use, is
there justice above or retribution upon the earth!"

A profound silence ensued, broken only by Mr. Plade, who called Hugenot
a man of sentiment, and slapped his back; while Freckle fell upon
Pisgah's bosom, and wished that his stomach was as full as his heart.

Mr. Simp, who had been endeavoring to recollect some passages of his
address, in the case of the Jeemses, for that address had an universal
application, and might mean as much now as on the original occasion,
brought down one of those decayed boots which the _marchand des habits_
had thrice refused to buy, and said, stoutly:

"'By Gad! think of it, hyuh am I, a beggah, by Gad, without shoes to my
feet, suh! The wuth of one nigga would keep me now for a yeah. At home,
by Gad, I could afford to spend the wuth of a staving field hand every
twenty-fouah houahs. I'll sweah!" cried Simp in conclusion, "I call this
hard."

"I suppose the Yankees have confiscated my stocks in the Havre
steamers," muttered Andy Plade. "I consider they have done me out of
twenty thousand dollars."

"Brotha writes to me, last lettah," continued Freckle, who had
recovered, "every tree cut off the plantation--every nigga run off, down
to old Sim, a hundred years old--every panel of fence toted away--no
bacon in smoke-house--not an old rip in stable--no corn, coon, possum,
rabbit, fox, dog or hog within ten miles of the place--house stands in a
mire--mire stands in desert--Yankee general going to conscrip brotha. I
save myself, sp'ose, for stahvation."

"Wait till you come down to my condition," faltered the proprietor,
making emphasis with his meagre finger--"I have been my own enemy; the
Yankees will but finish what is almost consummated now. I tell you,
boys, I expect to die in this room; I shall never quit this bed. I am
offensive, wasted, withered, and would look gladly upon Pere la
Chaise,[A] if with my bodily maladies my mind was not also diseased. I
have no fortitude; I am afraid of death!"

[Footnote A: The great Cemetery of Paris.]

The room seemed to grow suddenly cold, and the faces of all the inmates
became pale; they looked more squalid than ever--the threadbare
curtains, the rheumatic chairs, the soiled floor, sashes and wallpaper.

Mr. Hugenot fumbled his shirt-bosom nervously, and his diamond pin,
glaring like a lamp upon the worn garbs and faces of his compatriots,
showed them still wanner and meaner by contrast.

"Put the blues under your feet!" cried Aub