I don't pretend to be wiser than
Daniel Webster, sir, who said in Congress that he; would support, to
the fullest extent, any law Southern gentlemen chose to frame for the
recovery of fugitive slaves."

"I wish you a better conscience-keeper," rejoined Francis Jackson,
rising as he spoke. "I don't see, my friend, that there's any use in
staying here to talk any longer. There's none so deaf as those that
_won't_ hear."

Mr. Percival rose at this suggestion, and "Good evening" was
exchanged, with formal bows on both sides. But sturdy Francis Jackson
made no bow, and uttered no "Good evening." When they were in the
street, and the subject was alluded to by his companion, he simply
replied: "I've pretty much done with saying or doing what I don't
mean. It's a pity that dark-complexioned grandson of his couldn't be
carried off as a slave. That might, perhaps, bring him to a realizing
sense of the state of things."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A few days past the middle of the following May, a carriage stopped
before the house of Mr. Joseph Bright, in Northampton, and Mrs.
Delano, with all the Blumenthal family, descended from it. Mr. Bright
received them at the gate, his face smiling all over. "You're welcome,
ladies," said he. "Walk in! walk in! Betsey, this is Mrs. Delano. This
is Mrs. Bright, ladies. Things ain't so stylish here as at your house;
but I hope you'll find 'em comfortable."

Mrs. Bright, a sensible-looking woman, with great moderation of
manner, showed them into a plainly furnished, but very neat parlor.

"O, how pleasant this is!" exclaimed Mrs. Blumenthal, as she looked
out of one of the side-windows.

The children ran up to her repeating: "How pleasant! What a nice
hedge, mamma! And see that wall all covered with pretty flowers!"

"Those are moss-pinks," said Mrs. Bright. "I think they are very
ornamental to a wall."

"Did you plant them?" inquired Rosa.

"O, no," said Mr. Bright, who was bringing in various baskets and
shawls. "That's not our garden; but we have just as much pleasure
looking at it as if it was. A great Southern nabob lives there. He
made a heap o' money selling women and children, and he's come North
to spend it. He's a very pious man, and deacon of the church." The
children began to laugh; for Mr. Bright drawled out his words in
solemn tones, and made his broad face look very comical by trying to
lengthen it. "His name is Stillham," added he, "but I call him Deacon
Steal'em."