down upon mine with a concussion that might have been heard a mile off, and said:

"No, I'm d-d ter h― ef I kin."

"You are a splendid, noble fellow, Larkin."

"Ye're 'bout th' fust man thet ever said so, Mr. Kirke. Ye told me suthin' like thet nigh on ter twelve yar ago. I hain't forgot it yit, an' I never shill."

"You're rough on the outside, Larkin, but sound at the

core-sound as a nut. I wish the world had more like you. Leave this wretched work!

"I'd like ter, but I karn't. What kin a feller do, with neither money nor friends?"

"Get into some honest business. I know you can. I'll help you-Joe will help you. We'll talk things over to-night, and I know Joe will rig out something for you."

He remained seated for a while, saying nothing; then he rose, and, the moisture dimming his eyes, said:

"I reckon ye're not over pious, Mr. Kirke, an' I know ye'd stand a hand at a rough an' tumble; but d-d of thet hain't th' sort o' religion I like. Come, sir; ef I stay yere,

ye'll make a 'ooman on me."

As we passed into the parlor, I said to Joe, who was seated there with Selma:

"Give Larkin your hand, Joe; he's a glorious fellow."

My heart is in it, Larkin," said the young man, very "It would have come hard to draw a bead on

.. cordially.

you."

"I knows it would, Joe, an' I wus ter blame; but I never could stand a bluff."

We passed out together to the auction stand. Selma and her brother ascended the block, while Larkin and I mingled with the buyers, who had collected in even larger numbers than before. The auctioneer brought down his hammer:

Attention, gentlemen! The sale has begun. I offer you again the girl, Lucy Selma. You've h'ard the description, and (glancing at Joe, and smiling) you know the conditions of the sale. A thousand dollars is bid for the girl, Lucy Selma; do I hear any more? Talk quick, gentlemen; I

shan't dwell on this lot; so speak up, if you've anything to say. One thousand once-one thousand twice-one thousand third and last call. Do I hear any more?" A pause of a moment. "Last call, gentlemen. Going-g-o-i-n-g—go

The word was unfinished; the hammer was descending, when a voice called out:

"Two thousand!"

"Whose bid is that?" cried Joe, striding across the bench, the glare of a hyena in his eyes.

"Mine, sir!" said the man, with a look of sudden surprise. His face was shaded by a broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his hair and whiskers were dyed, but there was no mistaking his large, eagle nose, his sharp, pointed chin, and his rat-trap of a mouth. It was Hallet!

Springing upon a bench near by, I cried out:

"John Hallet, withdraw that bid, or your time has come! I warn you. You cannot leave this place alive!"

He gave me a quick, startled look-the look of a thief caught in the act—but said nothing.

"Who is he?" cried a dozen voices.

"A Yankee nigger-trader! A man that seduced and murdered the woman who should have been his wife; that cast out and starved his own child, and now would debauch this poor girl, who is to marry his only son!"

"Wall, he ar a han'some critter." "'Bout like th' Yankees gin'rally.” "Clar him out!" cried several voices.

"If you allow him to bid here, you are as bad as he,” I continued, unintentionally fanning the growing excitement.

"Wall, we woan't." "Pitch inter him!" "Douse him in th' pond!" "Ride him on a rail!" "Give him a coat

uv tar!" and a hundred similar exclamations rose from the crowd, which swayed toward the obnoxious man with a quick, tumultuous motion.

"He'm in de darky trade; leff de darkies handle him!" cried Ally, seizing Hallet by the collar, and dragging him toward the pond.

The face of the great merchant turned ghastly pale. Paralyzed with fear, he made no resistance.

Pressing rapidly through the crowd, and tossing Ally aside as if he had been a bundle of feathers, Larkin was at Hallet's side in an instant. Planting himself before him, and drawing his revolver, he cried out:

"Far play, gintlemen, far play. He's a cowardly scoun drel, but he shill hev far play, or my name hain't Take Larkin !"

Instinctively the crowd fell back a few paces, and Larkin, with more coolness, continued:

"Th' only man yere thet's got ary thing ter say in this bis'ness ar Joe Preston; an' he'll guv even a Yankee far play. Woan't ye, Joe?" he cried. Then, turning quickly to his partner, he added: "Ye didn't know th' kunditions, Mr. Hallet, did ye? Speak quick."

"No-I-didn't know I was-giving offence," stammered Hallet, looking in the direction in which Larkin's eyes were turned.

Selma had taken the auctioneer's chair, and Joe stood, with folded arms, glaring on Hallet.

"Come, Joe," continued Larkin, "I've done ye a good turn ter-day. Let him off, an' put it ter my 'count."

"As you say, Larkin; but he must withdraw his bid, and leave the ground at once."

"I withdraw it, sir," said Hallet, in a cringing tone, clinging fast to the negro trader.

"Doan't hold on so tight, Mr. Hallet.

Lord bless ye!

nary one yere'll hurt ye; they'm gentler'n lambs-ha! ha! But when ye want anuther gal, doan't ye come yere fur yer darter-in-law-ha! ha!"

Putting his arm within Hallet's, We then attempted to press through the crowd; but the blood of the chivalry had risen, and, spite of Joe's remarks, they showed no inclination to let the Yankee off so cheaply. Forming a solid wall around him, they blocked Larkin's way at every turn, and cries of "Let him alone, Larkin!" "Cool him off, boys!" "Doan't ye spile th' fun, Larkin!" "Guv th' feller a little hosspitality!" echoed from all directions.

Putting up his revolver, Larkin turned to them, and said, in the mildest and blandest tone conceivable :

"Thet's right, boys-ye orter hev some fun; but this gintleman's sick. Doan't ye see how pale he ar? He couldn't stand it, nohow. But thar's a feller thet kin," pointing to Mulock, who stood looking on, at the outer edge of the crowd. "Ef ye're spilin' fur sport, ye moight try yer hand on him!" "Yas, he'm de man!" cried Ally. "He holped whip de He telled on har fur twenty dollar. He'm de

young missus. man!"

Mulock did not seem to realize, at once, that he was the subject of these remarks. The moment he did, he sprang out of the crowd, and darted off for the woods at the top of his speed. A hundred men followed him, with cries of "Mount, head him off!" "Five dollars ter th' man thet kotches him!" "Take him, dead or alive!"