ROMESCOS, having withdrawn from the saloon while the excitement raged highest, may be seen, with several others, seated at a table in the upper room. They are in earnest consultation,—evidently devising some plan for carrying out a deep-laid plot.

"I have just called my friend, who will give us the particulars about the constitutionality of the thing. Here he is. Mr. Scranton, ye see, knows all about such intricacies; he is an editor! formerly from the North," one of the party is particular to explain, as he directs his conversation to Romescos. That gentleman of slave-cloth only knows the part they call the rascality; he pays the gentlemen of the learned law profession to shuffle him out of all the legal intricacies that hang around his murderous deeds. He seems revolving the thing over in his mind at the moment, makes no reply. The gentleman turns to Mr. Scranton—the same methodical gentleman we have described with the good Mrs. Rosebrook—hopes he will be good enough to advise on the point in question. Mr. Scranton sits in all the dignity of his serious philosophy, quite unmoved; his mind is nearly distracted about all that is constitutionally right or constitutionally wrong. He is bound to his own ways of thinking, and would suffer martyrdom before his own conscientious scruples would allow him to acknowledge a right superior to that constitution. As for the humanity! that has nothing to do with the constitution, nothing to do with the laws of the land, nothing to do with popular government,—nothing to do with anything, and never should be taken into consideration when the point at issue involved negro property. The schedule of humanity would be a poor account at one's banker's. Mr. Scranton begins to smooth his face, which seems to elongate like a wet moon. "The question is, as I understand it, gentlemen, how far the law will give you a right to convict and sell the woman in the absence of papers and against the assertions of her owner, that she is free? Now, gentlemen, in the absence of my law books, and without the least scruple that I am legally right, for I'm seldom legally wrong, having been many years secretary to a senator in Congress who made it my particular duty to keep him posted on all points of the constitution—he drawls out with the serious complacency of a London beggar—I will just say that, whatever is legal must be just. Laws are always founded in justice—that's logical, you see,—and I always maintained it long 'afore I come south, long 'afore I knowed a thing about 'nigger law.' The point, thus far, you see, gentlemen, I've settled. Now then!" Mr. Scranton rests his elbow on the table, makes many legal gesticulations with his finger; he, however, disclaims all and every connection with the legal body, inasmuch as its members have sunk very much in the scale of character, and will require a deal of purifying ere he can call them brothers; but he knows a thing or two of constitutional law, and thus proceeds: "'Tain't a whit of matter about the woman, barring the dockerment's all right. You only want to prove that Marston bought her, that's all! As for the young scraps, why—supposing they are his-that won't make a bit of difference; they are property for all that, subject to legal restraints. Your claim will be valid against it. You may have to play nicely over some intricate legal points. But, remember, nigger law is wonderfully elastic; it requires superhuman wisdom to unravel its social and political intricacies, and when I view it through the horoscope of an indefinite future it makes my very head ache. You may, however, let your claim revert to another, and traverse the case until such time as you can procure reliable proof to convict." Mr. Scranton asserts this as the force of his legal and constitutional acumen. He addresses himself to a mercantile-looking gentleman who sits at the opposite side of the table, attentively listening. He is one of several of Marston's creditors, who sit at the table; they have attached certain property, and having some doubts of overthrowing Marston's plea of freedom, which he has intimated his intention to enter, have called in the valuable aid of Romescos. That indomitable individual, however, has more interests than one to serve, and is playing his cards with great "diplomatic skill." Indeed, he often remarks that his wonderful diplomatic skill would have been a great acquisition to the federal government, inasmuch as it would have facilitated all its Southern American projects.

The point in question at present, and which they must get over, in order to prove the property, is made more difficult by the doubt in which the origin of Clotilda has always been involved. Many are the surmises about her parentage-many are the assertions that she is not of negro extraction—she has no one feature indicating it—but no one can positively assert where she came from; in a word, no one dare! Hence is constituted the ground for fearing the issue of Marston's notice of freedom.

"Well! I'll own it puzzles my cunnin'; there's a way to get round it-there is-but deuced if 'tain't too much for my noddle," Romescos interposes, taking a little more whiskey, and seeming quite indifferent about the whole affair. "Suppose-Marston-comes-forward! yes, and brings somebody to swear as a kind a' sideways? That'll be a poser in asserting their freedom; it'll saddle you creditors with the burden of proof. There'll be the rub; and ye can't plead a right to enjoin the schedule he files in bankruptcy unless ye show how they were purchased by him. Perchance on some legal uncertainty it might be done,—by your producing proof that he had made an admission, anterior to the levy, of their being purchased by him," Romescos continues, very wisely appealing to his learned and constitutional friend, Mr. Scranton, who yields his assent by adding that the remarks are very legal, and contain truths worth considering, inasmuch as they involve great principles of popular government. "I think our worthy friend has a clear idea of the points," Mr. Scranton concludes.

"One word more, gentlemen: a bit of advice what's worth a right smart price to ye all"—here he parenthesises by saying he has great sympathy for creditors in distress—"and ye must profit by it, for yer own interests. As the case now stands, it's a game for lawyers to play and get fat at. And, seein' how Marston's feelins are up in a sort of tender way, he feels strong about savin' them young 'uns; and ye, nor all the gentlemen of the lower place, can't make 'em property, if he plays his game right;—he knows how to! ye'll only make a fuss over the brutes, while the lawyers bag all the game worth a dollar. Never see'd a nigger yet what raised a legal squall, that didn't get used up in law leakins; lawyers are sainted pocket masters! But—that kind a' stuff!—it takes a mighty deal of cross-cornered swearing to turn it into property. The only way ye can drive the peg in so the lawyers won't get hold on't, is by sellin' out to old Graspum-Norman, I mean—he does up such business as fine as a fiddle. Make the best strike with him ye can—he's as tough as a knot on nigger trade!—and, if there's any making property out on 'em, he's just the tinker to do it."

They shake their heads doubtingly, as if questioning the policy of the advice. Mr. Scranton, however, to whom all looked with great solicitation, speaks up, and affirms the advice to be the wiser course, as a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

"Oh, yes!" says Romescos, significantly, "you'll be safe then, and free from responsibility; Graspum's a great fellow to buy risks; but, seeing how he's not popular with juries, he may want to play behind the scenes, continue to prosecute the case in the name of the creditors,—that's all! Curious work, this making property out of doubtful women. Sell out to them what understands the curious of the things, clear yerselfs of the perplexin' risks—ye won't bag a bit of the game, you won't. Saddle it on Norman; he knows the philosophy of nigger trade, and can swim through a sea of legal perplexities in nigger cases." Mr. Romescos never gave more serious advice in his life; he finishes his whiskey, adjusts his hat slouchingly on his head, bids them good night; and, in return for their thanks, assures them that they are welcome. He withdraws; Mr. Scranton, after a time, gets very muddled; so much so, that, when daylight appears, he finds, to his utter astonishment, he has enjoyed a sweet sleep on the floor, some of his quizzical friends having disfigured his face very much after the fashion of a clown's. He modestly, and mechanically, picks up his lethargic body, views his constitutional self in the glass, and is much horrified, much disgusted with those who perpetrated the freak.