Betting upon the turn of the cards, I knew what was coming: They never left their pigeons a single feather to fly with. Next day I saw them together,—the stranger and one of the gamblers: Picturesque rascal he was, with long black hair and moustaches, Black slouch hat drawn down to his eyes from his villanous forehead: On together they moved, still earnestly talking in whispers, On toward the forecastle, where sat the woman alone by the gangway. Roused by the fall of feet, she turned, and, beholding her master Greeted him with a smile that was more like a wife's than another's, Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with the dread apprehen sion Always haunting the slave, fell her eye on the face of the gambler, Dark and lustful and fierce and full of merciless cunning. Something was spoken so low that I could not hear what the words were; Only the woman started and looked from one to the other, With imploring eyes, bewildered hands, and a tremor All through her frame; I saw her from where I was standing, she shook so. 'Say ! is it so?' she cried. On the weak, white lips of her master Died a sickly smile, and he said,—' Louise, I have sold you.' God is my judge! May I never see such a look of despairing, Desolate anguish, as that which the woman cast on her master, Gripping her breast with her little hands, as if he had stabbed her, Standing in silence a space, as fixed as the Indian woman, Carved out of wood, on the pilot-house of the old Pocahontas! Then, with a gurgling moan, like the sound in the throat of the dying, Came back her voice, that, rising, fluttered, through wild incoherence, Into a terrible shriek that stopped my heart while she answered: Sold me? sold me ? sold—And you promised to give me my freedom!— Promised me for the sake of your little boy in Saint Louis! What will you say to our boy, when he cries for me there in Saint Louis? What will you say to our God?—Ah, you have been joking! I see it! No? God! God! He shall hear it,—and all of the angels in heaven, Even the devils in hell!-and none will believe when they hear it! Sold me!'-Fell her voice with a thrilling wail, and in silence Down she sank on the deck, and covered her face with her fingers." IV. In his story a moment the pilot paused, while we listened waters, Stately and vast and swift, and borne on the heart of the current. Then, with the mighty voice of a giant challenged to battle, Rose the responsive whistle, and all the echoes of island, Swamp-land, glade, and brake replied with a myriad clamor, Like wild birds that are suddenly startled from slumber at midnight; Then were at peace once more, and we heard the harsh cries of the peacocks Perched on a tree by a cabin door, where the white-headed settler's White-headed children stood to look at the boat as it passed them, Passed them so near that we heard their happy talk and their laughter. Softly the sunset had faded, and now in the eastern horizon Hung, like a tear in the sky, the beautiful star of the evening. V. Still with his back to us standing, the pilot went on with his story: "Instantly, all the people, with looks of reproach and compas sion, Flocked round the prostrate woman. The children cried, and their mothers Hugged them tight to their breasts; but the gambler said to the captain, 'Put me off there at the town that lies round the bend of the river. Here, you! rise at once, and be ready now to go with me.' Roughly he seized the woman's arm and strove to uplift her. She-she seemed not to heed him, but rose like one that is dreaming, Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted the steps of the gangway, Up to the hurricane-deck, in silence, without lamentation. Straight to the stern of the boat, where the wheel was, she ran, and the people Followed her fast till she turned and stood at bay for a moment, Looking them in the face, and in the face of the gambler. Not one to save her,-not one of all the compassionate people! Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven! time. White, she stood, and mute, till he put forth his hand to secure her; Then she turned and leaped,-in mid-air fluttered a moment,— Down, there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from a tree-top, Down on the cruel wheel, that caught her, and hurled her, and crushed her, And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her forever." VI. Still with his back to us all the pilot stood, but we heard him Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop her. Then, turning,— "This is the place where it happened," brokenly whispered the 64 pilot. Somehow, I never like to go by here alone in the night-time." Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town that lay in the starlight, Cheerful with lamps. Below we could hear them reversing the engines, And the great boat glided up to the shore like a giant exhausted. Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over the swamps to the eastward Shone the full moon, and turned our far-trembling wake into silver. All was serene and calm, but the odorous breath of the willows Smote like the subtile breath of an infinite sorrow upon us. Jean Lefelow ECHO AND THE FERRY. Ay, Oliver! I was but seven, and he was eleven; He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed where I stood. So he whistled and went, he went over the stile to the wood. And they too were angry as Oliver. Were they eleven? So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet, litter'd; And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd, While hanging head downward they scolded because I was seven. A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven. But soon I was happy, the smell of the world was so sweet, |