delight, and ever kept close to the gallant parson.

Joe, contrariwise, counted all this child's-play an interruption. He had
come to find Colossus and the money. In an unlucky moment he made bold
to lay hold of the parson, but a piece of the broken barriers in the
hands of a flat-boatman felled him to the sod, the terrible crowd swept
over him, the lariat was cut and the giant parson hurled the tiger upon
the buffalo's back. In another instant both brutes were dead at the
hands of the mob; Jones was lifted from his feet, and prating of
Scripture and the millennium, of Paul at Ephesus and Daniel in the
"buffler's" den, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of the huzzaing
_Américains_. Half an hour later he was sleeping heavily on the floor of
a cell in the _calaboza_.

When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was somewhere tolling for midnight.
Somebody was at the door of his cell with a key. The lock grated, the
door swung, the turnkey looked in and stepped back, and a ray of
moonlight fell upon M. Jules St.-Ange. The prisoner sat upon the empty
shackles and ring-bolt in the centre of the floor.

"Misty Posson Jone'," said the visitor, softly.

"O Jools!"

"_Mais_, w'at de matter, Posson Jone'?"

"My sins, Jools, my sins!"

"Ah! Posson Jone', is that something to cry, because a man get sometime
a litt' bit intoxicate? _Mais_, if a man keep _all the time_ intoxicate,