He told his daughter as best he could his humiliating experiences with interjections and volleys of wrath; how that when he was confronted by a black savage in the court he was told with fiendish laughter that the officer "had fotched the rong man," "dat de state had no charge agin him, but it mout hab fore he lef de town." Scarcely had the clear sun begun to overlook the trees the next morning when the negro officer again presented himself at the door with a requisition for Mr. Seymour. "Yu is ordered ter kote ergin," the negro demanded. "The jedge sed how dat he made er mistake yestiddy und sent de rong man ter jail." "Let me see your warrant," Colonel Seymour sternly asked. "If yu fetches a witnis I'll read de warrant," the ignorant brute replied. Clarissa who was dusting the furniture in the hall, overhearing an animated conversation between her old master and the negro officer, peeped out of the door when the negro saw her and commanded her to come to him. To go or to run, that was the question with Clarissa, but she made a virtue of necessity and timidly obeyed the order. "Hold up your right hand, yu po nigger trash," the negro exclaimed. "Oh Lordy, Mr. jedge, what has I dun und dun?" cried Clarissa; "Ergwine to de jail house fur nuffin in dis wurrul, me und ole marsa; und what is ergwine ter cum ob miss Alice?" "Hole your old mouf, I haint ergwine ter hurt yu. Stand rite dar as de witnis und den you is deescharged," and with that he took from his pocket a dirty yellow paper and began to spell out its contents. The officer patronizingly remarked to Colonel Seymour as he was seating himself in the buggy, "I can gib yu er ride to de kote ef yu will excep of my sability." The Colonel thanked him, for his gouty joints were rebelling. By a cruel inexorable law of gravitation the old man was sinking from the level of a man to the condition of a slave. Alighting at the court house he was mortified to see a white man and a negro handcuffed together walking in the court room, in the custody of another negro officer. As he walked toward the black judge, a score of brutish negroes cried out "Yander is dat ole secesh, he'e ergwine to git jestis now." "Fetch Mr. Seymour fore me, sar," commanded the judge; "whar is squire Wiggins und his affidavy?" "Mr. Seymour, yu is scused of interruptin de squire heer in de joyment ob his social pribileges, and dis kote has found yu gilty. Let dis prisner be found er hundred dollars und ef yu haint got dat much munny handy, de kote will change de jedgment und send yu ter jail."