'Wal, yer see, massa, we got de ole debil's hat dat he drapped wen you had him down; den we went to Sandy's fur de dogs--dey scented him to onst, and off dey put for de swamp. 'Bout twenty on us follored 'em. He'd a right smart start on us, and run like a deer, but de hounds kotched up wid him 'bout whar he shot pore Sam. He fit 'em and cut up de Lady awful, but ole Caesar got a hole ob him, and sliced a breakfuss out ob his legs. Somehow, dough, he got away from de ole dog, and clum a tree. 'T was more'n an hour afore we kotched up; but dar he war, and de houns baying 'way as ef dey know'd wat an ole debil he am. I'd tuk one ob de guns--you warn't in de hous, massa, so I cudn't ax you.' 'Never mind that; go on,' said the Colonel. 'Wal, I up wid de gun, and tole him ef he didn't cum down I'd gib him suffin' dat 'ud sot hard on de stummuk. It tuk him a long w'ile, but--he _cum down_.' Here the darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a fair capital for a metropolitan dentist. 'Wen he war down,' he resumed, 'Jake war gwine to tie him, but de ole 'gator, quicker dan a flash, put a knife enter him.' 'Is Jake much hurt?' interrupted the Colonel. 'Not bad, massa; de knife went fru his arm, and enter his ribs, but de ma'am hab fix him up, and she say he'll be 'round bery sudden.' 'Well, what then?' inquired the Colonel. 'Wen de ole debil seed he hadn't finished Jake, he war gwine to gib him anoder dig, but jus den I drap de gun on his cocoa-nut, and he neber trubble us no more. 'Twar mons'rous hard work to git him out ob de swamp, 'cause he war jes like a dead man, and we had to tote him de hull way; but he'm dar now, massa (pointing to the old cabin), and de bracelets am on him.' 'Where is Jake?' asked the Colonel. 'Dunno, massa, but reckon he'm to hum.' 'One of you boys go and bring him to the cabin,' said the Colonel. A negro-man went off on the errand, while we and the darkies resumed our way to the Overseer's quarters. Arrived there, I witnessed a scene that words can not picture. Stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes torn to shreds, his coarse carroty hair matted with blood, and his thin, ugly visage pale as death, lay the Overseer. Bending over him, wiping away the blood from his face, and swathing a ghastly wound on his forehead, was the negress Sue; while at his shackled feet, binding up his still bleeding legs, knelt the octoroon woman. 'Is _she_ here?' I said, involuntarily, as I caught sight of the group. 'It's her nature,' said the Colonel, with a pleasant smile; 'if Moye were the devil himself, she'd do him good if she could; another such woman never lived.' And yet this woman, with all the instincts that make her sex angel-ministers to man, lived in daily violation of the most sacred of all laws,--because she was a slave. Will Mr. Caleb Cushing or Charles O'Conner please tell us why the Almighty invented a system which forces his creatures to break the laws of His own making?