CHAPTER XLI.—In which Justice is seen to be very accommodating CHAPTER XLII.—In which Some Light is thrown on the Plot of this History CHAPTER XLIII.—In which is revealed the One Error that brought so much Suffering upon many CHAPTER XLIV.—In which is recorded Events the Reader may not have Expected CHAPTER XLV.—Another Shade of the Picture CHAPTER XLVI.—The Soul may gain Strength in a dreary Cell CHAPTER XLVII.—In which is a Happy Meeting, and something Pleasing CHAPTER XLVIII.—A Few Words With the Reader PREFACE. Prefaces, like long sermons to fashionable congregations, are distasteful to most readers, and in no very high favor with us. A deep interest in the welfare of South Carolina, and the high esteem in which we held the better, and more sensible class of her citizens, prompted us to sit down in Charleston, some four years ago (as a few of our friends are aware), and write this history. The malady of her chivalry had then broken out, and such was its virulence that very serious consequences were apprehended. We had done something, and were unwise enough to think we could do more, to stay its spread. We say unwise, inasmuch as we see, and regret that we do see, the malady breaking out anew, in a more virulent type—one which threatens dire consequences to this glorious Union, and bids fair soon to see the Insane Hospital of South Carolina crammed with her mad-politicians. Our purpose, the reader will not fail to discover, was a high moral one. He must overlook the means we have called to our aid in some instances, remember that the spirit of the work is in harmony with a just sense of duty to a people among whom we have long resided, and whose follies deserve our pity, perhaps, rather than our condemnation. To remain blind to their own follies, is the sin of weak States; and we venture nothing when we say that it would be difficult to find a people more dragged down by their own ignorance than are the South Carolinians. And yet, strange as it may seem, no people are more energetic in laying claim to a high intellectual standard. For a stranger to level his shafts against the very evils they themselves most deprecate, is to consign himself an exile worthy only of that domestic garment[1] in which all who think and write too freely, are clothed and sent away. [1] Tar and feathers.